BLACK to Reality (19 page)

He counted fifteen semi-rigs parked near the stage, along with a bank of industrial generators to supply power. The audience wouldn’t be allowed on the grounds until five, with the concert starting at six and ending at nine with the
Rock of Ages
performances. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine what the darkened area would look like, under the stars with a thousand people, when a voice like nails on a chalkboard called out from behind him.

“Artemus! You’re here!”

Black’s stomach did a flip as he turned slowly. His parents, Spring and Chakra, approached wearing their usual tie-dyed hippy outfits, Spring with flowers in her gray hair.

“Mom. Dad. What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice several pitches higher than normal.

“I thought you knew! This is our retreat. Remember we told you we were going to buy it? What do you think? It’s beautiful, isn’t it? And it’s Spring, not Mom.”

“You own this?”

“That’s what I just said, didn’t I?”

“How did the show wind up choosing this, of all places…?”

“Nina put the producer in touch with us. She’s a doll. She’s supposed to be here in a few hours.” Spring looked him up and down. “Have you put on a few pounds, Artemus?”

“No, it must be this outfit. And everybody calls me Black. Just Black.”

“It’s not really your color, is it?”

“Nice to see you,” Black lied.

Sarah, who was standing by the bus, clapped her hands together and called for everyone’s attention. Black excused himself and went to her, grateful for the reprieve. He loved his parents, but it was an adoration he preferred to appreciate at a distance – the greater the better.

Sarah gave a typically efficient orientation. They’d be staying in the lodge overnight, two to a room, and dinner would be in the main building – a towering A-frame next to the guest facility. Sound check would be in two hours, at 4:00, with each group allocated fifteen minutes to get familiar with the setup. The two headliner acts would each get an hour. As she was speaking, a squeal of feedback shrieked from the tower of speakers on both sides of the stage.

The band members followed her to the rooms as Black returned to his parents.

“This is quite a spread. It’s…bigger than I thought it would be. How many acres is it?” he asked.

His mother looked at his dad, who had a typically tuned-out expression on his face, his eyes veiled behind a pair of cheap sunglasses. “Oh, I can never remember. Do you know, Chakra?” she asked.

“Not really. Something like…twenty, maybe? Or two hundred. Whatever the number, it’s got a two in it, I’m pretty sure.”

Black bit back his annoyed response. “Wow. And what are you doing with it? Besides the concert, I mean?”

“We have retreats here,” Spring said. “We just started a few weeks ago, and we’re already booked up for most of the year. Meditation. Yoga. Drum circles, modern dance and movement…whatever interests us. There’s a whole roster of guest speakers and instructors scheduled. And of course, corporate events. You’d be surprised at how many big companies want to send their managers somewhere to get in touch with their spirit guides in a peaceful environment.”

“Nothing would surprise me,” Black agreed. The irony was lost on his parents.

“Well, honey, it’s just so good to see you. And it’s so exciting that you’re back in the music thing. You always seemed to like that.”

“It’s a culture shock after being out for twenty years.”

“Has it been that long? Where does the time go?”

A blare of guitar sounded from the stage, followed by the beginning of the drum check, starting with the kick. The thudding sounded like the gods themselves were hammering on an anvil, each boom more explosive than the last, which thankfully cut short their discussion.

“All right. Well, nice to see you. I’ve got to get to my room and get ready for the show. I’ll see you after, okay?” he yelled as both his parents held their fingers in their ears. His mother nodded, and he seized the opportunity to make his escape.

Ed waved to him from the doorway of an upstairs room, and Black mounted the steps to join him, toting the Gretsch. The drum check ended and the bass guitar began playing as Black set the guitar case down inside the simple room and eyed the narrow beds.

“Not exactly the mansion, is it?” Ed said.

“I’ve seen surfboards wider than that.”

“Hey, they may not be wide, but at least they’re uncomfortable,” Ed said, bouncing on the one nearest the bathroom. “Who were you talking to?”

“It’s a long story. My parents.”

Ed’s eyes widened. “Whoa. That’s cool. They came all the way out to see you? They live around here?”

“Sort of.”

“My parents don’t even watch the show. I haven’t talked to them in forever. They hate me being a musician. They’re both schoolteachers. Total tight-asses.”

“When you’re rich and famous, it won’t matter much.”

“That seems a long way away. Or it did until you started playing with us.”

They approached the stage at 4:00 and watched as Bend in the Creek did a blistering version of Bon Jovi’s “Wanted Dead or Alive”. Last Call was up next, and they deliberately kept their playing low key, not wanting to give the competition any hint of what they were up against – on Black’s advice. When they finished, Black glanced at the round tables set up around the judges’ pods, where a hundred privileged diners would enjoy the show untroubled by the throng on the other side of the barricades. Black approached Sarah, who was standing by the monitor board, and pointed to an adjacent area with folding chairs.

“Who’s that for?”

“Oh, the Native Americans. They’re bussing in a bunch from Southern California.”

“They don’t get tables?”

Sarah smiled. “They didn’t pay five Benjamins apiece to be here, did they?”

“Well, we did sort of take their whole country away.”

She shrugged. “Those are padded folding chairs. Could be worse.”

Sarah turned back to the soundman, the same from the prior show. Black nodded at him, and he returned the gesture, his face impassive.

Dinner was a variety of organic dishes and curries prepared by a rotund chef, served by a variety of sixties throwbacks typical of those his parents surrounded themselves with. Black leaned in to Christina as a waitress set a plate of unidentifiable sludge in front of him and whispered, “I haven’t seen this much underarm hair in a long time.”

“And that’s just the women.” She smiled. “Ed tells me your parents are here? You have to introduce me.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Oh, come on. How bad could it be?”

“Imagine the worst thing ever, cube it, and that’s not even close.”

“Everyone feels that way about their parents. I bet they’re cute.”

“The way a pit viper’s cute.”

“Well, I still want to meet them after we win tonight.”

“Which we will.” He gave her a high five.

“I know. Although Menudo over there sounded pretty good at rehearsal,” she said, indicating On Top with a nod of her head.

Black made a face. “We’ve got the strength of ten boy bands.”

“Yeah, but they’ve got shiny pants and dance moves.”

“Good point.”

After dinner the bands went their separate ways. The field was packed with concert-goers waiting in anticipation of the first headliner. When the first band took the stage, guitars held aloft, the clearing broke out in cheers, and then the first thundering riff of the group’s signature tune thundered from the speakers while the lead singer let loose a sustained shriek that could have broken glass.

Black watched from his position backstage, noting that the monitor system seemed to be working flawlessly. He caught a glimpse of the VIP tables filled with well-fed Silicon Valley CEOs and Napa winemakers drinking champagne and enjoying the show next to the Native American contingent, who sat drinking beer with unreadable expressions as they watched the band gyrate and bop. For a brief moment Black was struck by the absurdity, but he decided not to let it bother him – he had more important matters to occupy his limited mental bandwidth.

There was a brief intermission between the first band and the second: one of the most beloved country rock groups from the seventies, still going strong with its geriatric members the worse for wear from their epic battles with the bottle and drugs. When it opened its set with a song that had been a number one hit in 1976, the genteel crowd went wild, and even the bussed-in tribe seemed to be enjoying it.

Then it was time for the contest. Holly and David had appeared in a rented black SUV an hour before the camera crews started filming, and Black watched as three Humvee limousines rolled down the long dirt drive toward the backstage area. Nina emerged from the lead car accompanied by Simon and a curvy platinum blonde half his age, and Black considered again how much he’d missed in life by not being a record mogul. Nina cheek-kissed the members of the legendary band who had just finished their set, obviously friends. Black noticed none had given him even a second glance.

Last Call had drawn third slot, with Bend in the Creek opening, followed by Strobe. On Top got the final position, which was fine by Black. Following Last Call’s performance would be a tough act if things went as they had in rehearsals.

Bend in the Creek delivered a scorching rendition of Falco’s “
Der Kommissar
”, which surprised Black given its origins, but the country-infused approach actually worked, and Black wasn’t shocked by the two tens and a nine awarded by the panel. Strobe did its usual stand-offish but polished techno rendition of Robert Palmer’s “Simply Irresistible”, which garnered nines across the board, and then it was Last Call’s turn at bat. Peter’s bass rumbled like a chained dog and Black’s guitar wailed distorted torture for several seconds before fading off and cleaning up, cutting into the main chords as Christina’s voice transfixed the crowd. By the final chorus of “Mustang Sally”, the audience was singing along and cheering, and it looked like a clean win, barring the unexpected from On Top. Two tens and a nine tied them with Bend in the Creek for the night.

They bounded off stage, adrenaline coursing through their systems, and Rooster high-fived everyone while woo-hooing and slapping them on the back.

“Another incredible jam, people. Taking names. That’s what I’m talking about!” he exclaimed, and Black grinned as the veteran bluesman hugged Christina. Black was having a hard time believing Rooster could have been involved in anything to bring down the band the prior season, but he knew appearances could be deceiving.

The high from the performance was still with him when On Top took the stage, but even so he sensed something was off from the onset. Two of the members looked green, their faces strained, and their performances were wooden. That was enough to cause them to lose points, but when Jimmy, the putative tough guy, stopped during the last third of the song and ran to the side of the stage to vomit, it cinched the deal. When they finished, the scores were terrible, although Nina awarded a few mercy points, congratulating them for going on with the show even though some of the members were sick. That was slim consolation on a night of brilliant performances, though, and it didn’t require Holly’s summation to calculate who would be leaving the mansion the next day.

Black approached On Top’s coach, who was commiserating with the band members, to express his condolences.

“I’m so sorry,” he started, and he could see the hurt in her eyes.

“They got food poisoning. It couldn’t have happened at a worse time.”

“That’s odd. I mean, we all ate the same stuff. Maybe it was lunch?”

“Who knows? Although nobody started feeling bad until three hours after dinner, so I doubt it.”

“That’s a tough break.”

“Yeah. Great performance, by the way. You’ve come a long way since the first round.”

“Thanks. We’ve all worked very hard.”

The show doctor arrived, and Black left the dour group, their hopes crushed by a random pathogen, and then stopped in his tracks. Had it been completely random? Could somebody have planted bad food or some kind of agent in the group’s meals to throw them off?

The idea didn’t seem so farfetched after his nocturnal swim.

Once the field had been cleared and the audience sent home, the disqualification ceremony took place on stage, two of the members of On Top still looking shaky from whatever bug they’d caught. When it was over, Black’s parents greeted him backstage, where they were chatting with Nina, Simon, and his date.

“You were wonderful, Artemus. Like Hendrix or something,” Spring enthused.

Simon looked at him strangely, and Black corrected her. “Black. And thank you. That means a lot.”

“Seems like you’ve got your swagger back. Congratulations. It was really impressive. You guys look good to go neck and neck with Bend in the Creek,” Nina said.

“I wouldn’t count Strobe out. They’re an audience favorite. Not my cuppa, but still,” Black said.

“Yeah, they’re cool, but you guys rock!” Simon’s date chirped, drawing a pained smile from Simon.

Black shrugged. “Thanks.”

“Good to see you pulled it together, Mr. Black,” Simon added, glancing around, clearly ready to leave now that the cameras were off.

“Black! There you are!” Christina bounced up. Even next to Simon’s companion, she was a standout. “Are these your parents?”

“Um, yeah. Christina, meet Spring and Chakra.”

She shook hands with them, and Black noted that his father seemed suddenly more interested in the proceedings.

“Did you hear about those poor boys? Food poisoning. What a shame,” Christina said, shaking her head.

“I can’t understand that. I buy all the vegetables and fish from organic suppliers. And Jacques is one of the best chefs in Napa,” Spring said.

“It does seem weird that only some of them got sick, doesn’t it?” Black asked.

“Sometimes that’s how it happens. Different immune systems,” Simon countered. “I’ve been to Mexico with friends, and one guy gets sick and everyone else is fine. Just the way it goes. But I agree it’s a pity. They were audience favorites.”

“It’s just so…nobody’s ever gotten ill eating our food.”