PRIDE AND PREJUDICE (and Rock and Roll)

CHAPTER I:

"THANK YOU, YOU'VE BEEN AN AMAZING AUDIENCE! YEOW!" I yelled at the audience as if I was a goddess and nothing could touch me. That's what you have to do when you're in a rock band: get into the persona. Assume a character. Forget who you are in your crappy nine-to-five reception job where people call you Miss Elizabeth, and become Liz: the sassy fiery front-woman for Wood House on Fire, a three-piece rock band in London's underground music scene.

I took my final bow before the filthy red velvet curtains were pulled across the stage, and turned to give a wicked grin to Lydia who had started packing down her drum kit.

"Was that nuts or what?!" I said, shouting, as I had gone a little deaf in one ear due to the high-gain amps.

Cheers, Marshall.

"We had so many people!" Lydia agreed, panting a little, her eyes bright with excitement. She would finish packing down her drums then spend her weekly wage at the bar. She was a great drummer but her real talent was alcohol.

Primarily in buying it.

And drinking it.

And buying it for anyone and everyone else who was around her.

She always had a nice crowd of chums floating around and I liked to speculate as to whether her willingness to part with her hard earned cash for a 'spirited' night out was directly responsible. As long as she was happy I suppose.

I switched the amp to 'standby' and lifted my guitar off and placed it in its case before storing it in the back room of the venue. Only once my gear was safe and taken care of could I enjoy my night. When I returned to the stage, Lydia was already at the bar ordering a round of Jaeger Bombs.
Charlie was still there wrapping up her leads 'the proper way'. She always had a go at me for not wrapping my leads properly and is probably gagging for the day she can shout "I told you so!" when one of my leads starts to crackle and eventually snuff out. All in jest of course.

Charlie and I went way back. We had met in university a few years back: Charlie was studying Jazz music and music management and I was floating around as most lost souls do with no real direction dabbling in Literature, Anthropology and Art History. It wasn't a real concrete degree but it did equip me with the power to write some clever lyrics.

Wink.

Naturally, being a self-taught musician I felt it my duty to pick up a few music electives, which was how Charlie and I met. It was 'friends at first sight' after we had sat next to each other by accident on day one of Acoustic Guitar Riffs and did the whole 'turn to your neighbour and tell them three things about yourself'. Right off the bat we established a die-hard love for all things ACDC and Led Zeppelin. We'd been inseparable ever since and started Wood House on Fire a year later.

Charlie's Jazz background made her a mean bass player. It also made her very hard on herself when she didn't perform up to her own standards.

I could tell by the way she sighed ever so slightly as she wrapped up her leads.

"Great job, chica." I said in an effort to get her talking. My comment was met with her looking up at me, her mouth tersely shut and rolled her eyes in a 'yeah right' type of way.

"I fucked up so many times! I should never drink before playing. I know that yet I always seem to forget."

"How many did you have?" I remember seeing her with a vodka and lemonade when I arrived but surely she didn't have time to have more than two before we were due to start playing.

"Two." She declared.

Boom. I'm a goddamn mind reader.

"Honestly, I couldn't tell. And anyway, you forget you only play bass. No one's even listening to you most of the time. They can only tell when there's no bass at all." I grinned sarcastically and she tried to whip me with her guitar lead.

"Drink?" I offered. "Pretty sure Lyds just ordered a round of Jaeger Bombs."

"Nah, I gotta drive home."
"C'mon, just the one. She'll never forgive you if you don't participate in the post-gig antics – no matter how slightly."

She let out a long breath. "Fine! Who am I to turn down free drinks?"

"That's m'girl."

We strolled over to the bar together to where Lydia was busy in animated conversation with one of our regular punters.

Three hours later it was 2am. I grabbed my phone out of my back pocket for the first time in a while to check the time and realised I had two missed calls from my sister Jane. I strolled outside and found a corner away from the curious ears of the smokers and hit redial.

She picked up on the third ring.

"Lizzie are you still in town?"

"Heya, yeah just about finished. What's up?"

"My work dinner went a little later than usual. I'm around the corner from the venue. Want to grab a cab home together?"

"Yes please! I can stand to save a few coppers. I'll hail a cab and see you in halfa."

"Coolio! I'll wait outside the restaurant. Buzz me when you're near!"

"No worries. Ciao!"

I headed back into the venue to find the others to say goodbye. On my way back stage to grab my guitar I saw Lydia doing Sambucca shots with five other people – none of whom I recognised. I called out to her and she looked up with the face of someone who had just swallowed something toxic and not very pleasant.

I'M GOING! I mouthed across the room over the in-house music.

She waved enthusiastically for a couple of seconds until one of her 'comrades' clapped her shoulder and said something along the lines of "Wow that was disgusting!"

Rock and roll. I thought to myself and pushed through the crowd swaying in a haze to the in-house DJ.

I passed Charlie getting chatted up by a tall gangly guy with bum-fluff instead of a beard and dirty blonde hair asking her for a lighter.

"I'm off, my dear." I said, putting a hand on her shoulder.

She hugged me quickly and said goodbye.

"Good work tonight!" I shouted over my shoulder – trying to drill the point home.

It didn't take long to flag down a cab and I hopped in the back seat.

I gave the cabbie the address of the restaurant where Jane was waiting and we sped off into the night.

Five minutes later we pulled up at some fancy-pants restaurant and I saw my sister waiting outside shivering a little in her knee-length party frock and strappy sandals.

"Just pull up here, thanks." I told the driver.

I rolled down the window and leaned out.

"Yoo-hoo! Janey, over here!" I shouted, hoping it would embarrass her.

She laughed at me and I scooted over to let her slide in, my guitar vacating the middle.

"Number 6 Lambton Crescent, Longbourn thanks." Jane told the driver before turning to me. "So, pray tell, how did the gig go?"

"Oh quite delightful, my good lady I can assure you."

It was our thing, to talk like we were snobby Oxford professors or ladies from the nineteenth century. Cheap thrills and habits we'd brought along with us from childhood to adulthood.

"And your good self? Did you enjoy a fine dining in the company of many an eligible young man?"

Jane laughed.

"Oh hardly. They make naught more than fifty thousand a year hence not worth my pursuit."

I broke character to point out that fifty grand in those days would mean that those chaps were millionaires.

We chuckled to ourselves and caught up on each other's nights until we pulled up outside our family townhouse in Longbourn.

We tiptoed in and headed upstairs bidding each other goodnight on the landing before dispersing to our respective bedrooms.

It seemed like an eternity since I'd laid my head down on my pillow and I drifted off somewhere between my alarm clock blaring 3:30 am and the taste of Jaeger Meister underneath my tongue…

"Girls! Girls! Wake up! I have wonderful news!"

I thought I was dreaming. I opened my eyes a crack – just enough to discern my clock blaring the time 9:00 am.

Too. Early.

I pulled the doona over my head and tried to ignore my mother's incessant wailing from downstairs.

I tried to wish away the heavy footfalls making their way up the staircase.

I tried to pretend I didn't hear the floorboards creak in the direction of my bedroom door.

*BANG BANG BANG*

I remained stubborn in my act of remaining asleep despite my bedroom door flying open and my mother flouncing in and flopping herself down noisily on the end of my bed and then proceeding to shake me awake.

"Lizzie! Are you awake?"

"No." I muffled into my pillow, but my sarcasm was lost on her. Jane had wandered in wondering what was going on and this only increased my mother's delight. Jane was more a morning person than I was.

"My girls, wonderful news!" And then she started speaking so fast I really had to strain every muscle in my face to concentrate:

"Your-cousin-Laura-Gardiner-is-getting-married-and-has-invited-all-of-us-she-managed-to-tie-the-knot-with-that-big-wig-lawyer-and-he-is-inviting-all-of-his-rich-friends-including-I-am-told-the-Bingleys-of-Bingley-and-Hurst-estates-the-real-estate-firm-that-deals-with-heritage-like-homes-chateaux-and-the-likes-and-OH-MY-WORD-what-will-you-all-wear-I-must-fire-up-my-sewing-machine-but-you-must-realise-what-a-golden-opportunity-this-is-and-OH-I-must-call-your-sister-Mary-and-see-if-she-will-be-back-in-time-during-her-university-holidays-and-I-do-hope-she's-doing-well-so-far-from-home-but-OH-MY-GIRLS!-ARE-YOU-NOT-MORE-EXCITED?!"

She finally took a breath then hugged us both before going downstairs to plug in her sewing machine.

That's our mother. High strung. But nothing, I repeat, nothing got her more excited than a wedding. No doubt underneath all that excitement was the dark niggling thought that it should have been one of her own daughters bagging a rich lawyer. I'm sure she's rehearsed her lines when she can finally tell all of her friends and our entire street that one of her daughters was (finally) getting hitched.

I looked over at Jane who was still standing near my open door staring at me imploring me with wide eyes as to what the 'eff' had just happened. I raised an eyebrow at her then dropped my head back on the pillow and began mock snoring.

As I laid there trying not to smirk as Jane giggled at my loud and phlegmy attempts to regain unconsciousness, I wondered which one of us would be the least enthused about this impending wedding: Jane who has long grown tired of our mother suggesting she call 'eligible' young men she knows through a friend of a friend just "dying to settle down!", myself who normally skipped formal occasions and avoided wearing dresses like the plague, or our sister Mary who disliked most people in general.

This wedding was already gearing up to be a bundle of family fun time. I wondered if it would be too impertinent to call my cousin and see if she needed a wedding band…

These thoughts were cut short by Kitty jumping onto my pillow, then arranging herself into a ball of grey fluff right on top of my face the way people tend to warn you cats will do before sucking out your soul.

In her own way, I'm sure Kitty was only trying to help me become unconscious.

Disclaimer: all rites for any semblance of characters and plot to Pride and Prejudice belong to Jane Austen. I am merely borrowing her tale to spin one of my own to comment on the drama and comedy I have experienced in my years playing in a rock band to prove one thing: Times change. People never do.
RNR
Stellephante x