Beat (Life on Stage 2)

“You know, this shit’s your fault.”

“What are you talking about?”

“If you hadn’t taught me to smoke in sixth grade, I probably wouldn’t have developed the nodule on my throat that’s keeping us sitting in this waiting room looking like two gay guys.”

“If I hadn’t taught you to smoke, you wouldn’t have ever turned cool, and you wouldn’t have gotten to feel up Ellie Martin that summer.”

Ellie Martin. Now that’s a name I haven’t heard in fifteen years. That girl had double-Ds in sixth grade. Perfectly round, like two giant cantaloupes. I sigh, thinking back to that day. “Totally worth a nodule.”

Nolan chuckles. “By the way, if we were gay, you’d be the catcher taking it up the ass. I’d be pitching.”

“I definitely would not be taking your skinny little prick. My anaconda would be splitting your ass in two.” I pause. “And why are we even having this fucking conversation anyway?” We both laugh.

“Mr. Beckham,” the nurse calls.

“You want me to come with you, honey?” Nolan says, loudly enough for the entire waiting room to hear. Then, with his hand adorned with a half dozen gaudy rings, he blows me a kiss.

After an hour with the otolaryngologist and a forty-five minute cab ride back downtown, Nolan and I are finally heading to Pulse Records to sign the tour contracts. Opening for Easy Ryder is an ideal gig for us—their audience looks a lot like our audience, our play time is only a little shorter than theirs, and since we have the same record label, we were able to arrange studio time to work on our next album during the tour. Yet I have a nagging feeling that I’m about to make a huge mistake. With no real tangible evidence to support my gut, I keep the feeling to myself and just try to ignore it.

The Pulse offices are impressive: walls lined with platinum album covers, framed Billboard charts—a literal hall of fame that leads us to a large conference room that could easily seat fifty. The pretty woman with the short skirt and high heels who steered us into the inner sanctum is replaced by an even prettier woman with an even shorter skirt and even taller heels.

“I’m Heidi, Mr. Simon’s personal assistant. Welcome, Mr. Beckham, Mr. Blake.” She nods. “Mr. Simon apologizes. He’s running twenty minutes late. He asks that you please make yourselves at home. There is a green room down the hall to the left. Van Mars is recording if you’d like to pop in and listen. Or there is a cafeteria downstairs. If you tell them you’re a guest of Mr. Simon’s, everything will be on the house.”

“Which one will you join me at?” Nolan asks with his usual cocky swagger. I roll my eyes; Heidi licks her lips.

“I’m going to head downstairs and get some coffee. The guy I bunked with last night doesn’t even have a coffee pot,” I goad Nolan.

“I don’t drink coffee…why the fuck do I need a coffee pot?”

“For when I stay over, asswipe.”

“Go back to your own place in Jersey. I’m not buying a damn coffee pot for you. If I keep you happy, you might stay over more often.” Nolan turns his attention back to Mr. Simon’s assistant. “Now if Heidi likes coffee, I might have to stop and get a pot.”

I chuckle, shake my head, and leave Nolan to his morning conquest.

The cafeteria is crowded, even though it’s somewhere between breakfast and lunchtime. But I suppose most people visiting Pulse generally consider morning to begin around noon.

I came in looking for coffee, but the smell of bacon wafts through the air and my body follows on its own. Coffee turns into two eggs, bacon and cheese on a roll, an orange juice and a chocolate pudding. Actually, two chocolate puddings. Because people who pass by fresh chocolate pudding without grabbing one just can’t be trusted.

Finally at the front of the long register line, I realize I’ve forgotten to grab the damn coffee. I leave my tray and tell the cashier to take the next person. I seriously shouldn’t walk around at only eleven in the morning with no coffee and Stevie Ray Vaughan ripping in my ear buds.

The sinuous riffs of “Texas Flood” have me lost to the music and it takes me five minutes to prep my coffee because of the constant need to stop and accompany Stevie on air guitar. Oblivious, I make my way back to the register to collect my tray and pay, when a woman’s voice shakes me out of my musical coma.

“Cutting the line?” she says.

I pull the bud from my ear and turn. “Lucky? What are you doing here?” For a quick second, I actually think I might be dreaming.

She smiles. “Apparently, getting cut in line by a guy who is going to lose his hearing from playing his music so loud.”

“Sorry. I was on line, but I forgot my coffee.” I hold up my cup as if evidence is needed. The cashier apparently isn’t as in awe of Lucky as I am; her face tells me to pay and move along. I take a bill from my wallet and motion to my tray and Lucky’s. “For both.”

“You don’t have to buy my breakfast.”

“I want to.” I’d rather buy you dinner and make your breakfast the next morning. I look down and smile seeing the contents of her tray. Chocolate pudding and coffee.

“Breakfast of champions.” She shrugs.

I know I probably shouldn’t, but I just can’t help myself. “Eat with me.”

She looks at the time on her phone, then back to me, and bites her bottom lip. Without thinking, I reach up and tug the flesh from between her teeth. “You’re going to bruise this pretty mouth.”

She flushes but agrees to have breakfast. I direct her to a quiet corner of the room. “What are you doing here?” The minute the words leave my mouth, I realize she must be here with Dylan. Fuck. I’m an idiot. Any second, he’ll be joining our table. Great.

“I work here.”

“You work here? I thought you owned Lucky’s.”

“I did. I mean, I do. Avery and I are partners now and she runs it. My last night managing it was actually the night you first came in.”

“What do you do here?”

“I’m a vocal coach.”

“I thought you said you don’t sing?”

“I don’t…not in public anyway, anymore.”

“You used to sing?”

“A little.” She seems anxious to move the conversation from her. “What brings you here today?” Her spoon dips into the chocolate pudding and rises to her mouth and I follow it with rapt attention.

“We’re signing the contract for the Wylde Ryde tour.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. About that. Sorry about the other night. I didn’t know you were with Dylan.”

She shrugs. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Maybe not, but I wanted to.”

Her cheeks pink up again. God, I love the color of her skin. The way it doesn’t allow her to mask any of her emotions, even if she tries.

“Well. It all worked out anyway. Avery is incredible.”

“Avery?”

“I thought you were interested in her.”

“I actually said I was into the bar’s owner.”

She looks confused, and then her mouth forms an O. Right before her cheeks flush again.

“Don’t worry…Dylan just assumed I meant your friend.” An awkward silence falls. “So how long have you two been together?”