Different Circles

At his audition for Celia two weeks before, Miles had played like shit when he first stepped up to blow the horn. He could not keep in time with the rhythm, he could not phrase properly, even on material that he knew well. But then he pleaded with them to let him “smoke a few wee bowls” and try again. Reluctantly, they allowed this. And he had stepped back up there and blown them away with his skill and mastery of the instrument. He was not quite as good as Laura, not quite as good as Dexter Price, but he was in their league without a doubt. And he was the only prospect on their horizon currently since Dexter and Bobby Z were currently in the on part of their on again off again relationship and Dexter was unavailable. And they were supposed to hit the road for the first date in Seattle on August 14^th. The venue was already rented. The tickets would be going on sale next week. Their hands were a bit tied.

“Well,” Jake said doubtfully, “there is some precedent for the idea that getting loaded can help a performance. I mean, G and his boys get lit before every show. Who are we to judge?”

“Yeah,” Celia said slowly. “And it’s not like we have many choices here.”

And so, he was hired—with the stipulation that he pay for his own pre-show entertainment expenses.

“No problem, no problem,” he declared. “When I receives ye advance money I’ll buy enough to last me the entire tour.”

“It’ll have to travel in the trucks,” Celia said. “No pilot is going to let you load that much pot onto the band plane.”

“Understandable,” he said happily. “I still get to indulge in the after-show entertainment supplies, do I not?”

“Well ... yes, of course,” Celia said.

“And you be professional musicians,” he said. “There has to be an after-show ganja supply maintained by the tour manager, right? If ye say no, I’ll be reconsidering my contract here.”

“Uh ... sure, we do keep a supply on hand for those of us that imbibe in that sort of thing,” Celia said.

“Then we have no problem here, do we?”

“I guess we don’t,” Celia said.

And so that was the reason that while everyone else was getting their instruments out and ready to start rehearsing, Miles was in the back of the warehouse toking out of a pipe. He refused to even tune his instrument if he was not stoned.

“We heard Journey on the drive here from the airport,” Jake told Celia as she tuned her guitar. The End of the Journey, her first release from the new CD, had debuted as scheduled as well.

“On KPID?” she asked, excited. “I heard it too! It’s always such a thrill to hear your work on the airwaves for the first time.”

“It is,” Jake agreed. “It sounded great. And they followed my promo instructions to the letter. Hopefully that keeps up.”

“No reason why it shouldn’t,” Celia said. “National thinks the CD sales are not important anymore. They’ll just follow your directions and be happy because they won’t have to think about it themselves.”

“That is true,” he agreed.

Miles finished up his pipe hits and came over to the stage. He was now reeking of greenbud and body odor. He climbed into position and picked up his alto sax. Laura was up on the stage near him, her own sax in hand, so she could help him out on a section if he needed it. She tried to stay as far away from his as she could reasonably get away with. Though she rather enjoyed the smell of sweaty Jake or sweaty Celia in her nose—particularly if they were rubbing their sweaty selves all over her—she was not a fan of rancid BO. Miles quickly put his instrument into tune and then reported that he was ready to start.

“All right, everyone,” Jake said from his position near the front of the soundboard. “Go ahead and put in your ears.”