Five Flavors of Dumb - Antony John [93]
“Some, but it’s kind of a mess.”
“I won’t tell them you said that,” he laughed. “But seriously, I’ll tell you what I heard, just in case you’re interested, okay?”
“Okay,” I said, although I knew I wasn’t going to enjoy any conversation that began with a disclaimer.
“Look, Dumb is a really promising band. You can’t fake that kind of energy. But—and I’m just being honest here—it took me a while to realize that girl in the cardigan was actually part of it.”
There didn’t seem to be any point in pretending I didn’t understand, so I just nodded.
“Like I say, this is just my opinion, but you can’t be carrying around dead weight. Audiences aren’t dumb, if you’ll excuse the pun. It’ll kill the band eventually. So if you really have high hopes for them, you’re going to have to cut her loose. Not today, obviously, but sometime.”
I couldn’t hate him for speaking his mind, but a part of me wished he’d never stopped by. Especially not when he looked up and nodded at someone behind me.
I looked over my shoulder and saw Josh, seated alone a couple of tables down. He took the opportunity to come over and introduce himself to Joby, then pulled up a chair and joined us. Before Josh had even begun to speak, Joby excused himself, and suddenly we were alone.
“I heard what he said,” Josh announced.
“Of course you did.”
“So what are you going to do?”
I rolled my eyes. “Right now . . . nothing.”
Josh leaned back, conjured that infamous smile I’d once mistaken for attractive and misread as genuine. “Tonight is her last show, do you understand?”
“Or what?”
“Or Dumb is history. And that’s not me being melodramatic. It’s just the truth. You know what that guy said.”
“Yeah, Josh, I do. And you know what? Kallie may still be the weak link, but I don’t think that’s what bothers you at all. You just want her out because it’s clear she’s not into you.”
His smile only grew. “So you admit she’s the weak link?”
I didn’t say anything. Really, what could I say?
“Go be a manager, Piper. You know what needs to be done, so try earning your money for a change.”
CHAPTER 51
It was after seven p.m. and the first GBH groupies were already starting to filter in. One middle-aged trio pointed to the other seats at my table. I realized I was taking up prized real estate, so I excused myself. I took my belongings to the “other” greenroom—GBH had claimed the one with windows and a coffeemaker—and tried to feel at home amid the dark carpet and dark walls and dark vinyl sofa. There was a round table in the far corner, and since no one else was around—they’d all gone in search of food—I sat down and opened up my laptop.
The Showbox had Wi-Fi, so I checked my e-mail. There were good luck messages from Finn, and Mom and Dad, and Baz, and Marissa, and I knew that every one of them genuinely wanted to see things go well. The clock said 7:14 p.m.
I was feeling light-headed, so I decided to get a bite to eat as well. But I’d barely stepped outside the building when I turned around and walked right back in. Who was I kidding? There was no way I’d be able to stomach eating anything.
Just inside the main doors of the Showbox was an enormous plate glass window, engraved with the names of all the bands that had preceded us. It was a list that made me want to crawl away and hide: Duke Ellington, Dizzy Gillespie, the Ramones, The Police, Blondie, Iggy Pop, Pearl Jam, Dave Matthews, and hundreds more. Seriously, when even I recognized several of the names, we were clearly out of our league.
Audience members were turning up in droves now, the crowd evenly split between casually dressed adults and over-caffeinated kids. It wasn’t hard to guess which band each group was there to hear. Some of them even stared at me like there was something familiar about my face, but the pink hair was enough of a disguise that I was able to make a clean escape.
The Showbox staff were frantically busy. Unlike me, they had jobs to do—they could control things—and I suddenly felt completely useless, just counting down the minutes until I fired