Songbird (4 page)

I leaned back in my chair and studied the man
seated across from me. I hadn’t bothered to comment on the fact
he’d already made a reservation or that he’d already had water and
appetizers ordered for the table by the time we were seated. There
was no reason to waste time on the obvious. His message was clear;
he got what he wanted.

Ezra kept the lunch conversation light and
impersonal. He talked about the city, the weather, and the music
but never about what he really wanted while we ate. There wasn’t
enough of a breach in the conversation for me to excuse myself and
bolt. I resignedly responded where polite but held my tongue and
waited.

“Good food,” Ezra politely burped into his
napkin. Or as politely as burping at the table with a woman present
could get.

I nodded. “I don’t have a lot of flexibility
for indulgences but I like coming here when I do.” He didn’t need
to know that all I got when I came was dessert and internally
cringed at the price of a sliver of cake every time.

“Good tastes.” He smiled. “So now that we’re
full and sated, which always makes for a happy mood, it’s time for
business.”

Since I couldn’t find a reason to argue, I
waved a hand and wished I could discreetly loosened my belt buckle.
There was no discreet way to do that, and it wasn’t ideal with the
gun holster linked on the belt. I would have to tough out the tight
pants until I got home.

“Nicholas Walker.” Ezra’s brows drew together
for the first time and stormy nights drifted through his eyes. “The
boy is seriously talented, sings like one of God’s angels.”

“I hear a
but
in there.”

He sighed. “He’s more temperamental than a
pregnant woman denied her food craving. The smallest thing can set
him off. He’s stubborn, and when he doesn’t feel like doing
something, getting him to do the task is as futile as building a
brick wall with sand.” Ezra ran a hand through his hair. “He keeps
his own schedule, which is really a way to say he fucks up every
time table I’ve ever tried to establish. Assistants don’t last more
than a week... He’s too much of a handful.” He sighed and rubbed
the back of his neck.

“What’s this have to do with me?” I asked. I
didn’t want to give my full attention but I was curious. “And why
is he still in the business if he’s so difficult to work with?”

“Not only did you keep Nick from decking an
asshole, which by the way, I would have privately applauded and
publicly chastised him for. But you got him to perform when he had
no intention of sharing the stage with the dick.” He leaned
forward. “And Nick hasn’t written any new music in ten months.
That’s a very long time to go without music, and according to Guy,
the live show bassist, Nick has four written in the last few hours
because of
Songbird
.”

I shrugged. “Musicians are temperamental
bastards, I’m told. I still don’t get what this has to do with
me.”

“You’re a manager.” Erza pointed a finger. “I
need you to manage Nick. If he listened to you once, it’s possible
he’d do it again.”

I gapped. There was no way I had heard that
correctly. “I don’t understand.”

“I’m hiring you as Nick’s assistant and the
tour manager for the tour starting next week. I have an obligation
here to see to and Nick has managed to run off the tour manager I
hired for his part of the tour already. There is another manager,
Denton, that you’ll come across as he and an assistant is handling
the opening act, Dolls of Serenity.”

“Why not have Denton do it.”

“Two reasons. I need someone to make Nick
stick to the schedule, and keep him out of trouble. Nicholas would
run Denton off in less than an hour. I don’t expect miracles. I’ve
contacted Gracing in New York, Bianca. None of them blame you for
what happened. They were sorry to see you go, and would snatch you
up in a heartbeat if you decided to go back.”

“I have a job.” The protest was weak as my
mind swirled with possibilities.

“Salary while you’re on tour is a grand a
week, and when you get back you’ll get a bonus check of three
percent of royalties for the venues. I’m going to be honest what
I’m asking you to do isn’t easy. I had to practically drag him
kicking and screaming onto the stage in Dallas last year. The tour
is three months long. You’ll be crossing the country in the tour
bus. There are thirty full concerts scheduled and a little more
than thirty interviews, radio appearances, signings, and TV
interviews. The exact schedule already set up. You just have to
keep him on it.”

I calculated, thought about last night, and
then sighed. “There’s no way this is going to work.”

“I have every reason to believe it will or I
wouldn’t be here,” Ezra tapped his fingers on the table and tilted
his head to study me. “Tell you what, as a good faith act, I’ll
even toss in a signing bonus of a grand. Agree to go on the tour
and you get an extra grand right now in cash.”

“And if it doesn’t work? If Nicholas fires me
in a week?” I wrung my hands together. The man may be hiring me to
do a job but there was nothing in any of what he said that gave me
any reason to believe Nicholas could go against his wishes.

“He can’t. At this time, I’m the only one
with authority to fire you. I suppose he could fire me, which would
in turn fire you. While he can be foolhardy, I don’t think he’s be
stupid enough to do that.”

I tapped my fingers on the table and
considered. I didn’t want anyone dragging my skeletons out of the
closet. If I accepted that could very well happen and managing
Nicholas’s moodiness would be the least of my problems. Could I
keep that under wraps and still manage to control Nicholas? I felt
my shoulders tense already in regret of the decision I hadn’t
spoken out loud. “All right. I’ll babysit.”

Ezra’s schedule looped in my head as I pulled
into the garage. In an hour, the roadie bus and equipment truck
would be pulling out, but I wanted to lay some ground rules before
we went underway. Besides, I needed to introduce myself, since I
was in charge of this tour now.

I had spent the last week going over business
information with Ezra. There had been no point in staying at
Bluejay when there had been so much information to collect before
the tour started. Ezra had insisted on paying me for that week as
well, since I was technically working for the band.

The tour band would be busing with Nicholas
and we left in two hours. The opening act flew into Seattle and
would be traveling separately from Nicholas. Apparently the
all-girl band had concerns about Nicholas’s…manners.

I had protested driving from Nashville to
Seattle but Ezra had overruled. There was no better way to get
accustomed to someone’s presence than a twenty some hour road trip
across have the USA. He wanted the guys to get used to my being
here. In other words, he wanted Nicholas to wrap his head around
the idea I was tour manager.

The buses were beautiful machines. The tour
logo was screened onto both sides with a website to check for a
city near you for dates and times. Overall, it was clever
marketing.

When I stepped out of the VW Eos, I knew I
had the attention of everyone loading in. I resisted wiping my
sweating palms on my skirt or smoothing a hand over my hair.
Unhurriedly, I pulled the business phablet Ezra had given me, from
the abyss of my purse and scrolled through names. I knew who I was
looking for, but the act would help the men watching settle.

“Can I help you?” One of the roadie’s
ventured.

“I’m looking for Jimmy.” I sent the roadie a
smile. Jimmy was the production manager and would see that the
stage traveled, setup, and broke down correctly. I had the names of
our drivers as well—technically I was anal enough I had everyone
that would be on this tour—and I would be looking for them
next.

“Jimmy’s over there.” He jerked his chin
towards the man at the front of the bus with a clipboard.

“Thanks.” I reviewed the man as I approached.
He was in his mid-forties at a guess, too many beers on his time
off, silvering in his hair and wrinkles that spoke of wind burn and
time outdoors.

“Jimmy?”

He grunted at me, gave me a glance and went
back to his clipboard.

Rudeness was something I wouldn’t tolerate. I
didn’t give a fuck who you were. I tapped his papers harder than
necessary. “Can I have your attention, please?”

“I ain’t got time for you girl.”

“I’m Bianca Sheridan, the Tour Manager. If
you want to stay on as production manager I suggest you make the
time.”

His eyes lifted again and really looked me
over. I dressed to impress this morning and the classic lines of my
pencil suit flattered. As an added bonus the jacket lines hide my
Beretta very nicely. Topping it all off, the careless curls in my
hair added a touch of girlie. I didn’t wear makeup as a rule so the
only thing to decorate my face besides the classic glasses was the
lip gloss to prevent dryness.

“I don’t know what Ezra’a thinking—”

“Ezra’s thoughts are his own. You should ask
him if you’re really concerned about it. What is more vital at the
moment is that I am the Tour Manager and this production as a whole
is my responsibility.” I pressed my lips into a thin, unhappy line.
“This is frightfully small compared to what I’m used to but I
assure you, I have no problems putting any one in their place. From
you to Venue Manager.”

He fish mouthed at me.

“Now that that’s cleared up, you’re supposed
to be pulling out in an hour. Is there a problem? I presume that’s
why you’re not done yet.”

He shook his head and if looks could kill I
would be on the ground in a pool of blood. “We’ll be done in time.
Instruments go with you. We’re not responsible for those.”

“I’m aware you’re only responsible for
production.” I planted my feet and leaned in a little so I could
maintain direct eye contact. “I’ll handle the rest. Receipts for
crew meals need to be kept. Any money spent that I don’t get a
receipt for you don’t get reimbursed for. The same goes for
equipment. If something needs replaced, I need the receipt. Where’s
our drivers?” I made note on the phablet that the replaceable
discussion had been had.

“With Charlie and Doug.” He gestured to the
other bus.

I nodded. “Thanks.” I walked away before he
could fully process everything I told him. Once he digested I was
sure I’d hear about it.

I approached the six men smoking. “Gentlemen.
I’m Bianca Sheridan, Tour Manager for this event.”

“Nice to finally meet you,” the oldest of the
men, who looked about sixty, stuck his hand out. “Paulie. I drive
Roadster with Keith.” He jerked his head to the man that could be
mistaken for his son.

“Pleased to meet you both.” I shook and
smiled at the others. “And you are?”

“Doug.” Doug was probably Keith’s age and
looked ex-military by his haircut and build alone. “That’s Charlie.
We’ll be the chauffeurs for Bandwagon.”

“Nice to meet you, Timekeeper.” Another man
old enough to be my father and looking a little like Travis Tritt
held out his hand. “Mitch. This is Frank.” He tipped his head to
the man who appeared almost ageless.

I didn’t mind the name. I
was
the
Timekeeper and if Karma was kind, everything would stay on
schedule. “You’ve got my driving schedules then? Are there any
issues? I realize it was short notice.”

“Everything looks good,” Doug nodded. “There
aren’t so many long runs in this tour that your schedule is
barbaric.”

“Good. Gas receipts should be handed to me in
every city for the previous drive. I’ll keep them logged.”

“It’s in your email.” Paulie smiled.

“Stay this uptight and you’ll be burned out
in a week.” Mitch’s eyes glowed with humor. Yes, I was anally
organized and I knew some people took offense to that. I was glad
these guys seemed to find humor in it instead.

I laughed. “This
is
me relaxed. You
don’t want to see me up tight.”

Frank stomped out his cigarette when his
phone beeped. “Time to fire up the engines.”

Doug and Charlie shook the hands of the other
guys before they meandered towards their transports. I checked off
meeting the drivers on my list of tasks as activity seemed to pick
up pace in the wake of diesel engines roaring to life.

Jimmy was true to his word and Roadster and
the truck of stage equipment pulled away at exactly six. He hadn’t
said two words to me and as long as he did his job we didn’t need
to talk. I would watch and wait for now before making any decision
on the production manager.

They should arrive in Seattle two hours ahead
of us to start staging. I would call the venue tomorrow and speak
to the manager with the concert details. I had a reminder in the
calendar for it.

But right now I dialed a different number. I
needed to call our advance man and check in. He had left before I
could finagle time to meet him in person and since Roadster would
be arriving before the band at every venue it was unlikely I would
ever get a face to face introduction.