Page 4 of Down Beat
“Right.” She chews her bottom lip, fighting a smile. “I never said you lived in luxury. A steady diet of ramen noodles is a thing.”
“Bitch, please.” I bury my face in my hands. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
“It’s just your nerves talking.”
“Are you sure?” I moan as my phone rings out across the room. “Ugh.”
Kendall’s weight lifts from beside me, her footsteps heavy on our hardwood floor. “Screen says it’s John.”
“Ugh.” I moan louder as I rise to my feet. “Now I’m certain I’m going to be sick.”
She swipes across to answer before the call is lost and hands me my phone. I close my eyes and give the guy I took a chance on for publicity a greeting. “Hey, John.”
“Hey, Tabitha. Sorry to call you so late, but I needed to get in touch before rehearsal tomorrow.”
My gut bottoms out. “Why?” I can’t keep the worry from my voice.
“Um, something came up at the venue. We’ve got a major issue.”
“Tell me you have a solution.” I meet Kendall’s worried gaze and shrug.
“Not quite.” He hesitates; the sound of what seems to be a pen tapping on a desk echoes down the line. “We have to reschedule.”
“As in later in the night? The next day?”
“As in they’re booked out for another two months before we can get in again.”
I swallow hard, fingers pinched to the bridge of my nose as I squint my eyes shut. “Why ‘again’? We’re all ready to roll for Thursday. We’ve pushed this for—”
“I know. I know,” he placates, cutting my complaints short. “But this is out of my hands.”
“I paid you to set this up, John. How can it be out of your hands? This is your job,” I damn near shout at the fucker.
“Yeah, well, sometimes the big dogs come and shit all over the small breed’s yard, Tabitha. I can’t do anything about it. The venue’s been taken over by somebody with more money, more influence.”
I spent every dollar I saved on this guy, adamant that representation would open the doors I couldn’t. This isn’t happening. Nope. Not believing it.
“Who?”
“Does it matter?”
Kendall slides a glass of wine across the counter to me. “Of course it fucking matters. You’re telling me that we have to reschedule my biggest performance yet. You know how many of those people probably won’t bother to come again if they have to rearrange everything?”
“Yeah, I know we’ll lose a few.”
“I can’t afford to lose anyone!” My hand shakes as I throttle the stem of the glass. “Who did it? Who kicked me out?”
He pauses; the tapping stops also. “Dark Tide.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I knock back half the glass before continuing. “I’m being ousted by a damn rock band?”
“A charting rock band. A top forty rock band. A rock band that shits gold. What did you expect me to do?”
Fuck—he’s right. What the hell could a publicist such as John do? The kind of publicist a broke bitch like me could afford?
“I’m out of pocket on this too,” he says quietly, as though testing the waters. “I’m frustrated as well, but I also know there isn’t a damn thing I can do about it.”
Not if he wants to keep his connections in the area happy. Not if he doesn’t want to stir the pot. Me on the other hand? What do I fucking care about what a rock band think of me?