Page 3 of Revelry

“I didn’t realise our music needed testing.” I sharpen my gaze, leaning forward in my seat, but I bite my tongue to keep from saying anything further. I’m so close to losing my shit today, and it has nothing to do with the bender Zed and I went on last night.

“It’s something new we’re trying. The first album was great, it received rave reviews, you now have a legion of fangirls worldwide, but cancelling last year’s tour, and given that we’ve had countless delays in getting this new album off the ground”—she glances solely at me here, which is fine. The delays she’s referring to have been my fault. In fact, all the guys could leave now if they wanted to. This fuck-up is my fault, and mine alone. “We just need to make sure our investment is a sound one.”

“The first album went platinum. How much more proof of a sound investment do you need?” I say, because I know it’s what we’re all thinking, and let’s face it, if I let Zed do the talking in a situation like this he’d probably try convincing them to pay us in booze, drugs, or tattoos.

I’ve known Zed since we were five years old. Back then he was a weird looking, wiry little kid with platinum blond hair and gangly arms. Zed and his brother, Leif, were permanent fixtures at our house. They grew up without a dad, and had a mum who was too busy getting high with her drumming circle friends to pay much attention to her unruly kids.

The four of us would play for hours in our rumpus room. We had one of those electronic four-piece band set-ups: a synthesised piece-of-shit drum kit, guitar, keyboard, and a microphone set. Zed would man the drums. Nobody ever got near his drums. I played guitar, Leif was on keys, and much to everyone’s dismay, Debbie would sing.

As soon as she was old enough, I convinced Mum and Dad to buy her a bass and she played right up until the time she was seventeen. Then it’s as if her girl switch just flipped one day and suddenly her Fender went untouched because she might break a nail. She can be a ball-busting pain in the arse sometimes, but however self-involved she could be, she never missed sitting in on a practice, or a gig. The fact that she involves herself in my life to a point where she could easily be doing Vanessa’s job with her eyes closed, only makes me proud of my little sister.

Drumming was like a natural talent to Zed. Sometimes you’re born with shit like that pumping through your veins—other times you have to work at it. I guess I never really had to work at it either, but I lack the kind of musical genius Zed possesses. He can pick up any instrument and make it his bitch, even the ones he’s never seen before. And yeah, sometimes he’s a downright prick. He’s an arsehole on tour, he’ll prank you at every fucking turn, and the drugs only serve to make him even more obnoxious than normal, but if he ever walked away, I’d be walking right alongside him.

Jesus Christ, how much did I drink last night?I feel like I ate a fucking Hallmark card and now my head is spewing sentiment all over the place.

“Look it’s not that Harbour Records doesn’t trust you. We’re thrilled with the band’s success so far, it’s just that—”

“That you don’t trust us.” Zed raps out an even faster beat on his knees this time. He laughs, but I know him well enough to know he’s getting antsy, which is always dangerous ground.

“Why don’t you tell us exactly what you need from us, and then we can all get back to enjoying our day?” I lean back in my chair and sip the hot cup of coffee in my hands.

“We want to push the album launch forward by three weeks. We’d like to launch while you’re on the US leg of the tour. We’re thinking a party in Vegas.”

“That’s impossible,” Levi says.

“Nothing is impossible,” Guidelli replies, with the expression of a man who knows he holds our balls in his hands. His smile grates on me. It might just be the alcohol soaking my blood, but my fist is itching to have a play date with his face.

“If we get you in the studio soon, we believe we can have the last two songs finalised by Monday,” Vanessa says.

“The fuck?” Zed stands and begins pacing. One thing he hates is being forced to create, but I guess it’s something we just have to deal with now that we’ve sold our souls to the record company.

“Give us ’til Friday, and we’ll have three more songs for you,” I say.

Everyone looks at me.

“Dude, are you fucking crazy?” Levi asks

“Can’t be done, man.” Ash shakes his head and stands too.

“Yes, it can. I got some new material I’ve been working on.”

“Since when?” Zed asks.

“Since a while ago.” I look over at Debbie, who glares back as if she thinks I’ve finally lost my mind.

“You sure about this?” Zed whispers in an aside. “That’s a pretty big fucking claim, man. I’m gonna need to blow a whole wad of cash on a visit to Greyson.”

Greyson is Zed’s other dealer. Leif deals on the side, prescription drugs and pot mostly, but Grayson keeps Zed stocked in the heavier shit that Leif can’t provide. Zed’s about to make Greyson a very happy man, because we’re all going to be working our arses off to get three more songs finished before the week is done.

I look up at my oldest friend, and hope that I’m conveying everything without saying very much. “I need this.”

Zed nods to me and says, “We’re in.”

“You don’t wanna run that shit by us first?” Levi asks.

“Nope,” Zed says, and goes back to drumming his hands on the tops of his thighs.

“Come on, guys. It’s just three more songs.”

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