How they all come flocking to me. Young Monica, on the run from B——. Daddy’s girl. Clayton, so headstrong and pigheaded that he cant even recognize when someone’s holding his hand, pulling him along and trying to set him straight.
He’s a Reid isnt he?
There’s a reason I never had children of my own. Where was I when I was his age? Well clear of this town, holed up on Spadina with that busted Epiphone, borrowing everything from picks to drummers, waiting. Least I knew where I was headed, knew that I’d die trying. And where’s he? Scrounging, raiding my CD collection for the price of a few beer. Cant see as far as next week. Randy made a fine mess of that one, didnt he.
Had his own burdens to contend with.
Burdens? Goddamn heavy-equipment operator. The machine does all the work.
Rachel.
Rachel. Yeah. But he made his own choices. Like I made mine. And what have I to show now? Randy shacked up with the finest piece of gear on the Shore, then drank her outta the house.
Nobody’s fault Val. Accident. Happens every day.
Still.
Still, what about Massie, no real difference.
She’s alive.
Well then let her live. Just sign the dotted line.
Signed away enough already. Years, gutting myself for the right line, a lifetime scraping my soul.
Watch it now, the theatrics…
And for what? So some snot-nosed young pup with a pretty smile and flashy pants so tight he looks like he’s sporting a muss, some little queer catering to the tourist industry, making a mockery of everything Newfoundland never was, can come along and shove his pointless, self-absorbed mediocrity down our throats? Shove it up your hole young man. Muddying up the radio. Cant sing, cant play, but so long as the camera likes you…
Alright Val, alright. Is that really your competition?
Fuck no.
This pipe, here in your hand. That’s your only competition.
My only comrade these days.
No.
No. I’ll get right on that. Just get myself through this fucking movie now.
And then what?
Cut another record, blow ’em all outta the water, all them muss-boys. Get that song. Tour through the winter, get in the clear.
And Clayton?
Cut him loose. He’ll have to go it alone. The only way to get there.
Massie?
Young Monica, for now. Daddy’s girl.
Val?
Massie, yes. For fuck sakes.