Assure Her (Assured Distraction Book 1) (2 page)

Gunner and Jacoby had played together in a couple different garage bands while in high school. The two joined up with AD when it formed in Carter’s garage during their senior year. Gunner, the drummer, was a loose cannon most of the time but the others had learned to deal with him easily enough.

Ryan, rhythm guitarist, spoke up. “Well, I’m here for the day and then my girl is waiting to spend the rest of the night doing what we do best.” His eyebrows wiggled giving him a devilish look and the guys all understood what he was implying. Whenever they needed Ryan, they knew where to find him. He couldn’t get enough of Krissy, ever. They had been together for the last six-months, and most of that time was spent fucking like rabbits anywhere and everywhere they could find five extra minutes.

The rest of the guys all wondered how the pair was going handle being apart for the next two months. They all joked about how all of Ryan’s money from the tour would probably be spent on flying her to every stop on the tour where he could find time for a hotel room. The others didn’t want them together on the bus for more than a night at a time, the single-and-ready-to-fingle guys refusing to give up their turn to have the one bedroom on the bus to themselves for time the groupies.

KeeMac gave Ryan a smart-ass look, and said, “Dude, we all know how you feel but the rest of us are looking forward to spending time with the girls out there who love us, one night at a time remember? Our short tours in a van won’t even come close to the amount of women we’ll get to have on the road. You know I like a one and done kind of relationship. Nothing’s going to get in the way of our music and sure not a woman.”

“I, for one, hope you two get that worked out in the hotels because I sure as hell don’t want her on the bus. That girl is the loudest screamer I’ve ever heard.” KeeMac made a loud scream, mimicking Krissy’s noises. “She sounds like a cat in heat with its tail caught in the gate.” The other members laughed and added their own renditions: “Owwwwh, Ryan!” “Right there, Ryeeeee!” “Do that again, baaaaaabe!”

“Shut the fuck up. You bunch of assholes know y’all are damn jealous. You can only wish you were gettin’ it that good every time.” Ryan added to halt their shrieks and moans, which only spurred them on further. He took their ribbing good-naturedly though, like he always did.

When the sounds of mock passion died down, Carter picked back up with the conversation. “Just when we get the fucking break we’ve been looking for, Jacoby pulls this shit. How many damn times have we talked about being able to tour with a group like Frission?”

“Yeah, it’s our turn to be on a sold-out North American tour with a band like them, even if it’s only for the first two-month leg. Dude, those pricks know we can get the crowd worked up like a bunch of college girls at a frat party. If we can keep our shit together and pull that off at each stop for the whole fucking first half, we know they’ll damn sure keep us on for the second leg.” Gunner threw a drumstick high and caught it without looking. “We need a keyboard player. Right. Fucking. Now.”

––––––––

“
S
urely, after four years at Juilliard, getting a job in music would be fairly easy.
” Chandler Chatam was talking to herself as she moved boxes into the little house she’d found on Austin’s east side
. “I mean, I know I have the skills. What if I can’t even get an audition?”
A couple hours later, she was finally unpacked and she poured herself a well-earned glass of wine.
I’m finally back home.
As she sat in her small living room, she thought back to how she got to this point in her life.

As the only daughter of a Texas State Representative, she had been groomed, educated, coached, primped, and primed for a life amongst the elite baby-kissers and hand-shakers of the country. She knew how to move with the country’s rich, old money and some new, and how to be elegant decadent and comfortable in Washington and New York by her teen years.

She had a love-hate relationship with the way she grew up, like never getting to be a kid: playful, fun, silly and full of life. Clothes and hair had to be perfect, behavior and manners always minded, and accomplishments measured by awards and mentions in the press. She knew that that life, if she stayed, would eat her alive.

The past four years at Juilliard she was rarely with her family and had very little time to develop friendships with the other students. Her only escape from the constant loneliness was the piano, her first love and where she always felt at home. During her time at music school, she learned to play the guitar, the violin and a few other instruments well enough, but she always found her way back to the keys that brought her the most comfort.

She started playing piano as soon as she had discovered how to climb on the bench, open the fallboard and put her chubby little fingers on the keys. The sounds they created delighted her to no end. Much to her parents’ excitement, she began teaching herself songs after hearing them only a couple of times. But the silly children’s songs only held her interest briefly, and she soon began playing jingles she heard on T.V. from ear, and later started copying some of the classical music her parents often played in their home. That’s when her parents knew she possessed more than just a passing talent. She truly had a musical gift that needed to be fostered. She started on the fast track for Juilliard, with private tutors from UT’s Butler School of Music and lessons from members of the Austin Symphony Orchestra, weekends spent at Juilliard for children, and finally there were auditions and a subsequent acceptance into their college program at the age of seventeen, as a high school junior since she had received more than enough credits to graduate early.

Graduation fell close to her twenty-first birthday, thanks to her starting college a full year early. She’d received a few invitations to audition for area orchestras and musical organizations, but staying in the New York area was not where her heart was. She wanted to return to Austin, the live music capital of the world, the one place that would always be home to her. Surely she could find a way to make something meaningful of her life there doing what she loved.

While she was classically trained, her heart was always pulled toward the music she found on her own, music that seemed to call to her soul. In college, she felt she had to hide her passion for modern music because some of her instructors did not appreciate the beautiful melodies that were the undertones to much of rock genre. The guitar riffs of rock that pierced the airwaves spoke to her on a deeper level than anything she performed as part of her schooling. Playing both guitar and piano, she quickly found that she was able to learn a lot of the music she loved on her own just from listening to it, a gift she seemed she had always possessed.

Moving back to Austin was strange for her after living on her own for four years in New York. She knew it would never work living with her parents again and why should she? She had a trust fund to live on, for a while at least. She knew her parents would never embrace her decisions, so she had been vague and non-committal about her plans. It was time for her to make her own choices now. She was ready to be her own person. Her first step had been to make her way back to Austin and get settled, and her second was to audition for rock bands for the first time ever and see what she could turn up by-way of a regular paying gig.

She was jolted from her inner monologue when her phone rang. “This is Dr. Hobbs, returning your call.” The professor sounded fairly young to be the head of such a prestigious department at UT. Chandler jumped into the speech she had prepared.

“Yes sir, hello. My name is Chandler Chatam, and Dr. Fowlin at Juilliard gave me your phone number as a possible place to start looking for a position.”

Her first step was put into motion. She had left a message for the professor at the urging of her Juilliard mentor when he learned about her plans to return to Austin. He had hoped Chandler would reconsider her broader options, but she was determined to give Austin’s music scene a try first. So, her mentor had given her the contact information of his friend, who happened to head the music department at UT’s Austin campus and suggested she start there in her search for connecting with local musicians.

“I know Dr. Fowlin well, and I’m sure he’s sent you to the right place. Come down to my office and let’s see what we can do for you.” Dr. Hobbs was excited to get someone with Chandler’s background in his office with the hopes of getting her to apply to their Master’s program.

“Thanks, Dr. Hobbs. I appreciate your help but you should know that I am looking for bands in the Austin-area who are looking for keyboard players. I have no interest in going back to school at the moment.”

“That’s disappointing to hear but I understand your need to get out there and prove yourself in other ways.” Chandler could tell from his tone he was disappointed. “Come in anyway, and we’ll see what we can do to help you. With your skills, finding a band shouldn’t be too difficult.” She could only hope he was right.

Finally, after hanging out on campus in UT’s music department for a couple of weeks, her hovering paid off. One of the private tutors came in and mentioned a band he knew was looking for a skilled keyboard player. She was thrilled! What did she have to lose by checking it out? So she contacted the label, sent over a resume, and waited. And waited. And waited.

On Friday morning, bright and early, her phone erupted with Steven Tyler screaming, “Dream On”. It wasn’t the way she usually wanted to wake up, but it got the job done.

“This better be good because I was having an awesome dream,” Chandler managed to mumble.

“Uh, yeah, sorry about that. I’m looking for Chandler Chatam?” The guy on the line didn’t seem too sure about his statement.

“Speaking.”

“So, yeah. My name is Keeton MacDonald, and Ethan at 13 Recordings told me that you might be available to come in and audition for a temporary spot playing keyboards in our band.”

“Well, yeah, I could do that. Would I know your band or the music, Mr. MacDonald?”

“Please, call me Keeton, or KeeMac, preferably. And possibly, if you get out in Austin much. We play all over town: Red 7, Mohawk, Red Eye Fly and then SXSW and the Austin City Limits festivals.” Chandler was impressed to hear they had played at the two biggest festivals in Austin.

“I haven’t been to South-by or ACL in a few years, but I’ve made some of them. With all of the venues in Austin, I don’t think I’ve actually made it to those particular clubs yet.” Going alone to a bar wasn’t really her idea of fun. She made a mental note to put them on the list of places to check out soon.

“So, anyway, we are looking for someone who can pick up our music quickly and can go on a two-month tour, like Monday.” KeeMac knew this was asking for a lot in a hurry but they were getting desperate. Nothing the label sent their way had panned out, and if they couldn’t find a replacement it was looking like they were going to have to cancel the tour until they could get Jacoby back.

“MONDAY?”
Yeah, right!
Chandler thought. She’d just got to Austin and they wanted her to leave—in three days—for eight straight weeks?

“Well, first you would have to audition. And the entire band has to agree on you before we could even make an offer.” KeeMac had been told her skills at the keys were over the top but that didn’t mean she could adapt to their music. She had to have heart for the music, as well.

Chandler sat up trying to get her bearings and thought about it for a few seconds. “OK, sure. I can come in for the audition. When do you want me, and where?” Her quick response sounded like a loaded question to KeeMac, and it made him chuckle to himself.
Damn, my inner man slut is working overtime today,
he thought as he tried to stay focused on the task at hand.
There would be plenty of time for dirty on the road
, he reminded himself with a smirk. “Yeah, we can all be there at ten this morning. I know this is quick, but like I said, we don’t have much time to work with.”

“I can make it. Just tell me where.”

––––––––

“C
ome to mama, baby.” Chandler loved her Fender Clapton Stratocaster. She felt like they wouldn’t ask her to open the case, but having it along as a good luck charm gave her an extra boost of confidence that she could do this. Thinking back on the day she received it, made her smile to herself.

“Why would you buy me something like this? It’s so expensive,” Chandler asked, running her hands reverently over the smooth glossy wood.

“Because Chandler, sweetheart, we want you to have the best money can buy to pursue your career.” Her father had told her when she’d opened the custom Strat after one of her performances in college. They had attended a performance where she played a guitar solo that completely impressed them.

“
We had no idea until we heard you play how much you had honed your skills on the guitar. You have amazed us, once again, with all of your accomplishments. You should take the time to inform us of your achievements more often, dear,” her mother added. Giving such an expensive gift for just one solo was something only her parents would do, if for no other reason than for others to see how generous they were with her
.
It made her feel self-conscious.

Chandler couldn’t have cared less what others thought and took the gift back to her apartment where she promptly stored it under the bed. There it stayed until the day she packed everything into her moving van; she didn’t want to feed their egos by flashing that thing around campus. But once she could actually bring herself to look passed the idea that it was a showy piece of musical artwork, she finally pulled it out to play it, if only in the privacy of her own place. From the first moment she strummed across the strings, she was in love
.

Addressing it lovingly again, like it was human, she whispered, “You know you’re my favorite, baby.”

Wandering into the studio at 13 Recordings was a little surreal to her. Platinum albums lined the walls from the label’s signed bands, past and present. She had seen these sort of plaques before but never in a professional recording studio where she was about to audition, and certainly not since she had come home to Texas.