The others nodded, but not one of the assholes was taking notes. Before, they had relied on me to take care of most of those things, if not all of them. And, I hadn't minded so much, seeing as I had always been a bit of a workaholic. But, unlike before, I now had a Titanic-size business to run on top of everything else. I just couldn’t afford to do it all by myself again, not if I wanted to sleep more than an hour every night. That was part of the reason I’d gotten burnt out on touring the last time.
“How about we do this? Each one of you takes responsibility for a couple of the tasks I've just mentioned, and we can all get that stuff knocked out together,” I suggested. “It'll just be easier, more streamlined, and more efficient like that, and everyone is pulling their weight equally. That's fair, right?”
Grumbles of dissent circled the group along with flimsy excuses. I sighed and couldn't help the sting of anger and frustration bubbling in my core. They surely knew I couldn’t do all of it by myself again. Didn’t they?
“That’s funny, Owe. You think the rest of us are responsible enough to help manage a tour?” Talon cocked his eyebrow, then hit a “da dum tiss” on the drums and hi-hat.
I gave him, and the rest of them, a stone-cold look. “Seriously? You wanna joke about this? You guys all know I can’t handle all of that planning on top of running the record company while we’re touring. It's just physically impossible. Not to mention mentally. I’d lose it. There aren't enough hours in the day. Literally.”
“I know, Mr. Young CEO Slash Rock Star. Sounds like you need another solution aside from depending on us slackers, huh? C'mon, bro, you know us. We're, uh...well, we're just not cut out for that type of shit, you know? I'm good at banging—chicks and drums, mind you—but that's about all I’ve got to bring to the table,” Tal said.
I sighed again, always wary of any solution he came up with. “What exactly do you have in mind, there, little brother?”
“They are called assistants. Ever heard of 'em? Seriously, dude, they not only do all the grunt work, but they also bring you coffee and snacks, and, oh yeah, they generally have really nice asses to look at as they are running off to get your shit done.”
Of course, his solution had to do with bringing a woman into the mix. I wasn't even the least bit surprised. Still, it was a solution worth considering. “I don’t know, man. And why do you just assume I would have to hire a woman? Why can’t we get a male assistant?”
“Um, first off, total sausage fest. There are enough swinging dicks in this room already. I think some feminine company on the road could help keep things in line. Secondly, they just smell better. Plus, they’re just more fun to look at.”
I frowned at him, but I had to admit that he did have a point in terms of getting an assistant. Not necessarily the other stuff, of course. It didn't have to be a woman, and even if it was, it didn't have to be an attractive one. No, efficiency and reliability were my top priorities in that regard. But yeah, getting an assistant in on the mix really could help to make things go a lot more smoothly for sure.
But at the same time, I hated bringing a stranger into the mix, and a woman at that. There was already the possibility that complications could arise with the band, as they had in times past, and I certainly didn’t want any sort of tension to get between us by adding a new element.
However, there was absolutely no way I could handle managing the tour all by myself. Not even a chance. And with these bozos not being able to do pretty much anything aside from play their instruments and rock out, it was quickly beginning to look like I'd have no other option but to hire somebody, as much as I wasn’t sold on the idea of someone outside our circle handling some of the load. Sometimes, the only solution was the uncomfortab
le one, and it really didn't seem like there'd be any other way to do this.
I sighed and shrugged my shoulders, conceding to the idea. “Screw it; I guess I’ll make a few calls, see what’s out there. I have a business contact that has a staffing services agency that can probably hook us up,” I said.
“Why don’t you give him a call this afternoon, before we start partying at your place tonight?” Jeremiah suggested.
I supposed there was no time like the present to get the ball rolling.
“Yeah, I think I’ll do that. And no, Tal, we are not getting some groupie-wannabe tour manager just for you to play with. I’m finding someone professional, reliable, organized, and detail-oriented. And if she happens to look like the rear end of a donkey, so be it.
“And before you ask why... It’s so that, as you said in your own words, she can keep you assholes in line. I’m not playing road mom, not again, not this time. Without someone focused and disciplined to hold everything together, this whole thing is gonna fall apart. I refuse to let that happen. Not on my watch. We are not going to disappoint millions of fans out there, not if we can help it. And you guys better remember that.”
“Road mom,” Talon snorted. “You were kinda like that last time. I remember you having to hold Jay’s hair more than a few times while he puked his guts out. My apologies for being too busy puking in the shower to help.”
I rolled my eyes and shook my head. “You two together are like drunken Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb.”
Both of their grins only widened at my comparison. Those two had way too many stories from the road before and would no doubt get their asses into some more trouble this go around. I just hoped, for our sake, this time it wouldn't require any bail money. I'd had enough of postponing gigs because of having to haul those two out of jail cells.
“All right, enough goofing off. Let’s work through a few more songs before we break. We can start with the one Jeremiah wrote.” I tried to bring things back to order.
The others grumbled, albeit jokingly, and we all got back to business mode. We worked through five more songs before calling it quits, then I excused myself and headed to my home office to make that call regarding a tour manager. The phone only rang a few times before a familiar voice picked up.
“Hey, Mike,” I greeted him. “I need your help with something.”
“Owen, good to hear from you, man! Hit me – what do you need?” he asked from the other end of the receiver.
“I need an assistant. Preferably female,” I explained, rattling off the long list of my own qualifications and even a couple Jeremiah had suggested.
I tended to be picky when it came to hiring people to work with in any capacity. I liked to think that was one of the main reasons I’d become so successful. My high expectations made me careful in choosing who to do business with and who I hired to help me run my record company.
“I think I can help you out. I have a few ladies in mind who'd fit your bill. When did you want to set up interviews?” Mike asked after taking in my laundry list of needs.
“How does Monday afternoon sound? Think you can get some candidates together over the weekend?” It was a lot to ask, but I was confident Mike could do it. He’d found me some great talent to work at the record label before on short notice. I’d never worried about him delivering.