30 Aug 2009 @ 6:34 PM 

Chapter 4

Skeet sat in his home studio, the lights dim and Miles Davis’ “Kind Of Blue” album playing quietly over the speaker system.  Skeet was a huge Miles fan.  He had done a couple of dates with him in the mid 80’s when Miles was so messed up on drugs and was abusive.  But no matter what Miles did, Skeet would just look at him and smile really big.  He was playing with MILES FUCKING DAVIS!  He had become fast friends with saxophonist Bill Evans from Miles’s band but when Skeet went back to work with Stan, he told Miles to check out bassist Marcus Miller.  The fit was great and Skeet was more than a little jealous.

He sat on a big, comfy green couch and put his feet up on the coffee table.  Skeet’s furniture was always soft and fluffy.  He liked to feel as if he would get lost in whatever he was sitting on, a fact that he had never connected with his bad back problem.

He listened to the syncopated rhythms of “Freddie Freeloader” and lightly hummed along an improvised bass line over the one Jack Chambers had laid down.  He leaned his head back, closed his eyes, trying to mentally relive playing the piece off the cuff with Miles and Bill at Birdland in New York City.

The intercom came on and Brian’s voice boomed through, spoiling Skeet’s fantasy.  “Skeet!  Pat and the guys are here.”

Skeet jumped up off the couch and headed for the intercom on the wall.  “Do they need help with any equipment?  I’ll be right up.”  After a short pause, Skeet moved toward the studio door, but the intercom exploded with Brian’s voice again.  “Nahh…we got it.  Paul’s got a guitar case and I think Pat was gonna jam on the set down there.”

“Great!  Send them on down!” Skeet reached for the knob on the wall and adjusted the room lighting.  The darkness quickly faded and the studio lit up.  Skeet looked around and surveyed the layout, making sure that everything was ready.

Skeet’s studio was his pride and joy.  He had it built in the late 90s, converting the racquetball courts that came with the house.  He had outfitted the whole thing in hunter green and dark, subdued wood tones because he liked the vibe it gave the place when the lights were low.

While it was small when compared to most commercial studios, numerous tracks and even whole albums had been recorded there.  Of course, it was the place that all of Skeets’s solo efforts since it was built got their start.

Skeet was noted for loaning out the space to new artists that he really dug or friends who just dug the vibe of the place and wanted to record away from the public eye.  Bill Evans had recorded here with Jimmy Cobb.  The Marsalis Brothers had cut some tracks here with their father.  Blues great B.B. King and Eric Clapton had recorded a track here.  Skeet always felt that when he opened his space up to these musicians, they left an energy or vibe in the place, and he fed off it.  To bring in a little extra money,  he rented the studio out to Chicago area media and ad companies to record and mix commercials and other forms of mainstream media.  Brian always hassled him about ‘selling out to the man’ but Skeet would always tell him that renting the space out occasionally gave him the opportunity to get people in there to add to the vibe for free.

The door to the studio swung open and Brian walked in with Pat, Paul Gilbert and Billy Sheehan in tow.

“Please, TRY to stay outta trouble this time?  I really don’t want to have to pull you guys off a motorcycle in some Montana bar again!”  Brian never let them forget their debauchery on the road during their younger days, more because he missed the excitement than anything else.

“Pat!”  Skeet exclaimed.  He hadn’t seen Pat in what seemed like forever and he could hardly contain his glee.  There was a loud slapping noise as there palms met and the two embraced.  Pat tossed his coat on the couch.  Pat was dressed as he normally was, in jeans and a Robert Plant tour t-shirt with a stick bag slung over his shoulder.“  Still can’t pick out clothes, can ya?”

“You’re one to talk, Skeeter,” Pat shot back in a playful tone, glancing back at Skeet who was also wearing jeans and a t-shirt.

“Yea but you got a wife to pick out your clothes.  I’ve got Brian.”  He gave Brian a little poke in the stomach ala The Pillsbury Dough Boy.  Brian scowled.

“Bill, you summa ma bitch!” Skeet did his best Bernie Mac impression.  He looked down at Billy’s right hand which was in a brace and pointed.  “Didn’t we have a talk about you trying to play bass and jack off at the same time?”

Actually it was a mad accident involving groupies, a barber chair and Paul’s world famous wontons and spicy peanut sauce.”  There was a momentary pause then they all burst into laughter.

Skeet glanced over at Paul and offered his hand.  “You must be Paul!  I’ve heard so much about you from these two convicts and it’s great to finally get to meet you,” Skeet said.

“It’s a real honor.  And whatever they’ve been saying about me, it’s all lies,” Paul said somewhat sheepishly.  He was dressed in a black, ‘all in one’ jump suit which made him look like some odd sort of a chain saw killer.  He had a two guitar cases, each covered from one end to the other with stickers.

“Well, have a seat,” Skeet said as he motioned toward the center of the room.  There was the huge couch, two matching chairs and four mesh covered work chairs in front of the board.  There were eastern inspired rugs laid out over a hard wood floor that gave the whole space a warm feeling.

Skeet sped over to the big, stainless steel refridgerator that stood in the back of the room next to a antique, portable bar.  “Anyone want something to drink?  Beer?  Whiskey?”

Brian piped in “At your age, maybe you guys should stick to warm milk!”

“Probably not a bad idea, Bri,” Billy said.  “But boring.  Toss me a beer!”

Skeet handed everybody a beer and plopped down on one end of the couch.  He held his beer out for a toast.  Each bottle in turn bumped his with a clinking sound and Skeet took a swig.

“So what’s the plan guys?” Skeet asked.  He was always one for getting down to business when it came to music.

Pat said that they were supposed to play around 6:15 that night and the set was relatively short, about 30 minutes.  They discussed possible song choices and made notes on what they would need to sit down and work out.  Billy’s hand was in bad enough shape that he wasn’t even going to attempt any bass playing at all, but he would be on stage for some vocals and general crowd pumping, at which he was a master.

“Well let’s plug in and run this stuff,” Skeet said after most everything had been laid out.

“Let’s do it!” Paul said, grabbing his guitar case and pulling out a pink Ibanez.  Pat headed for the studio door toward the drums and Billy headed for the refrigerator to get another beer.

Skeet, Paul and Billy went into the main room of the studio where Pat was already sitting behind a set of drums that Skeet kept on hand for just such events as this.  Truth be told, his studio was loaded with instrumentation.  There were Marshall, Randall, Carvin and Fender guitar amps lining one wall with Ampegs, Fender and Hartke bass amps lining the other.  There were several guitars on stands in one corner and tons of basses littered throughout including a pair of stand up basses and 3 fretless models.  The place was also littered with various keyboards and synthesizers in various states.   Pat was the only one who had been here before and Billy and Paul stood with their jaws on the floor.  Various mics on stands of various sizes were laid out strategically

“Holy Fuck,” Paul said, his eyes as big as saucers.

“You said it kid,” Billy said as he looked around the room.  “I’m like a kid in a candy store!”

“I like to collect things,” Skeet said somewhat sheepishly.  “Pick whichever one does it for you Paul.  I heard through the grape vine that you were a Randall guy, so that 50 watt is already wired up but it’ll only take Brian a minute or so to run another one, if you’d rather.”

Paul grabbed a cord and plugged in.  He ran a slinky lead line and ended on a huge A chord.  “No man, this is great!”

“Feel free to play with whatever you guys want,” Skeet said as he grabbed his black Fender Jazz bass from a stand.  He tossed it lightly over his shoulder and plugged into his favorite Ampeg SVT.  In reality, it was his favorite for playing rock, but he much preferred his Fender Bassman for most other music.

“So I talked to Pat a little yesterday and took a look on the internet at some videos of y’all.  I must say I’m impressed!  I noticed you guys do a kickin’ version of the old Humble Pie song, ’30 Days In The Hole’.  How ‘bout we warm up with that?  Billy, are you doing the lead vocal duties?”

Pat started playing his high hat cymbal while everyone made sure they had a working mic.  Pat counted off.  “1…2…3…”

Paul struck a short chord to give everybody a starting note.  “30 DAYS IN THE HOLE!” The room erupted with acapella vocal harmony that brought goose bumps to everyone in the room.  Even Brian sat up straight in the control room to take a listen.  Not much got his attention, but this did.  “30 DAYS IN THE HOLE,” they all repeated.  They looked at each other and smiles came across their faces.  “30 DAYS IN THE HOLE”.   Brian reached down and started a digital recorder that would pick up the activity in the room.

“Wow!” Billy said into the microphone.  He held up his arm and motioned over the top as if he was pulling the hair out and pointing.  He gave a scream into the mic.

“30 DAYS IN THE HOLE,” they said for the final part of the vocal only intro.  Then they kicked in.  Skeet was right in the pocket, locked in with Pat.  Paul was shredding on the guitar and Billy’s lead vocals were pretty darn good.  Billy wasn’t a vocalist normally.  He was just having fun, but his singing this afternoon bordered on amazing.

When the final note of the song hit, they all sat there and stared at each other for a moment.  Brian, who was in the control room, handling the sound punched in.  “So much for the warm up,” he said in the best smart ass tone he could muster.

“What’s next?” Skeet asked.  “Let’s try some of y’alls stuff.”

“How about ‘Alive and Kickin’.  You think you can handle that one, Bill?” Paul asked with just a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

“I’ll just follow you, Junior.  Have you heard the song Skeet?”, Billy asked.

“Oh yea.”  Skeet began to sing the song lightly into the mic.  “Jump into the fire, keep our love alive and kickin…”

“That’s it!”

“Ok, Skeet, we do it in D.  It’s gonna start like this…”

Pat cut him off.  “I think he’s probably got it, Bill,” Pat said with a grin.  Pat knew Skeet had it, note for note.  He knew that Skeet had any song that he heard played just once down cold, note for note.  Pat counted off and led into the song with a drum fill.  Skeet hopped in perfectly with Paul and locked in with Pat on the beat.  They played a fairly straight version of the song with both Paul and Skeet throwing in some killer improvisational licks here and there.  In the middle of the song there was an instrumental break down that Skeet nailed.

“You’ve been doing your homework.  I’m flattered.  I can’t believe you had the time to learn that song note for note since last night,” Billy said.

“Cut it out, man. It’s all your licks.  I just copied ‘em”, Skeet said.

“Dude,” Pat interrupted.  “You know people who have photographic memory?  Well, now you can say you know someone that has PHONOgraphic memory.”

Billy and Paul looked puzzled.  “You made that shit up, Torpey!” Paul finally said.

“The term?  Yes.  The phenomena?  No.  See, Skeet can hear a song and then reproduce it.  Not like normal, where you learn the song.  It really is like a photographic memory.  All he has to do is hear it.”  Pat said.

“Yea…whatever.  I just have a knack,” Skeet said, trying to change the subject.

“I’ll say you do,” said Billy.

“Hey Bill, your right hand’s busted, but how is your left?” Skeet asked.

“Fine, why?”  Billy looked puzzled.

“On the break, lets do the old ‘two players, one bass’ trick.  I’ll take the right….obviously.”

“That’s a pretty tight break.  It would take some work to pull that off,” Billy said.  The skepticism was obvious in his voice.

“Nah, man.  We can do it.  Give me two measures before the break.  You ready, Bill”

“What’s the worst that can happen?” Billy said as he walked up behind Skeet.

“You can fuck up the other hand?” Paul shot with a grin.

“1…2…3…4”  Pat counted off and they dropped easily into the break.  Skeet dropped his hand to his side and Billy grabbed the neck.  They played through the complicated break as if there was nothing to it.  Billy shook his head, his bleach blond hair flying all over the place.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” exclaimed Skeet.

“I can’t believe we just pulled that off with NO PRACTICE!” said Billy.

“Nothing to it, man.”

Paul just stared at them, his eyes as wide as saucers.  “That was….it was…FUCK!”

“I told you guys he was that damn good.  We are gonna kill tonight.  We have two of the baddest bass players on the planet playing the same bass!” Pat said.

They really were recognized as two of the greatest bass players in the world.  They had even played on the same stage together before, but just loose jams.  Nothing like this.

Skeet’s phone began to sing again.  “That’s Niles.  B, could you get that and tell him I’ll call him back?”  Brian grabbed the phone, slipped off to a corner and began talking.  Pat was already beating on the drums in the next room, but the control room that everyone else was in was totally soundproof.

“Skeet, I think you should talk to him,” Brian said.  “Niles is really excited.  He says he has some great news.”

Skeet looked at Billy, shrugged, and took the phone from Brian.  “Hiya Niles.  What’s up?”  Billy, Brian and Paul all looked at Skeet as if maybe they could pick up the other end of the conversation by staring at him.

“Cool, man!  The more the merrier!  Who are we talking about?”

Billy and Brian exchanged glances, and then resumed staring at Skeet.

“You’re kidding, man!  That will bring down the house!”  Skeet covered the mouth piece and looked at the three men staring at them.

“You guys are NEVER gonna guess who’s showing up to sit in tomorrow!”

__________________________

Get Chapter 4 in a pdf.

Chapter 4

Skeet sat in his home studio, the lights dim and Miles Davis’ “Kind Of Blue” album playing quietly over the speaker system.  Skeet was a huge Miles fan.  He had done a couple of dates with him in the mid 80’s when Miles was so messed up on drugs and was abusive.  But no matter what Miles did, Skeet would just look at him and smile really big.  He was playing with MILES FUCKING DAVIS!  He had become fast friends with saxophonist Bill Evans from Miles’s band but when Skeet went back to work with Stan, he told Miles to check out bassist Marcus Miller.  The fit was great and Skeet was more than a little jealous.

He sat on a big, comfy green couch and put his feet up on the coffee table.  Skeet’s furniture was always soft and fluffy.  He liked to feel as if he would get lost in whatever he was sitting on, a fact that he had never connected with his bad back problem.

He listened to the syncopated rhythms of “Freddie Freeloader and lightly hummed along an improvised bass line over the one Jack Chambers had laid down.  He leaned his head back, closed his eyes, trying to mentally relive playing the piece off the cuff with Miles and Bill at Birdland in New York City.

The intercom came on and Brian’s voice boomed through, spoiling Skeet’s fantasy.  “Skeet!  Pat and the guys are here.”

Skeet jumped up off the couch and headed for the intercom on the wall.  “Do they need help with any equipment?  I’ll be right up.”  After a short pause, Skeet moved toward the studio door, but the intercom exploded with Brian’s voice again.  “Nahh…we got it. Paul’s got a guitar case and I think Pat was gonna jam on the set down there.”

“Great!  Send them on down!” Skeet reached for the knob on the wall and adjusted the room lighting.  The darkness quickly faded and the studio lit up.  Skeet looked around and surveyed the layout, making sure that everything was ready.

Skeet’s studio was his pride and joy.  He had it built in the late 90s, converting the racquetball courts that came with the house.  He had outfitted the whole thing in hunter green and dark, subdued wood tones because he liked the vibe it gave the place when the lights were low.

While it was small when compared to most commercial studios, numerous tracks and even whole albums had been recorded there.  Of course, it was the place that all of Skeets’s solo efforts since it was built got their start.

Skeet was noted for loaning out the space to new artists that he really dug or friends who just dug the vibe of the place and wanted to record away from the public eye.  Bill Evans had recorded here with Jimmy Cobb.  The Marsalis Brothers had cut some tracks here with their father.  Blues great B.B. King and Eric Clapton had recorded a track here.  Skeet always felt that when he opened his space up to these musicians, they left an energy or vibe in the place, and he fed off it.  To bring in a little extra money,  he rented the studio out to Chicago area media and ad companies to record and mix commercials and other forms of mainstream media.  Brian always hassled him about ‘selling out to the man’ but Skeet would always tell him that renting the space out occasionally gave him the opportunity to get people in there to add to the vibe for free.

The door to the studio swung open and Brian walked in with Pat, Paul Gilbert and Billy Sheehan in tow.

“Please, TRY to stay outta trouble this time?  I really don’t want to have to pull you guys off a motorcycle in some Montana bar again!”  Brian never let them forget their debauchery on the road during their younger days, more because he missed the excitement than anything else.

“Pat!”  Skeet exclaimed.  He hadn’t seen Pat in what seemed like forever and he could hardly contain his glee.  There was a loud slapping noise as there palms met and the two embraced.  Pat tossed his coat on the couch.  Pat was dressed as he normally was, in jeans and a Robert Plant tour t-shirt with a stick bag slung over his shoulder.“  Still can’t pick out clothes, can ya?”

“You’re one to talk, Skeeter,” Pat shot back in a playful tone, glancing back at Skeet who was also wearing jeans and a t-shirt.

“Yea but you got a wife to pick out your clothes.  I’ve got Brian.”  He gave Brian a little poke in the stomach ala The Pillsbury Dough Boy.  Brian scowled.

“Bill, you summa ma bitch!” Skeet did his best Bernie Mac impression.  He looked down at Billy’s right hand which was in a brace and pointed.  “Didn’t we have a talk about you trying to play bass and jack off at the same time?”

Actually it was a mad accident involving groupies, a barber chair and Paul’s world famous wontons and spicy peanut sauce.”  There was a momentary pause then they all burst into laughter.

Skeet glanced over at Paul and offered his hand.  “You must be Paul!  I’ve heard so much about you from these two convicts and it’s great to finally get to meet you,” Skeet said.

“It’s a real honor.  And whatever they’ve been saying about me, it’s all lies,” Paul said somewhat sheepishly.  He was dressed in a black, all in one jump suit which made him look like some odd sort of a chain saw killer.  He had a two guitar cases, each covered from one end to the other with stickers.

“Well, have a seat,” Skeet said as he motioned toward the center of the room.  There was the huge couch, two matching chairs and four mesh covered work chairs in front of the board.  There were eastern inspired rugs laid out over a hard wood floor that gave the whole space a warm feeling.

Skeet sped over to the big, stainless steel refridgerator that stood in the back of the room next to a antique, portable bar.  “Anyone want something to drink?  Beer?  Whiskey?”

Brian piped in “At your age, maybe you guys should stick to warm milk!”

“Probably not a bad idea, Bri,” Billy said.  “But boring.  Toss me a beer!”

Skeet handed everybody a beer and plopped down on one end of the couch.  He held his beer out for a toast.  Each bottle in turn bumped his with a clinking sound and Skeet took a swig.

“So what’s the plan guys?” Skeet asked.  He was always one for getting down to business when it came to music.

Pat said that they were supposed to play around 6:15 that night and the set was relatively short, about 30 minutes.  They discussed possible song choices and made notes on what they would need to sit down and work out.  Billy’s hand was in bad enough shape that he wasn’t even going to attempt any bass playing at all, but he would be on stage for some vocals and general crowd pumping, at which he was a master.

“Well let’s plug in and run this stuff,” Skeet said after most everything had been laid out.

“Let’s do it!” Paul said, grabbing his guitar case and pulling out a pink Ibanez.  Pat headed for the studio door toward the drums and Billy headed for the refrigerator to get another beer.

Skeet, Paul and Billy went into the main room of the studio where Pat was already sitting behind a set of drums that Skeet kept on hand for just such events as this.  Truth be told, his studio was loaded with instrumentation.  There were Marshall, Randall, Carvin and Fender guitar amps lining one wall with Ampegs, Fender and Hartke bass amps lining the other.  There were several guitars on stands in one corner and tons of basses littered throughout including a pair of stand up basses and 3 fretless models. The place was also littered with various keyboards and synthesizers in various states. Pat was the only one who had been here before and Billy and Paul stood with their jaws on the floor.  Various mics on stands of various sizes were laid out strategically

“Holy Fuck,” Paul said, his eyes as big as saucers.

“You said it kid,” Billy said as he looked around the room.  “I’m like a kid in a candy store!”

“I like to collect things,” Skeet said somewhat sheepishly.  “Pick whichever one does it for you Paul.  I heard through the grape vine that you were a Randall guy, so that 50 watt is already wired up but it’ll only take Brian a minute or so to run another one, if you’d rather.”

Paul grabbed a cord and plugged in.  He ran a slinky lead line and ended on a huge A chord.  “No man, this is great!”

“Feel free to play with whatever you guys want,” Skeet said as he grabbed his black Fender Jazz bass from a stand.  He tossed it lightly over his shoulder and plugged into his favorite Ampeg SVT.  In reality, it was his favorite for playing rock, but he much preferred his Fender Bassman for most other music.

“So I talked to Pat a little yesterday and took a look on the internet at some videos of y’all.  I must say I’m impressed! I noticed you guys do a kickin’ version of the old Humble Pie song, ’30 Days In The Hole’.  How ‘bout we warm up with that?  Billy, are you doing the lead vocal duties?”

Pat started playing his high hat cymbal while everyone made sure they had a working mic.  Pat counted off.  “1…2…3…”

Jack struck a short chord to give everybody a starting note.  “30 DAYS IN THE HOLE!” The room erupted with acapella vocal harmony that brought goose bumps to everyone in the room.  Even Brian sat up straight in the control room to take a listen.  Not much got his attention, but this did.  “30 DAYS IN THE HOLE,” they all repeated.  They looked at each other and smiles came across their faces.  “30 DAYS IN THE HOLE”. Brian reached down and started a digital recorder that would pick up the activity in the room.

“Wow!” Billy said into the microphone.  He held up his arm and motioned over the top as if he was pulling the hair out and pointing.  He gave a scream into the mic.

“30 DAYS IN THE HOLE,” they said for the final part of the vocal only intro.  Then they kicked in.  Skeet was right in the pocket, locked in with Pat. Paul was shredding on the guitar and Billy’s lead vocals were pretty darn good.  Billy wasn’t a vocalist normally.  He was just having fun, but his singing this afternoon bordered on amazing.

When the final note of the song hit, they all sat there and stared at each other for a moment.  Brian, who was in the control room, handling the sound punched in.  “So much for the warm up,” he said in the best smart ass tone he could muster.

“What’s next?” Skeet asked.  “Let’s try some of y’alls stuff.”

“How about ‘Alive and Kickin’.  You think you can handle that one, Bill?” Paul asked with just a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

“I’ll just follow you, Junior.  Have you heard the song Skeet?”, Billy asked.

“Oh yea.”  Skeet began to sing the song lightly into the mic.  “Jump into the fire, keep our love alive and kickin…”

“That’s it!”

“Ok, Skeet, we do it in D.  It’s gonna start like this…”

Pat cut him off.  “I think he’s probably got it, Bill,” Pat said with a grin.  Pat knew Skeet had it, note for note. He knew that Skeet had any song that he heard played just once down cold, note for note.  Pat counted off and led into the song with a drum fill.  Skeet hopped in perfectly with Paul and locked in with Pat on the beat.  They played a fairly straight version of the song with both Paul and Skeet throwing in some killer improvisational licks here and there.  In the middle of the song there was an instrumental break down that Skeet nailed.

“You’ve been doing your homework.  I’m flattered.  I can’t believe you had the time to learn that song note for note since last night,” Billy said.

“Cut it out, man. It’s all your licks.  I just copied ‘em”, Skeet said.

“Dude,” Pat interrupted.  “You know people who have photographic memory?  Well, now you can say you know someone that has PHONOgraphic memory.”

Billy and Paul looked puzzled.  “You made that shit up, Torpey!” Paul finally said.

“The term?  Yes.  The phenomena?  No.  See, Skeet can hear a song and then reproduce it.  Not like normal, where you learn the song.  It really is like a photographic memory.  All he has to do is hear it.”  Pat said.

“Yea…whatever.  I just have a knack,” Skeet said, trying to change the subject.

“I’ll say you do,” said Billy.

“Hey Bill, your right hand’s busted, but how is your left?” Skeet asked.

“Fine, why?”  Billy looked puzzled.

“On the break, lets do the old ‘two players, one bass’ trick.  I’ll take the right….obviously.”

“That’s a pretty tight break.  It would take some work to pull that off,” Billy said.  The skepticism was obvious in his voice.

“Nah, man.  We can do it.  Give me two measures before the break.  You ready, Bill”

“What’s the worst that can happen?” Billy said as he walked up behind Skeet.

“You can fuck up the other hand?” Paul shot with a grin.

“1…2…3…4”  Pat counted off and they dropped easily into the break.  Skeet dropped his hand to his side and Billy grabbed the neck.  They played through the complicated break as if there was nothing to it.  Billy shook his head, his bleach blond hair flying all over the place.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” exclaimed Skeet.

“I can’t believe we just pulled that off with NO PRACTICE!” said Billy.

“Nothing to it, man.”

Paul just stared at them, his eyes as wide as saucers.  “That was….it was…FUCK!”

“I told you guys he was that damn good.  We are gonna kill tonight.  We have two of the baddest bass players on the planet playing the same bass!” Pat said.

They really were recognized as two of the greatest bass players in the world.  They had even played on the same stage together before, but just loose jams.  Nothing like this.

Skeet’s phone began to sing again.  “That’s Niles.  B, could you get that and tell him I’ll call him back?”  Brian grabbed the phone, slipped off to a corner and began talking.  Pat was already beating on the drums in the next room, but the control room that everyone else was in was totally soundproof.

“Skeet, I think you should talk to him,” Brian said.  “Niles is really excited.  He says he has some great news.”

Skeet looked at Billy, shrugged, and took the phone from Brian.  “Hiya Niles.  What’s up?”  Billy, Brian and Paul all looked at Skeet as if maybe they could pick up the other end of the conversation by staring at him.

“Cool, man!  The more the merrier!  Who are we talking about?”

Billy and Brian exchanged glances, and then resumed staring at Skeet.

“You’re kidding, man!  That will bring down the house!”  Skeet covered the mouth piece and looked at the three men staring at them.

“You guys are NEVER gonna guess who’s showing up to sit in tomorrow!”



Posted By: Lans
Last Edit: 15 Aug 2009 @ 06:36 PM

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