"Fuck," the trumpet player yells as she hops up and down on one foot. Then slowly limps over to the stairs in front of the club.
You quickly walk over to her as she's taking off her shoe. Rebecca walks up behind you. "Hey are you okay?" you ask.
"I guess. It's not broken or anything but it hurts like hell." She looks up at you as she rubs her little feet. Tears are welling up in her blue green eyes.
"What happened in there?" Rebecca asks.
"Well tons, Billy, he's our drummer, said he couldn't make any more gigs cause his wife is getting on his case. Well that's understandable and all but when I told Todd, he's the owner of this shit hole, that I would have to miss the next few gigs till we get another drummer he flipped. Started screaming how we aren't a draw any way and how he didn't need us." She begins to us a fake voice that you assume is Todd's, " thers fuckin loadsa bands outder looking far work. Youll just adime adozen. Here's ya money and donn ever think your playin in ma cluba gain."
"Sorry to hear that. You guys were amazing," you say.
"Thanks but after today I don't think that we are going to be playing together much." The trumpet player says.
That was when Rebecca fell over. She looked at her hand and kind of giggled at the little trickle of blood that came from a gash. You help her up as she says, "hey, it doesn't even hurt."
"It will in the morning. Which one of you two is driving?" The jazz player asks.
"I am," you say as you raise your hand.
"I don't think either of you two should be on the road right now," she says. "Maybe the two of you can come crash at my place for the night, I don't live that far from here. Or we can go get some coffee at the diner down the road and you can at least sober up a little before driving home." |