Loveless Summer - "Somebody to Love"

Kyle awoke to the sound of his cell phone chirping through the warm air of his bedroom. His eyes shot open, alarmed by the sudden noise in the otherwise peaceful room, and turned to see the back of Cynthia's head, her hair flopped up on the pillow, her shoulders slowly rising and falling with each breath. He cuddled up beside her, reaching over her to grab his phone, watching her softly stir and push up against him as he answered.

"Hello?"

"Kyle my boy, are you just waking up?"

"Uh... yeah George, I had a long night... couldn't sleep."

"Well, I have news that will probably keep you up tonight as well."

"Oh? What's going on?"

"It's good news, don't worry. Meet the band at the Skylark. And hey, you wouldn't happen to know where Cynthia is, would you? I tried calling but she didn't answer."

"Oh... Cynthia? Uh, yeah, she stayed here last night."

"Why?"

"Oh, uh, we were up late, um... talking about stuff, you know, the concert and stuff."

"Oh, well, wake her up and get to the Skylark. See you soon!"

"Who was that?" Cynthia asked, yawning and rolling over toward Kyle, her big gorgeous eyes even prettier in the morning than they seemed before, slowly blinking in the most intoxicating manner possible.

"That was George. He says he needs us at the Skylark."

"Ugh, what for?"

"I'm not sure, he just said it was good news."

Cynthia inched in closer to Kyle, her warm, soft hands gently brushing against his face. "I'd rather stay in bed all day."

"Me too." Kyle leaned in and kissed her, their morning breath not standing a chance against their new- found romance. "But I'm kinda hungry, so we'd need to get out of bed to eat."

"Room service!" Cynthia called out into the room, smiling and giggling as she kissed Kyle again. "I have to pee, I guess I'm getting up now."

With one more quick, giggly kiss on Kyle's lips, she lifted her naked body out of the bed, slipping into her panties and t-shirt before moseying toward the bathroom, yawning somewhat loudly as she passed through the doorway. Kyle rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling with the sort of grin on his face that strained his cheeks. The night prior had collectively been the most exhilarating, exotic experience of his entire life, and at that moment, he felt like all of his questions had been solved. Tara didn't deserve him, and until he'd written that note to her all those months ago, a period of time that seemed like ten eternities, she barely acknowledged that he existed. And all of that was moot anyway, because she was running off to Europe with some other guy anyway. Cynthia was right there, right then, and Tara couldn't hold a candle to Cynthia on her best day. Cynthia had everything Kyle wanted in a girl. They were both gorgeous, but Cynthia's beauty was of a different sort. Tara had the face and body of a supermodel, but one who'd been in the business a while. Her excessive partying had already started taking its toll, before Tara was even twenty years old. Cynthia, on the other hand, was a classical beauty. A timeless one. She could walk into a social environment in any era of history, and she'd be the most beautiful person in the room. But at the same time, her beauty managed to be humble and normal. It didn't seem "processed" or "plastic," terms that Kyle kept to himself over the years in fear that no one would understand what he meant. Cynthia put no effort into her gorgeousness, but Tara had to work for it, or at least, she wanted to work for it. And Cynthia had the added appeal of having the sort of tastes and personality that Kyle could genuinely relate to, something he couldn't say about Tara, even if he stretched the truth to its outermost limits.

"Okay, let's get going," Cynthia announced, flipping off the bathroom light as she slowly marched, half-naked, back to the bed, sitting on the edge as she pulled her skirt from the floor and attempted straightening it out. "I'm hungry now too."

"Alright," Kyle answered, lifting himself out of bed and starting to put his clothes back on. "I was just lying here thinking about, you know, everything."

"Yeah? What specific things were you thinking?"

"I think you and me... well, I've decided... us."

"Really?" Cynthia completely stopped what she was doing, her face blushing as her smile shifted from amusement to excitement. "Are you sure about it?"

"Yes, I am. I can't break up with Tara until I talk to her again, and that probably won't be until the end of the summer, unless she calls or something, but yeah, I'm sure. You make me happy. And I'm not hoping to keep a crush alive."

Cynthia giggled and threw herself onto Kyle, knocking him back down onto his pillow as their mouths came together once again. Kyle's decision had been made and announced. He was Cynthia's, and Tara was going to be out of the picture just as soon as they found a way to communicate again.

"So... tell us what happened last night!" Ben pseudo-shouted through the Skylark, inciting a hearty laugh from Mark. "You guys smell like sex and cheap beer."

"We didn't drink anything last night."

"Oh, Kyle! But you're telling us you guys had some dirty sex last night then?"

"What? I didn't say that!"

"I said you smell like sex and beer, but you said you didn't have any beer..."

"Okay guys, let's settle down," George ordered, stepping in as a moderator in the hopes of derailing Ben from his typical antics, and confident that nothing of a romantic nature had occurred between Kyle and Cynthia, and writing off her blushing and smiling as something unrelated. "I have some outstanding news for you kids."

"Well, I'd rather hear about how Kyle and Cynthia..."

"Come on Ben," Mark interrupted, his eyes half-closed and his hangover as obvious as the line Ben was going to say next. "I want to hear this good news of George's!"

"Okay, well, nothing has been confirmed yet, but there's a huge open-air festival happening this year, for the first time ever, that showcases unsigned recording artists. If we get booked, you guys will run the full set from the album, and sell compact discs, and spend three days promoting your music. Independent labels, mainstream labels, booking agents, radio disc jockeys, and countless other industry professionals are said to be going." He paused, sipping on his coffee and observing the booth of astonished faced. "And it gets even better! This would end up coming right after our scheduled tour. So, we can rearrange the tour a bit, and have you doing a gig in Cleveland Ohio the night before the three-day music festival starts, also in Cleveland!"

"That's incredible, George!" Cynthia burst, her facial muscles starting to hurt from spending a full morning smiling.

"Well, hang on though... there is one catch, guys."

"Do we have to do the show nude? Because I'm okay with that!" Ben joked, pointing at his lap with one hand while extending an approving thumb with the other.

"I had to submit a copy of the album for their approval. They have a committee of industry professionals who will review our album and decide if we're worthy."

"How many bands have entered?" Mark asked.

"Well, that's why we're all here. I submitted Superhype's album two weeks ago, the Phil Davies version. We didn't have the newly-mastered version on-hand yet, so I sent what we had."

"Oh great, so they probably turned us down."

"Quite the contrary, Mark! I learned last night that Superhype was voted into what they call `the group stage.' From there, we were voted into the top three of our group, and made it into the final voting stage. Fifty bands are being reviewed in the next few days, and twenty of those will be invited into the festival!"

"So our chances of getting in are less than fifty percent?" Kyle pragmatically asked.

"Yes, but still, that's a hundred percent better an opportunity than we had prior!"

"So is this a contest or something?" Cynthia asked, continuing the band's salvo of questions.

"No. Well, it's a contest getting in, but all of the twenty bands accepted are on an equal footing at the festival. The performance lineup will be selected at random, drawn from a hat, so to speak. Each of the bands performing will be paid one thousand dollars, but more importantly, we might be able to meet some fascinating new industry contacts from doing this. If we're accepted, of course."

"That's a pretty big `if,' George."

"That it is, Mark. But an `if' is always better than a `no,' or so my Welsh grandmother always used to say."

That night, Superhype took the stage again, this time performing in a new venue that had just opened in downtown Binghamton, called The Sound Parlor, a play on Binghamton's famed Parlor City monicker. The venue was built inside an old rebuilt opera house on Chenango Street, the owners having invested seventeen months and three million dollars into the massive renovation project, and yielding a music venue, a small cafe with a bar, and a small art gallery upstairs from their efforts, all in the hopes of "reinvigorating downtown Binghamton's sophistication," in their words. The music venue boasted a decent-sized stage fronting a large seat-less auditorium, where they could have a standing crowd for music shows, and folded chairs set out for other performances. Having only been open for a few weeks, their performance calendar was astounding. They filled every day with as much live entertainment as they could, with plays, operas, and solo classical performances during the days and on most week nights, and local live popular music of every variety on weekend evenings.

Superhype had been invited to perform at The Sound Parlor in its grand opening weekend, slotted to open for another local band, Wasteland, who was easily the most popular band in the city, if not in the region, but George was forced to decline the invitation due to the band members' finals, rescheduling them for that evening, where they would open for Wasteland as they would have otherwise. Opening for Superhype was the band Bad Water, who had previously opened for Superhype back when they did their second show so many months ago.

Superhype took the stage, buzzing through their hour-long set to the tremendous applause of the crowd, nearly half of whom had come with the sole intent of seeing them perform. The gig allowed Cynthia to interact with the audience about their upcoming album release, which was slated for July 4 ^th , partly as a sales gimmick that George had decided on, even though the album itself had nothing to do with Independence Day, or with patriotism or governance in any other direct or remote way. At the start of the set and then again at the end of the set, Cynthia carefully plugged the new album, instructing fans to visit the website when they got a chance, and mentioning their upcoming tour as well.

After the performance, the band headed to their green room, where the venue owners had set out a small buffet of appetizers, along with a cooler filled with soft drinks and cans of beer. It was an odd gesture, and certainly a welcomed one. They'd never seen a venue's management, let alone the owners, go to such tremendous lengths to please their visiting artists and make them feel comfortable. After winding down for a few minutes, one of the owners came into the green room, knocking politely before making his appearance, and handing George the band's $515 paycheck before casually engaging the musicians of Superhype in light conversation, asking them what they thought of the venue, the stage, the sound system, and other such features. Liam Miles and Dave Kunkel, the band's audio engineer and lighting technician respectively, were sure to take that opportunity to thank the owner for allowing them to participate, and complimented the stage and all of its features. But after this, the other venue owner showed up, and after a brief and courteous hello, everyone got right down to business, booking several shows throughout the summer, including The Sound Parlor's own music festival, where for a weekend in July, Superhype would perform twice, along with several other local acts, and would be paid $750 for each of their hour and a half sets.

After their long evening of performing and negotiating, the band headed back to Kyle's house to unload their equipment, and after one of the shortest, sleepiest debriefings the band ever had, everyone went their separate ways, with Kyle driving Cynthia home. Their conversation was all business, drastically removed from the romantic whisperings they'd spent their evening and morning sharing. They had new songs to work on, and new shows booked to showcase those new songs, so there was a tremendous amount for them to discuss. After dropping Cynthia off at her house, exchanging several kisses and hugs with her before heading back to his own home, Kyle found himself thinking about how grateful he was for everything that had developed out of thin air in the course of a mere few days. And to another, separate extent, he was also grateful that everything happening between him and Cynthia had in no way affected Superhype, or their level of professionalism and dedication when it came to creative or business affairs. One of his biggest fears in getting involved with Cynthia was that it might end up taking a toll on the band, neutralizing the amount of time they'd spent working and replacing that with some stretch of time spent, if not entirely wasted, on matters of the heart. But as he pulled into his driveway, parking behind his father's Prius and briefly realizing that his family had returned from their trip to the Scranton science fair, Kyle recognized that everything was still fresh and new. Would the band end up being affected when Cynthia and Kyle reached the inevitable phase of arguing, something no real couple could reasonably hope to avoid? Would their relationship alter the fairness of the band's otherwise democratic business procedures, leading them to team up against Ben and Mark in the hopes of getting their way? And at that moment, another thought crept into his mind, completely off-topic and thousands of miles away from the day's events. What was he going to say to Tara? What would he say, and what would he admit to, if it turned out that Tara was honest and innocent?

Barbara Winters carried a tray of her homemade iced tea, now famed amongst her family, friends, and her son's band and their associates as well, from the kitchen to the adjoining living room, where the members of Superhype, along with George Bellamy, Liam Miles, and Dave Kunkel, were joined with Kyle's parents, Cynthia's parents, and Mark's mother, Angela Boon. Normally, most of the adults in the room would be just getting off of work on a Tuesday at five in the evening, and the band would be winding down from their recently-revised rehearsal schedule. But on that day, everyone had gathered in the Winters' living room, anxiously awaiting the cell phone of George Bellamy to ring, ushering in the news that Superhype would be invited to perform at the music festival in Cleveland, Ohio, a gig that everyone in the room was hoping Superhype could land. The adults who normally worked that day had taken half-days, except in Angela's case, with her having talked a friend into covering for her, and in the case of Joe Winters, who took the full day off entirely. But everyone in the group had been waiting since at least three o'clock for George's phone call, and in the case of the band members, Joe Winters, and Liam Miles, the waiting really started at about noon. George had been instructed to "wait by the phone" between three and five, but five was already a few minutes behind them, so with each passing minute, everyone in the room was growing more and more irritable. Luckily for everyone, Barbara could sense the frustration, and she knew that presenting drinks and snacks would most likely cool everyone's nerves.

"Thanks, missus Winters," Mark offered with a smile, nodding as he took a glass of iced tea from her tray. "I was just about to ask for a drink."

"Yes, thanks Barb," her husband said, reaching out for a glass as he turned back toward George to continue their conversation. "So let me see if I really understand this. What you're saying, basically, is that the band's entire summer tour has been completely rearranged to suit the schedule of this festival?"

"Yes it has." George replied, taking a glass of Barbara's iced tea in the process.

"And better-paying gigs were turned down? How many?"

"Not better-paying, they were actually two of the worst-paying. But two, one in Buffalo, and one in Scranton after the band would have looped back through Pennsylvania."

"How much would they have made in those two gigs?"

"Four-hundred in Buffalo, and five-hundred and seventy-five dollars in Scranton." George sipped his frosty-cold beverage, waiting for Joe to say something, but after seeing his bewildered face, he decided to continue. "I know it's a lot of money, nearly a thousand dollars, but they'll make exactly a thousand dollars if they get this gig, the festival gig I mean."

"Okay..." Joe paused, sipping his own drink as he thought about the numbers for a moment. "But that means the band is short on expenses, right? Can you run me through the numbers again?"

"Well, we're figuring one-hundred dollars per hotel room, times three rooms, with me, Liam, or Dave sleeping in the van in shifts, times seven days of road-time, equals two-thousand one-hundred dollars spent on hotels..."

"But they aren't all one hundred dollars, right?" Joe interrupted.

"No, but they average out to exactly ninety-nine dollars and eighty-six cents, so I'm rounding up."

"Okay, sorry, continue."

Next, we have our food budget. Ten dollars per meal, per person. Three meals a day for seven days times seven people comes out to one-thousand four-hundred and seventy dollars, so now we're at three-thousand, five-hundred and seventy dollars."

"Sounds about right."

"Then we have gasoline, which we've calculated to be in the neighborhood of eight-hundred dollars for the entire trip. Then there's an emergency fund of another five-hundred dollars. So all-told, the full tour will end up costing four-thousand, eight-hundred and seventy bucks."

"Okay, and how much is coming in from gigging?"

"Well, album sales should put us over, but... one moment..." George reached into his messenger bag, a Christmas gift from Joe and Barbara, to pull out a blue single-subject notebook, which he then thumbed through to find his appropriate page of numbers. "Six-hundred in Ithaca, seven-hundred and fifty in Syracuse, then another seven-fifty in Buffalo, then we're scrapping the second night in Buffalo. After that, eight-hundred in Cleveland, then we make a thousand if we're booked there."

"What's the total, then?"

"Thirty-nine-hundred, total."

"So the band is still short..."

"Nine-seventy, which comes out of the nine-ninety-five in their war chest, counting the Sound Parlor local music festival paying seven-fifty into that."

"Okay. But if they don't get this gig, the band is down a lot more, right?"

George paused, looking at his long-time friend with the most honest eyes he could form at that moment. "When we went on tour all those years ago, the numbers were much worse off, remember?"

"Of course I do. But I don't want my son sleeping in vans like we did."

"Well, there are a lot of gigs between now and then. You know me, Joe. You know I'll work it out."

"But how?"

"Well, like I said, there are a lot of gigs between now and then. If we don't get this gig, I won't accept a penny from any of them, but the band won't be able to either. They'll have to give up their shares, but at least we can make the numbers balance out. And there's always the possibility that we could book more gigs on the return trip from the Cleveland show, even if we're turned down for the Festival."

Joe paused, nodding confidently upon realizing that he hadn't really considered all of the possibilities. "I suppose you're right, George. I just hope your phone rings soon."

At that exact moment, George's cell phone rang, startling everyone in the room who'd heard Joe Winters mystically conjure up what they had all assumed was the call they were waiting for. As their hearts started racing, George answered the phone, glancing around at the anxious faces before walking into the foyer hallway to better hear the other end of the conversation. A few seconds later, he emerged again, looking more frustrated than any of them other than Joe had ever seen. "I'm on hold!"

"Well, that's that," Ben announced. "I'm getting some air."

"Me too," Kyle said. "Let's wait on the lawn."

With this, the band followed Ben and Kyle outside, with Liam, Dave, Joe, and Takumi Foster following closely behind them. After standing around and waiting for four minutes, the other adults headed outdoors too, engaging in small talk with each other and with their kids. Everyone was trying their very best to seem unmoved by George's phone conversation happening inside, but deep down, they all saw through each other's facades, and on the six-minute mark, Barbara found herself worrying that everyone's then-frantic pacing would ruin the grass. Just as she tried distracting herself with gardening plans, George Bellamy finally emerged from the house, his face looking as dismal as any mourner at any funeral.

"Well, that was the festival committee." George paused, slowly shaking his head and looking at the ground.

"And?" Takumi asked impatiently, having waiting about two seconds for George to continue.

"Whatever I say next, you guys can't blame me, okay? I did my very best."

"Oh no," Cynthia bellowed, her hand finding its way to her chest. "Don't say it..."

"The committee said that we sent in the worst-quality master they'd heard," George explained, his eyes looking as if they might be moved to tears at any moment. "They actually asked me where we recorded it so they could ward people away from Phil Davies' studio."

"I'm so sorry, kids," Barbara explained, wrapping her arms around Cynthia and Kyle, who happened to be the closest to her. "But there will be more opportunities, I'm sure."

"There's more," George continued, rubbing the back of his neck as he continued. Kyle caught his father's face turning into a thinly-veiled smile, probably in an effort to cheer up anyone who might look in his direction. "And I think you're all going to get even more upset when I say this..."

"Out with it, George!" Liam commanded, humbly nodding his apology to the others for his outburst.

"They said we aren't worth the thousand dollars they offered." George watched as everyone melted before his eyes before continuing. "But they did say we were worth nearly twice that."

"Wait... what?" Ben asked, wondering if he was still buzzing from earlier in the day.

"We're in."

At first, no one reacted. Everyone exchanged puzzled looks with each other, but only briefly, before one by one, everyone noticed that George Bellamy was wearing his famous ear-to-ear smile. Suddenly, as if it had been choreographed beforehand, everyone started smiling themselves, and when Ben let out a loud Yes!, everyone else started following suit. Angela hugged George, Barbara hugged Joe, and Cynthia hugged Kyle, her arms firmly wrapped around his body as they both contemplated kissing, even in front of everyone else. And as the cheers started calming down, her grip refused to let up.

"George! You did it!" Barbara gratefully acknowledged, giving George a huge kiss on the cheek.

"Your infamous sign... you rubbed your neck," Joe explained, simulating what George had done. "I knew you were telling a fib!"

"Thanks for not saying anything then, Joe! I've wanted to do that since I've seen people in the movies deploy similar deceptions!"

"It was cleverly done, George," Bethany Foster encouraged, extending her hand for a shake. "You had me fooled."

Cynthia leaned up and kissed Kyle on the cheek, prompting them to hug a bit closer. Ben recognized that their hug was something that went well beyond friendship or mutual excitement, and Kyle could see that in his face. But half an instant later, he watched as Ben's face turned pale and stunned. Kyle tilted his head, wondering what was bothering his best friend, and traced where his eyes were aimed to behind Kyle and Cynthia, so Kyle turned to see what he was looking at. There, standing behind Kyle and Cynthia with an appalled grimace on her face, and eyes that told Kyle directly that she'd seen him and Cynthia as close as they were, was Tara Janowitz.

"KYLE!" Tara bellowed, her eyes watering up before she could finish shouting his name.

"Oh great," Barbara said to her husband, partially under her breath. "So much for this celebration."