Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78163 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78163 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
“And you’ll call Charlie,” he intercepted.
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Don’t let your pride get in the way, Jus,” he warned. “Short-term satisfaction isn’t gonna pay the bills. If we’re in this for the long haul, we have to be in it one hundred percent. And occasionally, we have to be willing to make sacrifices.”
* * *
A well-timed pep talk can work wonders. I called Johnny and invited him over for an impromptu jam session and a last-minute power meeting. We opened a bottle of Jack and the three of us brainstormed all night. We muddled over mundane but important details like leasing sound equipment and pulling our resources to come up with more studio time.
Johnny leaned his guitar against the sofa, then fell into the plush beanbag chair near the window. “We have some great songs and a lot of dysfunction. Both are probably key ingredients, but it takes more than occasional practice sessions and coffee shop gigs to become something special.”
I liked Johnny the first time I met him at Aromatique. We’d bonded over music and commiserated about how damned hard it seemed to catch a break in the business. He had an expressive face. Big brown eyes, full lips, a pointed nose, and a lot of hair. His wild curly mane, black jeans and T-shirt chic, and the hint of eyeliner were his trademark. Johnny was roughly my height but even leaner. He was good-looking, personable, and perpetually upbeat and friendly. He offset the dysfunction he mentioned between Tegan and me very well. In fact, it disappeared when we played.
“We need to be diligent about practice, and we have to get a couple of real gigs. Let’s ask Carmine if we can play his club. I know he was a little pissed I left after my set, but—”
“He was a lot pissed,” Tegan corrected.
“And he’s invitation only,” Johnny added. “He invited you because of Xena. I heard he was hoping to stir up some commotion, but you walked out and killed his fun. The only way he’d be marginally interested in your new band is if you came with a new scandal. Oh, and speaking of scandal…Declan told me Xena signed a movie contract. I think he’s pissed because they don’t want him too. Do you guys know anything about that?”
“When did you talk to him?” I asked.
“He came by the coffee shop. I think he was looking for you. He seems like he’s mellowed out. You know he plays bass, right? Maybe we should ask—”
“No fucking way,” Tegan growled. “I’m calling Ky. I think he’s interested in trying something new.”
I nodded in agreement. “Dec stirs up trouble just for fun. I want Zero to be about real music. No hype, no drama. I’ve been in bands since I was a teenager. I was happy to play covers in the beginning, and I didn’t mind hopping around stage doing a mediocre Dave Grohl impression while Xena pretended to be Exene Cervenka with Gypsy Coma. But I don’t want to be a retro bullshit cover band or a fucking poser, hiding behind people who’re braver than me. I’m done with that. I want a do-over and I want to do it the right way this time…in my own voice. My words, you on lead guitar, T on drums, and Ky or someone who’s not Dec on bass. And I know it’s not gonna happen overnight, but it will happen. We’re gonna be big someday.”
“I like that attitude.” Johnny’s cautious smile morphed into an ear-to-ear grin. He slapped high fives with us, then snapped his fingers and pointed at me. “Shoot, I forgot to tell you…someone else came by looking for you today. A sexy older guy. His name was…um…fuck, it’s a color.”
“Gray?” I asked, furrowing my brow in surprise.
“That’s it! Hot-as-fuck daddy, if you know what I mean.”
I let out an amused huff at his over-the-top lecherous expression. I’d gone months thinking Johnny was straight. He wasn’t. It cracked me up when he went gaga over a sexy man. “Right. Thanks.”
“He said you have his number…text him or call him.”
Tegan gave me a sharp look. “That’s perfect. Text him.”
“I will. Later.”
Johnny cast a wary glance between us before suggesting that we outline a schedule and made a list of LA clubs we wanted to play.
Tegan set his hand on his chin thoughtfully. “Moonlight, The Hole, Porcelain Doll—”
“No. Those places are dives, dude,” Johnny said, shaking his head. “We need a goal. Something to shoot for, so we know we aren’t just spinning our wheels.”
“An invitation to Carmine’s. Just Zero,” Tegan replied.
I shook my head. “No. Bigger…the Troubadour.”
Johnny and Tegan grinned and raised their glasses to mine. “To Zero.”
“To Zero.” We clinked our glass and then exchanged bro-style handshakes and fist bumps that felt like ink on contract. And a new beginning.
* * *