“Who will be playing first?”
“Well, I mean, I just want to see all three bands.”
“Oh, okay, yeah sure, whatever. You’re the boss.”
“Hey, Jenny, just one thing? Did the guy have any tattoos?”
“Oh, yes. He had a big, thick angel wing on his forearm… very sexy. I couldn’t stop staring,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows.
It was Will.
Friday snuck up on me. I wrapped everything up at the café and had a few minutes to run to my apartment and change before Jenny and I met me on the street. I decided on some black skinny jeans, flats, a black tank top, and a little gray blazer. I’ve always been the monochromatic type, never really wearing many colors or patterns. I brushed out my long, dark hair, put on a little mascara and lip gloss, said “Be good” to Jackson, then headed for the door and down to the street to where Jenny was waiting.
“You look amazing, Mia.”
“Really? You are too kind, girl. Anyway, look at you, you look great!” She did. Jenny was much more dressed up than I. She wore a silk shirt with a shimmery skirt and a bomber jacket with chunky heels. Jenny is the polar opposite of me. She’s curvy with blond hair and light eyes.
When we arrived at The Depot, there were a few scattered people in attendance. We made our way to the bar, Jenny ordered a beer, and I asked for my usual going-out drink, vodka soda with a splash of cranberry. The bar was filling up and The Ivans began taking the stage. There was a sprinkle of applause.
“That’s the guy!” Jenny belted out.
I tilted my head back, acknowledging her. She was gawking at him as he tuned his guitar with his back to the audience. It annoyed me that she was a girl who swooned over musicians. I briefly wondered if we could continue our friendship. I liked Jenny, so I was going to overlook it. After all, I knew Will could get my temperature up, too, but I wasn’t there for his attention. I simply wanted to see if he had any talent. The way he talked on the plane made me think that he was at least a decent guitarist. I don’t know why it mattered or why I cared, but I did.
The drummer and bassist had also taken the stage, but there was no sign of the lead singer yet. Will was wearing black jeans and a plain gray T-shirt; I think we sort of matched. He was wearing black classic Adidas sneakers with a piece of duct tape over the toe of his left shoe.
The band began building up a beat. Will played a soulful and haunting guitar riff while the bassist plucked an equally haunting line. The drums came in low and patient. I was mesmerized. Their sound was dynamic and original. Will was in deep concentration and still slightly turned toward the drummer in the back. It was clear that this was some sort of long intro. I watched as he studied the guitar and slightly manipulated the neck to change the sound. There was a bluesiness to his style, but it was definitely faster and harder. Pete, the lead singer, sauntered out on stage shirtless.
“Yuck!” I gasped. Jenny shot me the look of agreement. I expected him to walk up to the microphone and begin belting out something beautiful to match the music the band was making, but that was wishful thinking.
“Check, Check, one… two… three!” Pete shouted into the microphone. The band stopped abruptly. Will was expressionless as he turned toward the audience.
The drummer smacked the drums one last time, threw his arms up in the air, looked right at Pete’s back, and shouted in a breathy voice, “Fucker!” Pete turned around and flipped him off.
“Can I get some more reverb?” Pete directed to someone offstage. It was clear the band was jamming and the audience was enjoying it, but he didn’t give a shit. He was the typical front-man egomaniac. When the band started to play and he began singing, I was mortified. There was so much reverb on his vocals it sounded like we really were in a train depot and someone was calling out arrivals and departures over a speaker system.
“What a waste!” I said to Jenny.
“Yeah, the band seems really good but the singer is so full of himself and he sucks.” Pete was dancing all over the stage like a fool. Will and the other musicians just kept their heads down on their instruments. When there was a guitar or drum solo, Pete would stand at his microphone and shout “uh huhs” and “yeahs” like a total numbskull. Will onstage was not at all the playful guy I had met on the plane. He kept his head down, his eyes were dark, and he never looked out into the crowd. I might have guessed that Pete’s antics embarrassed Will, but I didn’t think he was flustered easily.
As soon as The Ivans finished their set, I turned to Jenny. “Let’s go. I’m over it.”
“Really? Don’t you want to see the other bands?”
“This was fun. It’s just, I have to get up super early.”
“No worries, girl, the guitarist is delicious, but I think I’m over my groupie days.” I suddenly had a lot more respect for Jenny; I knew we would remain friends.
We dashed out of the bar, never looking back, and made our way toward my place. Back at my apartment we had some wine. I played a few fun songs on the piano for Jenny. That was the bonus of living above a restaurant, no one really complained about the noise. My father had an old upright piano that I loved. It was nothing like the baby grand my mother and David had bought me on my sixth birthday. My father’s piano had history and texture and a character to the sound. Jenny sang along to the songs she knew; we had a great time. She told me I was an amazing musician and I told her she was a great friend and I was glad my father had hired her. Jenny stayed that night in the guest room and we managed to be asleep by ten.