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The sun visor is flipped down so that he can accurately apply his eyeliner and he’s feeling slightly winded after having to change out of his bellhop uniform in the car. Brandon thinks that if he gives tonight’s show much thought, his hands will go numb. This is the band’s seventh or eighth show and it barely gets easier each time. Dell tells him that there’s been improvement, but he can’t see it.
He’s in a parking lot on Maryland Avenue, a nice area with plenty of college students roaming around. Brandon can’t help but feel a pull to them as they pass by. High School was hard enough and he’s pleased to never have to take another test for the rest of his life, but there’s something missing. Sure, he’s friends with his coworkers, but he hasn’t really had someone for a long time. For the past few months, Dave has been that someone. He’s hesitant to say it, but it’s true. Dave gets him in a way that no one else has since he moved back home a few years ago.
Brandon sighs. He misses his brother.
A horn honks, startling him out of his thoughts. He looks to his left, peering over the slash of duct tape he has put over the crack in his window. Dave and Dell are here now, Dave laughing in the cab of his car while Dell gets out. Brandon quickly finishes up his makeup before getting out to join them.
“Man, you spook easy,” Dave says once he joins Brandon and Dell. “Now, where the fuck is Matt?”
Brandon shrugs, looking around the parking lot. Matt’s very conspicuous red truck is nowhere to be found. “I left him a message this morning reminding him.”
Dave looks perturbed, but he is momentarily distracted, “Is that the vest we found at the place on Sahara?”
“Uh,” Brandon looks down at what he’s wearing—it’s just jeans, a band shirt, and the aforementioned white vest. “Yeah, I think so.”
“We should go back sometime,” Dave’s scrutinizing his outfit now, “especially after prom season.” He’s dressed in a chrome shirt, black blazer, and dark wash jeans. Dell has a sensible polo on. “We’re not late yet, technically, so we’ll give him a few more minutes.”
Brandon blows out a sigh and leans against his car, “What are we playing tonight?”
“Brightside,” Dave says without a moment's thought. “Under the Gun. You wanna do I’ve Got This Feeling?”
“How many are we doing?”
“Six.”
Brandon hums, “Yeah, okay. Dell?”
The man shrugs, “I’d be cool to try out On Top.”
Dave seems to agree, but looks to Brandon for confirmation. The youngest groans, “That one’s really synth heavy, though.”
“You play synth,” Dave deadpans, “that’s your job. You love doing the whammy part at the end.”
“That isn’t a whammy.”
“You don’t know what a whammy is.”
“That’s a pitch bender.”
“You’re a pitch bender.”
Brandon stares at him. Dell has to turn around to compose himself. “Fine, we’ll do it.” The three stand in silence for a few moments, the quiet accentuated by other cars passing and the sound of Dave kicking a rock.
Dave decides to make a big fuss, “Oh, fuck it,” he turns to get his guitar case out of the back seat, “he can just meet us there.” This kicks both Dell and Brandon in gear to get their instruments.
Brandon has started keeping a blanket in the back of his car so that he can make some feeble attempt to hide his keyboard since a few weeks ago, he caught a man peering into his windows for a little too long for it to just be curiosity. He really needs to not have another broken window. Or another stolen car.
Dave and Dell both look so natural with their instrument cases, but Brandon feels like a wobbling baby deer with his. It’s much too big for him, and he’s not excited to cross the road with it. He trails behind the other two men as they begin to leave due to their height on him and the fact that Dave is a speed-walker when he’s fired up like this. It’s stressful, especially with four lanes of traffic in the mix. Once they get to the other side everything is smooth sailing as they walk to the venue.
“You got your cell?” Dave asks as they head down the sidewalk. The question is undoubtedly aimed at Dell because Brandon doesn’t have a cellphone.
“Yeah,” the man responds, fishing the phone out of his pocket with his free hand and giving it to Dave. “You gonna call Matt?”
“I sure fuckin’ hope so,” Dave dials a number and puts the phone up to his ear. “He’s been getting on my last nerve lately, bein’ late and shit.”
Evidently, Matt doesn’t answer because Dave doesn’t say anything else. When they get to the building they head to the second floor where the venue is. It’s quiet up there, save for the crowd, because the next band is setting up. Before Dave can lead them backstage, Brandon stops him by tugging on his jacket sleeve.
“Hey, can you get me a drink?”
Dave wrinkles his nose at him, still annoyed about the Matt situation, “Use your fake.”
Brandon glances back at the bar, “What if they know and they kick us out?”
Dave huffs, his gaze shifting from Brandon to the bar—he’s still trying to get into contact with their drummer, “Get Dell to do it, I’m busy right now.”
Brandon hides his annoyance, instead giving Dell a pair of puppy eyes. He’s gotta lay it on thick with him since he’s so much older than he and Dave, and Dell has had reservations about Brandon drinking in the past for whatever reason.
Dell’s eyes bore into him, but he eventually relents. He passes his bass case to Brandon, “What do you want?”
Brandon ignores his resigned tone and squints at the bar, “Do they have Fireball?”
“I’m gonna get you a Bud Light,” Dell deadpans.
“Oh, come on,” Brandon whines.
Dave snaps the phone shut for the time being and hooks an arm around one of Brandon’s, “You come on.” They shuffle—very awkwardly thanks to Brandon holding two instrument cases—to the stage door, where Dave introduces himself to a bouncer. The burly man then checks a list and makes Dave show him his ID before he allows them to pass, Dave taking a moment to tell the man that Dell is also with them before they go. As Brandon has come to find out, these backstage areas are never very glamorous. There’s just enough room for them to put their stuff down, along with a gross old couch.
“You go and make sure there’s a DI up front for the keyboard. And a stand,” he plops down on the nasty couch and puts the phone to his ear again, “I’m gonna figure this out.”
Brandon puts both of his cases next to where Dave put his, out of the way, and then finds the entrance to the stage. He doesn't want to intrude on the other band, so he stays out of the way by peeking out from behind a curtain. He spots the little black box labeled ‘KEYS’ quickly but rather than retreating back to Dave, he decides to stay a moment to observe the opening band. He’s not sure of their name, but the woman on stage catches his attention. It’s not like there are no female-fronted bands in Vegas, but with the current nu-metal scene it’s been less common.
As he moves on to check out the rest of the band, he locks eyes with the man standing near the drum kit. He doesn’t have much to do, as Tremorz has a kit set up for the night, so maybe that’s why he notices Brandon’s creeping. The man furrows his brow at Brandon but he can tell that it’s in a more joking manner than an inquisitive one. Brandon, ever the socially anxious, bolts.
He heads back to the greenroom and finds Dave firing off at the phone: “...so you can just FORGET it if you’re gonna keep fucking bailing. I swear to God, this is your last fucking chance. If you can’t find it in yourself to show up in the next thirty minutes, you’re OUT! No, you know what? You ARE out! We are tired of dealing with your shit and I’m not just talking about showing up to practice wasted. Who the fuck wears a football jersey to a gig? AND you’re a dick to Brandon—which is ridiculous and we don’t need that energy in the band! You’re fuckin’ FIRED!”
He slams the phone shut and puts his hands on his hips, huffing.
“Uh,” Dave whips around upon hearing Brandon’s voice, “was that him?”
Dave is red in the face, but flushes further when he realizes all that Brandon has heard, “That was his voicemail.”
“Oh,” Brandon scuffs his shoe on the floor, avoiding Dave. He decides to just bite the bullet and sits on the couch, “Well… just like that, huh?” Dave sighs, deciding to sit next to Brandon. The couch is actually more of a collapsed loveseat, their shoulders touching. “Now what?”
“We played our first show without drums, we can do it again,” Dave says, “plus with Dell, we’ll manage.”
Brandon nods, nervous. He wishes that Dell would get back with that beer. “He really was a dick.”
Dave shrugs noncommittally, “Should’a just dropped him after Halloween.” The lights go down outside and the crowd cheers. Dave opens his mouth to continue, but is interrupted when Dell returns with the drinks. He’s gotten two and hands one each to Brandon and Dave. “Oh, goodie,” Dave says. “Well, we just fired Matt.”
Dell stares, dumbfounded, “What?”
Brandon, who immediately began to down his beer, comes up for air, “I had no say.”
“Oh, you’ve never liked the guy,” Dave says, drinking his beer like a normal person. “You’re just too nice to do anything about it.”
“Are we still on?” Dell asks. Dave replies with the same answer that he gave Brandon. “Okay, I guess. Sure.”
They simmer in the fact that they are now a trio and not a quartet. The absence of drums makes Brandon even more anxious about the show, but the fact that Dave is so sure of his decision is calming to him. The thought of no longer having to deal with Matt’s little jabs is relieving as well.
In the meantime before their set, the band finalizes the order of the setlist and prep themselves for a quick setup when the time comes. It really all just depends on how quick the other band can tear their stuff down.
As usual, the time just before and during the show goes by so quickly that Brandon can hardly remember living it.
But there’s always an immeasurable relief once the show is over. There’s also a high that comes with it and knowing that you’re actively living the dream, but the relief comes first. He helps pack up the gear with the guys and heads to the greenroom, but it is not as empty as he had hoped.
It’s that man from before.
He stops in his tracks, which leads Dave to bump into him.
“Oh, come on, dude-” he stops, looking up. “Shit, Vannucci?”
The man seems surprised that Dave knows his name, “Um, yeah? How’d you know?”
Dave and Dell get past Brandon so that they can continue to put their stuff up, “I’ve seen you around at some shows here and there. I knew the drumming today sounded too good to be true. I hear you’re the best in town.”
The drummer rubs at the back of his neck, bashful, “Oh, I dunno,” he sticks a hand out to Dave, “I’m Ronnie.”
Come to think of it, Brandon has heard the name before. He’s eerily familiar, too, but he can’t place where he’s seen him before.
“Dave,” the guitarist replies. He then points to his other bandmates, “And this is Brandon and Dell.”
“Nice to meet you all,” Ronnie grins. He looks to be around the same age as Dave, but there’s a youthfulness about him. “I just wanted to talk to you guys ‘cause I really liked your show.”
“Well damn!” Dave exclaims, “That means a lot coming from you.”
If Ronnie is uncomfortable at Dave’s infinite praise, he doesn’t show it. “I thought you guys had a drummer, though? Where was he?”
Dave scoffs and Dell rolls his eyes, “Lost ‘em. Or, he lost us. It was last minute. Guess we’re on hiatus, now,” Dave suddenly gets an evil glint in his eye, “too bad you’re taken.”
“Oh!” Ronnie is surprised, “Daphne Major? No, that was just me subbing in for the night for my friend. I’m not in any band right now.”
Dave turns back to Brandon and makes a shocked face at him before winking and turning back, “But what about your other acts?”
Ronnie shrugs, “Deals fell through. Everyone’s feeling kinda jaded right now and I’m just trying to focus on getting a degree at the moment.”
“Oh, college boy,” Dave jokes, “sure we can’t persuade you to the dark side?”
Ronnie seems to fight off the notion in his head like he really wants to join the band, but knows he shouldn't. His eyes wander to Brandon, who is suddenly feeling very shell-shocked. He can’t help but note that Ronnie looks a little sad now.
“I really can’t,” he says. Brandon finds himself growing disappointed even though he doesn’t know the guy. “But!” He pulls out a scrap of paper and scribbles something down with a pen that he miraculously has, “the semester is out so I could help you find a new drummer, if you want. Or I could sub in for you sometime ‘cause I like your songs—they’re fun.” He hands the paper to Brandon, not Dave. The move strikes him as incredibly odd because he hasn’t said a single word this entire time.
“Oh, for sure,” Dave nods enthusiastically. He motions for Ronnie to hand him the pen so that he can give the drummer his number as well. “Just know the offer is always open.”
Dave and Ronnie share a few more parting pleasantries, but Brandon is too busy staring at the paper to even notice when the man leaves.