August, 1952

Sweltering heat consumed the small recording studio, forcing sweat to gather in beads on Wes's temples and trickle down his neck. His fingers were going numb, the tips raw, as they worked the strings of his guitar. He'd lost track of the number of times he'd sung the song, his growling stomach suggesting hours had gone by since he'd last had a meal.

"There it is! You got it!" boomed Judd as they finished, clapping his hands together. He strolled over, slapping Wes on the back. "Well now, you didn't think this was gonna be easy did you?"

Wes set his guitar down, wiping the sweat off his forehead with his sleeve. "You think it's ready to go on a record?"

"Oh yeah," said Judd, beaming. "This baby is going all the way. It's gonna sell out, you'll see. It's darn near perfect."

"Great," said Hank. "'Cause... we're broke. My mother said she won't loan me another dollar."

"Show business isn't for the faint of heart." Judd chuckled as he helped them pack up their equipment. "You gotta make sure you're in it because it's what you love."

"Oh, we're sure," said Gene, his cheeks flushed from the heat. He leaned his bass against the wall. "I just want to prove to my father that I made the right decision when I turned down his offer to run the bank. Give him some good news, you know what I mean?"

Wes had been thinking the same thing. It'd been two months since they'd gotten back to Los Angeles from the island. Judd had moved the three of them into an apartment across the street from the studio. It wasn't much, but it beat staying vicariously in cheap motels. Unfortunately, things had moved slowly since then. They'd played a few decent gigs, but none that brought a decent amount of money in. Most of their time was spent in the sweltering studio and in long, aching practices.

Judd had produced The Beverly Brothers, whose records had played on every home's turntable a few years ago, and still held top spots on the radio. The band was playing the hippest joints in the United States, they'd even been on the Ed Sullivan show. Wes didn't understand why they couldn't at least open for them.

"Hold onto your horses," Judd said, reading his mind. "You'll have your time. I want to make sure you're ready."

Wes put his guitar into its case. He turned to look Judd in the eyes, a bit of frustration working at his nerves. "Oh, I'm ready. I've never been more ready."

The old man's kind eyes wrinkled as he smiled. "Alright, alright. I'll get this song done up right, and we'll see what happens next."

***

"He's holding us back," mumbled Gene, kicking a rock across the street as they headed back towards their apartment. "It's been two months since we've gotten back, and we haven't done a single decent gig."

"You heard what he said," said Hank. "He wants to make sure we're ready. Look at all the groups that Judd's produced. He knows what he's doing."

They skidded out of the way as a bus came barrelling down on them to their left. Wes hoisted his guitar up on his back, unbuttoning his shirt to get some breeze.

"Most of the groups he's produced are playing the kinda music my father would go for," he said. "I'm starting to wonder if Judd is really the guy to get us where we need to go. Look at those cats over at RCA studios. Now, they know what they're doing. They're churning out the hits one after another."

Although it was the truth, Wes felt a tinge of guilt as he spoke the words. He was fond of the old man. Judd had been like a surrogate father to all of them during the last couple of months. But, he was also disappointed. He'd envisioned doors swinging open for them, but it seemed like they were still stuck in the same place.

"Give the old man a chance," said Hank, throwing open the heavy wooden door to their apartment building. "After all, he is putting us up here, and giving us money to eat. We haven't made enough between the three of us to even pay for one month of rent. He's been coming out of his own pocket."

Wes sighed. Hank had a point. Perhaps he was jumping the gun.

"Good evening boys!" Ms. Miller, who lived on the first floor, beamed at them. It was uncanny how she seemed to appear every time they came back home. She held a halfway full cocktail glass in her hand. "How was the studio today? Will I hear it on the radio soon?"

"That's the plan," Wes said, throwing the older woman a charming smile. Her smile widened and she threw her head back, letting out a giddy laugh.

Ms. Miller was in her fifties. She'd been widowed for years. The way she dressed said otherwise. Nearly every week for the past two months, they'd spied her with a different, much younger, man on her arm. She winked her fake lashes at the boys, her clingy dress far too low on her bosom. Her gaze boldly trailed up and down Wes's body, making him shift uncomfortably.

"You boys look like you've been working hard," she said, taking a sip from the glass. "How about you come in and have a drink."

"Sorry Ms. Miller," Hank said, coming to Wes's rescue. "We've already got plans tonight."

"That's too bad," Ms. Miller pouted, running her hand across her chest. "Maybe another time then."

"What plans do we have tonight?" Wes asked as they made their way up the narrow stairway to their apartment.

"You forgot already?" Hank threw him an exasperated look. "Do the Carmody sisters ring a bell?"

"Oh god." Wes ran his hands down his face. "Tell them I've come down with the flu."

Gene punched him in the shoulder as they came to the door. "Oh no you don't, you're not getting out of this one." He frowned, giving Wes a concerned look. "You need to get out of your slump. The only way to do it is to find a good girl. At least give them a chance."

"They're all annoying," Wes groaned as they stepped into the small apartment. He set his guitar on the davenport.

"But, they're stunning." Gene wiggled his eyebrows. "All three of them are. Blonde bombshells. Not to mention their record is one of the top forty on the radio. These girls can help us out."

Wes scoffed. "Gene, you are shameless."

Gene shrugged his shoulders.

Hank patted Wes's shoulder. "If it's about Izzy, you've got to let it go. You live in two different worlds. It would never work."

Wes threw up his hands. "Fine. Fine, I'll go."

***

After a cold shower, Wes threw on his best brown polyester suit coat, on top of a yellow checkered shirt. Perhaps someone important would be there, it wouldn't hurt to make some connections.

Gene and Hank were waiting for him. Hank had on his usual over the top concoction, a pink and white striped dress shirt with a wide pink bow tie, under a darker pink suit coat.

"Ugh," hissed Wes. "You're blinding me."

Hank wrestled his suit coat off and threw it over his shoulder, striking a pose. "The ladies love it," he drawled.

"He looks like he stepped out of the Wizard of Oz," Gene said with a smirk, jabbing Hank in the ribs.

Gene, whose family had money, had a lot more to choose from. Wes was secretly envious of his three impeccable matching suits. It was too bad the Gene was a little on the heavier side, or he might have been able to borrow one. Gene was dressed to the tee, with a matching fedora to top it all off.

It had cooled almost ten degrees by the time they made it outside—after skirting around Ms. Miller's door as quietly as possible to avoid running into her again. The Bop club was only a few blocks away. Convenient, considering they didn't have a car, or much money to spare.

The sun was just setting when they came around the corner. The round lights that adorned the front of the building flipped on. The words "The Bop" glowed red on top of the entrance awning. The thrumming sound of a bass carried out to them, a woman's voice lilting over top of it. Wes longed to be the one inside on the stage, instead of entertaining three babbling women for the next few hours of his life.

Their heads turned simultaneously as a shiny red Cadillac drifted past them, coming to a graceful stop in front of the club. A uniformed valet rushed over to open the door for the long legged woman who stepped out, her red hair wrapped up in a scarf. A tall man slipped out of the driver's side and tossed the valet his keys, slipping an arm around the woman.

"That could be us," Gene said, practically drooling as he googled the car.

"That will be us," said Wes straightening. He watched the two sashay into the club. The doorman snuck a glimpse of the red head's rear end just as the couple disappeared inside.

"Come on," said Hank, rushing forward. "I'm itching to let loose."

The doorman raised an eyebrow at them, but stepped aside to let them through. The inside of the large club was flooded with smoke, creating a hazy hue. About fifty round tables topped with white cloth filled the room. The band played on top of a small wooden floored stage, raised above an open space for dancing couples. Through the haziness, Wes spotted the Carmody sisters, all three of them. They sat together at a table, bent forward, their faces close to each other, sharing some kind of gossip that made them throw their heads back in laughter. He sighed. It was going to be a long night.

"Well hello there darlings!" Sandy, the oldest of the trio, bounced up to greet them. Her long dark lashes swept up and down over her clear blue eyes. "We were starting to think you stood us up." Her lips pouted prettily.

The men pulled out the empty chairs around the table. The girls had sat with one in between each of them.

"Long day in the studio," Gene said, pulling a cigar from a case in his pocket. He tapped it on the table before lighting it, then flashed the ladies an apologetic smile. "Sorry to keep you lovely ladies waiting."

"When will your record be ready?" Patsy, the second oldest sister asked Wes, her blue eyes wide. "Seems you've been working on that one song for a long time."

"Judd says it's finished," Wes said, his attention turning to the female singer on stage. Patsy placed her hand on his arm, bringing his eyes back to her.

"You're a fabulous singer," she reassured him, raising her glass to her red lips. "It's sure to be a hit."

"My, don't you look handsome," Alice, the youngest of the sisters gushed at Hank from across the table.

Hank stood, strutting like a peacock. He offered the pretty blonde his hand. "Care to dance?"

Wes watched the two of them as they swung around on the dance floor. Hank had a certain flare that women loved, he couldn't quite figure it out. The waiter flew in with drinks, and the band transitioned to a slower song. Gene and Sandy rose and made their way to the dance floor, hand in hand.

Over the flames of the candles on the table, Patsy's eyes locked in on Wes. Leaning back, he swallowed a rather large gulp of bourbon while his eyes flipped to the stage again. When he looked back, she was staring at her clutch in her lap, a small frown on her face. With a sigh, Wes rose and reached for her hand. She sprung up and followed him to the floor.

He wrapped his hands around her small waist, the warmth of the bourbon making its way through his veins. Delighted by his touch, she wrapped her arms around his neck, her large breasts pressing against him. Her eyes searched his. "Wes Rizzo, you are one handsome man. How is it a woman hasn't swept you up yet?"

He tossed her a sideways grin. "Show biz is no place for serious relationships."

She frowned, looking slightly hurt. They both fell silent for a few moments, Wes's attention once again on the band.

"My sisters and I will playing at the Grand Ole Opry next week," Patsy said. "We're scheduled for the Ed Sullivan show after that. You know—you should consider switching labels. Judd is a lovely old man, but he's washed up. Sunray Records is a thing of the past." She trailed a finger down his chest. "You're too good for that."

"He's produced some great groups," Wes said, his attention back on Patsy, particularly the way her hand was running along his chest.

"He did, in the past," Patsy murmured, resting her head against him. "I can introduce you to our producer if you like."  

"Yeah, sure," said Wes, guilt working its way through him once again.