Monday, September 19
(Kate)
"What's shakin', bacon?"
"Hey, Gus. Not much. What about you, mon ami?" It's good to finally hear his voice. We've been communicating through texts the past few days because he's been in nonstop meetings. It's not the same. I like to hear his voice. It tethers me to reality, to the real me.
"More of the same. I can't wait to just get out on the fucking road."
Gus isn't really the type of person who can appreciate every part of a process. He's always been kind of coddled by his mom, and his life has been pretty easy. Not that he doesn't work his ass off. Life's just been easy. He'd rather skip what he doesn't like, even if it's important in the long run, to get to what he actually enjoys. I guess we're all that way. It's not being selfish, it's human nature. Sometimes we need reminding that it's all important—the good and the bad. So, I say, "I know, dude, but preparation's the key, right?"
He exhales, and it sounds less like Gus than I can remember hearing in a long time. "It's just that the preparation and marketing seems like it should be someone else's job, you know? I mean, that's what the record company and our agent and manager are getting paid shitloads of money to do, right, preparation and marketing?" He's getting really worked up. "It's our job to play the music; we shouldn't have to worry about anything else. It's like trying to herd fucking cats, Bright Side. Everything's constantly changing. And so much of it is complete bullshit. We had to spend an hour today listening to some dude coach us on fucking interviews. What to say, what not to say. Here's a novel idea, be honest and talk about the fucking music when someone asks a question!"
"Whoa, Gus. Slow down. They're just trying to help protect your image. Are you somewhere you can smoke?" Gus's anxiety level has been increasing incrementally every day during the past month. I don't like to see him stressed out like this. I love his bandmates, but I know he's bearing the brunt of what's going on by himself, because, well, they don't...or won't.
"Yes," he snaps.
"Maybe—"
I'm interrupted by the click of a lighter and that deep first drag. "I'm one step ahead of you and don't fucking say it, Bright Side."
I know I shouldn't because he's in a really shitty mood, but I also know it's not because of me, so I don't take it personally. "But you should, you know...quit."
"Don't." His reply is clipped and final. I sit and wait for him to finish his cigarette and then the apology comes. "Sorry. I didn't mean to take it out on you."
"I have a question for you. How would you have felt if MFDM came into the studio with his own songs and told you were going to record them instead of Rook's?"
"I would've told him to fuck off."
"Fair, because they need you, obviously, to be involved in the process of recording the music, because it's your music."
"Damn right."
"But it was still collaborative, right? MFDM was pretty involved, right?"
"Yeah."
"Okay, so the next step is preparing you for the release of Rook's album and touring to support Rook's album."
"Yeah. Where are you going with this?" He sounds both impatient and curious at the same time.
"Well, you sort of have to trust that they are the experts regarding the album release and tour, but that doesn't excuse you from doing your part. If you don't step up and take ownership of every step of this process, it's gonna come back to bite you in the ass. And you're not going to have anyone to blame but yourself. CYA, dude. Cover. Your. Ass."
He huffs, and I know he grudgingly agrees with me. "But it sucks. The meetings are mindless babble. I sit there and after five minutes of listening to them, I wonder when they turned into the goddamn Charlie Brown adults. It's all 'Wah, wah, wah.' And I'm so fucking tired of having my picture taken. What's with all the photo shoots?"
I add some humor. "Maybe you're just so damn good-looking they can't help themselves." Time to bring Gus back to reality. "Listen, Gus, I'm on your side, you know that. But, seriously, dude? You're doing something right now that people would sell their souls to do. You just recorded an album of your music. Gustov Hawthorne's music. And it's honestly the best album I've heard in a really long time. You released said album, and you set out on a goddamn nationwide tour. You get to live the life of a rock star every day for at least the next three months. All they're asking in return is that you play an active role in promoting the band, album, and tour to make it as successful as possible. Gus, do I have to remind you that this is your band, your album, your tour? You don't have to sacrifice yourself or lose who you are in the process, but it's in your best interest to participate in every aspect. Don't bitch about it; just do it. It's kind of your job."
He sighs, and I know I've gotten through to him. "You're right. I know. I'm whining like a fucking baby."
I smile. "The good stuff is coming, I promise. Before you know it you'll be playing in a different city every night and your biggest worry will be trying to decide whether you want to hook up with the sexy brunette in the front row who flashed you her tits or the blond identical twins that show up backstage after the show. Maybe both." The idea itself makes my stomach turn, but I know I'm speaking Gus's language: women.
Gus snorts. "All right, enough about me and my whining ass. How was dinner tonight?"
I try out my exaggerated British accent. "It was lovely, darling. Cheesy mashed potatoes, green beans, and lettuce salad. I dined in the company of Clayton, Peter, and his girlfriend, Evelyn."
"Wait, Pete? Leather Chaps Pete has a girlfriend? When did this happen? Where have I been?" Gus follows my life like a soap opera. It's funny how interested he is in all of these people, especially with everything that's going on in his life. Maybe it's because of everything that's going on in his life. It's an escape. Like reality TV.
I drop the accent because it's too much work. "Last night. Pete spotted her across an empty cafeteria, and it was love at first sight. I'm proud of him. The dude's never had a girlfriend before. He was scared shitless, but he talked to her anyway, and they hit it off. They already made plans to eat dinner together and then study in the library every night this week. It's cute as hell how awkward they are around each other. They're both trying so hard. I feel like it's restored my faith in humanity."
"Faith in humanity has never been lost on you, Bright Side. But good for him. What's she like?" He's genuinely interested.
"A lot like him, actually—."
He interrupts me. "So, she's into S&M and wears leather chaps, too?"
I giggle. "No." And then I laugh harder. "No...Eww...I don't...want...that visual."
He's laughing, too. After a few moments, he says, "So, what about you, Bright Side?"
"I'm not into S&M or leather chaps." I deadpan. "My ass is too flat, it wouldn't fill out the chaps. It would just be disappointing."
He laughs, but it's forced. "I'm not even going to comment on the chaps." He adds under his breath, "But there's nothing wrong with your ass. Nothing at all."
Back to his original question. "So, what about me?"
"Well, Clayton's got a boyfriend, and now Peter's got a girlfriend, so I was wondering if you...you know...if you've met anyone?" He sounds nervous, which is rare for Gus, at least with me. He knows he can ask me anything.
"I don't want a boyfriend, Gus. You know that."
"God, how can the most positive person I know not believe in love? You're such a contradiction. I'm sure you have guys hitting on you all the time, just like you did at home."
I clear my throat. "Actually, no. No one's asked me out since I've been here."
There's his nervous laugh, and then he says, "You know it's not because they don't want to, it's because you're fucking intimidating, you little shit. It takes balls to even flirt with you, let alone ask you out. You scare the hell out of guys, because they already know before they ask that you'll turn them down. They know they don't stand a chance."
"The only guy that's even flirted a little bit with me is Keller, the guy who works at the coffee shop I go to. But it was just innocent flirting."
"Are you attracted to him?" His voice sounds tentative.
"I don't know, yeah, I mean he's good-looking, for sure. But, I'm not looking for a hook-up right now."
"But if you were?" He's really pushing this.
"I'm not. Besides, he may be in a long distance relationship, so I don't even know why we're talking about it. I'm not getting in the middle of that. We're just friends." That's final.
He sighs. He's not satisfied with my answer, I guess. We sit in silence.
"Listen, dude, I'd better get to my homework. But, Gus?"
"Yeah?"
"I know everything that's going on in your life right now, between the album and the tour and everything else...that, you know, that it's not all fun and some of it is bullshit, but that's life, dude. Sometimes it sucks. But you know what?"
"What?"
"Gus, it always gets better." In my heart, I still believe this, but I have to keep reminding myself. It's hard when feelings and attitudes that were once second nature are now something I have to put effort into.
It's quiet for several seconds, and then, "You live up to your name every day, you know that, Bright Side?" The smile's faint, but it's there in his voice.
"I try, dude. I try." Every day, every hour, every minute, I try. "Do epic," I remind him.
"Do epic," he repeats. Repetition is the key. Someday he'll believe it. "I miss you."
"I miss you, too. Every day."
"I love you, Bright Side."
"Love you, too, Gus."
"Good night."
"Good night."