Page 57 of Shame Me
Cy said, “Show us what you have.”
I opened my notebook. “There are eleven of us altogether,” I said, hoping I didn’t have to show my math—but it was the four of us in the band, Mick, five roadies, and the bus driver. “So let’s start with per diems. I’m going to assume they’re giving us all the same per diem.”
“Which ain’t shit,” Zack interjected.
“Yeah, but it adds up. Two hundred a week times eleven for four weeks equals $8,800.”
Braden’s eyes grew wide. “Whoa.”
“That’s just the beginning. Now let’s look at hotels. I’m not sure you’ve noticed, but Mick has his own room.”
Cy put down his sandwich. “He does?”
“Yeah—but if he didn’t, that would put three in a room…which might be weird or uncomfortable.”
“One of us should—”
“Let’s not sidetrack here. Regardless, that means we’re booking six hotel rooms almost every night. I know we’re not staying anywhere fancy, but even the budget hotels where we’re staying add up. I don’t have the receipts and I haven’t asked Mick yet, but I looked up the average price for a lot of the placeswe’ve already stayed, and I estimated it at around eighty dollars a night for a room—but it could be more. Multiply that times six rooms times twenty-seven days—”
Braden said “Holy shit” before I could give the total.
“And that’s almost $13,000.”
“Okay, Dani,” Zack said, sitting back on the bed, leaning against the wall, “just cut to the chase. I don’t need to hear line-by-line items.”
“Fine.” I let out a slow breath and turned two pages in the notebook where I had computed the grand total. “I know some of my numbers might be off, but we’re looking at total expenses of between $180,000 to $200,000.”
“Jesus,” Cy said, standing up so he could look at the notebook over my shoulder, “you put a lot of thought into this.”
Braden’s brown eyes were wide, as if he’d just seen a ghost. “I can’t even imagine that kind of money.”
Zack said, “Guys, we knew there’d be expenses. It’s the cost of touring. We’re making money. We just aren’t seeing it yet.”
“Okay, then,” I said, “let’s move on to earnings. I got the settlement sheets from Mick.”
“What are those?” Braden asked.
“They’re basically an accounting of total receipts from the show—what the show grossed minus expenses. Without going into excruciating detail,” I said, looking pointedly at Zack, who seemed like he couldn’t care less, “our band is netting an average of about five-thousand per show.” I didn’t miss Braden’s eyes growing wide again, but this time with a twinkle. “But don’t get all excited about that. Some venues pay a little more and some a little less, so I used actual numbers for the sheets I have and estimated for the rest. All together, for the tour itself—only sixteen shows, guys—we’re probably going to earn $80,000.”
Cy shouted, “That’s bullshit!”
Frowning, I simply nodded.
“Can I see the spreadsheets—or whatever you called them?”
Picking up my phone, I tapped in the passcode. “The settlement sheets. Yeah, I took pictures of them. Do you want me to text them to—”
“Can I just look at one?”
Handing him my phone, I said, “Yeah.”
While Cy scrutinized the sheet, using his fingers to move the photo around and zoom in and out, Zack sat back up. “It’s the cost of business. It’ll all even out in the long run.”
Cy was a ball of fury when he spoke. Still looking at the phone, he said, “You think so? Maybe when we’re headliners like LFS, but right now, we’re getting the scraps. Gross ticket sales, a little over $100,000—and all we fuckin’ get is $5,000. That’s a load of horseshit.”
If it hadn’t been such a serious topic, I might have laughed at Cy’s words. But he was right. We were definitely getting the short end of the stick.
“Why so little?” Braden asked.
