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We are all solid.
The set seems to fly by. A little Metallica, a little Alice in Chains, some Jane’s Addiction that we play ironically. Through it all, the blonde stays attached to the bar, her head bobbing rhythmically, the low light dancing over those blonde waves.
It gets hot on stage. Mid-September in southern Illinois is still 90-degree days most of the time. I’m not even sure this bar has air-conditioning, but under the stage lights it has got to be at least 95 degrees. I wish I could take my shirt off, but I’m only wearing this white tank underneath and every time I do that, Mike thinks it’s funny to make jokes about my skinny arms to the crowd. I don’t think they’re that skinny. I think he’s just defensive about his weight, but I don’t really want to go through that right now.
More people have come in, and they are dancing happily as we get to the last song of the set. I can see the band after us is already lined up against the wall by the bathrooms, looking us up and down from under their fluffy hairdos. I just stick to what I’m doing, blazing through the solos like I’m on fire. It feels really good. I can feel her eyes on me, too. That also feels good.
“You guys have been great!” Mike yells out as our drummer bangs out an extended solo over the last chord. “We are The Graceless Pigs! Thanks for coming out! Drive safe and stick around for The Blazing Saddles up next! Good night!”
The crowd yells maniacally, some belting out “one more song!" a dozen times or so before giving up when it is apparent that we are not going to play one more song. We just squint into the stage lights and wave politely as we gather up our gear and shuffle to the side. The Blazing Saddles smile politely at us as they bring up their own gear, ready to play for their time slot. It’s funny how bands look at each other sort of suspiciously, like we are timid street gangs in hairspray and plaid. When you’re a jet, I sing in my mind.
“Dude, I fucking told you!” Ron growls as we head toward the tiny green room, which is really more of a closet with dilapidated sound equipment stacked floor to ceiling.
“I couldn’t really tell,” I shrug. “Are you sure?”
“Fuck you!” he scoffs as he chucks me on the shoulder. “If you don’t hit that, I totally will! Just say the word, because I totally fucking will!”
“Yeah, yeah,” I sigh as I snap my case closed again.
He raises his eyebrows at me expectantly. The half-formed smile on his face indicates he is
totally serious.
“So, I can ask her out?” He grins, his braces glinting subtly.
“No way, dude,” I smirk. “Guitarist gets the girl, that’s just the law of nature. And you’re going to owe me twenty bucks!”
She is still standing there as I make my way through the crowd. A few people clap me on the shoulder and congratulate me on a good set, especially people I can tell are musicians. It’s an honor thing.
The bartender jerks his chin at me in greeting. “On your tab?”
“Yeah, MGD,” I answer, aware of her eyes as they slide over my profile.
The bartender pushes the bottle toward me and hurries away to serve a group of fraternity guys. I turn toward her, tipping the mouth of the bottle in the air in a cheers gesture before taking a healthy swallow or three. I didn’t even realize how thirsty I had gotten on stage.
“That was a really good set,” she says loudly.
She has really deep dimples, thumb-shaped and adorable.
“Excuse me?” I say, though I heard her.
As expected, she leans in closer. “That was a really good set!” she says again, sliding up onto her toes to aim her mouth at my ear.
“Glad you liked it!” I reply automatically.
She leans her head on the heel of her hand, letting her hair drape over the bar. Instinctively, I want to pull her hair back from that surface, since it’s probably sticky and gross. But I did just meet her, after all.
The Blazing Saddles screech out an intro. The lead singer mumbles something into the mic, some instruction to the sound guy.
“You want to get out of here?” I ask, scowling against the noise. “It’s about to get really loud in here.”
She raises her eyebrows into thin, parenthetical shapes. “Seriously? Um... Okay.”
Not the answer I was hoping for, exactly, but close enough. I pick up my guitar and head for the front door, clearing a path for her. I can feel her close behind me, feel her breath cooling the sweat that saturated my shirt. I hope I don’t stink. I really do. My biology professor claims that humans are attracted to the pheromones in sweat, but I am not convinced.
Finally we burst through the front door and out onto the few feet of concrete pavement in front of the gravel parking lot. It is definitely cooler out here, and I step to the side so she can join me.
She leans over with a cigarette between her lips, flicking a lighter in her cupped hands. When she stands up straight again, she blows out a plume of smoke and flips her hair over her shoulder with a smirk.
