Two Wrongs Do Make a Right (Rewriting in Progress)

Chapter 14: Something I Did Not Expect

(Ryan's P.O.V.)

This is it. The day of the private gig of the Sumner Brothers. My hands are sweating profusely, alongside my forehead and my chest. And so is my forehead, according to the mirror in front of me. I'm deeply nervous, and I've got to point of thinking I might need some cards to avoid forgetting my introduction. Oh crap, I don't want to screw this up. I don't want to screw this up. I don't want to screw this up.

Great, I'm acting up again. Time to take another dose of some apple cider.

Now, that's a bit better. Normally, I wouldn't be quite worried like now because I've hosted other gigs in the past. But this is a gig by two of the greatest people in music history. And these two people are the very ones that I personally revere. I cannot afford to fail this. I've got to keep my head under control and think of my lines. Easier said than done.

Not again. My bladder's acting up again. Gotta rush to the toilets for the seventh time.

After getting that one out of the way, I head to the taps and wash my hands. Alongside me comes a member of the sound technicians who goes up next to me. As he turns on the taps he says,

"Hey, so you're the opener for tonight, huh? You've got five minutes left to memorize your lines. We're doing some last-minute adjustments while the brothers are preparing their performance. The last thing we want to see is some guy who turns to a statue because of stage fright, so don't mess this up. You wanna get paid? Do this right."

He promptly takes some tissue from a dispenser and leaves me alone. Thanks for the reminder, jerkass. I return to the back room to prepare myself for the last time.

While I repeat one of the lines loudly, a knock of the door diverts me. Telling the knocker the door is open, it opens to reveal the Sumner Brothers joining me. They sit down on some vacant chairs on the side while I observe them with silent admiration.

The stillness amongst us is unsettling. I'm doing everything I can to keep calm, but having two of the greatest musical icons facing me makes me prone to say something by mistake. I yearn to express words of awe, but all I could come out with is a stupid stutter.

"Why don't I help you there?" One of them offers. "I'm Gordon. Well, I used to be, but I prefer Sting now." He leaves his hand open for me to shake, which I accept.

"And I'm Bernard," the other follows. Just like the former, he extends his hand. "Well, I suppose I'll need a bit more for starters. Used to play lead guitar and keyboards for the then Joy Division, now I lead, you know, New Order. Or what's left of it."

"Yeah, sorry for that. Especially Peter." I react in sincere sadness. New Order isn't New Order without Peter Hook.

"Yeah, well, he was never really satisfied. Always an egocentric narcissist. Even frowned at the time I did Electronic with Johnny Marr. But I have to admit; we would have never gotten over 1980 without him. And New Order would never be the same without him."

"Hey, at least Gillian's back in the band." I remark, trying to brighten up the mood.

"Yeah, we all missed having her around. Say, you know a lot about us. You must be a fan or something."

I lower my head meekly. My adrenalin levels have reached fever pitch.

"Okay, that's enough," Gordon, I mean Sting, interrupts. "So you know him quite well. What about me, then?"

"Alright. I know you're an environmentalist. I know two of your children had their names from a book. I know your song, Russians, which I love, was inspired when you saw Sesame Street in Soviet television. And you just had a Broadway musical about your childhood near the Wallsend shipyard."