HARMONY

Part 26 "Supply and Demand"

Meanwhile, Steve tries to merge his two worlds... that of being a broker and of being a roadie.

The bus pulled into the roadside diner's parking lot just after 3 a.m. The roadies unloaded themselves in silence. They entered the restaurant like ponytailed zombies and dropped into a booth. The waitress brought four cups of steaming black coffee. Still, not a word had been spoken. All the players knew their steps in this dance of the existing dead.

Steve took a slow, long sip and reached for a menu. He was the only one to read it.

"Order egg whites again and I'll slice out your eyes an spread 'em on my toast," Vance said, without looking to Steve. "Slows down the whole fucking order."

"Actually, I was thinking..." Steve said as he unstuck the second page of the menu. "Thinking of trying the tall stack with a side of eggs and bacon."

The discussion of food signaled the waitress to the table. Her knotted hand pulled the pencil from behind her ear; she licked the end and pointed it at the pad. "What'll it be?"

The two other roadies ordered, then Vance. Vance turned to Steve. "No damn questions."

Steve gave a nod, ordered the exact breakfast as Vance and returned his menu to the end of the table. He twisted his coffee cup in a slow circle.

The door opened again and in walked Rex. He nodded in the direction of the roadies and sat at a large round table. Most of the band soon joined him, all of them giving a nod or wave in the direction of the roadies.

Out of the corner of his eye, Steve could see Rex spreading receipts and papers across the table. There was the tapping of a calculator and low voices. With a sharpened pencil, Rex pointed, then wrote, then tapped on the calculator. One voice, Steve believed it to be the drummer's, got steadily louder.

"What the fuck you looking at?" Vance said. "That's band business, not yours."

"Ya, just human nature to be drawn to conflict."

"Twist up your human nature and cram it into your dark hole of humanity. You're a roadie and that's band business."

Almost clean ceramic plates landed in front of them with a thick clank. Steve lifted a sticky fork and dove into his breakfast, trying to separate out the slimy yolk. With each bite, his fingers ached to be holding a freshly sharpened number two pencil. Ah yes, a beautifully thick yellow pad. A calculator. The kind with the fat, white roll churning out crisp figures across my desk. God, how I want to think again. Think. And puzzle and have a conversation about Fareed Zakaria's latest article in Time. To go out to lunch. To come home to dinner. He scooted toward the end of the booth. "Excuse me, Vance."

"Eating."

"Sorry, I just need you to slide out so I get to the pay phone."

"Eating."

"Get the fuck out of my way!" Steve said, surprising even himself.

Vance took another bite. "You got no one to call." He chewed.

The other two roadies continued to eat, unaffected.

"I'm calling my wife."

Vance took another bite. He looked across the table. "Joe, didn't you have two weeks in the pool?"

Joe gave a chuckled grunt and swirled his toast in the yolk.

"Fuck you," Steve said. He squared himself to Vance.

Vance took a swallow of coffee and slid out.

A full moon balanced against the dark sky. Steve dialed the payphone. He glanced across the littered parking lot and tried to come up with an opening line. Speaking into the dial tone, he apologized, rationalized, justified and finally said, "I want to come home." But no one answered. He tried Michelle's cell, then Drew's and Claire's. All disconnected.