We were in X’s pickup. He was driving while still wearing his mask, which truth be told, always makes me a little uncomfortable. Though, to be fair, it hasn’t seemed to hinder his driving any thus far.
In short order, we pulled up to the address Eunice had texted me. The house was two story - white with pink trim, and the yard was beautifully manicured. X parked in the empty driveway, where we all got out and walked to the front door.
A sign hung just over the doorbell, proudly displaying Joshua 24:15 (“As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord”).
I took a mental moment to process this scene: I wore, as usual, all black; sides of my head shaved, guy-liner, and an anhk dangled from a chain around my neck. Christian’s blond hair was whipping about messily in the wind; his eyes hidden behind mirrored sunglasses and X was wearing a mask that would likely fit right in during The Purge. But I was on a mission, dammit, and pushed the doorbell (with a black-painted fingernail, naturally).
I heard small steps approach the door...
But no one answered it.
I knocked...
Nothing.
Until!--
“Who is it?” came a muffled voice from inside.
“Hi, Eunice? It’s Adam! We were just texting about the drum kit!”
In my pocket, I felt my phone begin to vibrate. I grabbed it.
“Are you serious?” I said quietly.
“What?” Christian asked.
I turned the phone to him so he, too, could see the number displayed.
“She’s calling me!” I whisper-yelled.
Holding the phone to my ear, I answered.
“Hello...?”
“Adam?”
“Yeah. Eunice, I think I’m maybe at the wrong address...”
“Are you at the door?”
“...Yeah.”
“...are you sure?”
“Um, pretty sure?”
“Oh.” She said.
THEN SHE FUCKING HUNG UP!
Okay. Fuck it. Abort mission. I turned to leave when I heard the voice from inside again:
“The drums are around back. Put the money in the mailslot, take the drums and close the gate behind you.”
The three of us looked at each other for a very brief moment before I started for the side gate I hoped would lead to a drum kit. There, in the back, was a full sized, red drum kit. It looked worn, but not horribly so – and most certainly worth $110.
I spied movement in the corner of my eye and turned. Through the window to the house, I saw a little old lady peering out at us. She had her phone pointed at us but didn’t say anything. In hindsight, I think she was recording us.
“Okay, this is weird. We’re going to go now.” I said as I stooped down to pick up the bass drum. X and Christian grabbed the rest between them. I slipped the money in the mailslot, as Eunice had requested, shut the gate, and got the hell out of there.
In rapid order, I set up the drums in my booth, while Christian made tea, and X ordered some Chinese food.
I would love to tell you that I nailed the drums in one or two takes but the reality is... less flattering. However... I was, and still am, pleased with the results.
We finished off the day with the traditional ritual of expressing mutal admiration and fist-bumpage. Around 6pm, I called up my friend, a stellar photographer named Ken who lives nearby, and then called a makeup artist he recommended. The makeup artist’s name was Derek. (note: remember Derek). These phone calls resulted in the scheduling of a photoshoot the following weekend. I informed the lads, ate a won-ton, and went to bed, satisfied in the knowledge that “Step 3” [ I schedule a makeup artist and photoshoot for promo materials] of my plan was in motion.
