June 24th, 1985
"Why don't you just tell them who your father is?" Haley laughs, waiting for her pot of coffee to be ready. Her pale yellow waitressing uniform is the brightest thing in this apartment, she's a waitress at Hal's Diner just down the block.
"Because, I don't want to, and you better not, either. You saw what happened with the last one," I mutter, rolling my eyes and turning the page in the phone book.
"So, instead of calling daddy and minimizing your amount of work, you're just going to continue writing down the phone number of every club in LA?" Haley's sarcasm is something to get used to, that's for sure. Luckily, after knowing her for all of these years, I've learned to tune things out.
"I like to do things myself, thanks, I would rather not have to talk to him while he acts like he actually gives a damn about me." As far as my father is concerned, I like to have as little contact with him as I possibly could.
"Just saying, if I had the privileges you have, I wouldn't be working at some shitty Diner," she pours her cup of coffee, drinking it black, a perfect example of the bitter person she is.
I slam my fist on the table, causing her to jump and spill hot coffee all over the front of her uniform. Oops. "Haley, I'm so sick of your stupid comments about how I grew up well off, I'm sorry I can't choose my parents!" I scream, shaking my head at the girl who used to be my best friend, but it seems like so long ago now.
"I'm sorry you had to struggle through life, I'm fucking sorry. I'm sorry about what happened, and I'm sorry you feel the need to attack me every day for things I can't control. Now, if you excuse me, I'm going to keep calling Los Angeles clubs to get the band we both love some gigs." I drop my gaze from the girl, looking back down at the list of phone numbers for local businesses.
Yesterday, I had gone to the local dollar store and bought two cheap calendars, one of which I'm writing down dates for gigs and giving it to the band, the other I'm listing the dates and keeping it for myself.
The refrigerator magnet with a notepad that Haley and I use to write down our grocery lists is also coming in handy, currently hosting some phone numbers for LA music venues. The door to our apartment slams shut, letting me know that Haley has left, and I am finally without her negative presence.
The Stardust Ballroom 555-0721
Madame Wong's East 555-7138
The Roxy Theatre 519-6820
The Troubadour 276-1158
I pull a chair over to the phone, setting my calendar and list of numbers on my lap. "Stardust Ballroom," a man answers.
"Hi, my name is Deanna Caine. I'm currently managing the next up-and-coming Hollywood rock band," I lie, using some of the family tactics to try and book this gig. "If you want the Stardust to be the LA place to go, you'll give Guns N' Roses a gig." I've learned through my nineteen years that if you want someone to do something, you don't ask them. You give them something they want.
"Tell you what," the man pauses. "We just had a band drop out of a gig, if they can open for The Unforgiven, The Joneses, and London on Friday, they've got themselves a gig."
"They'll do it," I say almost immediately, scribbling the details on June twenty-eighth's section of the calendar. "We'll see you there."
"Yes!" I cry out, throwing my fist in the air dramatically. "First gig I've made for Guns N' Roses," I write down the gig onto the calendar I'm forcing them to have before typing the next number into the phone.
"Madame Wong," the familiar voice says into the receiver. Madame Wong is the owner of Madame Wong's East, a Chinese restaurant in Chinatown that hosts live music in order to get business booming. It's a great place to get your name out there, but sadly, she is a great friend of my 'father'.
"Madame Wong, it's Deanna," I inform her, holding the phone between my ear and shoulder as I absentmindedly play with the pen.
"Oh, Deanna! How are you? Placing order?" I can hear the patrons in her restaurant and I chew my lip, hoping she won't call my father after I ask her about Guns N' Roses.
"No, surprisingly," I chuckle. "Are you still hiring bands to play live?"
"Yes, are you in band?" The woman asks.
"No, but I'm making gigs for one. Do you have any openings? They're incredibly talented."
"Yes! Can they play on July 4th?" She asks, and I hear the sound of her turning pages. Yes, Madame Wong, yes they can.
•••
Out of breath, I sprint to the storage units from my Sunset Strip apartment, gasping for air as I breathe heavily. I never really was one for running.
I hear the sounds of music as I turn the corner into the parking lot, pushing myself to run faster as the unit finally comes into view. "Guys," I gasp, panting as I finally make it there. "Good news."
"Whoa, what'd you run here," Duff laughs as I continue to try and breathe.
"Yes, Duff," I say through gasps of air. "That's exactly what I did." I open the calendar, pointing to the first date. "June 28th, Stardust Ballroom. Opening for The Unforgiven, The Joneses, and London." I turn the page, pointing at the first July date. "July 4th, Madame Wong's East." I turn the page again. "And August 31st, The Roxy Theatre. I tried getting you some more gigs at The Troubadour, but my boss wasn't in, I'll go there when he gets back from vacation."
"You're amazing," Duff smiles, putting his bass down and picking me up into the air. "It's like we got our own band manager."
YOU ARE READING
Deanna • Duff McKagan
Teen FictionDeanna Caine, nineteen years old and spending her days on the Sunset Strip. While bartending at The Troubadour, she comes in contact with who she believes could be the best band of the 80s, Guns N' Roses. But with her father trying to sabotage her e...
