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And then I missed her all over again.
Denver ducked his head and looked straight into Angie’s eyes, giving her that sincere look that made every one of our fans want to bang him. “Are you sure you want to work for us?” he asked her. “We’re assholes, and we don’t make very much money. We’re never going to top the charts. We’re going to be a huge headache, and in return you get enough money for the occasional Starbucks. You might want to think it over.”
Angie kept her chin up, though her skin flushed slightly again. “I’m sure. I think it will be refreshing, honestly. I’m tired of the modeling business. It’s always been high pressure, it takes itself too seriously, and it’s never very fun. The musicians I know are screwed up, but at least they’re fun. I think it’s time for me to unwind a bit.”
“Then you’re hired,” Stone said. “Your first assignment is to call up William Hale and get some money out of him for our new studio.”
Angie blinked. “Your what?”
“Never mind,” Neal said. “We’ll talk about that later. We have to go onstage in ten. What’s that?” He pointed to the silver wrapping crooked in her arm.
“Oh.” She looked at it like she’d forgotten about it. “I told you I know a few musicians. Well, Travis White’s mother was a model, and I’m pretty well acquainted with Seven Dog Down.”
We all groaned aloud. Wehatedthose guys. Young, entitled, popular shitheads. We took our chance to dump on them every chance we got, and in turn they thought we were loser has-beens. Fuck those guys, seriously.
Angie held up a hand. “I know, all right? I can use Google. There was a spat between your bands when Denver said onstage that they suck. That clip went viral.” She looked at Denver. “You might want to reconsider insulting other bands onstage.”
“I’m not reconsidering,” he said. “I only spoke the truth. They do suck. Epically. Epic suckage.”
“They hate us, too,” Stone said.
“No, they want to be friends.” Angie held up the silver-wrapped thing. “This is a reconciliation gift Travis sent to me to give to you guys. An olive branch.”
We all looked at it in horror.
“What is it?” Denver asked.
“Anthrax,” I suggested. “Poison gas.”
“Urine,” was Neal’s guess. “They pissed in a bottle and wrapped it.”
“Jizz?” I tried. “Can anyone jizz that much? Into a bottle? If it’s scientifically possible, I bet that’s what it is.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Angie snapped. “It’s a bottle of champagne, I think. I can feel the shape of it through the paper.”
“Neal’s right,” Stone said. “It’s definitely a bottle of piss.”
“That’s what I would do,” I added.
“What is wrong with you all?” Angie’s disbelieving tone said she had no idea how rock n’ roll worked. Maybe in the modeling world, people sent each other nice, well-meant gifts of champagne, but not in this business. Bands punked each other all the time. It was just what we did.
Once, we’d made a homemade banner that said FUCK THE COPS and secretly hung it on the back of another band’s tour van. They got pulled over within half an hour. We were still proud of that one years later, it had been so perfectly done.
Angie put the gift on a table and untied the ribbon. The wrapping fell away to reveal a bottle of champagne.
“I don’t drink,” I pointed out, “and we just did a sober tour.”
“It’s non-alcoholic champagne,” Angie said, pointing at the label. “See? They’re being considerate.”
Seven Dog Down was definitelynotbeing considerate. They were fucking with us somehow, and Angie couldn’t see it.
“We shouldn’t open that,” Denver said.
“Nonsense.” Angie reached for the neck of the bottle and twisted the wire to open it. “If we’re going to work together, guys, you’ll have to learn to trust me. I know Travis and the band. They would never—”
There was apopas the cork came off the bottle, and then—
Oh, shit.
