Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Six
The Brooklyn Arts Fest was mobbed.
As Allie made her way into the Brooklyn Academy of Music building for the show, she tried her best not to wield her guitar case like a battering ram. She checked in at the front desk, as per Meera’s detailed instructions, and received a name tag and lanyard from the frazzled volunteer. Allie could not shake the feeling that someone would soon be stepping out from the shadows and declaring that she actually had no right to be there and asking her to please leave.
She forced herself to gulp down a deep breath and push ahead through the crowded hallway toward the theater doors, which bore a Talent Only sign that made Allie feel more intimidated. The idea of barging through the doors and presenting herself as “Talent” was so thoroughly ridiculous she felt an urge to drop her guitar and flee. Before she could make that call, the door opened, and a woman with chin-length black hair and a gorgeous embroidered dress poked her head out.
“Oh, hi, are you coming in here?”
Allie recognized her voice from the phone call. This had to be Meera. Her efficient confidence was unmistakable. Meera looked quickly at Allie’s name tag and guitar and then flung the door open wider.
“You’re Allie! Hello! I’m Meera.” They shook hands. “Come on in. People are still arriving, and we’re doing some really rudimentary sound checks. You can head backstage through that door on the left. Our tech people will figure out how to mic you.”
Meera’s phone rang, and she answered it before Allie could ask, casually, what the names of the tech people were who would be helping her with her sound needs. For the second time in as many minutes, she fought the urge to flee.
Backstage was a flurry of activity, with musicians of all varieties clustered in various positions around the space. The sound tech who greeted her was absolutely not Ryan—she was a Black woman wearing overalls with mic cables looped over both of her shoulders—and Allie felt herself caught between relief and disappointment.
To her left, two women stared intently at each other as they sang an imperfect line of harmony repeatedly, getting closer to having it work each time. A guy with an electric guitar was in the middle of some kind of heated debate with a guy holding a snare drum. They looked like they could be twins, or at least brothers. Allie was happy to be performing alone; she had enough potential drama at this event without having to negotiate with another nervous, ego-driven musician.
“Okay, everyone, can I have your attention?” The sound tech cupped her hands to her mouth and called out to everyone. It took almost a full minute and two more calls before everyone stopped singing, arguing, chatting and strumming. When the group was quiet, she went on.
“Thank you all for coming. I’m Mel. I’m your tech for this wild ride. We have two spots set up on the stage. You can see the borders of each marked off with tape. We’ve set up the backline and the basic mics at each, and you’ll be given either number one or two to know where to stand and play when you go onstage. This way, we can get one spot set up for the next act while the other act is playing.” There was a murmur from the crowd. “We’ll be discreet, I promise. We are not out here trying to take attention away from your performance. This is just the only way we could do this bananas mixtape-style show without it taking five hours and boring everyone to death. You have”—she looked at her watch—“seven minutes until we start letting people in. Use it wisely. Have a great show!”
Allie used her seven minutes to go hide in the bathroom. She didn’t want to talk to anyone. Her guitar had been checked by Mel’s assistant and was secure in a stand, waiting for her to grab it when it was her turn onstage. She had nothing to do, so she sat in a stall and took deep, gulping breaths.
It’s one song. Just one song. If you hate playing music onstage today, you never have to do it again. You can find something else to do with your life. There are other things. It will be fine.
When Allie emerged from the stall, Meera was standing at the sinks, looking into the mirror.
“Hey, there!” She smiled and then went back to smoothing her hair and squinting at her reflection. “I’m really glad I only have to be onstage for a minute to introduce the host. My hair is starting to reflect my nerves.”
Allie laughed and turned her head to check her own hair in the mirror. “Well, I think you look great.”
“Thanks.” Meera grinned and took a plastic bottle from her purse. She squeezed a small amount of whatever it was into her palms and started working it into her hair. “Ryan said you didn’t want to do the show at first. I’m glad you changed your mind. He said you’re really talented.”
“He did?”
“Yeah, of course. He’s a big fan, I gather.” Meera’s voice was maddeningly neutral.
Allie arranged her features into what she hoped was a casual expression. “Did he say that…recently?”
Meera laughed, her eyes meeting Allie’s in the mirror. “Do you think he’s changed his mind?”
Allie looked down and muttered, “Not sure.”
“Well, he was just telling me earlier how great you were going to be, so I don’t think he’s had a change of heart.”
“He’s here?” It was getting harder to be casual as this conversation progressed. “I haven’t seen him yet.”
“Yeah, he had to run back to the studio to get two more patch cables, but he should be back now. He’s running the soundboard. You’ll see him in the theater. He’s hard to miss.”
Allie laughed. Her voice sounded weird and tense, but Meera did not seem to notice anything peculiar. She put her hair product back in her purse and looped it over her shoulder. “Okay, they’re letting people in now. I’m gonna go make sure it’s all running smoothly. Break a leg, Allie.”
“Thanks.”
Allie left the bathroom and waited in the wings for her turn. There were fifteen acts, and she was on seventh. After the introduction, the first act took the stage, and Allie had to work hard to keep breathing.
Her song was good. She knew it was good. And there was only one person in the audience whose opinion she was concerned about, anyway. Time crawled by. When she’d toured with the Jetskis, she’d always loved watching the other bands they played with. But now the music just washed over her as she marinated in her own anxiety.
When the sixth performers—the women who were working on their harmonies when she first arrived—took the stage, Allie retrieved her guitar from its stand and waited for the sound tech to signal her. When the signal came, she quietly took her place on the darkened side of the stage, her heart beating wildly.
The house lights were dim, but they illuminated the audience enough for her to see him, the small desk lamp beside the soundboard in the middle of the theater throwing shadows across his face. She felt for a moment as if someone had punched her in the stomach. She breathed in through her nose, forcing herself to hold it for a count of three, then released the breath and closed her eyes for a moment longer than a normal blink. As the two women finished their song and took a bow, the lights went down on them and came up on Allie.
They’d all been warned that they wouldn’t have a proper sound check once they hit the stage. There was no time for that. Instead, she’d been told to strum her guitar once, speak into the mic for a quick introduction, and then start playing. She strummed her guitar and heard its comforting tone ring back through the monitor. So far, so good. Ryan was looking down at the board. Leaning in toward the mic, she took a final deep breath and then spoke.
“Hi. I’m Allie Andrews. This song is called ‘Monster.’ It’s about someone I like very much.”
There was a second, right before she started playing, when their eyes met. When it was as if he was the only person in the theater and she was about to play the song just for him. The same way she’d done in the past as they sat in her bedroom or in his living room. As if only the two of them mattered.
Allie had to look away from him or she’d never get through it. She strummed her first chord and let the song carry her off. She could hear her own voice through the monitor, and she closed her eyes as she sang, her words and guitar filling the theater. The nerves that had plagued her before the performance vanished, and she put everything she had into the song, desperate to get the emotion across.
When her last chord rang out, she opened her eyes. People were clapping, and she even heard a few whoops. Then, her side of the stage went dark, and her time was up.
She wanted more. This was it. She wanted to be onstage, singing songs she’d written. That was all she wanted out of her future.
Except, she also wanted to find Ryan.
“Hey, Meera?”
Meera was staring intently at a clipboard backstage when Allie found her. She looked up, startled. “Oh, hey, Allie. Great song! I actually snuck out to watch you, and it was worth it. I’m glad Ryan had us book you, and I’ll keep you in mind for future events. Your payment should be in your account by end of day tomorrow.”
“Oh. Thanks.” Allie hadn’t actually been looking for any comments about her performance, and she felt slightly ashamed for not thinking of it. “I really appreciate that. Do you happen to know where Ryan is?”
“Oh yeah, he had to leave. I think he stayed for your song, but then he left Yusef in charge and ran out pretty quickly. Was he supposed to wait for you?”
“No.” Allie made a Herculean effort to hide her disappointment. “I was just seeing if I could check in with him before I left. But that’s cool. I’ll catch him, uh, later.”
“Take care, Allie. See you again soon.” Meera went back to her clipboard, leaving Allie to pick up her guitar case and walk alone out the front doors of the building, into the harsh winter light.
Well, that was it. Ryan didn’t want anything to do with her.
I’m Sheila now. I’m fucking Sheila.
She’d sung her song, her heartfelt words that were unmistakably a message only for Ryan. And he’d heard those words and pretty much instantly bailed, not wanting to talk to her afterward at all.
Allie walked home, the streets full of people attending to their weekend errands and social engagements. She didn’t notice that she was crying until the wind blew, stinging her wet cheeks. Sniffling, she dragged her mittened hand across her eyes and told herself to get it together. It didn’t help. The tears came more readily, streaming down her face and mingling with the snot now dripping from her nose. She gave up trying to preserve her mittens and just pulled the left one off, using it to mop her face as she stood on a street corner, her guitar case resting on the wet and slushy sidewalk.
This is what it feels like. This is a broken heart.
She didn’t think she’d ever had one before. The closest she’d come was losing her band. And that was different from the misery she was feeling now, thinking about how things were never going to be the same between her and Ryan again. Losing the band meant losing the music and friendships that had meant so much to her. Losing Ryan made her feel unmoored, as if she were floating through space with nothing to hold on to. As if she’d lost everything.
She reached the café and took a deep breath before walking in. She knew her swollen eyes and red face would make it impossible to hide the fact that she’d been crying. Mindy and Ren would have questions.
The bell on the door rang as she entered, and Mindy looked up from her spot behind the counter and yelled, “Ren! She’s back!”
Ren came skidding into the café from the kitchen, wiping their hands on a tea towel.
“How did it go? Tell me everything. Wait, why are you crying?” Mindy dropped the spoon she was holding and moved around the counter to get closer to Allie. “What happened? Did something happen?”
Allie, who seldom cried in front of anyone, knew she was freaking them out but couldn’t stop her tears. Ren linked their arm through hers and began to steer her toward the kitchen. “Come into the back.” Allie saw Mindy looking from the busy café to the kitchen door, torn. Ren noticed, too. “I got her. We’ll call you if we need you.”
When they got to the back, Allie slumped down on a stool and surrendered to her sobbing. Ren filled a glass with cold water and handed it to her, then waited, looking at her with patient concern.
Drinking the water allowed her to regulate her breathing and brought on a slow calming of her nerves.
“Jesus, I’m sorry about this,” she gasped to Ren.
“Allie, don’t apologize. You’re allowed to be upset. I’ve just never seen you like this. Can you tell me what happened? Was the show bad?”
Allie shook her head. “No, actually. The show was great. I sang well, I felt…I felt wonderful .”
“Okay.” Ren spoke slowly, tilting their head to one side. “Then, what was it?”
“It was…” Allie heaved a long sigh. “It was Ryan.” She felt her throat tightening again, and tears welled in her eyes. “Fuck, here I go again.”
“Okay, okay. It’s okay.” Ren’s cool demeanor was beginning to crack. “It’s going to be fine. Uh—Mindy!”
It was only a few seconds before Mindy poked her head through the doorway. “Yes?”
“Switch, please.” Ren’s eyes were wide.
“Sure, go out front. I’ll stay here. The lady at the counter just ordered an oat milk latte and two chocolate tarts.”
Ren nodded and fled the kitchen, leaving Mindy to stare at her sobbing niece, attempting to assess the situation.
“I’m sorry.” Allie managed to squeeze out the words between gasps.
“Allie, I’m sure Ren already told you not to apologize for being upset. Now”—she pulled up a second stool and sat in front of Allie, holding her hands tightly—“try to breathe, and go ahead and tell me what’s happening. Whatever it is, you’ll get through it. And honestly, you’ve probably been through worse.”
Allie managed a small smile.
“See? You’re feeling better already.” She released Allie’s hands and sat back slightly. “Now talk .”