Five Flavors of Dumb - Antony John [78]
“Mine was important.” He pouted.
I shrugged. “Why didn’t you call my parents?”
“After yesterday’s shenanigans? You really think they’d talk to me?”
Good point. “What’s going on, Baz?”
Baz pulled off his jacket, threw it on the back of the nearest chair. “I hate suits,” he moaned, tugging at the collar of his pink shirt.
“Then why did you wear one?”
“I was trying to imitate your father, remember? Why else do you think I cut my hair?”
He turned around and sure enough, the ponytail had gone. I almost felt bad for him. “Oh.” I had to stifle a laugh. “Dad’s into jeans and T-shirt these days.”
Baz’s jaw dropped. “Seriously?”
“Absolutely. But I must say, you look very sharp. Very corporate.”
“Ha-ha.” Baz tugged at his collar again. “I’ll have you know I had to stop at Goodwill to pick this stuff up. Cost me ten bucks. Don’t think I won’t be claiming it back from your fee either.”
I narrowed my eyes. “What fee?”
“What fee, indeed.” Baz sat down, afforded himself a smile now that he’d piqued my interest. “I got a call last night from the manager of GBH, aka Grievous Bodily Harm.”
He’d lost me already. “What’s Grievous Bodily Harm?”
“Technically, it’s the British legal equivalent of violent assault.”
“Lovely.”
“Yeah, but it’s also the name of a Brit indie group, whose American tour has been getting good press.” He paused, waiting in vain for me to express admiration. “Anyway, the manager of GBH is considering asking you to open for them at the Showbox on Saturday.”
“You’re joking, right?”
“No. I know it’s short notice, but I think you could do it. The set is forty-five minutes max. You could get away with forty, maybe even thirty-five if you’re willing to smash an instrument or two at the end.”
I rolled my eyes. “Did you see what happened yesterday?”
“Yeah. Pretty hard core too. I knew you wanted to get away from the soft rock label, but I was impressed by your commitment to faking a meltdown.”
“We weren’t faking.”
“Oh.” Baz paused, thought about this. “Look, Piper, bands fall out. But at the end of the day, they’re like family. You get back together because you have to, because you’re stronger together than you are apart.”
“I seriously doubt that.”
He nodded solemnly. “Too bad. This would’ve been a sweet gig for an aspiring band. Great exposure. Good money too.”
I finally sat down. “How good?”
“Not so fast. Before he negotiates, the manager needs to know you’re still going to be together on Saturday, and that you’ll promise to behave.”
“Not sure, and not sure.”
“If you can make that yes and yes, you might make yourselves two hundred dollars each.”
My pulse quickened. “Okay, then. Yes and yes.”
Baz threw up his hands in frustration. “Is that a real yes, or a maybe yes?”
“Baz,” I choked, pretending to be offended. “Would I lie to you?”
He leaned forward and massaged his temples in slow circles.
“So what’s with the late notice?” I asked.
“They had an opening act lined up, but the band had a, uh . . . falling out. They’re not technically together anymore.”
“I hear that’s happening a lot these days.”
“Yes.” Baz pursed his lips disapprovingly, but it looked kind of cute on him. “So here’s the deal. If Dumb is still together, he wants to meet with you. Five p.m. at my studio.”
I shook my head. “No can do. I’m grounded. It’d have to be at school. Say, straight after final bell at two fifteen.”
Baz laughed. “You can’t really expect me to bring the manager of GBH to a high school for a business meeting.”
“Yup. And we’ll need to keep it hush-hush. Otherwise I’ll probably spend the rest of senior year in suspension.”
“Good grief.” Baz pulled himself up and grabbed his jacket. “Okay. Two fifteen, by the main doors. But don’t be surprised if he’s late. He has to come here from Portland.”
“If he’s late, I’ll be gone.”
“Oh, for God’s sake—”
“I’m not being difficult, Baz! I’m grounded. I couldn’t stay late even if I wanted to.”
“Okay, I’ll make sure he’s here at two fifteen,” he groaned, like he was guilty of having