by Lori L. Otto
“I’ve never performed without you. It doesn’t just suck. It’s a giant unknown, you know? You and I feed off one another. We always have. I’ve been talking to the studio… trying to get them to offer you a lot of money to stick with me, man. I know it’s not what you want, but–”
“Damon, it’s not the money. I love playing for you. You’re my best friend and you actually have skill and charisma without being a total douchebag. I’m lucky that I had the opportunity to play for you in that talent show in high school, but I’ve got to get back into stars… into space… we’re on the cusp of so many things that will change the way we view the universe.
“Not many people have a mind and passion for it, Damon, but I do. I can’t waste it. And I’m not saying playing music is at all a waste of my time; it’s not. It has huge cultural significance, too. I would never give it up, but it has to go on the back burner while I get my PhD. I should have finished the program when I was in school, but the lure of paying off some debt was too much for me.”
“I know,” he says, finishing off his drink.
“I have no doubt I’ll still be writing and composing. Especially when I’m in Abu Dhabi.”
“Yeah, but you’ll be selling all that shit to the label.”
“Not necessarily. I’d have a quota for them, and it’s low. If there’s overage, I can funnel songs to you. Plus, so much of what I write is just meant for you. I write for your sound. I’ve been with you for so long that you’ve warped my fucking ears and you’re all I hear now,” I joke with him.
“But you bonus off extra songs, right?”
“I just told you, I don’t do this for the money. Plus, Damon. Friendship over money any day. You should know that about me.”
“Maybe we can play Abu Dhabi,” he says, signaling to the bartender for one more drink.
“You should definitely try. The city looks fucking amazing. At least come visit when you’re not recording or touring. I’ll need a distraction. I’ll probably need to be reminded what someone other than a science nerd looks like.”
“Shit, I’ll come visit and you’ll have those thick-rimmed plastic glasses and fucking skinny jeans rolled up at the ankles.”
“I don’t think the Center for Space Science turns people into hipsters, Damon. I think you’re a bit confused.”
“Just promise you’ll shave. No full beard or we can’t be friends anymore.”
“Right. It’s okay if I’m a mountain man, but bad if I’m a hipster.”
“It’s all in the attitude. And the shoes.”
“You know Shea has a thing for facial hair…”
“Shea,” he says. “What does she think about all of this?”
“She’s naturally a little iffy about it, but I’m hoping that I can convince her to move to New York after the tour anyway.”
“Whoa. That’d be a huge leap of faith, don’t you think?” he asks.
“Absolutely, it would be. But I think we’re both ready for the pole vault.”
“Even though last night you were ready to go jump into someone else’s pussy?”
“I didn’t go through with it. I wouldn’t have,” I tell him, and in doing so, tell myself. “It was a moment of weakness, and I admitted it to her, anyway. That has to be good for something,” I tell him. “I feel different today. We had a good talk last night, and I feel strong again. Some things just needed to be said.”
“Do I have permission to kick your ass the next time you even remotely think about hooking up with someone else? Because now that I know Shea, I know she deserves a good guy and not some skeeze who’s gonna fuck around on her.”
“Why’d you offer, then?”
“It was a test. Plus, the second she’s single, you know… she’s gonna need some consoling…”
“You fucker,” I say, squinting my eyes at him.
He grins at me. “I wouldn’t, but it would be one of the biggest acts of kindness one man ever did for another in the history of man. A true display of our bromance. Trust me. I kick myself every day for staying in that hotel room and wasting my time on that video game with Tavo when I could have had the chance of meeting her first.”
“Chance of meeting her? Sure. Chance of winning her over? Don’t think so. She’s got it bad for me.”
“Is she particularly sympathetic to poor white boys from broken homes?”
“Yeah, I’m just one in a long string of them,” I respond sarcastically.
“It’s got nothing to do with Big Willy?”
“He hasn’t disappointed her.”
“Well, then I could introduce her to the Demon. Then she might be disappointed in Willy.”
“Hey, I’m pretty blessed for a white guy.”
“For a white guy,” he says with a hearty laugh.
“You could be average for a black guy, that’s all I’m saying. By the way, if you ever show your cock to my girl, you can kiss it goodbye, and it won’t have anything to do with me. She has a set of really sharp knives and she knows how to defend herself. She’s told me multiple times.”
“‘Cause she’s a chef…” he says.
“Or a ninja. She has many talents of which you will never, ever know–because, oh! You were playing a fucking video game with Tavo and I met her first.”
“Hey, bartender!” Damon calls out. “Can you get Little Willy here his tab? Thanks!” He puts his hands on my shoulders. “Love ya, man,” he whispers in my ear before returning to the table. While I wait for my check, I text Shea.
- How are you?
- - I miss you more today than normal.
- - How did you sleep?
- I don’t know if I would call it sleep.
- I think I was unconscious for about eleven hours.
- - I guess that’s an improvement.
- Vast improvement.
- Wish I had been sentient enough before I fell asleep to put on underwear.
- Could have saved me from unnecessary embarrassment.
- - Come on. You’ve seen one sexy ass, you’ve seen them all, right?
- I’m not sure Peron shares your sentiment.
- - It’s Peron. He’s had limited ass visibility, right? He was with Brooke for a long time. How was her ass?
- You really want me to answer that?
- - Surely you can think of the right answer.
- It wasn’t nearly as hot as yours.
- - That’s my man. :)
- Just so you know, that is a true statement.
- I want to be clear.
- - Thank you. You’re not alone again, are you?
- No, no, no! I’m at a sports bar with the guys having lunch and a heart-to-heart with Damon… well, a heart-to-tiny-speck-of-something-that-pumps-blood-to-his-vital-organs.
- - Awwww, Damon’s sweet!!
- - Don’t say that!
- Shit, he’s already gotten to you…
- - What do you mean?
- He threatened to swoop in to be your knight in shining armor if I ever hurt you. He said that he wished that he’d met you first.
- Don’t worry, I told him he would have had no chance in hell with you.
- - Okay.
- …
- Okay? Just okay?
- - Yes, okay!
- You’re killing me.
- If he met you first, would he have had a chance with you??
- - Knowing what I knew then or what I know now?
- Then, I guess.
- - I would have invited him in and talked to him, just like I did with you.
- - From there, you know, it would have been up to him to impress me, but I can say with certainty that he wouldn’t have.
- Why do you say that?
- - Because when he was with me in Minneapolis, all he did was try too hard to impress me.
- Like… was he hitting on you?
- - No… but he’s just very into himself.
- He’s confident, yeah.
- - I can probably tell you twenty facts
about him, but I bet he can’t tell you five about me that aren’t related to my looks–or things you’ve told him about me.
- Because he doesn’t listen?
- - Because he never asked.
- Well.
- Yeah, he can be a little self-centered but it makes for a good front man for a band, for sure. And I remember when I first met him in school, he was very cocky. It took awhile for him to get past the boasting and really talk about himself to me… for us to have real conversations.
- - Awww, you’re sticking up for him.
- He was probably nervous, is all I’m saying.
- You’re so beautiful, he probably just didn’t know what to do with you.
- That and he knew he couldn’t do anything with you. ;)
- - Maybe so.
- He’s a good guy.
- Brags about his dick a little too much, but aside from that, he’s a good guy.
- - The Demon?
“Damon!” I holler, signing the tab and pushing it over to the bartender. I walk over to him and hold my phone in front of his face. “Care to explain why Shea knows the name of your cock?”
The rest of the band laughs as Damon squirms in his seat.
“Oh, you said I’m a good guy!” he says to me, smiling.
“I’m about to take it all back.”
“You might want to ask her that question, and not me.”
“No, I think I’d rather hear it from you.”
“She was reading an article in some women’s magazine on the plane that had twenty awesome names for dicks, man. It had nothing to do with me. She wanted to know if I’d named mine, and if so, if it was on the list. When I told her it wasn’t, she asked what I called it.”
I nod my head, feeling the embarrassment rise to my cheeks. “You fucking tell her about Big Willy?”
“I mean… she asked.”
“Did you tell her that I did not name my dick, but that you have insisted on referring to it as that since our junior year in high school?”
“I didn’t think that detail was necessary.”
“Fuck, man… why are we even friends?” I sit back down in front of my cold bar food.
- I DID NOT NAME MY DICK.
- WHATEVER HE TOLD YOU IS A FUCKING LIE.
- - Musicians lie. I know.
- Thank you.
- I love you.
- - I love you.
- - And to show you how much, I’m coming to Colorado.
“Guys, we’re going to have a tagalong in Colorado. Shea’s driving to meet up with us in Denver, and she’s going to hit all the stops in the state. And then she and I are going to take a little detour to Divide after our show in Fort Collins.”
“What’s in Divide?” Tavo asks.
“No, you’re not,” Damon says.
“Yeah, we are.”
“The fuck you are…”
“It’s something I have to do.”
“What’s in Divide?!”
“Will’s father,” Peron answers. “And you’re asking for trouble.”
“I am? He brought this on himself.”
“Shea’s okay with this plan?” Damon asks.
“Fifty bucks says Shea doesn’t know about it,” Peron adds.
“…yeah, I wouldn’t take that bet,” I finally say, not looking directly at anyone. “But she’ll be fine with it.”
- It’ll be an interesting week.
- You just get yourself there.
- I’ll take care of all the accommodations.
- - Perfect.
The concert hall isn’t huge, but it’s different from any other venue we’ve played. It was built in the sixties, and whoever designed the place must have geeked out on sound like I do. I let Ben mess around with my modded guitar so I can hear the sound from different seats in the room. I still won’t let anyone else touch the vintage acoustic from the Hollands.
“This is fucking aurally orgasmic, Ben. I don’t think you understand how special this room is. I don’t want to play tonight. I just want to sit out here and listen.”
“Not an option, dude. Get up here so I can start setting things up.”
“When do we leave here? Do we have an extra night? Maybe there’s another show tomorrow I could come to.”
“We’re in Lawrence in two nights, but I wanted to get on the road in the morning,” he says as I take the guitar from him.
“If I find out there’s a band playing, think about staying another night.”
He doesn’t say anything more about it, consumed in unloading some equipment while I tune the guitar he just untuned.
“Lola was really impressed with your songs,” he says. “I let her listen to the stuff we’d recorded on the bus for fun when we were driving back to New York.”
“Wow. Was that a good idea? Peron and I hadn’t even decided what we were doing with the rights on those yet,” I say.
“What, like I can’t trust her?” he asks, getting defensive.
“You know what, never mind.” I don’t feel like fighting with him today. “That’s cool that she liked them.”
“I was wondering if you could help me with something. A surprise for her, for Valentine’s Day.” I’m glad his back’s to me while I look at him in disbelief.
“And how would I be able to help you?”
“I wanted you to write a song for her.”
“Nope,” I answer, cutting him off.
“Come on, Will. It would mean so much to her to have her own song… and I tried, but everything I write is so trite and lame and shit.”
“I can’t just pick some random girl and write music for her. Lola doesn’t inspire me, Ben.”
“Well, then write something with Shea in mind and we’ll just say it’s for Lola. She doesn’t have to know, right?”
“No fucking way would I waste a song for the girl I like on a girl that–” Oh, fuck, this conversation could go in so many different directions right now, and almost did. “A girl that doesn’t inspire me,” I repeat.
“Maybe she could if you knew more about her. Could you at least try?”
“Have you asked Peron?” I suggest, knowing our bassist wouldn’t be too thrilled with this suggestion either. No guy wants to pen a song for some other guy’s girl. It’s just a way to get Ben off my back.
“There’s a reason the label didn’t offer him a contract, Will, and you know it. Lola’s very sweet and unassuming, but she has this sort of naughty side to her,” he starts telling me. “I think there’s a good song in there. Maybe you could use the word dichotomy.”
“Dichotomy… yeah, good word,” I say sarcastically. “Have you ever tried to rhyme with dichotomy? I mean, lobotomy’s an option.” Maybe a good option in this case, actually.
“Well, don’t use it as one of your rhyming words, Will. You’re the writer. Figure it out.”
“She know you’re asking me to do this?”
“No,” he responds. “It’s a surprise. Look, I’ll pay you.”
No amount of money would be worth this. I shake my head at him. “I’m just going to have to respectfully decline, man. I can give you the names of some people back home if Peron can’t do it, but I can’t just whip out a song for a girl I don’t feel things for, and I’m not going to give up one of Shea’s songs for somebody else. Lola’d know, anyway. They’re different people. Very different people–I mean, I’m assuming. Different stories to tell and all that.”
“You can be such a pretentious asshole sometimes.”
“And you’re just an entitled prick. Who do you think you are, assuming I’d do something so personal for someone who has shown such little respect for me, anyway? Every time I think you might be making some changes, you open your fucking mouth and prove to me you’re the same dick I didn’t want as our manager in the first place.”
“Well, you were outvoted there…”
“I was the only one sober at the time. Damon loves everyone when he’s drunk.”
“I’m done
here,” he says on his way out. “Sound check at six.” The auditorium door slams shut behind him.
I take out my old iPod and an adapter and hook it up to the sound system, finding a song that’s worthy of this old building. It feels like an Eleanor Rigby kind of day.
My phone rings just as Paul sings the last line of the song, and the iPod blasts into the next song on shuffle. I rush the stage to pause the music, and answer the call appropriately once I see who it is.
“Jon Scott here,” I say.
“Uhhh, that’s my line,” my brother says.
“No, I was just called pretentious, and I think that’s your special attribute, not mine.”
“Ouch. Well, I’ve heard it before.”
I chuckle at his honest response. “I know you have. I remember you blowing a gasket about it. Don’t worry, I know it’s not true.”
“Who the hell called you pretentious?”
“Dickbag.”
“Ben?”
“Yeah.”
“What’s his problem?”
“T-rex arms, tiny penis, I don’t know.”
He bursts out laughing. “I never thought about it, but his arms are kind of stumpy, aren’t they?”
“He says he has an elongated torso.”
“Right, right. Well can we go back to, uh… Jon Scott? Or at least J. Scott?”
“Not following.”
“I’m getting your mail now, you know?”
“Yeah…”
“Well, so you’re now getting mail addressed to Will J. Scott, and uh… I’m wondering about this middle initial thing, because I didn’t know that was part of the name change.”
“S. Scott was redundant. I don’t like redundancies,” I tell him nonchalantly.
