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The final week of rehearsals was busy and chaotic.  Rafe was around the whole time, and people walked on eggshells around him and Nick.  They were having complete show rehearsals, going from setup to takedown.  Tom and Rafe walked around with clipboards and stopwatches.  Each of the unit directors took notes and gave instructions. 

Murray manned the desk in the office area and fielded requests for various things, producing them quickly.  His finger quotation marks worked overtime, and the crew thought if he said “well-oiled machine” one more time, Rafe would kill him.

Nick was in a good mood on Monday, even with Rafe’s presence.  The video shoot had gone very well. It had been an intense two days, but they were done.  Nick really liked the concept.  And the girl.  It had been the right thing to do.  Mickey agreed with him.  Rafe probably did too, but Nick knew he’d never get him to admit it.

On Wednesday, Rafe tried to talk to them about wardrobe.  Nick didn’t want to hear it.  “I’ll wear what I feel like wearing,” he insisted. 

That was fine, Rafe said, but he just wondered about the overall look of the whole group.  And he didn’t want any t-shirts with logos for commercial products or other groups.

“They can wear what they want,” Nick insisted.  “It doesn’t have to co-ordinate…everyone in shades of blue or all that crap.  I’m so done with that.”

Murray tried to help out.  “Yes, but everyone should look like they’re on the same page…like they’re…”

“Rock musicians?” asked Tofu, using finger quotation marks.  That broke up Nick and the others.

“Well,” spluttered Tom.  “We just want to have a look-see.  What if Rashad decided to wear a tux or Mel wore a dress?”

“Mel perform in a dress?” Blaine exclaimed.  “Not much chance of that.” 

All of the musicians laughed again.  Including Mel.  Excluding Nick.

Rafe thought they were acting like schoolchildren.  He decided to put his foot down.  “Tomorrow you will dress like you’re performing for an audience.  Is that clear?”

“Yes, Sir.”  Tofu snapped off a salute.

Rafe pressed his lips together and glared at the keyboardist.  Then he turned on his heel and stalked away, Tom and Murray trailing behind him.

“Man, I hate that crap,” said Nick, narrowing his eyes at the departing men.

“Don’t sweat the small stuff,” said Blaine.  The others nodded in agreement.  He turned to Melody.  “Hey, Mel, gonna wear that frilly pink dress with all the bows on it?”

Melody laughed.  “Yeah, right!  Give your head a shake.  I think I’ll stick with my leather, thanks anyway.”

“Yeah, go for butch!” said Tofu.

Nick was horrified.  He wheeled around and looked at Chris, then over at Mel.  They looked at his expression with raised eyebrows.  What?  Nick shook his head and reached for his water bottle.  So it was kind of out in the open, he guessed.  It was kind of okay to talk about it.  But not him, no sirree, he wasn’t saying a damn word about it…to anyone!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day, Nick dried himself off after his shower.  He looked in the mirror.  Not bad.  He guessed he could see a difference.  He turned sideways.  Still had that gut, though.  Had to keep working on that.  Man, he hated sit-ups. 

Jeff had let him know that there were a gazillion sit-ups in his future.  They weren’t going to be dragging all the exercise machines and crap on the tour.  There would be one kinda all-in-one monstrosity that Nick thought wouldn’t look out of place in a horror movie torture chamber.  But it was going to be mostly sit-ups and aerobics. 

Nick toweled his hair.  He had to admit that Jeff was right.  When he exercised in the morning, he did feel energized for the day.  But he wondered what they would do on tour.  When he performed, he was so high after a concert that he didn’t come down for hours, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to be getting up for any eight o’clock workout.

The diet was going okay, Nick figured.  He just stayed away from the catering table and had Toby bring him food.  That was the only way that it worked for him.  If someone brought him food, he’d eat it.  So the trick was to get someone to bring him healthy food.  If someone brought him donuts, he’d eat them.  No self-control, he told himself, not a drop.  Of course, Tofu was always commenting on the food, praising him for eating veggies, shaking his head at meat.

Nick had noticed something else too.  It had taken him awhile to pin it down.  He’d noticed that no one ate any of the donuts or pastries or crap like that around him.  They ate it, but not around him.  The whole food thing was kind of fluid anyway.  You ate when you had time.  The crew would eat while the musicians were playing, and the musicians would eat while the crew was working with setup and take down.  So it wasn’t obvious at first.  Nick wondered who was behind it.  He appreciated it – that they would take the effort.  The whole crew.  That showed they respected him.  He laughed to himself.  Or maybe they thought he was such a big pig that he’d tear the food right out of their hand if they got too close.

Nick pulled on his clothes.  The temptation to wear the rattiest things he owned was almost overwhelming.  Or some orange and pink Hawaiian shirt with green and blue plaid pants.  But he had settled for jeans with only a couple of rips in them and a black t-shirt with a silver picture of the Rock of Gibraltar on it and the blood-red phrase, “Let’s Rock”.

He stepped out into the warehouse and counted silently under his breath.  …three, four…  Toby appeared out of nowhere and handed Nick a cup of coffee.  Nick said thanks and smiled to himself.  He had never been able to make it to five before Toby appeared.  

“Would you like cream cheese on your bagel today, Nick?” asked Toby.  “They’ve got strawberry.”

“Sounds good,” said Nick.  Toby scurried off to the catering table, and Nick walked over to the sound board.  “Mornin’, Scott.”

“Mornin’, Nick,” answered Scott.  “Nice outfit,” he added with a wink.

“Do you think it’ll pass inspection by the Almighty Ariando?” asked Nick, with a laugh.

Scott snorted.  He was the only one who didn’t have to worry about Rafe interfering with his work.  The executive didn’t have the first clue how to run the board, and he didn’t really want to know.  If he hovered too close, Scott would just start explaining things in highly-technical terms, and Rafe would move away.  The area around the sound board had become a little Rafe-free oasis for them all.

“I think that will pass inspection too,” said Scott, nodding over Nick’s shoulder. 

Nick turned to see Mel standing on the stage, fiddling with her guitar strap.  She was wearing black leather pants and a matching leather vest and nothing else, just like at the club.  Bare arms and cleavage. 

“She looks hot,” added Scott.

“Yeah, for a…”  Nick bit the end off the phrase.

“For a what?”

“Nothing, just hot.  Yeah, she looks hot.”  Nick could feel his ears reddening.  “Does she always wear that kind of thing?”

“Pants and a vest?  Yep.  She says it gives her freedom of movement, and if she always wears the same thing, she never has to think about it, picking out clothes and stuff.”

“You seem to know her pretty well,” said Nick.

“Yeah, we go back a long way,” said Scott, and he changed the subject.  Nick didn’t need to know how well Scott and Mel knew each other in the past.  “Here come Blaine and Rashad.”

Blaine and Rashad looked no different than they did any other day.  But that wouldn’t be a problem.  Rashad always wore dressier pants, never jeans, and a long sleeved shirt, usually in some pattern.  Rashad never wore jeans because Keshia wouldn’t let him.  She said they made his ass look like a big denim dump truck.

Blaine was wearing jeans and a striped t-shirt.  He could wear what he wanted.  He sat behind the drums, and nobody could really see what he was wearing anyway. 

“So do we have to line up for inspection?” asked Blaine, with a laugh.  He held out both his hands in front of him.  “I’ve got clean fingernails!”

“Did you wash behind your ears?” laughed Melody.

Blaine snapped his fingers.  “Damn!  I knew I forgot something.”

“Glad to see everyone’s in a good mood,” said Toby, handing a bagel to Nick.  “Here comes Rafe.”

Nick picked up the bagel and looked at it.  At the strawberry cream cheese.  Then he looked down at his black t-shirt.  Then back at the bagel.  Then at Rafe.

“Don’t do it, Kid,” said Mel, in a Mae West imitation that wasn’t bad.  “It ain’t worth it.”

Nick laughed.  “I wasn’t going to, Mommmmm,” he said in his best six-year old voice, scuffing one sneaker on the other.

Rashad and Blaine cracked up.  Toby looked disapproving.

“Okay, so we’ve got everyone but Senor Sandoval,” said Rafe, looking them over.  He seemed a little peeved that there was nothing to complain about.

“I’m comin’, I’m comin’” called Tofu from the back of the warehouse.  He approached the stage.  He was wearing a trench coat. 

What the hell? thought Nick.

“Omilord, what’s he up to?” whispered Melody to Blaine. 

Nick looked at them.  They just shook their heads.  Anything was possible with Tofu.

Chris Sandoval turned his back to them and unbuttoned his coat.  He took it off as he was turning back, and the musicians snorted with laughter.  Nick was glad he wasn’t drinking coffee.  It would have shot out his nose.  Tofu was wearing a powder-blue tuxedo with royal blue velvet lapels.  He had on a white ruffled shirt with blue piping along the ruffles.  It was the worst lounge singer suit they’d ever seen.  Even the shoes were blue.

Rafe smiled a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.  “Very amusing, Tofu.  Very amusing.”  He turned to the others.  “Since you all seem to like it so much, maybe we can get you all one.”  He laughed at his little joke.  Only Toby laughed with him.

Tofu Sandoval looked over at Melody and Blaine and winked.  “Aw crap, he’s not done,” whispered Blaine.

“I’ll just get out of this then and get into some real working clothes,” he said, taking off the tux jacket and unbuttoning the shirt.  “Picture these as jeans,” he told Rafe, motioning to the pants.  He pulled off the shirt and handed it and the jacket to Toby.  “Hang these up somewhere for me, will you, Toby?” he said and stepped up onto the stage.  “Shall we make some music?”

The other musicians made little noises and bit their lips trying not to howl with laughter.  They busied themselves with their instruments and almost got under control…until they looked at Tofu again.  He was wearing a t-shirt with a devil’s head on it, complete with little red horns.  And the devil’s face, God knows how Chris had managed it, the devil’s face was an exact caricature of Rafe Ariando.  Tofu gazed back at them blandly and then flexed his muscles in a move that made the devil seem to blink. 

That was too much for Nick, who roared with laughter.  Right behind him were the others.  They all laughed until tears streamed down their face.  People started wandering over from other parts of the building to see what was so funny.  It certainly wasn’t the look on Rafe’s face which glared them right back to where they came from.

“So, get to work,” he said, and turned on his heel for the office area.

“Fucking suits,” said Tofu, under his breath, as he played the intro for Bridge to Nowhere.