Songbird

by Victoria Escobar

  “Good food,” Ezra politely burped into his napkin. Or as politely as burping at the table with a woman present could get.

  I nodded. “I don’t have a lot of flexibility for indulgences but I like coming here when I do.” He didn’t need to know that all I got when I came was dessert and internally cringed at the price of a sliver of cake every time.

  “Good tastes.” He smiled. “So now that we’re full and sated, which always makes for a happy mood, it’s time for business.”

  Since I couldn’t find a reason to argue, I waved a hand and wished I could discreetly loosened my belt buckle. There was no discreet way to do that, and it wasn’t ideal with the gun holster linked on the belt. I would have to tough out the tight pants until I got home.

  “Nicholas Walker.” Ezra’s brows drew together for the first time and stormy nights drifted through his eyes. “The boy is seriously talented, sings like one of God’s angels.”

  “I hear a but in there.”

  He sighed. “He’s more temperamental than a pregnant woman denied her food craving. The smallest thing can set him off. He’s stubborn, and when he doesn’t feel like doing something, getting him to do the task is as futile as building a brick wall with sand.” Ezra ran a hand through his hair. “He keeps his own schedule, which is really a way to say he fucks up every time table I’ve ever tried to establish. Assistants don’t last more than a week... He’s too much of a handful.” He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.

  “What’s this have to do with me?” I asked. I didn’t want to give my full attention but I was curious. “And why is he still in the business if he’s so difficult to work with?”

  “Not only did you keep Nick from decking an asshole, which by the way, I would have privately applauded and publicly chastised him for. But you got him to perform when he had no intention of sharing the stage with the dick.” He leaned forward. “And Nick hasn’t written any new music in ten months. That’s a very long time to go without music, and according to Guy, the live show bassist, Nick has four written in the last few hours because of Songbird.”

  I shrugged. “Musicians are temperamental bastards, I’m told. I still don’t get what this has to do with me.”

  “You’re a manager.” Erza pointed a finger. “I need you to manage Nick. If he listened to you once, it’s possible he’d do it again.”

  I gapped. There was no way I had heard that correctly. “I don’t understand.”

  “I’m hiring you as Nick’s assistant and the tour manager for the tour starting next week. I have an obligation here to see to and Nick has managed to run off the tour manager I hired for his part of the tour already. There is another manager, Denton, that you’ll come across as he and an assistant is handling the opening act, Dolls of Serenity.”

  “Why not have Denton do it.”

  “Two reasons. I need someone to make Nick stick to the schedule, and keep him out of trouble. Nicholas would run Denton off in less than an hour. I don’t expect miracles. I’ve contacted Gracing in New York, Bianca. None of them blame you for what happened. They were sorry to see you go, and would snatch you up in a heartbeat if you decided to go back.”

  “I have a job.” The protest was weak as my mind swirled with possibilities.

  “Salary while you’re on tour is a grand a week, and when you get back you’ll get a bonus check of three percent of royalties for the venues. I’m going to be honest what I’m asking you to do isn’t easy. I had to practically drag him kicking and screaming onto the stage in Dallas last year. The tour is three months long. You’ll be crossing the country in the tour bus. There are thirty full concerts scheduled and a little more than thirty interviews, radio appearances, signings, and TV interviews. The exact schedule already set up. You just have to keep him on it.”

  I calculated, thought about last night, and then sighed. “There’s no way this is going to work.”

  “I have every reason to believe it will or I wouldn’t be here,” Ezra tapped his fingers on the table and tilted his head to study me. “Tell you what, as a good faith act, I’ll even toss in a signing bonus of a grand. Agree to go on the tour and you get an extra grand right now in cash.”

  “And if it doesn’t work? If Nicholas fires me in a week?” I wrung my hands together. The man may be hiring me to do a job but there was nothing in any of what he said that gave me any reason to believe Nicholas could go against his wishes.

  “He can’t. At this time, I’m the only one with authority to fire you. I suppose he could fire me, which would in turn fire you. While he can be foolhardy, I don’t think he’s be stupid enough to do that.”

  I tapped my fingers on the table and considered. I didn’t want anyone dragging my skeletons out of the closet. If I accepted that could very well happen and managing Nicholas’s moodiness would be the least of my problems. Could I keep that under wraps and still manage to control Nicholas? I felt my shoulders tense already in regret of the decision I hadn’t spoken out loud. “All right. I’ll babysit.”

  Ezra’s schedule looped in my head as I pulled into the garage. In an hour, the roadie bus and equipment truck would be pulling out, but I wanted to lay some ground rules before we went underway. Besides, I needed to introduce myself, since I was in charge of this tour now.

  I had spent the last week going over business information with Ezra. There had been no point in staying at Bluejay when there had been so much information to collect before the tour started. Ezra had insisted on paying me for that week as well, since I was technically working for the band.

  The tour band would be busing with Nicholas and we left in two hours. The opening act flew into Seattle and would be traveling separately from Nicholas. Apparently the all-girl band had concerns about Nicholas’s…manners.

  I had protested driving from Nashville to Seattle but Ezra had overruled. There was no better way to get accustomed to someone’s presence than a twenty some hour road trip across have the USA. He wanted the guys to get used to my being here. In other words, he wanted Nicholas to wrap his head around the idea I was tour manager.

  The buses were beautiful machines. The tour logo was screened onto both sides with a website to check for a city near you for dates and times. Overall, it was clever marketing.

  When I stepped out of the VW Eos, I knew I had the attention of everyone loading in. I resisted wiping my sweating palms on my skirt or smoothing a hand over my hair. Unhurriedly, I pulled the business phablet Ezra had given me, from the abyss of my purse and scrolled through names. I knew who I was looking for, but the act would help the men watching settle.

  “Can I help you?” One of the roadie’s ventured.

  “I’m looking for Jimmy.” I sent the roadie a smile. Jimmy was the production manager and would see that the stage traveled, setup, and broke down correctly. I had the names of our drivers as well—technically I was anal enough I had everyone that would be on this tour—and I would be looking for them next.

  “Jimmy’s over there.” He jerked his chin towards the man at the front of the bus with a clipboard.

  “Thanks.” I reviewed the man as I approached. He was in his mid-forties at a guess, too many beers on his time off, silvering in his hair and wrinkles that spoke of wind burn and time outdoors.

  “Jimmy?”

  He grunted at me, gave me a glance and went back to his clipboard.

  Rudeness was something I wouldn’t tolerate. I didn’t give a fuck who you were. I tapped his papers harder than necessary. “Can I have your attention, please?”

  “I ain’t got time for you girl.”

  “I’m Bianca Sheridan, the Tour Manager. If you want to stay on as production manager I suggest you make the time.”

  His eyes lifted again and really looked me over. I dressed to impress this morning and the classic lines of my pencil suit flattered. As an added bonus the jacket lines hide my Beretta very nicely. Topping it all off, the careless curls in my hair added a touch of girlie. I didn’t wear makeup as a rule so
the only thing to decorate my face besides the classic glasses was the lip gloss to prevent dryness.

  “I don’t know what Ezra’a thinking—”

  “Ezra’s thoughts are his own. You should ask him if you’re really concerned about it. What is more vital at the moment is that I am the Tour Manager and this production as a whole is my responsibility.” I pressed my lips into a thin, unhappy line. “This is frightfully small compared to what I’m used to but I assure you, I have no problems putting any one in their place. From you to Venue Manager.”

  He fish mouthed at me.

  “Now that that’s cleared up, you’re supposed to be pulling out in an hour. Is there a problem? I presume that’s why you’re not done yet.”

  He shook his head and if looks could kill I would be on the ground in a pool of blood. “We’ll be done in time. Instruments go with you. We’re not responsible for those.”

  “I’m aware you’re only responsible for production.” I planted my feet and leaned in a little so I could maintain direct eye contact. “I’ll handle the rest. Receipts for crew meals need to be kept. Any money spent that I don’t get a receipt for you don’t get reimbursed for. The same goes for equipment. If something needs replaced, I need the receipt. Where’s our drivers?” I made note on the phablet that the replaceable discussion had been had.

  “With Charlie and Doug.” He gestured to the other bus.

  I nodded. “Thanks.” I walked away before he could fully process everything I told him. Once he digested I was sure I’d hear about it.

  I approached the six men smoking. “Gentlemen. I’m Bianca Sheridan, Tour Manager for this event.”

  “Nice to finally meet you,” the oldest of the men, who looked about sixty, stuck his hand out. “Paulie. I drive Roadster with Keith.” He jerked his head to the man that could be mistaken for his son.

  “Pleased to meet you both.” I shook and smiled at the others. “And you are?”

  “Doug.” Doug was probably Keith’s age and looked ex-military by his haircut and build alone. “That’s Charlie. We’ll be the chauffeurs for Bandwagon.”

  “Nice to meet you, Timekeeper.” Another man old enough to be my father and looking a little like Travis Tritt held out his hand. “Mitch. This is Frank.” He tipped his head to the man who appeared almost ageless.

  I didn’t mind the name. I was the Timekeeper and if Karma was kind, everything would stay on schedule. “You’ve got my driving schedules then? Are there any issues? I realize it was short notice.”

  “Everything looks good,” Doug nodded. “There aren’t so many long runs in this tour that your schedule is barbaric.”

  “Good. Gas receipts should be handed to me in every city for the previous drive. I’ll keep them logged.”

  “It’s in your email.” Paulie smiled.

  “Stay this uptight and you’ll be burned out in a week.” Mitch’s eyes glowed with humor. Yes, I was anally organized and I knew some people took offense to that. I was glad these guys seemed to find humor in it instead.

  I laughed. “This is me relaxed. You don’t want to see me up tight.”

  Frank stomped out his cigarette when his phone beeped. “Time to fire up the engines.”

  Doug and Charlie shook the hands of the other guys before they meandered towards their transports. I checked off meeting the drivers on my list of tasks as activity seemed to pick up pace in the wake of diesel engines roaring to life.

  Jimmy was true to his word and Roadster and the truck of stage equipment pulled away at exactly six. He hadn’t said two words to me and as long as he did his job we didn’t need to talk. I would watch and wait for now before making any decision on the production manager.

  They should arrive in Seattle two hours ahead of us to start staging. I would call the venue tomorrow and speak to the manager with the concert details. I had a reminder in the calendar for it.

  But right now I dialed a different number. I needed to call our advance man and check in. He had left before I could finagle time to meet him in person and since Roadster would be arriving before the band at every venue it was unlikely I would ever get a face to face introduction.

  The advance man was crucial to any tour. Not only did he make sure the hotel was ready but he verified the venue was ready for us as well. The success of any tour was whether or not the advance man had any issues with the preset plans. Which was why he was always a day or two ahead of the tour.

  “Hello?”

  “Is this Obadiah Small?”

  “Yes. You must be Bianca, the Tour Manager.” His voice was deep and missing the drawl of southern that was so common in Tennessee. He obviously wasn’t from around here.

  “How’s Seattle?”

  “Wet. Prep’s done here. The girls are settled into their rooms. Just waiting for y’all to show. Then I’ll head to Portland.”

  “Wonderful. Keep me posted if any issues come up.”

  “Sure thing.”

  Satisfied, I stuffed the phone away.

  Since I was here and the bus was here I scoped out the living arrangements. I didn’t look forward to living on a tour bus for the next three months no matter how great the company. The luxury bus was complete with a full bathroom and kitchenette. Deciding I wanted the bunk farthest from the bathroom—because I had no doubt the private bedroom was Nicholas’s—I went out to my car and got my two bags.

  Most of my thousand dollar signing bonus went towards get the materials I needed for this trip, primarily business suits and luggage. I bought very pink towels and washcloths as well because I knew no self-respecting guy would use them. I wasn’t taking chances on cleanliness on a tour bus with six men.

  Thanks to my brother, knew how items went missing with guys present. And this wasn’t only one. I was trapped with four of them not counting the drivers. Dear God. I was about to spend three months on the road with six men.

  I hung my wardrobe bag in the communal closet and then settled my stuff into the lower bunk that happened to be closest to the private bedroom as well. The lower bunk had drawers for storage underneath and a little cupboard thing that my suitcase fit into just right. I noticed the upper bunks had overhead storage like airplanes.

  Just to make my claim on the bunk definite, I tucked the stuffed bunny rabbit my great grandmother had made my mother against the pillows. I was a little old for stuffed animals but this one was older than I was. In a way, it was my good luck charm.

  At quarter after seven I began to pace. None of the band had shown up yet. I stepped off the bus and found Doug and Charlie doing the bus check.

  “Do they always do this?” I asked and glared at the garage entrance willing them to appear.

  “They have forty five minutes yet.” Doug replied and looked up from his check list. “It’s Nicholas you should worry about. He continuously misses departure time. Even for planes.”

  An Escalade rolled in as I was about to go back for my phone and fire off text messages. I stood and waited as three guys piled out and grabbed a single suitcase each from the back.

  “Thanks, Doris.” One of the guys bent in through the driver window and kissed the woman behind the wheel like he was going to war and may not come back, not on tour for three months.

  One of the guys walked directly over to me, dropped his bag and executed a crisp salute ruffling his honey toned hair. “Reporting for duty, ma’am.”

  I couldn’t hold in the laughter as I saluted back. “Which one are you?”

  His beautiful smile made his dark eyes twinkle. “Arc.”

  “Archibald.” The guy not kissing the woman stupid approached, scanning me over with guarded blue eyes.

  “You know I hate that, Maximilian.” Arc picked up his bag. “Permission to come aboard.”

  “Granted,” I shook my head still laughing. “Go.”

  “It’s Max.” He ran his hand through hair as dark as mine before sticking it out to shake. “You must be Bianca. It’s nice to officially meet you.”

 
“Officially?” Arc turned from where he stood with a foot in the first step of the bus. His eyes narrowed as he looked over me.

  Max rolled his eyes. “Yes. Officially. Get moving.” He swung his suitcase at Arc’s backside.

  “Hey, don’t damage the goods.”

  “Wrong side, idiot.”

  “My ass is my best asset.” Arc wriggled it once and lurched forward in haste as the suitcase swung again.

  Max gave me a once over after Arc disappeared and smiled when he reached my feet. “Nice shoes. Ezra told us to leave everything in your capable hands.”

  “These hands are the path to timely success.”

  “I wouldn’t trademark that slogan yet. Nicholas isn’t here.” Max stepped passed me and onto the bus which meant the one remaining had to be Guy, the bassist.

  “Could you perform oral surgery when we get back?” I shouted over to him. I heard laughter from the bus and couldn’t exactly tell what the guys were laughing at.

  Arc’s head stuck out of a window, “Guylan, let’s go, man. She’ll be here when we get back.”

  “Has hell frozen over and Nick is actually on the bus?” Guy shot back though he did pull away, grab his bag and come toward the bus.

  Well this was a problem. They all apparently thought or knew Nicholas wasn’t going to show up on time. Ezra had warned me, but I had sent a text—okay ten of them—yesterday and he had replied that he would be on time. Son of a bitch. He was not going to ruin my schedule.

  I marched back into the bus grabbed my purse and my phone. “Doug, call me if Nicholas miraculously shows up.” I blew past Guy as I dialed the number Ezra had put into my phone. I hissed when the answering machine picked up and climbed into my car. He was not going to start this tour on a bad leg. I refused to let that happen.

  If I hadn’t been so irritated, I might have noticed the time and skill put into the wrought iron gate. I might have noticed the pretty landscaping that accented the very elegant Georgian style mansion. If I weren’t pissed.

  I knocked and waited. Then checked my watch and knocked again. The third time I knocked hard and made sure to vibrate the wood. The butlerish housekeeper Nick employed should answer the door, even if the temperamental singer had already left.