7. Alex
CHAPTER SEVEN
alex
I stare at the massive color-coded wall in my office, wishing it didn’t look like the shitshow it currently does.
I’m not sure why I’m surprised. I have this feeling before every tour season, where I contemplate my life choices and wonder how the hell I’m going to make this madness work.
The turnaround times between cities are pushing the limits of reality and make no goddamn sense.
It’s like Jason enjoys screwing with me when he nails down the tour locations and dates, never once taking into consideration the logistics of how any of it will happen, only assuming I’ll figure it out.
He’s not wrong. I always do, but it would be nice if, once in a while, he pretended to be somewhat considerate.
Exhaling deeply, I start with the first tour stop and start making a detailed schedule for load-in/load-out times, soundcheck, etc.
Younger me used to think I could easily copy and paste the schedule for every venue and assume similar transportation times.
It didn’t take more than two weekends on the road before I realized how misguided my attempt at consistency was because mileage between locations means nothing when you’re traveling through congested East Coast areas or subject to a pop-up hailstorm out West, slowing your travel time by hours.
Everyone might give me shit for my customized schedules and how meticulous I am about following them to the minute, but it’s what ensures the show runs smoothly. It all goes to hell in a handbasket anytime we veer too far off my timelines.
The same can probably be said about my life. The only poor decisions I ever regret are the ones that were never part of my master plan. When I’ve thrown caution to the wind and ended up dealing with the ramifications for years. Decades.
“Hey, Alex. Do you have a few minutes?” Allyson asks, standing in the doorframe of my open office door. “Jason has some last-minute requests he wanted me to go over with you.”
Of course he does. And he sent his assistant, Allyson, to deliver the news rather than showing up himself. She’s a saint for putting up with his shit. He works around the clock and expects everyone else to do the same. She probably spends more time in the office than she does at home.
“Sure.” I wave her into my office, preparing mentally to throw away all the work I’ve done. Knowing Jason, he’s about to blow up my schedule.
She takes a seat and smiles sweetly. “Remember not to shoot the messenger. You know how he gets when an idea strikes him.” She flips open her notebook and takes a deep breath. “He wants to add a few more tour dates and move around a few locations.”
I frown, confused by how Jason could suggest making changes at this point. Tickets go on sale in less than three weeks. These dates have been locked down for almost a year.
“One of our other artists is taking an unexpected—how should I put this—break. Let’s just say Anna has her hands full managing that situation.”
I nod, extremely grateful not to have Anna’s job.
If we’re switching things up this late, whatever she’s dealing with has to be a nightmare.
I can only imagine the wrath Anna unleashed on Jason when she found out about whatever is going on with this mysterious musician.
It wouldn’t surprise me if Jason delivered that news to Anna himself.
He oddly gets some sense of joy out of riling her up.
“Of course, I can’t share details about what’s going on with this artist, but he won’t need any venues for the year. Jason wants to reassign them among his artists, so the loss of revenue doesn’t impact the venues.”
Consider me impressed. I didn’t expect Jason to think about the financial impact the venues would face. He’s usually more focused on making money for the artist and himself.
“What exactly is he wanting to do?” I ask, unsure I’m ready for whatever shitstorm is about to be dropped onto my desk.
Without saying a word, Allyson hands me an updated printed schedule.
He’s gotta be kidding me. He can’t… This is… What the fuck is he thinking?
Years of training to be non-emotional in difficult situations, thanks to the Marines, is the only reason I’m not losing my shit. He’s basically thrown away all of the work I’ve done, replacing it with a new version that makes the logistics for our previous schedule look like child’s play.
I grit my teeth, forcing my frustration to stay buried deep inside me.
Allyson is not to blame for this nonsense.
She never is. It’s always Jason and his never-ending quest to do more.
Go faster. Most people wouldn’t find fault in his approach, given his success, but they also don’t have to reroute an entire tour in the next month.
The travel logistics alone will be hellish to manage.
Allyson bites her bottom lip and looks at me cautiously. “One more thing. And remember, none of this is my fault.”
I sigh, waving my hand to indicate she can get on with whatever horrible news she has to share.
“He hasn’t told them yet.”
“Who?” I blink rapidly, confused by who she could be referencing.
Although I’m sure Jake and the band will want to know about the changes, they don’t usually care much about where we’re going or when, and sometimes have no idea what city we’re in unless Max or I update the whiteboard in their buses.
Wait. She can’t mean. He wouldn’t.
He couldn’t.
“He was hoping you could call the venues and let them know about the changes. Not just for this tour, but for all of the ones we manage. He figured it would be easier to have one person go over the changes versus having each tour manager reach out separately.”
For the love of God.
I drop my head into my hands, unable to fathom how Jason could think any of this is acceptable or reasonable in the timeframe I’m being given.
But that’s his style. He likes to push the boundaries of what’s possible.
Take big risks and earn even bigger rewards when it pays off.
He hasn’t faltered so far, but he will one day. No one is untouchable for this long.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Allyson smiles tightly, fully aware of how ridiculous this ask is. “If it’s any consolation, he was adamant about having you handle the outreach. You’re the only person he trusts not to screw it up.”
I lift my head to look at her and nod solemnly. How am I supposed to respond to a compliment about my work when he dumped a shit ton more of it on my plate? I rub my chin, the scratchiness of my three-day-old stubble irritating my palm.
Allyson gives me a terse smile before she gets up and leaves, quietly closing my office door behind her. It’s almost like she can sense I need to be left alone for a while.
Thank God I don’t have a life outside of work. The only way this has a chance in hell of getting done is by chaining myself to my desk for the foreseeable future. Another prime example of why leading a life of solitude is the best option for me.