“It was acceptable,” Nerdly grunted.
“It was fucking badass!” Jake insisted. He then turned to the suits from Aristocrat. “Well, boys, what do you think? Did she manage to keep your attention?”
“It was pretty good,” the head suit acknowledged. “But still, imagine what it would have been with a little choreography, and some costume changes, and some professional dancers.”
The suits all took their leave shortly after the performance. Everyone else met out on the warehouse floor to have a few drinks and talk things over. The band made their way out from the backstage area one by one after taking their post-performance showers. Laura was formally introduced to Coop and Charlie.
“I’m sorry,” Charlie told her when she held out her hand to him. “I don’t shake hands. Nothing personal, it’s just that we, as humans, touch some really nasty things with our hands and those bacteria linger there, just waiting to be passed from one person to the other.”
“Uh ... right,” Laura said. “No handshake. I did enjoy your playing very much though.”
“It’s good to have a gig again,” Charlie said.
“I bet,” she said.
“Have you ever wondered,” Charlie asked her suddenly, “if some of the bacteria we’re exposed to each and every day might have actually been brought here from a different civilization on a different plane of existence?”
“Uh ... no, I’ve never actually wondered that before,” she said. “Maybe the next time I get high I’ll ponder it though.”
“You do that,” Charlie said seriously. “Now, if it’s all the same to everyone here, I’m going to head home and try to score as much dick as I can before we hit the road.”
“A good plan,” Jake told him. “Catch you later, Charlie.”
Charlie wandered off. Laura watched him go and then turned to Jake. “You’re right,” she said. “He is really weird.”
“He’s so fuckin’ weird that weird people say he’s weird,” said a large man with blonde curls.
“That’s deep,” Laura said.
“I thought so,” the man said. “I’m Coop. Jake’s told me a lot about you. And I’m not afraid to shake your hand.”
“That’s good to know,” Laura said, holding out her hand to him and accepting the shake. “And Jake’s told me a lot about you as well.”
“Really?” said Coop, a little alarm showing on his face. He turned to Jake. “You didn’t tell her about the time me and Darren got wasted and ended up fucking that grandmother together, did you?”
“Uh ... no, Coop,” Jake said. “I didn’t tell her about that.”
“Oh ... good,” Coop said. “That shit’s embarrassing, you know?”
“The secret is still safe,” Jake assured him.
Next, she was introduced to Elizabeth Watertown (“Call me Liz,” she told Laura. “It’s what I prefer”), the pianist and secondary vocalist. Up close and personal, Liz showed her age even more so than up on stage. She was forty-six and had been playing and teaching both piano and voice for more than twenty-five years. To supplement her income from the private lessons, she had worked on and off for Aristocrat Studios over the years doing sessions, mostly overdubs and dramatic television soundtracks. She had two children in college and an ex-husband who couldn’t hold a job. Aristocrat, Jake had told Laura, had not wanted to use Liz as Celia’s pianist and vocalist even though she was, by far, the most talented of those who had been auditioned. “She’s old and fat,” they insisted. “Nobody wants to see her up on the stage.” They had been wrong about that. Celia had wanted to see her up there, and, more important, to hear her up there. For Liz, this was a dream assignment. She would make more on this tour than she made in two years of giving lessons and doing sessions.
After Liz came Natalie Popanova, the violinist. She was tall, thin, young and pretty—which was why Aristocrat had recommended her for the job. She was also classically trained in her art and an excellent performer, which was why Celia had chosen her. Natalie had been doing sessions for Aristocrat’s film soundtrack studio for the past three years and was married to a doctor who was twenty years older than her.
“I’m Russian, not Ukrainian,” Natalie told Laura sternly, even though Laura had not asked about anything even remotely connected to her ethnicity.
“Uh ... okay,” Laura said. “Got it.”
“Ukrainians are nothing but tundra trash,” Natalie insisted. “Corrupt thieves who would sell their own mothers for a pack of counterfeit food stamps. The only thing worse are those Romanians—oh, and the Chechens, of course.”
“Of course,” agreed Laura, who had no idea what a Chechen even was. Nor did she really have any interest in finding out.
Dexter Price was the next to emerge.
“Well, well, well,” he said, looking Laura up and down. “The girl who replaced me on the Bobby Z show. We meet at last, Miss Laura.”
“I guess we kind of replaced each other,” Laura told him with a smile. “And it’s an honor to have you playing my tracks up there on that stage.”
“You did some good work on C’s first album,” Dexter told her. “And I’m told you filled my shoes quite well out on the road with Z.”
She blushed. “I did my best,” she said. “As for filling your shoes ... I don’t know about that.”
“Don’t be modest, girl,” Dexter admonished. “I keep my earballs to the ground and I heard you were badass out on that road. Embrace it.”
“Okay,” Laura said. “I was badass.”
“That’s the way!” Dexter said. “You just keep that attitude and it’ll take you far.” He hesitated for a moment, and then: “How is Z doing these days, anyway? Is he ... you know ... seeing anyone regular like?”
They had a little discussion about Z’s current love life—not that Dexter gave a shit or anything, he proclaimed—before Celia herself finally emerged from the back stage area. She was freshly showered, her hair still a bit damp. She was now dressed in a pair of beige slacks and a frilly blouse. She headed immediately for Laura—walking right by her husband without so much as a sideways glance at him—and threw her arms around her.
“It’s so good to see you again,” Celia told her, kissing her soundly on the cheek.
“It’s good to see you too,” Laura said, returning the embrace, feeling her cheek burn a little where C’s lips had touched her. “I loved the show.”
“Did you really?” Celia asked as she released the embrace.
“It was very entertaining,” Laura said honestly. “The fans are going to love it.”
“Thank you,” Celia beamed. “We’ve been working so hard on it. How was your tour? Jake said you came home with some road fatigue.”
“That’s a good way of terming it,” Laura told her. “The tour was great, but being on the road is draining, especially when you’re always in a foreign country.”
“Well ... my tours have always been in a foreign country,” Celia said with a chuckle.
“Oh ... yeah,” Laura said. “Sometimes I forget you’re from Venezuela.”
“And you did some shows there, didn’t you? What did you think of mi tierra?”
“I loved Caracas,” Laura told her. “A very vibrant, very alive city. The people there were fantastic ... very friendly, very enthusiastic about our performance. And then we went to Mara ... something. I don’t remember the name.”
“Maracaibo,” Celia asked. “That’s our financial center, where the oil industry is based.”
“Right!” Laura said. “Sorry, that seems like it was so long ago now. It was a nice city too. It seemed a little more working class, a little rougher, but the people still loved us there. We did three sold-out shows in the arena downtown.”
“I’ve only been there a few times myself,” Celia said. “I’m hoping to take you and Jake on a little trip to mi tierra with me sometime, once all the touring and recording and releasing settles down.”