Bill Fitzhugh - Fender Benders by Bill Fitzhugh Page A

artists and songwriters, and there was a steady trickle of old
producing and publishing money coming in.   But Big Bill needed more and being dropped to 99 on the Power 100 wasn’t
going to help.
    Bill was his own worst enemy, financially speaking.   His accountant liked to say Bill’s spending
habits were out-of-line with his income.   He maintained a 10,000 square foot home in Belle Meade, complete with a
half million dollar recording studio which, unlike every major studio in town,
didn’t have a computer or a single piece of digital equipment in it.   Big Bill was dangerously devoted to analog
technology, arguing that it gave a warmer sound than the crisp, isolated 0’s
and 1’s of binary sound reproduction.
    Big Bill also wore expensive, tailor-made clothes.   Not that he was a connoisseur.   He was just trying to compensate for his
looks.   As someone once said of him, “Big
Bill was born ugly and had a bad setback.”   He also threw his money at car dealers.   He figured if it was true that one was a lot more handsome with a c-note
in his pocket, then imagine how good looking he must be when he pulled up to
the valet in one of his Mercedes, or his Cadillac, or his decked out Excursion,
the largest model of compensation made by the Ford Motor Company.   And, as if the car payments weren’t enough,
Big Bill was sending alimony checks to three ex-wives along with child support
for six children and the lawyers they rode in on.   Things had gotten so bad lately that Bill had
been forced to sell his house in Aspen.   Despite his six figure income, Big Bill
Herron was, as they say, in a bad row of stumps.

 
 
    17.

 
    It was noon on a Thursday
when Bill’s partner appeared in the doorway.   Franklin was wearing his
usual office attire: black mock turtleneck, sports coat, dark slacks.   He was a graduate of Vanderbilt law school
and a good attorney, but more and more he’d been thinking what he really wanted
to do was produce.   Unlike Big Bill, Franklin
was enamored of   modern digital studio technology, especially the computerized systems by Alesis,
Tascam, and Fostex.   But, like everyone
else in the business, Franklin’s
favorite was ProTools by Digidesign, considered by many to be the ultimate
system for digital audio production.
    Franklin looked
up from the sheaf of phone messages in his hand.   He could see Bill was irritated and he knew
why.   “I see you managed to hang on to the
hind tit of that list,” he said in his southern gentry lilt.   Franklin
had grown to hate Big Bill more than he could say.   There were a lot of reasons for the hostility
but what chapped Franklin’s ass the worst was how Big Bill got all the glory
and Franklin just dotted the ‘i’s’ and crossed the ‘t’s’.    Of course, Bill hated Franklin
just as much as he was hated.   The two of
them would rather not have to work together one more day, but since the names
Herron & Peavy were worth a far sight more together than either name by
itself and since they both felt they were too old to go out and start from
scratch they stuck together like a hateful old married couple afraid of being
alone.
    Big Bill tapped the face of his thin gold watch.   “We open too early for you today?”   His voice had the twangy stress of a mean
good old boy.
    “I was out late,” Franklin
said, returning his attention to the phone messages.   “Went to Estella’s after the awards, kept her
from killing a man, had a few drinks.”
    “That’s very touching.   I’m happy for you both.”   Bill
held up the magazine.   “Now what the hell
we gonna do about this?”
    Franklin shook
his head in contempt.   “Nothing
to do.   The magazine’s out, you’re
on the list, stop your whining.”   Franklin
walked away leaving Bill to stew about his decline in Music
City’s power structure.   One of the phone messages triggered a thought
and Franklin pulled his tiny
digital recorder from his pocket.