Short Term Relationships by A.K. Rose

Author:A.K. Rose
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: A.K. Rose

NINETEEN

The bar was on the outskirts of Portland, its neon sign displaying its name, “Stumptown Tavern,” half-lit marquee announcing that Maplewood was headlining with mismatched letters, a red “a” standing out amongst otherwise black lettering. On second thought, perhaps the word, “headlining” was a stretch, since they were the only band playing. Not that it mattered—no one more than 100 miles of Seattle knew who they were or had heard their songs. Their first travelling gig paid a total of $400—only about $60 each once they paid for gas to fill Orion’s cargo van. But it was a travel gig, and it was step one in the master plan. And as Charles reminded them, step one was important, because it led to the rest of the plan. Little by little, they were determined to expand the reach of their band.

In the green room they waited. Waited for Saturday night to inch closer to 11 p.m., their call time. For the bar’s patrons to become inebriated enough to appreciate live music, even if they didn’t know said music. Waited for their chance to create some new fans and maybe create their futures while they were at it.

Charles was furiously texting someone, his head bowed over his phone as he paced the room, jet black hair slicked back for show mode, skinny jeans whirring softly as he walked, thumbs clicking away on whatever it was he had to say right before a show. He was setting up a hookup for later that evening, knowing Charles. Orion played air keyboard from a red velour club chair in the corner, practicing his solos and calming his nerves, bald head already beading with sweat before they even played a note. They were trying a new bass player—Macy quit the band when they’d secured the gig at Stumptown—and the new guy sat quietly. If he was nervous, he didn’t show it. Jeremy was a wild card for many reasons—a straight guy in a band of queers was a change in direction, no question. They’d only been able to practice together twice, but he was the best bassist they’d auditioned, and they had to trust him when he said he was ready to be in a band that was going somewhere; he didn’t care if they were queer. He liked their music, and he liked them, and they felt the same.

While the members of his band lost themselves in their pre-show habits, Nathan sunk into the tattered sofa that defined one edge of the small room. Eyes closed, he rehearsed the first and last songs of the set in his mind, the first being their normal opener; the last, a new song he’d written for Liza. But Liza wasn’t there to hear him sing it. She was back home, asleep as she readied herself for her last tune-up race before Ironman Coeur d’Alene the next month. The timing of this gig was unfortunate—he’d have loved her to be there—but the pressure was off since she wasn’t there.

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