It doesn’t help that the only suit I own is the one I got three years ago for my dad’s funeral. Putting it on will only make me revisit the memories of that emotional day that I’m still trying to avoid.
Plus, if this mystery model that Donovan set me up with turns out to be anything but a total snooze-fest, I don’t want her thinking I’m made of money. I’m not. And I definitely don’t frequent places like La Folie, where the plates range upwards of two hundred bucks for little more than a salad and an ounce of weird puréed meat.
It’s not like I’m expecting to have a connection with this chick, but I also don’t want to lead her on. There’s nothing I hate more than a fraud and I refuse to be one.
I rub my temples wondering if there’s any way out of this date. If this were anyone other than Donovan playing matchmaker, I’d just admit funds were tight and dip, but I know he’ll brush me off and insist on paying. That’s what he always does.
Normally, I’d be more than happy to let him flaunt his wealth as repentance for dragging me out to such an insufferable place to begin with, but it’s a slap in the face to do so in front of a girl. Then again, I guess it’s not like I’m trying to impress her. Not when I still can’t get my angel out of my head.
I stare down at the text again and sigh. Can’t we for once just go to somewhere normal? What happened to getting a good, old-fashioned American meal? Like cheeseburgers and beer? Is that too much to ask?
When my phone buzzes two seconds later I assume it’s Donovan calling to see if I’m getting ready yet, but to my surprise, it’s Logan from the dive bar that James, Alex and I played at a few weeks back. I’d been going every couple of days to drown my sorrows and hopefully run across my mystery woman, but no such luck.
I answer it swiftly, cupping the cell to my ear.
My phone is an old one. Until the band and I make it big, I’m going to have to keep my second-hand things alive. Even my house is secondhand. I’m subletting it from a college student out of town for the summer since I was too stubborn and proud to take the house I inherited from my dad.
“What’s up?” I grunt, kicking my feet up onto the glass coffee table after easing down on the couch.
I know I should be getting ready for this fancy dinner and this supposedly gorgeous model waiting for me, but I can’t seem to muster up any enthusiasm. Maybe all my years of being Easy E have left me feeling a bit jaded in the skirt-chasing regard.
“Have you heard?” Logan asks grimly.
He and I had formed a tepid friendship mostly spurred by sharing drinks at his bar. I’m not sure if we’re friends or if he’s just glad to have another customer, but I appreciate him pulling me into his circle. Booking gigs in the city isn’t easy, so I’ll take any I can get.
I run a hand through my hair, trying to figure out if I’d left the bar the other night without paying my tab or something. I’d gotten pretty hammered the last few times I was there. “Heard what?”
“Ah, hell. Why do I have to be the one to tell ya? Reggie was supposed to call you earlier today.”
“Reggie?” I ask hesitantly. “As in Reggie Smith, the event planner at Lancaster Stadium? The one who got us our gig there? Why would he be calling me?”
Logan gives a low groan. “I really shouldn’t even say anything . . .” He sighs, though there’s no way he’s getting off this phone without telling me what the hell’s going on. “The only reason I called was to see if we needed to double our whiskey inventory for you tonight.”
“Why would you need to do that?” But my heart is already in my stomach as my mind whips through every terrible scenario that would drive me to drink.
“When you’re bummed you drink like a fish,” Logan answers honestly, “and this is gonna bum you out.”
The statement isn’t comforting in the slightest.
“Just spit it out already, Logan,” I urge, one of my feet fidgeting anxiously.
“You know Reggie’s a buddy of mine. We coordinate events sometimes, especially with bands that play at both our venues.”
He’s stalling, trying to dance around whatever terrible news he doesn’t want to give me. Every second that passes makes my throat grow tighter. I give a grunt, unable to speak.
“Well . . .” Logan drawls, “we were out for drinks last night and Reggie told me some bad news about the agents who were supposed to come to the stadium for the Battle of the Bands show you’re in.”
My stomach lurches up and then down, making me slam my feet against the plush carpet. I stand, fingers pinching the bridge of my nose. “Don’t say it—” I hiss, but Logan is already speaking.
“They backed out. Every single one. I guess there’s a pretty high-profile indie festival that just got put together in Cali. Everyone in the biz is rearranging their schedules to be there to scope out the talent. That’s pissed off a lot of the bands planning to play Reggie’s Battle of the Bands gig at the stadium with you guys and now a bunch of bands have backed out.” A beat of silence hangs between us. “I’m sorry man, I know you were hoping to get a shot in front of some reps.” He sighed. “I wanted to give you the heads-up.”
I didn’t have words.
Logan spoke again to fill the silence. “Look, you’re out of luck this time but it doesn’t mean that you’re out of the game. Keep playing . . .”
His words fade, vanishing in my aching head. I don’t answer, my mind spinning as I hang up the phone while Logan is mid-sentence and collapse back against the couch so heavily that the furniture creaks. My palms press down hard against my eyes, drowning out the evening light spilling in through the murky windows of my tiny apartment.
No way.
This can’t be happening.
Everything is falling apart right in front of me.
First, I lose out on the woman I’m meant to be with and now my band’s one chance at success has just gone up in smoke. This can’t be real. Everything we’ve worked for, it was all for this moment. Even though singing at that little rock bar had drummed up a small bit of business, it’s nothing like this big show at the stadium was supposed to be.
When would we ever get a chance like that again?
We’d been waiting for it for years!
How was I going to break it to the guys?
They would be crushed.
Unable to even start processing this news, I grab the bottle of whiskey that I opened at breakfast. I’d had a few drinks here and there throughout the day to take the edge off this horrible date I was going to be forced to go on, but now I need the whiskey more than ever. I don’t want to feel like this. I don’t want to hurt. I just want everything to go away. I want it all to disappear, and alcohol is the only magic eraser that I know of.
Just a few more shots, then I’ll be able to put on a brave face for Chloe and Donovan and their friends.
Yeah . . . just a few more sips to dull the pain and shove this dread away.
The bottom of the bottle lifts toward the ceiling, overhead lights reflecting through the glass like shimmering stars. My heart aches because I know a few more sips will never be enough.
Chapter 14