Page 72 of Your Rhythm
17On Top || The Killers
MATT
Nico glaresat the ominous clouds gathering overhead, like he can will the oncoming storm away with the power of his mind.
“I told them the first weekend of May was too early for an outdoor show,” he mutters. “Way too unpredictable. We’re lucky it’s not still cold.”
The day isn’t sweltering by any standard, but we’re all dressed like we’ve bypassed the spring and launched ourselves right into summer. After crawling out from the depths of winter, people tend to overcompensate when it comes to shedding layers. JP’s standing offstage in a muscle shirt and shorts, refusing to take off his Ray Ban’s even in the face of all the clouds. I at least managed to stick within the reasonable limits of a t-shirt and jeans.
Tonight is our Kingston show, the last one we’ll play before we headline Metropolis in Montreal and then head off to Europe. It’s also the last show Kay will be at.
I scan the barricaded city square in front of us, the one that will hopefully be filled with screaming college kids tonight. We’re playing a benefit show some society at the university is putting on, and right now the weather reports are looking like they might take a huge hit on the turnout.
Shayla’s down where the front row of the crowd will stand, camped out in a plastic lawn chair as she types away on her tablet. A few feet away, two reps from Atlas are doing the same thing. After Ace’s reckoning with the law, the label has been on our asses twenty-four seven with constant warnings and threats. Shayla says she’s here to watch out for us, but I know she’s watching out for herself too. Even though none of us have admitted Atlas approached us about replacing her, she can tell something is up.
She lifts her head and gives me a wave as she catches my eye. I don’t want to worry her if she’s not in any danger of us deciding to let her go.
Which she’s not, I try to remind myself as Ace saunters on stage.
We’ve barely spoken a word to each other outside of rehearsal. He didn’t even give the band an apology. Part of me thinks he might actuallybelievethe story the PR team has been putting out, that he’s convinced himself he’s the good guy and there’s nothing to apologize for.
He surveys the gear on stage, circling around his mic stand and gazing up at the lighting rigs before spotting me watching. His expression darkens, and he crosses the stage to talk to one of the roadies.
“So we’re meeting Kay for lunch?”
I turn to find Cole walking towards me. They’re not close enough to hear, but I still glance at the Atlas reps at the mention of Kay. I figured they might be a problem for her, so I asked her to join us for lunch instead of working an interview into our schedule.
“Yeah,” I answer Cole. “You guys good with burgers?”
By one we’re waiting for Kay at some kitschy burger bar on the city’s main strip. JP complains about me insisting we take a table inside instead of out on the patio, but the storm looks like it could break at any minute, and even if it doesn’t I figure Kay won’t want to do an interview a foot away from the crowded sidewalk.
As is usual these days, sitting at a table with the entire band assembled is awkward and tense. We all have our eyes glued to our menus when Kay shows up, looking flustered.
“Hey.”
She glances around the restaurant and I can’t help checking her out. She looks like a garage rock dream girl today, with her hair pulled up into a lopsided bun and her oversized jean jacket thrown over a Stone Temple Pilots shirt.
She scoots into the only spot left in our booth, right next to me. I notice she leaves an inch of space between our thighs, but her foot nudges mine under the table and I nudge her right back, trying not to smile.
No one else at the table looks even slightly enthused about the idea of an interview. Cole is still pretending to read his menu while JP stares out the window like he’ll be able to teleport himself onto the street if he tries hard enough. Ace is shooting me death glares.
“So,” he says, his voice almost a snarl, “you guys are fucking, right?”
My fists clench. I’m about to give him his due for speaking to Kay like that when she cuts in.
“Yeah, we’re fucking.”
Everyone’s jaws drop, including mine.
“Matt and I are seeing each other. I’m sure you all knew that already, but we might as well air the awkward out now.”
Her comment has the opposite effect. We all sit there tongue-tied for a moment. Ace is the first one to speak.
“Aren’t you, like, breaking some journalistic code of ethics? How are you supposed to write an impartial story if you’re screwing your source?”
Kay stares him straight in the face. “Luckily for you, I’m not impartial. If I was, I’d just join the current media trend of shitting on Sherbrooke Station. I could write an article that would slam you so hard you wouldn’t know what hit you. People are laughing at you right now. Your little stunt outside the bar might have gotten you some attention, but it wasn’t the kind you should be proud of. People are tweeting about buying tickets to your shows just so they can stand a chance of seeing you get punched in the face again. Right now you’re either the Hot Guy or the Stupid Guy. No one’s actually paying attention to your music anymore.”
Ace looks like she just slapped him and he’s about to retaliate, but she doesn’t show any signs of backing down.
