First Chance (4 page)

“
I don’t want to go around showcasing my goods because I'm not looking for attention. You of all people know any attention is unwanted. I try every day, I just can’t wear clothes like that.” I say with a slight quiver in my voice.

She likes to do this a lot. C
all me out and try to make me face my demons. Hiding my body is one of the many things she tries to change. I am content with the way that I am. I have goals and I want to accomplish them without any interruption from anyone, Layla is the only one I would make a half attempt at listening to when it came to making any changes in any part of my life.

“Alright, I’m going to let this argument go for the ti
me being, but don’t think that for one second I am done fighting with you over this. Please just consider the things I say. You know I only want the best for you and it kills me sometimes just seeing how out of touch with the rest of the world you are. You would rather sit in a room with your music then associate with anyone besides me. We are in college, live a little Nat. Go crazy, go to a party, get drunk, and fuck a stranger. I don’t care but just do something that’s somewhat out of control. Don’t you get tired of holding those ropes so tight?" She practically cries trying to get this through to me.

I can tell I
pushed her much too far. She’s always staying on the outside of my boundaries that I have set. Sometimes it’s just too much for her to handle. Trying to wash the slate of our current conversation I act quickly.

“I’ll
think about it. Let’s drop it for now, let’s make our way to the salon if you ever want to get to that damned concert of yours."

“Wait until you see where I made us an appointment “Layla says happily. She is pleased with herself about this so I am instantly assuming she has put out quite a decent amount of money at this salon. Layla spoils herself excessively, and if I allowed her to she would do the same for me, unneeded as I feel it to be.

We make our way out of the apartment and into her Prius. She
’s always going on and on about how great the car is for the environment. Layla is all for world peace and going green, when given an empty ear she could load it on end about the green movement. On the drive I turn the radio on and play with the radio stations until I hear a beat of a familiar Lumineers song.

N
ow this, this is music. What music should be. In its most raw and purest form. Singing about obsessed love. How the guy will never get over this girl, not caring how badly she treats him. You can hear it in the singers’ shaky voice. The emotions he has felt. A perfect example, of true musical talent. You should sing about what you know, about what you’ve been through. To fans that is what makes you sound so sincere, that you have experienced exactly what we have, or what we could be feeling at that precise moment. As the sound is blaring from the speakers I hum along and soon Layla does as well.

We arrive to the G2O
spa and salon, I should have known Layla would book us at the most expensive and luxurious spa in all of Massachusetts. Joy, her nametag reads, greets us and automatically knows what our plans are, it seems Layla stops here quite a bit. We’re booked in the experience room, which is above the top in over-indulgence. Joy escorts us to a private changing room, there we strip out of our clothes and enclose ourselves in ivory lavish silk robes.

This room is ours alone for the next two hours, we relax on spa beds while breathing in an ice fog which is apparently good for your respiratory
system. I only know this because Layla won’t shut up about it. I thought when you went to a spa it was for peace and tranquility. Not with Layla and her incessant blabbing.

We then
proceed to partake in a tropical shower, separate of course. The water is room temperature cascading over my body like a rain shower and the scent is enveloping my senses, of island fruit and ocean salt water. A breeze swirls around in the air coming from a fan in the ceiling of the shower stall that can easily fit five persons my size.

Regretfully, when the shower is over
I walk back to our personal changing room. Layla is already in there and fully dressed, sitting on a bench along the wall waiting for me. Just finishing putting my clothes back on a knock sounds at the door, it is Joy coming back to escort us to the salon.

As
we’re walking the through the hall connecting to the salon, I tell Layla “Just so you know, just because I enjoyed that immensely doesn't mean I will not plan to live without that spoiling splendor.” She grins.

“Nor am
I doing a drastic hair change. A light trim and wax and we are done. Got it?”

“
I got ya babe. Don’t be so damn uptight. I enjoyed it, you enjoyed it. There isn't anything wrong with pampering yourself once In a while. You could use it with how wound up you keep yourself.”

Bitch. Always having the last word.

Approaching the salon entrance, Layla’s stylist whisks her away. A woman about my age, with gorgeous cascading shiny red hair greets me. She tells me her name is Michelle and asks what I would like to have done. I repeat what I had just told Layla. Nothing drastic. A light trim and a long overdue brow wax.

My long hair, has been a helpful yet
convenient safety crutch. I’ve long hid the emotions I couldn’t hide on my face behind my hair. Michelle begs me to allow her to apply some makeup. She’s curious to see what she can unveil underneath. I stubbornly agree only if she stays with an all-natural look. No caked on concealer or eye shadow and absolutely no lipstick.

I am already finished when L
ayla comes out, my jaw drops as I see what she’s done. In all of our lives, she has never once colored her hair, until today. She is wearing it very nicely. She added some bleach blonde highlights to her chocolate brown hair, cutting it a little below her shoulders. About at a loss for words. Somehow I manage to push out a compliment. “You look amazing!” 

Not able to ignore the thought in my head I bluntly ask “Lal, this
has nothing to do with that band member you were drooling over, right?"

“What
? No! “She denies.

I roll my eyes at her obvious lie.

“I just thought with all the talk about change, it was time for me to take a step too."

“Liar
.” I say dismissing her half attempt of an excuse. Glancing at my watch I notice we have about a half an hour to make it to the show, even though I don’t want to partake in attendance. Layla would be pissed. Probably for weeks. It is boring as hell living with a silent pissed off roommate.

“Alright
let’s get you and your mini dress wearing ass out of here. We have somewhere to be correct?”

The a
uditorium is located inside of our college. We walk through the student filled halls. It seems as this is the place to be tonight. Everyone is awaiting this show that I am dreading to even be at. Making our way to the gigantic brown doors entering the auditorium, we make a pit stop just outside. The college has sat up food and drink vendors, oh and lookie there, a merchandise table.

Looking over to the table, I notice they are only selling
Steele’s Army labeled items. Of course, mainstream record companies and artists are always looking for ways to make a dime. I know it’s normal for a concert or festival, whatever you want to call it, to sell the performing bands shirts, sweatshirts, CD’s, and posters. But usually it’s almost always overpriced poorly made crap. What college student can afford to spend eighty dollars on a sweatshirt carrying the band’s name?

“Want
anything to drink?" Layla asks, interrupting my silent bitch fest. Causing me to jump out in surprise. I hate when she sneaks up on me like that. Luckily no one was in close enough proximity to get hit when I jumped.

“Sure grab me a sprite please.” I say reaching in my purse to grab a couple of dollars to hand her, with my hand halfway out of my purse Layla stops me, placing her hand on my shoulder.

“
I got this Nat, you are here for me after all.” Dropping her hand, she smiles and walks over to the drink vendor.

When Layla
comes back she’s handing out my drink, a red solo cup, and ice filled to the brim and a couple sips worth of sprite, they surely don’t spare any expense. “Benjamin should be here any second, he said he would meet us here at the entrance.”

Well I guess this is the same guy who was in our apartment yesterday, the same guy I ch
ose not to introduce myself to because I assumed that like normal I wouldn’t be seeing him again. I don’t like befriending Layla's men because I know that he’s not going to be around long, and if Layla's gets her way tonight with that lead singer this is the end of the road for him. Uncomfortable situations are not my forte.

Before I could reprimand Layla,
Benjamin chooses to show his face, he kisses Layla on the check, she’s smiling, she seems genuinely happy. “Hey, I'm Ben” he says in an excited tone while reaching his hand out to shake mine.

“Uh Hi, I'm Natalie.” I say regretfully, introducing myself. I wasn’t expecting him to be so chock full of upbeat energy.

 
“Why don’t we go in?” Layla suggests, saving me from having an awkward conversation with her temporary Beau.

I’m not a conversationalist. M
eeting new people has always been difficult for me. You make friends by talking about your likes and dislikes, by spending time with each other. These are all things that are extremely hard for me to share with anyone. Friendship is not for me, Layla being my only exception.

“Yeah
that sounds like a good idea. The sooner the show starts the sooner it’s over. The sooner it’s over, the faster I can leave.” An anxiety laced voice pushes out of me.

We walk through
the entrance, I can see they had already set the stage for the main event. The lights are on so I can see the old worn red carpet and the high vaulted ceilings that make up our auditorium. Part of the contest was that our school would be allowed to showcase its talents. Auditions were held earlier in the week, Layla had informed me. One of the bands that were chosen are on stage now. They sound pretty damn good too. Much better than I would have thought. Bet tonight, for them, will be the time or their life. Being able to open for such a chart topping band. They’ll learn, after many mistakes reaching the top, isn’t what it’s all cracked up to be.

The school removed a couple hundred seats, of course in the front of the stage.

“At any great concert there will always be an area for the pit” Layla once said.

Her
idea of a good time at a show is front and center, my idea of a great time is in the way back, taking it all in, experiencing the music, the sound rushing around me. Enclosing my soul. Closing my eyes, and just listening. Feeling the words being sung in every song.

Unfortuna
tely, at this concert all I wish I had was ear plugs to block out the wretched music. Their songs will not touch me, nor will they compel me to feel any kind of emotion. Their songs are about the cheapening of love, selling sex and downright full of bullshit. They could have written a song about being taken advantage of, in love and trust, instead they write a song about taking advantage of love and trust.

Every song ever written has some metaphorical
meaning behind it. Songwriters have the power to move someone physically and emotionally. I just wish that every lyricist chose to use that power to showcase raw, pure and honest meanings.

I notice Layla eyeing the stage greedily, she wants up there as close as
she can get to the stage. The pit is not a place for me. I would most likely embarrass myself. Probably resulting in a massive panic attack.

“Layla
, I know you want to go up there, so just go with Benjamin. I will be fine.” I say with an encouraging smile.

“
You sure babe?” she asks.

“
Absolutely, go. Have fun. I’ll be right back there.” I say pointing to the farthest row in the back.

“Find
me when the shows over, or sooner if you feel like leaving earlier.” I say, offering her assurance that I am fine with her leaving me alone.

“Alright. And Nat please just try to enjoy the show. I know you’re picky when it comes to music and you will try fighting it, but just let it go. Let yourself open up and enjoy.”

I make a false promise, she
won’t go if she had any inkling that I didn't mean it. I make my way to the back row, other students coming the opposite direction pushing their way through me to reach the pit. After many gropes, and shoves I finally make it, drink in hand and still full. Sitting down I lift my legs up and prop my feet against the chair in front of me.

Chapter 4

Steele

The guys and I meet for breakfast. We have about an hour to eat before we have to go back to our respective rooms, change for the show and head off to the college. There are steps that we have to take when preparing for a show, be it at a bar or in an arena. Sound check is an important part of throwing a concert. Sure our roadies could tune every instrument for each songs, making sure that every instrument is at the right volume and the microphone is loud enough so the fans can hear my voice over the music. Not trusting anyone but ourselves, the band and I would rather do it.

There are certain things we would rather be responsible for. If you want shit done right, then you must do it yourself.

I'm backstage watching some teenage band perform. Apparently, unknown to us until earlier this morning, part of the contest was to allow some of the local campus bands to open for us. There’s quite a bit of talent here. None really are in our typical style though. Usually when you have another artist open for you they are at least in the same genre as you. It helps get the crowd energized, roaring with excitement to see the headliner. Unfortunately, I don’t think these bands are going to cut it.

Generally I
like to be with the band doing some kind of warm-up backstage before we go on. But tonight for some reason I find myself here, on the side of the stage hidden behind a thin red curtain peeking out into the crowd. For a college campus this is a pretty decent sized area, I'm betting they could entertain over a thousand people in this room alone.

I see a large throng of people near the stage, all in a massive
collective group. Everyone shoving each other just to get as close as they can to the stage. People breathing down each other’s necks grinding on strangers bodies. Just to be in reach of the band. It’s a thrill. A rush of adrenaline when you know you've made it that far.

That close to the people who make the music. I remember being that kid on
ce. It seems so long ago. I used to hop rusty metal fences to see my favorite bands perform at music festivals, or if there was no way that I was getting in, I would sit outside the venue, on a sidewalk or in the grass and just listen.

Sometimes I would go alone, other times I would invite a few friends, who enjoyed music as much as I
do. They would sneak a few beers out of their refrigerator at home, pack it in a cooler underneath soda and ice then we would have our own party, with live music. It was kick-ass. Good times, and awesome fucking memories.

It was
also an escape from my shitty existence of a life. Though if I had known that years later I would be where I am now, life would have been so much easier. I have reached every career milestone I have set for myself, for the band. Now a days, it seems like I’m waiting to find that one fucking kid, the same kid I once was with nothing to lose. Hopping fences to hear us. To see us play. That would make our career, my career.

Returning to my stalkerish peeping
, I spot a girl in the far back row but she’s too far away to make out everything. I can see that she’s just sitting there, with an air of righteousness. Her nose upturned in the air. She clearly doesn't want to be here. I laugh out loud. Wait till we hit the stage, and let’s see if I can change her attitude around.

It’s
not common for people like her to be at a concert of ours because usually you have to pay for a ticket, and why would you pay for a ticket to a concert of a band you don’t even like ? I know exactly how I’ll change her outlook. It works like a charm every damn time. I glance at my watch, twenty minutes until show time. Might as well head back to the band. It’s time to rock this fucking house.

I walk into our makeshift dressing room, Jason is pacing back and forth while taking a shot of Jameson. The guy gets stage
fright, even after eight years, guess that's also why he stays behind those drums. “Listen up boys. Jason - you cool it. We've got ourselves one of those uppity bitches in the audience. You know what that means.” I say eyeing each one of the guys, they all nod their heads knowing exactly what our plan will be. “We need to break her yeah?”

“Hell Yeah!” They yell. We've made it this fucking far, if you’re going to attend our fucking concert then you damn well better enjoy it. Jason offers me a shot, and I down it. The fire lights a way straight to my inner core. A few more shots and then we’ll be fucking ready.

We make our way to the stage, the lights d
own low. We can barely see so I know the audience can’t see shit. They have no idea that were are less than a foot away. As I grab my guitar, I look to the right of me, making sure Zepp and Liam are ready, glancing over my shoulder, Jason nods, then to my left Gage on Bass winks provocatively, that perverted bastard.

We
’re ready.

O
ne lone light shines down on us. Everyone becomes silent for one small moment, and then. Then they fucking scream. I walk up to the microphone stand, glide my hand into place and pull it to me like a woman’s slender neck, ready to receive my kiss. I place my lips very close to the microphone and breathe out.

“What
the fuck is up BOSTON!!!!” I scream. Random words are all yelled back in our direction.

“Do you want to fucking party with us?” Everyone in audience replies back in the loudest scream.

“F
uck yeah!” And then, Zepp, Gage and Liam all synchronize, playing into rhythm. Jason starts beating the drums like a fucking god. And I, I sing the fucking song.

“As
I lay dying, I think about the memories the memories of yesterday...” I close my eyes letting the music take over me. It washes throughout my veins. The energy and the emotion in the music that my boys are putting out is unexplainable. The crowd is drinking it up, and then retching it. Throwing it back to us.

Fans are body surfing throughout this fucking place, trying to get even closer to us.
Security strategically placed in front of the stage are shoving people back in droves. I fucking grin, I love this shit. Moving across the stage, working every angle, my eyes zoom all the way to the back row dead center and this bitch is the only one unfazed in this entire fucking room.

She’s
unimpressed. Our first song is almost over, I cock my head backwards and glance at the guys. They know it’s time, usually I choose wait until the middle of our set, but everyone except for Jason has worked this stage. They can see how unaffected this girl is. I pace, while Gage and Zepp do a fade out. Ending the song.

I strut back to the middle of the stage, place the microphone back in the stand, point my right finger at her and say
“Honey?” her head turns to me, eyes wide.

Then glances around her.
She’s unsure I'm speaking to her “Yes. You.” I state. Matter-of -factly.

“Why
don’t you get your ass up here on my stage?" I yell, shooting daggers at her.

I have to make sure sh
e understands that I’m not fucking joking, I don’t invite just anybody onto our stage. The crowd is going fucking wild, heads turned around to see who I am talking about. By their reactions, they want to see me make an example of her, their hungry for it.

A few people get loose of the pit, they start walking to the back of the auditorium.
They’re planning on bringing her to me, I can tell. Like bringing a pig to slaughter. They the farmhands, wanting to eat it all up.

Some are screaming out
“Who the fuck is she?”

Like I must know this
superior broad, that this is part of the show. Soon. Minutes actually, they will be assured it most certainly is not.