Double Shot
Even though it was only 10:30am, I had a sinking feeling that not even all the coffee in the world could turn my day around. The only thing I really felt like doing was banging my head against my desk, but at that particular point in time, I couldn’t even find the surface of the desk under all the crap I’d let accumulate on top of it. I glanced around the office, trying to find anything I could use as a weapon. I supposed I could bludgeon myself to death with a guitar. That would probably work.
“Taylor, are you even listening?”
No. “Yes.”
Isaac sighed. “Then what did I say?”
“That you love me and you’re going to go buy me another double shot out of the goodness of your heart?”
Seemed like a perfectly reasonable guess to me, but Isaac only sighed again and wandered off, mumbling something about Robert Schwartzman. That sounded interesting; maybe I should have been listening to him.
You see, our summer tour was set to begin in just over a month. That in and of itself was pretty awesome; our fifth album was doing great and we had even sold out a few concert dates already. The only problem was that we didn’t have an opening act. Apparently, that was a pretty important little detail. All of the bands we had toured with before were busy, it seemed, so our plan that day was to sit in the office and dial every single number we could think of and pray that someone, somewhere, wanted to tour with us.
As of 10:37am, we hadn’t had a single bite.
I decided this was either going to be the best or worst tour ever; it could really go either way. I still had a list of phone numbers on my desk, and absolutely no desire to call any of them. I rummaged around for the list anyway, finally finding it underneath the second latte of the day, a ring of moisture barely starting to obscure the names and numbers. Still, I could make out most of them, and I knew that if I didn’t call at least one, Isaac would never buy a me a double shot ever again.
By 11:47am, I had worked my way down the entire coffee stained list. It was mostly local Tulsa artists, none of whom felt quite up to committing to such a long nationwide tour. I pride myself on being able to convince anyone to do anything I want, but I still couldn’t seem to pull a yes out of anyone.
Just as I wound up to pitch my cell phone into the nearest wall, Zac walked into the room with a dorky smile on his face. He was practically bouncing up and down, so I could only assume he had found us an opening act.
“Well, out with it,” I said, casually lowering my cell phone back onto the desk.
Still bouncing, he replied, “Okay. It’s not for sure yet, but I just talked to Carrick and he thinks they might be able to do the tour.”
“Oh, hell no,” I replied, shaking my head. “I’m not spending another three months living inside a giant bong on wheels.”
It didn’t matter how much Zac pouted, I was not budging on touring with Everybody Else again, unless they got a separate bus and kept all of the weed on it. I didn’t really care if Zac smoked up now and then or even every day; I’d be a hypocrite to complain about his one and only vice when I have so many of my own. But when he was with Carrick, they were like a two man, pothead version of the three stooges. If the three stooges had been secretly gay for each other.
Okay, I don’t really have any proof that Zac and Carrick are gay for each other. Carrick pings my gaydar pretty hard, though, and I’m rarely wrong. Zac’s another story. He’s only been with one other man that I’m aware of – and let’s not get into the details of that right now – but none of his girlfriends seem to last very long. The longest relationship he ever had was with Kate, and just as I suspected it would, that fell apart pretty quickly after I dumped her best friend. Zac may not be gay, he may not even be bi, but there are definitely some skeletons in his closet. And I could swear I heard some strange noises coming from the back lounge of the bus one night that did not sound like two dudes playing video games.
Thankfully, Isaac spared me from another second spent imagining my little brother having sex with his stoner boyfriend. He burst into the room, grinning from ear to ear and holding his cell phone out in front of him.
“Guys, I found us an opening act!”
We both stared at him wordlessly, waiting for him to tell us who. Of course Ike had to draw this out and make it into a huge production.
“Okay, you remember that guy we all watched at Southby?”
“You’re going to have to be far more specific than that,” I replied. The three of us had watched plenty of awesome musicians at SXSW that year; few of them really stuck out in my memory, aside from the ones I had attempted to take back to my room for the night.
“You know the one I mean. Seamus Lane. He’s got a new EP out.”
Unfortunately, he was one of the ones I had attempted to bed. Attempted, and failed. That never happens to me.
I couldn’t even remember the last time I had struck out as horribly as I did with Seamus. I wasn’t always the smoothest when I was drunk, but usually I still ended up taking somebody home. I hadn’t even been that tipsy when I started putting the moves on him, and at first, he had seemed to play along.
He had a faint Irish accent, even though he had lived in California since he was a teenager, and I couldn’t help being drawn in by the sound of it. His eyes were this ridiculously intense, dark brown – so dark and brooding you could swear he was staring straight into your soul. Maybe that’s why he didn’t take my invitation to leave the party together; he saw me for what I really was. The way he smiled when I pulled back from whispering in his ear made me certain he would say yes, but I was wrong. I don’t like being wrong. I spent the rest of the night at the bar, sulking into my rum and coke, and stealing glances across the room at him.
“So, you can do the first two legs of the tour, right?” Isaac said, snapping me out of my memory and back to the scene at hand.
From the cell phone in front of Ike came Seamus’ distinct, barely lilting voice. “Yeah, definitely. I’d love the chance to go out with you guys.”
I couldn’t help noticing the double meaning in his words, even though I was certain that it had been unintentional. But maybe not. Maybe he was mocking me. I tried to think of any reason at all I could refuse to tour with him; none came to me so readily as the excuse I had given Zac. The fact was, Seamus was a terrific singer and songwriter, and I knew our fans would fall head over heels for the way he practically made love to his guitar. We would have to be insane not to tour with him.
And I had a feeling I would be insane by the time we were finished touring with him.
“Great,” Isaac and Zac answered in tandem.
The two of them began running Seamus through the details of the tour, and I could have jumped for joy when they finally wandered out of our shared office, leaving me alone. Once again, I felt the undeniable urge to slam my head into the nearest hard surface. And I still didn’t have my damn double shot.