Page 5
Luuk
Just ten days left!
I don’t need to explain the smile that takes over my face: after all those cock-tales sessions, my friends know me too well, and they can tell who the message is from. My expression is guilty, as if I’ve been caught cheating on my potential date with my non-date, and they toss me a reprimanding look.
‘Tell him he’s a cockblock,’ Bea says.
I type my reply, trying to imagine Luuk’s face if he heard Bea’s comment. Would he be embarrassed? Or amused?
Me
Sounds like fun… 😀
Me
Sterkte!
Me
Looking forward to seeing you, too.
Chapter Three
2018
Luuk
I try to tell my heart to slow down and the flutters in my stomach to quieten as I go through the list of songs we’ll play tonight, while stealing glances at Gordon and Joey, tuning their respective instruments. If I tune my guitar once more, I’ll break a string or something, so I go for a mental pep-talk instead. We’re at a small honky-tonk, an hour outside of Nashville, at a gig that one of Dad’s friends got us, which means we’ll have at least two people in our audience.
It’s been a while since we played at half-empty venues. Since our European tour, we’re starting to gain momentum, so now we’re playing pretty much everywhere we are asked to. It pays our rent, but also gets us to share our music and keep building our audience.
I smile at the thought of how we got together as a group when we met at a concert two years ago, all fresh, looking for a space to express creativity and hopefully make a living out of it. The initial relief, after how well we clicked, was followed by an enamouring period, where we marvelled at how lucky we were, how ready we felt to conquer the world. And then came reality, along with the realization that we are three different people who will, at some point, piss each other off, yet what we make together is more important than always getting our way.
That, according to Dad, is also the secret to a good relationship. One I have yet to find. I’m often jealous of Gordon and Joey, the former happily in a relationship since high school, with his kindergarten crush, for fuck’s sake.
‘If you know, you know,’ is his permanent reply.
The latter’s a strong believer that relationships put a halt to a musician’s career, so he goes for situationships, as he politely refers to his one-night stands. And then there’s me, who absurdly stands somewhere in the middle: struck by an unrequited crush and saying yes to some, er, situationships.
From the amount of jabbing I get from them—because even we get tired of discussing our music and gigs all the time—one would think I’m the heartthrob who goes to bed with a different woman every night, while I’m more of Mr. Limbo. I’m absolutely grateful that a budding career includes so many logistics to keep my mind busy, that my obsession stays tucked mostly at the back of my mind, a little less loud, although permanently present.
I’m not sure if having a few thousands of miles between me and the object of my desire is better. Maybe being closer would have made things more torturous or simply made me resign to the fact that she is taken, and I am friendzoned, for there are responses to my posts and replies to my messages. So she likes me, but doesn’t like like me. Which would have been a red flag, because why shop around, if in a relationship? Although a relationship with Johan would be reason enough to do it anyway. What does she see in that jerk, really?
‘Getting stage fright?’ Gordon plays “Flight of the Bumblebee” to attract my attention.
I kick the toe of his cowboy boot with mine. ‘Just wondering how this gig will be. If my dad will be here.’
‘Did you send him a reminder?’ Joey asks.
‘I did; it’s just not like him to forget about my gigs.’
‘It can happen, once in a while,’ Gordon says. ‘Even Ashley forgets sometimes, and she has my schedule etched in her mind.’
‘Ready, guys?’ The bar owner pops his head in the space we’re using as our changing room. ‘Looks like we have a pretty good crowd tonight.’
We exchange meaningful glances, because a good crowd can mean that not all tables at the venue are empty, and we follow him towards the entrance to the small stage at the corner of the place. And our jaws drop when we’re met with a sea of heads filling every corner. We exchange questioning glances—Are they really here for us? Are we sure they didn’t miss a turn or got the name of the venue wrong or, even worse, thought we were a different band?
‘Time to find out,’ Joey says, as if replying to the unvoiced questions.
