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“…are The Leroys,” I heard Yasmine say. “Thank you for joining us this afternoon. If you like what you hear, we will be playing at the Gator Lounge tomorrow night, about ten minutes from here. We go on at 8 p.m.
“This first song is a personal favorite of mine called ‘Come for Me.’” Yasmine grinned at the audience; some of them whooped and cheered. “I hope you enjoy it.” She stepped back from the mic and turned to Jean Lee. She nodded in the affirmative.
Knocking her drumsticks together at the same time, Jean Lee shouted, “THREE, TWO, ONE.”
As if hearing the voice outside of my body, I thought, Lift the camera to your eye. Do it now. I quickly lifted the camera to look through the viewfinder and snapped the photo. I didn’t bother to look at the display to see how it came out; I simply snapped another one.
Move to the other side of the stage. Get down on one knee and shoot from below.
I followed the voice and did exactly that. I quickly moved out of that position to take another photo.
It’s what you’re made to do,I heard in my head. And then, I realized: the voice I was hearing, my inner voice, sounded just like Andrew.
Shit,I thought.
Admittedly, the crowd wasn’t very lively. I had plenty of time to sit and enjoy the music myself, while also earning my keep.
The band, however, gave one of the best performances I’ve ever seen them give.
It was as if the lackluster crowd spurred them on. Yasmine’s velvety voice flowed into the mic and out into the crowd. All but Jean Lee served as backup singers, their voices melding into one sound. Jean Lee held her own on the drums, breaking into epic solos toward the hook of a song and inciting the rest toward the end. Danny, cool and unaffected as ever, kept the baseline steady. And Philip remained remarkably self-contained and upbeat throughout their set.
It was magical.
When their set ended, a few people in the crowd clapped enthusiastically while others followed halfheartedly. “Thank you,” Yasmine said, nodding her head toward the crowd. “We appreciate you listening today. You can find us on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram, @TheLeroys. We’ll see you next time.”
Immediately, canned elevator music dribbled through the café’s speaker system. Kevin unplugged his amp, as did Danny and Philip. Jean Lee started packing up the drum set.
I looked around for Andrew but couldn’t find him at first. Finally, as if my eyes were pulled to him, I found him at the back of the room. He was still sitting, looking as if he didn’t even realize that the set was over. He leaned in to say something to the woman sitting with him. She flicked her shiny, wavy, black hair from her face as she laughed and casually rested one hand right above his elbow. Even from this distance, I could see her give his arm a flirty squeeze and see her breasts on display as she leaned closer to him.
“Get some good shots?” I started as I realized that Jean Lee had sidled up next to me.
I sighed as I continued to watch Andrew’s weekly mating ritual. “Yes, I think I got some pretty good ones.”
“Good,” she said. She tilted her head a little and smiled mock-innocently. “Watching your boo talk to another girl must be interestin’, I ‘spect.”
I glared at her but said nothing.
She smiled wider and held up her hands. “I forgot, he ain’t your boo.” She shrugged as she turned to walk away. “But you watchin’ him awful close for somebody who’s not datin’ him.”
Damn it, but she was right.
The image of Andrew talking to that unnamed girl stayed in my mind for the rest of the day. I saw it as I edited the photos from the gig; it burned in my retinas as I grabbed something for lunch. The worst part about it was that my mind got stuck on his body’s response to her: he looked into her eyes, gave her a sly grin, laughed his murmur of a laugh. It was probably the laugh he used when he knew that he had some girl’s attention. I wanted to hate that laugh. I wanted to hate him for using the same laugh on his flavor of the week as he used on me. I wanted to be upset with him for hooking up with some nameless girl while we were on tour.
But why did I care, anyway?
He didn’t come back until sometime before dinnertime. The band decided to get something to eat at the local diner, something that didn’t cost an arm and a leg. The café had paid the band a decent wage, but “we can’t go crazy,” Yasmine warned.
The sun fell on Andrew’s shoulders as he walked onto the bus. I glared at him as he inched up to the table where I was editing. “Hey.”
“Hey,” I grumbled, returning my eyes to the screen. “Find another conquest to put under your belt?”
“Conquest?”
“Yes.” I brightened up the photo I was working on without looking at him. “I saw the girl you were talking to as we were leaving.”
“Harmony?”
“I don’t know her name, Andrew. Whatever-the-fuck her name is.”
