But my silent phone had kept me awake.
And then there was the day ahead of us. It was going to be a big one.
We had our first radio interview at a midsized station in St. Louis, where we would be playing tonight. Then later we had some principal photography that the label had set up for our upcoming album release.
Current Static was set to go live in a couple of weeks. Now that our tour with Primal Terror was doing so well, Pirate Records told us that they were planning on pumping more and more money into our release.
We were all pretty excited about it. But for me this was my chance to prove that I wasn’t a waste of space. That I could do something with my life without going into the military or going to college.
That I hadn’t made a huge mistake by walking out of my parents’ house all those years ago. That I was going to make it with or without their support.
It was kind of pathetic that here I was, a twenty-four year old man and still hung up on his mommy and daddy issues. It was so cliché.
“Pour me a cup, will ya?” I looked over my shoulder to find Jose Suarez, our new manager, sitting down at the table and pulling out his laptop.
“Sure, man. Cream or sugar?” I asked.
“Black,” he said shortly.
Of course. That didn’t surprise me. Jose Suarez wasn’t the type to mess up perfectly good coffee with bullshit.
We had been on the road for a little over four months, sleeping out of Garrett’s van or in crappy Motel 6s when Jose approached us after a show.
We had been playing steady gigs with the help of Dougie, Mitch’s club promoter cousin.
At first, the whole thing had been embarrassing. Hardly anyone showed up and we were playing to crowds of twenty to thirty people. We were living off fifty bucks a show and were close to calling it a day and heading home.
But then, something changed. I still don’t know exactly know what did it. What that magic moment was when we went from being third-rate garage band to up and coming stars.
Suddenly people were talking about us. And people started showing up to watch us play. What had begun as a pipe dream slowly became a reality.
And when Dougie hooked us up with a marketing manager with a rising indie rock label, Pirate Records, we jumped at the chance to record a single to sling out to radio stations.
And then Jose Suarez had entered the picture. He had heard about us and decided to check us out. He had liked what he had seen. He wanted to manage us. He was positive he could take us to the next level. He had been working in the industry for over fifteen years. He had connections. He had experience. He was exactly what Generation Rejects needed.
Jordan was adamantly against it. He hadn’t wanted to screw over his girlfriend. That had pissed me off. And that had led to one of our worst fights. When all was said in done, we had forty stitches between us and had signed Jose as our manager.
Maysie had been fine with it after I had gotten tired of Jordan’s shit and gone behind his back to talk to her about it. She had understood that working with Jose was a once in a lifetime opportunity. She hadn’t been as blind and emotional about it as her *-whipped boyfriend.
But I still got the feeling that Jordan resented me for strong-arming the decision. Whatever. The one thing you could never accuse me of is not having the best interests of the band at heart.
I wanted us to rock the world. I wanted us to be a success. I wasn’t going to let Jordan and his pink, fluffy relationship get in the way of that.
And once we had signed on with Jose, things took off pretty quickly. Using his connections he got us bigger and better venues. He got our single, Perfect Regret, airplay on a bunch of college radio stations.
Slowly and surely, we were building a fan base that consisted of more than just the drunks that hung out at Barton’s Bar and Grill on a Saturday night.