fuck his mother .
Damn right, Eleanor dared. She flipped off the shed and stomped back inside to make plans.
Chapter 4
It was a morning for firsts.
It was the first time Max had ever sat down at a piano and not known where to start, and the first time he didn't want to talk to his dad when he called.
Passion for two things coursed through Leo Massimo: for his family and for music. If anyone could help Max get his head on straight, it was his dad. So, in the end, he answered the call. "You aren't teaching this morning, Dad?"
"Parent-teacher conferences this week," Leo said jovially. "So I have a reprieve from the little apes."
His dad always called his students little apes, even to their faces. It was a term of endearment, and no one ever complained about it.
There wasn't any question about how much Leo Massimo loved his students. They were an extension of the music, so of course his love would filter to them. Not to mention that he was an extraordinary teacher. The theme song Max would give his dad was "Wind Beneath My Wings".
"You haven't called your mother this week, Max," his dad said now. "You know how Stella worries about you."
Max shook his head. His dad was the worrier, but he always used Mom as his cover. "Sorry, Dad. I'll give Mom a call to put her mind at ease."
"As long as there's no reason for her to worry…"
"Not at all." He turned away from the blank sheet music. "I've just been busy with the new score."
"What's wrong with it?" his dad asked, sounding alarmed. "Do you want me to listen to it?"
He paused. Having his dad listen to it wasn't a bad idea. "The thing is, the producer didn't like it and wants me to create something new. So even if you critique it, it won't help the situation."
Leo snorted. "First of all, your producer must be an ass, because anything you write is brilliant, and I'm not just saying that because you're my son. You have a gift."
Actually, his dad really wouldn't just say that to build him up. Leo was brutally honest with music; he'd say if someone sucked, even if it was one of his children.
"Second, you could rewrite one line and change the entire feel of the score, and unless the ass is trained, he'd never know. It'll sound completely different to him."
That was true. He sat straighter. "You sure, Dad?"
"I wouldn't mislead you about something so important."
Bolstered by his dad's faith, he admitted, "I've been sitting here trying to hear where the score should start, but it's not coming to me."
"Because it already came to you," his dad said confidently. "Send me the music. We'll figure this out. And call your mother. She worries so much."
Stella Massimo was a music therapist. She trusted in people's good natures and the power of music; the word worry wasn't in her vocabulary. "I'll call Mom."
"Good." His dad blustered for a moment. Then, gruffly, he said, "Love you, son."
Max smiled for the first time since his meeting with Cohen. "Love you too, Dad."
* * *
"Eli Cohen is an ignorant gnome," Liam proclaimed, leaning back on the patio chair. "I wouldn't listen to him."
The actor looked a part of the Malibu scenery with his beach hair, white linen shirt, and flip-flops. Despite his outwardly chill attitude, Liam's song was "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For" and had been since Max had met him in college.
As restless as Liam McCullough was, he was never reckless and was always smart about the business of Hollywood, and his assessment of Cohen wasn't wrong.
Still. Propping his feet on the wicker table in front of him, Max lifted his beer. "The ignorant gnome is in charge of the production company and, therefore, governing my career."
His best buddy pushed his hair back, but the ocean breeze made it fall back on his forehead. "There are other production companies in LA. You don't have to work with him."
"I don't want to work with him. I want to work with Duggan Richter." He stared off at the beach, watching the people strolling
Damn right, Eleanor dared. She flipped off the shed and stomped back inside to make plans.
Chapter 4
It was a morning for firsts.
It was the first time Max had ever sat down at a piano and not known where to start, and the first time he didn't want to talk to his dad when he called.
Passion for two things coursed through Leo Massimo: for his family and for music. If anyone could help Max get his head on straight, it was his dad. So, in the end, he answered the call. "You aren't teaching this morning, Dad?"
"Parent-teacher conferences this week," Leo said jovially. "So I have a reprieve from the little apes."
His dad always called his students little apes, even to their faces. It was a term of endearment, and no one ever complained about it.
There wasn't any question about how much Leo Massimo loved his students. They were an extension of the music, so of course his love would filter to them. Not to mention that he was an extraordinary teacher. The theme song Max would give his dad was "Wind Beneath My Wings".
"You haven't called your mother this week, Max," his dad said now. "You know how Stella worries about you."
Max shook his head. His dad was the worrier, but he always used Mom as his cover. "Sorry, Dad. I'll give Mom a call to put her mind at ease."
"As long as there's no reason for her to worry…"
"Not at all." He turned away from the blank sheet music. "I've just been busy with the new score."
"What's wrong with it?" his dad asked, sounding alarmed. "Do you want me to listen to it?"
He paused. Having his dad listen to it wasn't a bad idea. "The thing is, the producer didn't like it and wants me to create something new. So even if you critique it, it won't help the situation."
Leo snorted. "First of all, your producer must be an ass, because anything you write is brilliant, and I'm not just saying that because you're my son. You have a gift."
Actually, his dad really wouldn't just say that to build him up. Leo was brutally honest with music; he'd say if someone sucked, even if it was one of his children.
"Second, you could rewrite one line and change the entire feel of the score, and unless the ass is trained, he'd never know. It'll sound completely different to him."
That was true. He sat straighter. "You sure, Dad?"
"I wouldn't mislead you about something so important."
Bolstered by his dad's faith, he admitted, "I've been sitting here trying to hear where the score should start, but it's not coming to me."
"Because it already came to you," his dad said confidently. "Send me the music. We'll figure this out. And call your mother. She worries so much."
Stella Massimo was a music therapist. She trusted in people's good natures and the power of music; the word worry wasn't in her vocabulary. "I'll call Mom."
"Good." His dad blustered for a moment. Then, gruffly, he said, "Love you, son."
Max smiled for the first time since his meeting with Cohen. "Love you too, Dad."
* * *
"Eli Cohen is an ignorant gnome," Liam proclaimed, leaning back on the patio chair. "I wouldn't listen to him."
The actor looked a part of the Malibu scenery with his beach hair, white linen shirt, and flip-flops. Despite his outwardly chill attitude, Liam's song was "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For" and had been since Max had met him in college.
As restless as Liam McCullough was, he was never reckless and was always smart about the business of Hollywood, and his assessment of Cohen wasn't wrong.
Still. Propping his feet on the wicker table in front of him, Max lifted his beer. "The ignorant gnome is in charge of the production company and, therefore, governing my career."
His best buddy pushed his hair back, but the ocean breeze made it fall back on his forehead. "There are other production companies in LA. You don't have to work with him."
"I don't want to work with him. I want to work with Duggan Richter." He stared off at the beach, watching the people strolling
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