“Hey,” Travis and Ian say, still sounding tired.

“Hey,” Nick says, pulling out a chair for himself.

“We just ordered,” Travis offers, “but she’ll be back in a sec’ with the coffee.”

“That’s cool,” Nick replies.

“How ya’ feelin’?”

Nick just shakes his head. “Uhhhh.”

“Yeah,” Ian agrees.

“You know that telegraph sound: deet-dee-dee-dee-deet? That’s all I can hear in my head when I’m not talking,” Travis says.

Ian laughs and Nick adds, “At least you got that much. I just got the network signoff tone: deeeeeeeeeeee.”

“Or the emergency broadcast system,” Ian says.

Laughing, Nick replies, “This is a test—a test of the emergency Nick system. Had this been an actual Nick, you would hear him speaking sensibly.”

“Is John coming?” Ian asks, looking around.

“Not right now I expect, but I don’t think it’s really any of your business.” Ian doesn’t get the joke for a second, but then smiles. Nick continues, “No, the band was supposed to get together and do some stuff before soundcheck tonight.”

“Man, I bet he’s stoked,” Travis says, thumping a sugar packet.

“Yep.”

“I mean, think of all the people we’ve seen play the 40 Watt. I never thought I’d see somebody I knew playing there.”

“Nope. It’s pretty wild.”

“Shit. Actually,” Travis continues, thinking about it, “this is the third group I’ve seen at the 40 Watt that I know—personally.”

Nick thinks about it, too. “Yeah, you’re right.” He adds, as an afterthought, “You’ll be there one of these days.”

“I guess. But in all honesty, that would be a tough space for me to fill.”

“I’ve see a couple of solo artists there,” Nick offers.

But Travis just shrugs. “To be honest, I like the intimacy of the smaller places I play.”

“I could see that,” Nick says. And then, looking over at Ian, who is staring off into space, he waves a hand in from of Ian’s eyes. “Hello?” he asks.

Ian shakes his stupor off and apologizes.

“Don’t worry about it,” Nick says. “Just tryin’ to keep you with us.”

“I need to eat, and then watch a movie or two; just veg and then get tanked and see the show.”

“It’s gonna’ be one of those days,” Travis agrees.

“Actually, you guys wanna’ catch a movie after this?”

“That’d be cool. There’s some stuff out I’d really like to see,” Nick says.

“Somethin’ dumb though,” Travis says.

“Yeah,” Nick agrees. “Nothin’ deep. Let’s just go see an action flick and yell a lot.”

The waitress comes up to the table with Ian and Travis’s coffee, sets the cups down and asks Nick, “Can I get you somethin’?” She isn’t too much older than the boys—maybe twenty-eight.

“Yeah,” Nick says, turning the menu over, though he knows he doesn’t have to look at it. “Le’me get a cup of coffee, a small O.J., and the German Apple Pancakes, please.”

“Sure thing,” she says, taking the menu and walking back toward the kitchen.

“I got all that beer in the fridge though,” Ian says. “We could just rent something. Chill out on the couches.”

“I could go for that, too,” Travis agrees.

“Yeah,” Nick agrees.

“Let’s get to John’s show early,” Travis adds. “I’d like to see him before he goes on—maybe hang out backstage in the green room. I mean, this is the 40 Watt we’re talkin’ about.”

“Oh yeah,” Ian agrees. “I’m gonna’ take my camera. I’d like to get some backstage pictures.”

“You know,” Travis says, staring into his upside-down reflection in a spoon. “I think I’ll hook up with Jackson and get some E or somethin’. If I get drunk, I’ll just get tired. I’m feelin’ pretty mellow. I don’t really wanna’ get drunk.”

“E—really?” asks Nick.

“Yeah.”

“You know,” Nick says thoughtfully, “I might join ya’. I’ve never done it before.” He takes a big breath and lets it out, his cheeks puffing out. “Although,” he adds hesitantly, “I was pretty far gone last night.”

“Don’t worry. E’s like Zen,” Travis explains. “You don’t get stupid.”

“Really?”

“For me, anyway. I’m always totally coherent.”

“As long as it’s not dumb.”

“No. Last night was ridiculous.”

“Last night was weird. It was like looking through a fisheye lens at everything.”

“I could not get out of my head.”

The waitress brings out Nick’s coffee. “Ya’ll’s orders are just about ready,” she says.

They all nod in response.

“And when John got me home—which I have no idea how that happened—I was sitting in front of those damn paintings in the armchair.”

Travis makes a face. “Don’t do that. Those things freak me out when I’m drunk. They look totally different, and not in a good way.”

“It was weird,” Nick agrees. “It was like there was no outer edge to them. The whole room was like them, and they seemed more real somehow. I just sat there laughing at myself.”

The waitress walks up to the table with a large tray and sets it down on a portable stand.

“Vegetable Quiche?” she asks.

“That’s me,” Travis replies, reaching out to take the plate.

The waitress dodges his arm, though. “This is still real hot, hon’,” she says and sets the plate on the table.

“German Apple Pancakes,” she says, putting the second plate in front of Nick. “And French Toast,” she finishes, setting it in front of Ian. The friends all thank her and she replies, “Just let me know if you need anything,” before leaving.

“Yes,” Nick says, picking up his fork and knife. “This is exactly what I needed.”

They all eat for a moment—three bites maybe—before Nick speaks up, purposefully stuffing a stack of bites into his mouth as he says, “There’re no God damn holidays in June.”

“What?” Travis asks, wrestling with his Quiche.

“There are no holidays in June.”

“So?”

“So, like…” Nick chews and swallows. “There’s no reason to have a big party.”

“What’s that all about?” Ian asks.

“What?” Nick asks.

“You don’t need a reason, dude.”

“No, no, no. That’s not what I’m sayin’. You don’t need a reason, but it just, like, helps a party out. You can get a bigger crowd, and you need a crowd to have a party.”

“You know what we should do, then?” Ian asks. “We should hire ourselves out as keg temps. You know when you go to a party, and it’s kinda’ dead in the beginning, and no one will hang around because nobody’s there. It sucks, ’cause you have to have, like, three waves of people before anyone will hang around—”

“There has to be a crowd,” Nick reiterates.

“Yeah. Exactly. So, we hire ourselves out to stand around and drink and make conversation with people until the party thickens out a bit.”

“Ha! The perfect job,” says Nick.

“You know what though?” Travis asks, chuckling to himself. “After awhile, people would start to recognize us.”

“There are those guys again,” Nick says, intoning the suspicion.

“It’d become taboo after a while—they hired keg temps,” Ian says with contempt.

“Yeah,” Nick agrees with Ian, laughing, “Let’s blow this joint—buncha’ temps.”

“Okay,” Travis plays along, thinking while playing with the crust of his Quiche, “so we make it a nationwide program. We’ll keep people moving around.”

Nick checks his watch and makes his best business man face. “I gotta’ catch a flight to Milwaukee—kegger out there for some girl’s birthday. And then I gotta’ hop a flight right after that for a wine tasting in L.A.” Nick makes an exasperated face. “I don’t know… it’s a lot of drinking to squeeze in.”

“Hi,” Ian says to Travis as though they’d never met. “We’re the keg temps you ordered.”

“Oh great,” Travis replies, “you’re just in time.” Scrutinizing Ian for second, Travis continues, “I’d hoped for someone taller, but you’ll have to do. Keg’s right over there, make yourself comfortable.”

Ian doesn’t miss the size joke and gives Travis a sarcastic Oh, real clever look.

“I still say it’s easier just to invent some kind of holiday,” Nick says.

“You know, actually,” Travis says, “we should find some obscure national holiday and throw a party.”

“National Breadbaking Day,” Ian offers.

“Somethin’ like that.”

Nick points his knife at Travis’s plate. “Eat,” he commands. “I don’t wanna’ be here all day. You always take so damn long to eat.”

“Sorry,” Travis says, though not apologetically. “I’ll try to stuff my face like you, Porko.”

“Shut up,” Nick snaps, his mouth full of hot apples. He swallows. “I can eat fast because all my food doesn’t fall back out between the gaps in my teeth.”

Ian laughs into his coffee cup. Travis smiles sheepishly. He had gapped teeth—not dramatically so—but it was the Achilles heel of any confidence he had in his physical appearance. Everything is fair game, though. They all sit in silence for a few minutes, snickering, Travis trying to catch up.

Ian stops to light a cigarette. “You know, that is actually a good idea.”

“What’s that?” Travis asks.

“Hiring out party temps,” Ian says, musing over the marginal costs and marketing factors through a haze. “I bet you could actually do that.”

Travis shrugs. “You know, to tell you the truth, I think you could do it in someplace like L.A. Everything’s so fake there anyway. Hell, for that matter—”

“Eat,” Nick grunts.

Travis just gives him a warning look, and Nick grins goofily back, his cheeks full of food like a chipmunk, baked apples squeezing into his grin. “For that matter,” Travis begins again, “there’s probably some business like that already out there.”

“I don’t know…” Ian replies.

“Think about it—all those stars out there, throwin’ money around on liposuction and cocaine—they’d hire a bunch of people to move around just to make their parties look fantastic.”

“I think people would go to their parties regardless,” Nick debates.

“That’s true,” Travis agrees. They eat for a while again, Nick and Ian finishing up. “Somebody might want to just to look like a big star, you know.”

“Dude,” Ian agrees, “I bet L.A. is completely like that. They invite some executive producer and then pay everyone else to show up to the party.”

“It doesn’t matter. That’s not the point,” Nick says. “June still needs a holiday.”

“Dude, you only need a holiday when you’ve got no other reason to celebrate. The weather in June is more than enough reason to have a party,” Ian argues.

“That’s why there aren’t any real holidays in the summer,” Travis adds.

Nick points at Travis. “Fourth of July.”

“Yeah, whose bright idea was that? Let’s run around during the hottest, driest month of the year and set shit on fire.”

“Fireworks are fun!” Nick declares.

“Not around dried grass.”

“Shut up. You’re just mad ’cause I disproved your little there-are-no-holidays-in-summer theory.”

“There’re anomalies in every scientific theory,” Travis explains.

“Shut up. I win.”

“The point of a debate is not to win,” Travis continues. “The point of a debate is to explore the subject matter in a rational way.”

“The point of a debate is to completely humiliate your opponent.”

Travis closes his eyes, exasperated, and shakes his head. “You couldn’t humiliate the back side of a barn.”

The three sit in silence for a moment, thinking over what has just been said, until Nick pipes up. “That made absolutely no sense.”

“You’re right,” Travis agrees, rubbing his eyes. “That made no sense.”

“It’s the broadside of a barn in the first place, you moron.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

“And humiliation isn’t something you—well… it isn’t something you—you don’t—”

“Aim,” Travis helped.

“Yeah!”

Ian is laughing too hard to comment.

“You know what time it is now?” Nick asks, imitating Travis and hitting Ian in the shoulder. “Time for a quesadilla,” Nick says, patting his stomach.

“I’m never gonna’ live that down,” Travis laments.

“You couldn’t live down the backside of a barn,” Nick replies.

Just then, the waitress approaches the table, picking up Ian and Nick’s plates. Travis is just finishing up. “You boys need anything?”

Ian leans back in his chair and replies, nonchalantly, “A trip to Europe.”

“A good, hearty woman to marry and cook for me,” Nick adds.

“I’d like a dollar,” Travis says hopefully.

“You guys should be on TV,” the waitress replies, laughing. Balancing Nick and Ian’s plates, the waitress digs through her apron. “How ’bout if I jus’ give ya’ll the check.”

“No,” Nick says, waving his hand, “I’d rather not have that.” Ian and Travis shake their heads as well.

“Well,” the waitress says, kiddingly, “I’m afraid I’m gonna’ have ta’ give it to ya’.”

“Can we get it rung up separately? Ian asks.

“Yeah. Just take it over to the register when you’re ready.” She sets the bill on the table and takes Travis’s now empty plate.

“Well,” Ian asks, sitting up, “What do we wanna’ do? Get a movie? Meet back at my place?”

“Relax,” Travis says casually. “You’re always in such a hurry. Finish your coffee, smoke a bud. We got nowhere to be.” Taking on a Jewish mother’s voice, he adds, “Let your food settle. Oy vey!”

Nick joins in, “Slow down. Settle. Have some kids.”

“Dude,” Ian says, “I’m chillin’. I can chill.” He leans back in his chair into a rapper pose. “I’m jus’ col’ kickin’ it.”

Nick shakes his head. “You, my friend, are no homey.”

“I knew a homey,” Travis interjects. “I knew a homey personally, and you, sir, are no homey.” Travis turns to Nick. “Oh, I forgot to tell you: I just got another show.”

“No way.”

“Yeah. Next week at Washington Street Tavern.”

“Awesome. What’re you averaging—two a month?”

“Yeah. Just about. I guess I’ll have to get my shit together.”

“You should play that rendition of ‘Sweet Baby James’. I like that.”

Travis nods.

“You ever think about makin’ a t-shirt?” Ian asks.

“John and I were talkin’ about that. I don’t know… I could see a band doin’ it, but marketing myself seems a little strange.”

“No, dude, it doesn’t have to be just your name or anything.”

“I’d do some artwork for ya’,” Nick offers.

“That Jacob and the angel piece would rock on a black t-shirt.” Nick rolls his eyes.

“Or not.”

“No. The leg’s all fucked up now. I can’t get the line of posture right.”

“It’d be too heavy for a t-shirt,” Travis adds, “But somethin’ else’d be cool.”

“You should make it kinda’ cryptic,” Ian adds.

“Actually, I saw this band’s t-shirt one time… We could make one that just said ‘I hate Travis Fleeting’ on the front—just in a plain font of some kind.”

“No,” Nick says, “something more enigmatic.”

“Travis Fleeting is the walrus?” Travis offers.

“Too Beatles.”

“Travis Fleeting is dead?”

“Too Pixies.”

“Geez.”

“Travis Fleeting is people!” Nick declares in his best Charlton Heston voice, tugging at his hair.
“Travis Fleeting is people!”

“How about: ‘Cause Travis says so,” offers Ian.

Travis just shakes his head. “It’s still weird—the idea of advertising myself.”

“Ya’ gotta’ market yourself.”

“How about: Travis Fleeting is fat?” Nick asks.

“No. That would be lying.”

“You’re so fat, every time you go to the beach, Greenpeace keeps tryin’ ta’ drag you back in the water.”

Ian busts out laughing.

“You’re so fat,” Travis replies, “The doctor diagonosed you with that flesh eating disease and gave you … ten years to live.”

Nick puts his hands over his heart, as though he’d suffered a mortal wound.

Read the whole thread: Carousel Cowboy, Unthreaded

Characters and Places: Ahtens, Ian Fleming, Nick Vaughn, Travis Fleeting