The Openers

By Jayna Ostler

Quin, drummer of rock quartet Smudge, has known nothing but music in her life. She’s excited to go on her first tour as an opening act for Octopus Pie and see life as her parents saw it for so many years. She never considered when she heard all of the amazing stories from them that her first encounter of tour life would include a long distance relationship that’s falling apart, an alcoholic band leader, and a pair of leather pants that she thinks would be better off destroyed.

Shirk has waited a long time to be able to tour with his best friend and band, Flip Spit. Music is the only thing that’s gotten him through the last handful of years and he’s determined to try and make this the best tour ever. When he realizes that he doesn’t exactly want to make the same music as his band anymore, he’s tossed into a loop of arguments. Quin is his best distraction and he makes it his number one priority to meet her every morning to make music worth fighting for.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Aug 31, 2014
• ISBN: 9781312460683

Book preview

The Openers

THE OPENERS

First Edition

Copyright © 2014 Jayna Ostler

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever.

This is a work of fiction. Names, bands, characters, venues, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons or bands living or dead is entirely coincidental.

Distributor http://www.lulu.com

ISBN: 978-1-312-46068-3

TO

Mr. Wayman.

You weren’t the one to teach me the piano or the bass clarinet, but you were the one who taught me the guitar and how to find music in people.

Oh, and I’m still sorry I dropped out of AP Music Theory to take beginning guitar and newspaper. I still suck at the guitar, but look at the books I’m writing.

Chapter 1: Quin

When I first told my parents that I was quitting my job at the gas station to travel around the country with my band as an opening act for Octopus Pie, my mom cried. She turned away from me and into Dad’s embrace and sobbed, Our baby is growing up so fast!

Granted, not everyone’s parents reacted the same way mine did. As soon as I had been assured by my parents that it was going to be the time of my life, and had them help me make a list of things to pack, they had gone off to a concert of one of their old rock friends who was still able to take the stage without breaking a hip. I called up the twins, Bronte and Steg Lexington, to see how their talk had gone. It was apparently the typical rant from their parents. "We want you successful, not gay and not with a pregnant girlfriend and a band. Successful." I’m sure their parents hadn’t said those exact words, but that was the paraphrase the boys had given me.

Mom helped me pack a duffle bag of my clothes and toiletries and Dad bought me a few extra pairs of my favorite drum sticks. Throughout packing and even up until now—the last few hours before heading out—they keep falling into a reminiscent state of when they had been in bands and played shows as openers for a few big names. I’ll mention something about needing to remember toothpaste and Dad will jump into a story about someone using denture cream to fix a broken mic stand or Mom will tear up remembering the many wonderful moments with her band members sharing the same toothbrush for two months.

I love them. I love that they’re supporting me when I know Bronte, Steg, and Pierce aren’t being supported, but I want to get away from them. I want to get on the road and start playing shows. I want to live in the music and let the music live off me.

Make sure you’re eating before the show, Quin, Mom says, giving me last minute advice. She has a blue backpack on her lap—one I’ve had since elementary school—and is shoving pretzels, bite sized candy bars, and other random snack food inside. The way her hand dips in through the top makes it look like the mermaid tattooed on her arm is actually bobbing in and out of water. My bassist never ate before a set and she would always end up puking backstage afterwards.

Gross, Mom. I do a mental check of all the items in my bags. Band practice has always been at my house in the basement, which has made getting the stuff besides guitars ready mostly my job. My parents have it down to a science though and it hasn’t been too bad. We brought up the drum set before Pierce called me to let me know he was picking up the twins and Ptero.

And don’t make out with the members of other bands. Dad has the tip of his finger on his chin and he adds another finger next to it every time he offers up a piece of advice.

I impatiently look down the road to hopefully see the band van. Dad, I’m not going to make out with other band members. I’m dating Blake.

Which means you won’t be making out with anyone at all, Dad mumbles against his fingers.

I turn back to give him a glare and he hold up his hands defensively. The inside of his forearms are tattooed with bold letters. MUSIC on the right and SAVES on the left. His long sleeves are only pulled up slightly and all that shows is MU and SA. His eyes widen as he says, You can’t deny that truth. Long distance means no physicality.

Before he can go on about making out with anyone (because God knows I don’t want to hear any stories involving them and physicality), Pierce rounds the corner of the subdivision with the van, a camping trailer hooked on, and the rest of our band. The trio of dinos wave enthusiastically through the window at my parents who happily wave back. Pierce just looks pissed. He always looks pissed. Sometimes I don’t think any amount of sex, drugs, or rock-and-roll could put a smile on his pale face.

I’m the first to stand and start hauling the bass drum to the van. Bronte and Steg pile out and pick the rest of the set to help me stack it carefully in the back of the van. It’s like playing a wicked puzzle game and the three of us are the masters of Level DRUMS. Ptero and Mom meet halfway across the yellow lawn and instantly start talking about the little rocker growing inside of Ptero. Pierce takes his time to get out of the driver’s seat. He twirls the keys around his finger as he saunters over to grab two of the amps.

As I pass him to grab my duffle bag, he raises his eyebrows at me. Bringing your acoustic?

I shrug and resist the overwhelming urge to roll my eyes at him as I stress, It’s just for my own entertainment, Pierce. You know I only play my drum set on stage.

Just making sure, QT. He lightly hits my elbow and goes to the van. The hint of a smirk he gives me would be joking to anyone who hadn’t known him for the past four years. He has a very set idea of what the band should be and my fingers strumming a guitar instead of curled around a pair of sticks is completely out of the question. It doesn’t stop me from playing though. Just not on stage.

Quicker than I thought possible, the van is packed with my stuff and I’m giving my parents one last hug. Mom kisses my cheek two times and Dad tousles my hair. They both give me the mandatory call when you get there! line and before I know it, I’m sitting next to Steg as Pierce drives us towards Madison where we will meet with Flip Spit and Octopus Pie.

Pierce’s master rule about riding in the van to gigs is that the driver picks the music. It’s a rare moment when he’s sober enough to drive, so I don’t even mind that Murdered Crows is blasting through the small interior. As the hours go by, one by one, we all stop singing along. My headphones won’t overpower the music and I can’t call Blake since I won’t be able to hear him. I settle for texting him.

Me: Hey! I’m on my way to meet up with our other bands we’re touring with! How are you?

Steg leans over to glance at the name on my screen. His vibrant orange hair hangs in my view until he sits back up. His feet are propped up on the bench in front of us and he’s leaning against the stack of duffel bags next to him. How are you two doing?

Blake: I’m walking to orchestra rehearsal right now. We’re going to work on the symphony I wrote.

Great! I put on a fake smile that I give to everyone who asks about us. I don’t know why I have to lie to my own friends about it. Blake seemed cool with the band when we were all still in high school. Bronte and Pierce (who skipped classes at his own school specifically for this task) asked me to join their band when I was a freshman and them juniors. Blake and I have been dating since eighth grade. He’d work on his algebra homework in the living room during our band practices. Things change though and he doesn’t tolerate our sound as much anymore. I try to steer the conversation away from me though as I pull out my notebook and flip to a blank page. How are you and Howel?

Steg scratches his chin while he uses his tongue to play with his lip ring in what could only be a ‘perfect way to start off a conversation about your boyfriend’ for Steg. We had a falling out. Really, it’s my own fault for dating someone as dense as him. We were at the store getting some more hair color so I could be fantastic during the tour and this man—a gorgeous man—walked by and I said to Howel, dude that looks like Kevin Kamble, and he said, who?, and then I said, Kevin Kamble, and he just like, raised those perfect little eyebrows at me and so I said, you know from Splendor?, and he stared at me and looked dumb—but he’s very cute when he looks dumb—and oh my God I can’t date him if he doesn’t know who Kevin Kamble or Splendor is!

He throws his hands up in the air dramatically and I can’t help but laugh. He glares at me for only a minute until he can’t keep a smile off his face anymore. He reaches over and grabs my side to get me to stop laughing. I hit his hands away. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Steg. You’re just too adorable! I don’t think anyone else has a better resident gay than we do.

He sighs and slouches back down. We’ll see about that. Howel and I also called it quits because of the tour.

The distance? Ptero asks without looking back at us.

No. More the fact that I used to date the keyboardist in Flip Spit. He shrugs like it isn’t a big deal but I can tell from the way he picks at a hangnail on his thumb that it’s more than nothing. I knew what the keyboardist looked like, but I wasn’t sure of his name off the top of my head. He was a great musician and listening to their music the past month made me wonder if there was a chance that Pierce could one day change up his music style and allow a keyboardist. Then maybe Blake and I wouldn’t have to be so far away all the time. But I don’t think I could lure him away from his precious Julliard that easily. I snap out of that fantasy as Steg flicks his fingers to get the dead skin and nail off. But whatever. I’m sure it will be fine. We’re touring and that’s all that matters, right?

Damn right. Pierce’s voice shocks me a bit. We can’t screw up this fucking tour because of relationship drama.

Yes, sir. Steg winks at me after rolling his eyes at the back of Pierce’s head.

Chapter 2: Shirk

Rachael: Coming.

Freddy! They’re coming! I shout even though the apartment is small enough that I don’t need to.

Shit! His swear word echoes through the wall of the bathroom to the living area where I’m shoving all of my dirty pants into a black garbage bag that I can easily stuff under the table in the trailer. Dude, we still need to get the synth and the kit from the storage unit!

I know! I take a cardboard box to the pantry next to the stove and start putting everything in it that is at least half full—cereal, hotdog buns, peanut butter. I told you we should’ve started this last week!

There’s a loud banging sound of a drawer slamming and Freddy swears again. Did you already pack my toothbrush? I can’t find it!

I haven’t touched your stuff, bro. Rachael’s in pursuit and you know if we aren’t at least halfway packed in the trailer, we’re both going to be chewed out and grounded. I fold the box closed. It’s not even close to being filled. When we buy a toothbrush, we need to buy food too.

In a hurry, we stuff as much into our arms and onto Freddy’s back as possible and head down to the parking lot where the motor home and storage trailer are hooked together. We throw everything in under the bed and table just as Rachael, Boomer, and Traeson are driven into the parking lot by Rach’s roommate.

Rachael instantly beelines over to me, playing with the black hair hanging over her right shoulder. Are we ready to go?

We still need the synth and stuff out of the storage unit. I shrug which in turn makes my back brace feel weird under my shirt like the back of it has got caught or something. I hate wearing the damn thing, but if I want to be able to get to sleep after sitting for a few hours, I have no choice. Oh, and for all of the stuff you guys brought.

I sent you a text, She checks her watch, Twenty minutes ago. You knew we were leaving at this time. We’ll have to push the speed limit a bit to make it to Madison in time.

Yeah, I know. I start walking away from her to where Traeson and Boomer are unloading the merch boxes into the trailer. Boomer hitches a grin at me and hands me a sleeping bag and pillow to carry instead of one of the boxes.

She sighs sharply, I don’t understand why you two weren’t ready then.

Well, seeing as how Freddy just got done with his last shift at the grocery store an hour ago and had to argue on the phone that he couldn’t cover a shift tonight at his other job, I’d say we were distracted and pressed for time to actually do anything. I put my hands on her shoulders and she relaxes slightly. Come on, Rach. It’s going to be a great month touring. Don’t get your panties in a bunch before it’s even started.

Fine. Let’s just hurry. She tries smiling before going back to the car to pull out her pink suitcase of clothes. I’ll text Michael to let him know we might be late.

We won’t be late.

After we snatch up the last instruments, Boomer takes the wheel to get us going. No one could be late to anything with him driving. That man has the cleanest driving record for someone who always goes at least ten over the speed limit. I sit on the couch with my phone in hand to read through some random guitar tabs I’ve been meaning to try out while we drive. Traeson has Splendor playing since Boomer always listens to his headphones. I wanted to offer to drive, but they all know I struggle with the long hauls. Once we start doing shows, I know I’ll be paying hell with every fiber of my spine in order to not be in pain.

♪

The grocery store parking lot where we’re meeting Octopus Pie isn’t exactly the prettiest. It was easy enough to spot them though—set up next to the large concrete fence on the west side, trailers parked in an unorderly fashion. Camry, the lead singer of Octopus Pie, can be spotted right away with her long red hair waving with the wind. The rest of our headlining band, Evan, Lance, Sydney, and Kevin, are sitting on the least stained patch of asphalt next to her. There’s a blue van with a trailer attached to it parked in a much better spot a few yards away. I figure it’s the other band, Smudge.

I stand up and carefully stretch my arms when Boomer parks. I can’t let my body stretch too far unless I want my back to pop and cause all sorts of super fun feelings after. Freddy peers out the window next to me before ungracefully elbowing my stomach and shouting, Shit!

What? I groan.

His eyes widen as he looks at me. Shit, I’m sorry, dude. I wave him off. But my ex is in that band.

And you didn’t know this before now?

Well, seeing as how I’ve had two jobs, they changed their band name since we dated, and I’ve been dating other people since? He wrings his hands together nervously and bounces on his heels. What am I going to do?

Nothing? I suggest. There are plenty of other people on this tour. You don’t exactly have to go up to him and say ‘remember when we dated?’

Freddy sits back down to pull on his shoes, tying them sloppily. You think I should just ignore him?

Whatever floats your boat, dude. I leave the motor home before he can go on about it. I get that he’s had some tense relationships in his past and this could very well be one of them, but I just don’t care right now. All I can focus on is the dull pain making its way deeper into the crevices of my body. I can already tell that I’m going to need pain killers to sleep tonight. I spot Rachael over in the shade of Smudge’s trailer, adjusting her flowered shirt over her stomach. She looks up at me and smiles as I ask, What’s the plan?

We’re going to stand next to Smudge and say that little opener they always do on their videos. Then they’re going to cover a Beears song. Then we’ll all get on the road again. She nods at someone over my shoulder and I turn to see a tall guy with styled blonde hair and a lanyard around his neck. He’s talking to Octopus Pie in a way that Rachael talks to us. You were right, Michael said we were totally fine. Smudge arrived only minutes before us. Right on time.

You should trust my judgment more, I tease.

She shakes her and smiles fondly at me. I always trust your judgment, Shirk.

As Octopus Pie sets up a few basic microphones to catch their audio, I watch as Smudge piles out of their van. I’m not familiar with them by names, but I’ve seen their three music videos enough times to—mostly—tell them apart. The driver and lead singer gets out, saunters over to Michael and they immediately start talking business. The side door opens and their drummer gets out. She turns around and says something to the tall guy who follows her before she punches his arm. He laughs loudly, only wincing away from her patronizingly. He helps out another girl who isn’t in the videos and hugs her tightly, rubbing her back and kissing the top of her head. The orange-haired bassist, who looks almost exactly like the one who got punched, gets out last and shuts the door.

That’s him. Freddy hovers behind me, motioning with his hand at the colored hair. Oh God, he’s more attractive than I remember.

He’s definitely Freddy’s type and I can’t help but smirk at that. I don’t think there’s been a single guy he’s brought home that hasn’t had colored hair. Rachael comes back over to us and excitedly grins. Time to shoot.

We’re ushered over in front of Octopus Pie and Freddy does his best to keep as far away from his ex as possible. Rachael stays to the side with some of the tour crew and watches us like a proud mother. Smudge’s singer stands next to me—more like towers over me. His arms and neck are covered in tattoos and he has gauges large enough to stick a thumb through. He scowls at everything.

When I hold up my finger after counting down is when you guys go. Flip Spit first. Smudge second. Michael stations himself in front of us, a video camera in his hands that’s turned on but not rolling yet. He tells us the opening line we’re supposed to say that I remember hearing on the video I watched a few months ago when Octopus Pie announced this tour. He takes a few steps back and holds up the camera. He starts counting down and instead of saying ‘one,’ he holds up his finger.

As in sync as no practice can be in sync, the eight of us say, Good afternoon octopi! Today can’t suck because Octopus Pie is kicking off their Leave It Out tour!

We’re Flip Spit. I look into the camera and try to look happy and not like I would gladly rip out my back if it would make it feel better.

And we’re Smudge. He’s completely unenthusiastic and I swear to God I can hear his scowl in his voice.

All eight of us say again, And this is Octopus Pie.

Michael waves his hand for us to move out of the way and I somehow end up on the same side as Smudge and not with my band. I consider walking behind Michael to them, but that requires effort—something I’m lacking a lot of right now. I fold my arms over my chest to hope it helps me feel better. The drummer is right next to me. She’s shorter than I am and sporting a Young Feet shirt and the most bizarre pants I’ve ever seen—red on one half and black/white checkered on the other half. Her dark blonde hair is cut short, falling to her chin.

As Octopus Pie plays their acoustic cover, I watch this girl next to me sway with the music. She silently taps her hands on her thighs to the beat. Checkered. Red. Red. Checkered. Red. Checkered. Checkered. It’s mesmerizing. I watch the way the music flows from her finger tips and up to her shoulders, down her back and through her body entirely. She’s so full of music that I can almost feel the happiness coming off her like sitting next to a window on a hot day.

My eyes slowly trail up her body and then I catch the look of her front man next to her. He’s glaring at me in a possessive way. Are they an item or something? They seem like an unlikely pair. He’s brooding and I haven’t seen him smile once. I shrug and take a step back from the entire group, heading back to our motor home to lie down in hopes that it will make me feel better when we actually get to Minneapolis.

Chapter 3: Quin

The next morning I try to busy myself in the areas of The Checks where Pierce won’t be. Pierce only has one thing on his mind and it’s getting me out of my pants. He’s not a fan of the pants I wear. When I joined the band (when we were originally called Guitar Piss) and we had only played one set for an audience (of barely twenty), Pierce took me shopping. He spent all of the money we had scraped off of that gig and bought me leather pants.

My parents always said it made me look more classic rock—something they secretly wish I was more of. My mom owned at least three pairs of leather pants at my age. Dad owned his own too. I think Pierce mostly has me wear them so more guys will listen to our band even though he hasn’t come straight out and said that to me. I hate wearing them. They’re tight and I don’t feel like I can actually get comfortable with my drum set while wearing them.

We’ve spent the entire afternoon setting up the stage and figuring out what kind of groove we’re supposed to fall into through the next month of performances. If you were to pick up someone’s phone and go through their playlists, you would not find the band Smudge and the band Octopus Pie on the same playlist. I have no idea what kind of witchcraft Pierce used to get us on this tour.

You would find, however, Smudge and Flip Spit on the same playlist. You could also find Flip Spit and Octopus Pie grouped together. Somehow the music gods of the universe took pity on our guitars and put this line up together perfectly. Without Flip Spit’s mediating sound, we probably wouldn’t be here. Since we play first, my drum set is set up in the middle left of the stage. It’s cramped with Octopus Pie’s stuff setup under black sheets of fabric, but after playing in my parent’s small band rehearsal room for as many years as we have, it almost feels right.

But