Rock All Night

24




First thing I did was call Miles’s cell phone. It was the only number that Glen, my editor at Rolling Stone, had given me before I left New York.

“Miles ‘ere,” he answered on the first ring.

“Hi, Miles, it’s Kaitlyn.”

I was expecting something like, Hello, or Good morning, or any of a number of possible pleasantries.

What I got instead was a brusque, “What do you want?”

“Um… I just wanted to make sure you guys hadn’t left without me.”

“Left without you?” he asked, almost incredulous.

“Yeah… isn’t there another concert in another city tonight?” I asked, recalling one of the few other pieces of information I’d gotten from Glen.

“Irvine – but it’s only an hour away. Bus won’t even be ready till three.”

“Oh. Um… okay… that’s good… are the guys practicing now?”

He gave a short, barking laugh. “PRACTICING? Those lazy sods aren’t even UP yet.”

Suddenly I felt a whole lot better.

“Oh… okay… what time should I come by, then?”

“Whenever,” he snapped, then hung up the phone.

A*shole.

But at least I had time to take a shower.