Free Drives Like a Dream by Porter Shreve Page B

insurgent. They'll be writing about you in fifty years."
    "What's a change insurgent?" Jessica asked.
    "Ask Davy—he's the dot-com survivor. I'm just the man in the gray flannel suit. Actually, I have no idea what a change insurgent is," Ivan said, then suddenly got up. "I have to go work on my speech."
    After Ivan left, Jessica turned to Davy, whose fork was raised. "He must be freaking out about that toast."
    "Well, anyway," Davy said. "About Lowball—basically, Teresa's freaking out, and I can't do anything right. Seems like yesterday we were flush, but today we can't cover payroll. I get quiet and she gets desperate. It's a bad combination."
    "But what happened to that buyer? I thought you almost cut a deal."
    "We did, too, but the guy was a flake. The fact is we're not selling a product, just information and research. Plus, we've made big promises as the 'lowest of the low.' People expect more than we can give them, which should be the truth right up to the minute. But at the moment we can't even offer that."
    Davy continually surprised Jessica. She never would have pictured him talking about profit margins and how to reach the consumer. She had assumed he would stay in Ann Arbor after college, working at Schoolkids Records and picking up gigs in town or around Detroit. He loved recording sounds—creaky doors, truck horns and passing traffic, the Huron River after a thaw. As an undergraduate in the school of music, he had used these recordings to texture his compositions, and ever since high school, he had played drums for local bands.
    Jessica's favorite of these was Queen Bee and the Drones, an R & B quintet more progressive than its name implied. Davy played with them his first two years in college before the gospel-trained lead singer of the group grew pregnant with twins. More than a year later, when it became obvious that Queen Bee would not be returning, Davy and the remaining Drones transformed themselves into a rockabilly band: two guitars, drums and a standup bass. Davy renamed the group the 57 Nomads after the beat-up station wagon in the Modine family garage. Jessica didn't much like the music, but Cy was the Nomads' number one fan, never missing a show and even proposing that the group take him on as manager. "They're playing my songs," he liked to say. "I remember when all the guys had pompadours."
    Like everything else that was popular in the late nineties, rockabilly appealed to nostalgia, so the Nomads had gotten as many gigs as they could handle, and with a bit of organization could have probably toured. But just as their reputation was growing, Davy abandoned the group, moved to Chicago, and joined the Internet gold rush when nearly all the gold had already been found. Jessica wondered if her brother was not so much drawn to the siren call of wealth as he was unable to deal with his wannabe "manager."
    Cy first took an interest in his son's music when Davy was fifteen and playing with his first group, a grunge band called Silent Thunder. They covered Pearl Jam and Nirvana at high school dances and wore the standard uniform of the day: flannel shirts, baggy jeans, and Caterpillar boots. Cy caught them at the Huntington High talent show, and over the next several months began to appear at all of their gigs. Davy would call Jessica in Aim Arbor and wonder out loud why Cy kept showing up, since their father's taste in music tilted toward the easy listening end of the dial. Jessica said some parents were late bloomers. "He's trying to bond with you, that's all. Better late than never." And for a while Davy agreed.
    But soon Cy was subscribing to
Rolling Stone, Billboard, Modern Drummer, Entrepreneur,
and
Opportunity World.
He sound-proofed the garage, bought Davy a new drum set for Christmas, and recited over dinner the rags-to-riches stories of bands old and new. Davy, in turn, spent less time around the house. He moved the band's practice sessions from Franklin Street to the lead guitarist's