I promised myself I wouldn’t write anything scandalous in this diary, in case I misplaced it, but holy hairy balls, Batman, this morning on the way to their television interview, the band was talking about going indie. While Max seemed completely against it, the rest of them didn’t think it was a bad idea. This kind of decision would change everything for them. I’m not sure if it’s a good idea, but I have faith that whatever they decide, they’ll be successful.

And Steve’s words got me wondering about my personal definition of success. The more I think about it, the more I keep changing my mind. So maybe success is an ever-moving target. Does that make sense? Once you’ve found success, then what? You find new success, right? A different kind of success or a higher level of success. I don’t know. I haven’t found success yet. I’ll let you know when I do.

Logan is making come-to-bed noises, so I have to go now. I hope my ramblings don’t bore you to tears.

Toni

May 11

Dear Journal,

It’s really late. Logan somehow talked me into going to the after-party with him tonight. I had more fun than I thought I would, mostly because Reagan wouldn’t let me sit down. And after she’d poured a few drinks down my throat, she got me dancing and I couldn’t stop. I’m sure I looked like an awkward fool, but it was fun. Until I got sick.

She held my hair while I threw up in the bathroom—what a great friend—and now my head hurts so bad I can’t sleep.

Would I do it again?

Sure!

The band had a mall appearance today. It was in a novelty shop, so they spent most of their time signing T-shirts. Apparently signing T-shirts is an art. Or a science. I’m not sure which. You’d think it would be easier to sign a shirt when it’s stretched out on a hard surface, but nope, it’s easier to sign them when they’re wadded up in a soft ball. Who knew?

The things I learn on this job.

Ugh, I swear this bus is riding on a roller coaster track tonight.

We’re on our way to New Orleans now, and we’ll be staying there on our day off. Reagan wants to go clothes shopping. I’d rather eat beignets and listen to jazz. Logan says he’ll bring me back during Mardi Gras. With tits like mine, I’ll be buried in beads.

And while that’s what he said, I bet he’d freak out if I actually flashed them. He has a fascination with my boobs. I’m not sure it’s healthy.

Tomorrow we’re going to work on the exclusive song for the book. Or at least they’re going to try to come up with something. Sam said it isn’t a contract breach, so yay! I’m really excited about it.

Ugh, being excited makes my stomach queasy.

Why is the floor spinning?

I’m never drinking again.

T

Twenty-Eight

Logan took a seat beside Steve’s bare feet on the sectional and waited for Toni to finish hooking up every piece of equipment she’d brought with her and even a few she’d borrowed. He knew she was tremendously excited to capture the band creating a song, but he knew from past experience that these things never, ever went well. He was positive she was going to end up disappointed. The only good thing about that was that she’d probably need him to console her. But he’d rather this session go well because he knew it meant a lot to her. He was determined to be on his best behavior.

“I think that’s everything,” she said and turned to look at them expectantly.

Was she expecting genius to flow from them all on cue and converge into a perfect melody? Yeah, right.

Dare stood and lifted good ol’ Genevieve off her pegs on the wall. He blew a puff of dust from her fretboard and sat down on the coffee table to tune her.

“You’re blocking the shot,” Toni whispered. “Do you want me to move the camera?”

Dare glanced over his shoulder at the video camera trained at his back. “I’ll move,” he said.

“But you usually sit in the middle of the room,” Max said.

“Then I’ll pull the camera over here,” Toni said. When she had a new shot lined up, she stared at them expectantly again. Logan was pretty sure he wasn’t the only one feeling awkward.

“Um,” Max said, “so I guess we should decide what kind of song to compose. I was thinking something acoustic. We haven’t done an acoustic track and since—”

“Fuck that,” Steve interrupted. “Why am I being excluded?”

“You aren’t being excluded,” Max said, raising a placating hand.

“Oh yeah?” Steve said. “How many drum tracks will you require to accompany your acoustic song?”

“Acoustic songs don’t have drum tracks,” Logan said.

“Exactly,” Steve said. “So that means I’mmmm . . . ?”

“Excluded?” Logan supplied.

Steve slapped his thigh. “Exactly.”

“We could add a drum line to an acoustic song,” Max said. “You could play snare.”

“Technically, drums are acoustic,” Dare said. “Acoustic just means without amplifiers.”

“Why are you defending him?” Steve said. “You hate playing acoustic guitar.”

“I wouldn’t say I hate it,” Dare said. “I just prefer electric.”

“So we’re scratching the acoustic idea,” Steve said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You just don’t want to do it because it was my idea.” Max was starting to shout already.

“No,” Steve yelled back. “I don’t want to do it because it’s a stupid idea!”

Logan would normally have chosen a side by now, but he didn’t want to escalate the problem. Toni was counting on them.

“Guys!” Reagan yelled over all of them. “Calm down.”

Max rose to his feet and waved an arm in Steve’s direction. “I’m not going to calm down until he admits that he’ll think any idea I have is stupid—”

“I freely admit any idea you have is stupid,” Steve said.

“I wasn’t finished,” Max said in a clipped tone. “He will think any idea I have is stupid because it wasn’t his idea.”

“I definitely admit that too,” Steve said. “We need a song with a huge drum solo. Currently all we have is guitar solo, guitar solo, guitar solo.”

“What about a bass solo?” Logan suggested.

“No one wants to hear a bass solo,” Steve said.

“No one wants to hear a fucking drum solo either!” Logan said.

“We have to have a guitar solo,” Dare said.

“Why?” Steve said. “Because we always have a guitar solo? You’re all so predictable. Why can’t we do something different for a change? It’s not like this song is going on an album. It’s just for this stupid book.”

Logan glanced at Toni. He wasn’t sure if her shell-shocked expression was due to Steve undermining her work or because, as usual, the arguing between them was already intensifying. He hit Steve to show his support for his woman. “Toni’s book is not stupid.”

“Guys, guys,” Reagan said. “Maybe we should start with lyrics and—”

“Start with lyrics?” Max asked. “We never start with lyrics.”

“How is she supposed to know that?” Dare snapped, shoving Max in the chest. “She’s never had the pleasure of being involved in this fucking bullshit.”

“Okay, not with lyrics then,” Reagan said calmly. “How do you usually start?”

“Exactly like this,” Logan said. He was sure Toni wasn’t getting what she expected for her book, but she was getting an authentic experience. “These assholes can’t agree on anything.”

“We can all agree that you contribute nothing, so you might as well leave,” Steve said.

“I contribute!” Logan shouted, anger making his skin hot and his heart race.

“What do you contribute? D chord, D chord, D chord, D chord,” Steve said, keeping the beat to his improvised bass line with shakes of his head.

“Shut up,” Logan growled. “I sometimes play E.”

“We usually start with a guitar riff,” Dare said to Reagan. He looked to their original rhythm guitarist. “Max?”