We're An American Band
"Trust me, we're on there. You just need to check again," Dean said, tugging on the baseball cap he wore, his eyes darting around the hotel lobby nervously. Sam stood behind him, anxiously bouncing on the balls of his feet. He wore dark sunglasses even though they were inside.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Kinney, I just don't see you or a Mr. Fredericks anywhere in the system," Darla, the night manager replied, as she scanned the computer for the names Dean had given her. Dean sighed in mock sympathy.
"I realize your job must be tough, uh, Darla, right?" he asked. Darla nodded and gave him a small smile. "But see this is like one of our first real big time gigs. Our manager, Mr. James Hetfield, you ever hear of him?" Darla shook her head, while Sam struggled to hide his grin. "Well, he's more of an idea man rather than big picture, ya know what I'm saying? I assure you, Darla, we're in your file somewhere. Hey, why not try our group name, Zoë Fleet?" Darla nodded, quickly typing in what she assumed was the name of a rock band.
"Ah, found you. Room 515. Here's your key. Sorry for the trouble," Darla apologized, handing Dean the room key.
"No trouble at all, Darla," Dean said, smiling at her sincerely as he and Sam headed toward a group of elevators. Yeah, definitely not a problem considering we snuck in here an hour ago and made sure we were on the program scheduled for tonight. He thought, letting Sam board the elevator first. Once the elevator door closed, Sam took off his sunglasses.
"I still don't get it, Dean. Zoë Fleet? Where'd you come up with that?" Dean chuckled and smirking, looked up at his brother. "You remember that bar in Minnesota we were in last week? Zoë, our waitress? Damn, she and I had some fun," he said, chuckling again. Sam nodded, smiling half-heartedly. His brother certainly loved women.
"So, what about Fleet? Where'd that come from?"
The smirk returned. "Fleet's for Fleetwood Mac. I know you like them. They definitely expand your questionable taste in music."
Sam sighed, rolling his eyes. "Jesus, not this again," he muttered, getting off the elevator once they reached their floor.
"Oh, come on, Sammy. You know I was just kidding, right?" Dean asked with a genuine smile, slapping his brother on the back. Sam smiled in return, shaking his head.
"Okay. Let's find that room, huh?"