And then he had gotten us the prime gig as the opening act on Primal Terror’s first nationwide tour.
Now here we were, six months later, getting ready to release our first album, playing to sold out venues and preparing for our first radio interview.
Shit couldn’t get any better than that.
I wanted to fist pump the air like a Rocky. I wanted to click my heels Fred Astaire style.
Life was good.
And it would be just about perfect if my stupid phone would just freaking ring.
“Here ya go,” I said, sliding the mug to Jose and sitting down across from him. He barely looked up but he nodded his thanks.
I had learned that Jose wasn’t one for niceties or manners. It was one of the things I appreciated about him.
“The interview has been rescheduled for two so you aren’t so crunched for time. You have to be back for sound check at four,” Jose explained in his cut the BS delivery.
“Yeah, okay,” I responded.
Jose looked over the rims of his dark framed glasses and seemed to be studying me. I hated when he did that. It was as though he were trying to steal my soul or something.
Jose wasn’t your stereotypical manager. He didn’t subscribe to the school of khakis and pressed shirts. Jose Suarez was covered, head to toe, in crazy looking tats. His face was full of piercings. It must be a pain in the ass for him to go through a metal detector.
He looked more the part of rock star than most of the actual rock stars I had seen.
He was one badass motherfucker.
It was rumored he had been a gang banger when he was younger and it was on the streets that he gotten to know some dudes who went on to become some of the biggest musicians out there right now.
It was through those connections that he built his business and he had established himself as a reputable manager. He had personally catapulted at least two other bands into the stratosphere. Blind Susan and Catch ‘Em Cal were two of the biggest rock acts on the scene. The latter of which had just gone on to win the Grammy for Best New Artist.
He was rumored to have the magic touch. He understood the industry and knew how to turn shit into gold. And he was committed to doing the same for Generation Rejects.
The whole thing was still so unbelievable.
“You nervous?” Jose asked arching what should have been eyebrow if he had any. I had seen him shave them off meticulously every other day. It was fucking weird.
I scoffed at his question. “Hell no,” I snorted.
Jose stared at me again.
“Good. That’s the attitude I like to see,” he said shortly.
I picked at the black nail polish on my pinkie finger. Vivian had thought it would be cute. And she had been naked with her tits in my face so I had let her paint my nails. Now I could admit it looked ridiculous.
What can I say; I was weak when it came to Vivian’s boobs.
And the rest of her.
“So what sort of questions will there be?” I asked, flicking the black flakes onto the floor.
Jose shrugged. “The standard stuff I’m sure. How do you write your music? Stuff about your upcoming album. What are some crazy stories from the road? But fair warning, you’re being interviewed by some female DJ who originally only wanted you there. So don’t be surprised if she asks you if you have a girlfriend or some trite shit.”
That shocked me.
“She only wanted me there?” I asked incredulously, feeling extremely flattered by that. Not that I would have ever done an interview without the other guys, but my ego needed the little boost. Particularly since the fact that Vivian still hadn’t returned my text was making it all to obvious she was ignoring me.
Jose was doing that staring thing again. He shut his laptop, crossed his arms over top of it, and leaned forward.
“I think you’ve come to realize in the last few months that I don’t bullshit people. Am I right, Cole?” he asked.