Hey Girl (Turn it Up #9)

Chapter 2

2

CHRIS

I ’m so fucking bored…

I wonder if athletes feel the same way during their off season as I feel when the band isn’t touring. Sure, I still have my drums in my soundproof recording studio down in my finished basement, but I do that all the time. I’ve recorded so many hooks, the guys and I are set for the next three albums.

Jack and Matt use our time off to spend time with their wives. Psssh!

Maybe I’ll go out and buy a lake house next to Matt and Melanie’s so we can be neighbors, and while I’m at it, get a boat and jet-skis to go along with it. Or I could go adopt a pet. Maybe one that’s fun to play with and will keep me company. A pet monkey would be cool, hanging around my neck all day, or, hey, a talking bird! That’d be bitchin’. I could train it to call Josh a dick.

These are the thoughts floating through my head like the clouds I’m gazing up at in the sky as I lie here on my outdoor trampoline, all bounced out. My body is relaxing, but my brain can’t stand that shit. The little alien that lives at the controls is frantically pushing buttons, trying to find some kind of malfunction so he can get me moving again or he’s going to have a nervous breakdown and go on strike.

In the interest of keeping that from happening, I haul myself up and walk across my backyard and into my house, just for the sake of moving. As I waltz into my kitchen, my cell phone is buzzing on the counter like it’s threatening to explode.

I roll my eyes and snatch it up in a huff.

Phones are dumb.

There’s never anyone with something interesting to say on the other end. Just people that have something boring and responsible to tell me, like Ron, whose name is lighting up my screen.

The band’s manager only calls to go over itineraries and talk business.

Let’s get this over with. I swipe the screen to accept the call.

“Hey Chris, just wanted to go over a thing or two before your meeting today,” he says, cutting to the chase.

See?

Wait, meeting?

Uggghhh…meetings are dumb. They’re boring. I have to sit still and pay attention and shit.

“What meeting?”

“The meeting I put in your phone three months ago and reminded you about last Wednesday, Friday, and twice yesterday,” he sounds exasperated, and I can picture him pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Uh…”

“The meeting with the new graphic designer I contracted!” he explodes on the other end.

“Oh. For the uh…”

“For the new album covers and merch designs! Remember? We’ve been talking for months about it being time to revamp the band’s look! The music, while still energizing, has taken on more of a passionate feel, and we need to market consistently with it. And the first step is redesigning everything for a fresh look.”

“Oh, yeah.” I actually remember all that, I’m just fucking with him now for amusement, like the slyboots I am.

“So anyway, I’ve found a damn good designer that actually lives in the vicinity, and I have some things to go over, like how to conduct yourself.”

“So you want me to point a wand at myself and move it around in front of my face to make me sing the right notes?”

“Chris!”

This is fun.

“I’m kidding! Okay, sorry, continue.” I can hear it coming: sit still in the meeting, don’t ask her if she ever considered we could be the daydream of an intergalactic bug on some far off planet, the usual.

“Her name is Rebecca and she’s...delicate.”

“So don’t drop her.”

“Chris!”

“Continue!”

“She suffers from a stutter and she’s also very timid. She gets scared and nervous around new people. And she’s doing this as a personal favor to me, so I want to be clear right now, and I want you to hear me when I say I expect you to be sensitive to that. Be patient…”

Fuck! I hate when people say that. It’s like they’re asking me to flap wings I don’t have.

“Be encouraging, pay attention, be respectful, and for fuck’s sake, don’t scare her! She’s brilliant at her job, and we’re lucky to score this contract with her, so don’t blow it!” He finishes firmly.

“Now that’s just hurtful,” I plant a hand on my hip, ready to give him the what-for. “When have I ever scared any employees away-”

“Your very first assistant, the managers of two VIP clubs, two flight attendants, a security guard, and 2019’s Miss Stars I was too busy trying to slingshot all his paperclips from the fortress that I’d assembled out of his couch cushions.

As I’ve grown up (ha!), I’ve learned how to control it more. Not completely, but enough to act like a human rather than a wild animal in public. But in situations where acting reserved isn’t required, oh, it’s on. I go thrill-seeking every chance I get during the band’s down time and I never miss a chance to get loud and rowdy at after parties. I know what you’re thinking, and I’m not all sex, drugs and rock ‘n’roll… I don’t do drugs. Alcohol, sure, and sometimes with my beloved BLAST energy drinks, but drugs? Never touch them. Even I don’t want to see me on drugs; it’d be like feeding a gremlin after midnight.

Maybe I should listen to my mom and quit trying so hard to give into my energy and just release it. Let it go, as Elsa would say. It would likely be healthier for me to chill out and find some Zen. It would take a lot of time and devotion though, like I might have to go to Thailand and spend some time with the monks, but who am I kidding? There’s no way I’m getting rid of this hair, and they’d want me to shave it all off.

Ehh. I’ll think of something.

But in the meantime…

“Pay attention, Chris. Be quiet and respectful, Chris…” I mimic Ron’s words in a whiny, bitchy tone as I zip my bike into the parking lot of the business building. Maturity is something I’ve never been accused of, but still, you’d think the guy would have some kind of faith in me to not be a dick to a shy person. Hyper around them, absolutely, but I’m not an asshole, no matter what Tatiana spews out when she’s raging.

After whipping my baby into a parking slot, I remove my helmet, and replace it with a BLAST ballcap and stroll to the front glass doors.

I pull one open and am greeted by a refreshing blast of cold air from the AC and hop onto the first elevator I see. Once I reach the fifth floor and the doors open, I’m sure to slide my hand down all the other buttons, making them glow a pretty, bright white before I step off. Come on. How is anyone with any sense of fun supposed to resist that?

After turning down a couple of hallways, I find the conference room, and of course all my band buddies are already seated like the obedient little kiddos they are. All the lights are off, the only illumination coming from the windows.

God, it’s like they’re already trying to put me to sleep with this meeting. I have to sit still in the dark? I’m gonna die.

No, seriously… when I go, it will not be by flipping my motorcycle, my parachute failing while base jumping, or a fiery jet ski crash. It will be by boredom.

I sit down and the chairs don’t swivel. No stimulation to be had anywhere.

“That’s it. I’m out,” I declare, trying to get to my feet, but Matt’s hand comes down on my shoulder, slamming me back down in my chair.

“Shhh!” I hear from two other of my stupid band members like we’re in sixth grade science class as a petite lass walks into the room, head down, clutching a laptop to her chest. She pulls out a chair at the end of the table and has a seat without so much as looking up.

Shy is right: she looks like she’d rather be anywhere in the world but here. Even a dentist’s chair. Which is not the usual reaction we get from women. Normally they’re all starry eyed and chirpily friendly.

Opening her laptop, she quietly clears her throat while opening a folder full of laminated images.

“Hi,” she finally squeaks like a little mouse. Cute.

A few curious looks are exchanged around the table as we all return her salutation. She tries to smile, but it’s down at the tabletop, and like me, she can’t sit still.

“I-I’m Rebecca,” she oh so quietly introduces herself, and if I hadn’t leaned in, I probably wouldn’t have caught it. “Thanks for meeting with me, it’s an honor to meet you all. I’ll start by passing out some images of con-”—she closes her eyes and takes a breath before continuing—“concepts I came up with for your upcoming album and t…tour merch.” She concludes her introduction with a very long-winded exhale, blowing a few papers around on the table. Sheesh. She speaks so slowly and carefully. It’s like those few sentences took considerable effort to get out. I bet my bandmates wish I had that problem.

Several of the laminated images make their way around the table as the shy little artist pulls her sleeves all the way down, partially over her hands before propping an elbow on the table and resting her chin. Or rather, hiding her face as much as she casually can by the looks of how she’s turning inward.

“Damn,” Jack muses as he picks up one of the images, just as my copies reach me. “We’ve never had a look like this.” He raises an eyebrow as his eyes scan up and down the sheet. I pick up my copy and whoa…

Jack is correct. Our album covers have always been along badass lines. Storm clouds, alleyways. Basically, dark and dangerous. But this… this is romantic. And not in a dime a dozen Hallmark way, but artsy. It’s the difference between a burger and a cordon bleu meal by a Michelin starred chef.

Hey…wait a minute.

I look up at the little mouse, still leaning into her hand, eyes cast down at the table as she nervously taps at the polished oak.

“Hey,” I try to gently get her attention but I still notice her body go rigid.

“Hmm?” She turns toward me about an inch, still looking at the table.

“What made you come up with this?”

She worries her lips with her teeth, and goes a very pretty rosy red. It makes me smile. "Oh, um...I-I thought...well, w-with respect, you're all very...um...w-well, rock stars do t-top many women's list of f-fantasy g-g-guys, and..." She's damn near cringing, and won't look up from the papers in front of her. I guess she didn’t rehearse a response to any questions like this. Her shoulders hunch up almost to her ears, like she wants to disappear.

"So it's because we're all hot," I quip, smirking.

She mutters something that sounds like, "You said it, not me," but I might have imagined it.

Or maybe not. "Can anyone else hear a word this girl says?" Josh says quietly, but not quietly enough. She flinches, and then closes her eyes in embarrassment.

"Hey, jackoff," I bark. "she's doing great. Leave her the fuck alone."

I notice both Jack and Matt glancing up in my peripheral, but I turn back to Rebecca immediately.

“Ignore him, sweetheart, you’re doing great,” I assure her. “Continue.” I gesture a hand at her to encourage her to keep talking.

She pulls in another long breath, closing her eyes. I wonder why she does that? Maybe it helps her relax. I should try that some time.

She speaks again, marginally louder this time. “I’ve gone through your albums and have noticed a… sh-shift. Your edgy vibe has stayed perfectly c-consistent, but on this album the p-passion seems to be…m-m-more romantically d-driven.”

Jack looks up again from one of the mock-ups. “Holy shit,” he looks between her and the different creations in front of him. “You’re right, it just clicked, there’s no question.”

Matt nods at him and then at Rebecca. “I didn’t see it either at first, but now…that outside perspective…” he looks back at the designs and lets out a breath before glancing back up to the shy little waif. “Bravo.”

“Pffft,” Josh scoffs. “That’s because fifty percent of this band found wives and have their heads up their asses.”

Jack and Matt are secure enough in themselves to ignore his shit.

I, on the other hand, am getting really fucked off that he keeps making this sweet girl cringe and blush. And not the good sort of blush. The uncomfortable, embarrassed sort.

"Josh, if I can manage to sit the fuck down and shut the fuck up as a courtesy to this woman, I'm sure you can do the same. And also, the only guy around here wearing his sphincter as a necklace is you."

“Chris…” Matt utters my name across the table in a drawn-out hiss, leveling me with a glare that’s asking if I’m cool or if he needs to go get the ketamine.

“Wow,” Josh scoffs again, trying to look unimpressed. “Who put piss and vinegar in your BLAST this morning?”

“Your mom, dickhead,” I swiftly snap at him over my shoulder before turning back to Rebecca, who’s tightened into herself even more and now burying her whole face into her hand. That has to hurt, pressing her glasses into her face.

This time, I decide to give her a moment and look down to appraise her brilliant designs instead. I see what looks like gunmetal and steel twisted together in an arrangement of roses. Another has a pitch-black sky with glowing bright stars falling like rain and crashing down on an umbrella and bursting into sparks. These are incredible.

“It makes a statement that we’re pivoting off of what we’ve been doing,” Jack voices out loud, not lifting his eyes from the design. “We wouldn’t even need to announce it, fans will just see the artwork and they’ll know.”

We proceed to pore over the mock-ups for another half hour, and I’m surprised to see it went by so quickly. We narrowed it down to our five favorite concepts, and the little creative genius we met with seemed to warm up and relax - just a little. She even smiled my way a couple of times, at least I think she did. It was quick as a flash, but I’m almost certain I saw it. And it was really pretty.

Sadly, when it was over, she wasted no time with post-meeting chatter and rapidly gathered up her things, dashing out of the room like it was on fire and leaving a few papers flying in her wake.

Well. I glare at Josh. I can tell Ron with full confidence that it wasn't me who scared her.