Jamie was like a room full of toddlers on a sugar high.
They were all excited, Ric guessed, but Jamie took it to a new, and infinitely more irritating level.
But still. It wasn't every day you got a call from the first lady of music television herself and a contract to appear on a world-famous show.
So he figured he could tolerate Jamie and his current Betsy Braddock fanboy explosion. At least long enough until he could get away and figure out where Gav had rabbited off to.
He found him half an hour later, perched on the roof of the old funeral home they were all living in. He had his headphone amp plugged in, but Ric could tell what he was playing just by the way he was playing it, one bootheel tapping out the rhythm on the roof tiles.
Ric waited until he was done, then leaned forward and tugged on a bit of his hair. "HEY."
Gav startled, the smile that was Ric's alone breaking across his face. "Hey!" He shouted back, paused, then took off his headphones. "Hey."
Ric scootched himself closer. "You took off really fast after rehearsal. What's wrong, amigo?" He quirked an eyebrow at the bigger man.
"I have...reservations? About this show." Gav said after a few moments of chewing the inside of his cheek. After years in the states, Gav had lost most of his unpronounceable, former-soviet-bloc country accent, but when it started seeping back in, Ric knew something was up. "I recieved email from Sem yesterday." He added.
"Oh, god." Ric stared out at the upper manhattan skyline stretching around them. "What'd say?"
Gav sighed and fished out his mobile. He showed the email, entirely in Cyrillic, to Ric, who glared at him, then started to read. "Dearest fruit of my loins." He started with a long-suffering sigh.
"Your dad is very, very weird, Gav." Ric mumbled, leaning over to look at the email he couldn't read anyways.
"I know." The redhead sighed again. "Hope you are well, I saw your mother in Paris,blah blah blah, Will be in new york this week. Rolling stone doing article on Wildways. Hope to see you soon. Give much love to Julio, tell him bride price is now 1957 Les Paul custom and two goats." Gav rolled his eyes and slid the phone shut.
"Shit. How the hell am I supposed to afford a 1957 Les Paul? And where th' fuck am I gonna find two goats in Manhattan without raiding a petting zoo?" Ric groused until Gav slapped him in the back of the head.
"Julio, forget the goats. My father is going to be town the same time we are doing show." He ranted. "A show run by Ms. Braddock, who is friend of my mother. It seems too... coincidental. I am worried."
The implications of that finally caught up to Ric. "Oh. Oh no."