Summary: Rosalie's band lands a weeklong gig. The catch? It's at a junky bar outside of Gatlinburg. The REAL catch? Her bandmate Edward's old buddy Emmett McCarty, the sexy bartender. But she doesn't find him attractive, no she does not. (It's going to be a long week.) AU/AH Emmett/Rosalie, featuring all-canon pairings. Written for the Battle of the Band Fics with Annaleise Marie.
A/N: I must be insane. Scratch that, I AM insane. I'd been kicking this idea around for a few weeks, jotted down some ideas, and then discovered Annaleise Marie also had plans for a Twilight band fic, too. Wacky! I'm using her likeness for an awesome chick featured in this chapter - hopefully I do her justice. Also, you should go read her fic, Unwound.
Disclaimer: Twilight is property of Stephenie Meyer, and she owns the original plans to all of these characters. Well, except Anna, she's her own super-badass person.
Garrett slammed the phone back down on the receiver, exhaling sharply through his nose. He wasn't one to have a short temper, but tonight his patience was being heavily tested.
"What's going on, man?"
Garrett glanced to his right to see his employee, Emmett McCarty, approaching him, an old rag slung over his muscular shoulder. Garrett pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers, shutting his eyes for a moment.
"Culture Shok backed out," he said simply. Small sentences were good. The more words he used to elaborate, the angrier he'd get.
Emmett sighed, shaking his head. "Figures," he said, scoffing, leaning an elbow against the countertop and looking across the bar. It was seven in the evening; he and Garrett had finally caught a break in the dinner rush. Emmett ran a hand across his face tiredly. "And they were starting Wednesday, right?"
"Here for a week," Garrett ground out.
"What's their fucking problem?" Emmett deadpanned.
There was a loud bang, the sound of glass breaking, and a rowdy shout, followed by obnoxious laughter.
"Fucking college kids!"
There was a neon blur that flashed through the bar area as a pink-haired girl appeared from under the counter where she'd been resupplying a shelf with clean shot glasses, snatched the rag off Emmett's shoulder, and headed off in search of the disturbance in what seemed like lightening speed.
"Don't scare them too much, Anna," Emmett called after her, chuckling at his own joke, because despite the little spitfire's drunken fan following, she was just as good at breaking up fights with her spunk as he was with his muscles. Anna's response was a choice finger raised high in the air over her head, and Emmett laughed again.
Garrett had been silent throughout the exchange, still trying to work out an answer for Emmett's rhetorical question. He ran a hand through his dark, greasy hair. "I guess they don't like staying in one place for so long," he finally replied, sounding truly perplexed. "Apparently a week of the same show 'turns off the crowd.'"
"So… add some variety?"
Garrett raised his hand, palm-up, in Emmett's direction. "Yes. Thank you." His face took on a defiant expression as he mocked the lead singer in a nasally voice: "'You want me to plan seven unique shows for one week?'" He laughed bitterly, striding over to stand next to Emmett behind the bar and survey the place quietly. "I realize this isn't like Warped Tour or anything – we're not the best place to start a following, but that's not what it's about here, you know? It's a bar, it's a restaurant, it's for food and entertainment. I want people to come to a familiar atmosphere, not where there's new faces every damn night, just here for the publicity then onto the next one. But having a radio play on the loudspeaker isn't my forte. Live music is where music started in the first place, and I like it. It's genuine. I respect it."
Emmett raised an eyebrow, and Garrett laughed. "I can't fucking sing, man," he said with a shrug. "But kudos to anyone who can. I'll put them on that stage –" Garrett gestured to a raised platform in the corner, next to which Anna was scolding the rowdy guys who busted a beer mug over their wings. "– Provided they'll stay here for more than a two hour set."
Emmett nodded; he respected Garrett not only as a boss, but as a friend – they weren't too far off in age. Garrett wasn't usually one for passionate speeches, but he would someday inherit the place from his dad, Wayne, and he really did care about it and about his customers. And music. Emmett had only ever met one person in his life more passionate about music than Garrett. In fact…
"Hey, man, I just thought of something," Emmett said slowly, casting Garrett a sideways glance. "You'll need a band to fill the spot – on relatively short notice – right?"
Garrett nodded wordlessly, his eyebrows raised, waiting to see where Emmett was headed.
Emmett clapped Garrett on the shoulder with a large, paw like hand. "I think I know just the guy." Emmett turned to the counter behind him, snatching up the phone Garrett had so recently slammed down, and hesitated, trying to remember the number; he hadn't used it in two years, at least. He guessed on the last two digits and waited, the ringing as the lines connected maddeningly obnoxious. Finally, there was a click.
"Hello?" asked a familiar voice. Relief flooded Emmett's body.
"Hey man, it's Emmett. I know it's been awhile, but I need to ask you a favor…"