Chapter Twelve
RAVEN
I know it’s that permanent overachiever in me that always notices when other people decide to arrive at an appointment. But I can’t help it. Every Dexter has had it drilled into our heads from an early age. Early is on time, and on time is late after all.
“Good morning, Miss Ray,” Wayne, the bass player for the Heirs of Disillusion, says, his voice chipper. His floppy red hair falls into his eyes as he leans all the way into the office.
“Good morning, Wayne. How are you today?”
“Really excited to be here, Miss Ray. We’re looking forward to getting to play for some real crowds.”
“And we’re excited to have you. And please. Ray or Raven is okay, Wayne. ”
“Oh, got it. Sorry.”
“Hi, Miss Raven,” Davis says, his face popping up next to Wayne’s.
He looks just like Wayne, red hair falling over his features as well.
“It’s Ray or Raven. She doesn’t like the Miss,” Wayne tells Davis, his tone and expression admonishing.
“Oh, sorry,” Davis says.
His expression reminds me of every hapless character from my childhood.
“Not to worry,” I assure him.
I stand quickly and close my laptop, joining Wayne and Davis in the main space.
Hendrix and Danica are chatting with the third member of the Heirs, Natalie.
We put out coffee and donuts for everyone since it’s their first day, so I cross over and grab myself another coffee and the donut with the most chocolate sprinkles.
A minute later, I hear more people coming in.
I only glance up at the Nightshades and, seeing a woman and two men, don’t think further.
But as I near them, I realize the second man isn’t Knox.
He’s tall like Knox, but lankier in his frame, his dark locks long and his facial hair a little scrappy-looking.
His whole face has a slightly sunken quality, his cheeks noticeably hollow even with the wisps of hair he has there.
“Hello, good morning,” I say to the three of them, my eyes still on this new face.
“Ray! Hi,” Octavia says brightly. She immediately turns to the man, “Raven, this is our drummer, Cash.”
Ah. Yes.
“Hello,” I say with a nod, reaching out to shake his hand. “It’s good to finally put a face to the name I saw on the contract.”
He returns the gesture, his grip firm and dry.
“Great to meet you. I apologize I wasn’t able to make it to the audition,” Cash says. “I’ve been slowly recovering from a bout of pneumonia.”
“Oh, that sounds serious.”
“It was. I was hospitalized for a few days. But the docs say I’m recovering well and I’m feeling well enough to be here today.”
“That’s good to hear, and I’m glad to meet you now. I’m looking forward to hearing you play live.”
“I’ve been itching to play since I got sick. I hope I don’t disappoint.”
I nod along as he speaks. His expression is bright and open. I’m pleased that Cash seems excited by working here.
“Where’s Knox?” I ask no one in particular.
“He’s coming in separately,” Octavia offers. “We packed the whole van, which really only leaves room for three people.”
Finding a nearby clock, I spot the time 8:40 AM. Okay, so he’s not technically late, but I can’t help but wonder why the rest of the Nightshades are here, and he’s still out in the wind.
“Well, I guess that gives me a chance to get to know you a little better, Cash.”
“What would you like to know?”
“Really, there is only one thing I want to know when I meet someone new.”
“What do I do for a living when we’re not playing?” he inquires.
I grin.
“No. I’ve lived just enough life to know that is, with few exceptions, usually the most boring thing about a person.”
Cash’s smile pulls across his face.
“Guilty. I was glad to quit that job when we officially moved out here.”
“See. So, I only have one question. What are you passionate about?”
His expression turns contemplative immediately.
“That’s a great question.” After a moment of thought, he says, “I’d have to say art.”
That’s a first, even for someone who works with musicians as their day job.
“Tell me more,” I encourage him.
“Music is how I practice art these days, but I’ve tried many different outlets. Drawing and painting. Sculpture, photography, and a small art installation in college. I even did a few musicals in high school, once as an orchestra member and once as a cast member.”
“Cash is the true artist in the group,” Zeke says.
Cash shakes his head. “Nah, I’m just bad with words. All those pathways were just ways to get my voice out there in some small way.”
Okay, I like this guy.
He’s got a quiet humbleness that is immediately apparent.
Without even listening to his musical abilities, I know Cash is an asset to this band.
His cool, calm air is like a steady heartbeat, keeping everything functioning.
That ability is especially important in a drummer.
I can completely relate to that. At work, even when everything is falling apart, it’s my job to be the steady hand that cools testy musicians, drunken crowds, and frustrated board members alike.
Wayne, Davis, and Nat all begin to join us, and I take the time to officially introduce them all to each other.
The last time the two bands saw each other, they were competitors.
Now, I want to ensure they treat each other as peers and colleagues.
I’m determined to give both bands equal playing time.
“Well,” I say, glancing first around the room and then at my phone. It reads 9:09 AM. “Most everyone is here, so let’s get started.”
By the end of last week, we had much of the old soft furnishings removed from this space, including all the old chairs. Everyone takes one of the fold-out chairs Hendrix set out in a loose semi-circle on stage, and all eyes turn to me as they settle in.
“Both bands were given and signed identical contracts, so now is a good time to discuss any lingering questions.” When no one says anything for a count of ten, I continue. “All right, if something comes up later for you, please feel free to bring it to Danica and me.
“So today I want to establish a rehearsal schedule with both bands. We’ll soon be moving forward with a complete overhaul of the sound system.
Whether the system is available on any given day, it’s important that you utilize this space.
I want you to be familiar with how sounds move around in here. Additionally…”
I keep talking, but my eyes keep glancing up at the front door, and my ear keeps straining to listen for the back door. Waiting for him. Wanting to see him.
I shake that idea off, letting my curiosity be replaced by annoyance as another fifteen minutes come and go with still no sign of Knox. Annoyance shifts into worry when I see Octavia typing on her phone as I speak.
Maybe he got into an accident.
“All right, let’s start unpacking equipment and instruments,” I say. “Today is going to be a long one.”
Everyone begins standing and moving the fold-out chairs, but I catch Octavia’s attention. I beckon for her to approach me, and together we walk down the side steps to the main standing area.
“Have you heard from Knox? Is everything all right?” I ask, noting that he’s now well over half an hour late.
“Yes.” Her sigh is heavy. “I’m so sorry. He had a little mishap and had to turn around. But he’ll be here soon.”
Right on cue, I hear the back door open. There are several voices in the mix, but I hear Knox’s voice most clearly amongst them. He’s pushing a dolly and speaking with Zeke, but when he sees me, he leaves Zeke’s side.
He smiles.
“Morning, boss.”
He looks completely nonchalant, not like a man who is forty-five minutes late to his first day on the job.
“You’re late.”
“I’m sorry, Ven. I am never late, I swear, but if you had the morning I’ve had, you’d understand.”
“Feel free to enlighten me.”
Knox goes directly into a story of him accidentally hitting stop instead of snooze on his phone, the coffee maker refusing to make coffee, and a journey to a local coffee shop to get his needed caffeine boost. It was outside said coffee shop where the tale takes on a life of its own.
A massive SUV with an ax to grind against all motorcycles.
A muddy puddle.
A dramatic race to change his soaking wet pants and get to House Band Featuring as quickly as possible.
“Wow,” I say flatly when he’s finished, “That story has everything.”
Octavia coughs suddenly and turns, walking away from us. She says something vague about helping the others continue bringing in equipment.
Knox watches her for a moment before turning back to me.
“It’s not a story, Ven. It’s the truth.”
I bristle a little at the nickname and the assumed familiarity that comes with it. That agitation begins to manifest in my body, my arms crossing loosely over my chest.
“And at any point in the last…I don’t know, hour or so, did you think to call or text anyone to let them know you were not lying dead in the road?”
“I let Via know what was going on.”
I hate when I ask a question that I already know the answer to, but I am still compelled to say, “You let her know, or she texted you first asking where you were, and you told her then?” I ask.
His thick beard helps disguise the fact that he clenches his jaw before answering, “Technically, she reached out first.”
“And do you see why that might be a problem, given it’s supposed to be your first day?”
“Got it, call next time I’m running late.”
“No…” I say quickly. Of course, that would be his takeaway. “Set a second and third alarm if you need to. Buy a new coffee maker. Commit to coming in with the rest of the band. Whatever it takes, don’t be late. Period.”
“Don’t be late. Period,” he repeats, but his tone makes me think that he thinks I’m joking.
I open my mouth to continue, but a crash coming from the far side of the stage pulls both of our attention from each other.
“Sorry, sorry everyone,” Davis says apologetically, looking at the mess of hardshell cases spread out across half the stage.
“Let me go help Odie before he hurts himself or someone else,” Knox says with a smile, leaving my side.
I press my lips into a hard line, so no one sees that I find his joke amusing. No way I’m giving him that.
It takes some time to get everyone and everything situated. I gave both bands the same call time, but with everything now set up, I send the Heirs out for a few hours to give me time to work with the Nightshades.
“I’d like you to play the first half of your set list,” I tell them, taking a seat in the sound booth. I pull out my notebook, pen poised over the sheet.
As the Nightshades play, I realize instantly that their sound has been incomplete until now.
Cash is an incredible percussionist, adding a new layer to their music with his syncopated rhythms. I don’t interrupt their flow.
I’m more interested in seeing how they work and communicate with each other as a whole.
Much of what I observe between them is non-verbal, a clear indication that the four of them know each other well enough that minor gestures are all it takes to convey ideas.
As I listen to them play through a dozen songs, I start realizing I want to listen to their backlog of music in the coming days.
If this is what they sound like now, even with the imperfections, I have to imagine their albums are knock-outs.
Sooner than I expected, the Heirs arrive back at the venue for their rehearsal slot.
I thank the Nightshades as they are packing up, reminding them of their call time for the next morning.
I say it for everyone’s benefit but can’t help but focus on Knox as I speak.
Something in my gut tells me he’s going to be my biggest problem in the coming days.