Page 68 of Silver Edge
Once through the sea of bodies, I managed to climb the four steps to the bar area. Hawaiian poured drinks, slid cups along the bar top, and made change. “Hawaiian.”
He didn’t look at me, only remained focused on his job. “Hey, Scarlet.”
“Scarlet? What happened to Einstein?”
He placed two caramel-colored drinks I assumed were Coca-Cola by the three X’s inked on the patron’s shoulder on the bar top. “Yeah, I don’t think you’re so smart if you believed that woman. You broke Boss’s heart. Not cool. Not cool at all.”
“Where were you? You were supposed to be back Tuesday.” I tried to get him to listen, but that Polynesian politeness disappeared, replaced by a curled lip snarl.
“My flight was canceled.”
“I didn’t know,” I protested, but I knew it was pointless. He returned to his drink orders. Everyone had a job to do but me. I stood there…useless.
I maneuvered through the bar to the backstage area where I found Drake. He held a clipboard in his hand and directed some guys hauling equipment to the staging area. I took a deep breath, wishing I could talk to him somewhere less distracting, but this felt like a “now” kind of thing.
The spotlights set on the stage cast a red glow over the black floor. The beams of light broke and surrounded Drake at the edge of the stairs. I marched up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder. “I want to talk.”
“Does it look like I have time right now?” he snapped. I’d never heard him cross at me before. I didn’t like it.
“No, but we need to talk. I didn’t know. Barbie had the police here and documents. She said you packed my duffel yourself and that you shut off your phone so you’d never have to speak to me again.”
Drake held up a hand. “Stop. I can’t. I just can’t right now.” That was when I realized he’d broke. I’d broken him, or his grandmother’s passing had. Maybe it was from exhaustion, but he wasn’t living. I knew. I’d perfected that slumped posture and fake smile. He was going through the motions, but blocking out anything that took energy to process. He didn’t want to feel.
The lights settled on the stage and the drummer clicked his sticks together. “One, two. One, two, three, four.”
Two notes and a few beats echoed through the place, barely audible over the screams of the audience. He’d done it. The Straight Edge event was finally underway. But then everything went dark. Only the small pattering of the drums, strings, and a faint voice sounded.
“What the…?” Drake pushed past me back up the stairs.
“Boo!” the crowd started to roar. Audible shouts of “money back” and “what a joke” echoed in the darkness.
The tension mounted, and all I could see was Drake’s cell phone illuminating the clipboard in his hand then scanning around the backstage area.
“They’re gonna rip this stage apart,” Ton hollered from behind me. “What’s goin’ on?”
Hawaiian bobbed up the stairs with a flashlight. “Blew a circuit or somethin’.”
“Ton, you can fix it!” I shouted.
Ton, strangely haunting in Hawaiian’s flashlight, nodded. “Walter, show me the fuse box. Drake, you get on stage and try to calm them down.”
They all disappeared, and I was left standing in the back with nothing but the noise in my ears and the desire to scream.
“Give us a minute,” Drake shouted over the crowd. “We’re going to get everything back on.” He returned, rubbing the back of his neck. I looked toward the stage, now lit by various cell phone flash light apps. The drummer was leaning against the piano, which had been moved to the side of the stage to make room for the equipment in back. The singer and lead guitarist huddled near the drummer.
Ton returned, holding wires in his hands. “Dude, someone sabotaged you. It’s gonna take a few minutes, but I think I can wire it to at least get electricity to your stage and this room, but the back rooms and upstairs will take more gear than I have on me right now.”
“Go, do it.” Drake shooed him away.
“Okay, everyone, calm down. Don’t forget we do have two major labels represented here tonight to help judge. All we need is a few minutes to work out some technical difficulties.”
Two men stationed in chairs on the balcony stood. Drake eyed them. He scanned the audience, me, and the room.“If they leave this is over.”
“Who?” I asked.
“The producers.” Drake hopped down from the stage, shoved through the crowd to the back of the room, and slid between the men and the exit door.
If the people from the label left, this crowd would go ape shit. Ton was good at what he did, but it would take too long to get the electricity back up. It was getting hot in here, too, and people were already getting cranky. What they needed was a distraction. The band could probably play without light but not sound. Without their amplifiers, their instruments were as good as toys.
