AllFreeNovel
Share Us
The back of the alley was lined with dumpsters, but in the far corner of the brick building, there was an area cordoned off. Smoke billowed in the night air. Around the half-fenced, circular space, a few patio chairs and a large ashtray had been tossed together to form a smokers patio. Inside, were three guys; two of medium height and build. I'd never seen them before, but the tallest one was gorgeous, lean but muscular, with a short, neat haircut and come hither eyes, even when he rolled them like someone just made a lame joke.
Avery cut the engine. "Damn. Even being on the guest list, we still have to get in line. We'd better hit it, before it gets any longer."
I was already moving: gathering all the trash that had accumulated in the car. Her mom would want us to keep it in decent condition. "Here," I tossed Avery an empty plastic bag.
"What's this for?"
"We're going to toss this stuff in the dumpster."
Avery smiled wickedly, like she could read my mind. "Because the car will smell like stale fries if we don't get this trash out."
By the time we reached the line of trash containers in the alley, Jake was gone and the other guys he'd stood with were filing into an open doorway. So no one was watching as we flung our garbage into one of the dumpsters and ducked across the alleyway to hop the short fence of the smokers' patio, undeterred.
The inside hall was black. I paused and closed my eyes, waiting for them to adjust.
"Dude, it's nasty in here." Avery complained.
Our shoes crunched over unseen filth as we made our way up the hall. The Mystic Muse looked exactly the same and somehow not at all like I remembered. Outside, it was the normal, dingy looking spot, but as Avery and me made our way around the sticky corridor, we could see where new construction had taken place. The hall was still narrow, only now there was a long, windowed wall where several rooms used to be. The room where Jake invited me to surrender myself to him was now a glass-walled enclosure. Clearly the band hang-out room had been remodeled. The closed door was labeled with a sign that read: 'We're already disturbed. Leave us the fuck alone.' Musicians were draped over sleek, modern furnishings, though none of them were members of Analog Controller. It looked as though the club had taken over an adjoining shop, too-the extra space extending the bar and VIP lounge.
When Avery and I were outside, we'd heard the signs of a sound check. It wasn't Analog, we could tell, so we weren't missing anything. Most bands, at least the ones I'd seen, would do this lame, sort of do-I-really-have-to routine as they went through their checklist. It was all dead voices check-check-checking the levels on the monitors, single blasts to individual drumheads. But when Analog did it, they'd always surprise you.
As Avery and I made our way through the winding hall, scoping out each room, we heard the deep bluesy riff from a bass ripping into Sweet Home Alabama. We came upon the backstage area just as the drums kicked in.
They were all there: Max, tapping his symbols over jumping knees that smashed the kick drums-Andrew, thumping the thick strings of his bass, rocking his head, moving his feet. They loved this; they lived and breathed for it. Jake was making a beeline from the back of the club with a mic in one hand and a plastic cup in the other. He leapt onto the stage in one swift move, set his drink on top of someone's stack and plugged in his microphone.
Then his voice was booming. His smoky, sweet voice rang, pitch perfect. "The skies are so blue . . . Up-monitor one."
Avery and I stayed hidden, watching as he navigated the stage. He looked nervous to me, but I could tell he was working through it the way he always did, swerving around the bodies, members of other bands who were still setting up their equipment, neatly navigating the many cords. Jake stopped periodically, pointing to monitors and giving hand signals to the sound techs in back as he sang and strummed. It looked like chaos to the untrained eye, but it was more like a complex orchestral arrangement. If everyone did to their job, the music would take care of itself.
An older looking man crossed the stage and spoke into Jakes ear. Jake nodded. The man walked off-stage and reappeared a minute later with a plain white electric guitar and plugged it into a large amp stack. When the guitar sounds picked up the next verse of the song, I made the connection.
"That's him?" Avery asked. "He's like . . . older than dirt."
I shook my head. "Don't be an age-ist. It might just be his clothes." I examined the baggy khaki pants and black Velcro sneakers. Good-god, what was he thinking when he bought those? His shirt was alright, though. An old Zeppelin tour tee.
"He probably bought that at the show." Avery pointed at the vintage shirt.
"He's not so bad."
"I bet his parents made him shovel dinosaur shit from the yard after school." She giggled.
"He's not that old. It's the hair, that's all." The front looked fine-follicle troops nicely assembled in an orderly, clean line. It was the shiny patch on the crown that aged him-a fray had erupted within the ranks and the hair soldiers were scattering, seeking shelter in the ears. "Don't judge. I'm pulling for this guy."
Avery rolled her eyes. "So am I. I just wish old Long Tooth didn't make it so tough."
"Who let you in?" The sudden boom of the clubs' bouncer sounded behind me.
"Chill," Avery commanded, sounding so sure of herself. I kept quiet, staring at the very heavy, super sweaty, tattoo-laden hired muscle. "We're with the band."
"Which one? Anemic Psychos? Proselytes? Analog Controller or Playing Doctor?"
Avery pointed at Jake. "Ask him, he'll tell you."
In the same moment, Jake moved stage left and spotted us. His eyes lingered on me. He winked and waved before turning to direct a very thin, short man with overgrown, filthy hair not to tape the cords down yet.
The bouncer rolled his eyes and stalked off, yelling for someone to keep the damned doors closed.
The music changed and Jake began to chant, "My infectious disgrace," but his heart was not in it. Still, I listened to the melody, leaned into the pull, and let it carry me.
