Page 16 of Under the Ink

A little hair of the dog.

And that would begin as soon as their afternoon breakfast was over. Jimmy would have wanted it that way.

WINCHESTER, COLORADO

JUNE 6

“Sage should be here any minute,” the tour manager Bobby said. There was no mistaking the apology in his voice, and Naomi got it—it wasn’t this guy’s fault. As he ran his hand along his hair, Naomi’s attention was drawn there. He had it pulled tightly against his scalp into a ponytail, so severely it made his forehead look stretched, reminding Naomi of her third-grade teacher.

Not a strand loose. Nowadays, she understood that kind of tight control was a survival technique—if the person could survive him or herself. But she imagined in this guy’s case, it could lead to premature hair loss.

Bobby continued. “He’s had it pretty rough the past couple of days.”

“You said his previous tech died recently?”

“Yeah.” The grimace on his face said it all. “Heroin overdose.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Didallrock stars and their crews do drugs all the time? Naomi didn’t care for that crap—but saying so now didn’t seem appropriate. Andnowshe needed this job. “Can you maybe just show me how he likes his drums set up?”

“This is pretty much it right here,” Bobby said, walking around to the other side. It wasn’t hard for Naomi to picture a drummer sitting behind that kit, playing under hot stage lights, keeping the primal rhythm beating for an entire arena.

The set was big and beautiful.

Naomi felt a sudden longing in her chest. If anyone had asked her before today, she would have said she didn’t miss band or playing drums one bit. Now she knew just how much she’d loved it. Although she hadn’t played on a full set more than a handful of times, she’d loved those few moments when she’d had the opportunity. Those rare times, she’d found herself getting lost in banging on the skins and cymbals, stomping on the pedals for the bass drums.

It had been therapeutic.

Even today, she went to parades on Main Street where she could watch the Winchester High band along with ones from nearby Colorado cities just to feel the music in her bones as the students marched by.

“Can I?” Naomi asked, getting close to the stool.

“Be my guest.” Bobby stepped back, allowing her to have a seat.

As she sat there looking everything over, Naomi began to get a creeping feeling of anxiety. How the hell would she remember this set up? There were more drums and cymbals here than she’d ever seen all together at once.

But then she felt inspired.

Pulling her phone out of her pocket, she started snapping photos first from the seat level. After that, she stood, taking pictures from higher up and all around. Bobby said, “Might be a good idea—but you’ll want to ask Sage if this is how he wants it set up on the road.”

Really?And he hadn’t thought to mention thatbeforeshe’d acted like a fashion photographer?

But she could be polite anyway. “Okay. Do you have an ETA?” Not that she was judging the guy. After all, she’d had plenty of problems with punctuality over the past year herself.

Looking at his phone, Bobby said, “Well…he’s on his way.” Thank goodness. Just waiting ramped up her anxiety. He asked, “Do you have any other questions?”

“Um, yeah. Is the schedule set in stone?”

“What do you mean?”

“You sent me the schedule. Are we for sure going to all those cities on those dates?”

“Oh, Yeah, yeah, we are. Some of the shows are already sold out.”

“Hmm.” Naomi walked back around the kit and again sat on the stool before grabbing the pair of drumsticks resting on top of the snare. At first, she closed her eyes and just enjoyed the feel of the sticks in her hands.

Wow. Better than she’d remembered.

Then she dug in her brain, trying to remember a Shock Treatment song she knew. Although she didn’t mind metal music, her secret preference was marching bands and even a little big band.

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