by Meg Ripley
“Can you blame them?” Ron looked at Jules, raising an eyebrow.
“I’d hope that after a few stellar albums that made them decent money, they’d trust us,” Nick said. “I’d hope that they’ve gotten the idea by now that we’re a decent investment.”
“They wouldn’t have given you this budget if they didn’t think that,” Ron said, shrugging. “But it’s a lot of fucking money. They want to make sure you’re not pissing it away.”
“We’ve submitted all the accounting they’ve ever asked for,” Alex protested.
“And you had a full week where the studio was being paid for and nothing was happening” Ron countered. “They’re worried. It’s my job to un-worry them. It’s your job to un-worry me.”
“We’re okay,” I said, after a moment where everyone in the room went quiet. “Mark and I can stand to be in the same room as each other now. We’re reworking a lot of stuff, which will only make the album better in the end.”
“I’m going to go on record here and say that while the album they were building before wasn’t shit, it was maybe two steps above that,” Jack said. “I’m a lot more interested in the stuff they’re working on now. It’s stronger material. They’re making it better. That’s all the label needs to know and that’s all I’m personally going to tell them.” I couldn’t be sure, but it felt like we all held our breath for a moment or two.
“When do you think you’ll have an album for them to listen to?” Ron looked at each of us.
“We’re starting over...not from scratch, but from a way earlier point in the process,” Alex told him. “It may be another month before we have it nailed down enough to show them anything.”
The meeting went on, but I’d more or less checked out. No matter what Ron said, the fact of the matter was that we were going to go over-schedule, even if we didn’t go over the budget. The entire band had met up about a week after I confronted Mark, and we’d come to the conclusion that all of us hated the direction the album was going in, and none of us were happy with the state the band was in. It was going to take however long it was going to take, but we ended up scrapping 90% of what we’d already recorded, going back to the demos.
“For the record,” Ron said, in a tone of voice that called me out of my thoughts, “the label isn’t going to like it. They’ll live with it, because they’ve already committed the money and because they’re bound by contract, but they’re not going to like it. This had better be the best fucking album you guys have ever turned in.”
“It’ll go platinum,” Alex said dryly, and we all laughed.
“At this point, that would be a saving grace for you all,” Ron said more seriously. He took a deep breath and sighed. “I’ll meet with the label, and give them the news. Keep me posted.”
He left the control room, and the rest of the guys started to wander off as well; we were planning on getting to work in a couple of hours, but they’d all want to catch their girlfriends up on current events. Eventually, it was just Mark and me in the control room, and I felt the lingering tension between us. It was getting better, but it wasn’t like one conversation, or even a few, were going to make everything the way it had been before.
“Hey--Dan,” Mark said after a few moments’ silence stretched out between us.
“Yeah?” Mark met my gaze and looked down and then looked at me again.
“You planning on going to Respects tonight?” I felt my throat tighten, but I didn’t lie.
“Yeah, I was going to hang out, since Sophie’s on.” Mark took a deep breath.
“I’ll buy a couple of drinks, if you want the company,” he said, not quite looking at me.
“Awesome,” I said, smiling as best as I could. “When Soph’s busy it gets super boring. I’d love to have some company.” I paused for a moment, watching Mark; we were getting better, but I’d seen him taking a breath when I’d mentioned Sophie. “Are we okay about the Sophie thing? I mean if you’re still pissed about it…”
“It’s whatever,” Mark said with a shrug. “See if she’s got any cute friends I can chat up and I’ll consider us even.” I laughed.
“You know, I don’t get to talk about her to anyone, really,” I told Mark, looking down at my hands.
“Why not? Fucking Alex bitches and complains and talks up Mary, and you’d think from what Nick says that Olivia’s got some kind of fucking beer tap installed in her boobs, he’s so into her.” I shrugged.
“I just don’t really talk to them the way I used to with you before everything went to shit.” I’d gotten closer to Nick since Mark had thrown his tantrum, but I still didn’t feel comfortable enough with him to talk about Sophie.
“So talk to me, man,” Mark said.
“You sure about that?” Mark didn’t hesitate. He nodded and sat back in his chair.
“I just don’t know,” I told him. I plucked a cigarette out of my pack and lit it. “Obviously, I’m into her, you know?” Mark snorted.
“Obvious is one word for it,” he said.
“And like, she’s into me, but the thing is, assuming we get this album done in time, we’re going to be touring in a while. That’s not easy on relationships.”
“She dealt with me chewing you out and being an asshole about her taking up with you,” Mark pointed out. “Hell--she fucking texted me almost every day after I stopped talking to you.” I felt my eyes widened.
“She did?” Mark nodded.
“She said if I wanted to be mad at her that she would take her lumps for making a bad choice, but that she knew the band made you too happy for her not to fight for you,” Mark told me. “Gotta say, she did a better job of trying to convince me than any of you assholes did.” I chuckled at that.
“So, you really think it’s going to work out?” Mark rolled his eyes.
“Brother, if it doesn’t work out, that shit is going to be 100% on you, and I’m going to be the first one laughing in your face about it.” He paused and licked his lips. “I’ll refrain from trying to snipe her if you fuck up though.”
“You’d better,” I told him. “I don’t intend to fuck this up.”
“Just saying, if the thing ends, it’ll be your fault. She’s into you.” I smiled and tried to remember if Sophie had mentioned liking flowers; I thought I should get her some. “Now if only I could have half the luck you do…”
“You’ll get there,” I told Mark. “There’s some girl out there that doesn’t even know it yet, but she’s going to be all head over heels for you and shit.” Mark laughed.
“Maybe I’ll meet her tonight,” he suggested. I smirked.
“Only one way to find out,” I pointed out. “And you’re friends with the bartender’s boyfriend. You can totally get all the details and impress the fuck out of whoever it is.” Mark laughed and shook his head.
“Yeah, I’ll come out tonight,” he said. “We’ll see how long I can milk this ‘most eligible bachelor in the scene’ thing before some chick comes and sweeps me off my feet.” I finished my cigarette and got up to leave; I needed to see if there were any florist shops open on my way home.
THE END
Mark
Tons of money. Tons of fame. Tons of hot sex.
Being the drummer in one of the biggest bands in the Miami area comes with all of the privileges you could imagine.
Thing is, I’m the last of a dying breed. All of the other guys in the band slowly, but surely, have found serious girlfriends to settle down with. I’ve always loved being single, but lately I’ve been wondering what it would be like to have what they have.
I met this bangin’ blonde photographer named Allie at a festival and our chemistry both in and out of the bedroom is incredible. Sex with her is electric and she’s changed me in ways that I never thought were possible.
Problem is, our lead singer Alex hasn’t trusted her from the start and suspects that she’s with me just to bolster her career. He swears that after she uses me, she’s gonna leave me high and dry.
&
nbsp; I’ve finally met a girl and I think we have a real chance at something special, but can I trust her? Can I fully let my guard down, or could this beautiful angel break my heart and cause the breakup of my band and all we’ve ever worked for?
CHAPTER ONE
We’d told the label that we were starting over mostly from scratch, and we hadn’t been lying; but we hadn’t been all that up front about how long it was going to take us to start the album over with Jack. I was thinking about that fact--and the latest scolding from Ron about how the label people were getting restless--while I sat in front of a teeny tiny cafe that didn’t even have a name anymore, it had changed hands so many times.
Things with Dan and me were still a little shaky, a couple of months after our big meeting with Ron, but we were at least hanging out again. I could look at Sophie without feeling like she was some bitch goddess of whiskey who’d scorned me; but I still felt like the odd man out in the band. Everyone else had someone: Alex had Mary, Jules had Fran, Nick had Olivia, and the sole other holdout, Dan, had Sophie. It was starting to form a new dynamic in the band--we didn’t all just hang out after practices or recording or whatever and get drunk like we used to. The other guys now had someone to meet up with, to go home to.
“You want a refill?” I looked up from my phone. Jimmy, one of the sons of the woman who owned the cafe, was standing at my table with a pot of coffee in his hand.
“Sure, man,” I said, pushing my cup towards him. I’d been out late--really late--the night before, hanging with Nick and Olivia. She apparently wanted to do a special on after-hours parties in the local scene, and if my blurry memories were anything to go by, she’d ended up with more material than she could use. We’d gone to see Garage Collective and Bent Bridges at Chelsea Club, and ran into the boys from The Sweet Goodbye and Nolan from Bang-Bang; from there the night had just gone completely off the rails. As soon as Bent Bridges and Garage Collective finished up, we were all headed out to Scarlett’s, and then somehow found ourselves at the end of the night at Benji’s house from The Sweet Goodbye. I wasn’t even sure if Nick and Liv had managed to get home by the time I crashed in my own bed a few hours later.
Jimmy poured me some coffee; I thanked him and watched him walk to one of the other tables. I’d managed to sleep for a couple of hours before the sun in my room made it impossible, and then made my way to the cafe. I didn’t have a hangover exactly--but I was definitely feeling the lack of sleep. Fortunately, we weren’t in the studio that day, or else I’d be in trouble. I scrubbed at my face and debated whether it’d be worth it to go back home just yet; I didn’t have anything on the calendar for the day, and not even really anything for the night. I obviously couldn’t hang out at the cafe all day, but I didn’t exactly enjoy the idea of spending the next several hours by myself, either.
I opened up my messaging app and found Dan’s number. Yo. You up to anything today? I tapped send. If Dan was busy with Sophie, I told myself I’d check with Jules; if nothing else, Jules was good for some weed and beer and maybe we’d hit up the beach for a bit. I set my phone aside and drank down about half my coffee.
Hey. Soph is helping clean someone’s place from Respects, so I’m free til tonight. Any ideas? I finished off my coffee and told Jimmy I didn’t want anymore; I was already starting to feel like my heart was going to pound clean out of my chest. As far as I knew nothing all that interesting was going on, but there had to be something to do for a few hours.
Let’s meet up in Downtown and see what’s good, I wrote back. That was the best I could I do on only a few hours of sleep. I smiled to myself, remembering some of the high points of the night before; it wasn’t quite the way that things had been before, but it was good to be around other musicians, just hanging out and partying it up. I’d probably spent over $200 at Scarlett’s, but I didn’t think it was all that big a deal in the grand scheme of things. As long as the label didn’t drop us, I could always make it back later on when the album came out.
Sounds good, bro. Meet you at Boston’s in like 30? I did a little mental math--it would take about fifteen minutes to get up to Delray from my place. I could wash my face, take a leak, and check on a few things before heading over. I texted Dan back that I’d see him then and took the check Jimmy had given me for the meal into the cafe.
I felt a bit off as I made my way back home; almost sad. I’d been feeling that way a lot ever since things had gone south with the band; when Dan and I started bickering and rest of the group had to work around us. As a band, we were working on figuring out what the hell we were going to do with ourselves and how to deal with the change in the dynamic, but it was slow going, especially when we had to come up with an album that the label would be willing to put out at the same time. There were some days when I was pretty sure that in like--maybe twenty years--we’d be on some cut-rate Behind the Music web series, talking about how Molly Riot had gone from being one of the most successful indie bands out of South Florida to absolutely imploding in a matter of a year. No one seemed to really have any idea what to do to put things back on the rails and get us on track again; everything was about keeping the fucking train going, not about whether it was going in the right direction. I tried to be optimistic, but unless something changed really fucking drastically, I wasn’t sure we’d even have an album to put out in a few months’ time. I wasn’t sure if we’d even still have a band.
CHAPTER TWO
A week later I found myself sitting around my apartment; it was a night off from recording, and I’d slept in all morning just to avoid the fact that I didn’t really have anything to do and no one in the band to spend time with. I hadn’t bothered to go out to get breakfast--I’d ordered a big lunch on GrubHub, from one of the local pizza places instead.
I was trying to decide what to do with myself for the night; Dan was going out with Sophie to see a movie, Nick and Olivia were going to some magazine event, Jules and Fran were working on new material, and Alex and Mary were doing something--I didn’t know or care what. I thought I could see who was playing either in Miami or in West Palm, but I didn’t feel like going to any of the usual places; I could see if anyone new was on Tinder or Bumble, but I’d gotten tired of first dates and hook ups. “God, I am fucking pathetic,” I announced to my empty living room. I’d been fighting the realization for a while; it wasn’t one that any guy would want to have about himself. But I had to face facts: there had to be a reason why every other guy in the band had managed to find someone to date before I’d managed to. There had to be something.
I was considering what that might be when I heard my phone buzz on the countertop. Someone had texted me. “Please let it be Dan saying that Sophie’s on the rag or something,” I muttered to myself as I got up and threw away the leftover trash from my lunch, on my way to where my phone was. I tossed the trash in the garbage and grabbed my phone, unlocking the screen to see what the message was.
Instead of being from any of my bandmates, it was from one of the guys from Bent Bridges, Nate. Yo! Neely broke his wrist falling out of the van and either we need someone to sub for him or we’re gonna get scrubbed from the festival lineup. My eyes widened; Neely was the drummer for Bent Bridges--Nate was the lead singer. I’d played with them a few times over the years, and I knew most of their songs. I’d known they were playing Big Noisy Fest out near Tampa, but I hadn’t really given it much thought since hearing about it a few weeks before.
Shit, man! When do you go on? Tampa was about three hours away; it was a fucking haul, but it wasn’t impossible to get there in time, depending on when they were due to play. My phone buzzed almost immediately--Nate must have been waiting for my answer. I wondered how many people he’d texted.
We’re on at 8. Think you can make it here? Neely said you can use his kit, since we’re already loaded in. It wasn’t ideal, of course; I preferred my own kit. But it would make sense to use Neely’s kit if I was playing with Bent Bridges, and anyway it would save time if I didn’t have to break down
my spare kit and load it into my car. If I left in the next hour, I could get to Tampa by five, and work things out with the other members of the band with enough time to play the set. I took a deep breath; there’d probably be some bitching from the rest of the band, but I didn’t really care that much. We had another two days off, so I could play the festival, maybe stay to catch day two, and be back home before anyone would notice. It’d be in the New Times and maybe a few other places, but by then, I’d have time to explain it to the other guys.
I’ll be there by 5. I put my phone down after sending the text and went into my bedroom. I was only going to be gone for a day--two at most--and I’d have Neely’s drum kit to play, but there were a few things that I always brought with me when I played a show, especially an out-of-town show, and I wasn’t about to leave without them, just because it was an emergency. I grabbed my tour backpack out of my closet and checked that I still had a clean pair of boxers and a clean tee shirt in it; I did. I went from my bedroom to my bathroom and back again, throwing in my deodorant, a pair of shorts, a pair of jeans, my toothbrush, and other items I didn’t want to go a day without. I zipped it all up, grabbed my keys, my phone and my charging cable, and fired off a quick text to Dan and Nick telling them I was going to be up in Tampa.
I had to get gas in the car--it was a long fucking drive, after all--but I was on the road headed north and west within forty-five minutes. I blasted OK Go all the way, actually enjoying the sight of swampy, scrubby Florida woods as I followed the Turnpike, singing along to each of the songs. It struck me when I took a quick break to piss and grab a coffee for myself about halfway through that it should probably alarm me more that I was this fucking excited to be hauling ass up to Tampa to play for a band that wasn’t my band on such short notice; but I pushed the thought out of my head before I could really examine how important it was. I was happy, I had something to do, and that was enough for me.
