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Babe, you're so young and pretty But you're evil, you oughta know
"Matt, this is some bullshit. I'm fucking leaving," Alexandra Becker huffed into the phone teetering between her ear and shoulder. Her hands worked to shove the laptop, paper, and pens she'd meticulously laid out over an hour ago while waiting for her would-be interviewee to make an appearance back into her messenger bag.
An audible sigh rang through the line at her evident frustration. "Just give him another half hour, and then we can talk about scheduling. This is just what rockstars do—you know that," Matt, her boss, tried to reason.
Rockstar or not, and Alexandra found the use of the term a stretch given the band had only released a double EP, the lack of punctuality was altogether unprofessional and just plain rude. Her time was as valuable as any Led Zeppelin knockoffs were, probably more so, she reasoned.
But, since it was apparently her job to cater to the whims of untimely musicians, Alexandra switched from water to beer, watching impatiently while the minutes continued to trickle slowly past as she waited and waited.
Just before the countdown was up, and with several beers past, her interviewee finally blew through the establishment in a wave of long hair, Rayban sunglasses, and flowing fabric.
He was nearly two hours late. What an asshole.
"Hey, you must be Alexandra," he offered as a form of introduction. She was less than impressed with his casual demeanor, so she made no attempt to stand and make a formal show of shaking hands. That went out the window ages ago.
Sharpening her gaze on him, she clarified, "I prefer to go by Alex, and you're ridiculously late."
She received a chuckle, followed by a boyish smile that showed no genuine signs of remorse. "Sorry about that. We're always late," he offered as some flippant justification for the blatant slight.
What a terrible personality trait to be so openly proud of, she mused. "Charming," Alex bit back sarcastically.
Shifting further back into her chair with arms crossed, Alex allowed her eyes to roam over his figure while he took a seat before her. She made note of his slight stature. Tiny was the word that came to mind, but seeing as she barely graced 5 feet herself, she wasn't really in a position to judge. His long hair lay with slight waves at his shoulders, falling gently in his face as he leaned forward. His loose shirt was generously unbuttoned to show a fair amount of toned and tanned chest, devoid of any hair. His face was one of sharp angles, with high cheekbones and a defined jawline, in addition to a perfect set of teeth contained behind full lips.
Jake Kiszka was arguably attractive but thoroughly annoying.
"Well, let's get this over with."
Opening the recorder app on her phone, Alex pressed play and began the interview as planned, albeit well behind schedule. "This is Alex Becker with Spin Magazine interviewing Jake Kiszka, lead guitarist from the band Greta Van Fleet. Now, Jake, the band recently received four Grammy nominations, including one for Best Rock Album. How does it feel to receive such recognition for your debut album?"
This question, and the ones that followed, were procedural, exceptionally boring, even Alex had to admit, but this was the assignment that had been gifted to her. So, she doled them out without any genuine interest in the answers that were received. By that point, she was just hoping to get the interview over with quickly so she could go about her day—or what was still left of it. What did she want to have for dinner after?
This apparent disinterest must have read across her face because Jake rudely reached across the table to tap on her phone, pausing the recording. "Am I boring you?"
The accusation snapped Alex back to attention immediately, her hazel eyes flashing dangerously. Both parties finding themselves affronted.
She scoffed at the question, although it wasn't altogether unwarranted. "Apologies. I must have lost some enthusiasm while I sat here waiting." The silence that followed her insinuation was deafening. She usually wouldn't have been so emboldened on a job, but with the alcohol swimming through her veins and the aggravation still bubbling beneath her skin, she found the words were flowing too loosely from her lips.
Alex assumed they were engaged in a staring contest, but she couldn't see behind those stupid sunglasses Jake hadn't bothered to take off throughout the interview. Such a prima donna, she thought.
When he made no move to break the tension, Alex resumed the recording and asked, "your sound draws many comparisons to Led Zeppelin. Do you feel deserving of being drawn into the pantheon of such great rock legends?"
A tick of annoyance graced Jake's features, his lips down turning into the slightest of frowns and his strong jaw briefly clenched. Alex found herself pleased by the notion. At least she wasn't the only one suffering through this ordeal in agitation now.
"We're flattered by the comparison, and, obviously, Zeppelin has been an influence on our music. But, we believe the band has substance and can contribute to the genre." His response was deadpan, formulaic at best. His voice held no passion. There was no candor behind his sentiment, but Alex noted his unconscious habit of playing with his chin when searching for the preferred words to questions that didn't come naturally.
He clearly wanted this interview to be over with just as much as she did, and he made it known. "Are we done here?"
Alex immediately stopped the recording. "Yeah, that should do it," she confirmed and again began packing up without so much as a sideways glance at Jake.
However, she felt him momentarily linger in her periphery, teetering on the impulse to have the last word. Deciding against it, Jake loudly pushed his chair back from the table and swiftly disappeared out the front doors.
