Page 9 of Crazy Love
“—you can see Nightshift once we’ve bagged this deal, Ivy,” Jessie snaps.
The other girl’s eyes go wide, and she gives her head a little shake. I’m not sure if she’s objecting to adjusting her plans or something else, but it’s good to know Bitch Slap aren’t as together as Jessie would like to have us believe. It’s a strange boost to be sure, but it is one, because while we’re all huddled together faking solidarity, I know we’ve issues of our own that need resolving before tomorrow comes, the first being what we’re going to play that has any chance of competing with what Bitch Slap have already shown they can produce. I’m certain they’ll use that song again—Loveday on vocals, weaving a spell with her bass guitar. It’s down to that rollicking, foot stomping piece of dynamite that everything is buggered up. I’d like to say it’s not fair, but the music scene isn’t about fair. It isn’t even about talent, more luck and opportunity. Still, if she’s wholly responsible for that song, as I believe she is, then she’s a fucking genius, because the strands of it are playing in my head even now, when I’ve heard six of Bulldozer’s offerings, and played eight of my own since hearing it.
We need to play something equally great to compete. We even have that, well sort of.TL:DRis going to be the goddamned anthem of a generation once it’s done, but there’s the rub. It has lyrics, a killer drum track, rhythm and lead, but no sodding bass yet, because Knox has so far failed to produce the goods.
“We need to doTo Long: Didn’t Read” I tell the guys as we leave the function room.
“You’ve finished it?” Dane asks.
I shake my head. “Knox and I still have some work to do.”
“Right now,” the big oaf complains. “I was hoping to get some down time, since we have to get up so early.”
I consider it a good start that the dawn wake-up call has pierced his skull and made it to long-term memory. I’m still going to set his alarm for him and get the reception desk to give him a wake-up call or three at the appropriate hour. That’s assuming sleep is on the cards for any of us, given the task ahead. “You can sleep or whatever after we’ve blown Bitch Slap out of the water and nailed this deal. Until then, you and I are working. We’ll all rendezvous at five, to give us time to put it all together and work out any creases before we perform it for the boss man.”
“5:00a.m.” Dane scratches at the front of his head. “That’s a fucking dead zone if ever there was one. Might as well stay the hell up and mainline a few caffeine tabs. Got any of those, Knox?”
We all fix our gazes on Knox, because if there’s a weak point in this plan, he’s it. Joel, Dane and I want this. We’re willing to sacrifice a bit of shut-eye in the name of fame, but Knox doesn’t inhabit the same plane as the rest of us. Fame’s too transient a notion for him to grasp. Hell, he struggles enough with time. He has a few other issues too, namely his inability to hit the sack without having a smoke to chill himself out first. Actually, he doesn’t do much without calming his nerves first. He’s been too laid back recently, which is one of the reasons this track still isn’t complete after six weeks in the making.
The three of us stare at him.
“What?” he asks, raising his hands before him palms up. “I don’t have anything like that. Why would you want to take something that leaves you jangling?” He squints at us. “I can get you something better.”
“I’m good,” Dane gives Knox’s shoulder a squeeze. “I think I can find a way to pleasantly while away the hours, without having to poison myself.”
No guesses as to what he has in mind, as long as that soft comfort doesn’t involve him humping the fuck out of Jessie, I don’t care. Too bad that I wouldn’t put it past either of them to lock horns like two raging bulls, beat the crap out of one another and then turn it into a demented fucking session. I try not to be pissed at Dane for putting us in this position. If his harridan of an ex-girlfriend hadn’t got it into her head to form a band out of spite, then we’d be celebrating right now.
“Nate, a word,” Joel shoots me a look that says there are choices to be made, and things we urgently need to discuss. I don’t agree, but he’s not going to piss off and leave me to fix this song before he’s said his bit.
“Right.” I head toward the door to the men’s loos.
Knox looks confused. “I thought you wanted us to work on the track.”
“I’m taking a dump. Twenty minutes. I’ll see you back here.”
“Right, man.” He brushes knuckles with me. “We’re going to fucking nail this.”
I wish Joel shared his belief.
Joel follows me into the men’s toilets. He doesn’t even wait until I’ve unzipped and pissed before he starts laying everything out like there are actual choices to be made. Yes, I know Knox has issues, who the fuck among us doesn’t, but that’s not a reason to go backstabbing him.
“It’s not happened before, Nate, there’s no reason to suppose he’s going to deliver tonight.”
“He will. It’ll work. I’m not giving him a choice.”
Joel shoots me a look as he pisses right alongside me that lets me know he’s unconvinced. “Knox isn’t going to give you shit and you know it.”
“He wants this just as much as we do.”
“Pfft! You don’t even believe that.”
“He’s come up with the goods plenty of times before.”
“He’s getting worse, Nate. Don’t pretend you can’t see it. Wake the hell up. If we fuck up tomorrow, we’re not just going to be playing dingy clubs forever—it’s going to be over. No one is going to sign the band that Graham Callahan passed on.”
“And what are you suggesting, eh? That we give Knox marching orders? Jeezus, Joel! If this track isn’t right by tomorrow morning, we can just play a different one and hope Callahan appreciates we’ve a solid backlist, and not just one decent track.”
He zips up, and glowers at me. “Knox needs to go.”
