Alice had wanted me to be that careful; she hated when I brought in strays. I’d argued that communities needed new blood or they stagnated, and that there was no point having the place if we couldn’t serve as an escape for people who needed it, no matter whether they knew us or not. Better safe than sorry, she’d said, and of course, she’d been right. I’d been too trusting.
The back room would’ve fit about thirty people in addition to the three bands and owners, and twelve showed up. Twenty minutes after the show was supposed to start, despite the low turnout, they locked the front door and turned out the shop lights. The venue space had a nicer smell than the 2020: wood and oil with a faint undertone of solder. The audience settled themselves into three small risers’ worth of thrift store couches and lounge chairs. A ceiling fan creaked overhead, stirring the air.
I leaned against the back wall and watched the first band. They were young, not much more than teenaged, and it would’ve cheered me somewhat to think that they’d found a way in here if one of them hadn’t called Silva’s drummer friend “Dad” over pizza. Still, they were decent performers, even if their songwriting was trite. They were here, and trying, and that was all I ever asked of anybody, and the idea of parents who encouraged their kids to break the law for music gave me hope for the future. I listened to their first two songs before slipping into the tiny green room.
The last band had vacated—to watch their kids play, I guessed—and I’d seen Silva sitting in the front row with his buddy. Marcia was alone in the band room, Hoodie up, drumming air. I couldn’t recognize the song from her pattern. I kissed her and she leaped a foot off the couch.
“Anybody could sneak up on you in that thing,” I said as she took it off. “I don’t get how people use them in public.”
“That’s because you’re old.” She looked miffed, but not overly so.
“You’re two years older than me.”
“Wouldn’t know it. You’re a dinosaur.”
“I’m not! I just don’t see the point of those things.”
“It’s awesome tech, Luce. I still think you should try it sometime. Here, put mine on for a sec. The women’s national team is a goal up on Canada.”
She held the Hoodie out, but I clasped her hand to my chest and then gently pushed it back in her direction. “I don’t want to watch people fake soccer for cameras. You have fun, though, if that’s what gets you ready to play.”
“They’re not faking just because they’re playing for cameras, any more than you’re faking if you play to an empty room. Anyway, I don’t like to hear the band that plays before me, so I don’t have to know if they’ve laid down something too amazing to follow.”
I grabbed my guitar from its case and sat down opposite her on the couch to tune. “Huh. I’d rather know, so I can up my game if I need to. Not that it’s a competition.”
“Girl, everything’s a competition.”
She settled back into her game, and I noodled on my guitar while I listened to the band. They finished to familial-level enthusiasm. I nudged Marcia that it was time.
“We have a treat tonight,” Mary the luthier said as we stepped into the stage area, such as it was. “They’re called Cassis Fire, and they’re from out of town.”
Not a superlative introduction. I guessed from it that Silva hadn’t sent music; his friend’s introduction had probably been enough to get us in the door. It didn’t bother me. I’d always loved winning over the audience.
I hadn’t given a ton of weight to the fact that this was our first show together, but as I jacked my guitar and hit a test chord, it struck me. We’d spent the last few weeks practicing in a circle for each other, and now we got to turn outward again. To see if the cues that worked at home carried to this context, too. The songs were still fresh to Silva and Marcia, and the arrangements made them feel fresh to me as well, even the ones I’d played before. A small thrill hit me, stage fright of the sort that could be tamed and harnessed and turned into energy. Even if we were still rough around the edges, we’d conjure something. A new band, a new tour, a dozen new people to win over. My favorite challenge; the one I would break any law to experience again.
“Hey,” I said, stepping to the mic.
The next chord was for real.
33
ROSEMARY
Pressure Drop
Rosemary waited for the concert with a combination of excitement and trepidation. Only her career on the line, no big deal. She checked in with Sadie and the Simrats constantly, and was relieved when they both got their calls. The Simrats were signed on the spot—she even got a bonus added to her paycheck. Sadie’s band was asked to audition, which they were still debating. The clock had started ticking.
“My nerves have nerves today,” Sadie said in the cab they shared to the warehouse. “I’m usually anxious before a show, but my butterflies are wearing butterfly hats.”
Rosemary felt the same way. “Mine, too, and I’m not even playing. I guess this is what it’s like to put on a show? Worried everyone won’t be in the right place at the right time, or that nobody will come at all.”
“Sounds about right.” When Sadie grabbed her hand, Rosemary squeezed back. A solidarity squeeze.
The cab arrived at the warehouse, low and gray, like a thunderstorm. Sadie grabbed her bass and let Rosemary carry the box she called her bass head. Someday, Rosemary needed to learn all the terms.
“It’s weird to ride a cab to the front door of a show without worrying about leading cops here,” Sadie said. “One time only, right?”
“One time only,” Rosemary repeated, hoping she hadn’t screwed everything up for everybody again.
They walked in through the front door, with Sadie muttering under her breath, “That’s a weird feeling, too.”
The scent of decaying rubber hit them as they entered. The foyer was two stories tall, with light streaming in through a skylight, and dominated by a pink and blue pile taking up most of the floor with its deflated footprint. She spotted turrets: a giant inflatable castle. They tracked around it instead of through; behind it, the ceilings dropped back to a normal height.
“What the hell did they make here?” Sadie asked.
“Tomás said they sold something called ‘party rentals.’” Rosemary had spent a fair bit of time with the kid who put the shows on over the last week.
“That explains it, I guess.” Sadie pointed to a glassed-in showroom with three enormous tables, each employing a different decorating scheme. One was red and gold, one silver and glass, and the third one a beachscape, littered with seashells and sand. Up close, thick dust covered everything. “Can we help you choose a theme for your party?”
Rosemary scratched her head. “What’ve you got in ‘rock concert’?”
“Allow me to show you! Walk this way.”
They passed a few more showrooms before they got to a door marked Employees. When Rosemary pushed it open, they found themselves in blackness with a bright spot at the far end—an open door.
“Welcome! Step into the light!” Tomás shouted from that direction. They traipsed across the empty space, using their phones as flashlights.
“You found it okay?” he asked when they got closer.
“No problem,” Sadie said. “How’s setup going?”
He gestured toward two people moving among piled cables and speakers and lights and stands. A thick line ran out the open door. “Fine. We scrounged some crap PA equipment for the occasion, in case we lose it. We’ve got everything else we need. Extra generators, water to flush the toilets.”