“Great set,” Vic offered, shoving out his hand, surprised at the clammy feel of Ben’s grip.Looking closer, he could see the sweat wasn’t the normal saturation from exertion.Ben looked wiped, like he’d been sick.His skin was gray, and on closer inspection, he appeared exhausted.His eyes showed how tired he was.“You okay, man?”
“Yeah, just beat from the show.Was good, though, thanks.”Benita called from the front of the table, and Ben looked that direction.“I gotta.”He jerked a thumb toward the growing crowd, and Vic nodded.
He stood there and watched as Ben did exactly what Vic knew he would do, which was to try his damnedest to speak with every fan, patiently pose for every selfie and portrait, graciously sign every piece of paper or merchandise shoved his way, and to do it all with a ready smile, a quick quip, and an attitude of gratefulness.
He gets it, Vic thought, turning back to his own table, grinning at one of his everlasting fans in this region, a chick who showed up at nearly every venue, nearly every gig, no matter the day of the week or the time he hit the stage.
“Sheri, honey, how you been?”Vic slipped out from behind the table, arms out, waiting for her trademark hug.She was a doll, always looking for ways to help whatever band he was with.“Good to see you.”
“Good to see you too, big man,” she joked, squeezing him tight for a moment.“How’s—” She craned her neck, looking at the banner hanging over the top of the rafters behind the tables.“—Domatella’s Abyss?Jesus, Vic, who named this one?”
Without turning around, he tilted his head toward the lockers lining the back of the booth, knowing Dom was probably still sitting on one.“Dom did.It’s his band.”Vic forced a grin, because she wasn’t wrong.The name was as bad as the band.This group would never be more than a fifteen-minute opener session, five songs, all covers, not an original note in the set.Not what he wanted to be doing, but when Vic took the gig, Dom had talked a good game.
“You fell for another pretty boy, didn’t you?”Sheri shook her head.“When are you going to learn, Victor?”
Vic rolled his eyes.“Pullin’ out the full-name scold now, Sheri?”
A discordant sound from the stage followed by painful feedback pulled his attention away from her and toward the headliner’s riggers.Squirrel Bait’s guys were shoving one of the amps back and forth because the wheels had hung up on the fringe of one of the rugs that were layered on the surface of the stage.Vic winced when a rigger stumbled backward, hands going out and tangling with a hi-hat, cymbals jangling as it tottered sideways.Then a crash as he stumbled again, voices raised in shouts.Almost in slow motion, Vic watched as the rigger put a foot out to catch himself, the heel of his boot going through the front head of the bass drum.
A shout from the drummer was followed by a heavy shove, and in about a nanosecond, there was a full-blown beatdown on the stage between the drummer and his tech and the rigging crew.Vic just stared, watching as punches were thrown, remembering so many nights just like this.
They’d have a good show, great even, but then something fell apart, the venue would get locked down, and they wouldn’t get paid.He turned to see Dom already shoving merchandise into lockers.
Giving Sheri another squeeze, he told her, “I gotta see to stuff.”
“I can help,” she offered, and he nodded, moving one table out so they could both get behind the area.Sirens were already sounding from outside because this kind of thing was so frequent that the police staged cars near the venue.He winced as the doors slammed open, cops running in, batons already in hand.
Later, outside, he stood next to the van listening to Dom argue with the back of the venue manager’s head, not even realizing he wasn’t being heard by a man who was far more interested in screaming at the Squirrel Bait tour manager.
“You got money for supper?”Sheri had stuck next to Vic throughout the hectic evacuation from the building, working alongside him to make sure things got secured and brought outside.As he’d expected, the headliner’s show was now canceled, cops pushing all the fans out the front while people who worked these gigs for a living made their way out the back.
Vic shook his head as Dom’s volume ratcheted up a notch when he realized no one gave a shit.
“Know where they’re headed next?”She scooted close, wrapping an arm around his waist.
“Yeah, we’re down by the air base tomorrow night.”He was mentally calculating the cost of renting a truck to take his kit home, thinking to himself that tonight had pushed things to the ass end of done for him.An idea struck him, and he looked down at her.“You still got that huge-ass car?”
“The SUV?Yeah,” she answered.“Why?”
He was already moving, opening the back doors of the van, pulling out the cases for his kit, laying them on the venue’s flatbed dolly he hadn’t yet returned inside.
“I’m out of here.Can you give me a ride...to a motel?”I’ll figure it out when I get there, he thought, then wasn’t able to control his laughter, because there really wasn’t anything to figure out.I’m broke and hate this gig.Time to go home.“Or a rental place.”I can call Grandma.She’ll be happy to see me for a few weeks.“I need to get out of here.”
She stared at him for a moment, then wordlessly began helping him unload his kit.She’d helped with setup and teardown often enough that she made quick work of sorting out cases without being told.
Vic looked up, saw Dom’s eyes on him, and waved.“I’m out, man.”
Dom just nodded, a bleak expression on his face.“Good luck.”
