The Girlfriend Stage

by Janci Patterson

  That’s when Alec walks in.

  I’ve seen pictures of him online, of course—I stayed up past midnight again last night torturing myself with every image of him and Jenna the internet had to offer. Gabby was right. They looked like soul mates.

  Meeting him in person is something else. Alec is tall, a good six inches taller than me. His dark hair is slicked back into a low ponytail, and he looks up from his phone and fixes his blue eyes on me.

  “Hey,” he says.

  “Alec!” Jenna says, sounding like Gabby’s cheerleader twin. “This is Felix, the cellist I told you about.”

  “Yeah, I guessed that,” Alec says. “What with the cello.”

  I give him a half-wave. “Hi,” I say, when what I want to say is closer to “I swear I wasn’t hitting on your girlfriend except I really was please don’t hit me.”

  “He was playing Hollywood Boulevard when I was out with Ty,” Jenna says. “Ty ran off and I found him telling Felix here all about Mason and his douchery.”

  I smile. “He’s a cute kid. Did you guys try out Life yet?”

  Jenna laughs. “Yes, and you were right. I was a childless mortuary assistant. And you make money for having kids. What the hell is that?”

  “Right?” I say. “So did Ty win?”

  “Of course,” she says. “He was an accountant with four kids who became a musician after a mid-life crisis and this somehow all worked to his benefit financially.”

  I laugh. “I warned you.”

  “Yeah,” Jenna says. “After I bought it.”

  Alec is looking between the two of us with a concerned expression, and I wipe my hands on my jeans again.

  There it is. I’ve blown the audition before I even played. Jenna and I haven’t exactly devolved into straddling and fingering yet, but the chemistry is obvious.

  I hope he sticks with just nixing me for the job and doesn’t feel the need to kick my ass.

  “Seriously, Leo,” Roxie says, folding her arms across her chest. “Put. On. Your. Shoes.”

  “Seriously, Roxie,” Leo responds. “You need to get some cream for that fungus.”

  Roxie huffs, grabs her stool from behind the drums, and settles on it in the corner. Leo drags over a folding chair and sets it up so close he’s practically on top of her.

  Alec sighs. “Welcome,” he says to me. “Let’s hear you play.”

  He settles next to Jenna on the couch, and Alec extends his arm along the backrest, but I’m grateful Jenna doesn’t lean in. My goal now is to get out of this as quickly as possible without burning bridges.

  “Jenna asked me to play something I love,” I say. “So I’ve got a couple pieces for you.”

  I stand June up on her peg and raise my bow. I never get nervous when I audition—I can play, and I put in the time to be prepared. But playing for these guys is different, first because I’ve never auditioned outside of classical before, second because playing for Jenna feels like a hell of a lot more pressure than anyone I’ve auditioned for before.

  And third because I can feel Alec’s eyes on me, and he clearly knows why I’m really here. I don’t dare look up at any of them while I play. There’s too much tension in the room, too much happening out there, and the music has to be just me and June.

  I start with “Head” by The Meat Puppets. It was a change in sound for them—slow and moody—and has a surprising range for a cello part in a rock song. It’s one of the only rock songs I ever performed—outside of Hollywood Boulevard, anyway—in a duet with my friend Ryan playing the piano part. As I play, the notes drown out the tension, and it’s just me, June, and the music. The vibrations calm my nerves, and I’m glad I’m here, sharing this with them, even if it’s only this once.

  It feels good to play for someone who’s here to listen to me, and not just pass by on the street.

  Toward the end of the song I steal one glance up at Jenna. She’s watching me with a smile on her face and a faraway look in her eye—

  And Alec is watching her.

  Next I play a cover of Red Hot Chili Peppers’ “Under the Bridge” that I arranged my second time out of rehab, the week before I went back to the drugs. Anthony Kiedis wrote the song about trying to stay sober in Los Angeles, and it has this melancholy feel of a guy who’s trying to be clean, but it lands him utterly alone.

  I relate.

  I finish with a selection from Shostakovich’s “Cello Concerto Number Two,” which is straight up classical, but it’s dark and beautiful and crazy demanding. I love it. The sounds June and I produce during that concerto—both bright and dark—are what I’m proudest of as a cellist.

  When I finish, I find them all staring at me. Which is what they’re supposed to do while I audition for them, but still.

  Jenna speaks first. “That was beautiful. Are you sure you’d want to play with us?”

  “Come on, Jen,” Leo says. “We could play that kind of stuff if we wanted to.”

  Roxie gives a doubtful grunt.

  I clear my throat and put away my bow. I’ve probably shot too high. I should have gone with more Cash songs, or at least something a little more lowbrow than Shostakovich, who nobody outside of classical can even spell.

  Jenna leans forward, those gray eyes studying me. “Why did you pick that last piece?” she asks.

  I’m not sure how to answer. She told me to pick things that I love, so what other reason would I have? But the truth is I love a lot of music, and I’ve played hundreds of pieces.

  “Because that one sounds like I feel lately,” I say, and her face softens, like she understands something I’m not sure even I do.

  “You’re amazing,” she says, and my heart flutters a little. Then I look at Alec and see him watching us both with sharp eyes.

  Yes, he definitely understands, probably better than I do. He gives an exaggerated sigh, and I wait for him to politely tell me they’ll get back to me and dismiss me so he can tell the others there’s no way in hell.

  “Can we just hire him already?” Alec says. “He’s more than good enough to play our stuff, and you’ve obviously already made up your mind.”

  I stare at him. He can’t have just said that.

  Jenna’s whole face lights up, and she turns to the others. “Leo? Roxie?”

  “I’m cool,” Roxie says.

  “Works for me,” Leo says. “If he can handle Roxie’s foot fungus.”

  “Shut up!” Roxie kicks at him, but he dodges back as if afraid to even be touched by her shoe.

  “It’s okay, Rox,” Leo adds. “I’ll get you a tube of cream. It’ll clear right up.”

  “If you do that,” Alec says, “will you shut the hell up about Roxie’s feet?”

  “Sure,” Leo says. “I’m just looking out for her hygiene.”

  “Band vote,” Alec says. “Leo buys anti-fungal cream. All in favor?”

  Alec, Jenna, and Leo all put their hands in the air. I sit absolutely still, reeling from their previous decision.

  All of them just said they want me to join their band. For the first time, I actually consider playing on stage with Alec and Jenna.

  “I’m not using his stupid cream,” Roxie says.

  “You’re outvoted,” Alec says. “You use the cream. Leo shuts up. That’s the deal.”

  Roxie folds her arms and slumps on her stool, while Leo looks thoroughly proud of himself.

  “Anyway,” Jenna says, looking at me apologetically. “Are you sure you want to join us?”

  Join a band. Based in LA. Playing new music and traveling. With Jenna. All worries fly out of my mind.

  “Okay,” I say. “Yeah, sure. I’m in.”

  Jenna smiles. “Do you have any questions for us?”

  About a million, first of which being what in the hell I’m signing on for. Alec is staring at me with this look of r
esignation on his face, like he’s not especially happy I’m joining the band, and I can’t say I blame him.

  Can we just hire him already?

  What did that mean?

  “Yeah,” I say. “What’s the time commitment? You’re looking for someone to fill in for the tour?”

  For a second, Jenna looks worried. “No,” she says. “I mean, yes, we do need someone immediately, but we’re looking for a full band member. You’d be on salary, travel with us on tour, and then have about a month off before we start putting together our next album. Do you write?”

  “I’m not a composer,” I say, but immediately realize writing music doesn’t work the same in pop as it does in classical, where composers need to play a little of everything in order to write, but they almost never master any one instrument. “But I can work out cello parts to the songs on your first album, if you want me to play those, too.”

  Jenna looks at Alec, and he looks more impressed than irritated, which is probably the best I’m going to get.

  “That would be great,” Jenna says. “Mason was going to sit out the old stuff, but if you want to play, that would be fantastic.”

  I smile at her. She sounds way too eager about this, and Alec is glaring at her. I have no idea what kind of stroke he had to suggest I join them, but I’m still riding the high. I’ll take it.

  “One last thing,” Jenna says. “I’m sure by now you’ve read why Mason left us.”

  I nod. “He stole money from you.”

  “For drugs,” she says. “It turns out Mason had this whole other life he wasn’t telling us about. None of us are saints, but we’re serious musicians, and we work hard to keep this about the music.”

  “No problem,” I say.

  But Jenna isn’t done. “For that reason, we've started undergoing random drug testing. Alec and I do it, too, so it’s fair. Our manager Phil handles the whole thing, and even Alec and I don’t know when it’s coming. But if anyone fails—no matter who—they’re out. That’s the rule. Do you think you can handle that?”

  I stare at her. “None of you do drugs.”

  “No,” she says. “Not anymore.”

  This is the best news I’ve heard today—which is really saying something—and I start to wonder if I’m still back on my dad’s couch, dreaming. “Yeah, okay. That’s no problem. I can past a drug test.” Even the Suboxone won’t show up on a screening unless they test for it specifically.

  She stares at me, and for that instant, I feel like she can see right through me. She knows how hard it is for me to stay clean every day. She sees the struggle, the siren call of the needle that wakes me every morning, sings in my ears until I fall asleep at night.

  “Are you sure?” she asks.

  “Yes. I’ll pee in a cup today, if you want. I can pass anytime.” Hell, I’ve been tested every day since I left rehab, just to get my maintenance pill. If I fail, I have much bigger problems than getting kicked out of a band.

  Jenna smiles. “Excellent. Phil will have the first test for you tomorrow, along with the paperwork. Want to meet Alec and me back here in the morning, and we’ll get you signed?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “Sure. I’ll be here.”

  Jenna grins like this is the best news she’s ever had, and all I care about is continuing to see that smile.

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