Page 4 of Mayhem

“Well, I like Dr. Pepper. Some people prefer Coca-Cola. Or root beer. Or orange soda. Or none of them at all.”

“Okay…” she shrugs again, and I don’t think my point is coming across at all.

“Those sodas have been around for years. Even way before your great-grandfather, Pops, was born. Do you think they’d still be around now if people didn’t like them?”

She shakes her head thoughtfully but stays quiet.

“It’s the same thing with people, kiddo. Someone you think is ‘cute’ may not be cute to someone else. Everyone likes different things. Do you get what I’m saying?” God, I hope this is making fucking sense. I’m losing my way in my own head now.

“I get it.” Her voice is soft as she leans onto my shoulder, sliding her arm through mine to hug tightly. “But does that mean that I’m wrong?”

Great. Now I’ve gone and made her feel like shit about herself and her opinions. Way to go Dad.

“No, no,” I soothe, ruffling her hair. “It just means that everyone has opinions and feelings. There are lots of people that would agree with you, but there are also lots of people that wouldn’t. Everybody is different. And everyone has a right to their own opinions and feelings. It’s how you share them with the world that matters.”

“So, if your new bass player is ugly, I shouldn’t say anything.”

That makes me laugh, and I can’t help it. If that’s what she got out of my stupid example, I guess it’s good enough for now. I didn’t mean for this to be a lecture, or ‘teaching moment.’

“No. Please don’t tell the bass player they’re ugly.”

“Can we watch Frozen now?”

Her question throws me way off since my brain is still stuck on the soda metaphor, but I should be used to her sudden shifts in attention. Not that Charlie is flighty, but the focus of her intensity moves targets frequently.

“Sure…” I say, unravelling from her grip and grabbing the TV remote. Movies have become our love language. Especially Disney movies. We do our own version of Mystery Science Theater 2000 as we watch; critiquing everything from the dialogue to the animation. It’s become a favorite pastime of ours, and somehow, we still find new things to comment on.

“Some people are worth melting for,” Charlie says wistfully, quoting the snowman Olaf from the movie as she curls up next to me.

As I start the movie, I suddenly get the feeling we’re heading into dangerous waters of her girlhood, and a fear starts to press its way down my spine. Cute bass players? Someone worth melting for?

Oh no…

My thoughts get interrupted by my phone blowing up with calls. It's my stressed manager Ian, no doubt freaking about our bassist problem again.

If we can't get a solid player locked in soon, our upcoming gigs are screwed. These days bands live and die by their streaming numbers. Tanking some shows means our fan loyalty takes a hit. I can't let everything we’ve built go down the drain.

"Dad, no," Charlie whines, bummed our movie night keeps getting messed with. I hate shutting off her protests, but this band crisis isn’t going to solve itself.

I should answer.

I squeeze Charlie's shoulder, feeling guilty. I’m damned if I do, and damned if I don’t. I know I need to fight this battle with the label not just for my creative pride, but to protect the career that will support her dreams someday too. As she smiles and snuggles in closer, I reluctantly turn my phone off, making a silent promise to myself that we'll get through this storm.

Somehow

Just not right this second.

4

THIS TOWN

TESS

The first day at a new job is always nerve wracking. My usual home turf involves high rise corner offices, stylish business suits, and triple-shot lattes. Now, I'm contending with grumbling trucks, thrift store jeans, and gas station coffee as I pull up to the gritty, low-profile warehouse space that houses Chaos Fuel's rehearsal studio.

The paint-peeled metal door groans loudly announcing my entrance. This is definitely out of my element, but I straighten my spine. The first rule of PR: Never let them see you sweat.

I pause, scanning the space, wary of interrupting the easy creative synergy of this band that might be happening, and I'm supposed to somehow harness. What do I really know about the alchemy behind inspiration in sessions like this? The closest my career has ever steered to actual music-making lately is damage control for drunken award show antics. This is totally new.

---