bar along one wall, scattered tables and a few
booths at the back. The stage was tucked into one corner, and
looked barely big enough to hold a two-piece band.
“We’re closed,” said a young woman who
emerged from the door at the back. She was dressed in black leather
pants and a high-collared white shirt.
“We’re the Assorted Zebras,” Dred said.
“We’re supposed to have an audition today.”
“Oh, you’re the one who keeps calling?” The
woman turned her head and shouted at the open door from which she’s
emerged. “Hey, Freddy! Those pushy hick kids are here with their
band!”
The man who came out next was hugely obese,
wearing a bright flowered shirt and a green pork-pie hat. He stood
next to the young woman and folded his arms while he looked over
the four of them.
“Who’s the one that keeps calling?” Freddy
asked.
“That’d be me.” Dred raised her hand.
“Well, stop calling. Lissa here is my
entertainment director,” he said, and the young woman smiled.
“She’s also my bar manager,” he added, and the woman’s smile
faltered. “Anyway, this is your one chance to convince us that
you’re good enough to play The Patch. Go set yourselves up, and
don’t make too much noise doing it.” He waved at the tiny
stage.
“Thank you!” Mitch said. “We really
appreciate this opportunity—”
“Don’t talk to me until you’re ready to
play,” Freddy said.
They carried the equipment and quickly set it
up, plugging into the club’s sound system. Freddy and Lissa sat in
a booth at the back of the club, going over a stack of
paperwork.
When they were set up, Erin spoke into the
microphone: “Are you ready?”
Freddy the club owner waved a pudgy arm
without looking at them. He was still in conversation with Lissa,
ignoring the band.
“Okay,” Erin said. “This first one’s called
‘Nuclear Morning.’”
Dred counted off the beat, and then Jason and
Mitch joined in.
Erin sang:
I woke up on nuclear morning,
Last night they gave the last warning,
Nothing left but crying and mourning,
All alone on nuclear morning…
They played three songs straight through, and
neither of the two people in the booth looked up at them the entire
time.
“Okay,” Erin said, “This next one is called
‘Remember’—”
“Wait, wait.” Freddy pushed himself to his
feet and waddled toward the stage. “Look, you seem like nice kids.
You’ve got some talent.” He looked right at Erin. “Maybe a lot of
talent. But you’re too green and raw. You don’t have your sound
together. I’d say give it another year of practice before you’re
ready to play live shows.”
“A year ?” Erin asked.
“Nobody gets successful overnight,” Freddy
said. “You’re young. You have plenty of time to practice. Don’t
take it personally. Now get your junk off my stage.”
Mitch frowned. Erin’s face scrunched up for a
second as if she were going to cry, but she fought it down and made
it into a hard glare instead. The band members looked at each
other. It was one more failed audition.
Freddy started chatting with Lissa again.
After a second, he looked up and said, “Get going! We have a
business to run here.”
The four of them packed up their gear and
carried it out to the van, speaking very little. On the drive home,
the mood was quiet and somber.
“We’ll get the next one,” Mitch said as they
drove out of the city.
Nobody replied.
Back in Chippewa, Dred dropped Erin off at
home. When the rest of them arrived at Mitch’s, it was close to
eight o’ clock. Jason got his bike and his backpack from the
garage.
He said good-bye and pedaled home.
His dad was waiting at the kitchen table,
reading his paper. Jason heard his mom and Katie upstairs, doing
something in Katie’s room. Maybe cleaning up—Katie could turn any
room into a wreck in a matter of minutes.
Jason poured himself a glass of milk.
“How was your first day back at work?” his
dad asked, without looking
booths at the back. The stage was tucked into one corner, and
looked barely big enough to hold a two-piece band.
“We’re closed,” said a young woman who
emerged from the door at the back. She was dressed in black leather
pants and a high-collared white shirt.
“We’re the Assorted Zebras,” Dred said.
“We’re supposed to have an audition today.”
“Oh, you’re the one who keeps calling?” The
woman turned her head and shouted at the open door from which she’s
emerged. “Hey, Freddy! Those pushy hick kids are here with their
band!”
The man who came out next was hugely obese,
wearing a bright flowered shirt and a green pork-pie hat. He stood
next to the young woman and folded his arms while he looked over
the four of them.
“Who’s the one that keeps calling?” Freddy
asked.
“That’d be me.” Dred raised her hand.
“Well, stop calling. Lissa here is my
entertainment director,” he said, and the young woman smiled.
“She’s also my bar manager,” he added, and the woman’s smile
faltered. “Anyway, this is your one chance to convince us that
you’re good enough to play The Patch. Go set yourselves up, and
don’t make too much noise doing it.” He waved at the tiny
stage.
“Thank you!” Mitch said. “We really
appreciate this opportunity—”
“Don’t talk to me until you’re ready to
play,” Freddy said.
They carried the equipment and quickly set it
up, plugging into the club’s sound system. Freddy and Lissa sat in
a booth at the back of the club, going over a stack of
paperwork.
When they were set up, Erin spoke into the
microphone: “Are you ready?”
Freddy the club owner waved a pudgy arm
without looking at them. He was still in conversation with Lissa,
ignoring the band.
“Okay,” Erin said. “This first one’s called
‘Nuclear Morning.’”
Dred counted off the beat, and then Jason and
Mitch joined in.
Erin sang:
I woke up on nuclear morning,
Last night they gave the last warning,
Nothing left but crying and mourning,
All alone on nuclear morning…
They played three songs straight through, and
neither of the two people in the booth looked up at them the entire
time.
“Okay,” Erin said, “This next one is called
‘Remember’—”
“Wait, wait.” Freddy pushed himself to his
feet and waddled toward the stage. “Look, you seem like nice kids.
You’ve got some talent.” He looked right at Erin. “Maybe a lot of
talent. But you’re too green and raw. You don’t have your sound
together. I’d say give it another year of practice before you’re
ready to play live shows.”
“A year ?” Erin asked.
“Nobody gets successful overnight,” Freddy
said. “You’re young. You have plenty of time to practice. Don’t
take it personally. Now get your junk off my stage.”
Mitch frowned. Erin’s face scrunched up for a
second as if she were going to cry, but she fought it down and made
it into a hard glare instead. The band members looked at each
other. It was one more failed audition.
Freddy started chatting with Lissa again.
After a second, he looked up and said, “Get going! We have a
business to run here.”
The four of them packed up their gear and
carried it out to the van, speaking very little. On the drive home,
the mood was quiet and somber.
“We’ll get the next one,” Mitch said as they
drove out of the city.
Nobody replied.
Back in Chippewa, Dred dropped Erin off at
home. When the rest of them arrived at Mitch’s, it was close to
eight o’ clock. Jason got his bike and his backpack from the
garage.
He said good-bye and pedaled home.
His dad was waiting at the kitchen table,
reading his paper. Jason heard his mom and Katie upstairs, doing
something in Katie’s room. Maybe cleaning up—Katie could turn any
room into a wreck in a matter of minutes.
Jason poured himself a glass of milk.
“How was your first day back at work?” his
dad asked, without looking
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