Part 1

THE MUSIC MEN
*AXE MAN*
BRETT'S STORY
09-14-03



He woke up in a cold sweat. He had had another dream. Vision. It had kids in it. Just crying and feeling of pain. Dang it. It was probably about Pauline and Joe's kids again. He only had strong feelings or visions with people he loved. It never happened with strangers. At least not yet. The only time he had a problem with this hand-me-down-heirloom, so far, was discerning if the situation was current or in the future. His grandmother died before he could get a handle on this 'gift' of his.

Grandma, since I can see visions, maybe you can talk to me and tell me what to do.

He waited. Nothing. Wonderful. Some gift, he thought, rolling his eyes. All it did was wake him up in the middle of the night and all it turned out to be was a scraped knee or something.

Sighing, he ran a hand through his sable colored hair. Well, he might as well call Pauline and check on the kids or he'd never get back to sleep. He reached for the phone and hit #1 on the speed dial. Now what does that tell you. It rang about 6 times before he heard this sleepy female voice.


"Hello?" the voice mumbled.


"Hey Pauline, it's Brett," he said tiredly.


"Brett the kids are fine."


"I figured they were, but you know I had to call," Brett said.


"I know Hon. Is everything OK Brett? Did you want to talk about the dream?"


"It was the usual. Kids. Pain. Just not sure if it was past or preset. I am still having problems with my gift. It gets stronger as I get older. Are you sure the kids OK?"


"Yes Brett. Sammy was knocked down by the dog and got a scraped knee today, but I will keep the bandages handy. Have you heard from Chance?" Pauline asked.


"No, I haven't. But maybe I will call him in the morning."


Pauline laughed. ""Lucky Chance. Me you only call in the middle of the night. We love you Brett. Go get some sleep."


"Alright Pauline. Maybe I'll come by later in the week and visit with the kids. Bye Pauline."


He hung up the phone. Brett swung his legs out and over the bed and his toes smacked into something warm, soft and furry ... his dog, Tank.  "Dude"  Brett admonished. Moving around Tank's prone body, he made his way to the bathroom. His chest was bare as he was only wearing pajama bottoms. Brett was somewhat vain due to his being an Aries. He knew he was good looking. He always liked the finer things in life. He probably spent more than some of the guys. It's not like he spent all the time but he bought high quality stuff. His apartment was well appointed and located in New York. He splashed some cold water on his face, then dried off with a towel. He stood there looking at himself in the mirror. He knew he was good looking. Tall, muscular. He worked out, but the stage during tour season kept him trim.


Well no sense going back to bed so he decided to walk the dog. As he headed back into the bedroom to get dressed, he ran into his dog, again, who had apparently moved to lay in front of the bathroom door. 

“Tank,” he asked, shaking his head, as he stepped over his humongous dog, “Wanna go outside? Gotta go potty?” 

"Woof!"

He slipped on his anti paparazzi outfit, dressing as shabby as possible. Fifteen minutes later the dog was done doing doggy doody. They had breakfast and Brett got cleaned up. Since Chance was gone he made plans to do some session work and he was due at Buddy Rawl’s studio. “Load up Tank.” “Woof,” was the sloppy dog drool reply.


Brett and Tank walked into the studio about two hours later. He saw Buddy at the soundboard and waved. Buddy saw him and came out.


“Brett, old man, what have you been up to?” He asked joviliy, shaking his hand.


“Who you calling old, old man,” Brett retorted with a smile.


Buddy asked as he petted Tank, “What have you been up to lately? Still with the band?” Tank went and found a spot to lay down.


“Yes, I am. We just finished our last tour and it's Miller time,” Brett said with a smile. “But I have a hard time relaxing and I get bored and so I thought I would lend you my magical fingers,” Brett joked.


”Terrific. You are one of the best guitarists out there. After me!” Buddy laughed.


“Chya,” snickered Brett. “So what are we working on today?”


“Let's hear what you got in your country repertoire,” Buddy said.


Brett let go with a few slide moves and then broke into a rendition of Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer.


“Ha ha, real funny,” Buddy drawled.


They wrapped up a couple hours later.


“So Buddy, when do we get to meet the singer of these songs?” Brett asked.


“She is scheduled to come in from Nashville tomorrow," Buddy replied.


“Cool. You know, I really like that last song we worked on. I can't wait to hear it with a voice.”


“I know,” He said. “They say she is up and coming.”


Brett was intrigued. What would she look like? Faith Hill? Gretchen Wilson? Hhhmm. With his guitar packed up, he shook Buddy's hand and headed back out to his car with Tank in tow.


“Hello?” Brett answered.


“Brett, it's Chance.”


“Chance, hey, what's up? How are you? Where are you?” Brett peppered off.


“Hey, whoa, slow down,” Chance said, chuckling. “I am good. No. Better than good. I am in Northern California,” Chance paused to catch his breath, “And guess what?! I found her!”


“Her who?” Brett asked.


“The girl who has been haunting my dreams.”


“No kidding. That's great. I could feel your happiness and peace but wasn't sure the reason for it. Who is she? What's her name?” Brett asked.


“Her name is Tawny and she is from our old neighborhood in Jersey. She used to go fishing and bike riding with us.”


“Oh, OK. I remember now. She seemed to be a tomboy, but very nice.”


“She is living here on the West Coast. I am going to stay here awhile. You know, if it wasn't for you and your gift, and my belief in it, I don't know if I would have even gone on a trip at all,” Chance said. “Hey, can you do me a favor though?”


“Sure, Chance, whatever you need.”


“I believe I have a gym bag there at your place with extra clothes and shoes. Would you mail those here to me?”


“I can do that.”


“Thanks. And keep this under wraps. I don't need a ton of paparazzi coming here.”


“My lips are sealed,” Brett assured Chance as he wrote down the address.


“Thanks Brett. Well you have my number if anything comes up.”


“Alright Chance. I will talk to you later.” And with that Brett hung up with Chance.


Brett checked his watch and saw it was too late for the post office so he decided to go find a box or something to ship the bag in. He walked into the spare room and grabbed the gym bag bringing it into the living room. He spent the rest of his evening packing the bag. Then ordered delivery. He and Tank watched a game and then he walked Tank and then bed with his notebook.



The next morning, “Alrighty Tank. Truck dog!”


“Woof!” Tank stood and beat Brett to the door, ready to go.


Together Brett and Tank made their way to the post office. At least the post office won't sell his soul by telling anyone what he was mailing or where. It was a beautiful sunny day as he drove through town.


“Tank, I wonder what this singer is going to be like. What do you think? Tall. Short. Serious. Funny?”


Tank woofed and howled to his man.


“Yeah, you're right. I guess I will just have to wait and see,” Brett said. “The music they have me working on is pretty good. It has me running ideas through me head for some new songs. I wonder if I could crank out a solo album before the band starts a new one,” Brett said wistfully.


“Woof,” barked Tank in response.


Brett just stopped at a light when he had a vision. Or sort of one. Staring off into space focused on his inner movie screen, he saw just glimpses really. Blurry images. This time just one child. A boy he thought.


Beep! Beep! The cars behind him were honking. Shaking himself out of his reverie, he sped on to the post office. His heart still racing.


The one drawback with living in New York. Driving. He was glad to finally be back home. Maybe a little time playing guitar hero might relax him in time to get a little sleep. Take his mind off the vision he had earlier.