Page 30 of Down Beat

Kris sighs out his nose, head shaking as he takes the lead on our retreat. “He’s going to be fuming, man.”

“I know.” For once Rick would be justified in tearing strips off me. “It’s only a radio show, though, right?”

The unimpressed glare I get from Kris says it all.

“Yeah, I know. We need all the publicity we can get to keep momentum.”

Our dream is to be the headline act at one of the many epic music festivals held around the country each year. Fuck, our mini goal is just to be high enough on the poster that our band name is printed in the correct font, not just what fits under the big guns’ names. Carry on how we are, and we just might get there. But one too many screw-ups like this and we might not, too.

The four of us get situated in the lobby to wait Rick out. Toby stands with his hands in pockets to read the posters framed on the wall. I sink into the plush two-seater with Kris, while Em drums a beat on the receptionist’s desk with two pens.

My head hits the back of the seat, and I stare up at the tiny holes in the ceiling panels. We’ve got eight stops and sixteen shows to go, and that doesn’t include this bonus performance. We play tomorrow night, and then it’s back on schedule with two shows at the stadium across town before we catch a red-eye to the east coast.

We’ve played 335 times in the last six years, varying from gigs with a dozen bar patrons, to joint shows with other local up-and-comers. This tour? It might be our first structured trip, but prior to it kicking off we had one month’s downtime to record the new album. Before that we were on the road in our shit-box of a van, playing anywhere and everywhere we could.

I wrote every single lyric on this album either crammed in the van’s bench seat, or in the semidarkness of a gig. You learn to adapt when luxury isn’t a choice.

“Well,” Rick announces, joining us in the foyer. “I managed to get them to edge ‘Succession’ in before the countdown starts. Threw a free double-pass in as an apology.”

“No interview then?” Toby asks.

“Not today.” Rick holds my eye as he answers.

Damn. “Guess that means we’re free to go get an early dinner, huh?”

“Fuck, Rey.” Toby rolls his eyes. “How about we head back to the hotel and decide on the set list order? Or I don’t know, run through our bookings to make sure Rick hasn’t fucked up any more stops?”

“Hey.” Rick frowns.

“It’s a legit idea,” Kris mumbles.

“Come on, Em.” Toby clips him around the back of the head to grab his attention. “We’re out of here.”

The Casanova leans over the reception desk to whisper something at the woman who looks old enough to be his mother. She blushes and laughs, ducking her chin to hide her face.

Unstoppable. That guy is off the charts ridiculous.

“Really?” I ask Em as we head outside.

He shrugs. “No harm in having a little fun, is there?”

“This morning you were crying into your milk over Deanna.”

He scowls at the mention of the bitch’s name. “Yeah. Well what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

“She should know,” Toby adds, overhearing our conversation as we cross the parking lot to the SUV. “Maybe then she’d leave you the fuck alone and you’d move the hell on.”

“I don’t need to move on.” Emery charges ahead, wrapping his arm around Kris’s shoulders.

“He’s a lost cause. You know that, right?”

I nod at Toby. “If we keep our asses on the road, then he’ll be fine.” I catch his quirked eyebrow in my periphery. “She’ll never tour with him.”

“True that.” He nods to one side. “She’ll also never let him go. Not as long as she has a shot at being Mrs. Rich Rock Star.”

“We need a lawyer.”

He huffs a laugh as we arrive at the car. “We need a hit man, more like.”

“Amen to that.”