Page 41 of Sustain

“There ya are. We gotta sitch. Frankie’s flipped his wig and pulled a runner.” His old Scottish brogue is thick with emotion.

I sigh, scrubbing both hands down my face dramatically. Why am I not shocked our wet blanket bassist finally cracked dealing with the resident hotheads. So much for a smooth festival.

“Let me guess, Emmett is back to his old self with the stupid pranks?”

Lenny barks out an anxious laugh. “Yeah, Emmett mighta crossed some lines with the drunken hijinks. But anyway, Frankie’s hightailed it back to Nashville. Caught the first flight out. I’m surprised he didn’t at least text you. Anyway, we’re proper fecked now without a bass player.”

My temples already start throbbing double-time doing mental logistics untangling this cock-up. It’s been mere hours since my last call and somehow, they’ve already detonated again.

Fucking lovely.

I’m not in the right headspace for this yet, but I have to force my own personal shit into a box in the corner of my mind so that I can focus on my job. Unfortunately, this is going to make helping Mackenzie with her band even harder.

No, not harder, near impossible.

“Lenny, do me a favor and keep this to yourself for a minute, while I try to think this through and figure out how to solve this.” If word gets out that Chaos Fuel is splintering right before their show, they might get pulled from the bill altogether. The last thing I need is for the band freshly under my steward to be labeled in the industry as difficult.

Well, more difficult than they already are.

He arches an eyebrow at me curiously, as he scratches at his graying beard. “What are you thinking?”

My fingers itch as I toy with the idea dancing to the front of my brain. I know the songs. I think I know the set list. What I don’t know is if I could step in temporarily for one show. And just as the thought pops into my head, my knuckles in my bad hand ache. Sure, it could be painful, but it would hurt less than all of us losing our jobs.

I’m reminded of Mackenzie’s words about responsibility, and how it’s not just the band that she worries about, but everyone involved. The crew, the vendors, the label, the fans, there are so many more people relying on this show to go on without ahitch that start to weigh on my heart. I need to make this right somehow and if that means I’m forced out of retirement for one day, I’ll have to muddle through it.

“I’m thinking I might need to borrow a bass guitar.”

twenty-seven

. . .

One Line

Mackenzie

I endure Skyler’s fifth apology call before my frustration mounts to unbearable heights. My leg throbs, my mobility is limited, yet the chaos I predicted in my absence mysteriously never manifested. It’s almost disappointing.

I scowl, warring with bitterness and relief. When did my boys outgrow my wing so completely? Remy of all people evidently handled crisis control without my micro-managing. Perhaps I should joke he has a budding future as a band manager... he’d get a kick out of that.

You know, if the whole rockstar thing doesn’t work out…

Irked for distraction, I dial my touchstone, my calm in any storm - Chelsie, my best friend, untouched by the grease and gears that turn the music industry machinery.

The familiar “Mac Attack!” greeting washes over me before I can even utter a hello. My first genuine smile in what feels like hours spreads, my tension easing just a little bit.

“How’s my bedridden badass boss bitch doing?” she demands without preface.

I exhale, the mundane acceptance of my old friend starts thawing my icy doubts. “Oh, you know, the usual, plottinghostile takeovers from my hotel bed...Actually, not bed-ridden, but close enough, I guess.”

Her cackle bursts loud enough to echo. “Well, I expect The Killers to be your next target opening act when you roll through Vegas next, given the state of your current prey. Murderous Crows are killing it.”

“Consider it done, benevolent dictator,” I volley back, practically hearing her beaming from miles away. My usual bite that’s been gone for the last couple of days returns, bolstered by her optimistic normality. “Enough about me on the disabled list though, how’s my gorgeous godson? And his partner in crime, Lella?”

“Well, they’re both in heaven since we’re watching Chip for Theo and Bea while they’re in Dubai for meetings. That dog has never been so spoiled, or worn out, the poor thing. He thinks he’s still a puppy.”

The conversation devolves into silly Jett and Lella anecdotes, and my stress is momentarily muted as I laugh along about their latest antics. I knew I could count on her to distract me.

“...I swear if that dog chews a hole in one more piece of clothing, he’ll have to knit us each a whole new wardrobe.”

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