“Why's that?”
I took the back stairs down to the rear of the building and exited into the parking lot along the side. The fresh air hitting my face felt nice, but it didn't relieve any of my anxiety. Over the last few days, about six enormous tractor-trailers had arrived in the lot, and a few roadies were beginning to load the equipment that we weren't presently using but would need for the show.
“We've never performed in front of a crowd that big.”
“Haven't you ever heard that size doesn't matter?”
I knew he was going for humor, but in my empty, nervous stomach, all I felt were knots of self-doubt. “Are you sure we're ready for this?” I asked him in a voice far too small.
“I wouldn't have suggested you send in an audition demo if I didn't think so,” he answered.
This particular event showcased new bands on the first day of the festival, and the only way to get there was with the approval of the event’s backing promoters. Chaos was chosen second behind a band from Seattle called Jupiter Rising. Dagger had told me over a thousand demo tapes were submitted, so getting selected at all felt like a dream.
“Believe me—you’re not going to suck,” Dagger reinforced. “When Black Ice started out, we honestly did suck but still managed to pick up gigs, and we played our hearts out at every one of them. Chaos is so far ahead of where we were back then that it isn't funny. You've worked your asses off for this, Fletch. I have every confidence that you can do this and will succeed.”
“I'm glad you do,” I said.
“Did all the trailers arrive yet?” Dagger questioned. “There should be six of them out in the parking lot, and you'll be seeing a handful of roadies starting to do their thing around the building with the gear. Security will clear them all, so just keep doing what you're doing.”
I scanned the back lot again and counted off the rigs in my head. “Yeah, the trailers are all here,” I answered, then noticed movement on top of the trailer farthest to the left. It appeared to be a young guy about my age stacking up boxes, or maybe it was a chair of some sort. I wasn’t sure.
“Sounds good,” Dagger said, and then he sighed. “Listen, if you're that anxious about this, I'll have our guy, Spumoni, swing by with a bag of something that’ll surely relax your brain.”
“Aw, man, I don't do pills and shit like that,” I replied.
“It's weed. Some of the best you'll ever smoke,” Dagger explained and chuckled. “He had some a few months back called the ‘mind eraser.’”
I laughed at that comment. “I don't need my brain erased,” I quipped. “I just need to find my chill.”
“I agree, and that's why I'll have Spumoni stop by the studio next chance he gets and leave a bag of ‘chill’ with you,” he commented.
“Thanks, man,” I said and laughed. Somehow Dagger always knew what we needed all the time. Probably because he'd been in the exact same spot as we are now and lived to tell about it.
I finished my call with him and decided to see what was going on with the kid climbing on top of the trailer. I slid my phone into my back pocket and walked across the paved lot toward the row of trailers, then stopped in between two of them and looked up at the guy.
“What are you doing up there?” I hollered up at him.
His head suddenly appeared over the top edge of the rig. “Just getting settled in,” he answered.
“Settled in for what?” I questioned.
He looked at me quizzically, and the way the sun hung in the sky behind his head gave him an ethereal appearance as if there were a halo or aura around him. The image stunned me a bit, which I thought was odd. I blinked a few times, wanting to blame my weird observation on the sun being in my eyes. I was noticing details about the guy that made no sense, like the way the wind moved his mop of wavy brown hair around his head.
“I'm gonna catch the sunset,” he explained.
“Can you see it from up there?” I figured the buildings around us would certainly block seeing much of anything.
“Not exactly, but the view is still sweet.” Dallas grinned at me, and my brain short-circuited. With full lips framing his straight white teeth, his smile was nearly as bright as the setting sun behind him. The guy looked like he could be a model for a surfer magazine with his tanned face and muscular arms peeking out of the sleeves of his t-shirt.
What the fuck is happening to me?
I shook my head to try and gain a little clarity and then lifted my head to focus back on him. “Do you live around here?”
“No, the other side of the city.”
“Then, why are you here?”
“I'm helping my dad,” he said. “He's one of the roadies. Do you live here?”
I shook my head no, then glanced at the building. “I work here,” I answered.
“Are you a roadie too?” he asked.
“I'm a musician,” I explained. “My band is practicing inside the studio.”
“Oh, cool,” he said, and this time he smiled. “I'm Dallas, by the way. You'll see my dad, Skully, moving equipment around. He’s the big guy with the shaved head and has a large tatt on his arm of a skull.”
“I'm Harrison Fletcher, but you can call me Fletch.”
“Well, Fletch, do you feel like sharing a joint with me while the sun sets, or does that sound too douchy to you?” he asked.
“Thanks for the offer, but I can't right now,” I answered. “I gotta get back inside and rehearse a while longer with my band. Keep me in mind for next time?”
“Yeah, sure. I'll be here every day until the trucks leave for Nevada. As soon as that happens, we'll all be traveling with the rigs to unpack everything once we get to the venue,” Dallas said.
“Do you know who Spumoni is?”
“Of course,” Dallas confirmed. “He's in charge of this entire operation, and he’s also my dad's boss.”
I held my hand up to block the sun to see him better. “If you see him around, could you tell him I'm looking for him?”
“Yeah, sure,”
“Sounds good,” I said and gave him a friendly wave. “I'll see you around then.”
Chapter Two
Over the next three days, I occasionally caught a glimpse of Dallas working in the building with the other roadies. He'd say hi as I passed him, but otherwise, we hadn't really talked. After rehearsal on Friday, my band wanted to grab something to eat and maybe shoot a few games of pool at a bar we frequented now and then. I wasn't much in the mood for that scene tonight and decided to go home and enjoy the rare silence in the apartment I shared with Mike, our drummer, instead.
I exited the rehearsal studio by the back door, and the identical image greeted me like the other day when I was talking to Dagger on the phone. Dallas was setting up what looked like pillows on the top of the same trailer. I knew he wasn't there to watch the sunset this time because that had already happened a few hours before I left the building.
I felt myself grinning as I walked over to the rig. “Hey, Dallas,” I yelled up to him. “How's it going?”