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“I told him that while he was digging around in the attic. Besides, I need to get to work, too so I can set up everything foryour show on Wednesday. Priya, email me the time when you want to soundcheck.”
“Got it, boss. And seriously, congratulations, you two.”
Priya waves as she clicks off the call and I get up, realizing that we’ve been kneeling on the ground clutching each other for the better part of twenty minutes. I’m hit with a sudden swell of dizziness.
Vince grabs my elbow to steady me, “Are you okay?” he asks. I nod and take a deep breath to steady myself.
“I’m fine, just dizzy,” I say.
“Did you eat breakfast, or are you still not feeling well?” Vince asks.
For the past couple of weeks, my stomach has been bothering me like nothing else, and I’m exhausted regardless of whether I go to bed at eight or midnight. I’ve been trying to stick to a bland diet, but yesterday I barfed up a sleeve of saltines.
“I’m still not feeling well,” I mumble.
“You look pale, Lynds. Are you sure you want to go to work?” Vince asks as he walks into the kitchen. He returns and hands me a banana. I peel it and take a bite, willing my stomach to settle.
“I’ll be fine. I probably just have a bug or something.” I grab my bag from the foyer and shove my feet into a pair of black boots.
“I’ll let you know if I need anything,” I reassure him with a kiss on the cheek, “Good luck in the studio today.”
“Thanks, love. Have a great day at work.” Vince says.
He waves as I walk out the door and unlock my car, a small silver Toyota I bought with the money from tour. It’s nothing like Vince’s penchant for matte black luxury vehicles, but it gets the job done, and it’s the first time I’ve been able to buy a car without panicking about the rest of my bills.
While I drive, I turn the radio up as I listen to a local Indie rock station, and roll a window down hoping it will help with how terrible I’ve been feeling.
The Gateway Club is a tiny, red two-story brick building off the highway, with a vintage repurposed marquee hoisted on top boasting the week’s lineup. Booking was slow to start, but now we’re consistently booking two, sometimes three bands a week.
I pull into the parking lot and park, grabbing my large leather bag with my laptop shoved into it off the passenger seat. When I walk into the venue I wave to Amy, our intern for the fall.
How we have enough infrastructure to support an intern is beyond me, but she goes to UCLA for marketing and she loves music enough to do it for college credit alone. Plus, she’s eager, which is a win for our budget and our Outlook Calendar, which has never looked better.
“Hey, Lyndsey!” She calls when I enter. She’s wearing jeans beat-up Converse sneakers, and a faded band T-shirt. She’s wearing her red hair in two loose braids.
“Hey, Amy. What’s up?” I ask.
I’m still nauseous, but my mouth is dry. I swallow and try to quell the nausea, wondering if I should dip into Vince’s stash of antacids.
“Um, I want to go through the schedule with you for while you’re on tour one more time if that’s okay with you.”
“Of course! Follow me into my office,” I say.
Calling it an ‘office’ is beyond generous, it’s a windowless storage room behind the stage to the left of the green room, with musty carpeting and an Ikea desk from my old apartment. I tried to fix it up with a vintage lamp, a refurbished desktop MAC, and an area rug, but it still looks like I’m trying to turn a concrete bunker into a place of business.
I sit at my desk and swallow again. My stomach cramps. My palms are sweating.
I push the feeling away and focus on Amy, who’s peering over my shoulder as I power up the computer. We go over the bands who will be playing while I’m tour, and I make sure she has the email for all of their tour managers.
“Now, for Wednesday, when’s the sound check?” She asks.
She’s more on top of it than me, I created a monster. At the same time, it’s fun having a protege, though she’s only eight years younger than me.
“I still need to check with Priya and company. They’re recording today, so it might be a late night, but I will let you know as soon as I do, and it should be a pretty easy night.”
“It sold out in five minutes!” Amy exclaims.
“Shit, really?” I’d expected tickets to go fast, but not that fast.
