Fic: Five Seconds to Spare. Nashville 'verse
Author: rivlee
Title: Five Seconds to Spare
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairing: Hoosier, Skinny, ensemble. Hoosier/Skinny. Haldane/Hillbilly, Harry/Kitty, and Chuckler/Runner mentioned.
Summary: Hoosier tells Runner a thing or two about his past. Nashville ‘verse.
Disclaimer: This is all fiction based off the characters as portrayed in the HBO mini-series. No disrespect or harm is meant or intended. Title and cut-text from The Smith’s Half A Person.
A/N: Unbeated. Character background. Ray assaulting bar stools. The norm.
Hoosier leaned against Allison’s bar enjoying the show.
“Does he have any idea what he’s singing?” Runner asked, sliding up next to him.
Ray Person, their sound tech and jack of all trades, was dancing around the empty bar performing a truly inspired rendition of Rihanna’s Rude Boy.
“From the way he’s violating that bar stool, I’d say yes,” Hoosier observed. He had to give Person some credit; he hadn’t seen ass shaking like that since the mid-90s.
“I’m starting to see why his band tanked,” Runner said.
“Eh, Ray just needed to find his calling. Clearly rap-rock was not his destiny. You can try to fight the pull of pop music, but it will always get you.”
“Yeah,” Runner said, “about that.”
Hoosier raised an eyebrow. “You mean Skinny, in all his years of trading bullshit with you, never let slide how I joined a boy band?”
He nodded. “It may have escaped you, but Skinny’s a little protective and territorial when it comes to you, your history, and anything that might bother you.”
“So the only reason you’re asking now is because he’s not here.”
Runner took a swig of his beer before answering. “I’m not too proud to admit I’m a coward. Skinny is scary.”
“Skinny Sisk is a teddy bear.”
“Yeah, with sharp teeth, claws, and a concealed weapon permit.”
Hoosier sighed and debated on telling the real story or the one he once fed to the press. The truth was a story deserving of its own Lifetime movie, but the bullshit lies had kept them well-stocked in teenyboppers. Hell, some days he forgot just where the truth and the lies intersected. Runner was a mostly good kid, though. He wasn’t the kind to sell someone’s soul to the highest bidder. Besides, Skinny was on his ass lately about socializing and making new friends.
“It’s the kind of story that almost follows the stereotypical kid wanting to be a star template.”
Runner shrugged. “I’ve got all afternoon.”
Hoosier nodded. “I have four sisters.”
“Jesus,” Runner said in disbelief.
He smiled. “Eh, they’re not all that bad. My baby sister introduced me to my first boyfriend. That’s beside the point. My elder sisters, Emma Rose and Gloria, are twins. And they are gorgeous, always have been. Momma got them into child modeling and then someone suggested they go to New York, sign up with one of those major fashion agencies.”
Runner grimaced. “Why do I have a feeling this doesn’t end well.”
“Because you’ve seen what New York City does to most young kids with dreams. My parents believed in Em and Glor, but they didn’t trust anyone else to watch over them. So all of us packed it up, left the farm in the care of my uncle, and moved to the urban jungle. It was golden for a few years, hell, I even attended a damn good performing arts school there, but shit changed.
One day Em and Glor just came home, in tears. Their jobs were drying up, they were told, at 17, they were too old, too fat, and too familiar. We didn’t have enough money right then to move back home, even with the girls and my parents working, we’d put aside their modeling money for college.
My job at a bodega sure as hell wasn’t paying any bills. I’d already taken a few jobs on and off Broadway, winding up in the background of a chorus or two. I was fourteen, just got my Actor’s Equity card, and was desperate for any high paying job. Rumor went around that some other Broadway boys had joined some producer as a boy band, the next New Edition or some bullshit. They needed a new guy to replace Tommy Meehan. I figured, what the hell, and the rest is history.”
“You only joined 3B because Tommy Meehan dropped out?”
Hoosier nodded. “I really should send that man a fruit basket or something.” He pulled out his phone and texted Skinny that very idea.
It took less than a minute for a reply
I’m going to assume you’re serious and not taking any of Ray’s pills again. Besides, his Oscar is reward enough.
“Skinny vetoed the fruit basket?” Runner asked.
He nodded. “He has this unfounded hatred of them. Just because I accidentally got into one before he could remove the pineapple. It wasn’t like my allergic reaction was that bad.”
Runner stared at him dumbfounded.
“What?”
“Skinny really is the only reason you’re still alive with all your limbs intact.”
“Hey, fuck you. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Skinny just does a much better job with some added benefits.”
“Yeah, I just hope he gets a hell of a return on all he does for you.”
Hoosier was about to give a far from nice reply when Ray’s “singing” broke their conversation.
“Person, no Katy Perry before 1 AM, you know the rules.”
Ray gave him what probably passed for a vulgar gesture in Missouri before setting backstage to check the soundboard.
“How the hell does Haldane put up with that?”
Hoosier shrugged. “Him and Eddie got a thing for strays. It’s almost admirable if it didn’t mean we had to find jobs for every charity case who comes stumbling in through the door. Granted, Lip’s just as bad, if not worse.”
Runner’s back straightened at the implied insult. “Hey, I was fine with working the diner. It was your buddy Toye who basically dragged me down here. I swear to god, I thought he was going to dump my body in a river somewhere if I said no.”
“There’s a reason Scorsese keeps bringing in Joe on all his projects.”
Runner’s thoughts on that manner were cut off as Chuckler Juergens and his band stumbled into the bar. They all looked tired, dirty, and far too road weary. All signs of a long and successful tour.
“You boys do know that show of yours doesn’t start for another four hours, right?” he asked.
“Shut up and feed us, you jackass,” Manny Rodriguez bitched.
“Do I look like a cook to you?”
“You look like a man capable of picking up a phone and ordering food,” J.P. Morgan said. “Something with fresh fruit, please. I’m fucking dying for a salad. I swear to god I almost got scurvy.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Loudmouth Howard cursed.
“Please, Hoosier,” Chuckler said. He was all earnest eyes, wide smiles, and already clinging to Runner’s back. It was hard as hell to say no to Chuckler, and he damn well knew it.
“This shit is the reason why I stayed in Hollywood for so long. You’re not supposed to play nice there.”
Chuckler grinned in response.
**************
By the time Chuckler and his boys took the stage, Allison’s was packed. Having Walt Hasser, Chuckler Juergens, and Snafu Shelton on a triple ticket was a guaranteed sell-out. Andy Haldane was even behind the bar to help Hoosier with the glut of orders.
“Who do I need to blow to get a drink around here?”
Hoosier turned from the liquor rack to meet the far too smug face of Skinny Sisk.
“’Sup, pumpkin?”
“Nothing, butternut squash. Get me a jack and coke?”
Hoosier raised a brow. “You’re drinking.”
“Long day,” he said.
He shook his head and made a tsking sound, reaching out to smooth down Skinny’s hair. “I thought Lip just sent you to talk to that music critic?”
Skinny’s eyes narrowed. “Have you met Webster?”
Hoosier tried to stop the smile tugging at his lips. “He can’t be that bad.”
“He’s not,” Skinny agreed. “He’s just exhausting.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I am so desperate for a smoke.” His fingers scratched at his arm over his nicotine patch. It’s been three days since he quit this time.
“Poor Skinny,” Hoosier said. He leaned over the bar and palmed the back of his neck, trying to work some of the tension out.
Skinny tilted his head up, making the sort of that sounds he only made at home. “I’ll expect the full Hoosier Smith Experience when we get out of here.”
Hoosier smirked. “I guess I can pencil you in for an appointment.”
“Hey, girls, can someone give me some service down here?”
Hoosier straightened up to stare down the bar at the asshole who dared speak to them like that. While Allison’s wasn’t a gay bar by any means, Andrew and Eddie never bothered to hide their relationship and it was a safe haven sort of establishment. They just didn’t tolerate the language and actions of bigoted assholes in here.
He exchanged a glance with Andy who gave him a nod. Hoosier looked at Skinny and cocked his head to the side. He slid off his stool and mirrored Hoosier as they both walked down to the jackass. Hoosier made sure Brad Colbert, their country music hating bouncer, was at the ready before he gave the signal for Skinny to open his mouth.
Skinny gripped the man’s shoulder hard. “What’s your name?”
The man shook out of Skinny’s grasp. “Jameson,” he said.
“Well, Jameson, how about you step the fuck off my balls and wait your turn. Here’s a clue, that man behind the bar, he’s not here to deal with your bullshit attitude. If you want it your way, there’s a Burger King right around the corner. Now, you’re going to apologize to the nice bartender so he doesn’t call his very dear lawyer friend and get you slapped with a hate speech harassment lawsuit. Okay?”
Jameson nodded. “Sorry,” he muttered.
Hoosier rolled his eyes in response. “Sir, Brad Colbert, the very tall man standing silently right behind you with the pissed off luck on his face, is going to escort you out of this establishment. While we can’t ban you, seeing as how that’s not our policy, we can ask you to refrain from coming back until you’ve learned some fucking manners.”
He tried not to laugh as Jameson turned around and met Brad Colbert. His attitude immediately went from frat boy bravado to shitting his pants. Colbert had that way about him.
Skinny didn’t take his eyes off Jameson’s back until Brad hauled him out.
“Hate speech harassment lawsuit?” Hoosier asked.
He shrugged. “What the idiot drunks don’t know won’t hurt them. I’m going to go bother Runner now. Stop by on your break?”
Hoosier gave a salute in response before going back to his customers.
“All sorted?” Andy asked.
“Yeah, just a new guy with no manners and even less patience.”
“You okay?”
Hoosier smirked and patted Andy’s arm. “I appreciate the concern, Haldane, but I’ve been called much worse things than a lady in my life.”
“And you don’t have the balls to carry that title anyway,” Lena Riggi announced. She ducked behind the bar and joined them. “I’m volunteering my services tonight, Haldane. You can tell Eddie I’ll take my payment in three new songs.”
“Here to watch your golden meal ticket shine?” Hoosier asked.
Lena bumped him out of the way with her hip. “I like to gauge the crowd’s reaction. Sometimes you can only get that by hanging out at the bar. At least this way, if I get hit on, I get tips out of it.”
“That’s our Lena,” Andy said.
The three of them were able to manage the crowd until it started to trickle off. Snafu and his boys took the stage as headliners and brought the house down. By 1 AM the only people left were the crew breaking down the stage and band members who were too drunk to drive home on their own.
Hoosier took his sandwich and a beer over to the corner where Skinny and Chuckler were holding court, talking about the old 3B days.
“The absolute best, though,” Chuckler said, “was when Welshie decided to propose to Kitty. He got so drunk off his ass that when he finally managed to pop the question, he stumbled down on bended knee and ended up proposing to Johnny Martin.”
“The best part is what Kitty said the next morning though,” Hoosier interrupted. He squeezed in between Skinny and Snafu, slapping Snaf’s hand when he tried to steal one of the fries.
“Christ, I thought Harry was going to cry,” Lieb said. “She was all, Harry, I can’t marry you because you’ve already proposed to Johnny and you’re a man of your word.”
Those at the table who knew Kitty laughed especially hard at Lieb’s imitation. He had her accent down flat, but then again, Kitty as the stylist, and Lieb as the bus driver, spent a lot of time together. She was the one who gave Lieb the contacts he needed when he was a stylist, and eventually helped him establish his career as a touring manager.
Chuckler shook his head. “Those were some crazy ass days. And I wasn’t even there for the worst.”
“Depends on how you define worst,” Skinny said.
Hoosier slapped him on the back of the head. “Only one of us is allowed to be the maudlin asshole in the relationship and that’s me. Besides, you’ve got to admit, Chuckler wasn’t there for the time Nix took every drug he could get his hands on and tried to do a superman off that balcony in London.”
“Is that why he always had a member of security and Winters as a roommate?” Chuckler asked.
Skinny nodded. “Nix lives life better as a functioning alcoholic rather than an alcoholic and a drug addict. Addictive personalities and this business are a match made in hell. You can try to put restrictions and shit on it, like Dick did, but when you’re that famous and raking in that much money? Someone will also be willing to get you something.”
Walt Hasser spoke up. “I’ve gotta ask, upon reflection, would you do it again?”
Hoosier nodded. It was a question that had come up often since he moved to Nashville, and he’d given it a lot of thought over time. “Look, it wasn’t prefect, and I can never have another career as a headlining act. No matter what I do now, it’s always going to be tied back to what I did then. Joe and Luz still have to deal with that, and they’re not even in music anymore. I survived the business, I’m still here, and I’m not bankrupt so I think that counts as a success. I never wanted to be in one of the biggest pop acts of all time, but shit happens. I’ve had far too many good things come from it to make me dismiss it all because of the bad.”
He took a bite of his sandwich before continuing on.
“What you boys have to remember is that there’s no such thing as a rock star anymore. Most musicians starting these days have to hold down second jobs or constantly tour just to break even. Touring and merch, that’s where the money lies. If any one of you sign to major labels just remember you’re good enough on your own. You’ve got to make a brand, but that doesn’t mean wasting money on ridiculously tacky stage set-up, pyrotechnics, and music videos. Talent over auto tune and all that bullshit.”
“Wise words from a bartender,” Snafu said.
Lieb slapped him before Hoosier got the chance.
“How did you become a bartender?” Ray asked.
Skinny stood up before he could answer. “That is a long ass story for another time. We’re going home, boys.”
“Dinner,” Hoosier said, pointing to his plate.
“I’ll drive, you can eat, and we’ll return the plate in the afternoon.”
“See the shit I put up with,” Hoosier told the table.
“Yeah, Skinny still has to put up with you. He wins,” Chuckler said.
“Fuck you all,” Hoosier said as they left.
Skinny wrapped an arm around his waist as they walked to the car. “You really aren’t that much of a burden.”
“I’m worth every penny,” Hoosier agreed.
Skinny kissed his temple before opening Hoosier’s door. Nothing else had to be said.
Title: Five Seconds to Spare
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairing: Hoosier, Skinny, ensemble. Hoosier/Skinny. Haldane/Hillbilly, Harry/Kitty, and Chuckler/Runner mentioned.
Summary: Hoosier tells Runner a thing or two about his past. Nashville ‘verse.
Disclaimer: This is all fiction based off the characters as portrayed in the HBO mini-series. No disrespect or harm is meant or intended. Title and cut-text from The Smith’s Half A Person.
A/N: Unbeated. Character background. Ray assaulting bar stools. The norm.
Hoosier leaned against Allison’s bar enjoying the show.
“Does he have any idea what he’s singing?” Runner asked, sliding up next to him.
Ray Person, their sound tech and jack of all trades, was dancing around the empty bar performing a truly inspired rendition of Rihanna’s Rude Boy.
“From the way he’s violating that bar stool, I’d say yes,” Hoosier observed. He had to give Person some credit; he hadn’t seen ass shaking like that since the mid-90s.
“I’m starting to see why his band tanked,” Runner said.
“Eh, Ray just needed to find his calling. Clearly rap-rock was not his destiny. You can try to fight the pull of pop music, but it will always get you.”
“Yeah,” Runner said, “about that.”
Hoosier raised an eyebrow. “You mean Skinny, in all his years of trading bullshit with you, never let slide how I joined a boy band?”
He nodded. “It may have escaped you, but Skinny’s a little protective and territorial when it comes to you, your history, and anything that might bother you.”
“So the only reason you’re asking now is because he’s not here.”
Runner took a swig of his beer before answering. “I’m not too proud to admit I’m a coward. Skinny is scary.”
“Skinny Sisk is a teddy bear.”
“Yeah, with sharp teeth, claws, and a concealed weapon permit.”
Hoosier sighed and debated on telling the real story or the one he once fed to the press. The truth was a story deserving of its own Lifetime movie, but the bullshit lies had kept them well-stocked in teenyboppers. Hell, some days he forgot just where the truth and the lies intersected. Runner was a mostly good kid, though. He wasn’t the kind to sell someone’s soul to the highest bidder. Besides, Skinny was on his ass lately about socializing and making new friends.
“It’s the kind of story that almost follows the stereotypical kid wanting to be a star template.”
Runner shrugged. “I’ve got all afternoon.”
Hoosier nodded. “I have four sisters.”
“Jesus,” Runner said in disbelief.
He smiled. “Eh, they’re not all that bad. My baby sister introduced me to my first boyfriend. That’s beside the point. My elder sisters, Emma Rose and Gloria, are twins. And they are gorgeous, always have been. Momma got them into child modeling and then someone suggested they go to New York, sign up with one of those major fashion agencies.”
Runner grimaced. “Why do I have a feeling this doesn’t end well.”
“Because you’ve seen what New York City does to most young kids with dreams. My parents believed in Em and Glor, but they didn’t trust anyone else to watch over them. So all of us packed it up, left the farm in the care of my uncle, and moved to the urban jungle. It was golden for a few years, hell, I even attended a damn good performing arts school there, but shit changed.
One day Em and Glor just came home, in tears. Their jobs were drying up, they were told, at 17, they were too old, too fat, and too familiar. We didn’t have enough money right then to move back home, even with the girls and my parents working, we’d put aside their modeling money for college.
My job at a bodega sure as hell wasn’t paying any bills. I’d already taken a few jobs on and off Broadway, winding up in the background of a chorus or two. I was fourteen, just got my Actor’s Equity card, and was desperate for any high paying job. Rumor went around that some other Broadway boys had joined some producer as a boy band, the next New Edition or some bullshit. They needed a new guy to replace Tommy Meehan. I figured, what the hell, and the rest is history.”
“You only joined 3B because Tommy Meehan dropped out?”
Hoosier nodded. “I really should send that man a fruit basket or something.” He pulled out his phone and texted Skinny that very idea.
It took less than a minute for a reply
I’m going to assume you’re serious and not taking any of Ray’s pills again. Besides, his Oscar is reward enough.
“Skinny vetoed the fruit basket?” Runner asked.
He nodded. “He has this unfounded hatred of them. Just because I accidentally got into one before he could remove the pineapple. It wasn’t like my allergic reaction was that bad.”
Runner stared at him dumbfounded.
“What?”
“Skinny really is the only reason you’re still alive with all your limbs intact.”
“Hey, fuck you. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Skinny just does a much better job with some added benefits.”
“Yeah, I just hope he gets a hell of a return on all he does for you.”
Hoosier was about to give a far from nice reply when Ray’s “singing” broke their conversation.
“Person, no Katy Perry before 1 AM, you know the rules.”
Ray gave him what probably passed for a vulgar gesture in Missouri before setting backstage to check the soundboard.
“How the hell does Haldane put up with that?”
Hoosier shrugged. “Him and Eddie got a thing for strays. It’s almost admirable if it didn’t mean we had to find jobs for every charity case who comes stumbling in through the door. Granted, Lip’s just as bad, if not worse.”
Runner’s back straightened at the implied insult. “Hey, I was fine with working the diner. It was your buddy Toye who basically dragged me down here. I swear to god, I thought he was going to dump my body in a river somewhere if I said no.”
“There’s a reason Scorsese keeps bringing in Joe on all his projects.”
Runner’s thoughts on that manner were cut off as Chuckler Juergens and his band stumbled into the bar. They all looked tired, dirty, and far too road weary. All signs of a long and successful tour.
“You boys do know that show of yours doesn’t start for another four hours, right?” he asked.
“Shut up and feed us, you jackass,” Manny Rodriguez bitched.
“Do I look like a cook to you?”
“You look like a man capable of picking up a phone and ordering food,” J.P. Morgan said. “Something with fresh fruit, please. I’m fucking dying for a salad. I swear to god I almost got scurvy.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Loudmouth Howard cursed.
“Please, Hoosier,” Chuckler said. He was all earnest eyes, wide smiles, and already clinging to Runner’s back. It was hard as hell to say no to Chuckler, and he damn well knew it.
“This shit is the reason why I stayed in Hollywood for so long. You’re not supposed to play nice there.”
Chuckler grinned in response.
**************
By the time Chuckler and his boys took the stage, Allison’s was packed. Having Walt Hasser, Chuckler Juergens, and Snafu Shelton on a triple ticket was a guaranteed sell-out. Andy Haldane was even behind the bar to help Hoosier with the glut of orders.
“Who do I need to blow to get a drink around here?”
Hoosier turned from the liquor rack to meet the far too smug face of Skinny Sisk.
“’Sup, pumpkin?”
“Nothing, butternut squash. Get me a jack and coke?”
Hoosier raised a brow. “You’re drinking.”
“Long day,” he said.
He shook his head and made a tsking sound, reaching out to smooth down Skinny’s hair. “I thought Lip just sent you to talk to that music critic?”
Skinny’s eyes narrowed. “Have you met Webster?”
Hoosier tried to stop the smile tugging at his lips. “He can’t be that bad.”
“He’s not,” Skinny agreed. “He’s just exhausting.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I am so desperate for a smoke.” His fingers scratched at his arm over his nicotine patch. It’s been three days since he quit this time.
“Poor Skinny,” Hoosier said. He leaned over the bar and palmed the back of his neck, trying to work some of the tension out.
Skinny tilted his head up, making the sort of that sounds he only made at home. “I’ll expect the full Hoosier Smith Experience when we get out of here.”
Hoosier smirked. “I guess I can pencil you in for an appointment.”
“Hey, girls, can someone give me some service down here?”
Hoosier straightened up to stare down the bar at the asshole who dared speak to them like that. While Allison’s wasn’t a gay bar by any means, Andrew and Eddie never bothered to hide their relationship and it was a safe haven sort of establishment. They just didn’t tolerate the language and actions of bigoted assholes in here.
He exchanged a glance with Andy who gave him a nod. Hoosier looked at Skinny and cocked his head to the side. He slid off his stool and mirrored Hoosier as they both walked down to the jackass. Hoosier made sure Brad Colbert, their country music hating bouncer, was at the ready before he gave the signal for Skinny to open his mouth.
Skinny gripped the man’s shoulder hard. “What’s your name?”
The man shook out of Skinny’s grasp. “Jameson,” he said.
“Well, Jameson, how about you step the fuck off my balls and wait your turn. Here’s a clue, that man behind the bar, he’s not here to deal with your bullshit attitude. If you want it your way, there’s a Burger King right around the corner. Now, you’re going to apologize to the nice bartender so he doesn’t call his very dear lawyer friend and get you slapped with a hate speech harassment lawsuit. Okay?”
Jameson nodded. “Sorry,” he muttered.
Hoosier rolled his eyes in response. “Sir, Brad Colbert, the very tall man standing silently right behind you with the pissed off luck on his face, is going to escort you out of this establishment. While we can’t ban you, seeing as how that’s not our policy, we can ask you to refrain from coming back until you’ve learned some fucking manners.”
He tried not to laugh as Jameson turned around and met Brad Colbert. His attitude immediately went from frat boy bravado to shitting his pants. Colbert had that way about him.
Skinny didn’t take his eyes off Jameson’s back until Brad hauled him out.
“Hate speech harassment lawsuit?” Hoosier asked.
He shrugged. “What the idiot drunks don’t know won’t hurt them. I’m going to go bother Runner now. Stop by on your break?”
Hoosier gave a salute in response before going back to his customers.
“All sorted?” Andy asked.
“Yeah, just a new guy with no manners and even less patience.”
“You okay?”
Hoosier smirked and patted Andy’s arm. “I appreciate the concern, Haldane, but I’ve been called much worse things than a lady in my life.”
“And you don’t have the balls to carry that title anyway,” Lena Riggi announced. She ducked behind the bar and joined them. “I’m volunteering my services tonight, Haldane. You can tell Eddie I’ll take my payment in three new songs.”
“Here to watch your golden meal ticket shine?” Hoosier asked.
Lena bumped him out of the way with her hip. “I like to gauge the crowd’s reaction. Sometimes you can only get that by hanging out at the bar. At least this way, if I get hit on, I get tips out of it.”
“That’s our Lena,” Andy said.
The three of them were able to manage the crowd until it started to trickle off. Snafu and his boys took the stage as headliners and brought the house down. By 1 AM the only people left were the crew breaking down the stage and band members who were too drunk to drive home on their own.
Hoosier took his sandwich and a beer over to the corner where Skinny and Chuckler were holding court, talking about the old 3B days.
“The absolute best, though,” Chuckler said, “was when Welshie decided to propose to Kitty. He got so drunk off his ass that when he finally managed to pop the question, he stumbled down on bended knee and ended up proposing to Johnny Martin.”
“The best part is what Kitty said the next morning though,” Hoosier interrupted. He squeezed in between Skinny and Snafu, slapping Snaf’s hand when he tried to steal one of the fries.
“Christ, I thought Harry was going to cry,” Lieb said. “She was all, Harry, I can’t marry you because you’ve already proposed to Johnny and you’re a man of your word.”
Those at the table who knew Kitty laughed especially hard at Lieb’s imitation. He had her accent down flat, but then again, Kitty as the stylist, and Lieb as the bus driver, spent a lot of time together. She was the one who gave Lieb the contacts he needed when he was a stylist, and eventually helped him establish his career as a touring manager.
Chuckler shook his head. “Those were some crazy ass days. And I wasn’t even there for the worst.”
“Depends on how you define worst,” Skinny said.
Hoosier slapped him on the back of the head. “Only one of us is allowed to be the maudlin asshole in the relationship and that’s me. Besides, you’ve got to admit, Chuckler wasn’t there for the time Nix took every drug he could get his hands on and tried to do a superman off that balcony in London.”
“Is that why he always had a member of security and Winters as a roommate?” Chuckler asked.
Skinny nodded. “Nix lives life better as a functioning alcoholic rather than an alcoholic and a drug addict. Addictive personalities and this business are a match made in hell. You can try to put restrictions and shit on it, like Dick did, but when you’re that famous and raking in that much money? Someone will also be willing to get you something.”
Walt Hasser spoke up. “I’ve gotta ask, upon reflection, would you do it again?”
Hoosier nodded. It was a question that had come up often since he moved to Nashville, and he’d given it a lot of thought over time. “Look, it wasn’t prefect, and I can never have another career as a headlining act. No matter what I do now, it’s always going to be tied back to what I did then. Joe and Luz still have to deal with that, and they’re not even in music anymore. I survived the business, I’m still here, and I’m not bankrupt so I think that counts as a success. I never wanted to be in one of the biggest pop acts of all time, but shit happens. I’ve had far too many good things come from it to make me dismiss it all because of the bad.”
He took a bite of his sandwich before continuing on.
“What you boys have to remember is that there’s no such thing as a rock star anymore. Most musicians starting these days have to hold down second jobs or constantly tour just to break even. Touring and merch, that’s where the money lies. If any one of you sign to major labels just remember you’re good enough on your own. You’ve got to make a brand, but that doesn’t mean wasting money on ridiculously tacky stage set-up, pyrotechnics, and music videos. Talent over auto tune and all that bullshit.”
“Wise words from a bartender,” Snafu said.
Lieb slapped him before Hoosier got the chance.
“How did you become a bartender?” Ray asked.
Skinny stood up before he could answer. “That is a long ass story for another time. We’re going home, boys.”
“Dinner,” Hoosier said, pointing to his plate.
“I’ll drive, you can eat, and we’ll return the plate in the afternoon.”
“See the shit I put up with,” Hoosier told the table.
“Yeah, Skinny still has to put up with you. He wins,” Chuckler said.
“Fuck you all,” Hoosier said as they left.
Skinny wrapped an arm around his waist as they walked to the car. “You really aren’t that much of a burden.”
“I’m worth every penny,” Hoosier agreed.
Skinny kissed his temple before opening Hoosier’s door. Nothing else had to be said.