“I’m Gage,” I say, and I pull out my license to show him because I don’t know how the hell this shit works.
“Mr. Hoffman, I’m Tony and I’ll be driving you to Ashmark today. Do you have all your luggage?”
I nod at the small suitcase I brought, my bass guitar in its case and slung over my shoulder. That’s all I brought. Tony attempts to take the suitcase handle from me.
“Don’t worry about it, man,” I say. “I’ve got it.”
He nods. “Of course. Follow me.”
We wind through the rather large airport and eventually we end up outside. He leads me to a big, black Yukon, and I slide into the backseat. He’s not much of a conversationalist, but he’s here to do a job, and that’s fine with me. It gives me time to get into the right headspace.
I’m nervous as fuck as I look at the tall buildings of Los Angeles. The weather on this first day of August is about thirty degrees cooler than Vegas when I left, and yet I’m sweating.
It all came together fast. I got my travel itinerary and a whole shitload of information from Ashmark as soon as I signed the contract, and I’m basically at their mercy from now until MFB decides they’re no longer interested in me...unless they don’t decide that. Then I’m at Ashmark’s mercy permanently.
And that’s a place I’d love to be.
There’s something magical about this city even as we’re stuck in traffic. The palm trees are lit with the light of the sun in a cloudless sky and there’s a hint of ocean in the air even though it’s miles away. There’s valleys with green and mountains of brown and hillsides with homes.
It’s so unlike Vegas where I grew up, and yet there are so many similarities. I guess Vegas has its own magical air to it, but this feels like a land of opportunity.
As Tony pulls up to the curb in front of a skyscraper with Ashmark’s logo on the top, this feels like the epicenter of those opportunities.
My heart races and my hands are clammy, but I’m here. And I’m ready for whatever’s about to happen.
Tony opens the back door. “Mr. Hoffman, please enter the lobby. Olivia is waiting for you and will direct you to the right place. I’ll check you into your hotel and drop your luggage in the meantime.”
Wow, the actual royal treatment. Quite a step up for this cover band boy. “Thanks for everything, man,” I say, and he nods.
“Best of luck to you.”
With those words trailing me, I open the front door to the building that will change my life. Because no matter what happens, this is the place where it all starts.
No matter what happens, I’m not going back home to take my place in Sin City Crue.
Those guys might’ve been my best friends during our run, but I feel a strange sense of freedom without them. Maybe they weren’t always the best influences...and maybe I was heading down a dark road. This opportunity might’ve saved me from things I don’t even realize.
I glance around the lobby, and I see a gorgeous brunette holding a clipboard. I walk over to her. “I’m looking for Olivia,” I say.
Her brows furrow. “I’m Olivia.”
“I’m Gage Hoffman.”
Her furrowed brow deepens. “Gage?” she asks. She glances at her clipboard and then back at me. She squints a little, looks back down, and then back up again. “Huh. The shorter hair is a nice look on you.”
My first compliment from a California girl. I’ll take it. “Thanks,” I say.
“I would never have guessed you’re the same guy as this mug shot,” she says, flashing her clipboard at me. It’s not an actual mug shot, just a phrase. It’s a picture from a show a few months ago.
“One and the same,” I say. “And it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Her cheeks redden just a little as our gazes catch, and I have a feeling I’m really going to like it here. “Follow me,” she says, spinning on her heel and walking quickly toward the elevator. My eyes drop to her ass as I follow. The blue fabric of her dress is stretched tightly across it, and I could just imagine what that peach looks like with her dress hiked up around her waist.
Yeah, I’m definitely going to like California.
The elevator car is loaded, and we get off on the top floor. She leads me through a series of glass doors, down a few hallways, and to a conference room with a gorgeous view that overlooks the city.
The room is huge, but there are five men sitting at a table waiting for me.
I recognize all of them, and I’m immediately intimidated.
Adam Wilson, who I recently spoke with. Dax Hunter, the lead singer of MFB. Brody Jensen, MFB’s drummer. Mark Ashton, Vail’s lead singer and the CEO of this label. Ethan Fuller, Vail’s drummer and Mark’s best friend.
All idolized.
All heroes of mine.
My hands get clammier and my heart races faster.
MFB’s keyboardist, Will “Rascal” Rascowicz, is missing from the line-up, but I heard he’s been playing temporarily with another band.
A woman rushes into the room. I don’t know her. “Sorry I’m late!” She slides into the open chair next to Dax.
“This is Gage Hoffman,” Olivia says to the group, cool as a cucumber, and I don’t know how the fuck I’m supposed to just stand here like this is normal.
“Where’s your hair?” Adam asks. He stands and reaches out a hand, and I walk over to shake it.
I gather my wits, and I laugh. “On the floor of my aunt’s salon in Vegas,” I say. “Nice to meet you in person, Adam.”
I shake each man’s hand individually, introducing myself and making it clear I know who they are. When I get to the woman last, she smiles. “I’m Kylie, MFB’s manager. Please take a seat and we’ll get started.”
I sit in the only open chair, and they all stare at me for a few beats.
“Dude, that hair was epic,” Brody says. “How long did it take you to grow it?”
I laugh. “A few years.”
“Before we begin,” Dax says, “do you have any questions on the paperwork we sent?”
I shake my head.
“Great, then this will be quick,” Dax says. “You’ll head to wardrobe first, and then you’ll go into the studio to film your introduction. That should take an hour or two at the most. We’re only doing a few of these a day and you’re first. Since you’re here a few days early, we’ll put you up in a hotel until the house is ready on Sunday. You’re free to do what you want until Sunday morning.”
“But don’t do anything to fuck up your chances,” Brody says.
“Noted,” I say. I may go out to explore LA a little, but more than likely I’ll just hang at the hotel.
Mark and Ethan go over some of the finer details of what I should expect, and then I’m released to wardrobe, which doubles as the hair and make-up place, so they can get me ready for my interview.
When I walk into the studio, a photographer snaps a few photos for promotional purposes and then I’m asked to sit on a stool in front of a green screen.
And then a producer who introduces himself as Ben fires questions at me, and I’m supposed to sit and answer them as honestly as I can.
It’s all totally surreal that this is even happening.