Ihave no clue what’s so damn important that Bedo called an emergency meeting and Mom had to drag me away from my daytime extracurriculars, but now I’m pissed I didn’t get to finish. Gathered in the basement with Sean and Austin, I’m nursing a killer case of blue balls while our manager barks into his cell like he has all the time in the world.
We rented this property for the band to live in once our second album went double platinum. The four story hillside home in the Hollywood Hills is our oasis away from the Arizona desert we called home our entire lives. For so many years we struggled, touring out of a cheap rental van, before everything started to fall into place. Pieces of a puzzle we took years to build, all of a sudden just fit. Hard work, love of the music we created, and a fraction of luck landed us here in this place.
And I fucking love it.
It’s big enough we have all the privacy we desire and then some, and after converting the basement into a musician’s dreamland, we never have to leave or even get dressed to practice. Notably convenient after a long night of partying or fucking, which I often enjoy.
We’re leaving for our next tour, a three-month trek across the country, in only another week so my guess is Bedo’s here to go through last minute logistics. We’ve been practicing and planning all spring and we’d be one hundred percent ready if it weren’t for the slight problem of finding a permanent drummer. Okay, it’s a big problem. We can’t seem to keep one for the long haul, and it’s a cloud of gloom hanging over the band. We decided to let one of our roadies stand in for now, but I know Bedo’s not thrilled with the decision. And sure, it’d be nice to fill the spot, but I’m in no rush to make a rash decision and end up with someone who doesn’t jive with our band. I don’t know about Sean and Austin, but I’m anxious to get on the road again. Even if itiswith our roadie filling in on drums.
Bedo pulls a chair over and flips it backward before straddling the seat in his red polyester pants. He slides the gold rimmed shades from his eyes and pockets them in the front of his T-shirt. “Here’s the deal. I’m not gonna beat around the bush. We’ve got a problem, or an opportunity—depends on how you see it. The label wants a woman on board to amp up the sex appeal for all genders and sexual orientations.” He pauses to pop his knuckles. “They want a woman drummer.”
“No fucking way.” Sean shakes his head.
I second that. “Dude. Bedo. No chicks. And not days before we tour.”
“Trent’s right, man. We’ve always been a foursome of bros,” Austin pipes in.
A chuckle leaves my lips before I smack Austin on the shoulder. “Speak for yourself, Austin. I’m not into fucking guys.”
His mouth opens to respond but Bedo cuts us off before we derail into a flurry of insults and comebacks. “Look, I’m just relaying the message. You guys gotta give me something. You love women as much as half your fan base. A woman drummer wouldn’t be so bad. I have a few lined up for you to interview.” It’s then he reaches down and pulls out three folders from his briefcase. Tosses one at each of us.
“Why can’t we have James back?” Sean grumbles and I have to agree with him. James was awesome.
“He was only subbing for the Justin Hill tour. He’s got his own band. You knew he was temporary.” Bedo points to my hands and the folder I still haven’t opened.
Austin flips through his folder and his eyes widen appreciatively at what’s inside. “Yeah, but he was fucking good. Dude, we’re like doomed with drummers. Ever since Derek’s hand got smashed by that psycho, we’ve been cursed.”
I meet Bedo’s stare, the folder still clenched unopen in my hands. “James was a sub. Derek checked out when he decided he’d rather settle down with his girl Carly and play daddy. We knew this day was coming. What I don’t understand is why you’re on board to invite a woman? And a week before we start the new tour? That’s not enough time to get anyone up to speed.”
Bedo rubs his palms down his face and blows out a deep breath. “I’ll go to bat for you on the drummer issue, but you gotta give me something, T. Your sponsors want a woman on this next tour.”
This is why I like Bedo. He’s fair. I know we aren’t in a place to call every shot, but he goes the distance when it’s something important. And as much as I’m all for equal rights, we’re three attractive guys with roaring sex drives. I can tell without glancing at the profiles in these folders that we’d bring on a hotter than fuck drummer, because sex sells. It’s a good reason we’re so damn marketable. Bringing a gorgeous woman into the band would breed nothing but trouble. Trouble we don’t need. “What about the opener? Get some pretty little thing to open and that gets them what they want but we don’t have to play with her.”
“Speak for yourself. If she’s hot, I’ll play.” Austin’s lips pull into his shit eating smirk. I slap my folder against him and push off the couch.
Bedo’s lost in his phone again, completely ignoring us, so I walk off some of my nervous energy by pacing the room. Sean and Austin admire the rack of one of the suggested drummers. Bedo’s laser focus remains on his smartphone. He’ll speak when he’s ready, but not before that.
“Dude ... her rack needs its own zip code. My vote’s being swayed by tits.” Austin’s wide gaze snaps to mine but I cut him off.
“No way. We’re Three Ugly Guys! The name only works when there’s guys. Preferable four of us, because I’m sure as shit not the ugly one.”
“Shit.” Austin scratches his head, his eyes trained back on the folder, “But ...”
Sean leans over and nods solemnly, “Trent, man. You need to see this one. Maybe we should consider her? Having her on tour wouldn’t be torture.”
“Yes!” Bedo shouts and for a moment I think he agrees with Sean and Austin until he looks up from his rapid fire messaging thumbs. “Opening act, it is! Brilliant, T. We’ll stick with Iz on the drums. He’ll be happy to have the star treatment. That work for everyone?”
Iz, one of our roadies and a long-time musician, knows how to play drums just fine. He’s actually pretty fucking talented. We’re not sure exactly how old he is, though. There’s a real possibility he played on the first Van Halen tour. His talents include knowing all our songs and playing exactly how we want him to, which are a great asset to the band. His other talent, his tendency to smoke anything you stick in front of his weathered lips, is not so great. Cigs, marijuana, crack—he’ll do it all. Yet none of us can tell him to stop for the same reason we can’t ask him his age. He’s a grown man, and our elder. Besides, his extracurricular activities aren’t a problem. He plays “Stairway to Heaven” better than John Bonham. As long as the drugs don’t interfere with his playing we pretend to look the other way.
“Iz is cool until we find someone permanent,” Sean answers and Austin and I nod our agreement.
“What about bringing him on for the long haul?” Bedo asks and I consider his question. I’m sure we could, but something holds me back. Maybe it’s my fear of commitment, or the fact Iz is so much older than the rest of the band. I don’t know, but I’m not comfortable putting a metaphorical ring on it. I’m sure Bedo would love to be done with it already. Maybe after this tour, if we still jive after months on the road together, we can bring him on permanently.
“Let’s see how this tour goes,” I suggest and Austin and Sean nod. They feel the same as me. We all like Iz, but he’s not family. Not in the same way the three of us are. Maybe we are eternally cursed when it comes to a drummer.
“Fair enough.For now. But the label wants a longtime fix. Fans, promotion, marketing, it all works better when we have four familiar faces. Let’s get through the next three months and re-evaluate. You guys better be ready. This won’t be like any of the other gigs. This is the big time. You’re front and center. That’s more of everything. Press. Responsibilities. Fans.”
“Women.” Austin grins.
