Band On The Run

Too Much To Ask

“Yeah, I’m almost there,” I said into the phone. I could feel the chill of the window against my skin even through my hair that was creating a screen between the glass and my forehead with my eyes closed, but there was no doubting I was in a New York City cab. I had to be a pro at recognizing taxis from this city by now.

“I could have driven you,” offered Nick regretfully on the other end.

Rubbing my fingers against my forehead, I shook my head even though he couldn’t see it. “It’s fine, it’s just some stupid meeting –” I broke off with a yawn “– and it’s really early in the morning anyways.”

“Keely,” he chuckled in my ear, it was such an easy good natured sound, “It’s eight in the morning, it’s not early.”

Opening my eyes, I looked out at the city passing by, staying silent for a moment. That was easy for him to say. He had done nothing but record some vocals yesterday. I, on the other hand, had woken up early to do a phone call into a radio station that was on another continent, had a weekly meeting about ‘the direction of Fly Way’ with Robert – which I suspected was more of a power thing for him, although he had been unusually subdued with his approach to speaking to me – spent the entire day at the studio producing, headed over to a club for a three hour gig with my back up band and then taken the only time I had to write anymore until the wee hours of the morning.

Yeah, I’m sure this wasn’t early for him. Nick had been asleep long before I’d even gotten home from my club show.

I would’ve very much liked to say nothing more in that moment than ‘fuck you’ but, knowing Nicholas, I knew that it wouldn’t translate very well. He barely ever swore, and as casual as it was for me, I doubted he’d appreciate me swearing at him even if it was as natural as any words coming from me.

“Oh, I’m here,” I told him hastily, “I’ll see you later.”

“Love you,” he added quickly before I ended the call.

“Thank you,” I told that cab driver who gave me a blinding smile as I handed him over the cash.

Stepping out of the taxi, I slung my bag over my shoulder and had to fight the scowl that wanted to show at the happy morning people about in the frigid morning. Stuffing my hands in my pockets, I wandered closer to the restaurant where we were supposed to be having the morning meeting.

Yawning again behind my hand – I hadn’t had any coffee this morning – I peered into the restaurant, my eyes searching tiredly from behind the dark sunglasses I had on despite the early hour. For a moment as I searched, I couldn’t help but wonder bitterly if this had been Seth’s idea. I wouldn’t doubt it. If he was feeling catty at the moment, this would be the best almost passive kind of revenge he could get. Although that wasn’t usually his style, he’d be more upfront about it.

Finding none of the boys there yet, I didn’t bother to wander inside because I didn’t want to be alone with the lawyer and Mark. I wasn’t a fan of lawyers in general – with the exception of an old friend – and I obviously wasn’t too close to my manger. But at the moment we needed a lawyer, and there was nobody better with publicity than Mark.

Sighing, I leaned against the brick wall right beside the cleanly scrubbed window of the restaurant, fishing through my bag. The lawyer went by the name of Stephen Boyle. We’d used him for the band’s representation for all our years together, having been recommended by not only Maureen but bands we’d talked to.

Finding the pack of cigarettes in my bag, I quickly pulled out a smoke, fixing it between my lips as I lit my lighter, blocking it from the wind expertly with cupped hands.