#benjaminrussell

“Eddie! Eddie, hey wait up!”

It takes a minute for the sound of his name to register past the usual din of post school ruckus. The fact that it's Friday makes the halls of Central High even more chaotic than usual and by the time Lena Bosko, Marching Band instructor by day, rock band drummer by night, catches up with him the air is so full of the sound of high school kids making their weekend escape Eddie can barely hear her. Rolling her eyes, Lena snags him by the arm and drags him into the nearest open classroom.

“Lena what—“ he begins then tacks on “Hey Tom.” as the geometry teacher looks up in surprise from behind his desk at the intrusion. Lena ignores both Eddie’s question and the fact that there’s someone else in the room.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” she asks, and doesn’t wait for an answer. “It's a trick question. I’m going to tell you. You know my old friend Coop?” Eddie does, it's hard to forget the man who was one of LA’s most renown piano players until he lost an arm in that 7.2 earthquake a few years back. Eddie had just moved to LA with his wife and son; they hadn’t even found permanent housing yet. While Eddie had been trying to navigate getting his family somewhere with power and running water, Coop had been in surgery, losing his left arm at the elbow. He’d been caught under a flipped car and had amputated his own arm to save his life when it became clear help wasn’t going to arrive on time. He still plays with Lena’s band sometimes and he’s one of the most impressive people Eddie’s ever met. Lena doesn’t wait for an answer this time either.

“Well, he’s working as a sound tech down at the Orpheum this month, he and the manager go way back, and he called me last night asking if I knew any good piano players who were available for a super high profile gig tomorrow night. Obviously I thought of you.” She’s talking so fast now Eddie has to throw up his hands to slow her down.

“Lena, hold up, what are you talking about?”

“A job dummy.” Lena says, sighing as if she hasn’t been incomprehensible for the last fifteen minutes. “A BIG job. Coop only got asked about it because he used to fill in at the Orpheum sometimes back in the day, never something this big though. Apparently its so last minute the band doesn’t have time to fly one of their own people in. It's really good money, and it could be a huge break. Think of how badass your resume will look with something like this on it.”

“My resume? Am I job hunting?”

“Come on.” Lena says, flipping the long braid of her hair over one shoulder in exasperation. “Do you really love substitute teaching kids finger scales so much you want to be here forever.”

“Uh,” Eddie says, suddenly painfully away that Tom the Geometry Teacher is still in the room, not even trying to hide the fact that he’s listening to every word of this conversation. “Yeah, kinda.”

It's not a lie, he really does love teaching. he likes working with the kids, showing them how music can be more than just entertainment, how it can be a thread that weaves through their lives, the good and the bad. God knows it’s certainly saved his life a time or two. He’s even been considering going back to school to get his teacher’s license —subbing and private lessons only pay so many bills. That said, it’s hard to deny that part of him that’s always hoped for just a little bit more. But when does Eddie ever get what he wants? He stopped asking for things a long time ago.

“Fine.” Lena says, her smirk too knowing. “Then it can just be good money and a fun story to tell at parties. You know, assuming you ever turn into the kind of guy who goes to parties.”

“I go to parties.” Eddie insists, trying to ignore the way Tom snorts under his breath. “Ok. Back up. So you want me to—what exactly?”

“Ok.” Lena says, pulling out her phone and beginning to tap madly, “I’m sending you all the info Coop sent me. You’ll meet him at the venue at 9am tomorrow. The band’s manager wants to talk to you. If you get along, Coop says they’ll probably have you play for the group, so maybe practice something tonight, then assuming you get the gig they’ve got a rehearsal blocked out in the afternoon and the show in the evening.” She’s speaking so calmly Eddie can almost believe it isn’t the most insane thing he’s ever heard in his life.

“So I just need to call Coop and confirm?”

“Nope. Did that for you already.” Lena grins at the face he makes. “I wasn’t going to let you not take advantage of this opportunity.” Eddie’s phone vibrates and when he glances down he sees all the info as promised spelled out in black and white.

“You already told him yes? What if I had plans?”

“Do you?” She asks, and then when he can’t come up with an answer has the audacity to share a smirk with Tom. “I didn’t think so.”

“Lena—“ He begins, then falters.

He could fight her on this. It’s a bonkers plan and honestly, if anyone else had thrown him this kind of curveball he’d be pretty pissed about it. On the one hand it’s Lena, who always manages to keep him guessing while having his back at the same time. Mostly anyway. he can’t deny the way his heartbeat is picking up at the thought of getting to play in a group again. He hasn’t really been on stage in years. But on the other hand, he hasn’t really been on stage in years. There’s no guarantee he even gets the job, that he can keep up with whatever it is that they want him to do, and he has less than 24 hours to prepare. He should say no. That would be the sane thing to do.

“Fine.” He says, part resignation and part exhilaration. “But if this goes south you owe me many beers.”

“Trust me, Diaz,” she says, the wide smile on her face so bright he has no choice but to reluctantly grin back. “You’re going to be bringing me the beers.” She looks at him for a moment then says,“Well? Why are you still here? Go on, you’ve got work to do!”

She’s hustling him halfway out the door when he spins back to face her.

“Wait a minute.” he says, “You never told me the name of the band. Do I know them?”

“Normally I’d say yes, but you live under a rock so…?” She lets the sentence hang, but then relents at the sight of whatever his face is doing. “Sorry. Yeah, you ever hear of Station 118?”