Baby Can’t Fly

Mr. Tony squeezed Nick’s shoulders until the jackhammer stopped. “There’s a man in a suit looking for you. You got five minutes, kid.” 

Sprinting across the construction yard, Nick tried to recall any outstanding debts, but none came to mind. 

“You Nick Sellers?” The black-suited man stood almost as tall as the gate, leaning into the chain-linked fence with his arms stretched above him. Nick stared at the man’s gold Rolex. “Who’s asking?” 

Grinning with a bright set of moon-white teeth, the man replied, “Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble, kid. Far from it.” 

Humming loudly, the tall man began fiddling with the lock, trying to open the gate. 

“How’d you know that song?” Nick’s green eyes softened as his shoulders settled below his long, rail-thin neck. 

“My name’s Mel Gantz. I hate to use such a cliche, but I’m a big-time Nashville producer and like your stuff, kid.” 

“Time’s up! Get back to work, Sellers,” Mr. Tony shouted across the yard.

Nick grabbed a key from his pocket and opened the gate. “Walk with me, would you?” 

Mel laughed, cupping Nick’s shoulder with his massive hand, “Tell Gonzo over there you’re quitting. I got a twenty-thousand-dollar check with your name on it. We’ll call it a little sign-on bonus.” 

“You’re joking!” Nick paused and then tried to hide his involuntary smile. 

Approaching his jackhammer, Nick noticed the grizzly gray-haired foreman, Mr. Tony, charging.

“I sure hope you’re paying for this kid’s time ’cause I sure ain’t! Not for standing around and scratching his balls!” Mr. Tony removed his hard hat and safety goggles. His small blue eyes had red-veiny strands streaking out the sides. Mel lifted Nick’s hand and began shaking it. Then he picked up Mr. Tony’s radio, resting on the workbench. “Nick doesn’t work for you anymore, Gonzo. You’ll be hearing him on your radio one day soon.” Turning to Nick from Mr. Tony, Mel led the young blonde-haired musician out of the yard. Nick didn’t hesitate, didn’t even think to go back and collect his lunchbox and water bottle.

“Where’s your car, kid?” 

Nick stood with his hands in his pockets, examining Mel’s black Lexus. “I ride the bus,” he replied. 

Mel moved towards the Lexus and opened the back door. As Nick settled into the seat and clipped on his seatbelt, Mel said, “Now let’s go find Josie.” 

When the engine fired, Nick and Josie’s lead single, “Baby Can’t Fly,” blared through a souped-up sound system, causing Nick to muff his ears with his hands. 

“Sorry about that.” Mel turned the volume down. “Can you tell I’m a fan? Those lyrics, though. My God.” 

Shifting to the middle seat, Nick leaned forward. “She wrote everything.” He paused. “But we broke up just a few months ago.”

“What?” Mel turned to look at him. He swerved into the emergency lane, almost hitting a cyclist. The car stopped, a small dust cloud enveloping the Lexus. Mel switched off the radio. “You’re kidding.” 

Nick didn’t say anything, looking down the paint-stained pant legs of his dungarees. 

“Right? Good joke, kid!” 

Tracing his finger over the anchor tattoo on his wrist, Nick looked up at Mel. “She said I had to choose between her or the music.” 

“You know where she is?” 

“Yeah, the bus drives past her place every day.”

The car started up again. Mel pulled out his phone and placed it in the charging dock on his dashboard. “What’s the address, kid?” 

“There’s no use, Mr. Gantz.”

“You giving up that easy?” 

“She ain’t signing anything to do with a music career, I’m telling you, Mr. Gantz. It doesn’t matter how big that check is.” 

There was a brief silence panned on the left by cars speeding by. Nick reached for the door handle, but Mel’s finger slammed onto the lock button. Mel removed his sunglasses and turned to face Nick with a joker’s grin. “Whose got the rights to the songs, kid?”

One of Mel’s blue eyes had a slight gray tinge to it. Nick stared deeply into it, searching for something to trust. “What do you mean?”

“Who owns them?” 

“We both do, I guess,” Nick said with a shaky lack of confidence. 

“Do you love her?” 

“I’ve never stopped loving her.” Nick let go of the door handle.

“Well, that’s exactly what you’ll tell her.” 

Looking out the window, Nick tried to remember the last time he picked up his guitar—not since Josie left, he thought. “I’m not doing that to her again. No way.” 

Mel opened the glove compartment, grabbed a check, and set it down on the middle console, face up, so Nick could see it. “Love’s just a game, kid.” 

Nick picked up the check and read it. “I thought you said twenty-thousand.” 

“What’s another thirty? Once we get going, you’ll be making five times more than this. But just give me the word, and I’ll drive you back to that construction site, and you can keep working for Gonzo.” 

Nick set the check back down. “So what, I’m just supposed to go back to her and tell her I love her? That I don’t care about the music? And then what? She’ll just welcome me back with open arms?” 

Mel turned the radio on and then touched Nick’s shoulder. “We’re going to figure it out together. The only thing I can promise is that you’re both going to be better for it. You got a gift, both of you, and it’s about time the world hears it. The first thing you’ll do is tell her you’re sorry and that you made the biggest mistake of your life. That’ll be it for now. One step at a time, kid.” 

Josie’s harmonies did something to Nick’s otherwise average-sounding voice, pulling it up to someplace he couldn’t reach himself. And while new melodies came to him as often as he tied his mud-crusted work boots, Josie’s lyrics gave the songs a timeless edge, as though they’d always existed. Over the volume of the music and the cars still racing past, Nick raised his voice, “41 Park Place.” 

Mel parked a few houses away from Josie’s and handed Nick a few hundred dollar bills and his business card. “Call me tonight. This should hold you over for a while.” 

Stuffing the bills into his pocket, Nick kept his eyes on the check still on the middle console. 

“Hey kid, how many more songs you got?” 

“At least fifty.” 

Mel smiled, folded the check, and returned it to the glove compartment. “Get the girl, and you’ll get the cash, kid. It’s as simple as that.” 

Walking past the bed of marigolds up the stairs to Josie’s front door, Nick felt a wave of anxiety crash over his insides, causing him to stop and rethink it all. He scanned the area for Mel’s black Lexus, but Mel had already driven off. 

“What the hell you doing here?” The front door opened. 

“Josie.” Nick stepped closer, moved by the flutter in his stomach. “You look beautiful.” There was a short pause, and then Nick’s tone became more intense, “I was wrong. About everything. I’m so sorry, Josie.” 

Josie pushed on the door a little so Nick could only see from her neck. “It’s too late.” 

Her big black eyes were even more perfectly round than he remembered. She’d cut her hair since he’d last seen her. He used to make her promise that she’d never shorten it. This new look made her seem older, and her thick-as-honey-like hair looked a little thinner. But Nick didn’t mind. It was enough just seeing one strand touch her small, delicate shoulders. “It suits you,” he said, looking at her hair.

The door slammed shut. 

“Josie. Josie, please.” 

Nick beat his palm on Josie’s door for a good minute, then ambled down the stairs and walked home, biting on his bottom lip. After downing three shots of Vodka, the last of an old bottle his mom bought him for Christmas, he called Mel. “It’s no use, Mr. Gantz; I’m telling you she wants nothing to do with me.” 

There was a short silence, and then Mel firmed up his tone. “You’re going to go back there tomorrow with her favorite bouquet. You’re going to tell her you’re sorry. And then you’re going to do that again and again and again—until you’ve won her back. And in the meantime, pick up your guitar and start practicing.” 

Staring at the empty bottle of Vodka, listening to Gantz, Nick felt a stone of anxiety drop to the bottom of his stomach. “It’s not that easy, Mr. Gantz. You don’t know her like I do. She’s stubborn. And I hurt her, cut her so deep. I’m telling you, she won’t change her mind.” 

There was another short pause, and then Mel spoke much calmer. “Well, the way I see it, you’ve only got two options. Give up on your music career and Josie, and ask Gonzo for your job back. Or believe me. Believe what I believe.” 

“Which is what, exactly?” Nick stammered. 

“That you’ve got something, a real shot at making it.”

Per Mel’s guidance, Nick knocked on Josie’s door again three days later with a big bouquet of sunflowers. The result was the same, except on this occasion, Josie didn’t even open the door, shouting at him through the keyhole, warning that she’d call the cops if he didn’t vacate the premises. Nick called Mel that night, but Mel’s message remained the same. “Love’s just a game, kid. Get the girl, you get the cash.”

As the days and rejections piled up, Nick thought about calling Mr. Tony and asking for his job back, but with every real consideration came a slip of cash from Mel, holding Nick over for a short while and always with an unwavering reassurance, “Stick to the plan, kid. You’re close. Trust me.”

“Maybe we don’t need Josie?” Nick said on one occasion. “Or we can find somebody with a similar voice to hers.”

But Mel didn’t budge. “It’s Josie and Nick or Nick and Gonzo, kid. Stick to the plan.” 

The turning point eventually came on Nick’s tenth time walking up Josie’s stairs. Her name wasn’t yet out of his mouth when Josie opened the door, to Nick’s surprise. She hadn’t put on her makeup yet, a look that he preferred. He stood, staring, confused by her beautiful but warm, inviting expression. 

“You won’t ever give up, will you?” 

Dazed, Nick said nothing, standing, staring. 

“It’s what I always loved about you. Such a dangerous thing, though.” 

“Why?” Nick exclaimed, snapping out of his catatonic state. 

“Because there’re some things worth giving up on.” 

“Not you.” Stepping forward, Nick touched Josie’s small lily-white hand. “I haven’t picked up a guitar since you left.” 

“It can’t be the way it was, Nick. It won’t work.” 

“I know,” he said softly.

“Not how it consumed you, how you treated me like I was just another instrument in the studio.” 

Letting go of Josie’s hand, Nick broke eye contact and tilted his head downward. “I made everything about the music. Worst of all my relationship with you, the only thing that’s ever mattered.” 

Josie grabbed Nick’s hand, pulling him over the door threshold and into her arms. “Do you still have those sunflowers?” 

Nick’s steps home that night carried a clash of bliss and uneasy guilt. He buried his internal conflict with humming, and then, with a complete disregard for being heard, he belted out, “Baby can’t fly ’cause her wings got burnt by red-hot desire!” Before bed that night, Nick checked his phone and saw ten missed calls from Mr. Gantz. Just as he’d resolved to call back Gantz in the morning, his phone lit up again.

“I was just about to call you, Mr. Gantz.” 

“What took you so long, kid? You forget our arrangement that fast?” Mel spoke quickly and firmly in a pointed tone. 

Still deciding what he was going to tell Gantz, Nick kept silent. 

“And? How’d it go today? Any better? You order her dinner like I said?” 

“Getting closer.” 

It was Mel’s turn to collect his thoughts in the silence. The kid doesn’t call me. He’s not bitching about her like he usually does. And I’ll be damned if he doesn’t sound a little happy tonight. 

Pressing his mouth to the speaker, Mel whispered, “You got her, didn’t you, kid?” 

“I can’t go through with it! I won’t do that to her again!” Nick shouted, an anxious shrill. 

“Whoa, whoa, slow down, kid. This is some helluva great news. The kinda news worth celebrating. I’ll be at your place in twenty minutes.” 

Mel hung up before Nick could speak another word. He tried calling Mr. Gantz three times, but the call went to voicemail. 

Nick was woken up by Mel’s car horn blaring in his driveway an hour later. The first thing he saw when he opened the car door was Mel’s hand on top of a pile of cash on the middle console. 

 “You ready to have some fun?” Mel split the pile of cash and handed one half to Nick. “Call it a final piece of the puzzle bonus, kid. Just another taste of what’s coming your way.” 

Nick moved his fingers across the cash like the money was a fine silk cloth. 

“You like gambling?” 

Nick studied Mel’s perfectly ironed pair of black capris and the brightest Aloha shirt he’d ever seen. Then he glanced at his own attire, wondering if his white vest and cut-off jeans would fit the part.

“Love it,” Nick replied, still feeling waves of euphoria from the touch of the cash. 

“What’s your game?” 

“Blackjack.” Nick smiled.  

“Ah, I figured you were more of a poker guy. I know just the place for a good game of blackjack.” 

When they pulled into the pink-lit parking lot of The Hotel Flamingo, Nick was still gripping his pile of cash with vice grip hands. 

“You can leave that here, kid. We’ll use this stack for the table.” Mel grabbed half of the cash, opened the glove compartment, and Nick nervously stuffed his money into it. 

Mel greeted three pretty girls at the front desk by name and then led Nick through a dark, grimy kitchen into a red-lit backroom guarded by a big bald man with a half-eaten sandwich tattooed on his head. 

“Mr. Gantz, nice to see you again. What’s the occasion?” The man held out his gorilla hand. 

Mel put his arm around Nick and then shook the man’s hand. “This kid’s about to be famous, Nibbler.” 

Smiling, the big man bent down to get eye level with Nick. “You must be good, kid. Mr. Gantz, don’t waste his time with no jokers. What’s the name?”

“Nick Cunningham.” 

“Nick and Josie!” Mel shouted, stepping in front of Nick, “Be listening, Nibbler!” 

As they crossed the threshold, Nick felt a chill run down his spine hearing Josie’s name, considering even for a second trying to convince her to get back into the game. 

“Here, kid, go start at the table over there.” Mel handed Nick three hundred dollar bills, and Nick instantly snapped back into the present moment. Besides the dealer, there was only one other person at the blackjack table: an old lady puffing on what looked like just the glow of a cigarette. She didn’t move her gaze from the deck of cards in her hand. “You must be pretty good, kid.” 

Nick turned to look at her, and he inhaled a small cloud of smoke. Coughing, he managed, “I don’t play much.” 

 “I don’t mean at blackjack, kid. We all know what it means when Gantz brings in somebody like you.” 

“Hit,” Nick said to the dealer, then turned to the old lady. “What does it mean?” 

“That’s a bad hit, kid.” The lady looked at Nick with a mean stare, placed her cards face down, pushed her cigarette into the astray, then got up and walked away. 

By the time Gantz came round to the blackjack table, Nick had managed to turn his three hundred into four hundred. 

“I see you treating him right, Solly!” Gantz raised his shot glass to the dealer. 

“The kid knows how to play!” 

Gantz played a couple of hands with Nick and the dealer, then after a short while, placed his hand on the main deck of cards. “Mind giving us a few minutes, Solly?

“Not a problem, Sir.” Solly put the cards underneath the table, removed his gloves, then walked away. 

A red-haired waitress walked by, and Gantz grabbed a bottle of Beluga Gold Line off her tray, then poured a shot into his and Nick’s glasses. “I think I’ve figured out how you can make it without her, without ruining your relationship. I can see you love her, kid.” 

Nick slung the shot of Vodka into his mouth like a cup of water. “Really? How?” Reaching into his pocket, Mel pulled out a folder and placed it on the table. “She’s just got to sign a few lines of this document. You’ll get a hundred grand to share.”

Nick straightened in his seat, the look of excitement in his glazed-drunk eyes. “For just a couple of signatures? And we don’t have to rope her into any performing or anything like that?

Gantz put his hand on Nick’s shoulder and squeezed. “I’m going to make it work, kid.” 

On the drive home, Nick asked Gantz for three weeks before approaching Josie for her signature. 

 Gantz didn’t seem too pleased, sighing, but eventually conceded, saying, “Well, that’s fine, kid. But not a day later. I’ll keep the document until then.” 

Nick watched Gantz’s eyes narrow and detected how his voice sped up.

“It’s just that I want to be sure she knows I’m not using her, Mr. Gantz. I’ll do it, I promise. I think she’ll agree.” 

Nick didn’t hear much from Gantz over the next three weeks, just the occasional text and phone call. He and Josie spent every waking hour together, holding hands, laughing, and staying up late kissing until the fire turned to coals. One day, Nick picked up his guitar and showed Josie a new melody he’d come up with. 

“Keep playing,” she said with a wide smile and a glow in her eyes,” then she disappeared. When she returned to the living room, she had her notebook open and began singing, “We’re both the same, you and me, chasing yesterday’s dreams with dirt on our feet.”

“Yeah, that’s it, Josie!” Nick shouted, strumming louder and singing with her. He stopped playing once they’d smoothed it out, then set his guitar down and embraced her. “You’ve got a gift, Josie. A real gift.” 

She smiled, kissing him on the cheek. “You know I don’t like you talking like that.” 

“But it’s true.” 

Josie backed away from Nick, turning her gaze to the window. “I write because I love it, not because I want to get something out of it.”

There was a short silence, and then Josie shifted closer to Nick again. “I guess we’re just different in that way.” Josie put her hand in Nick’s. “I saw how it consumed you, Nick, how it consumed us. I don’t want that again.” 

Nick ran his fingers back and forth from her wrist up to her forearm. “I think I’ve found a way for this music thing to work. For both of us.” 

“How?” Josie flinched, yanking her arm to her side. 

Nick noticed the panic on her face, her eyes creasing, her lips tightening. “Just hear me out, Jo. And if it doesn’t sit right, then no bother.” Nick paused, tracking Josie’s eyes, watching her observe the passing cars out the window. 

“Go ahead,” she whispered. 

“I met a man willing to give us a hundred grand for our songs.” 

Josie turned from the window and landed her sharp eyes on Nick. “Not this again, Nick. I can’t do it.” 

Clutching Josie’s hand, Nick moved closer to her. “Wait,” he said. Hear me out. We don’t have to do anything, Josie. No performing, no recording. We just have to sign a few documents.”

Josie’s face softened. “There’s got to be a catch?”

She wriggled her hand out of his grasp. “Something you’re not seeing.” 

Nick stood, turning towards the door. “I got to believe, Jo, that there’s something more for us. But I’m not going to hurt you again. I promise you that.” He turned back to Josie, clutched her hand, and placed it on his chest.

Sensing sadness, not anger, in Nick’s soft voice, Josie stood and curled her arms around his shoulders. “I’ll read over the document.” 

“Thank you,” he replied, then opened the front door.

Just as Nick had crossed the threshold, Josie smiled, “Hey, Nick,” she said. 

He turned to look at her, noticing a bright gladness in her eyes. “Yeah.”

“There’s nothing more we’ll ever need than what we’ve got right now.” 

And then she blew him a kiss. “I’ll see you later.” 

That night, before going to bed, Nick called Mr. Gantz. 

“Well, this is a nice surprise, kid. I thought you’d gone back to work for Gonzo!” 

Nick opened the pantry cupboard above his microwave and pulled out a brand new bottle of Titos. “I think she’s gonna sign, Mr. Gantz.” 

“What?” 

Nick yanked the phone from his eardrum, frightened by the burst of volume from Gantz. 

And then, with a much slower, softer delivery, Gantz continued, “Yeah, I mean, I was expecting that, kid. Uh, why wouldn’t she sign, you know?”

The Vodka burned the back of Nick’s throat. He liked the feeling, always throwing down his liquor with one big gulp, at least a shot or two. He could never understand why anybody sipped on their alcohol. 

“But she wants to read the document first.” 

“For what?” Gantz blurted.

“Ah, I guess…”

“Well, just tell me, is this Josie of yours a pretty clever girl, kid?” Gantz exclaimed, interrupting Nick. 

“The smartest girl I ever met.” 

There was a short silence. Nick stared at the bottle of Titos, deciding whether or not to pour another shot. 

“And the prettiest too,” he said, smiling. 

“Well, you’ve already put me out a little more time and money than I initially expected, kid. By the time Josie reads and signs the documents, we would’ve missed our window.” Gantz’s voice was much more recollected and a little muffled, as though he was pressing his mouth right up into the phone speaker. 

The warm euphoric feeling disappeared from Nick as quickly as Gantz had finished speaking. “Well, please now, Mr. Gantz. We’re so very close here.” 

Gantz opened the Mustangs of America calendar on his desk. “I’m giving you until the end of the day tomorrow, kid. If I don’t get the signed document back with both your signatures, it’ll be back to Gonzo for you. I’ll drop the papers off at your place in the morning.” 

The next day, on his walk to Josie’s house, Nick read through the Gantz document five times, each attempt resulting in no more clarity than the former. Josie’s front door was wide open when he arrived. “See Jo, right here. Come and see for yourself. A hundred grand and not a penny less!” 

Nick stopped in the living room, lifting his head from the document. “Josie? You home?” 

He walked up the stairs and opened her bedroom door to find her on her bed wearing her big set of headphones, pen in hand, and journal in her lap. Nick tapped Josie on the shoulder. She jumped backward in fright but then just as quickly came closer to him, kissing him on the cheek and removing her headphones. 

“You’re getting the itch again, aren’t you?” Nick smiled. 

“It never left,” Josie replied, smiling back at him. 

Moving to Josie’s desk, Nick grabbed a pen and placed it and Gantz’s document in Josie’s hands, pointing to the bottom line. “Look, Jo, a hundred grand. All we have to do is sign.” 

Josie spent a minute or two reading the document and then put it face down on her bed. 

“How long have you had this document?” 

Nick didn’t say anything.

“I’m not signing it.” 

“What? Why?” Nick picked up the document and scanned it, trying to find something he’d missed. 

“He’s going to take all the rights to our songs. The writing and publishing.” 

Dropping the document back onto Josie’s bed, Nick moved closer to her, staring into her eyes with a blank face. 

“He’ll own our songs, Nick. He’ll be able to edit and do whatever the hell he wants with them!” 

“But Josie,” Nick said anxiously, clutching her hand. “For a hundred grand, Jo. A hundred! That’s a down payment on a house!”

Josie jumped off her bed, turning to Nick before heading down the stairs to the back door in the kitchen. “Those songs are a part of me. I won’t sell them for all the money in the world!” 

Nick felt his stomach churn with anger and desperation. He imagined returning to work at the construction yard, immediately feeling like he might puke. Picking up the document, he ran after Josie, shouting, “You’re so damn selfish! Always have been! Finally, we get a damn break, but you can’t see it, too blinded by your damn ego and pride!” 

Josie sat down next to the bird feeder, slow tears running down her cheeks as she began wiping out the tray. She held out her hand, staring at Nick until he handed her the document. “You’ll never be happy, Nick, never be satisfied in the simple joy of creating without some big payout or fame.” She dried her face with her shirt, standing, her eyes turning from the document, and now staring at him sternly. Just as he thought she was about to sign it she stepped closer to him.

“And then, if you ever make it, whatever that means, you’ll only want more! Until it bleeds every bit of your soul!” Josie pointed to the last line of the document, the place for their signatures and the date. “Do you think I’m stupid? This contract is dated the same day you began knocking on my door.” Josie began jabbing her finger into Nick’s chest. “You’ve played me for a fool, Nick!” 

Nick stepped back, placing his hand over the area of his chest she’d been stabbing. “Will you just think about it, Jo? We have until the end of the day to sign.” 

“There I was, thinking you’d changed!” Josie screamed. “Never again! Get out!” 

“But Jo…”

“Now!” 

As Nick trudged home, a great weight of sadness, guilt, and shame lay heavy on his shoulders. He filled his coffee mug with Vodka, downed it in two sips, and then called Gantz, wiping the tears from his eyes. “She’s not signing, Mel.” Nick began to cry, but Mel said nothing. I’ve ruined any chance of a future with her.” 

Nick could hear giggling in the background and some girls’ voices. 

“Baby can’t fly, I guess.” Gantz laughed. “You gave it a good go, kid. I bet you can get on Gonzo’s payroll again. Call me if anything changes. I’ll be seeing you around.” The phone clicked. 

“Mr. Gantz?” 

The following morning, with a head pounding and full of static, Nick returned to the construction yard. He arrived just as Mr. Tony got out of his black Toyota pickup truck. 

“Well, look who it is! The radio king himself!” Mr. Tony smiled unnaturally and big like a clown. 

“I was wondering if I could get my job back, Mr. Tony? I’m sorry for running out on you like that.”

Mr. Tony removed his big set of keys from his belt buckle and unlocked the gate. Nick followed him into the yard. There was a red shipping container that stored all the tools, heavy equipment, and miscellaneous items. Mr. Tony proceeded to unlock it and stepped inside, still not saying a word to Nick. 

Waiting with his hands locked and behind his back, Nick observed the yard and the crew’s progress. A nauseating feeling began in his stomach. 

“I knew you’d be back, kid.” Tony came out of the container, handing Nick his lunchbox and water bottle.”

“I’ll start you at a dollar less than you were making before you ran out on me.”

While setting up, the early morning silence made Nick feel claustrophobic. Mr. Tony turned on his stereo as he usually did, readying for the day. One of Nick’s favorite tunes blared across the speakers. It made Nick feel worse. He stood up and grabbed the jackhammer. “Okay if I get an early start?” 

Mr. Tony smiled, a genuine smile, and then he handed Nick a hard hat, “Go for it, kid.” 

“Baby, can’t fly,” Nick muttered, then switched on the jackhammer and began pounding the ground. 

Photo by Caio Silva on Unsplash