Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 88586 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88586 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
“Right. Thanks.”
“For what?”
“Bringing the amp back,” I replied testily.
“Yeah, whatever. Just…stay the fuck out of my studio.”
“Screw you, T.”
I bristled indignantly, glowering as he shut the door behind him with a laugh.
Fuck, he was an asshole.
Three hours and five cups of coffee later, I’d successfully pushed Tegan out of my mind. Gill, Bobby J, and I were working out the harmony on a new tune, when our manager buzzed into the studio. Charlie flung the door open and struck a pose, setting one hand over his heart and propping the other on the doorjamb.
“Holy crap, it’s wicked out there,” he proclaimed dramatically.
Bobby J quirked a grin. “Do you mean ‘wicked awesome’? ’Cause it’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood, Char. Sunshine and seventy degrees in October. I shoulda moved outta Chicago years ago.”
Charlie shook his head. “No, I didn’t come by to talk about the weather. Everyone is going batshit crazy in the world, and I need a moment.”
Bobby J and Gill rested their arms over their guitars, waiting for Charlie to continue as I strummed a simple melody. I knew from experience that this could take a while. My bandmates, on the other hand, hadn’t quite mastered Charlie-speak. I wasn’t an expert by any stretch, but I’d had a little more time to learn a few things about our manager. One basic rule was to never assume you knew what Charlie meant. He wasn’t like other people.
No joke. Charlie Rourke was a force all his own. He was a twenty-six-year-old, five-foot-eight whirling dervish with nonstop energy who didn’t understand the word “no.” No obstacle was too daunting to our high-strung, slightly manic, and always fabulous manager. He seemed to get off on ridiculous challenges…like starting a brand-new record label and taking on two rock bands who hated each other’s guts.
Okay, maybe that was a slight exaggeration. I didn’t think anyone in Zero hated Cade, Gill, or Bobby J. My bandmates were pretty likable guys. Cade was a surfer-dude-slash-waiter who’d played drums on the side with Gill at a dive bar in Long Beach until I talked them into joining Jealousy. They were good guys in their late twenties with no solid direction and not much experience. Time had been a factor. If they hadn’t been interested, I would have had to find other alternatives fast.
Bobby J was the only one I’d actively pursued. He was a six-foot-three good-looking bear of a guy whose animated style of play, twinkling eyes, thick beard, and quick fingers made him a mini legend in the bluegrass scene. The fact that he had a voracious following didn’t hurt. His charismatic, flirty onstage hijinks were a hit with his fans.
My eardrums were practically bleeding from the nonstop screeching and cheering when I saw him perform at a small club in LA last May. Bobby J was magnetic. He was also bi like me, and he didn’t give a shit who knew. I saw him hold hands with a gorgeous blonde before a recent show, then go home with the jock he tongue-fucked backstage a few hours later. He was the kind of man who commanded attention the second he walked into a room.
Then again, so was I.
Maybe that sounded egotistical. But let’s get real, everyone knew that a healthy dose of bravado went a long way in the music industry. All the best bands in the world had more than one strong personality. John and Paul, Jagger and Richards, Plant and Page…and the list went on. From a selling point alone, I knew Bobby J and I could be a formidable duo.
We were both good musicians who knew how to work a crowd. And we were both very comfortable in our skin. The difference between us was that I needed down time and Bobby J didn’t understand the concept. The guy didn’t come with an off switch.
I did. I needed quiet. Some kind of buffer from the real world to write and think in peace before having to turn it on again. Bobby J was my built-in buffer. He could do the talking when I ran out of steam.
Of course, if the chemistry wasn’t there, I’d be screwed, as Charlie eloquently reminded me.
“He’s fabulous, and if I wasn’t desperately in love with Ky, I’d want to climb him like a tree. Not many men can get away with a goofy name, an ‘aw, shucks’ grin, and a never-ending wardrobe of plaid flannel shirts,” Charlie had conceded. “But Jealousy is your baby. You get to decide who you want to share the limelight with. Justin and Tegan work well together, but they’re also best friends. You don’t really know Bobby J.”
“Doesn’t matter. I have a good feeling about these guys. I think this is the magic combo,” I’d assured him.
So what did one do when the magic got compromised?