"Thanks," I said, raising my glass to him.
"It's dead tonight. What's up?"
"People are hearing all kinds of rumors. Rats deserting the sinking ship, you know."
He drummed his fingers on the table as though deep in thought. "We're going to have to do something about that."
He got out his phone then wandered out to the stairwell to make a call. I could just hear him over the music.
"Yeah, mate, the band is killer. Get your arse down here or you'll be sorry you missed out."
He hung up and made another call. I wasn't sure if it would work. How many people did he know, anyway? He might get a few people to come along but a situation like this needed more than a few phone calls. It needed serious publicity and stuff like that. I appreciated him trying but it’d just be a drop in the ocean.
"...no way are they closing. The place is going off. And man, there are some top-shelf babes here too..."
A few calls later and he came back in to sit down.
"Thanks for trying," I said. I was still dubious. I mean, people loved Razer but it was a Friday night and they already had plans. It's not like they’d drop everything and head here on Razer's say so.
When the opening band finished, Sally came to relieve me while I went backstage to check on everything.
“Make it quick,” she said. “I’ll send Mark home after this. I can work the bar alone.”
It wasn't even I had to push my way through a crowd to get backstage. All up, I'd say there were maybe twenty people in the room and some of those had been on the guest list. One of the quietest Friday nights we’d ever had. This would add fuel to Chuck’s panic fire.
"Sorry," the lead singer said wh
en I got backstage. He gave me a weak grin. "We had a bunch of friends promise they'd turn up but those bastards let me down."
Chuck would think I should go hard on him for not drawing more people but there is only so much the band could do. The way that guy’s shoulders drooped and his air of defeat proved there was no point making things worse for him. If anyone should apologize, it’d be me.
I rubbed his arm. “Don’t worry about it. It’s just a shit night.”
The guitarist from the next day barged into the room. “My lucky pick. Have you seen it? I need that pick before I go on.”
I rolled my eyes but started moving chairs and picking up bags to look under them.
“Don’t touch other people’s gear.” Seriously, it would take more than a lucky pick to save them.
“But you don’t understand. It’s my lucky pick. Lucky.”
"If it's here, I can't see it," I said. "And anyway, I have to get back to the door. I have better things to do than look for your pick." That was actually a lie but not really. Even filing my nails was more important than looking for that dude's pick. If he couldn't look after his own crap, what did he expect? I wasn't his mother.
Then I saw a flash of color. "Hey, what's that red thing under the table?"
The guitarist bent down. "Sweet. You found it." He picked it up and kissed it, which kinda grossed me out considering how filthy that floor was.
I walked back to the door with the weight of the world on my shoulders.
A dude knocked into me. I brushed him aside.
Lost in my thoughts, I didn’t really notice anything around me. One bad night would turn to two if we didn’t nip this in the bud right now. But I had no idea how to do it.
I dodged around some people before Sally grabbed me.
"Bitch, leave me here for the rush of the night," Sally thrust the cash box into my hands. “I’ve got to get back to the bar before there’s a riot.”
"Yeah, right." I laughed, thinking she was joking.