by Clara Bayard
After ordering a drink I slid down the bar away from the group a bit and found myself next to Steve, the band’s guitar tech. We chatted briefly about my vintage Gibson and the horrors of shipping the precious instruments. He was incredibly knowledgeable, and as a bonus, seemed to have never heard of me before.
Yes, it was a tiny blow to my ego, but it meant he was willing to actually talk to me like a real musician. Most rock guys who encounter me think I lip sync and pretend to play. But I learned the piano in first grade and have managed to gain at least a passable ability to play everything I’ve ever tried.
I used to get annoyed at the assumptions, but they’re understandable. The height of my fame came from a freaking family show, after all. My big hit number on King of Hearts was a song about naming a dog after a boy my character had a crush on.
So I couldn’t blame people for pre-judging, but it was nice to avoid it for once. Steve, also, in a manly man way, gave me all the gossip about Dream Defiled. Know your enemy and all that.
Eventually Dex and Becca came down to join us and it was fine. We complained about the power outage, shared stories of traveling to Vegas. The lovebirds had just come back from a week in the Caribbean. I was jealous.
My last boyfriend and I hadn’t gone anywhere nicer than a chain restaurant for dinner. Of course, we were fifteen at the time. Since then all my interactions with guys had been brief and nothing close to what I’d call dating. But that was my choice. I had too much to do, too many things to accomplish to waste time flirting and getting my head messed up by some idiot. A few nights together with no awkward mornings-after was how it went, and I liked it that way. Most of the time. But seeing the warmth and connection between Dex and Becca reminded me of meeting Margie, and I wondered…for a moment.
Then I order a shot of tequila and got the hell over myself.
Once everyone had a few drinks I decided I might be able to spend the next few months with these people. Dex was hilarious, silly and flirtatious in a way that made it clear he was mad about his girl. Steve knew so much music trivia it made my head spin. Joe finally got off the phone and came over to chat, and he was nice and charming.
At one point the guys got into some deep conversation about their set list and I turned to Becca. I felt bad for being a little rude to her at first, so I made a point of asking her about herself. She told me her father is Daniel Hall, which impressed me. He was a really talented producer before he left the business. She also told me a really funny story about her working for the band, getting fired and rehired in an airport. There’s nothing like the music business for drama if you want it.
“Speaking of touring, where’s the other band? I thought there were three acts?”
“Oh, there are,” she replied, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “Playology? Do you know them?”
“Heard the name.”
“Yeah, well they’re cool. You’ll like them.”
“Why aren’t they here? Wasn’t the point of this group rehearsal sing-along thing for everyone to get acquainted?”
“Yeah. They’re finishing an album. Behind schedule, apparently.”
“Ah, gotcha.” I didn’t envy them. It was a huge amount of pressure to record an album, but a million times worse to be late delivering one. “So they’re grounded?”
Becca laughed. “Pretty much.”
“Oh well. Their loss.”
She cocked her head to the side. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re a lot more upbeat and friendly than you seemed at first.”
“I get that a lot. I’m sorry. I was just stressed.”
“And annoyed with Rick?”
“That, too. Where is he, anyway, off somewhere kicking puppies?”
“Probably groupie hunting. I think you yelling at him bruised his ego, so he’s off finding some fawning young thing to stroke it for him.”
I barked out a laugh at her choice of words. She furrowed her brow and then blushed deeply.
“Pun intended?” I asked through my giggles.
Becca covered her mouth, but a series of high-pitched squeaky sounds came through, which made me laugh even harder. And then we were both dying, bent over, hysterical. No, it wasn’t all that funny, but the moment broke a lot of tension I hadn’t even noticed.
There, in the bar, surrounded by people we were going to spend a lot of time with, we just laughed. Too far gone to explain what was so funny, we just let it happen, ignoring the puzzled looks and enjoying an all too rare light moment.
I thought, this is what it would be like to be normal. Have girlfriends to hang out with and laugh with. To just be. But, as nice as it was, that’s another girl’s life. Not mine. Mine is work and struggle. And worth it. Most of the time.
About an hour later we finally filed back into the theater. Joe was stumbling and poor Becca looked like she was ready to pass out any second, having to be practically carried in by Dex, who remained surprisingly sober. He’d nursed a single beer the whole time we were in the bar. I had a nice buzz going, but nothing I couldn’t work with.
On the way inside, my mother sidled up alongside me and twined her arm in mine.
“What do you want, Laura?” I asked her.
She smiled broadly, but under her breath, replied, “A daughter who isn’t such an ungrateful little bitch.”
I beamed back at her. “Charming. Seriously, just tell me what is it is and then leave me alone.”
She raised her voice louder so the others could hear. “Just a little chat with my favorite girl.”
I rolled my eyes. “They get it. You’re the best mother ever. Spit it out.”
Her smile twisted into a grimace. “Fine.” She smoothed her hair and adjusted her skirt as we walked. “You need to be nice to these people. Dream Defiled is the biggest band in the world right now.”
“That’s a bit of an exaggeration, don’t you think?”
“As far as you’re concerned, they’re the Beatles, got it? You need this. We need this. Don’t fuck it up by being yourself.”
“Great pep talk, Mom.”
“Grow up, Julia. And stop being so selfish. This isn’t just about you.”
I yanked my arm out of her grip and stomped away towards the darkened back of the theater, desperate for some privacy so I didn’t commit matricide. But, of course, she followed me.
“Please go away. I don’t want to fight with you.”
“Then shut your mouth and listen. I am trying to do what’s best for you. All I ever do is work hard for you and you act like a petulant child.”
“Give me a break,” I hissed. “No one can hear. There’s no need to pretend. You didn’t give two shits about me two years ago when I was couch surfing and recording YouTube videos on my phone in the bathroom.
“I crawled out of that hole all by myself. And now that I’m back with a chance to be on top again, here you are. You’re right about one thing. I do need this. It means everything to me. But don’t pretend you did anything to get me here but give birth to me.”
The fury in her eyes was scary enough to make me take a step back. I hadn’t meant to snap like that, but she drove me crazy. It was a mistake to hire her back again, but I’d done it in a moment of weakness. For a second I thought we could be a real family. That we could be in it together like she always promised.
But like every day since I got my first commercial, all she cared about was the money and the power. She loved having nice things and people kiss her ass. Riding my talent had gotten her hooked on it and she was desperate for a fix.
“Look,” I said after we’d spent a few tense seconds glaring at each other, “I really don’t want to argue. I know I need to get along with the band and I will. I made nice at the bar and I’m going to sit down here and watch them practice.
Exhausted, I raised my hands in defeat. “I’m here to work. You’re here to work. Let’s just get the job done.”
I could have cried or appealed to her maternal instincts, but I know Laura Clar
k, and exactly what she’d respond to.
And it worked. Her serene mask smoothed back into place and she nodded. “Fine. I’ll be upstairs talking over some final details with the management team. Call me if you need anything.” She spun on her heel and walked away.
After holding my breath for the next interruption or disaster, I finally sighed and headed down closer to the stage. Dream Defiled was just starting to play and I perched on the edge of a seat on the aisle to listen. No one else was out there with me. The rest of the crew was backstage doing whatever and it was like a private concert just for me.
I was, frankly, surprised to see how great they were. I’d heard their music before. Videos and in that damn laptop commercial that I couldn’t avoid. I wasn’t sure what a song that seemed to be about having sex while drunk had to do with computers, but it must have been working.
But like all great groups, watching them live was a completely different experience. Even just casually running through a song, they were electric together. Joe’s voice was deep and husky, yet smooth. Every note from Dex’s bass curled around me like sensual smoke. Matthew’s command of the rhythm drove every note deeper into my brain.
And, I hated to admit, Rick was a masterful drummer. As talented as the others were, I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. He attacked the drums ferociously, but with perfect control. Like a wild thing, impossibly graceful and unbelievably dangerous. He played with every inch of his body, and even just halfway through their first song, his clothes were stuck to his body and perspiration shone on his brow under the lights.
How could anyone that gifted be such a dick, I wondered. But really, that was the answer. He was so good he didn’t have to be nice. Against my will, my hatred for him lessened. He might be a terrible excuse for a man, but I had to respect the talent.
In the back of my mind I wondered what it would be like to have him play with me. To stand on the stage with him drumming a throbbing beat behind me. To pick out notes on my guitar and raise my voice above the rhythm we made together, everything coming together in a crash of heat – harsh and sweet. To surrender completely to the music, let it take me over, drag me under until I never wanted to come back up again.
Heart pounding, I closed my eyes and could see it, hear it, feel it. Be it.
Whew. Somehow that turned into something I hadn’t expected. I shook my head and crossed my legs, slightly shaken. Clearly this awful day full of craziness had gotten to me.
I checked my phone, spending a few minutes dividing my attention and calming down. While I dealt with a few messages that needed my attention, the band kept playing.
Eventually I managed to tune them out enough to stand up and get moving. I slipped around the side of the raised platform and made my way backstage. It was the usual controlled chaotic setup. Cables and boxes, equipment and cases turned the space into an obstacle course. I remembered that the dressing rooms were still under construction, but figured the green room would be stocked, at least.
It turned out I was right. Two members of the casino staff were just replenishing the ice and small plate of fruit when I walked in. I nodded at them and went over to grab a bottle of water.
“Is there anything else we can bring you, ma’am?” one of them asked.
I grimaced at the “ma’am.” I hate that word. Even worse than “miss.”
“No, thanks. Just needed a little hydration.”
They both smiled blandly and finished tidying up before sliding away almost silently.
Alone again, I drank down the bottle of water in a few long gulps and took another off the table, shaking the moisture that clung to my fingers when I pulled it out of the ice-filled bowl.
Looking around, I thought about all of the other green rooms I’d been in. Much louder and more hectic than this one. Surrounded by people, I’d grown almost deaf to the hum of conversations about me that didn’t include me.
I remembered one, the first live real concert we did the summer after the show started airing. I was amazed at the bounty of free things. Candy, cookies, cakes, burgers, fries, sodas, milkshakes, ice cream sundaes. We could have anything we wanted. That show I was so sick from stuffing my face that I almost puked on my TV brother during our first number. No one had told me to stop or to think. All the adults who were supposed to take care of me were worrying about empty seats and merchandise percentages.
Well, that wasn’t entirely true. Jessica cared. She noticed I was looking green during intermission and made me drink water and took me into the bathroom and sat with me in case I threw up. Which, thanks to her, I didn’t.
“Stop thinking about her,” I whispered to myself viciously. “That’s a waste of time and energy.” It was true, but hard. Being back again, even though this was just a smallish casino theater that still smelled of wet paint, I was back and it was throwing me. Hard.
Using all my will-power, I forced my thoughts back to where they needed to be. Work. Rehearsing, getting ready. Most people don’t get even one chance at living their dream. This was my second – no, third – opportunity and I wasn’t going to waste it or ruin it by thinking of the past. Of the woman who’d been barely out of her teens but was a better mother to me than mine ever was. Of how losing her had almost destroyed me.
And just as I was about to fall completely into a pit of miserable memory, the lights in the room flickered.
“Okay, okay, I get it, universe.”
“Are you talking to yourself?” a low voice asked from behind me.
I turned around and saw Rick filling the doorway. “Really?” I shook my head. “Don’t you have better things to do than skulk around backstage?”
His upper lip curled in a sneer. “I ain’t skulking, sweetheart. I’m standing here wondering why they let some crazy girl who talks to herself on our tour.”
“God, fuck off.”
THREE
Yes, it was immature. Yes, it was unprofessional. Yes, it was rude. But something about Rick just made me crazy. Just looking at his face pissed me off. And then he started talking and it got worse. I’d known him for all of a few hours and was hoping he’d wander off the Strip one night and never come back.
Except, of course, when he was onstage. Then my feelings were just as visceral, but a lot more complicated.
“What’s your problem, anyway? You a man-hater or just can’t stand me?”
“Can’t say I really think of you as a man,” I snapped back.
“Oh, really? Well I promise you, sweetheart, I’m all man.”
I rolled my eyes. “Whatever. And stop calling me that.”
“Why?” He stalked over to me, coming to stand close enough that I could smell his skin. The dark musk of post-rehearsal sweat and a hint of cologne or aftershave. Spicy and intoxicating.
I put a hand on his chest and backed up a step. Touching him was a bad idea. His shirt was damp and thin. I could feel the flat muscle beneath and his heart thudding under his skin. Our eyes locked for a long moment and I stopped breathing. Volumes of wordless something passed between us, hot and fast. What the hell is that?
The lights flickered again and I yanked my hand away. It tingled like a burn.
“Get out of my face,” I said, hoping my voice was steadier than I felt.
“If that’s what you want, then keep out of my way.” His lip curled up in the corner. “You’re in my house, sweetheart.”
With that, whatever bizarre connection I felt was gone. “Were you born this much of an asshole or did you have to study?”
He chuckled and stepped around me to the table. I turned to watch him, waiting for a response. But Rick just grabbed a beer, twisted off the cap and took a long drink before looking at me again.
“I’ll give you this. You’re not what I expected.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I figured you’d be all fake-nice, pretending to be sweet and happy and all that. Not that I like that you’re a total bitch. But I do appreciate that you own it.”
My first instinct was to slap him, but I didn’t. I just shook my head, turned around and walked out. So much for playing nice. But come on. No one could get along with that jackass. Nuns and kindergarten teachers would be swearing and tempted to punch him after five minutes. I deserved the Nobel Peace Prize, or at least a nomination for not kneeing him in the balls.
Proud of my self-restraint, I went back out to the stage. Everyone was gone. Break time, I guessed. Or more crap with the electricity. I gathered my stuff from the theater and was almost at the door when the lights went out completely again.
I made my way carefully towards the door, following the lights on the floor. That is, until they went out too.
What’s next, a plague of locusts?
I froze for a second, waiting. The floor lights flickered on an off dimly. Once I got to the door I pushed at it, but it didn’t budge.
“What the hell?”
I shoved again, this time hard enough to almost lose my balance. The heavy door just stood there, closed. Mocking me. Looking up, I saw the light over the door was dark. Whatever the power problem was had affected this too.
“Great.” I walked slowly back down the aisle and around backstage. There had to be other exits.
The sickly orange of the flashing emergency lights was even less illuminating back here. I kept colliding with containers of equipment and tripping over cables. After a few minutes of searching I hadn’t found another door, but had destroyed what little remained of my patience.
At first I’d used my phone for extra light, but the battery ran down and it shut off. Which meant I couldn’t see or call for help. Wonderful.
In the midst of trying to figure out what to do next, I heard a sound and remembered Rick in the green room. As much as I had no desire to talk to him again, we both needed to get out of there.
I sighed and went back over there, carefully. In the dark room I could barely make out his shape. He was sprawled out on a couch like nothing had happened, with a beer in one hand and a candy bar in the other.