Indigo Blues (6 page)

I stare at my clock: 5:55. We have to be at the TV studio at eight a.m. for hair and makeup. Gina, our manager,
tries not to schedule anything too early or she'll have to
personally wake Zach up. Hopefully, whatever lucky lady
followed him home last night has to be at work somewhere
and wakes him up before she leaves.

But if it wasn't for Zach, we may have never met Gina.
She had been working with the band Seaweed as an assistant manager when Zach convinced her to come hear us play at a local club. We had only been in New York for four
months and were in desperate need of some guidance. She
loved what she heard and agreed to take us on. And let me
tell you, she's no-nonsense. She took us from dive bars to
signing with Toasted Almond Records to a number one
hit. Plus, she's got the hook-up-her brother owns a small
studio in Brooklyn and lets us practice there whenever we
want.

After another ten minutes of tossing and turning, I
finally get out of bed. I glance at my phone. Zero new messages. Indigo's probably still sleeping, anyway. Man, if I had
more time, I'd drive to Caulder myself and pay her a visit.
Maybe seeing me in person would change her mind. Or
maybe it'd freak her out even more and she'd get a restraining order against me. If I can hold out until Thanksgiving
break, I can legitimately run into her at the Abel-Caulder
football game. Or maybe there's a slim chance that if I sent
her a ticket to our Boston gig, she'd show up.

I hop in the shower and try not to think about how
I'll be baring my soul to half of America in a few hours. I
think about Hannah and her non-skier bod and how she
danced up against me. Even though she was fine, I didn't
feel a connection. Who knows, maybe I'm too picky.

I dry off, then call Zach. He answers on the second
ring, sounding all chirpy.

"Dude, I totally thought you'd be knocked out," I say.

"Who can sleep when there's a hot chick getting dressed
two feet from you?" he says. I hear a high-pitched giggle.

"Who's that?"

"Erica. From the other night. You could've had Hannah, you know. She was digging you."

I pull the tag off a pair of Levis that I bought last week.
"Yeah, thanks."

"Your loss, bro." Sucking noises dominate the phone
lines.

"Are you making out? Hello?"

Something drops. I think it's me. Well, the phone.
"Hurry up," I yell, hoping he hears me. Usually such disregard for time would make me nervous, but Zach has a
habit of showing up when he's supposed to. He always got
up at the last minute for school, but somehow was able to
slip into class just as the tardy bell rang.

I hope that Allie and Harry, the Wake Up, America
hosts, don't bombard us with too many questions. Gina
said it's only a five-minute segment, enough time for a few
questions, and then we perform "Indigo Blues." The whole
thing will be live.

I still have about twenty minutes before I need to catch
a cab, so I grab a Dannon from my fridge and turn on the
TV. Allie and Harry are cooking it up with Master Chef
Byron LaRue. I stare at my plain vanilla yogurt. I wonder
if they'll have any of the breakfast smorgasbord left when
we arrive. From the looks of it, Byron whips up a mean
omelette.

"And coming up in the nine o'clock hour, we have
author Lewis Sinclair with his latest book, Of Love Lost,
and then the newest boy band sensation, Blank Stare, with
their number one hit, `Indigo Blues."'

I shut off the TV. I can't believe that in just over an hour,
millions of viewers across the country will see us play live.
But I know one person who won't be watching. Indigo.

Why does she have to be so stubborn? I want her to see
me for who I am. A decent guy. Is that too much to ask?

Two deep breaths, a quick look in the mirror, and three
squirts of cologne and I'm out the door. I grab a cab right
outside my place.

"Where to, buddy?" the cabby leans over to ask me.

"Thirty Rockefeller Center. To the Wake Up, America
set.

"You someone famous?" The cabby laughs.

"Something like that," I mumble.

My phone rings. It's Gina. "What's your ETA?"

"I'll be there in fifteen," I tell her.

"Good, we'll start with you then. Jack and Tommy are
just leaving their place now and Zach swears he'll be at the
studio in less than twenty."

"Uh-huh."

"And Adam..." She pauses.

"Yeah."

"They'll most likely ask you about Indigo. So my advice
is to give them a short, direct answer and they'll move on."

I drum my fingers on the metal of my seat belt. I don't
answer.

"You okay?" Gina asks.

"Fine. I can handle it." I hope. Well, really I have no
choice. If I don't answer, then I screw the whole band. We'll look like a bunch of dopes. If I lie and say Indigo was a figment of my imagination, then we seem like freaks. I'll take
the advice Dad gave me after Mom died. Give them just
enough to whet their appetites and then move on. Moving
on, now that's a joke.

As soon as I get to the studio, Sandy, a wiry production assistant with short black hair, whisks me upstairs and
into the dressing room. We pass Gina on the phone in the
hallway. She throws me a quick wave. I swear she's superwoman. Never a bead of sweat on her forehead.

Sandy pulls a roll of Certs from her pocket, offers me
one, and then pops two into her own mouth. I still have to
get used to all these people fussing over me. This place is
so much bigger than when we were interviewed back home
on the Boston Today show in May. There was only one person in the dressing room to help us, and many fewer clipboarded assistants.

This dressing room has a wall of mirrors, swivel chairs,
and a full shelf of goop products. Lena, the stylist, rubs some
gel into my hair. In a way I'm a little sad that it's growing
back. At first I was mortified by the way Zach's hairdresser
cut it-faux hawk and all-but a lot of people commented
on the band's MySpace page that I looked cool. I think it
gives me an edge.

While Lena's massaging my scalp, Sandy and one of
the producers pop into the room. "Where's the rest of the
band? They're late," Sandy pants.

I turn in the direction of Gina and stifle a laugh. "This
is nothing for them," I say. Zach strode in a cool minute before our first radio interview. After that, Gina really tightened the reins on him.

She whips out her phone. "They should be here any
minute, but I'll call Tommy." After a short convo, she ends
the call. "Nothing to worry about, they'll be here in five
minutes." Which both of us know translates to ten.

Lena manages to do something halfway decent with
my hair and then the next person shuffles over to me.

"I'm Archie, your makeup artist." He sets a big bag
onto the counter in front of me.

His cheeks are red and his eyelashes are super-long fakes.
He's really tall and thin and has a mole on his face like Mr.
Bean's. No offense, but I'm not going for the same look.

"Do you have to?"

"Don't worry, your family will still recognize you."
He pulls out a big brown makeup brush. "I just need to
even out your complexion so you don't look washed out
on TV."

The door flies open and Tommy, Zach, and Conjunction Jack take the remaining seats in the room. I look at
my watch. Yup, they took the whole ten. Right behind the
guys are Sandy and the producer. They both look worn
out. I can't believe they have to go through this every day.

"It's about time you guys showed up. I was going to
have to go on solo," I say.

"There was a lot of traffic." Zach winks.

"In his bedroom," Jack adds.

We all laugh, even Archie.

"Don't give up my secret." Zach swipes a cologne bottle shaped like a hawk off the counter and smells it. "Lady
Killer," he says, and sprays it on his neck.

Tommy gives me a double take. "Dude, are you wearing makeup?"

I look at myself in the mirror. Archie better not be
going overboard. "Just wait your turn."

"You're next," Archie says to Tommy.

Zach has now slipped off his sneakers and is spraying
his feet.

"Easy, tiger." Lena rushes over to him. "Save some for
the rest of the pack."

Zach sprays in my direction. "I've got my own scent,"
I cough.

"I noticed." Conjunction Jack holds his nose.

I pick up a brush and toss it at him.

"Relax, boys. Too early for all this testosterone." Archie
holds up his hand.

Gina pops her head into the room. "Five-minute warning until sound check."

A third stylist enters the room and helps to get the rest
of the guys ready. Gina hands me a bottle of water. I take
a sip, then close my eyes and try to clear my mind. I don't
want to come across as a weirdo. Gina's always reminding
us about image, but I'm more worried about Indigo watching. If she does watch, what'll she be thinking? I hope she
realizes what she's missing.

Another production assistant zips into the room. "Ready,
boys? It's going to be a quick sound check."

I have to give it to these guys. In less than five, they
were totally able to clean Tommy, Zach, and Jack up. I won't
point out to Zach that they made his cheeks look rosy, especially since he looks even more like Gerber boy now.

I sneak a quick glance at the mirror and file out the
door behind Zach, our fearless leader when it comes to
public speaking.

Conjunction puts a hand on my shoulder. "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

We wait by the studio door. The on-air light is illuminated. I peek inside the glass door and see Allie and Harry
sitting with a big dude with wire-rimmed glasses and a
ponytail. I figure that must be Lewis Sinclair. He looks
like I imagine a successful writer to be, like a character in
a book-intellectual and fashion-challenged. Although I
should give him props, since he's wearing a button-down
checkered shirt, not a blazer with corduroy elbow patches
like a lot of novelists in those old movies.

They're all sitting in big chairs that resemble marshmallows. Allie is lost in the seat, all ninety pounds of her.
Harry and Lewis Sinclair are about the same height and
stature, but you'd notice Harry's bright red hair anywhere.

"This way." Sandy points to the studio next door
where our stage is set up. There's a big B on the door. We
all take our places and speak into the mikes, to make sure
the equipment is functioning properly.

"Okay, everyone happy?" Sandy asks, crunching down
on more Certs.

"Yodel-lay-hee-hoo," Zach sings into his mike while the rest of us fiddle around with our instruments. I'm so
glad our road crew set everything up for us this morning,
because getting here at eight a.m. was early enough.

"Ready?" Sandy claps her hands together. "They're about
to wrap up next door. Then we go to commercial break and
you guys will be on for your interview. You'll have five minutes with Allie and Harry, then we'll whisk you back to this
room for the performance. Any questions?" She herds us out
the door. When no one says anything, she adds, "Relax and
have fun."

Huh? Isn't this the lady who was running in and out of
the green room crushing breath mints?

We wait outside Studio A. I see a producer behind
Allie and Harry holding up one finger, and another one
holding a card that says Wrap Up.

The door swings open and Gina guides us to our seatsfour black bar stools on the other side of the set. Allie and
Harry rush over and introduce themselves, while someone
escorts Lewis out the door.

Zach offers his hand. "Thanks for having us on the
show."

"Hey, I've got two teenage girls at home that begged
me to get you guys on." Harry makes the rounds and
shakes all of our hands.

"We won't disappoint." Zach smiles.

Easy for him to say-he loves the camera almost as
much as he loves hot girls.

I call to Gina. "Toss me a mirror, please." I need to
make sure there's no last-minute mystery crap on my face.

"You all look great," she says to the group, but she's
looking straight at me. I give her a quick nod.

"Okay, places everyone," someone yells, and then continues with a countdown.

Three fingers go up, then two, then one, and the studio light is aglow.

Let the five minutes begin.

Allie takes the lead. "We're honored to have the fabulous members of boy band Blank Stare on the show today."

She introduces us by name. The camera closes in on us
one by one, and we each offer a small smile.

Don't ask me about Indigo. I grit my teeth. I know it's
inevitable, but I hope they run out of time.

"So first off..." Harry leans in. "How did you all meet?"

Okay, a question I can handle. Four minutes and twenty
seconds left.

"Mercy High in Abel, Mass," Zach says.

And if we were there now, I'd only be fifteen minutes
away from Forest Hill High, where Indigo goes to school.

"And how did you come up with the name Blank Stare?"
Allie crosses her legs. Her gray skirt is short. Hey, she's wearing gray! Does that make her dismal and boring? I say not
with a pair of legs like those.

We all start laughing. This one should take a good minute. Zach tries to speak through his laughter, but can't get
anything audible out so Tommy, the most composed, takes
over. I catch a glimpse of Gina in the corner. I know she's
dying inside.

"Let's just say it's the look you get from a girl when ...
um ... she sees your di ..."

"Member," Zach pipes in.

"Yeah." Tommy nods. "Kind of like a deer in the headlights."

Allie raises her eyebrows and blushes. "I think this is
what we refer to as guy speak."

"Right," Conjunction assures her.

Gina shakes her head. Even though the meaning of
Blank Stare comes up all the time, I still don't think she's
gotten used to it.

"Moving right along," Allie says. "How long have you
all been performing?"