“I want to hear them play,” Rosemary said again.
“Go ahead back down if you want.” The cellist waved long fingers at the door.
Rosemary didn’t budge. After another silent minute, she realized she’d been rude. “Sorry. I should’ve thanked you. And introduced myself. I’m Rosemary.”
“Nice to meet you, Rosemary. I’m Joni.” She offered a hand. Rosemary steeled herself for the contact. Joni’s hand was big enough to envelop hers, strong and warm. “So where are you from?”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve never seen you before. You obviously hate crowds, and your clothes are trying way too hard, like you read some article on what to wear to a rock show. No offense.”
It was hard not to take offense, but it wasn’t so far from the mark. “You’re right. I’m not from here. I came for the music.”
“And you didn’t know an audience was part of the deal?”
“I didn’t . . . I knew . . . I didn’t know it would bother me.”
“Which means you’ve never been to a live show before. Small town?” Joni took a bite of her apple.
“Very small town, and I’m pretty positive no bands are playing.”
“Are you? There’s nobody you can picture playing in their garage? Nobody they talked about with euphemisms like ‘oh, he’s a troublemaker’?”
“Nobody local to me. There were only a couple of kids from high school living anywhere near me. Anyway, even if there was some band making music in a garage, they’d be totally isolated. They wouldn’t have what you have here. This is amazing.”
Joni nodded. “It is amazing. I’d sure hate to find out you’re here undercover to shut us down.”
Rosemary frowned. “Wait, what? You think I’m a cop, too? Why do you all think that?”
“Nobody knows you, and you haven’t mentioned how you found us.”
“Look, if there’s some secret password, nobody told me. I told that Alice lady I’m not a cop. Aran Randall from Patent Medicine gave me the address. He said if I came here I’d see real bands playing for real people, like Before.”
A clatter from the dark alley at the back of the yard, like an animal knocking over a trash can. Rosemary wasn’t sure what animals cities had. Raccoons? Possums? Coyotes? Cats? It distracted her for a moment.
“Aran Randall? Really?”
Rosemary sighed. “That’s another thing. Why does everyone here roll their eyes when I mention his name?”
“Because he’s a taker and a deserter. He borrowed money, went out to western Pennsylvania and knocked on the door at StageHolo until they answered, and left his band behind.”
“No! He plays with his band. Patent Medicine.”
“Sweetie, those are a bunch of hired hands that took the place of his real band. StageHolo told him they weren’t photogenic enough, sent everyone home but the Great Aran Randall.”
Rosemary started to protest. Then she thought about Patent Medicine, with their relentless good looks and studied moves. The bassist. That was what bands were supposed to be, as far as she knew, but they were nothing like the bands she’d seen tonight.
The other woman shrugged. “He had the right, but it was still a shitty move. He’s good enough that he might have been able to fight for them.”
“Maybe he did.” A stubborn loyalty surged in Rosemary. Aran had taken the time to talk with her when nobody else had. “Maybe he tried but they didn’t let him, and he thought he’d be better off getting popular and then helping his friends here.”
She wasn’t sure she believed that herself, and Joni definitely didn’t. “‘Helping his friends here’? What did he tell you about us?”
“I told you. That I’d see real bands playing.”
“Like we’re some living history holo? Are they teaching us in school now?”
“No! In my entire life until now, I had no idea anything like this existed.”
“Where do you know Aran from, anyway? I thought he was holed up somewhere writing pop songs for other fake bands and playing on a fake stage.”
This was not how Rosemary had hoped for this conversation to go. Her imagined version was far less hostile, with Aran’s name serving as a blessing for her presence or a greeting from a far-off friend instead of another cause for suspicion. Did he know how his name went over here? As far as she could tell, he thought they remembered him fondly. She redirected the question. “What’s wrong with StageHolo, anyway? They’re paying musicians to be musicians. They’re offering enough to live on. I’d think you’d all want that, but so far everyone I’ve mentioned it to tonight has been hostile.”
“Not everyone. I’m sure those boys who played before me would answer if someone from StageHolo came knocking. But I’m happy here, playing for real people, calling the shots myself without regard to demographics or market share. They’d want me to pull my hair back. They’d smooth my face. Or they’d buy my songs but hire someone else to perform them.”
“I don’t think anyone else could play your songs,” said Rosemary. “Unlike Aran’s.”
Which was true, but so was everything Joni had said. Rosemary realized she’d been rushing. Thinking about which bands to sign, when she had only just arrived. Thinking about the job first, when Joni was right—there was so much more to the question of who made a good addition to the StageHoloLive roster. She’d only seen three—no, two bands. She had time. Better to make sure she chose well. Musicians amenable to the idea of SHL, for starters; she hadn’t realized some people thought of it less favorably.
“I get your point,” Rosemary said. “Anyway, I swear to you, I’m not a cop. I had no idea crowds bothered me. I didn’t even consider that might happen, since I’ve never been around so many people before.”
“And knowing that you’re not fond of crowds, will you be coming back?”
Rosemary grimaced, thinking of the room downstairs. “I will. Maybe I can get used to it.”
“Let’s hope so. Where are you staying?”
Mentioning the fancy hotel would only lead to follow-up questions she didn’t want to answer. “I’m staying with friends.” In the moment after she said it, she wished she hadn’t lied, but it was too late.
“That’s good. The motels near here give discounts to fleas and bedbugs. And I’m starting to believe you when you say you’re not police, but I’m not ready to invite you to sleep on my couch.”
“I wasn’t asking you to, but, um, thanks. For believing me. Maybe.”
“You’re welcome.” Joni stood and stretched. “Hey, if you’re not going to eat that, I’ll put it back in the fridge.”
She held the remains of her apple in her left hand. She’d eaten every bite of it except the thinnest of cores. “I need to go pack up. Nice meeting you, Rosemary.”
She grabbed both glasses and Rosemary’s untouched apple and headed back into the building. The kitchen had filled with people, some grabbing sodas or water, some heading for the front door.
Rosemary debated going back downstairs to apologize to Luce, maybe help her carry her stuff to make amends, but the stream of departing audience members didn’t abate, and she didn’t know how to make it through the kitchen, let alone fight the current exiting the basement.
The deck overlooked a small kitchen garden with a paved path down the center. At the back, a parking pad and a chain-link fence with an unlocked gate. Wandering through alleys wasn’t the smartest idea on her first night in a strange city, but she’d be better able to keep her wits about her out there than in the basement.
The alley was dark, but back home was darker. Here the shapes were cut and warped by shadows, more ominous than the all-encompassing blackness of the farm. Light seeped from the streetlights at the corners. A rat scuttled across her path, not in any particular hurry, but she’d seen bigger possums. She made her way to the cross street, then back ou
t to the main drag, where people still straggled from the 2020.
According to her Hoodie, it was two miles’ walk back to her hotel, but some neighborhoods in between had pretty lousy safety ratings at night—though none as bad as the alleys she’d just navigated, now that she looked. She walked a couple of blocks over to the main southbound route and waited for a bus.
She panicked when she raised her eyes from the payment pad and realized this was nothing like the interstate bus she had taken into town. No private compartments. People sitting elbow to elbow, a few slumped over like they were sleeping, threatening to collapse onto their neighbors. Some standing, clinging to poles or handholds, as if other strangers hadn’t had their hands in the same places before them. Others checking phones or wearing Hoodies, eyes watchful. She followed their lead.
She made her way to an open seat, situating herself on the edge so her hip didn’t touch the hip of the woman next to her. Left her hood down, kept her hand on her phone to feel it buzz when she reached the closest stop to her hotel. Repeated “Don’t touch me, don’t touch me” to herself, in the hope that the woman beside her wouldn’t shift closer. She’d had enough proximity for one night.
After the club and the bus, her hotel room felt like an oasis. The air conditioner buzzed, but it was otherwise blissfully, blessedly silent. She was as tired as she had ever been, but she knew if she closed her eyes now she’d replay the night in her head over and over.
She slipped behind the heavy curtain to look out the window again. The view had changed from a few hours before—had it only been a few hours ago? Still the same buildings, but they had a different quality to them now. The dark backdrop let her see the whole city, no reflection, like there was no glass between her and the sky.
She followed the long, straight roads, the staggered traffic signals, the trails of brake lights and headlights, rivers of red and white and hazy yellow against deep black. Lights as far as she could see. In another hotel room across the street, backlit, someone stood in a bathrobe toweling her hair, looking out her own window. Did their eyes meet? The other turned away, closed her blinds. All the way down, at street level, tiny people made their way along the sidewalk, the last few postcurfew pedestrians. From up here, the city took on a romantic aspect, a language worth learning to speak.
She was exhausted, but she’d promised daily check-ins, and now it wasn’t even the same day anymore. She pulled her Hoodie up and summarized the evening for Management, leaving out her terror, her failure to even make it to the third band. Three interesting bands played tonight, she settled on. At least one was a definite possibility. I’d like to hear a little more from them before broaching the subject or wasting SHL time if they don’t work out. Settled into hotel room. No prob re hotel mix-up. Have a good night!
She didn’t think anyone would bother reading it until morning, but at least she’d sent it. Maybe she’d even impress somebody that she’d gone scouting on her first night here. She collapsed into the bed without even bothering to brush her teeth. For one moment, as her head hit the pillow and she sank into the bed the size of her bedroom at home, she registered the fact that it was the most comfortable mattress she’d ever slept on, and that maybe, maybe, she could get used to this; and then she was asleep.
18
ROSEMARY
Germfree Adolescence
According to Aran, the 2020 held shows on Saturday and Wednesday nights. That gave Rosemary two days and two nights to figure out if there were any other less crowded places to hear live music and/or to come up with strategies for how to brave the crowds again. She tried not to be a total drain on company resources. Even walking the hotel’s neighborhood was an exercise in desensitization and discovery, worth her time and energy. There weren’t many people on the streets, but enough to unsettle her stomach.
Finding music proved impossible. She tried the hotel’s e-concierge, which reminded her gatherings larger than thirty people were illegal and unsanitary. The human concierge gave her the same line, but she thought his answer might change once she’d been there a little while. The 2020 couldn’t be the only place with live music. There had to be other places where jazz or classical music fans risked arrest to hear their favorites live, or underground dance or rap clubs like the ones Bailey had described.
Or maybe this was all that remained. Except there were still jazz musicians on StageHolo, which must mean people played jazz somewhere, or they wouldn’t be able to hone their craft. Unless they did it all online? But how could they do that and still be sure they weren’t broadcasting their existence to the very people who’d shut them down? She had these conversations with herself, alone in her room. As if it even mattered. She worked for the rock division, and she knew even less about jazz than rock.
She found a proper branded restaurant a few blocks from the hotel. She hadn’t realized how much she had missed the familiarity until she slid into a red vinyl Micky’s booth and shut the isolation door. In-booth ordering made so much more sense than sending an employee around like at the Heatwave. The server had said she’d have warned her if Rosemary had ordered the burn-your-face-off chili, but Micky’s could place a warning on a dish, too, not subject to the waitress’s whims or sense of humor. Not that she’d need warnings at Micky’s, where she knew every dish on this menu by heart. Comfort slathered with comfort, served in a bowl.
On the way back to her hotel, a man walking in the opposite direction sneezed as he passed her. She didn’t think his sneeze hit her, but her skin crawled for the duration of the walk, and she had to use her day’s water allotment to wash herself and her clothes.
Afterward, she called her mother. She had left her ancient school Hoodie at home for her mom to use, so they’d be able to sit together and chat even when she was far away. Her mother had held it like a dead thing—no, like less than a dead thing, their chickens were handled respectfully—but agreed to try it.
“How did you deal with it?” she asked, when they were both seated in the space they had agreed on before she left, a static kitchen with padded wooden chairs and a picture window facing out on a field of winter wheat. It was the closest hoodspace template they had found to their own comfortable kitchen. Maybe if she made enough money at her job she could get their home done up as a custom environment.
“Deal with what? What happened?” The old Hoodie couldn’t handle photo-realistic avatars, either, so the other av didn’t look much like her mother at all. Same hairstyle, but different body type, wrong height, wrong face. Two legs. Cheap and generic, with only her real voice to reassure Rosemary. Her worried voice. “Is everything okay?”
Rosemary held up placating hands. “Mom. If I needed help, I would have called you direct, not invited you for a sit-down. I promise. Somebody sneezed near me, and my brain went all flu and pox and disease vectors. How did you stand being so close to people all the time? They’re so . . . warm.”
Her mother shrugged a cartoon shrug. “We didn’t think about it. We went to movie theaters where hundreds of people sat in the same room and stadiums where thousands sat next to each other. We rode in airplanes and buses and trains, in open compartments, where strangers sat next to strangers.”
“The city buses are like that! People sitting and standing right next to each other.”
“I thought you were taking single-cells once you got there.”
“I was—I was going to—but there weren’t any around that night so I thought I’d try it.”
The avatar’s frown looked nothing like her mother’s. The mouth bent in a strange way. “What are you there for again? You didn’t say you’d be taking public buses.”
“Mom. We’ve gone over this. It’s a business trip. SHL sent me here to take some meetings.”
“I still don’t understand why they have to have meetings in person. Nobody else does.”
“It’s part of what makes them the best, Mom. The personal touch.” She had decided
not to mention the club or the bands even before coming here. The part she most wanted to ask about, the crowds, she couldn’t except obliquely without heightening her mother’s concern. “How did you keep from panicking around so many people, though? On the bus, in the old days?”
“It’s so hard to explain. People were everywhere. Some were sick, sure. Maybe we washed our hands a lot, I don’t know. I had a friend who didn’t like touching people, even back then. She used to imagine a bubble surrounding her, a bubble that grew and shrank, but was always there. Even if somebody tried to hug her, or bumped into her on the street, a thin layer of the bubble was still there between them.”
“Huh. But there wasn’t one?”
“No, of course not. It was a psychological technique. It wouldn’t have protected her from anything, but it kept her functional.”
“Huh.” She filed that tip away.
“Rosemary?” her mother said after a minute. “I still don’t understand why we’re talking through cartoon characters instead of face-to-face by phone.”
“A phone can’t do this.” Rosemary switched to clearview and shared her feed from her own perspective for the grand tour: the gym in the corner, the fingerprint lock, the magnificent view out the window.
Her mother sighed. “I do miss it.”
“Miss what?”
“I don’t know. All of it. Everything.”
* * *
—
Saturday night loomed closer. It hung over Rosemary, exciting and terrifying in equal parts. She wanted to go back. She wanted to hear the music, but each time she thought about the people in the room, even sitting alone in her hotel, she had to fight panic. It didn’t seem possible that the two feelings existed so close to each other, the excitement and the fear.
A Song for a New Day Page 18