Girls Who Play Guitars

•mullet man, you are not cool•

Even though Sam wore rave pants and a bucket hat, he'd always been Slider's suit man, adding the meat and potatoes to their all-girl line-up when a token male presence was needed to negotiate for them. He excelled at being 'one of the boys' and networking. As much as Ellie hated the world was like this, she knew it wasn't going to change any time soon and therefore she needed Sam to deal with the suit shit.

Except, the more Ellie listened to what Sam had to say about the Tattler magazine article, it looked more like Sam had failed at the suit shit.

"Jessie has no right to our songs!" Ellie pierced her gaze at Sam who sat slumped across from her at the tour bus dining table, bucket hat pulled low over his face.

"She says she helped write them."

A thousand swear words tore through Ellie's head and she clenched her fists under the table. "You were there Sam, you know she's lying—"

"She's got a lawyer who says she can claim copyright."

Ellie's skin bristled as she cast her mind to the last time she'd seen Jessie - backstage at the Afterblast gig in Melbourne, nearly three years ago.

The gig that changed Ellie's life.

She could still picture Jessie's fiery eyes and feel the force of her fingers burning into her neck. She could still hear Jessie's words about how much she hated Ellie's songs.

Of course, Jessie would come slinking back now Slider had started to earn decent money.

Ellie knuckles whitened where she held fast to the table. Leaning forward, she searched for Sam's eyes under the brim of his hat. "Take that bloody hat off!"

Sam clutched a handful of thick white cotton and dragged his hat off his head, dropping it on the table. When he dared to look at Ellie, his eyes were full of something she hoped was angst, but she doubted it.

"You're overreacting ... " Sam muttered, wringing his hat tight in his fists.

Ellie had to stop herself grabbing the bloody hat and shoving it into his blabbering gob. She squeezed her head between her palms where a throbbing beat pounded like one of Sam's dance parties. "Just tell me what she wants."

"She wants her career in music back," Sam retorted. "The career you ruined for her."

Ellie dropped back in her seat feeling like a too-tight guitar string ready to snap. She had to take a breath before she spoke to calm her voice. "You know I had nothing to do with ruining Jessie's career, don't you?"

Sam huffed as he pushed the hat away on the table and leaned back into the padded banquet seat, crossing his arms so his parachute jacket puffed out at the shoulders. He wore that annoying expression he used when Ellie or Kim called him out, his bottom lip drooping unflatteringly.

It was hard to believe that, once upon a time, in the olden days, before their first successful song, Ellie, Meg and Kim thought Sam was pretty rad. He was Ellie's older sister Coral's friend and had that Australian laid-back naturalness: broad friendly smile, freckles across sturdy cheeks, sparkly grey eyes and thick straw-coloured hair that hung long around his neck. Ellie only now realised it was a ridiculous '80s mullet.

Oh, you thought you were so cool, mullet man.

Not anymore.

"Oh ... and also," Sam mumbled, "uh ... she's going to release the songs as her own album of dance covers."

Trying to claim ownership over Slider's songs was one thing but the idea of Jessie releasing them as dance music made Ellie's blood boil like a head-banging punk with nostrils full of superglue.

Why had she ever thought it was a good idea to hire Sam as their manager? Sam was the one who introduced them to Jessie; said Jessie had that 'thing'; said she could sing and had the right 'look'. But Sam didn't have a business degree or a law degree - which would have been useful right about now. For strategic thinking and planning and budgeting, Sam was definitely one stubby short of a six pack. Why did Ellie listen to him?

He was also fully aware that if Jessie got a cut every time Slider played their hits, then Ellie, Meg and Kim would have to give up Slider. They would never let Jessie take credit for their work.

Sam knew Ellie could never play her songs again if they were going to be played at a bush doof.

He knew all this.

Resting her palms on the table, she pressed her face close to Sam's. "Okay. Here's what you're going to do," she said through her teeth. "You're going to get a lawyer and make this whole Jessie thing disappear."

Sam's eyes rolled. "We don't need a fuckin' lawyer. It's only Jessie."

"It's only my songs!"

"You're making it a bigger deal than it is!"

Ellie squinted at him. She couldn't read his flat expression. It seemed like he'd gone somewhere else. Somewhere separate from Meg, Kim and Ellie.

Ellie took a deep breath before daring to ask her next question. She tried to soften her tone, hoping it would make him talk. "Do you still want to be our manager?"

Sam twisted his hat into a knot.

"Sam?"

"I guess," he muttered.

"You guess?"

When Sam met Ellie's stare, she could barely see the old Sam behind the cold grey of his eyes. Ellie wanted to reach out and take his hand. Support him. Feel like he was still there to support her. Like the old days.

But she couldn't.

Something didn't seem right.

Maybe she needed to see the Tattler article for herself.

Then she'd know he was telling the whole truth.

"Where's that magazine?"

She swept her eyes across the mess of clothes, junk food wrappers, UNO cards and newspapers inside the bus, hoping to catch a glimpse of Daniel Armstrong's luminous blue eyes on the cover.

"I said I'll sort it, Ellie!" Sam said, the huff back in his voice.

"Give me the magazine!"

"Settle down!" Sam bristled. "Go get a drink or something. Take the edge off!"

Ellie slammed up from the table. "Don't you ... ever ... tell me to settle down." Wrenching her jacket up from her bunk bed, she ripped open the trailer door where the cool breeze hit her burning cheeks, catching in her hair. "If you want all this"—she waved her hand around the tour bus— "to continue, you better sort this Jessie shit out pretty fuckin' quick."

Ellie stepped from the bus and slammed the door behind her.

She had to find Meg and Kim, warn them about Jessie then head to the hotel to formulate a plan to fix this mess.

Music from the main stage signalled that Glue still played. His throaty, enthusiastic voice carried on the breeze wrapping up their set with one of their biggest hits—that epic, uplifting pop hit Ellie had heard on the radio years ago.

In the cool air with the soft grass under her boots and the edges of the icy draft chilling her skin, the rainbow shades of the main stage lights flickered behind the barrier wall, teasing her with their cheerful glow. The echo of the music and anthemic sound of the crowd singing along drew her closer to the backstage entrance but she veered off.

She did not have time to watch some faux-indie pop band flounce about on stage, showing off their sappy manufactured crowd-pleasing hits.