Problem Children

Chapter Twenty Nine

"Oi, Ang, pass my bottle over here, will ya'?"

"You got two feet, don't ya'?" Angus asked in return. The older man smiled at him.

"An' one of them is gettin' its shoelace tied, now hand it over." Angus sighed and grabbed the cold beer bottle off the coffee table. The glass exchanged hands and was brought to the older man's lips. "Wanna drink?"

"No thank you, Bon, drinking is not my thing."

"You're what, twenty three years old, and don't drink?" Angus sighed and sat on the couch across from Bon. The older and apparently taller man donned a smug smile, watching the younger fiddle with his guitar.

"Told you already, mate, I tried it once, an' it didn't work out. I'd rather not try again, if it's all the same with you." Bon chuckled and continued to nurse his drink.

"Eh, more for me, I guess. You get that song worked out yet, if your drinking can't be?"

"More or less. Mal an' I can't agree over the progression, an' it's drivin' him nuts." Bon grinned.

"You're the one drivin' him nuts."

"Well, the feelin's mutual," Angus muttered. His guitar was set aside and he lay across the couch, closing his eyes. If he had been told years ago he'd be joining his brother's band he would have laughed up a storm. Sometimes he still did, as he remembered the day he accepted the offer. Both had been giving it their all in their own bands, holding the others' weight on their shoulders. Getting sick of working hard for nothing, they got together and wrote a couple of melodies on their own. One by one new members had come in and gone out, with three sole survivors. One of them was having a great time teasing him. "Ready for the show tonight?"

"Always am," Bon replied, swirling the contents in the bottle around. "Your girlfriend comin'?"

"She's not my girlfriend," Angus scoffed, watching the beer bottle Bon was holding. "She's just a little friend comin' with us, nothin' special." Bon raised an eyebrow.

"A friend who so happens to be a girl," he said, eyes searching the ceiling. "If I didn't know any better I'd say you're a lucky man tonight." Angus shook his head and closed his eyes again. "What's her name?"

"Sherrie," Angus answered with a grin. Bon chuckled as Malcolm and another man entered the room.

"That's right, Sherrie. Sherrie the sweet, sweet, cherry." Angus covered his face in laughter inciting the two visitors to chuckle as well.

"Ang, come on, we gotta take the guitars to the trucks," Malcolm said, standing a foot on the coffee table. Angus hummed to himself as he ignored his impatient brother. "That means yours."

"Where's the next show?"

"In Manchester, so get packin'. Bon! Get up, truck's leavin' less than an hour." Both men stood at the command of their rhythm guitarist. The beer bottle taken by Bon, the guitar picked up by Angus and all four men headed out for the truck, their suitcases already packed. A fifth man stood by the truck, his hands in his pockets.

"Got everyone, Mal?"

"That's so, Cliff, all five accounted for an' one more guitar added to the bunch." Angus climbed in the back of the truck to find a place to put his guitar. His brown Gibson SG, the one swinging in the window of the old guitar store, next to the Fender. Finally accumulating the four hundred dollars he needed, he didn't hesitate to run down the street and collect it for himself. Soon enough his band had been making enough money to buy three guitars, though he saved his for his apartment in Australia. Nothing too fancy, just a place to stay with the business he had. One bedroom, luckily two bathrooms in case he had a guest. It wasn't cozy enough to take the place of a real home, though he'd be lying if he said he didn't miss his own bed when he was away on tour. Fortunately for him, Europe was their last stretch.