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David ignored his little brother loitering at the back door of the box office until he hit print on the newly-ordered tickets. Over the whirr of the printer, David said, "Can you go clean dressing room 1? The guy performing tonight will need it." David checked his calendar to check the guy's name: Jack Kelly. He was an up-and-coming country artist from New Mexico that David hadn't heard of prior to Katherine telling him he'd been booked, but he must have been pretty popular. The show had sold out so quickly they'd had to add another one.
"Sure thing," Les said. David knew he wasn't pleased about having to take orders from his older brother at 19, but they both knew that displeasure was far outweighed by the relief at having an income and experience for his resume without the hassle and stress of a thousand job applications and as many rejections. Plus he got paid to sit around and watch performances. It was a pretty sweet gig.
"Thanks," David said, and Les ran down the hall toward the cabinet in which their cleaning supplies were stored. David took the freshly-printed tickets and put them in a stack with the rest of that show's tickets, tying them off with a rubber band. He left Katherine, who was in charge of the box office, alone and went downstairs into the auditorium. He checked that the stage was dirt-free and that the aisles between the seats were trash-free. Les may have been annoying sometimes, but his work ethic and efficiency were seriously commendable. David could sit around and help Katherine out in the box office until Jack Kelly arrived.
David was on the phone desperately trying to explain to someone that Jack Kelly's show was sold out and they didn't have room for anyone else (it didn't matter if there were only two of them! They were at capacity!) when Les burst into the box office, shouting, "Jack Kelly's here!"
David and Katherine both gave Les a stern look, and David said into the phone, "Thanks so much for your interest, but there's nothing I can do for you. If there's another show you're interested in I can—" The person hung up. "Okay." David put the phone down and headed for the loading dock on the other side of the building. He'd need to ask how much equipment they had, how much help they needed to get it loaded in, how they wanted to conduct their soundcheck, if they had merch. If David were in charge of things, he'd know all of this already, because it would have been discussed weeks ago via email. But apparently, that was simply not how things were done.
At the loading dock, he found two men who were definitely not the guy whose picture was on the venue's website. One of them, a tall guy with curly white-blond hair, was handling a dolly and an amp with practiced ease. The other, a shorter guy with mousy brown hair leaned on his crutch and counted boxes in the back of the van backed up against the door of the loading dock. Regardless, David put on a welcoming smile and said, "Hi, I'm David Jacobs."
"Oh, hey," said the one with the crutch. "I'm Crutchie—I think we exchanged a few emails? I'm Jack's manager and merch guy." David shook his hand, trying to hide his incredulous reaction to Crutchie's name. He was pretty sure he'd been emailing with a 'Charlie', but whatever floated this guy's boat, he supposed.
"I'm Racetrack. You can call me Race. I'm Jack's roadie." The taller guy shifted the dolly into his left hand so he could shake David's right. David wondered if Jack also had some sort of ridiculous nickname, but he didn't say anything.
"Nice to meet you both. I'll get someone to set up a merch table for you outside the auditorium. Do you need anyone to help with loading in and setting up?" David asked.
"I think we're okay, it's just a couple things. Thanks, though," Race said. He pushed the dolly out onto the stage, nodding his thanks at David.
"Sure thing," David said. He nodded at them and set off to find Les to set up Crutchie's merch table. He heard faint guitar strumming from behind the closed dressing room door as he passed it. Jack, David presumed, had already made himself at home.
Les was still in the box office because he'd been told to stay out of the way of the performers and their teams (he got overexcited), combing through patron profiles. They had tens of thousands, and a lot of them were empty or duplicates, but sorting through them was low on their priority list. It hadn't been touched until they hired Les for the summer and got him to work on it when there was nothing else to do. He was almost halfway through the C's, now.
"Hey, Les, can you put a table for merch between the auditorium doors, please? And then find Crutchie about setting it up. I'm sure you'll be able to pick him out," David said.
"Does he have a crutch?"
"Got it in one."
"Cool. Is he the merch guy? I don't have to do it?" Les asked, bouncing with delight.
"Yep. You can enjoy the show," David said.
"Awesome!" Les cheered. He clicked save on one of the patron profiles and shut his laptop, running to grab a table for merch. David had no idea how he always had so much energy. It had been a late night the previous night, with a mediocre band who had played three encores, and a rude audience who had left all their cans and cups and bags scattered all throughout the seats.
David headed back the way he came, back toward the dressing rooms, to check and make sure Jack was settling in okay and had everything he needed. The door was still shut, but the guitar was louder now, and Jack was warming up his voice. David knocked on the door, and the noise stopped.
The door opened to reveal a man with dark hair who was shorter than David had pictured. Jack had such a presence in all the photos David had seen, so he assumed he'd be taller. He wore a faded tank top, lightly distressed blue jeans, and a pair of slippers. He was very attractive, but David had met a lot of attractive performers, so he filed that fact as 'irrelevant' and put Jack Kelly in the drawer in his brain labeled 'Never Going To Happen'.
"Hi, I'm David," David said. "How are you doing? Everything good in here?"
"It's even better now that I've met you," Jack answered with a cheeky smile. His voice sounded about how David expected it to; smooth and deep and a bit drawling. But his words were totally out of left field, and they left David feeling like something in his brain had been unplugged. "I'm Jack."
"Yes," David said, for lack of an ability to think at the moment. He blinked and mentally kicked the 'Never Going To Happen' drawer shut again (pesky thing, falling open by itself). "Sorry. I mean, I'm David. I said that already. Uh, nice to meet you."
"Likewise." Jack winked. There was a freckle right next to his left eye. David filed that fact as 'irrelevant' as well, and additionally, forgot how to speak again.
"Er... uh... um.... Oh. Is there anything you need? Anything I can get you?" That was what he was there for!
Jack contemplated the question for a moment, then decided, "No, I think I'm good, actually. Thanks, though, Davey."
David considered correcting him on his name, but then he figured it was probably deliberate in order to make him fall in love with him. He probably did this with every damn venue worker he met. Whatever, it was cute and he liked it. "All right. Well, give me a holler if you change your mind, or you can get Darcy—he handles lights—or Bill—he does sound. They both know their way around. And, um, don't let Les bother you. He's a summer worker, and he can get a little starstruck sometimes."
Jack quirked an eyebrow and gave David a crooked smile. "Noted." David nodded at him and moved to walk away, but Jack said, "Hey, wait."
"Yeah?"
"What's your favourite song?" Jack asked.
David frowned. "Uh...." He wasn't sure if that was a trick question. Was he supposed to answer with one of Jack's songs in order to give him an ego boost, or was this a test to see how much the venue employees would bend over backwards for him? Either way, David didn't know any of Jack's songs, so he just answered honestly. "Right now, it's probably Stay With Me by Better Love."
"All right, cool. Thanks, Davey."
"Uh, no problem... Jackie." Jack beamed, so David gave a hesitant smile and fled to the box office.
Jack was better than David thought he'd be. He wasn't really a country music fan, so he was pleasantly surprised at how much he liked Jack's performance. His voice was beautiful and his guitar playing was masterful and the music was emotional and honest and much better than a lot of modern country. It was remarkably listenable. David witnessed his fair share of unlistenable performances since he'd gotten his job at the venue a few years ago. He always stood at the back, ensuring that everything was running smoothly and that there was no funny business going on in his theatre. (He didn't own it, or even occupy a position of management. But in his heart, it was his.)
About an hour into his set, Jack said, "Well, hey, let's switch it up a bit and do a cover, how does that sound?" The crowd gave a cheer. "I just learned this song about two an' a half hours ago, so please do forgive me if I make any mistakes, but it's for someone here who knows who he is." Jack scanned the crowd, and frowned slightly when he couldn't find who he was looking for. "Well, here's Stay With Me, originally by Better Love."
David felt his face become very hot, and any bothersome traces of the notion that Jack flirted with every venue worker he met left his head. Surely he wouldn't learn and arrange a song to be played on an acoustic guitar in under three hours for just anyone. And it was a good arrangement. It didn't lose any of the character the original song had, even though Better Love had a full band and two singers with verses that overlapped. David was more impressed with Jack with every note and lyric he sang.
Les nudged him. David looked over at his little brother, who was staring at him with a very pointed look. He knew full well that David had had that song on repeat recently; he'd blared it over the speakers as he'd helped Les clean the auditorium just that morning.
"Shut up," David said, even though Les wasn't saying anything and probably couldn't even hear him over the music. David went back to being enraptured by Jack's performance.
David had never cleaned up the auditorium after a show faster than he did that night. Cans were tossed into bags, dropped snacks were swept into dustbins, and seats were wiped down at a superhuman speed. Les continued to give him very pointed looks.
"Can we just leave all this stuff set up for tomorrow night?" Race called to David as he cleaned.
"Go for it," David replied.
"Were you in here for the show?"
David blushed. "Yes."
"I'll send you a video of it anyway."
"Thanks."
As soon as everything was done, David walked backstage as fast as he could without looking like an insane person. He knocked on the door of dressing room 1 and it opened instantly.
"I liked your—"
"Can I kiss you?" Jack interrupted.
"Yes," David replied, and didn't wait for Jack to lean in first. David wasn't inexperienced, but this was the best kiss he'd ever had. Something about Jack just made fireworks explode in David's stomach. Maybe it was that thing he was doing with his tongue. Maybe it was the way his thumbs gently rubbed the skin just above David's hips. Something about it made David pull away and whisper, "Do you want to spend the night at my place?"
Jack certainly didn't look upset at the idea, but he said, "I don't want this to just be about sex—I want to get to know you."
"We can do both," David suggested.
"We can do both," Jack agreed. But, well, first things first.