The band was playing at another venue, deep in the thick of the city, downtown, opening for some more established and popular act. One day, he figured, the fame would build, and they'd get there. Eventually. He had the vision; he just needed time.
"What's this about an 'in' for us you were talking about earlier, man?" Van asked, bringing a beer up to his lips and leaning on the sticky counter. The owner let them set their stuff up there to warm up with before getting onstage and actually perform. A back room reserved for them, a cesspool, the stench of liquor, the smoke from dozens of cigarettes hanging overhead like a cloud.
"Just that there's a, uh...guy I met a couple months back." Johnny shuffled around with his papers, his notebook, writing down little doodles. "That he works with some fairly big groups and, uh...yeah. Was thinking about bringing it up to him and seeing what he could do."
"Are we finally gonna get somewhere?" Cole asked from his spot on the floor, finally looking up from whatever he was picking at on his fingers, peering from beneath his shaggy mop of black hair. The kid was only about sixteen, and he barely even looked that. Baby face, not much voice yet, and about as confident as a stray dog. Easily bruised and cut up by mistake, he was still easy on the eyes, with soft features and a quick, crooked grin. A very pretty face for such an angsty type.
"That's the hope." Johnny nodded. "Uh...Not sure if you've heard of that celebrity guy, Paul LaBelle."
"Of course," Cole scoffed, indignant. "Who hasn't?"
"Yeah." Johnny winced inwardly, scribbling out a few more stray thoughts. "I may or may not know...someone close to him. I'm just saying, right? Just throwing around ideas, you know? If he can hook us up with anyone, I figure that would be...something."
"Johnny," Van starts conspicuously, "where are you getting your connections?"
Johnny glanced up, the look between the two rather severe. "Just, you know. Met him a while back. Seems cool. I'm trying to network a bit."
"What, LaBelle himself?" Lawrence finally joined in. He was the oldest of the group, and generally quiet, despite his size. Around six foot ten and easily pushing two hundred pounds, Lawrence intimidated people often by pure size and appearance, though he was about as dangerous as a piece of driftwood.
Uh, maybe?" Johnny couldn't tell, honestly. "A friend of his? Maybe?"
"All-access pass to meet Paul LaBelle," Van mused out loud. "That guy's a fuckin' fruitcake, you think he'd let me tap that?"
Cole scrunched his nose. "What the fuck's the matter with you?"
"What?" he scoffs. "You think I'm for real? I just think his faggot ass is down for whatever. I'm not seriously into that. Christ."
Cole's face reddened significantly as he looked away. The kid was the only openly gay guy in the group, so it seemed especially inappropriate and possibly malicious for Van to speak that way. It went a little too far for Johnny, who quickly jumped in.
"Shut up, man," he snapped. "You sound like a jackass."
"What is this, turn on me night?" Van laughed. "Alright, alright. I'll keep my mouth shut. Sorry, Cole." He gave a slanted smile in the boy's direction.
"...Whatever." Cole stared at his fingernails, still clearly angry or embarrassed.
Van either did not notice, or did not care. He knocked back the rest of his drink and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Anyway. Let's just get this thing over with."
With everything finally set up and ready to go, Cole pulled Johnny aside about four minutes before they were meant to go on, looking unnerved.
"Johnny, do you...have some cash on you? And...can I take off after the set?"
Confused and mildly curious, he nodded. "Yeah, sure. Why though? You okay?"
Cole reddened slightly. "My dad showed up at the last place we played, trying to catch me. So...figured I wouldn't stick around. He had a friend with him. I think he wants me to go back home. The last I checked, that isn't in my plans."
Shifting against the grimy bricks of the wall, Johnny waited a moment, concerned. "Want me to talk to him for you?"
"No. God, no."
"We could—"
"No." He sounded panicked, breathing a little heavier than usual. "Just a few bucks, Johnny, c'mon, I'm just—I'm just gonna stay at Van's tonight."
Another silence. "Are you sure that's—"
"Yes. Please." His jaw locked and lips thinned, chin turning to the side. A stubborn kind of look, his head turning until the thick layer of black hair shielded his face. "S'nothing. I stay over a lot."
"Yeah, and I think it's starting to be a problem," Johnny stated firmly. The whole situation was starting to dig under his skin and piss him off, and there was nothing he could really do about it. The two had been friends from the start, Van being the one to introduce Cole to them in the first place, but it still concerned Johnny. "Let me...let me talk to him, okay?" He added gently. "You guys have been spending a lotta time alone together, and I'm worried. He's older than you are, and he ain't a great person, Cole."
"Johnny, shut the fuck up."
"Cole."
"Just...just gimme a little bit of cash, and I'll think about it."
Letting go, Johnny sighed, then reluctantly handed over some crumpled bills from his wallet. It left a gaping, slightly distressing hole, but he wasn't about to deny the kid who, most likely, would be running away from home within the next couple of weeks. His family never was in support of his music career, not to mention his plans to come out to them soon likely wouldn't end well. The choice to run off and join a group of no-name locals was tantamount to the kid flipping his whole family the bird. They hated him for it, probably looking for him. Johnny, as the de facto leader of their little group, felt something of a duty to protect him. As did the other members, to their credit. It's the reason why Van let him stay over so much; the reason, also, why he wanted to have a few words with him. The guy was a good enough guitarist, but being a horny, ill-tempered twenty-four-year-old didn't exactly ingratiate him to those looking out for the well-being of a teenage boy.
"Thanks."
The bassist scurried off without looking him in the eye.