I wake up later than usual on Friday morning, having resorted to a sleeping pill in order to calm my nerves about the gig with Mason. But as always, this means that instead of me waking up feeling about as refreshed as an adult ever can, I feel like I've been dragged facedown through a field. And I know from experience that it's not something that caffeine can fix. But that sure as hell won't stop me from trying.
I go about my morning groggy and disoriented, even after three coffees. The caffeine is probably more of a hinderance than a help, because I keep being interrupted by random bursts of panic as thoughts of tonight's job waltz in and out of my thoughts. That dread only increases as the day goes on. It gets to a point where I'm so sick with anxiety, I figure I may as well cut my losses and get on my way. The drive will take around an hour since the venue is in the city, so if I leave now I'll be there 40 minutes early. It's more or less the time I would have arrived before Mason pulled his crap, so I figure my professionalism is going to have to start now.
There's not much traffic at this time of day at least, and I decide to grab a smoothie for the road. With my mind on the sweet tang of mango and pineapple, and the familiar feeling of my wheels on the road, I find myself looking forward to having this night behind me. I turn on my feel good playlist to match my mood, and have absolutely no guilt in belting out the lyrics to my favourites among Dimitri's songs.
By the time I park my car, I'm feeling strangely motivated. I still would rather not see Mason. I still wish he hadn't mouthed off about me, and that I didn't have to interact with him again. But knowing that he'll be forced to watch me do my job as well as I always do gives me a grim sort of satisfaction.
I try to mentally prepare myself to see him, but when I head into the venue, it's pretty much completely quiet. A couple of venue staff are going around the space doing a final sweep, but Mason is nowhere to be seen. Which is admittedly odd, and makes me wonder if he's deliberately not here because he thought I would be.
One of the venue people walks up to me.
"Hi, are you with the AV team?"
I pull on a professional smile. "Yeah. Can I help with something?"
A look of relief crosses her face at my answer. "Thank god. We've been trying to contact some Mason guy for an hour now.
One of the drivers with some of the equipment took a wrong turn and got stuck in another town. There's a really bad traffic jam between us and them and he can't take back roads with the size of the vehicle."
I blink, my mind rushing to process what she's just said.
"Okay," I say, with a confident tone covering the sudden spike of anxiety in my chest. "Can you get me the number of the driver? I need to know exactly what we're missing."
She nods and hurries off, while I interrupt my internal string of curse words long enough to dial Mason's number. But it goes to voicemail, and I sincerely hope he's not ignoring my calls because it's me when there's an actual work emergency going on.
The lady I spoke to returns with a post it note and wishes me good luck before heading off again. I read off the note, typing the driver's number into my phone as I walk backstage to check what equipment we do have. Apparently his name is David.
I dial as I walk through the boxes, working down my mental checklist. I see the lighting desk but not the mixer, which is concerning. And no mic stands are visible, though that's not as big of a problem.
"Hello?"
"Hi David," I say. "My name is Rose Hathaway, I'm on the Belikov show AV team. Can you let me know exactly what's in your vehicle so I can find replacements?"
"Oh are you on Mason Ashford's team? He's my point of contact but he isn't picking up."
I grit my teeth. "Yeah I'm having the same issue. I just have to source the equipment we need or there won't be a show."
He rattles off a list of equipment that should be easy to find, but as I suspected, the main issue is the mixing desk.
"Okay awesome, thanks man. Can you text me the list as well please, so I have a record? All right cool. Thank you."
I hang up and start Googling.
Twenty five minutes later, I've tried Mason's phone again three times in between calling nearby AV hire companies, but he still isn't answering. I had to widen my search to source a large enough mixer, so Gerry is my next call.
"Yo man, have you left yet?"
"Uh yeah," is the reply. "What's up?"
"We're in shit," I tell him frankly. "One equipment van can't get here and I need at least a 32 channel mixer. Can you call in any favours?"
Gerry swears. "I might know a guy who can help, but I'll have to call him to see if he can get it there."
"Cool," I say. "Call him and let me know, I have to go pick up some mics and stands from a place a couple blocks over. When you get here, set up lights first thing and get anyone you need to help. It's all hands on deck if we're going to pull this together on time."
He makes a noise of assent and I hang up, grabbing my bag.
Two of our crew members walk in as I'm heading to the door, so I explain the situation.
"I'm going to pick up some replacement equipment," I finish. "Make a start on lighting and laying cables, and fill in anyone else who arrives while I'm gone."
They immediately get into gear. Call time is in ten minutes with still no word from Mason, but I'm trying to focus only on the fires I know I can put out.
Gerry calls as I'm heading out the door saying his guy will bring the mixer, but he'll need about half an hour. That will put us behind schedule, but not as badly as it could have, so I breathe a small sigh of relief.
I head to the hire place and tell the owner all about our luck. He's super friendly, especially when I casually mention Dimitri's name. Apparently his daughter is a huge fan. The guy helps me load the stuff into my car, and even offers me a discount. I make a mental note to ask Dimitri for an autograph for the guy's daughter.
Finally feeling like I can breathe again, I drive back to the venue with my loot. With the amount of time it's taken to get it, Gerry's contact should have dropped off the mixer by now.
I walk back through the doors laden with kit bags. Immediately, some of the guys start forward and grab them from me, hurrying off again to get everything set up. I take a breath. Looks like we've averted disaster here.
Mason is here, glaring at me from across the room where the mixer is being set up. I don't acknowledge the glare, but as soon as the board is up we'll need to start prepping for sound check, so I head in the direction of the stage to grab the necessary equipment.
"Hathaway," Mason's voice rings out across the entire space, "The fuck do you think this is? Call time was twenty minutes ago!"
My face heats as anger floods my veins. But I take a breath and keep going in the same direction, not acknowledging that he's spoken at all.
I look up as I near the stage, and Gerry is glaring at Mason as he sets up the lights.
"You're just going to ignore me?" Mason calls to my retreating figure. "That's really professional."
I pause as I reach the stage, thinking about whether it would be worth it to spin around and march over to deck him or not. But before I can act, Gerry steps in.
"Actually Rose has been out doing your job, while multiple people tried and failed to contact you. If you want to keep drawing attention to that, feel free to keep yelling. Otherwise I'd recommend just letting the rest of us pick up your slack in silence."
That seems to have had the desired affect as no other comments come from our boss. I shoot Gerry a look of gratitude and he winks at me, then we get back to work.
One of the guys who I think is named Owen is backstage unzipping the kit bags I brought up, so I grab a mic stand and head out on stage to set it up. I've done it a thousand times before, but because I'm smaller than a lot of the guys, I have to guess at the required height. Twisting to make the required adjustments, in the space of a blink I picture the exact spot on Dimitri's chest that my head would be if he hugged me. I set the height of the stand relative to that, then go back to grab cables.
Some of the guys are positioning the speakers on stage and connecting everything up. Another couple of people are taping down the various snakes required to get the audio to the mixer. So I grab some XLR cables and a roll of tape and get to work.
The team works like a well oiled machine, with very little of Mason's input actually required. After Gerry's comeback, Mason pretty much leaves me alone, and after three hours we've set up enough for the guys to start testing the lights and LED panels. I clear off the stage, giving them the space they need to work. Normally I'd go down to the mixer with Mason and help out, but something tells me I wouldn't be welcome.
And so it is that I'm backstage an hour later, organising the kit bags and flight cases into a workable area that's no longer likely to break someone's neck in the darkness. It's a repetitive task, but I get absorbed into the motion. It keeps me out of sight effectively, which also helps. But my attention is caught immediately when someone clears their throat behind me.
I know who it is without looking.
"Time already?" I ask Dimitri.
"It is," he says. "I'm assuming you need equipment again so I'll meet you in my dressing room."
I move the last box into the space I made for it and dust off my hands on my jeans.
"Cool, I'll be right there."
And now for the part I'm dreading. I ahead back out to the front of the stage, because I need to grab the mic and tape from the sound desk. Where Mason is standing. I take a breath.
Confidence Hathaway, I tell myself silently. You can do this.
Author's Note
Thank you so much for reading! If you liked it, please let me know by leaving a review. You've all been so amazingly supportive and I really appreciate it! Feel free to favourite and follow as well if you'd like.
The VA universe and the characters therein are the sole intellectual property of Richelle Mead
