I slip into Mason's role with surprising ease. While it's suddenly a lot of pressure to be the one in charge, it's to my own surprise that I find I have answers to almost every problem someone brings to me. And when I don't, I have no issues asking one of the guys in the team who has experience in the necessary area. It's stressful, and I'm worried about keeping things running smoothly. But mostly I just keep my head down and deal with the task in front of me.
Before I know it, the audience begins to arrive and fill the space around me. I'm safely contained in the area we've demarcated for the audio desk, and I know that more of the team is backstage operating the lighting. All of our equipment has been double and triple checked, but Murphy always tends to be lurking at the edges in our industry, so we have to stay sharp.
The opening band looks like they could still be in high school, but they sound pretty decent. If there was no follow up act, I'd probably find myself humming one of their songs later.
Unfortunately there's some fret buzz on the lead guitar, and I have to adjust the EQ on the lower frequencies. They should have checked their equipment beforehand, and I'm a little irritated.
The floor manager informs us over comms that the next one is their last song. Dimitri is expected on stage in 15 minutes. The band launches into their finale and I focus entirely on the music, motinoring the levels like a hawk and adjusting where necessary. The singer has a tendency to emphasise her S sounds right into the mic, so I have to watch for distortion.
"It's been great to be here!" the vocalist says to the crowd as the song ends, and there are some cheers amidst the answering applause. My fingers fly across the desk, setting everything back to the levels we fine tuned during sound check for Dimitri's set.
"Talent en route," comes the report in my ear.
"Lighting standing by," follows suit.
The screams ramp up suddenly, indicating Dimitri just walked onto stage. I look up, watching for my cue to fade his mic up.
He's breathtaking. His impressive height draws your eye immediately, no matter where you happen to be in the audience. And there's something about the smile he doles out to his fans, holding just a hint of some dark promise. The hand he waves is practiced, blasé. Like he's acknowledging that he's worthy of others' adoration, but really he's only here for you.
And he just does it so damned well.
Not a single eye in the place can look away as he picks up his guitar and wraps those long fingers around his mic.
I slide the fader into position.
"Thanks so much for coming out to see me tonight."
His voice fills the air and the cheers rise higher. I add a touch more volume to his mic to balance it out.
"Someone reminded me lately how lucky I am to be here, with such amazing fans. So this one is for you."
The noise of the crowd reaches an almost deafening peak, and Dimitri begins to play. As the first chords ring out, he seems to search for something across the crowd. And for a moment his gaze holds my own.
He's singing Flowers Fall. At this point I know the new words by heart, from all the times I watched the video. But it can't compare in the slightest to actually watching him perform it.
I tear my eyes away from him to look back down at the desk. Add a touch more reverb, bring the highs down slightly and the lows up a bit. Ignore the goosebumps rising on my arms as he gets to the chorus.
I glance back up at him.
"I'll remember what you said," he's singing. "And dream of you and me."
The crowd is singing along; he's the maestro pied piper and they'd follow him anywhere. The feeling is palpable, thick in the air. The adoration of this beautiful talented man, and the emotion that his music provokes. But I'm beginning to feel something else, and I don't quite know why.
He's on stage, performing. He looks completely natural. Yet I feel strange: confused, almost sad. The longer I look at him, the stronger the feeling grows in my stomach. I try to ignore it as I keep my attention on the desk, but as always he's unshakeably on my mind.
I'd never have known before I spent time with him, before I watched him play in his own space. But this performance seems almost to take something away from his talent. Alone with him in his music room, he was happy. And out here, he seems to almost lose himself to the character he's playing.
My eyes are on the desk, and I try to return my attention to my job as I adjust a few things. I'm probably just overthinking this, because I know how he felt the last time. In fact I was so focused on my drama with Mason, I never thought to ask Dimitri how he was feeling. And he never brought it up.
The sadness in my stomach intensifies. But I grit my teeth and do my job.
As Dimitri continues going through his songs, it really does feel like a specific kind of magic to be among the crowd. On the technical front, everything is going swimmingly, but I keep my hand near the wooden tabletop even as I think it. The show is almost over, we're gearing up for the finale. Confetti is scattered beneath the feet of the crowd, a colourful reminder of the high energy song from Dimitri's latest album that just ended. It was one of the more generic newer ones, but it will probably be stuck in my head tonight, even with its generic chord structure.
Dimitri raises his arms to accept the screams from the crowd, grinning like he's the king of the world. And then he steps up to his mic again, the one I set at the perfect height, and his smile takes on a more serious tone. In response, the audience quietens.
"Can we dim the lights a little?" Dimitri says, turning his head to the wings in order to address Gerry at the lighting desk.
The lights dim, but my comms light up.
"What is he doing? This isn't what we rehearsed."
I press the voice button on my headset.
"Just follow his lead," I say.
On stage, Dimitri begins to idly pick a melody on his strings. It sounds vaguely familiar, but I don't have time to place it as I adjust the settings to sound more folk and mellow than rock and roll. And hell, a touch more reverb wouldn't hurt.
"So this isn't how I'd planned to finish the show," Dimitri says, "But you've been such a great audience, I want to share something I've been working on."
The cheer starts low, then rapidly gathers steam. Dimitri grins in response, looking almost a little shy.
"Is that okay then?"
The crowd screams its assent, and his smile grows.
"Well okay then. Here goes..."
He plays the same melody with renewed purpose. It's sweet and hopeful sounding, and still slightly familiar.
I take out some of the bass in the guitar and add a little to his voice to balance it out. My fingers remain poised over the board, waiting for him to start singing.
"It wasn't the first time,
but the first in a while.
That I felt my mind lifting
In response to a smile"
My hands feel like they have a mind of their own, turning, pushing, twisting as I make slight adjustments across the board.
Dimitri has the crowd completely enthralled. The melody is beautiful and simple, softer than his other songs but all the more genuine sounding for that. People have taken out their phones, and across the space I see the twinkle of thousands of lights waving gently to the music.
"Not a new feeling,
But I gave up back then
And I won't be making
That mistake again"
There really is something familiar about the tune. But if he's only just written it, I don't see how it's possible for me to know it. The crowd doesn't share my confusion though; they're eating it up as Dimitri launches into what must be the chorus.
"And we'll leave this unspoken
Where nothing can be said.
You'll leave but you won't
Because you'll stay circling in my head.
Why should I give in
To say the thing that's on my mind?
Let's take it one tomorrow
At a time."
And that's when it clicks in my head, I have heard the song before. But the confirmation leaves me more confused than I was before. So I do my best to ignore it as Dimitri continues.
"Should we still do the pyros?" Gerry asks over comms.
I look around at the crowd, unanimously mesmerized by the man on stage singing his heart out. In my mind's eye, I picture the impact of the quiet song and the dim stage suddenly lit up into a dazzlingly bright finale, like the magic spell has been cast.
"Yes," I reply into my headset. "But on my cue."
"Standing by."
We had the cue confirmed and rehearsed during soundcheck, but obviously now that's null and void. I think about Dimitri's songs I know, and the structure he generally follows in the softer ones. Odds are he'll repeat the chorus at the end, but there's no way to know for sure. If we miss the timing, the effect will lose its impact. My palms are starting to sweat.
Dimitri finishes another verse and moves into an instrumental bridge, bringing in a clever variation on the beginning melody. I count the bars in my head and try to feel the flow of the music. I fade down his mic levels as he riffs, to avoid any stray breaths indicating the effort takes to move his fingers so quickly over the frets.
...5, 6, 7, 8 I count, and fade his mic back up just in time for him to start singing the chorus again.
As he reaches the last lines of the chorus, my nerves increase. Is he going to repeat it, or is this it?
"Why should I give in and say the thing that's on my mind," he's singing.
I tear my eyes away from the desk to search Dimitri for any sign of a cue, panic rising in my stomach.
"Let's take it one tomorrow at a time," he sings, but I notice he changes the inflection on the last note, so it rises instead of falling.
Okay. He's going to repeat the line and end. All of my nerves vanish in that second of certainty.
"5 seconds," I say over comms. "4, 3, 2..."
"One tomorrow at a time," Dimitri finishes as the stage errupts in a cascade of sparkles. The audience goes crazy, jumping and screaming, and Dimitri's eyes are alight with the reflected magic of the pyros as his eyes meet mine once more. But the dazzling lights have nothing on the smile he sends my way from across the crowd.
When the show is over, Dimitri autographs some signs and shakes some hands, posing for precarious selfies on the edge of the stage. But the team quickly gets to work derigging the stage, and I power down and start resetting the mixer. Members of the audience still hang around in small groups, maybe hoping for an encore.
I carry on unplugging cables while I wait for the space to clear, but that doesn't take long. Movement on stage catches my eye; it's Gerry heading down towards me. A group of girls eyes him with interest, probably wondering if they can flirt their way backstage.
"Great job!" I say by way of greeting.
He laughs. "Who me? Look at you! You were amazing."
"Thank you. I'm really proud of the team."
He rolls his eyes. "Sure Rose. But we've never worked like that under different management. Seriously. Good job."
His praise makes me blush a little. It really is an honour, Gerry knows his stuff.
"Anyway," he slaps me on the shoulder, "I've got this. Go derig your boy backstage."
My face gets hotter. "He's not my boy."
"Yeah. He just did all that for nothing huh. I thought you were smart."
Now it's my turn to roll my eyes. "Still not my boy. But yeah I'll go pack away so he can leave."
Gerry laughs. "You did a lot of setup Rose, maybe you should just leave with him."
"Ha ha," I say.
"I'm serious."
"You shouldn't be."
"Good luck boss!"
I shake my head as I walk away, surprised to find my nerves beginning to rise again. Around me, the crew is busy packing away. Tearing up tape, rolling cable, matching stands to the appropriate bags and boxes. They work pretty quickly, there's already a significant dent in the work we have to get done before heading home.
I grab the empty kitbags on my way, and knock on the door to Dimitri's dressing room. I'm trying to work up the courage to ask him the question that's been burning in my chest since his grand finale.
"Come in."
But that's not the voice I was expecting, and my heart sinks. Sure enough, when I open the door, the fake smile of Tasha Ozera greets me as she sits next to Dimitri on the dressing table.
"Rose!" he smiles, standing up. "We were just about to pop some champagne, join us?"
"I only brought two glasses, Dimka," Tasha replies.
"She can share with me."
I jump in at the sight of Tasha's face. "No, really. Thanks, but I'm just here to pack up."
Tasha laughs like I've made a joke. "Let the poor lady do her job, Dimitri."
He glances back at her, then seems to remember something. "Sorry Tasha, this is Rose Hathaway."
He extends a hand as though presenting me, but my face feels frozen.
"Actually, we already..." I start, but Tasha interrupts.
"Of course, you're Rose!" she simpers. "I've heard so much about you."
It's all I can do not to roll my eyes. Looks like my share of bullshit isn't over just yet.
Author's Note
Thank you so much for reading, and for patiently waiting for this update! I happened to get sucked into Tears of the Kingdom, so that's why this chapter is two weeks late. In any case, I hope you enjoyed it, and if you haven't followed or favourited yet, now would probably be a good time. I doubt these updates will stay regular from this point, so it's a good way to stay in the loop when I post.
Weirdly enough, I feel hesitant about including poems or songs in these. Write and share fanfiction with thousands of internet strangers? No problem! But to include actual rhyming things I've written? Nope, they're going to laugh at me. Hilarious to find out that's where the line is, but anyway. I hope it wasn't too Tolkien-y.
The VA universe and the characters therein are the sole intellectual property of Richelle Mead.
