Santiago
Murray walked around on his hands during the third audition. The kid was literally upside down, paying no attention to the uninspiring drummer taking on a Foo Fighters song, which was so far above his pay grade, it wasn’t even funny.
My mind was open, even if my heart wasn’t. I was pulling for one of these guys to betheguy. We had one more before it was Maeve’s turn, and even though it was an asshole move, I was crossing my crossables he’d be the one.
Unfortunately, luck wasn’t on my side. The fourth drummer of the day was just as uninspiring as the previous three. Technically proficient, but no soul. I hadn’t even been tempted to get up and play with any of them.
Clark, the manager our label had assigned to us, crossed his ankle over his knee.
“He wasn’t so bad.”
“No. He was,” Mo said.
“He bored me,” Murray said.
Clark studied the files he had on each candidate. “And this woman...Maeve? You sure you’re into adding a woman to the band?”
“Yep,” Mo said.
“She lights up my life,” Murray said.
No, I wasn’t fucking sure. I’d been blindsided last week. Yael hadn’t even hinted Maeve was the drummer we were going to see. And when I saw her up on that stage, I hadn’t believed what I was seeing was real.
“Didn’t you used to play drums?” Clark asked me.
“Yep,” I answered.
“Any interest in playing again? I’m just spit-balling, but it might be easier to find a replacement bassist.”
I hadn’t considered it. When Mo first brought me in, I’d been drumming with another band. I was decent at it. Hell, I was better than decent, but bass guitar was where my talent truly lay. When Diego joined the band, my position on bass had been cemented.
“Nah, I’m good where I am,” I said.
A soft knock came from the doorway of our practice space. Maeve stood there in ripped black jeans and a plain gray V-neck T-shirt, her hair pulled away from her face in a high ponytail. She was the rare kind of pretty that was classic, but not boring. Five years ago, I’d expended a whole lot of energy trying not to look at her. Today, I drank my fill.
“Hey, y’all. Can I come in?”
Murray walked over to her on his hands, flipping upright in front of her. “Mae-Mae. Please come in here and blow us away.” He took her to Clark, introducing them.
I studied Clark’s reaction. He scanned her, like he was committing her curves to memory so he could upload his findings and later share them with our label.
“Hello, Ms. O’Day. Why don’t you play us something, then we’ll see if there are any questions once you’re done,” Clark said after shaking her hand.
“All right. Anything specific you want me to play?” she asked.
The decision to be an asshole came easily. The previous candidates had played one of our songs, and then a song of their choosing. I’d stayed silent through it all. But with Maeve, I had this urge to see if I could get a rise from her.
“‘Bleed’ by Meshuggah.”
She blinked once, then twice, before her eyes met mine. “Oh, you’re feelin’ evil today, aren’t you?” The curve of her lips told me she wasn’t going to give me what I wanted.
“Am I missing something?” Clark asked.
Maeve answered before I could. “Santi just requested I play one of the most challenging metal songs ever written. It’s seven minutes, usin’ all four limbs, although a fifth would be helpful.”
“You don’t have to,” Mo said. “Play whatever you’re comfortable playing.”
She sleeked her hand over her ponytail. “I love a challenge. I’m not promisin’ I’ll get through all seven minutes, but let’s see what I can do.”