Chapter Four #2
The roadies were there waiting for us to play the encore so they could collect our instruments, and they seemed as surprised as I was that we weren’t called back for an encore.
I couldn’t even fathom that we wouldn’t be singing the new song.
I handed my Fender Telecaster six-string to… “What’s your name?”
We’d been introduced to the roadies, but I hadn’t been paying enough attention at the time to remember names. That was my bad.
“I’m Coaster Jennings. You okay, man?”
I wasn’t sure how to answer him, then I glanced toward the back of the club to see Kit Hansen leaning against the wall, a frown of disappointment on his handsome face. His gaze met mine, and he shook his head before he walked out the front door.
“Dressing room, now,” Marsh barked as he walked by.
I followed our agent, dragging my feet like a petulant child. Hell, I guess I was.
Everyone was in the dressing room changing from their tour clothes, so I stepped over to the rack and began unbuttoning the flimsy purple shirt Lauren had chosen for me to wear with a pair of tight jeans that cut off the circulation to my nuts.
When we met with the tour members the week after dinner at Mr. Ashby’s, Lauren had suggested ways we could set ourselves apart from each other. Her reasoning was that each band member should adopt a certain persona to give our fans their ideal crush.
We’d all balked at her idea, but as I looked around, I could see her point. We looked like a bunch of raggedy stoners—which was exactly what we were. That definitely wasn’t a desirable album-cover image.
The door to the dressing room slammed hard, and we all turned around and found Marshall looking as angry as I’d ever seen him. The room grew eerily quiet, all eyes settling on the fuming man standing in the middle.
“I hope you’re happy that you all ruined the show tonight by being too fucking stoned to perform.
” He picked up a plastic bottle of water from a table and threw it at the wall, where it exploded.
“You sounded like absolute shit, guys. Goldie, what the fuck, man? You were off-key through the entire first half of the set, and JD, do you know how to keep the beat at all?”
His angry snarl landed on each of us as he scanned the dressing room before he finally landed on me.
“And you, Mr. Ashe. What the fuck was wrong with you? You were fine earlier when I spoke to you, and then you came on stage high as a kite, and I’d bet my dick you didn’t know where the fuck you were.
Hell, River, you weren’t playing the same song as the rest of the band half the time. ”
My mouth dropped, and my face heated to the point I thought I was going to explode. I’d known I was struggling, but I hadn’t realized I’d played that poorly. Clearly, Marshall, who barely paid attention most of the time, had noticed.
I was fucking everything up. For me. For the band. For Marshall. Hell, maybe for Skyler and Sandy too.
Regal was right. I didn’t have enough talent to make it in the rock-and-roll business.
House of Blues, San Diego
Marsh was sitting in the booth at the front of the bus, staring at his phone. Across from him was Cavalry, the protection guy, who was on his phone as well.
Marshall rarely rode the bus with us, choosing to fly or drive separately. He was clearly still pissed and wasn’t taking his eyes off us. It was completely unnerving.
We pulled into the parking lot of the House of Blues just after ten in the morning, having left our hotel at seven-thirty that morning. I was fucking starving, but the idea of eating anything and throwing up before we performed that night had my anxiety off the charts.
After everything that happened at The Offbeat, I understood why Marshall was watching us like a hawk. We owed Marshall a debt for sticking with us, but I had the impression we’d be paying him back for a long time.
I sat on the edge of my bottom bunk with my leg braced on the floor to keep my balance before the bus stopped. I was attempting to work out the melody for a new song, and it wasn’t coming easily.
The expression of pity on Kit’s face the previous evening was burned behind my eyelids. His frown and headshaking showed his disappointment in me, and that image kept me from sleeping the previous night.
Why it mattered so much to me, I didn’t know. He was a relative stranger, but he was a stranger who had taken the time to try to help me. Thinking about how I’d let him down had my stomach cramping, which I sure didn’t need.
Marsh stood and stared at all of us. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”
I glanced behind the venue to see the red Peterbilt truck with the familiar trailer behind it. I didn’t see Kit anywhere, but I saw three other security guys through the front windshield of the bus. They were waiting for us to get off, but I was nowhere near ready to start the fucking day.
Pulling back the navy curtain on the tented window in my bunk area, my breath caught in my chest. Kit Hansen was standing in the parking lot with Marshall, the two of them talking. Or were they arguing?
Kit walked back to the trailer and unhooked it, driving the truck away without sticking around. That wasn’t what I wanted at all, but it was what I deserved after what had happened the previous night.
Marsh climbed onto the bus, glancing at each of us. “Okay, I guess I have your attention. Your stage kit will be unloaded this afternoon, and we’ll come back at two for a sound check. Then we’ll go back to the hotel so you can get ready for the show there.”
Cavalry stood from the booth and walked off the bus. Clancy followed, and when Marsh closed the doors, he turned to us.
“We are in San Diego, by the way, since you idiots didn’t seem to know where you were last night. Who has the stash? I’ll turn this bus upside down to find it.”
Hardy stood from his bunk and carried a bag of herb to Marsh. “This is it. It’s superb, Marsh. Don’t flush it because it was expensive as hell. Give it back to me at the end of the tour.”
Marsh stared at it for a moment before he nodded.
“Okay. You’ve got it. We’ll stop and get some food before we check into the hotel.
You damn well better not fuck up tonight.
I expect an encore call tonight, so you better play your fucking hearts out.
When the tour is over, you’re going to come back to Los Angeles and play a free concert at The Offbeat to make it up to your fans. You really let them down, guys.”
He was right, and we all nodded that we understood. We’d fucked up, and we owed it to the folks who’d shown up to see us. None of us were going to argue with Marshall. Without him, we had no idea where we were going.