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As soon as I finish pulling all the fish crap from the box, I sneak away to call Nash. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve called him without warning, but it’s highly unlikely I’ll have another chance to talk privately anytime soon. Once doors open, I’ll be too busy working, and after that I’ll be shadowed by Chad until I’m able to pull the curtain on my bunk. I swear the guy would hover outside the bathroom door when I take a piss if there was enough room on the bus to hover.
My heart rate picks up while the phone rings. What if he doesn’t answer? What if he thinks I’ve lost my mind? What if?—
“Hey, dude. Everything okay?”
Whew.
“Hey, Nash. Thanks for picking up. You have a sec? Sorry for the call but it’s kind of urgent and I don’t know when I’ll get another chance. You know how it is on tour.”
“One hundred percent. I have to restring my guitar, though. Mind if I put you on speaker. It’s just Abram here.”
Abram? Great. That won’t help my pounding pulse. I’ve chatted with Redburn’s iconic lead singer a few times since my dream-date hang with him last year (thanks to Nash), but I’m not sure you ever get used to interacting with your idols.
“Hi, Abram,” I say.
“Hey, man. I’ve been loving what you and Larinda are putting out. Her stuff’s actually good now. You’re one helluva producer, dude.”
And there go the rest of my words. Why am I on the phone again?
“Th-thanks. It’s been fun working with her.”
“We can tell. You two have great chemistry. You’ve got a good thing going.”
“Which is why you won’t screw it up with something silly like a relationship, right?” Nash says.
I swallow hard. Right.
“Oh. Yeah. No, of course not. That’s actually why I’m calling.”
Silence.
“Wait, no! Not because we’re in a relationship. Just… I’m calling about her. Well, about a possible threat to her and I wanted to get your thoughts.”
“Threat? Let me guess… Jarvis?” Nash grunts. “There’s no chance that tour ends without someone losing an eye. I don’t know what Lakebend was thinking putting them together.”
That losing eyes make great headlines.
I hear the distinctive whine of a guitar string getting stretched and tuned.
“Sort of. Maybe? I don’t know. That’s what I’m trying to figure out. There’s this guy on the tour named Chad.”
And that’s the distinctive thunk of a guitar string getting smacked.
“Hang on. You don’t mean Chad Smith, right? Please tell me it’s not Chad Smith.”
“I think so. His business card says he’s the Talent Liaison for Sandeke Telecom—along with a bunch of other shit I don’t remember.”
“Well, that’s not good,” Nash says.
“Is he the Mer-Berry dude?” Abram asks.
“Mer-Nut,” Nash corrects. “Pretty sure they’re nuts. Unless… Did this guy say anything about weird mermaids?” he asks me.
Ah. Those fish blobs were Mer-Nuts. That makes sense. Well, as much as that can make sense.
“Afraid so. I just dumped a bunch on the merch table.”
And that’s distinctive snort-laughing.
