20 Sep 2009 @ 9:57 AM 

Chapter 7

Skeet sat in his living room close to the front door waiting for the limo to pick him up for the gig.  Brian had already left in the van with his equipment.  Normally, Skeet would just take the instruments in the trunk of the limo and use whatever amp and microphones were already there, but he had a full plate today and he wanted everything to be just right, plus he had decided to take one of his standup basses and those usually didn’t fit in trunks, even of limos.

Skeet had been looking forward to this for days.  While he really enjoyed the normal playing he did backing up high profile acts, his favorite thing to do usually involved loose, unrehearsed jams.  He had told Chapin in their interview, “I know what I am going to get from a well rehearsed, well presented show.  It’ll be great, just like it was last night and the night before.  But unrehearsed, total improvisation?  That’s where it’s at.  It’s like walking the high wire without a net.  If you crash, it’s gonna be really bad, but if it works, it’s better than sex!”

And there was going to be numerous opportunities for improvisation at this gig.  Tons of his friends, some of the best in the business were going to be there and everyone always wanted to jam with Skeet.

Skeet’s cell phone went off.  “Money!  Get back!  I’m all right jack keep your hands off of my stack.”

“Hmm,” he thought.  “I wonder why  Dave’s calling?”  He picked up the phone.  “Dave!  What’s up?”

“What’s up?  The record!  That’s what’s up!”  Dave Schwartz’ voice bellowed from the other end of the phone.  Dave was the A&R representative from the record company that worked with Skeet on his solo stuff.  Dave and Skeet had never really talked much so he was surprised to hear from him.  The record company didn’t see Skeet and a huge profit maker from his solo efforts but kept a solo contract with him to help entice him to play and tour with their artists when opportunities arose.

“Oh you got a chance to listen to it?  Excellent! “ Skeet said, still somewhat confused as to why he was getting this phone call.

“That thing is smoking, Skeet!  We need to get together and talk about promotion, touring.  We wanna do a big radio push too.  We hear a couple of singles just jumping out at us.”

Skeet was speechless.

“And the guitar!  Who’s playing with you?  The guy is on fire!  We’ve got to have him on the tour.  ‘Sweet Magnolia Blossom’ has bullet written all over it.”

Skeet sat silent and completely puzzled.  He had been the one who had laid down the guitar tracks and thought they were rather rudimentary.  He wondered if this was some kind of bad joke.  Could some of his buddies had gotten Dave to call on a lark, but who would do that?  It was pretty cruel and nobody seemed to have it in for Skeet.

“Skeet?”  Dave paused but heard nothing.  “Skeet?”

“Oh yea, I’m sorry Dave.  The…umm…dog…uhhh..needed to go out.  So…yea.  I’m glad you guys are diggin’ it.”  He was still in shock but trying to recover a little professionalism.

“Oh we’re crazy about it!  Look, we need to get together to work out some details.  How’s your schedule today?”

Skeet paused again.  “Ummm….I’m doing this benefit at the Metro so I’m pretty booked up today.  Maybe we can get together sometime early next week.”

“Next week?  Oh we want to really move on this.  Can you squeeze me in earlier?” Dave asked in an almost desperate tone.

“On Saturday?”  Skeet was sure this was a joke now.  No record executive was going to meet with an artist one the weekend.  Maybe Clapton or Pete Townsend or the like, but not lil ol Skeet Seaton.

“Absolutely!  We can meet anywhere you want.  I can come over there if you want?”  This was sounding even more suspicious to Skeet and couldn’t get the ‘guitar on fire’ part of the conversation out of his head.

“Oh, it’s ok.  No need to go to any trouble.  How about if I just meet you at your office tomorrow afternoon.  Maybe around 3 or 4?  It’s gonna be a long night tonight.”  Skeet figured if he was going to get punked, they at least were not going to do it in his own house.

“That’s great!  I’ll see ya then!”  Dave hung up the phone.  Skeet just stared at his cell, still dumbfounded.

“The guitar is hot?” he repeated out loud.

Just then, he heard a car door shut.  Sure enough, his limo was out front.  He grabbed his iPod and headed to the door.

“I don’t remember any especially ‘hot’ guitar.  He mumbled.


Get Chapter 7 in a pdf file.

Posted By: Lans
Last Edit: 29 Aug 2009 @ 10:16 AM



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