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Jonny had been nervous. Really nervous.
Not just because he desperately needed the job, but because it was the fucking Shudders. Okay, so they weren’t getting number ones, or anything, but he’d seen them at least ten times in London, sometimes by coincidence, then more often by choice. They had a small but devoted fanbase of local devotees, and he’d thought it a shame when he’d heard that the singer was in hospital. Right after getting signed to bloody Sony, too. Then when he’d got the call, via a friend of a brother of a friend, that they were specifically looking for a young male guitarist, and that someone from the actual record company had asked about him...Well, he’d actually spilt his cup of tea on his jeans. That had been rather embarrassing. He’d had to call them back. So if he was that nervous when he heard about the interview...When he actually had it, he put on a calm front but was shaking inside. The whole experience had seemed pretty surreal.
The manager had interviewed him, not the band, which had been a bit of a surprise. Apparently Ewan had seen him a few times with his last band (Jonny had slipped some tickets once, when they’d got chatting after one of Ewan’s shows) and they had trusted his word that he was good. He thought it was kind of cool to see a girl managing a rock band, though, especially for such a big label, and he told her he liked her tongue piercing.
“Thanks, Mr. Miller. Can I call you Jonny?”
“Please do.”
“Good. So, you are aware that our frontman, Jude has been having some...issues, yes?”
Jonny had a feeling that she wasn’t used to skirting around delicate subjects.
“Yeah...I don’t know exactly what, though.”
“Good. We’ve been anxious to keep it quiet, but as you’ll soon be on board” (Jonny had thrilled at that, did this mean he had the job already?) “It is important for you to know that he has some...mental health issues. Occasionally, substance issues. We need to know that you will be comfortable working with someone like that.”
The implicit question had thrown him. If the guy was ill, the guy was ill; it wasn’t as if depression or addiction were contagious. Seeing his quizzical look, the woman had tucked her black hair behind one ear, impatiently, and continued.
“That’s why we’re looking for a guitarist, you see. We want to take some pressure off of him. He’s been...a big investment for us, and it is a top priority to protect our investments...artists.”
He was more thrown to realise that her – Portia? Yeah, Portia’s royal ‘we’ was the company, not the band. With her skinny black jeans and her ripped Ramones t-shirt, he’d mentally pegged her as a fellow musician, even though he knew what her job was. Then he’d realised that he still hadn’t said anything and probably seemed like a massive idiot and was going to screw this up.
“That should be fine.”
“Good, good...And as your job will be to take pressure off of Jude, if he does anything, or says anything, that makes you worry about his safety...or anyone’s....You call me, straightaway. Here’s my card. “
He’d pocketed the square of paper, white text on black, with a little thrill. He’d got it; it must be his, fucking yes-
“I’ll call you tomorrow to talk about meeting everyone”, she’d said, smiling for only the second time during their talk. He’d thanked her, trying not to be too effusive, grabbed his jacket, and headed for the door. As his hand touched the knob, Portia cleared her throat.
“Oh, Jonny, there’s just one last thing.”
“Sure?”
“Are you seeing anyone?”
How many times could a person be unsettled in the course of fifteen minutes? Had he given her the wrong impression when he said her piercing was cool? He was gaping like a fish again, wasn’t he?
“No, not at the moment.”
“But you do sleep with men, don’t you?”
“Yeah. I mean, who-“
“Good. You can go now.” He left, elated and confused.