“Like who?”
Mike startled, like he couldn’t believe I was actually entertaining his theory. “Uh… Johnny, Joel, Matty. All solid dudes.”
I nodded.
“Anyway.” He grabbed a paper towel, dried his hands, and dunked it into the trash like a pro. “Whatever you decide, I wish you luck, man. You’re going to go far.”
Once he left, I stood at the sink staring into the mirror. What was I doing? I couldn’t sleepwalk through this process. There were a bunch of studio types back in that room ready to choose for me, but this wasn’t their decision; it was mine. There was a reason none of my other bands had worked out. I’d always been the odd man out, the front man hired into an established group. The outsider.
What Tucker was proposing—that I’d be the star and my bandmates nothing more than musical accessories—would thrust me into the same bad situation I’d been in before. I’d be alone on the road. Together but separate. That wasn’t what I wanted. Not this time. I was done with short-term fixes. I wanted more this time around, and the only way for this band to succeed was for us to be just that—a band.
I passed by the waiting musicians on my way back to the studio. Normally they would have been sent home after the audition, but this was a unique situation, and Tucker’s plan depended on speed. Whoever got the gig would be starting right away, and not like tomorrow or the next day. No,right awaymeant like immediately following the announcement.
I made eye contact and wordlessly greeted the guys with a nod of the head. All of them acknowledged me, with a few notable exceptions—among them Russ and Echo, neither of whom even looked my way.
“Ah, perfect,” Tucker said as I reentered the room. He handed me a piece of lined paper. “I think we got it.”
I glanced down at the list in my hand. Eighteen names, fifteen of which were crossed out. I searched for Mike’s and found it solidly executed under the slash of a red pen, as were Joel and Johnny and a few others I’d gotten positive vibes from during the auditions.
Tucker saw me analyzing his list. “We good?”
I handed it back to him. “No. Not yet.”
He blinked, then glanced around at the other guys in the room. “Quinn. This is a good list. These three are the best musicians of the bunch.”
“I agree.”
“Then what’s the issue?”
“I want to talk to them first.”
“Oh. Sure, we can do that. Robbie, get these three guys in here, would you?”
“No,” I said. “Not just them. All of them. I already know how they sound. Now I need to know who they are.”
“Does that really matter?” Tucker asked. “You know we’ve got a bit of a time crunch.”
“I know. But, Tuck, I don’t want to be Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band. If this is going to work—really work—I want to be the Rolling Stones.”
His eyes fixed on me curiously. “That’s what you want? I’m promising to make you a star and you want to be… what… a team player?”
Yeah, I supposed that was exactly what I was proposing. The revelation was as surprising to me as it was to Tucker. I’d been a lone wolf for a long time now. Never asking for help. Never letting them get too close. Somewhere along the way, it had become engrained in my head that I was solely responsible for my own survival, because no one would be there to catch my fall. And maybe that had been true for a very short window of time in my life, but it wasn’t true now. People were there, waiting and willing to take up arms for me. If I needed help, all I had to do was ask.
“I don’t want to be a team player. I don’t want to be a star. I just want to play in a band of brothers.”
Tucker pondered for a moment, really taking in my words before responding. “Okay.”
“Okay?” I confirmed.
He shook his head, laughing. “Okay, Mick Jagger. Let’s make this happen.”
“Far out.”
“Oh, and Quinn, if you ever call me Tuck again, you can find yourself a new spin master.”
* * *
“Mike, Brandon, Matt,” I called out the names. “Everyone else. Thanks for coming out. You guys didn’t make this an easy decision.”
