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March to the anthem of the heart To a brand new day, a brand new start
"Alex, what is this?" The unexpected, abrasive question had Alex spitting out her toothpaste quickly. She'd answered the late-night phone call from her boss and hadn't gotten so much as a 'hello' off before being verbally accosted.
Wiping her mouth on the back of her hand, Alex questioned, "what is what, Matt? I'm going to need a bit more context."
"This article, it's trash," he stated as though it were obvious. Ah, so he'd finally gotten around to reading her account of the Greta Van Fleet interview. Not her greatest work, she had to admit.
Alex huffed into the phone. "Well, if I'm being honest, my subject material was kinda trash." She was more than a little wounded still by being inconvenienced earlier in the day. First impressions being lasting ones and all.
"They've been touted as one of the greatest rock 'n' roll bands to come through in decades, and you couldn't come up with something more inspired?" There was a pregnant pause—then Matt's echoing sigh rang back at her. "Alex," he began again hesitantly. "You're usually a good reporter, but you know how it's going to look if we publish something subpar under your name..." His voice lingered for a moment and died, insinuation hanging in the air between them.
Alex pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling the pressure of an oncoming headache mounting. "Yes, Matt, you don't need to explain to me the double-edged sword that comes with carrying my last name."
Being the only daughter of world-renowned film director Robert Becker had its many perks—wealth, privilege, and prestige namely. However, it was coupled with an equal number of drawbacks. Recognition came with expectations, and her mere existence drew constant comparisons to a career full of accomplishments and accolades, none of which she could ever hope to mirror.
Matt's subtle warning was a harsh reminder that if Alex didn't prove herself capable at every turn, the public would simply assume she'd been handed her position on the basis of nepotism and nothing more. "What can I do to fix it?" Her voice had gotten small, filled with an equal measure of embarrassment and shame.
"They're performing tomorrow night. I've contacted their manager, and you're on the list. Now, go and bring me back something worth reading." The line went dead without a formal conclusion.
Alex stared at the now darkened phone for a moment before realizing her boss's guilt trip had been strategically planned. The dickhead had set her up before he'd even interrupted her bedtime routine. Pulled the strings, and like a marionette doll, Alex had danced as requested. She almost admired his talent for manipulation. Almost.
Her headache was fully formed now.
The time between that conversation ending and her standing before the bouncer giving her full name, disappeared in a haze of nervous energy. Interviewing the entire band had to go better than the one-on-one, right? Right?
Alex could only hope.
"Just this way, ma'am," the burly man announced, escorting her down a dark hallway with flickering lights before ushering her into the green room.
It was empty.
Fucking great.
Alex cracked her neck from one side to the other and attempted to squash down the irritation bubbling in her chest. She tried to categorize all the wrongs she'd committed in her life to determine which was profound enough to warrant such punishment. None seemed altogether worthy, but she figured she might be slightly biased on that front.
Finally committing to the wait, she plopped down on the lumpy sofa and pulled out her phone, figuring she might as well occupy herself in the meantime.
Alex had become so engrossed in a compilation of puppy videos that she didn't notice the door opening until she saw movement in her periphery. "Shit!" She exclaimed, jolting up in her seat upon realizing a man now lingered in the room with her—boy probably would have been the more appropriate term. Once her heart stopped beating so rapidly, Alex recognized Sam Kiszka from her previous research, and he looked all too pleased with having scared the crap out of her.
"Sorry about that," he said with a wide grin. "You're Alex, right?" He walked towards her on lanky limbs, and they met in the middle of the room, shaking hands. His fingers were long and thin like the rest of him.
"That's me," Alex confirmed with a smile. She already liked the youngest Kiszka better than his brother, in spite of the jump scare. "Where are the others?"
Sam's eyes wandered around the room like his bandmates might miraculously appear out of thin air. "Ah, they're around here somewhere."
Alex couldn't help herself. "Always late, right?" The jab fell from her lips without her explicit permission.
Sam chuckled awkwardly. "Yeah..." his voice fettered off, and they lingered a moment in stale silence. "We could go ahead and get started, though," he mercifully offered.
Alex latched onto his gracious olive branch like a lifeline. "Oh hell yeah."
The interaction between Sam and Alex flowed more like a conversation than an interview. The youngest Kiszka carried such a carefree and boyish charm that the back and forth seemed effortless. He reminded her a lot of George Harrison, even beyond the physical attributes. Too bad he was six years her junior and still a literal teenager.
The pair were cracking up as Sam shared an especially ridiculous story about the twins' antics when the remaining band members burst into the room. The trio paused in the doorway, confused at the sight awaiting them. Their eyes bounced back and forth between Sam and the journalist.
"Well, well. What do we have here?" Josh questioned, strutting into the room with a cocktail in one hand and a smirk firmly planted on his face.
Eclectic was the word that came to mind when Alex appraised the frontman's outfit for the night. It seemed as though he'd been plucked right out of the seventies and deposited into the twenty-first century. "Oh, Sammy here was just informing me of some people's propensity for running around in the nude."
The faces at the door dropped at Alex's confession, which caused the pair on the couch to break out into another round of laughter. "That's not going in the article!" Josh shouted dramatically, making Alex and Sam double over.
Once her breathing settled down, Alex wiped her eyes of stray tears and got up to make formal introductions. "Calm down, I haven't even started recording yet," she reassured.
Each member was drastically different despite growing up in such close proximity to one another. Josh went in for a tight hug because, of course he did—he seemed like a naturally touchy person. Danny gave a reserved handshake, definitely the most composed of the four. And all she got from Jake was a muted head nod, which she felt was good enough given the circumstances of their last meeting. Alex wasn't trying to die on the hill that was figuring out Jake Kiszka's deal.
Making herself comfy on the dingy green room floor, Alex placed her phone in the space between the band and herself. "Take two, since I flubbed the first go-round." Maybe self-deprecation would win her back some favor.
