Open Arms

Chapter Twenty Eight

"Exit's to your left," Angus said. "Thanks for comin'." He coughed into his arm before writing a few notes down on a piece of paper. The man's name was something of an incantation and Angus knew he'd never remember it. He also knew he wasn't the one for the job, but he had to be fair and give everyone a tryout. 

Taking the papers off the table he walked out of the recording booth to find band mates, managers, and brothers scattered about the room. Malcolm came up to him with a cigarette in hand. "How'd it go?"

"When's our lad gettin' here?" Angus asked with a sigh shuffling through the thin stack in his hands. Malcolm let out a laugh. 

"That bad, eh?"

Sitting on the moth-eaten couch and coughing from the dust, Angus set the papers on the table in front of him. Cliff and a few producers including their very own Mutt were in deep conversation to his right while roadies and certain Easybeats were laughing at something by the snack table. Over the six hours they had been there, one by one each man left the recording booth to take a little break. Angus was the last to leave, knowing he should step out for a second and check on his progressing fever. 

Phil's suspicions were true. They both got sick. 

Phil recovered in two days but Angus had been miserable nigh on a week.  Countless tissues flooded his waste basket next to his partially empty bed. Hermione glared at him whenever he walked by to let him know his sneezing kept her up half the night. He glared right back at her. Every day a fever and every day two more pills down his throat. And every day he still showed up for work. 

"Eh..." Angus let the papers fall where they pleased on the table. "I'm sick of fuckin' around. We've let everyone have a go an' none of them have changed our minds about who we're after. Jus'...tell them all to go home, I guess." A hand clapped his shoulder.

"Ang! Great to see ya' in the outside world!" 

Angus huffed. "Hello, George."

George looked like the eight million dollar man. A spring in his step and a smile on his face. Not to mention a drink in his hand. "Found your man yet?"

"Uh, we're not considerin' any of these blokes, George," Malcolm answered for him. George picked up a sheet of paper and glanced over it. "None of them really fit our sound, ya' know?"

"Not one?" Malcolm crossed his arms and shrugged. Angus leaned back on the couch and placed a hand to his hot forehead. "Still lookin' for the Geordie?"

"He's the only one of these that Bon talked about," Malcolm said. "I say if he's got Bon's approval, go for it." George set the paper down and sighed. 

"Well, we've heard back from him, he says he's interested." Angus perked up. "Seen you guys on the television a few times. But he knows he's got a big position in front of him, I can see he's all nerves."

"If he's interested, why haven't we been cuttin' to the quick about it?" Angus asked. "Why was I left to deal with the swarm?"

"No one made you be so polite," George shrugged. "You could have gotten up an' left with the rest of us. Now we haven't 'cut to the quick' like you wanted because there are plenty of guys out there that we've never heard of an' have real talent. Of course, none of them showed up today..."

"We're jus' fishin' around a bit, mate," Malcolm said slapping his brother on the back. "Jus' think if we hadn't asked that driver to sing for us, yeah?"

"You'd still be in Aussie, eh?" George grinned sticking his tongue between his teeth. "We'll get him in here, he's in town this week, so maybe...tomorrow? Day after?" Taking a long sip of his sparkling drink he made his way over to the food table and helped himself. Angus felt his stomach churn. Food hadn't been sitting well with him.