𝖪𝖭𝖤𝖤 𝖲𝖮𝖢𝖪𝖲 | 𝖶𝖠𝖱𝖱𝖤𝖭 𝖱𝖮𝖩𝖠𝖲

𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐎𝐍𝐄 - 𝐒𝐄𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃: 𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐁

"Oh, here he is."

"Hey, that's him. That's him."

Rod stumbles towards the door, towards the group of people knocking on his door at whatever hour in the morning.

𝗥𝗢𝗗: They showed up at my doorstep. I thought it'd be lucky if they even called, but this was something else.

"Rod, hey."

He blinks, looking at them with an amused expression. Billy chuckles slightly, trying to keep himself from panicking internally.

"Uh, it's, uh, Billy Dunne and the, uh... The Dunne Brothers. We met at The Staircase in Pittsburgh, you know? You said I could call."

There's a faint sound of a woman calling out a thank you in the background before Rod replies.

"But you didn't call. You're just... here."

Billy gulps.

"Um, could we have... uh, ten minutes of your time?"

For a moment, they all think this was all a waste of time, and Rod's going to throw them off his doorstep. But instead, he sighs, and opens the door, signaling for them to follow as he walks away. They immediately scurry after him.

They end up in a large outside area with a giant pool, gathered around Rod in pool lounge chairs.

"Obviously, we, uh... need gigs."

"Yeah, on the Strip, if possible. The Whisky, The Troubadour."

"Yeah, and- and- and a place to stay."

"Yeah, I mean, we pooled our savings together, but it's not much. We're probably gonna need some money. I mean, just to get us off the ground, you know?"

"And, uh, Teddy Price to produce us. That's- that's, uh... that would be huge. It's really important."

Rod looks amused as he responds to their requests.

"Sure. Yeah, man. Anything else?"

"Uh, I think that's... Pretty much. That's all, yeah."

The group laughs, until Rod speaks up again.

"That was all we came up with."

"Are you a bunch of fucking idiots?"

"Do you really think that's how this works? You show up in town and someone hands you a key to the city? A sit-down with Teddy Price?"

𝗝𝗔𝗠𝗜𝗘: I mean, no offense, but what did they think was gonna happen? You don't just meet Teddy Price.

"You said..."

"I'm a tour manager, not a band manager. So, unless you guys are planning a world tour in the near future, I don't think I'm your guy, man."

Billy speaks up, desperate to get something going out of this whole ordeal.

"We're not asking for handouts. We'll work our asses off, man."

Rod leans forward, cigarette in hand, almost exasperated by these kids.

"Listen to me. You seem like nice people, and... if you're the band I'm thinking of... your set was kind of tight."

Rod chuckles, and the band waits with bated breath.

"So what I'm gonna do is, I'll make a call, one call, to my guy over at Filthy's.

Filthy's? What the hell is Filthy's, Warren thinks.

"Filthy's? Is- is that a club?"

"It's more of a... bar than a rock club, but it's on the Strip."

Thank god, Billy thinks. They at least have a gig.