Rocked Up

As the night progresses though, I’m becoming more and more comfortable with working at the live mixing desk. It’s a lot different from the mixing desk in the other studio. First of all, this isn’t an analog machine like the one we just got, second of all, it’s live music. You’re on the spot and there’s no room for error, not during a concert.

Even so, I have everything set-up early so I ease back in my chair and watch the theater slowly fill up with concert-goers.

For a new band they have a decent turnout. This is a great place for people watching. There’s a young fella at the front of the stage all alone, looking at the equipment. I know what he’s feeling, I remember being that kid.

Then I see a crowd of girls come in together, dressed to impress. They are too young to realize that all of this is for them. They are so powerful and I don’t think they have any idea, everything here is because of them.

There’s a famous guitar player that said there are two kinds of musicians, the kind that do it for the girls and the kind that lie about it. This theater was probably built to impress a girl. The studio next door certainly was. Everything I do now is to impress two girls that are in that studio right now.

“Hey Kid.” Sugar comes into my little area with her son, Kevin.

“Hey Sugar, Hey Kevin,” I greet them. Kevin is wearing the same clothes and same hat as when I first met him. And he’s still too shy to answer me.

“Look, Kid, I have to fly, can you watch my Kid, Kid?” Sugar smiles at the joke. She says it every time and every time I still smile. Even though the years haven’t been too kind to her, I still feel I owe her a lot.

I look down at Kevin who’s looking down at his shoes.

“I have a show,” she goes on. “I am the first one on, I promise I’ll be back before this all wraps up.” Sugar turns her attentions to her son. “Be good for Mr….Kid.” She doesn’t wait for me to answer and leaves.

Kevin looks up, past me, and scans the whole space with curious bright eyes. I look down at Kevin. He’s younger than I was when I first came here and I don’t think I was quite so shy, but he does remind me of myself in this very spot all those years ago.

I can’t resist from saying it.

“So, your mom let you out of your cage.”

The kid smiles at me for the first time and says, “Do you like Dilallo Burgers?”





Epilogue





Lael





Two Years Later


“Are you ready?” Arnie asks me as he hands me my bass.

“As I’ll ever be,” I tell him, slipping it over my shoulders.

Okay, that’s kind of a lie. I’m ready and I’m not ready all at once.

This isn’t just a normal show for me.

This is the first show ever for The New Mistakes.

My band.

I mean, my own damn band.

We’ve been rehearsing for months, me, my guitarist Bryan, the drummer April. During those months we’ve recorded an album at Francesca Studios, which Brad and I run together, and we’ve released that album to critical acclaim. In the day and age where it’s hard to make a dime on music, somehow our self-titled album climbed onto the back end of the Billboard charts.

Now it’s our first show and it’s at none other than the Francesca Theater (which of course is part and parcel of the recording studio).

The show is sold-out. Friends and family and fans are packed to the rafters. Christy and my father are somewhere in the crowd, opting for the real experience this time instead of side stage.

I’m nervous.

Not the kind of nervous like I’m going to puke everywhere, not like I did for my first show with And Then. But I’m still feeling lit from within, my stomach doing turns and jumps, my limbs feeling both solid and loose all at once.

The thing is, this is the first show and the first time really playing my own songs in front of fans. I know that Brad says to show them no respect, but I can’t help it. They mean everything to me and I want to put on the best show possible.

No pressure, of course.

Then there’s my voice. I can sing just fine and have been working on how to really wail on a few songs. I’ve just got that weird fear, like it’s about to turn into a bad dream, the one where you open your mouth to speak or sing and you can’t.

What if nothing comes out?

What if I mess up the notes?

What if fear gets the best of me?

And now, now there’s hardly any time to worry about it. The lights are going to go on me soon and I’ll have to start playing and singing whether I’m ready or not.

Oh god, I don’t think I’m ready.

I glance over at the side stage and my eyes meet with Brad’s.

He gives me a nod and a calming smile, his way of telling me that everything is going to be okay. In his arms, held up against his shoulder, is Emma.

She’s waving at me and grinning, looking ridiculously cute in the oversized headphones she has over her head. She looks like she’s about to pilot a plane somewhere far away.

And she’s wearing a shirt that says The New Mistakes on her. My heart couldn’t melt anymore.

Oh, yes it could, because Brad is wearing that exact same shirt.

My two biggest supporters, my two biggest fans.

After the demise of And Then, Brad never really stopped. He went on to do a myriad of different projects, some with artists you’d never think of, like Jay-Z and Elton John. When he’s not working with them, he’s working with other artists, especially up-and-comers, turning out beautiful albums. Francesca studios has become one of the best studios in the country and we’re busy all the damn time.

We’ve even paired up on our own projects some time. I’m not sure how long The New Mistakes will go on for but I always have room for Brad and he has room for me. One day, when the timing is right, maybe when Emma is older, we’ll create our own band together and tour the country, just like we did all those years ago.

Until then though, we have our hands full.

My husband gives me the thumbs up, bringing me back to the present and then mouths something to me.

“Just breathe.”

I nod and smile and take in a deep breath.

I throw my shoulders back.

I face the crowd, pick at the ready.

The lights come on.

And I play.



THE END