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“Come on up here, Ellie!”
He laughed as the crowd chanted my name. Everyone’s eyes fell on me.
Think, Ellie, think! You’re an artist, create an excuse!
The blinding panic froze my brain. If I didn’t move, I’d look lame, and the chants around me grew louder every second.
Oh, Christ.
I downed the last of my Bacardi and Coke, and the audience cheered as I walked through the parted crowd. My legs shook with every step. My last time on stage was during a school play when I was eight years old. I’d gotten so nervous, I puked in the middle of a scene – and funnily enough – wasn’t invited to star in any production ever again. Fine with me. Live performances were not my thing. The teasing after throwing up in front of my friends and all their families didn’t stop until my first year of high school. I was labelled “Smelly Ellie” for three years. Jason had either forgotten about the incident, or assumed I’d gotten over it, which I definitely hadn’t.
He took my hand to help me onto the stage and I stood awkwardly beside him while he addressed the crowd. A sea of expectant rock fanatics stared up at me.
“Don’t worry,” he whispered. “When the lights go out, you won’t see them.”
As the beat kicked in, I reminded myself to breathe and lose myself in the melody. Not easy to do when my heart hammered louder than the music.
We only had one microphone between us and as I waited to sing I stepped left and right - in a less funky version of The Carlton.
I made the fatal mistake of looking out at the audience again. The lights didn’t make them completely disappear, and in my nervousness, it appeared as though they were grinning up at me, faces resembling clown masks, ready to mock me when I failed.
Nerves took hold of me half way through the first line. Sickness clawed at my throat, choking me so the lyrics died in my mouth. The pressure, the lights; so much focus on me when I didn’t belong on the stage, didn’t belong in this crazy world of rock ‘n’ roll. The people below blurred and I blinked to clear my vision. No change; in fact, the masses swirled before me, my knees weakened and I ran off the stage and bolted to the backstage area before my legs gave out completely. Breathing hard, I barricaded myself against the dressing room door.
Nope. Sixteen years is not long enough to conquer my stage fright.
I had no clue how Drew and Jason had the courage to put themselves up for potential ridicule for a living. Once, I overheard some people openly mock my work at a gallery and their words depressed me for weeks. I sure as hell couldn’t handle harsh criticism every day of my life. Being on stage made me feel exposed, as if my less-than-skinny figure was an invitation for people to criticise, and even a single out-of-place hair would lead to trash talk. I wasn’t particularly insecure about my appearance, but as someone who spent large amounts of time rocking a onesie while working on my next masterpiece, I couldn’t cope with a job that put me in front of a live - often judgemental - audience.
I waited in the dressing room, jumping up and down to rid myself of tension until the boys filed in. The sound of the crowd indicated they hadn’t been bothered by my freak out, but Jason pulled me into a tight hug the second he walked through the door.
Being crushed against a sweaty rock star didn’t ease my annoyance. Well, not this rock star. I wanted Drew’s comfort, his safety. His arms had been my safe place countless times; I never minded being crushed against him when he was sweaty after a show.
“Are you okay? I’m so sorry, Ellie. I was only having a bit of fun.”
Typical Jason. Act first, think later.
“I didn’t mean for that to happen, I thought-”
“No.” I untangled myself from his arms. “You didn’t think at all.”
“Let me make it up to you.” He cocked his eyebrow.
“Don’t. You look like a deranged Bond villain.”
“How else am I supposed to get you to forgive me?”
He didn’t let up, and annoyance turned to laughter as he dragged me into another hug. Jason was hard to stay angry with, and that was saying something since he’d pushed and broken the boundaries more times than I cared to remember. As I released myself from his arms for a second time, I looked around for Drew. He sat clutching a bottle of water; a dark cloud had descended around him again. I recognised the expression of pent up rage on his face, but knew better than to ask. He’d calm down in his own time, though how long it would be... well, that was anyone’s guess.
I sang to myself as I danced around my hotel room dressed only in a towel. The band always did something after a show; sometimes clubbing, sometimes a few drinks at the venue, and sometimes they gathered in one of their hotel rooms for a couple of beers. It was their way of winding down. Often, if I was with them, Drew skipped the partying and hung out with me. Like me, he had little interest in nightlife. For a break from the norm, I decided to join the guys at a club, and in spite of his mood, Drew agreed to come along too. Maybe several hours spent having fun would snap him out of his funk.
I pulled my chosen outfit for the evening from my suitcase; a short black skirt, and a black and white stripy top. Although I didn’t often go out after gigs, I always packed suitable eveningwear just in case. An insecure person would have worried that wearing stripes when you’re not built like a stick insect might be a mistake, but life’s too short to live on salads when there’s a whole world of chocolate to be eaten.
I ran a brush through my freshly dried hair and swung it over my shoulder, holding it in place with a hair tie. After applying some subtle make-up, I was all set. I grabbed my handbag and key card then headed towards Jason’s hotel room. Our rooms were only a couple of doors apart and the sound of raised voices halted me.
I hadn’t heard Jason and Drew argue in ages and my heart sank. Instead of letting them continue, I reached up to knock on the door to make them stop, but as I lifted my hand, Drew said, “This isn’t only about us, though! Fighting between ourselves is one thing, but dragging other people into this crap is not okay.”
“It wouldn’t be forever. People will forget eventually and it won’t matter who was involved.”
“It matters now! For Christ’s sake, we didn’t start the band to make headlines on the front of crappy fucking tabloids! We started the band to make music.”
