Twenty-Six
TWENTY-SIX
DESPITE ALL MY RAGE
After putting my suitcase full of clean clothes back in my dressing room, I slip inside the arena and watch the crew as they finish setting up the stage. Mornings and most afternoons are bustling with activity inside the arena — crew assembling the stage, hanging the light trusses, setting up speakers and the soundboard, the merch team assembling an army of merch booths around the concourse. But there’s a lull an hour or two before the doors open when everything’s quiet, everyone scattered to the buses or dressing rooms or catering.
I don’t know how to think about the conversation with Don, don’t know how to categorize my feelings. Part of me thrills at the idea of the four of us becoming a band and doing music together for real. We have great chemistry. We’re already growing a fanbase. There are a lot of pros in the pro/con list.
But I never envisioned myself in a band. I’m a singer songwriter. I’m a solo artist. I’m supposed to do this on my own, right?
The bigger question is how long can I keep my real identity out of the spotlight? How long until the Mari Gold facade is uncovered and I become the sister of the famous pop star who went on the Sparrow tour that one time. I jumped into this tour so quickly, I didn’t think through what would happen if it worked, what would happen next.
Then there’s Kick.
I am definitely not ready to think about Kick.
My brain is too full, too crammed with scenarios and maybes and what ifs. That’s when it hits me. I know exactly how to work through my confusing feelings about Kick and the band and Don Sparrow and all of it.
Once I’m sure all the crew members have left and the venue’s empty, I slip through the backstage curtains and climb up on stage. There’s a huge black banner with the Sparrow logo on it that hangs in front of Sparrow’s gear and stage set-up. Kick and I and the twins play in front of it every night. When it’s time for Sparrow’s set, the banner drops to reveal their staging.
I look around the empty venue and listen for any activity, but it’s row after row of empty seats. For half a second, I worry if I’ll get in trouble for playing, but decide just as quickly I don’t care. I have too much pent-up aggression and rage drumming is the best way to get it out.
One advantage to growing up with a rich pop star sister is the entire studio set-up we had in our house. With my mother and Polly gone so much, I had plenty of time to myself in the studio with a top-of-the-line drum kit. I could rage drum my little heart out until all hours of the night. Whenever I got particularly lonely, which was often, I played guitar ‘til my fingers went numb and then drummed until my shoulders and forearms went numb. Music’s been the one constant in my life. The only thing that’s never left me, the only thing that’s ever been mine.
I sit down behind Mateo’s kit and get a feel for it, adjusting the stool up for my height. I pull out a pair of drumsticks from the slim bag hanging from the snare and twirl them both in the air. As soon as I stomp the peddle for the kick drum, everything else melts away. It’s just me and the beat. No questions, no pressure, no fear, just the steady rhythm of my foot on the kick drum pedal, my arms flying over the snare, the floor tom, the crash cymbal.
I play with my eyes closed, my hands powered by a mix of frustration and want, pouring all of my emotions from the last few weeks into the beat. It feels good. Feels like belonging. And belonging is the only thing I’ve ever wanted.
As I’m getting out of the shower, my phone’s buzzing on the counter. Mo must have left it for me after chatting with Cass.
Cass: Have you seen this?
The next text is a link to a TikTok video. I click the link and there I am, rage drumming for all the world to see. The all-too-familiar face pops onto the screen. She’s already posted a dozen videos from the T.O. photo shoot, including photos that weren’t officially released, theorizing every smile and glance between me and Kick.
Looks like tour stress might be getting to our Mari Gold. She was caught on camera earlier today playing the drums with enough energy to set the stage on fire. If you ask me, tonight’s performance will be straight up explosive. Kick Raines better bring the heat because it’s obvious Mari Gold will be.
Me: The arena was empty. How did they get this footage?
Cass: No idea. But you look amazing.
Cass: Like a beast with drumsticks for hands.
Cass: That came out weird but it’s a compliment.
Cass: Every drummer wishes they could be a beast with drumsticks for hands .
All I can think about is the comments Kick will definitely make if he sees this.
Hey, Goldie, nice sticks.
Hey, Goldie, if you need to work out some tension, I have some ideas.
Hey, Goldie, do you always get that sweaty when you’re…exerting yourself?
Me: If Kick sees this...
Cass: Sorry if he can’t handle performing next to an artist who can kick his ass from here to Canada.
Cass: Bottom line, people are seeing you totally rule on the drums. That’s a good thing.
Me: Is it? Drumming has always been like, my private thing. I don’t love that it’s out there for the world to scrutinize.
Me: Because they’re not talking about me as an artist. I’m just Kick’s maybe-girlfriend, a PR sideshow who happens to rage drum in empty arenas.
Cass: All the great ones are.
“Knock, knock,” a voice calls from the door. “It’s Cheddar.”
“Getting dressed,” I call back.
“I need to talk to you. It’s important.”
The tone of his voice tells me whatever he has to say is the last thing I want to hear. “Give me one second.”
I hurry to throw on some clothes and run a towel through my hair before opening the door for Cheddar. I flop down on a worn leather couch against the wall and he sits on the opposite end.
“What’s up?” I ask, worried.
He takes a deep breath, like he has to work up the nerve to deliver the news. “We’ve been getting a lot of comments.”
“That’s good right? Engagement and whatever?”
“We’ve been getting a lot of comments about you.” He stares at me for a beat. “About you being Polly Lovejoy’s sister.”
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. My ears ring. I involuntarily ball my hands into fists.
Here it is, the moment I’ve been dreading since the audition. All the rage drumming in the world isn’t going to get me out of this. The only way out is to flat out lie, which I don’t want to do. Cheddar’s been nothing but nice to me.
“What do the comments say?”
I can see it in his face. He already knows.
“Someone posted a photo from when LOVEJOY first started out. She’s with her little sister. Her little sister who looks a lot like you.”
He taps his phone a few times and spins it around to show me the incriminating photo. There I am, six years old, beaming a toothless grin next to my much older, much cooler sister.
“My team has been deleting everything as it comes in, so it hasn’t spread too far. But, Mari, I have to ask. Is it true? Is this you in the photo?”
What happens when I say yes? Will he go to Deacon and Don? Will they reveal they hate my family as much as my family hates them? Will I be kicked off the tour? The next thought in my head surprises me. Will I ever be able to perform with Kick again?
Us becoming a band won’t matter if I can’t even make it through this tour.
Still, I can’t say no. It’s obviously me in the photo. And I’ll need Cheddar on my side if we’re going to try and fight the rumors.
“It’s me.”
He blows out a long breath while shaking his head. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“If your sister was a massive pop star and you wanted to make music in your own way, on your own talent, and not just be known as someone’s sister, would you use her famous name?”
He smiles at that. “No, I guess I wouldn’t.”
“It’s not that it’s a secret. I mean, it is, hopefully. It’s just that I wanted to be on this tour as me, not as LOVEJOY’s sister. If people know the truth it’s all they’ll think of. Not my songs. Not my voice. Just, oh hey, there goes LOVEJOY’s sister. ”
He nods like he gets it. “Does anyone else know?”
“Jasmine knows, but she promised she’d keep my secret. I know it’s a lot to ask, but I’d love it if you could too?”
“But we could leverage this. You’re already here on your own volition. We could make an announcement, use this to your advantage. I bet twice as many people would stream your set if they knew who you were.”
“That’s exactly what I don’t want.”
“But think about how much it would benefit you. And the tour.”
Screw the tour , I think.
“I get where you’re coming from,” I say, “but I have twenty-four years of experience with this. It will not benefit me, or anyone, to announce that I’m Polly’s sister.”
He’s quiet, still thinking about it, trying to decide how to convince me, how to make my personal drama a benefit for the tour.
“I don’t want Deacon and Don to know,” I say.
He makes a face. “They wouldn’t care.”
“Trust me. They would.”
Don would rescind his offer to produce our songs, that’s for sure. Which means it affects Kick and Miguel and Mateo too.
Cheddar goes quiet again. He doesn’t have a reason not to tell them other than me asking him not to. I’m sure all he can see are dollar signs and engagement numbers.
“Cheddar, please. I’m asking you, begging you, not to tell anyone. Please. It’s really, really important to me. More important than anything.”
He sags against the couch. “You really should reconsider.” He’s quiet for a long, uncomfortable moment before he starts typing on his phone. “I’ll make sure my team shuts it down. Any comments or videos or posts will be deleted. But, let me just say again that I think you’re making a big mistake.”
No, the big mistake I made was thinking I could make it through this tour without anyone finding out I’m a Lovejoy.