“Worse than a broken stick?”
“Kina.”
I pushed my hand at his face in the air, you know, not actually his face but in his direction. “Fine. Work it out.”
People filtered in, and the manager’s looking at me.
I went back to Horace. “Talk to me.”
“I can get you ten minutes. I dunno if we’ve got more than that.”
“The set’s thirty.”
He put his hands up.
“Just make it happen.”
I pushed through the crowd and made my way to the water closet. I was amplified not by chems but my own fucking brain. I needed a mirror to check things out. My hair was braided for the show, loose braids that fell to the tops of my shoulders. My eyes were made dark, and I looked a bit queasy. I was, but I didn’t really want to look it.
“You’re gonna fuck this up, you know.”
I looked over my shoulder. No one there.
Back in the mirror, I saw him. Dwizaal.
I jumped back, slammed into the wall behind me. I wanted to stop seeing him, but I couldn’t look away. There’s something fascinating there, something captivating.
“You don’t remember me, do you?” he asked.
I looked around, even though I knew we were alone. “Are you the one who was talking to me in my room that day?”
His face showed surprise. “Wait, what?”
The door swung open, hit me in the shoulder.
“Sorry,” some chick said. “Didn’t see you there.”
“‘S awight,” I said.
“I like your braids.”
“Hey, thanks. I like your eye shadow.”
“Thanks!”
She went in the stall, closed the door.
I looked in the mirror. Just me.
I shook my head again and wiped my face with some sand, since they didn’t have water. Wasn’t the same, but it did improve my look some. I felt ready. Ready enough for this fuckin’ show, anyway.
I sniffed and grabbed the door when the gal in the stall said, “Good luck out there.” Then she made a grunt.
“Thanks. You too. In here.”
The crowd was thicker, then. And louder. People looked happy. That’s cool, yeah, but it felt like that happiness hinged on what happened next, which was me. Well, me and the other fucks up there with me.
I stepped back on stage, and people cheered.
I gave a dismissive wave and a smile to no one really, but in the direction of the audience, then went over to Horace.
“And?” I asked.
“And you’ve got about eleven minutes.”
I sighed and took the cigarette from his mouth. “My fuckin’ life, man.”
He didn’t say anything.
“Just keep workin’ on it.”
“There’s nothin’ to work on. This is all we’re getting. All we’re getting.”
“Just do it,” I snapped and then turned, flicked the smoke across the stage.
Danielle was in place and ready to go.
Tij held up a set of sticks, somewhat triumphantly.
I sneered at him, and his face went sour.
“Rabbit,” I said. “Get the fuck up. Time to play.”
Rabbit pushed away from the wall, opened his eyes, and picked up the guitar. “Le’s do it.”
I gave Horace the cue to fire us up.
He nodded, then made us electric, amplified, and surrounded in lights and scents.
I went to speak and lost my voice. My eyes went straight to her. There were a hundred or more people there, and she was all I could see, dark and lovely, eyes full of dangerous intent.
She was with Peach. I had no issue with Peach. We were cool. Not close, but cool. I wasn’t loving seeing Peach with her like that, but it’s whatever.
I leaned over to Danielle. “Who’s that with Peach?”
“Huh? Oh, lemme see. Oh wait, I can’t see shit because there’s fuckin’ lights in my eyes.”
“All right, all right. Don’t have to be a bitch about it.”
“Can we start the fucking show, please?” Tij said.
I flipped the mic on. “Fine. Let’s start the fucking show.”
That went over well, for whatever reason, and the crowd got excited. It’s like that with me sometimes.
The show’s a blur, like they always were. One long, one-sided conversation interrupted by periods of music and singing and feeling like I’m being watched but not seen, heard but not listened to. The lights were hot, which kept my blood warm when it went cold, and the scents were enough to keep me distracted from my failing nerves.
Then my voice amp went out.
I cut my eyes at Horace, who put his hands up.
“Fuckin’ fix it!” I yelled.
Rabbit’s drunk ass kept shredding, cigarette dangling from loose lips.
Horace shook his head and went to work on it. But instead of getting me back, we lost Danielle.
I wanted to walk off the stage. What a fucking nightmare. But instead, I just acted like this was how it was supposed to be, and pulled out a smoke. I lit up, stood there, swaying to the music, smoking.
Rabbit went out during a sustained note, so that was lucky timing. He didn’t notice right away, though, and kept tearing it up without sound.
Tij let the beat ride for a moment or two, then brought it down.
We got a decent enough response from the crowd. I waved, walked off the stage.
The manager met me halfway. I was ready to punch him, if it came to that.
“Great set,” he said. “Thanks for helping us out in a pinch.”
I smiled.
