OUT OF THE RED ↝ dave grohl

one-hundred-twenty-seven.

MARCH, 2001, ST. LOUIS, MO

FOR AS LONG as Reagan could remember,
she had wanted to explore the world, to see the beauty of every corner of the earth until she'd been run ragged by adventure. It had been a product dream of being holed up in Olympia for so long, burdened by the hum-drum tenor of her life. It had been optimistic.

It was a different feeling now, being sent criss-crossed over the United States for the sole purpose of her job. Fun wasn't the proper word she'd use to describe it, when for a reason she couldn't come to terms with, she felt like an imposter in her career. Someone who hadn't even gotten the luck of the draw with sheer talent, but simply because of who she knew.

As soon as Dave crossed her mind, she propped her chin into her hand, balancing her elbow on the sill of the backseat car window that she was being driven in. He'd teased her mercilessly when she'd left for St. Louis just a day earlier, smirking as he'd asked, now who's leaving the state for work?

The comment had irked her. He'd only been playing, but Reagan had wanted to point out that she was only leaving for three days, whereas he'd always left for months at a time, sometimes overseas where he was farther out of reach than mere state borders. She'd bared a tight smile though, thankful that he was keeping Gracie company while she was away. It was her spring break, and Dave was taking her to Virginia for a brief trip to see Ginny.

She re-crossed her legs on the car's leather seat, feeling sticky and hot as she remembered more of what she'd felt when he'd unknowingly irritated her. What he'd seemed to miss, even in the overall joke, was that he wanted to leave when he was gone. It was a slice of heaven for him to tour because it meant playing shows, interacting with the stadium-load of fans who knew every word to the lyrics that he'd previously crafted.

Reagan, on the other hand, hadn't wanted to leave. She detested when Geffen sent her packing across the country and not only because it meant leaving Gracie behind.

She was sick of her job, and the heinous guilt that followed after thinking so was miserable.

She felt snobbish to complain when she'd been handed on a silver platter what most people, even those who'd worked their asses off, would never attain. She made great money, met both famous and upcoming celebrities, and wielded a kind of power at Geffen that made her respected. She got to work in the field of music, a lifelong source of happiness for her.

Yet, despite working almost every day with musicians and piloting them into notoriety, Reagan couldn't confidently say that it was about the music anymore. Over the years, her work in A&R had tripped on the curtain that had once shielded the mechanics behind what she was doing and how money hungry labels really were.

It made her think of Kurt, who'd always been counted on to shit talk the big labels of the industry without fail. If he could have seen her then, she imagined he would have been giving her an 'I-told-you-so' look, like she'd finally dipped her toes into the difficulties that had plagued him towards the end of his life.

Reagan knew that she was being ungrateful, but she told herself that it was acceptable if she at least recognized it. She wasn't qualified for her position and no matter how much Dave said otherwise, he'd single-handedly wheedled her into DGC and then into Geffen. He'd dialed up the charm he was so well-known for and gotten his way, which was always geared towards making her happy.

The irony was that she wasn't. She was up to her eyeballs in responsibility that centered around making Geffen look good, honing in on the aesthetic that they preferred over the style of musical artists that she actually liked. She fumbled trying to meet budgetary expectations, sat in droning meetings with label executives that reminded her of devious snakes in the grass, and oversaw a whole department of people who were counting on her to do things right when she couldn't even count on herself.