Page 50 of Silver Edge
“Sure.” He took the marker and a stack of fliers and disappeared out the door.
One of the guys with large gauges in his ears waved me over. “What’s up? You look like you’re lost or something.”
“No, I was hoping to talk to you. The girl behind the counter said you guys were in a band. A pop-punk band and a death metal band.”
The tall guy nodded at the shorter one. “He’s in a death metal band, but I’m not in any. Why?”
I steadied my hands and forced my eyes to scan each of them. “There’s gonna be an Edge Fest over at a venue close by and there’ll be two big producers there who’ll be judging the competition on November fifteenth. You can show up that night and play, but the slots are limited. Or you can submit something beforehand for a guaranteed place.”
“What time?” the short guy asked. “Two of my guys are out of town, but they’re due back Friday afternoon. I can chat with them then.”
I clutched the back of one of the chairs and squeezed, willing myself to stay focused and ignore the strange smell coming from the other guy’s hair. “Four p.m. is load-in. The battle will start at six p.m. If you have a track or two to send in, just check out the link at the bottom of the flyer. If you sound good, you’ll get voted for a spot. If not, you can show up and hope to make the cut. The battle ends at one in the morning even if there’s still groups waiting to play, so the earlier you get a slot the better your chances.”
“Hey, I got something.” Tall man snagged a CD from his backpack. “This friend of mine’s in a pop-punk band called Values. It’s good. You should take a listen.”
The shorter guy pulled a CD from his case as well. “Here. I got one from our band, too.” He also removed a card from his wallet. “Contact info is on the back. Count us in.”
I took the CDs, relieved to be done with my sales pitch. “Thanks. You’ll hear from us with your play time if you score an early spot. Oh, and spread the word.” I handed each of them a flyer.
Chapter Twenty-One
Hawaiian dumped the day’s mail on the coffee table. “Here’s some more CDs.”
I took another swig of coffee and ejected the CD I’d just been suffering through.
Drake shoved back from his desk and stretched. “Thanks, man.”
“Hey, Boss. You two don’t look so good. You guys need some sleep.”
I shrugged and sifted through the mail. Drake didn’t say a word. What could he say? I had been staying at Bands for over a week, but we hadn’t slept together. We hadn’t touched each other. Of course, we didn’t talk about it, but the temperature between us matched the cooling fall temperatures outside. We’d been working around the clock, each taking breaks to sleep on the couch.
“Listen, I’ve got to go. Remember, I got that wedding in Savannah tomorrow for my cousin. I’ll be back on Tuesday.” Hawaiian held up his cell phone. “You guys need somethin’, call me. Oh, I forgot, Ton wanted me to tell you he called.”
“Thanks.”
Drake tossed his phone onto the pile in front of me. “Here, call him. I’ll walk Walter out and lock up.”
I fell back in the chair and dialed Ton’s number. It rang once, and he answered. “Hey, that you, Scarlet?”
“Yeah, it’s me. How are ya?”
“Good. You sound tired.”
I sighed. “I am. I’m working on this big event here.”
“What kind of event?” Concern etched his voice. “You need to be careful about taking on too much.”
“I’m fine. The event is an Edge Fest here in Atlanta. I’m trying to save the music venue I’m working at. We’ve got groups sending in CDs from all over the world. It’s amazing.”
“You’re doing that on your own?” Ton asked, that overprotective tone in his voice.
I slid the letter opener through the top of a bubble envelope. “Not alone, but I came up with the idea and I’m booking the bands and creating the set schedule. Drake is doing all the media stuff, though. Radio and TV interviews aren’t my thing.”
He chuckled. “No, I don’t think they are. So, tell me about this Drake.”
I concentrated on keeping my tone light, not giving any indication of our continuing drama. “He owns the place we’re trying to save.”
“Is that all he is to you? Your boss?”
