“I’ll consider this an emergency if you’re going to nail this guy’s you-know-whats to the wall,” Tanner replies. “Go ahead.”
“Thanks.”
I walk into the storage area and punch out a quick message to Chase.
Bowen:When you’re done your gig can we talk. Alone. Please. I know who slandered me. And you should know too.
I’m about to shove my phone back in my pocket when I decide to tell Chase one more thing.
Bowen:I don’t expect you to forgive me but I am going to beg for it anyway.
I head back into the bar where Auden asks me to grab him white wine glasses. I hand him red wine glasses. He frowns and explains my error. I put them back and reach for the less bulbous white wine glasses, I have no idea how I’m going to make it through the rest of my shift without losing my mind. All I want to do is be with Chase, tell him everything and find a way to get him to give me a second chance.
And that’s when I drop one of the glasses.
“Woo hoo!” Molly calls out in victory. “Ladies and gentleman, we have a new record holder.”
Fuck. My. Life.
23
CHASE
Another thing I hate about politicians; they don’t dance. And when they do dance, it’s not well. And it’s not to cover songs from the nineties. They do like the eighties songs we’ve got. Unfortunately, a couple of our better ones are on that banned list Lacey slapped me with the other night. We finish the cover of “Jack and Diane”, which despite being about two teenagers deflowering each other, it wasn’t on the banned song list. Neither was “867-5309 Jenny” even though it’s literally about stalking a woman whose number is scrawled on a bathroom wall.
“And now everyone, a word from your host tonight. Lacey Baldwin!” I announce, stepping back from the mic. I remove my guitar and put it at the back of the stage near the drums with Grant and Joe’s and follow them off stage. Lacey gives me a tense smile as she passes and a curt nod. She looks pissed. Or stressed. Maybe both.
“Well now I know what it feels like when a comic is up there not getting any laughs,” Joe mutters quietly as we gather just left of the stage.
“Yeah.”
“Well, the money is good.” Bennie remarks. “So who cares?”
I grit my teeth and force myself to not respond. This really is just a way to get out of his house. He doesn’t care about the band or the quality of what we do, but I do. I know this isn’t going to be a career or anything, but I still want it to go well.
Lacey is on stage thanking everyone for coming and going through her plans for the city again. She doesn’t look upset but I know she is. I know this isn’t the event she was hoping for. She invited us and held it outside at a park, with food trucks because she’s hoping to lure the younger voters. But the average age of the people who showed up is more like fifty. And a lot of them are career politicians and friends of her dad. Including my Aunt Hilda. She’s frowned through almost every song we’ve done. Amy, God bless her, and her husband are here too and they danced a little.
Lacey’s campaign manager, a short, wide guy with a mustache that looks so seventies porn star I’ve never seen one like it in real life, stomps over to me. “You didn’t follow the script.”
Oh right. They told me to say something specific. “Sorry. I totally blanked.”
“You were supposed to sing her praises, call her the future mayor, and thank her for having you,” he reminds me.
“I’m sorry.”
“Hrmpf.”
He pivots and stomps away again.
“So we only have a song to get through after this?” Grant says hopefully.
“Two. But yeah, then it’s done.”
“Thank God,” he whispers. “Should we stick to our set list. Because something tells me they’re not going to get their groove on to Nirvana.”
“Umm,” I think about it. “They haven’t gotten their groove on all night anyway.”
I’m giving up. And I never do that, but fuck. What’s the point? I can’t win.
