Jack finished his solo with a little flourish. A funky run he knew those hip hop types loved. He hated showing off, but if it got him this gig, then he was willing to play fancy.
He'd been struggling as a bassist for the last few years; floating from gig to gig, trying to make a name for himself as a jazz player. He'd done a couple of sideman slots on some second rate albums, but wasn't satisfied with any of them. He'd been shopping a demo he'd made to several of the smaller jazz labels without any luck. A drummer he knew casually set him up with this audition for Christina Aguleria's band and he'd been more than happy for the opportunity. This gig, if he got it, paid thirty-thousand dollars for three months work and would pay all his rent and bills for a year. The money was too good to pass up.
"Would you mind playing a little more?" The manager asked him.
"Sure. What you wanna hear?"
"Maybe something a little more jazzy."
'OK,' he thought. 'You want jazzy? I can do that.'
He launched into one of his own pieces. A mid tempo number with a lot of changes. It was incredibly easy to play on an electric bass, as he didn't have to reach for notes like he did on his upright.
He pounded away, playing the song the way he would if it was his gig, and not some audition for a pop singer he'd yet to see and a couple of starfucker management types.
As the last notes faded from the amplifier, Jack knew he'd done well. Screw that, he'd done great. He was head and shoulders above the other idiots who'd turned out. He just hoped that they'd seen that too.
"Thank you. What's your name again?" Forgotten so soon?
"Jack. Jack McAllister."
"Thank you, Jack. Would you mind waiting around with the others while we make a decision?"
"No problem." He lifted his bass from his shoulders and went to one of the empty chairs next to the other wannabes. He looked at his competition and a worry entered his mind. All of these guys couldn't hold a candle to his chops, put they all had style in spades; something he was sorely lacking.
They were all wearing the right clothes. They had the right hair. Walked the right way. He shook his head. This was a pop gig. Why hadn't he dressed up? They weren't going to hire a music geek.
Jack suddenly felt self-conscious. His glasses and clothes screamed, 'Dork!' Oh, well. If he ever got a chance like this again, he'd be sure to wear something besides clothing he'd bought at the Goodwill.
The fat guy who'd introduced himself as Buddy or some shit like that, stood and faced the group of eight guys.
"Gentlemen, first of all thank you for your time. It was a difficult decision, but we've decided to go with Mr. McAllister for this tour. Thanks again for coming out. Please help yourselves to any food and drinks before we close up shop."
The other cats looked crestfallen. Jack couldn't believe his luck.
'No fucking way,' he thought, the vision of paid bills dancing in his head. 'I don't know why they picked me but I sure as hell ain't gonna argue.'
The rejects stomped off, leaving Jack alone in the chairs, stupidly clutching his bass, unsure of what happened next. Buddy came over and Jack stood.
"Welcome aboard," Buddy said, shaking Jack's hand vigorously. "You've really got some chops. Christina loved it." Jack was confused. She wasn't here. He'd looked around before he'd gone on and hadn't seen any sign of her. The manager smiled and gestured to the mixing board.
There was a blond woman, not much taller than the mixer. Was that her? Damn she was tiny. Maybe five feet tall at best. She waved and started over to where they were standing.
"That was tight, man." She said, bouncing on her heels. "You can play the shit out of that thing." He smiled and was unsure of what to say to her.
Ok. Time to come clean. Truth be told, he owned her records. They were a guilty pleasure and he loved the fact that she actually had a voice, not some studio engineered vocal chords. Not to mention she was fucking gorgeous.
"I guess you're not much of a talker, either." She said, laughing at the pregnant pause.
"I'm sorry. I'm just shocked I got the gig." 'Way to be, moron', he thought. 'Introduce yourself.'
"Sorry. I'm Jack. Nice to meet you."
Her hand looked like a child's in his. He had to be at least a foot taller than her.
"Cool," she said, politely ignoring his stupid rambling. "Rehearsals start tomorrow at eight-thirty. You good with that?" He nodded his head. Hell yeah it was all right. For thirty g's he was pretty amiable to any situation.
She said goodbye and bounded off, leaving him staring at what he realized was one tight little body. Work was gonna be good.
Rehearsals took up most of the month. After he'd deposited the check, he practically floated into the bank, he'd gone out and gotten pretty drunk, marveling at his own good fortune. He'd woken up at six when the alarm had shocked him from sleep, reminding him that you had to earn thirty thousand dollars.
They'd practiced twelve hours a day, six days a week for that month. The charts weren't very difficult, so he'd spent most of his time watching his new boss.
Christina wasn't there for the first two weeks, owing to the fact that she was mixing her new album. But, boy, when she showed up, you knew it.
She dove right in to rehearsals and sang like she was in front of twenty-thousand people. Jack was positioned to the right of the drummer, so he had a perfect few of her ass as she sang. 'It's totally harmless,' he thought to himself. 'Millions of guys check her out, I'm just one more.'
They'd gotten the set perfected and they spent the last few days with her and her choreographers. She had a team of guys directing her every move during the show. Jack was fascinated by how much went into pop shows. There was so much moving around to remember. Stand here until this happens. Then move over here so your ass doesn't catch fire when the pyro goes off. It wasn't the kind of thing he thought he'd ever get used to.
The night before the tour was supposed to kick off, Christina invited everyone in the band to her house for dinner and drinks.
