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WitFit Jan/Feb 2013

90's Sex, drugs and rock-n-roll

Word Prompt: Red

-PoM-

Expecting an upbeat, quirky show from the Fish, I coerced Leah into going with me and we arrived at the venue with plenty of time to find a good place to watch the antics. When we entered, though, I got a sense the interview may be much more difficult than I'd originally thought.

From prior experience, the band had always put on a lively show—minimal set decoration and an attitude that was conducive to a good party. Tonight the stage was dripping with streaks of crimson: long scarves arranged over red lights; candelabra that had a better chance at a Shakespearean play than a rock concert; and lots and lots of blood-red colored, dripping candles.

We found a place near the back of the venue where the sound wouldn't be so distorted, and grabbed a table. From the size of the place I didn't expect it to be a big show, and with thirty minutes until show time, the crowd wasn't as big as I'd been expecting when Peter said the band had been gathering notice.

"A little overdramatic don't you think?" Leah said.

"Um, slightly. What the hell happened? Last time I saw them it was all a mash of reggae, ska, rock . . . and fun."

"Dunno," she said. "There's a rumor going around that the new lead wants to change the name of the band to Vertical Ascent. He thought the name 'Fish' was beneath them."

I looked at her. "How do you know this stuff when I don't?"

Leah laughed. "Seriously, I just hear things. Happens when you're knockin' around on the bottom of the totem pole."

She said it in jest, but her words still made me do a double take. "Don't sell yourself short. You're too good for that."

She nodded. "Yeah. But, anyway, the band's dynamic has changed, and not for the better. They've got that song Blood Red that's pretty decent, but I honestly don't see what the buzz surrounding them is. Guess it's just a result of labels snatching up any grunge band and hoping to get half as decent a response as the major names. Hell, I play bass better than Alec does."

"You do play a better bass. Why aren't you hooked up with anyone yet?"

"Eh, the last band? The girls were so flippin' bitchy."

"But . . . we're girls."

"These ones were vicious, man. I don't know, think I just like hangin' with guys better. Once they're over the 'I wanna screw you' stage, they make pretty good friends."

"True," I said, laughing.

While she went to get her hands on some beers, I took in the ambiance, scribbled a few notes in my pad—her words about the band had inspired a couple of questions for later. My article was still in that nebulous stage and I hated to decide on it before I'd even gotten to watch the show, so I penciled in some more positive questions to ask, too.

When the band came on stage—and, oh, god, was the lead really wearing a ruffled shirt?—they opened with a haunting melody overlaid with an operatic backtrack. It was actually pretty cool, costume-y effect aside, and I sat up straighter to watch.

"This is the song I was talking about," Leah said, and took a pull of her beer. "They shouldn't have opened with it, though."

And, once that was past, I saw what she meant. The new material lacked the inherent fun of shows past, sounding more like poorly disguised copies of other bands' material. Their personality as a band had changed somewhat—gone was the occasional reggae/ska, rock influence, replaced by a dark melodramatic theme, more like rock opera.

I even thought I heard a riff from one of Edward's songs.

Still, as much as I would have liked to slam them, I chose to look for the positives in their performance to round out my article.

James was a good front man; I had to give him that. His intensity lent itself to the dramatic theme well and he could certainly work the stage. The band seemed to handle the changes well, not that I could say they were as engaging as in shows I'd seen before.

All in all, I thought the sound odd for the current musical climate of Seattle.

Now that I saw him in person, I remembered James from the night Tanya had confronted Edward and me. That night he'd been a new face singing the standard, vintage set list, and it made me wonder how much sway he had over the band to tackle such an about face.

"This is . . . different," I said during a long guitar solo.

"See? They're a totally different band now."

"I'm not sure I prefer the change. It's very Meatloaf-esque, ya know?"

She cracked up, and unfortunately at a time when she'd been taking a drink of her beer. I grabbed my notes and tried to wipe them off.

"Gee, thanks for that."

"Sorry, sorry. But that was unexpected. Sort of true, though."

When the show was over I nudged Leah. "Let's head back so I can get this over with."

Hoping that the interview would turn up more things for me to hit on in my review than the actual show, I stood from the table with a headache forming and a desire to get home to my bed. Pulling our passes out, we looped the lanyards over our necks and took off for the area backstage where the band was supposed to meet me in the green room. We were met with a wall of bodies cluttering a tiny hallway.

Seemed like they were letting everyone come backstage, now. . .

Leah tugged on my sleeve. "I gotta go to the ladies room. Be right back?"

"Sure. I doubt I could get in there right now anyway."

After a few minutes with no return of Leah, I was getting impatient. Figuring she'd find me when she was done, I shoved my way through the crowd until I reached the door of the green room—aptly named because it was painted a jade color.

A few of the band members lounged on a couch, and I looked around trying to find James.

I tapped the guy nearest me. "Have you seen James?"

"Yeah, he's next door."

Starting to get pissed, I pushed back out of the room and ventured further down the hall. If the band was famous it would be one thing, but the area seemed more like a circus than anything and so much different from the usual vibe at one of Edward's shows.

In a room that was more of an office than a lounge, I found James and two other people. I stopped at the door, cleared my throat.

"James?"

He looked up from the chick sitting in his lap, goods on display for all to see. "What?"

Okay . . . "I'm Bella Swan, from The Rocket?"

"Oh, yeah, come in."

More people started moving in and out of the tiny space and I just became more irritated. There was no way to get an interview done in this setting. "I only have a few questions for you . . ."

The girl, pretty with lots of fiery red hair, leaned down and whispered something to him, and then stuck her tongue in his ear.

"Seriously?" I muttered, rooting around in my bag for a tape recorder.

As much as I wanted to be professional about this, it wasn't easy to do when he continued to ignore me and started to make out with his . . . friend. Shocked, I waited a minute, and then another, and then just gave up. Not like he'd notice I was gone, anyway.

With a feeling inside like I was failing at my job, my first big assignment, I turned for the door. I hoped Peter would understand, or that I'd be able to set up a time to talk to the guy maybe over the phone or someplace more conducive to a sit-down setting. But then again, I didn't care—the guy was a prick.

And, just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, I felt a hand on my ass.

"Hey!" I said as I turned around.

James was standing behind me both hands raised, a placating smile on his face. "Sorry, just wanted your attention."

"That's not the way to go about it. I think I'm going to have the paper rearrange the interview for another time."

And I left, certain Peter was going to fire me.

Leah was struggling through the hallway, and I met her halfway and grabbed her arm to get her to follow after me. "Where the hell were you?"

"Whoa, easy. I got back and you weren't in the green room so I just waited here. Did you get what you needed?"

"No, it was a disaster. I—let's just go."

-PoM-

The next day at work I was sulking at my desk, absolutely humiliated I hadn't taken control of the situation. I knew better than that, had gone in to the night prepared for a little difficulty, and fled in annoyance when everything had gone out the window.

Peter wasn't going to be in until noon today, so that just gave me more time to pout.

"Rough night?"

I glanced up from the notes I'd begun to arrange to find Marcus leaning against the wall of my cubicle. Since the day Peter had explained his situation, I'd been trying to take a less vitriol-laced approach to the guy, which had been working surprisingly well. He still dropped extra work on my desk, but at least he didn't browbeat me at every turn now.

It made me wonder if Peter had talked with him as well.

"Eh, kind of."

"There's a delivery for you up front," he said, thumbing over his shoulder.

"A delivery?"

Before I could rise from my desk, Jessica, the receptionist, was there holding a vase of exotic, extremely fragrant, red and pink flowers.

"These are beautiful. I wish I had a guy who sent me flowers." The phone was ringing up front, and she lingered for only a second before scurrying to get it.

Marcus just wrinkled his nose and turned to leave.

My cheeks heated, and I looked down to hide the sappy smile. He'd only been gone a week, and that Edward had sent me flowers for no reason pleased me. I dug around for the card, anxious to see his words.

Many apologies for last night.

How about we start over with a cup of coffee?

~James

Ugh. I tossed the card on the desk and stared at the flowers for a few moments. Standing, I grabbed the vase and headed toward the front.

"Jess, you know what? These would be so much prettier up here where the sun is."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Why, thank you!" She stuffed her face in the middle to breathe in the scent of the tacky red plumage.

"You're more than welcome."

Just then Peter whizzed by, his briefcase in hand, heading straight toward his office.

"Peter, can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Sure. Let's go."

I followed him in and closed the door partially behind me. He looked up when I took a seat, noticed the door, and frowned.

"Wow. It must be serious. You're not leaving, are you?"

"No! I love it here. I just, well, I think—no, I'm certain that I really messed up last night."

"What do you mean?"

"The whole scene after the show was just one big—"

"Clusterfuck? At my nod, he continued, "Yeah, I've heard that about them. I'm sorry that the rumors turned out to be true. I was sort of hoping that you'd be able to catch an interesting show." He shook his head, seeming contrite. Your knowledge of the scene is one I was hoping would be able to break through with them."

"I tried, I really did, but it was like I was invisible."

He sat back in his chair. "At the very least it was a good learning experience for you, Bella. Sometimes these guys are, to put it bluntly, assholes. They've had so much smoke blown up their rear ends that they think they're above it all, and us critics are there to give them face time."

"I suppose," I said, thinking about the guys in Edward's band. Jasper was a jerk, but he was always welcoming to journalists, at least—well, save for me. "I wish I'd done things differently, though."

"Don't be so hard on yourself. I've had some massive failures in my time, too. We all have. What did you think of the show? I was looking forward to your opinion on it because you're very good about being creatively honest."

"It was . . . an experience. I took a bunch of notes on that part of it, but first impression is that they're a niche band, and I don't know how people will respond to that." I took a deep breath because it didn't seem like it was getting the fact that I'd not gotten the interview. "I bailed pretty fast after the show, though. I mean, before the interview."

His brow furrowed. "Any particular reason?"

There were a litany of excuses I could use to save face, but I was not going to make it sound like I was some damsel in distress and it was something I couldn't control. "The environment, let's just say, was not conducive to a professional interview."

"This is rock and roll, kid. Ninety percent of the time you're not going to get professional. You're going to get a band amped up on a completed show and, with good luck, an audience who loves them. I can tell you horror stories about bands who've been met with crowds who thought they were shit."

My hands twisted together—I just knew I was going to be fired.

He sighed. "Was there something that happened that made you uncomfortable?"

Surprised he'd gotten to the root of it so quickly, I looked up. He watched my face, nodded.

"That happens sometimes, too. Lots of partying backstage."

"I know you're upset, and I understand why. I should have been more assertive, but I just wasn't. For what it's worth, James offered a do-over this morning. I can still get the interview but it won't be following a show."

"Well, if you can get it that's fine. Maybe it was too much to give to you initially."

I rushed to assure him, though I wasn't even sure myself. "No! I mean, I can do it. I promise you. I'll get what you asked for."

"Okay, then. Get me the interview, get it written down, and come see me. We'll have you shadow someone for your next interview so you can get a feel for what's expected, and they can give you pointers on what to do if things are out of hand."

Feeling like I'd let him down, no matter how nice he was being about it, I thanked him for the second chance and headed to my desk. The card I'd tossed aside was there, and I picked it up and dialed the number scrawled at the bottom.

I swallowed crow and then said, "Hi, James? Did I wake you? This is Bella. I thought I'd take you up on your offer and meet for coffee."

-PoM-

When I got home from work there was a message on my machine from Edward.

"Hey, you. Just finished up with the television interviews and waiting to head down to the hotel. Gimme a call about nine your time. I should be here. Miss you."

His voice made me smile and I wished I could be there right now to share in the excitement of a national press tour. I felt like I was missing out so many big moments.

For the rest of the evening I spent my time getting things in order that been neglected in my time away from the apartment. With Rose gone so often, too, the place was in chaos, so I did it all: laundry, picking up and dusting, dishes that had been left in a pile to dry, a fridge that housed more expired items than fresh stuff. After all of that, I was seriously considering giving the place up. Who knew we had so much space to clean.

Around nine-o'clock, I called the hotel front desk in New York City, prepared to play my part in the code Edward and I had developed in order to make sure my calls got past the front desk.

The operator answered.

"I'd like to be connected to George Jetson's room, please," I said, trying to hold back the giggles that name sent me in to.

"One moment," she said, bland as all, and I figured it was a normal call for her.

It rang though four times before the receiver was picked up.

"Hello?"

At the squeaky, female voice I pulled the phone away from my ear and wondered what the hell was going on. I put it back just in time to hear someone say "Gimme that," before Ben's voice said,"Hello?"

"Ben?" The background was noisy, lots of laughter and loud music, and more than one feminine shriek.

"Oh, hey, Bella. Just a sec. Hey Ed!" he shouted, and I winced at the volume of it right in my ear.

There was some scratching a bit of mumbling, and then Edward's voice saying, "You there?"

"Um . . . Yeah."

"Ben, hang up!" More giggles, a click, and then a door slamming.

"Fuck, sorry about that. I don't know how everyone ended up over here."

"Sounds like you guys are having a good time."

"Yeah, it was a good show. The PR part sucked. Lots of sitting around and getting asked the same stupid questions by different journalists. I started making shit up at the end."

I was a little surprised by this; Edward had always been honest in his answers. But, then again, I supposed having to constantly repeat myself would annoy me, too. I made a mental note that I'd try in my own work to keep things interesting.

Someone must have opened the door again, because it got loud on his end. Edward's curses to "Shut the fucking door" filled the line, and for whatever reason, it made me feel like crap.

All I wanted to do was talk to my boyfriend after a particularly shitty day and it seemed like he wasn't available.

"Why don't you just call me back tomorrow, okay?" I said.

"Shit, babe, you're right. I won't be able to get these assholes out of here right now. I'll call when we get to D.C."

"Okay, that's fine."

"I love you and I miss you so fucking much."

"Love you to—" I cut off my words at the sound of the dial tone.

The phone sat in my hand until it began bleating the sound that told you there was no one there, and I placed the receiver back down.

It was normal for them to ham it up after a show, I knew that, and it wasn't unheard of for Jasper and Ben to include girls in that party, too. It happened, and I knew he normally wouldn't end one of our calls that way, but knowing it was one thing; accepting it was another, and it didn't set well in my bones.

-PoM-

Some amazing comments, thank you! xo

Fell on Black Days – Soundgarden