DRUMS
By Jenny A.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks to Humble Opinion for posting this. I don't have a decent computer or an internet connection of my own at the moment. This is a Jem and the Holograms story and will, more or less follow the show. A few things have been changed or reordered for reasons that will become obvious. It is AU but not a self-insert. I needed practice developing original characters so I thought I'd put one into a familiar setting. I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Jem or any of the other characters or the rights to the show. It's just fun, and no profit is earned.
CH. 1 A CHANCE MEETING
Kara Mistral sat at the table outside the small Chinese restaurant on W. Temple enjoying the early June sunshine, absently beating a rhythm on the edge of the table and people-watching. The cloudless sky and gentle breeze made it, in her opinion, a perfect day to be outside. It was one of the reasons she was sitting on the patio but not the only one. Her habit of drumming on the table tended, she knew, to annoy people. It helped her focus, though, so, while she tried to be considerate, she didn't refrain from doing it entirely. The cheap wooden chopsticks the restaurant provided for their customers were a poor substitute for drumsticks, but they produced the rhythm that soothed her nerves, and at the moment, Kara needed it.
She had a lot on her mind and not a lot of time to make some important decisions. For the last two months, she had had a job running errands and making deliveries that she had gotten through a friend who was moving on to greener pastures. It had its perks, and she had definitely worked worse jobs, but it paid barely enough for her to make ends meet, and she knew she'd be short on the rent if the gig she had been promised the following night fell through.
March Rain needed a fill-in drummer for a club date. The band wasn't that good, and would never make it big, but Kara didn't particularly care. She would get a cut of the evening's take and that would allow her to catch up on her rent. Maybe, she thought, there'll even be enough left over for a package or two of cookies for the girls. It was aggravating to have to rely on luck and a few notoriously flaky contacts to offer her such opportunities, but the most recent band she had been a part of, RPM, had fallen apart two weeks ago, and there were no immediate prospects.
If the club date fell through, then she would have to get the rent money another way. She had learned the hard way over the years that a backup plan was always necessary when one lived hand to mouth. Since she had the girls to think about, she always tried to have more than one.
She considered and discarded several while she drummed. It was too soon to sell blood again. Mr. Morales, her upstairs neighbor, had gone, with his little boy, to visit his mother so there was no babysitting to be done that week. A pity, since his three-year-old son, Ramon, was a handful, so Morales paid pretty well. Mrs. Zuniga in 1C worked at home, so the couple rarely needed a babysitter. They might appreciate a night out, though. The girls and Jaime got along well, so that was never a chore. The Night Owl over on East Eighth might need an extra waitress who could double as a bouncer if it got too busy come Friday night, but that meant she would have to ask Mrs. Markison to watch the girls, since Friday was family night for the Zunigas. She already owed Markison a favor, though, and the idea didn't appeal.
The March Rain tune she was beating out reached the most difficult section for the drummer and she began focusing on her playing while humming under her breath to be sure she kept time. This held her attention and allowed her to stop thinking for the brief time it took to finish the bridge. Then it was back to trying to find a way not to become homeless.
The applause was a welcome distraction, and she glanced up to see a man, maybe five or six years older than herself standing nearby and smiling. "You've got real talent," he said, and she thought he meant it. Kara had heard it often enough from musicians she worked with to know it was true, but as always, the first thing that came to mind was Edgar Blackmon, the supervisor at the city orphanage where she used to live, referring to her drumming as 'an undiagnosed neurological affliction.'
She banished that memory to a back corner of her mind and sent several four letter words sailing after the sneering visage for good measure, before offering the stranger a small smile. "Thanks."
"Do you play professionally?" he asked with a note of keen interest in his voice. He was well-built, though not muscular, with a tan that suggested he spent a fair amount of time outdoors. Clean shaven with thick dark hair, he looked like the all-American type. She took all this in immediately and concentrated on assessing his potential as a physical threat. It was something that came automatically to her, and while she understood the source of the behavior and never tried to change it, she often wondered what it said about her as a person that she immediately regarded each new person as a potential threat before doing anything else.
"I do," she answered, not sure what the man wanted, but keeping her tone light while she sized him up. "I've played with a few small time bands."
"I'm the road manager for a group that's holding auditions at the moment. They need a new drummer. If you can sound that good on an actual set of drums, then I think you've got a good chance."
"Which group?" she asked, not daring to get her hopes up. The universe seemed to love to dash them.
"Jem and the Holograms," he answered. "They're holding auditions today down at Starlight Music. I'm Rio Pacheco, by the way."
"Kara Mistral." She set down the chopsticks on the mostly empty paper plate and held out a hand which he shook firmly. "I passed Starlight Music earlier today," she suddenly remembered with a pang of disappointment. "The line was around the block. I don't think I have a few hours to spare for a chance to be one in a thousand considered."
The man chuckled and nodded. "I can understand that. It sounds like a longshot when you look at it that way, but I can get you around the line and into an audition in no time. I've heard a few of the hopefuls play, and I can tell you the band would welcome a chance to listen to someone with talent."
It still sounded like a longshot, at best, Kara thought. Too good to be true at worst but if she could actually get into the group, or even just make a contact with such a prominent band, it would be worth the time and effort. Rio seemed genuine enough, but surface appearance was no indication. She made her decision in a second, deciding to take the risk. "I've got one more delivery. It's only a block or so from there, and I can't be late." She glanced at her bike where it stood, chained to a trashcan. "Maybe an hour."
He followed her gaze and saw the 10-speed. "Is that how you're getting around? I can get you there faster." He indicated a van parked nearby. "I can put your bike on the roof of my van. Back is full of equipment."
Kara rethought the situation and the offer. She knew nothing about the guy, and while he seemed normal enough, Kara knew all too well that looks could be deceiving. She shifted slightly in her seat and felt the reassuring presence of her buck knife in her hip pocket. If she kept her eyes on him, she concluded, she should be fine.
Oblivious to her concerns, he was looking at the strangely bulging backpack that sat next to her chair. "That looks a bit awkward. Don't you have a car?"
"Not today," Kara replied, repressing a sigh of irritation at the inconvenience. "It broke down day before yesterday."
"I know a good mechanic," the man offered, but Kara shook her head.
"I've got it covered." She glanced at what was left of her beef and broccoli and forced down the last few bites. It wasn't terribly good, but it was cheap, and the portions the place served were large. One of the lessons life at the orphanage had taught Kara was to never let food go to waste. "Okay. Let's go."
She let Pacheco put the bike up on the roof and secure it with straps from the back of the van that, Kara was pleased to see, was full of amps, musical instruments, and similar paraphernalia. "Kind of a pain getting around in the city on that, isn't it?" he asked.
"It is," she agreed, climbing into the passenger seat next to him, "but I don't have a lot of options. I'm lucky my boss let me use it and only carry packages I could manage with it. Hopefully, Vinnie will have the new starter motor done by tomorrow night."
"He your mechanic?" Rio asked pulling into traffic.
"Yes." She had gotten a pretty good price, too. Vinnie Torino was the lead guitar of Tangerine Sunrise. He had offered to fix it if she played drums for the demo tape the group was making. There was no need to mention this, though. It was an odd arrangement, and probably not something professional musicians or music company execs would do or approve of.
"How long do you think it'll take? I'm due at Flash Recording studio later this afternoon," she told him, remembering the appointment. Tangerine Sunrise had the time booked. "I need to be there at 3:30." They were a good band, but she didn't really fit with them. The rhythm always seemed a bit off when the four friends that made up the group made a substitution. The music sounded fine, but the rhythm of the band itself, the group dynamic, was off. Still, they needed a temporary drummer to get the demo tape done, and Kara had agreed.
"No problem," Rio assured her. "The audition shouldn't take long, but they may want to spend a little time talking to you. How about I drive you over if it looks like you'll be running late?"
"I'd appreciate that," Kara nodded, wondering yet again what he wanted from her. It was possible he was just a nice guy, but those were rare in her experience. He followed her directions to the office building housing the offices of Franklin & Hauser, where a lawyer was impatiently waiting for a telephone book thick document.
Kara didn't like the place. Like every other place, group, or individual, the law office had its own rhythm. The rhythm there was rushed, frantic, and off-balance. Then there was the man she always had to deal with.
She collected the signature of a paralegal named Al, whose eyes never rose above the neckline of her blouse while he tried, yet again, to hit on her. Since this particular law office was a regular stop for her, she refrained from commenting or punching. As per usual, the creep gave her a good tip in the hopes of winning her over, and she left feeling vaguely dirty.
Rio noted her scowl when she got in. "Problem?"
She shook her head, not bothering to offer an explanation.
"Time to see about that audition," he grinned, and they headed for Starlight Music.
Three minutes later, thanks to green traffic lights between them and their destination, the van turned in to the parking lot of a steel and glass office building on Central Ave. that, Kara noted, still had a frighteningly long line of hopefuls waiting to get in. Pacheco maneuvered carefully through the crowded lot and pulled the van into space near the entrance. "Come on," he said, getting out and locking up the van.
Kara followed him through a side door and an empty service corridor to a freight elevator, absently wondering as she did how her street clothes would go over at the audition. Quite a few in the line of hopefuls had made an effort to dress to impress, and she looked rather plain beside some of them. That wasn't the most important thing on her mind, though. Indecision plagued her over what to do for the audition. As she knew next to nothing about the group, Kara didn't know whether to pick a difficult piece that would demonstrate her technical skill, or go for a powerful, driving beat that would evoke an emotional response. It was hard to know ahead of time, as different groups valued different things.
She had been present when a, since disbanded, Rising Stars had auditioned a skilled base player. The man had been good, very good, but Keith, the leader of the short-lived group, had dismissed him because the playing lacked 'soul'. A saxophone player had been advised to keep practicing because, while she had passion, she didn't yet have the skill.
The band had broken up barely a month later, after one too many record producers had told Keith that he lacked the skill. Kara thought the assessment a bit unfair, but she was the second member of the group to leave when the hot-tempered guitarist had started a very loud and public argument with the owner of an East Hollywood dance club and gotten them thrown out. The subsequent arguments and recriminations had been far from pleasant the other members each blamed each other and Kara just wanted out of the mess the band had become.
The Rising Stars wasn't the only band she'd been a member of that had fallen apart, but it was the first, and it had made her wary. Her musings were interrupted by the grumblings of a skinny kid with a mohawk that had, for some strange reason, a bongo drum hanging around his neck. Kara refocused on the upcoming audition and decided to split the difference between technical difficulty and emotion. There were several things she could play that would satisfy both requirements.