Storm Season

by Pene Henson

  They applaud the guy.

  “And next up we have our very own Claudia Sokolov. We’ve spent years hoping this girl would get up here. It only took the storm of the decade to get her on stage.”

  Claudie stares at her feet as she walks on stage. But once she’s up there, the old muscle memories take over. She raises the microphone to the right height and smiles out over the hopeful faces. The pub holds thirty or forty people, all locals, all of them wanting some music.

  Claudie starts to play.

  When she finishes, the applause is loud and ringing. No more than for the last guy, maybe, no more than for the duo that’ll come after, but it warms Claudie’s heart.

  She says into the microphone, “Now I’m going to play ‘Throw Your Arms Around Me.’ It’s a bit of a sad song but it’s Ranger Shelley’s favorite, and I’ve been practicing for her.”

  Shelley whoops.

  Claudie puts in some extra emotion as she strums. She lets the vocals sound mournful but keeps the rhythm mobile. The sound system’s not great, but it gives her room to let the top notes break apart.

  Shelley gets up with Nina and dances, a slow dance. Claudie grins. This is nothing like the old days with Grand Echo, when the crowds were an undulating mass in front of Claudie. It’s less and it’s more.

  “For my last song I wanted to do a bit of Britney,” says Claudie. The crowd laughs a little, not sure if she’s serious. “But I think I’ll save that for next time. If you’ll have me?”

  There are cheers, and not only from the people Claudie is sitting with. They want her here.

  “So how about a song I wrote?” The chords come easily. She sings, and everyone listens. Their attention and applause is motivating.

  Claudie sits as the next duo sets up. The girl opens the vocals. She has a sweet lilting voice. Shelley leans toward Claudie. “You okay, sis?”

  “Yeah.” She nods. “Hey, thanks for encouraging me to do this.”

  “Encouraging? I was ready to push you up there. I’m glad you got to it first.” Shelley considers Claudie for a long time. “Was it having that girl stay with you, did that finally give you the kick you needed?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Well, you’ll need to thank her for me,” says Shelley. Claudie’s relieved Shelley doesn’t go on.

  A couple of songs later, Claudie’s on edge. Too many people surround her; she’s given too much of herself on the stage. “Early morning,” she says apologetically. “I’ll come back.”

  Now she’s fed the beast of performing in public, she’s not sure she could stop.

  “I need to break up with her,” Lien says to Annie and Beau. They’re near the festival main stage so, even though she has to shout, no one else can hear.

  “With who?” asks Megan. Okay. Well, apparently she can hear.

  Raf says, “You’re breaking up with Nic?”

  “No loss.” Matty laughs and flicks his fair hair out of his eyes. “She always made me feel lazy.”

  Lien frowns. “Dudes. Stop. She’s great. I like her. She’s kind and funny.”

  It’s irritating that they’re so nonchalant. She starts to say something but Raf’s back to dancing with some stranger while Matty whistles appreciatively.

  “She really is a great girl, Nic,” Lien says to Beau and Annie.

  “And hot,” adds Beau.

  “And hot.” Lien sighs. “But I do need to break up with her.”

  “I know,” says Beau. He pats her shoulder.

  “You can’t do it over the phone, though,” says Annie. “You need to wait till you’re back in Sydney. It’s not cool and it’s not fair to her otherwise.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Plus we’d tease you for the rest of your life if you broke up with someone by phone,” says Beau. Lien half-giggles. They’ve spent four years teasing Matty about breaking up with his last boyfriend by text message on New Year’s Eve.

  The band on the stage isn’t bad: four white guys playing some interesting blues-meets-punk music. Lien takes notes and a photo to remind herself of what they’re like in person. She can expand on it later.

  “I’m heading to one of the smaller stages,” Lien says. “There’s this act I’ve heard about. Sacha Cossman. If you stay for the big finish, could you video a bit of it for me?”

  Sacha Cossman is playing on the northeast stage. She’s maybe twenty-five, blonde and broad-hipped. Her voice is strong and promises more than she’s delivering right now.

  “Bring out the accordion, Sacha!” calls a woman from the small crowd, and a bunch of other audience members erupt in cheers.

  Sacha flushes. She glances offstage, then back to the crowd. “Well, if you’re all asking for it,” she says into the mic.

  She rests her guitar against a stand, and a backstage guy hands her an oversized accordion. It’s white with blue flowers etched on one side. It’s beautiful and ugly at once. Claudie would love to see it. As Sacha plays, she sings over the top, something folksy and fluting, which sweeps up and down and makes use of her huge range.

  Afterward Lien waves her press pass at the disinterested guy guarding the rope barrier and goes to meet the singer backstage, if a patch of grass to the side of the crowd can be called backstage.

  Sacha beams as they shake hands. “Just a sec, Dani’s around here somewhere. She handles my media stuff.”

  A slim woman with a dark, perfectly sculpted faux-hawk walks over and gives Sacha a congratulatory hug. Sacha’s eyes give away the connection between them. “You were flawless, Sach,” the woman says.

  “Even the accordion?”

  The woman laughs, showing even teeth. “I couldn’t believe you even brought it along with you.” She turns to Lien. “I’m Dani Alvarez, Sacha’s manager.”

  “I was chatting with Sacha about an interview,” says Lien. “I’m doing reviews and profiles for Brag Magazine.”

  “Cool. Any chance you can talk tomorrow? I don’t like to put too much strain on her voice.”

  “No problem,” says Lien. “Or else we can talk when we’re all back in Sydney. I’m pulling together a Rivers Fest edition and I want to make space for a mini-feature on Sacha. Local girl making it to the big time.”

  Sacha points to her own face and grins a silent grin. She nods in enthusiastic thanks.

  “That’s fabulous,” Dani says. She gives Sacha a gentle push. “Make sure you drink some warm water, babe. Don’t want to wreck that gorgeous voice.” Sacha grins and moves away. Dani shoves her hands in her pockets and sways. “So you’re talking to festival people. Just the locals?”

  Lien nods. “Locals for profile pieces anyway.”

  “Hey, you know who you should meet?” Dani’s hands are out of her pockets again and moving to describe the person she’s imagining. “Della Darcourt. She’s—I’ve got her number right here.”

  She pulls out her phone.

  “Okay that’d be great,” Lien says. She leaves with two more phone numbers and a list of bands Dani’s heard about. Dani shakes off Lien's thanks with confidence.

  Back at the house they’ve rented, Lien types up her notes. The place is full and noisy; she’s surrounded by her friends. Tonight Raf and Annie are cooking lasagna. Annie’s dressed in a red-and-black belted dress, with her straight bangs and bobbed hair curled under at the ends.

  Raf brings a glass of sauvignon blanc to Lien on the small porch. His beard is even thicker than when they were camping. “I’m coming in,” Lien says. “Thanks.”

  Lien follows Raf into the kitchen. Everyone’s there, drinking wine.

  “So, babe, tell us everything,” Matty says. He leans into his boyfriend. “Raf and I have been together too long. We need to live vicariously through your romantic life.”

  Lien shakes her head. “I don’t know. There’s no ‘everything’ to tell, real
ly.”

  “Don’t lie to us. We know you suddenly have a ranger rock star girlfriend.”

  Lien sighs. “She’s not my girlfriend. Not even a tiny bit.”

  “Oh. But something happened. You’re breaking up with the personal trainer.”

  Lien glares at Matty.

  “Shut it, Matt,” says Beau. “But we are interested, Li. We’re your friends.”

  Lien sighs again. “It’s kind of ridiculous. We were trapped in the cabin. She was—Well, yeah, she’s a rock star and she’s gorgeous. It was raining. You can imagine the rest.”

  “Romantic,” says ever-pragmatic Kam. “If you’re into that kind of thing.” Megan kisses the top of Kam’s dark head.

  Lien looks around at her friends. “It was romantic. The electricity was out, so we had to use candles. And the storm was howling around us. She played guitar and showed me the stars. It was really romantic.”

  Matty heaves a dramatic sigh.

  “Shut up, Matt,” Lien says. “It was. But whatever. The woman’s a hermit who lives in the mountains, and she made it super clear that she didn’t want me to hang around.”

  “But she saved your life,” says Beau.

  “I don’t know about my life,” says Lien.

  “We’d have found you eventually,” says Megan.

  “She at least saved your safari suit,” says Beau.

  “I think it’s sweet,” says Annie, who’s standing by the oven.

  “Of course you do,” says Raf.

  “Look at her. She can’t stop thinking about this girl,” Annie adds. Then, as Lien blushes, she says, “Dinner’s ready.”

  11

  Two weeks ago, Lien had to resign herself to coming up north in the first place. Now she’s resigning herself to going home to Sydney. Of course, not everything will be terrible. She’s pretty sure a shower with no line outside the door will change her life. She can’t wait for clean sheets and clean clothes and a full length mirror so she can feel like herself again. Also, there’ll be way fewer flies.

  But Sydney also means she has no chance to bump into a gorgeous park ranger while grabbing groceries or walking to the train. Somehow Claudie’s had no last minute change of heart. Not that Lien was holding out hope but—damn it, Lien was completely holding out hope.

  She could ask Beau for Claudie’s number. He’d give it to her even if he made a face about it. She doesn’t ask because she wouldn’t call anyway. It would be stupid to demand that kind of attention from Claudie when it's clear that the demand would be unwelcome. Anyway, Claudie has Beau’s phone number. And Beau’s phone has remained stubbornly silent.

  When they’re ready to go, the others give Lien the front seat. “We’re looking after your knee,” says Annie.

  Lien squints at her. “Really? This isn’t ’cause you two want to play footsie in the back?”

  Annie’s blush deepens.

  Beau swipes at Lien’s head with a long arm. “What’s the issue? Do you want to be crammed in the back with me?”

  “Nope.”

  “Then let it go.” It’s sweet and odd to see him be so protective of Annie.

  They’re travelling home with more gear than they brought. They stack a wall of bedding and clothes in the middle of the back seat, separating Beau and Annie. Some of the extra gear might be Lien’s fault. She’s rarely met a band T-shirt she didn’t like, and at the festival there were so many local bands, all of them meriting Lien’s interest and most with eager volunteers manning the merchandise tables. Some of the T-shirts will need altering to get the neckline or sleeves right. Some she can rework with other T-shirts. She’s going to have a band T-shirt renaissance.

  The four of them don’t sing on the way back. Late nights and long drinks and sunshine and cheering over sound systems have taken their toll. The car eats up the distance, mile after mile, farther and farther from the cabin in the bush. Lien rests her head against the window and watches the wilderness as it stretches out to the horizon. They cross bridges where a river curls away from the road, breaking up the gray-green mantle of trees. They pass farmland and herds of patient cows. In some places the road cuts through a hill and gray and orange sandstone cliffs tower above them. The wide bright bowl of the sky is changeless.

  Eventually the road widens. More cars appear everywhere. The city rises in the distance: pale gray buildings jutting up in clusters against the distant horizon.

  Megan deposits Beau and Lien and their bags on the street outside their place. There’s no parking near their door, so it’s a quick farewell.

  “Bye, guys,” says Annie. Her eyes land on Beau.

  “I’ll give you a call,” Beau says before he closes the car door. “It was…” Annie blushes.

  Lien drops her bags on the sidewalk. It’s a comfort to be home, to their familiar terrace. It’s also a return to reality.

  She glances at Beau.

  “Here we are,” Lien says.

  “Come on. Let’s go home.”

  Upstairs, Lien closes her bedroom door. She leans against it and considers unpacking. It’d be good to get her clothes washed and hung out as soon as possible. They’ll probably smell like dirt and moss and damp for all time. Instead, she deposits the bag on her bed and herself on a chair at the tiny desk in the corner. She turns on her computer. It’s neighborly, the way it lights up with a welcome.

  “I’m back!” she posts everywhere: Twitter and Instagram and Snapchat. She hops up to take a picture of her bathroom, filtered so it seems a bit less ugly 1960s tile and a bit more vintage and funky. She tags it: The joy of a pee without an audience of spiders and frogs.

  She pauses and runs her fingers over the keys. Then she sighs. She types “Grand Echo” into a search engine. Song after song pops up. Lien selects the most popular one and pushes her chair back to listen. She selects another. They’re good; Claudia’s voice has gravel that would work for blues, but it’s pitched perfectly over the top of some crunchy guitar with a strong electronic drive. The lyrics are simple and catchy and suit her emotive rasp; the guitars lift the whole thing.

  Lien investigates further and pulls up a couple of articles. Grand Echo was moving up in the world. They were selling records and playing to sold-out crowds. They performed a triumph of a show at the Basement. Then the band stopped playing, putting an end to their runaway success. A month later their rep announced they had folded. Their frontwoman, Claudia Sokolov, walked away from the public eye. Lien studies the dates. If Claudie’s been a ranger for three years, then she moved north a few months after the band stopped playing.

  Lien finds plenty of information about the band—reviews of their music, profiles of their lead—but nothing about Claudie after they shut down. The drummer, Gretchen, played with the Rabbits for a while. The bass player, Tan, was a big part of Acacia. They’ve come together in a new band now. Mercy, on keys, started another band that didn’t go far, then did some mystifying solo work. Claudia disappeared. Until Lien found her.

  Lien goes back to the Grand Echo search and watches YouTube videos, some professional, others bootlegs made on people’s phones from the backs of clubs, half blocked by people’s heads and with drunken singing in the background. However they're filmed, the songs are great; the band has chemistry. The music has layers: the keys with the guitars, the bass, and the drums. Claudie was happy when she was playing. Her face showed it. Her body showed it. Every movement and key change and new song showed it. She was magnetic.

  Beau’s crisp knock startles Lien.

  “Come in.” Lien closes her laptop.

  Beau narrows his eyes. “I have ears, Li. I’m pretty sure you’re playing Claudie’s band.”

  “Yeah. It was, yeah. Grand Echo. I was curious.”

  “Mmmhmm?” He wrinkles his forehead.

  Lien moves quickly. “Here, watch this one.” She opens the laptop to play him her f
avorite video. Beau looks over her shoulder. “See. They were good. She was fucking awesome.”

  “Yeah. I remember them on the scene.”

  “I don’t know why she stopped. You don’t just stop something you’re good at without a reason. I want to find out that reason. I want to know why she’s hiding by herself in that cabin. And why she won’t come back.” A new video starts.

  When she spins her chair away from the screen, Beau’s watching her. “Li.” His voice is soft. “You can’t investigate why she won’t date you. It doesn’t work like that.”

  “That’s not what I mean. I wasn’t—”

  “No?”

  She sighs. “Look, sure, we had this chemistry, and I think she’s making a huge mistake. And it hurts. But that’s not the point. At least, it’s not the only point. It’s not about dating. She was good, Beau. She loved performing and she was going places and she was awesome and she gave it all up. She could’ve stayed. We need more women in music, and she… she was made to be in music.”

  Beau relents. “She was good.”

  “She was better than good. She was fucking awesome. What would make someone that good and that in love with the music leave it all behind?”

  Beau frowns. “Maybe we can’t know.”

  “I’m going to find out.”

  He eyes her.

  “Anyway, it’ll make a great long-form article. I can send it to some of the web magazines. I’ve been saying for ages that I should write something outside the social columns. This is a good opportunity. For me.”

  He grins, then. “I’m not going to stop you, Li. I just like to watch you struggle to make up arguments for researching the girl you fucked last week. Tell me again that this isn’t stalking?”

  “It’s not stalking!”

  He kisses the top of her head. “I’m heading up to Thai Me Up for some food. Want anything?”

  “Oh god, yes. I have missed their food like a limb.” She pushes her chair across the floorboards and grabs her wallet. “Pad See Ew please.” She’s excited about dinner already. She hands him money.