The next couple of years were the happiest of my life.

John was the missing piece of the puzzle.

We captivated the audience on our first night playing together,

and after that, we always played to a packed house.

Marconi became a key backer, and with his mom connections,

it wasn't long until we were on the radio and even touring the country.

Women, booze, cars, you name it, and we got it. And while the open road was always an adventure,

nothing compared to Chicago. It was our own private kingdom. We were rubbing shoulders

with movie stars, politicians, and sports legends. Every time I performed

one of John's songs, it inspired him, and he would put pen to paper and kick out as much as five

more in one night. All of that started to change after a show in St. Louis. John met a girl named Maria.

I thought she was just another one of his one-night flings

until she appeared on the bus back to Chicago.

I became even more worried when some drunk customer

at the Purple Piano pinched her ass,

and John responded by knocking his teeth out.

The place nearly broke out into a race riot until Marconi showed up.

His reputation alone was enough to force an uneasy peace that night.

At first, I was happy for John, even if I was suspicious of Maria.

John would still have been sweeping floors and cleaning toilets if not for me,

so I couldn't help but feel responsible for him. There was nothing wrong with her keeping him

happy, even if she was using him for his money. But as time went on, she started talking more and

...