Page 12 of Born Into Trouble (Occupy Yourself)
Three hours later, they were sitting in the van behind a twenty-four-hour diner, watching as Benita counted their take. “Four-thirty,” she said with a grimace.
Benny shook his head. “Shit. That’s two hundred less than last time here. It was a good crowd, what gives?”
Mouth drawn to one side, she twisted to glance in Blake’s direction. “We had to pay three hundred in union fees.”
Danny broke in. “You mean in shut-up fees.” Benita shrugged, folding the money and putting it into her wallet. She’d hold it until they needed gas or food, then she’d dole it out, bill-by-bill, making them all work for it a second time. “Jesus, Blake. When will you learn to keep your fucking mouth shut?”
“Fuck you.” Blake’s talents didn’t lie in his oratory skills. “Those guys are assholes.”
“Assholes or not,” Ben shifted uncomfortably on the floor, back to the pile of gear cases, “the manager said he won’t book us again if you keep this shit up. As it is, he doesn’t want you in the building during load-in or teardown. Which means we’ll carry your ass a-fucking-gain.” He reached beside him, picking up a plastic jar with a hand-printed sign taped to it. “I saw a good tip hit the gas money jar.” Ben unscrewed the lid, reached inside and pulled out a small handful of money mixed with scraps of paper. Dumping the mess in his lap, he quickly picked through to separate out the bills, finding what he was looking for.
While he was counting the money in his hand, Blake reached over and sifted through the remaining contents, picking out the pieces with writing on them. Some people used the jar as a trashcan, but a lot of girls dropped their numbers in, hoping for a call the next time OY hit the venue.
Ben muttered as he counted, “She was a fan, had a shirt on and everything.” The first time they ordered cheap CDs from an online store, paying almost as much for the packaging as the CD itself, they’d also printed celebratory shirts which cost more to make than they could sell them for. It had turned into a victory every time someone bought one. “She told me if we’d post our schedule on the website,”—he stared pointedly at Benita as updating the website was part of her job—“it’d make it easier for our fans to find us.” Stacking the bills neatly, he ordered them by denomination, then quickly counted again, verifying the pleasant surprise.
Looking up with a grin, he caught Danny’s eyes, watching them widen as he laughed and said, “Three sixty-three. She put in three Benjamins.” With a laugh, Benny twisted to face the windshield, relaxing into the gear cases. “What can I say?” Laughter in the van broke the tension from before, as well as the knowledge they had more than enough money to tide them until their next gig Tuesday night. “She’s a fan of the Benny.”
***
Tuesday saw them with a light load-in since the venue lent itself to acoustic. Benny and Danny would both play guitars while Blake sat on a box drum. Benita would work the limited merchandise table, a repurposed four-top from the diner side of the bar. Benny was leaning against the bar, waiting for the bottles of water he’d requested when an elbow hit the edge of the counter next to him. Twisting his neck, Benny turned to see the woman from the previous show standing there. “Hey,” he said with surprise. “You came.”
She nodded, saying with a smile, “You updated the website. How could I stay away when you took my advice?”
He shifted and stuck out his hand, giving her a wide grin. “I’m Ben Jones.”
“I know,” she laughed as she responded. “I’m Katherine.” She looked over his shoulder, telling the bartender, “I’m opening a tab. Put whatever the band wants on it for me, please.” Reaching into her purse, she extracted a credit card from her wallet. “Thank you.” The bartender took the card as he placed the six bottles of water on the counter. “May I have a menu, please?”
Benny was mesmerized. Older, but still attractive, Katherine had an innate air of command which might make it difficult to tell her no. He shook himself mentally, breaking free from his contemplation of what it took to develop that kind of manner. Gesturing to her chest, he said, “You wore your shirt.”Yeah, I officially sound stupid.“I mean, shit. Sorry. You wore the band’s shirt. Again.”Jesus, stutter much?He took a breath, telling her the truth. “Means more than you know, Katherine. Thank you.” He reached and picked up the water bottles. “And, thanks for this too.” Hefting them in two hands, he gestured first towards the clock behind the bar, then the stage. “It’s time for us to start, so I have to get up there, but we’ll take a break in about an hour. I’d love to chat with you then if you can stick around that long.”
“I look forward to it,” she said, hiking her shapely ass up onto a stool. He stood watching her for a moment longer, seeing her ready smile at the bartender, her casual glance around the bar. Confident and assured, she was there to watch them play. Listen to him sing.Mind blown.
***
Shirt soaked through, he shivered as he settled into the booth opposite Katherine. Wordlessly, she used a fingertip to slide an expensive bottle of sparkling water towards him, and he grinned his thanks. Making quick work of opening it, he drank and lowered the bottle to find her staring at him with a considering expression. Lifting the water again, he held the bottle against his lips as he asked, “What’d you think?” Turning the container up, he kept his eyes on her as he drained it dry.
“I think you’re far too talented to be playing in bars like this, or places like the Fillet.” Her blunt words caused his gaze to scatter around the bar, ensuring the manager was nowhere close to their table. Thank Christ, he was far out of overhearing range, which meant future bookings were still on the list of possibilities for this place. “Benny, you play and sing beautifully, and when I say play, I don’t only mean the guitar. You have charisma and hold the crowd in the palm of your hand. I haven’t seen talent like yours in a while, and I’ve been around the block more than once.” Her hand slid across the table and then withdrew, leaving a card in its wake.
He read the name on the card. “Katherine Cutright.” He looked up at her and then sighed, glancing back down at the card.Well, this explains a lot. “Talent acquisition for some record label I’ve never heard of. Engel Dari Records.” He flipped the card back to the center of the table, tipping his head to one side, watching her. “We aren’t interested in signing.” Her lips thinned; she’d expected him to at least be willing to discuss the idea. He decided to let her in on a not-so-secret secret. “We’ve been down this garden path before. Sweet words and promises of money and support turned into a chokehold on our music and a requirement to self-promote in a way none of Occupy Yourself was comfortable with. Thanks for the water.” With a stiffened finger, he toppled the empty bottle sideways, the clatter of glass hitting the tabletop drawing a few stares their direction. “But we’ll pass on the representation.”
“That is, of course, your decision to make, Ben.” He noticed he’d been demoted from the friendlier Benny back to Ben. She leaned forwards, placing one elbow on the table, chin in her hand, creating a sense of intimacy with her actions. “I’d rather you hear me out before you reject things out of hand.” Palm to the table, she drew the card back with the tips of her fingers. “But, if you’d like me to leave, I’ll go.” Head dipping to the table, she began gathering her things. “Thank you for the pleasure of hearing you again.” Eyes angled his way under her brows. “And, for updating your website.” A pointed reminder her recommendation was a smart one. He’d heard more than one patron tonight telling Benita they’d found out about this show from the site.
He leaned back in the booth, elbows hooked over the top of the bench. Head tipped up, he stared at the stained ceiling for a moment. There was a soft clink from the table, and he looked to see another bottle of water in front of him. Katherine still waited in the opposite seat. He sat and stared at her, carefully considering what she’d said so far—none of which he disagreed with—and where he wanted the band to be. It wasn’t to keep playing places like this or the Fillet; she was right. He wanted so much more, and it always seemed just out of reach. She didn’t seem discomfited by his attention, her gaze swinging back and forth between him and the crowd.
He glanced around. Blake was holding court by the bar, surrounded by full-bodied girls looking young enough to make Ben hope their fake IDs were as good as his had been. Danny wasn’t anywhere to be seen, and Benita was seated behind the merchandise table, the sour look on her face promising harsh words later. Normally he’d go and sit with her, sign things, take selfies with fans, urge people to buy CDs, and talk about where they’d be playing next.
Right now, he had other things to do. Things to figure out, leaving the bickering sure to come from Benita for later in the evening. There was a puzzle sitting across the table from him. People like Katherine had a currency they used, and he knew exactly what she wanted from him. Ben let his eyes roam what he could see of her, tits straining the thin tee, hair and makeup carefully calculated to be classy, but not over the top. While this was likely a business deal, still, he’d put money on the fact she was looking to slum a bit. He tilted his head to one side, staring into her eyes. Waiting.
Katherine smiled, full lips shining in the muted light of the bar and Ben’s dick woke in his pants as he imagined her mouth on him. Older, powerful, attractive, and into him.Yeah, there’s a lot here I could work with.
“Spiel me.”
Four days later, sitting in another bar on the north side of Denver, Katherine pressed close to her side, Benita signed.
