Chapter 3 Not Long Ago #2
Mo turned to Sabine. “Related topic: I’d like to book the club for my fifty-fifth birthday party the weekend before Thanksgiving, but I’m flexible on the date and…whoa, whoa, whoa! Why are you crying?”
Jace looked over to Sabine, who was unexpectedly teary-eyed and making small huffing noises. She put her hand on her friend’s shoulder and drew close. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
Mo looked stricken. “Did I say something wrong? Was it me talking about dating or being so much younger than you or—”
“No, no, that’s not it,” Sabine snurfled.
“Then what is it?” Jace asked.
Sabine looked at each of them and said in a quiet, broken voice, “I have to close the club.”
Jace felt as if all the air had been sucked out of the room. “What?”
“No! Why?” Mo demanded.
“You remember the remodel I did in 2019? Upgrading the bar area and deep cleaning the floors?”
“Yeah,” Mo said. “I was so glad you did that. I was tired of sticking to the linoleum.”
“At first, it was going to be a minor update, just paint and plaster,” Sabine explained.
“But every time we started fixing one problem, another one came up. The bathrooms weren’t up to code, the roof caused an ice dam, we needed a new HVAC system.
It got way more expensive that I’d planned for, but I figured I could handle it.
Bookings were strong. Some bands were scheduling a year in advance.
But then the pandemic…” Sabine trailed off.
“Oh, Sab,” Jace said, handing her a clean napkin.
Sabine mouthed a thank-you and continued.
“I had already cut back on bookings to finish the renovations before everything shut down, then I didn’t have any income for more than a year.
No one was touring and the locals didn’t want to play indoors, and there’s no space around the building for an outdoor stage.
And when they announced the PPP loans during Covid, I’d already borrowed so much, I didn’t want to take on any more debt. ”
“The bands are back now, though,” Jace said in an encouraging tone. “And you’ve added all those extra events, like Taco Twednesdays and Butch Bingo. The last time I dropped by, you were doing good business.”
“Not enough to make up for all the revenue I lost,” Sabine replied. “I’ve missed a bunch of loan payments, and now the bank is threatening to foreclose.”
Jace’s brain began to whir, considering her friend’s options. “Have you talked to a lawyer?”
Sabine shook her head. “If I can’t afford to pay the banks, how am I going to pay for a lawyer?”
“Do you have a CPA? Could they help?” Jace asked.
“I do my own books!” Sabine said, the tears returning. “I feel so stupid. I can’t believe I let things get so bad.”
Jace took Sabine’s hand. “Hey, I don’t think you’re stupid. The last three years have sucked in every way possible, and you did what you thought was right at the time.”
Mo put a reassuring arm around Sabine’s shoulder. “It’s going to be okay. We’ll help you find a way through this. But take a few slow breaths first.” Sabine nodded and complied.
“So, how much debt are we talking?” Jace asked.
Sabine didn’t look her in the eye. “About two hundred thousand dollars.”
“Holy shit!” Mo blurted. “Why didn’t you tell us earlier?”
“I didn’t want you to worry about something you couldn’t fix, Mo,” Sabine explained. “And, Jace, you have your hands full with Function Fest.”
“At least I did,” Jace muttered.
Looking over at Sabine, her head bowed, her face despondent, dread started to gnaw Jace’s stomach lining.
Sabine had never let anything defeat her before.
If the bar sink stopped up, she’d be there with a plunger.
If a fight broke out in the audience, she’d stop it dead with an air horn and a phalanx of lesbian security guards.
No problem had ever been insurmountable for her, and no club owner had ever loved their venue as intimately and thoroughly as Sabine loved the Artemis.
Without it, Jace was sure she’d lose her life’s purpose…
and as someone who was scrambling to find her own life’s purpose, Jace didn’t want that to happen to her oldest friend.
Then an idea dropped into her brain. A terrible idea, but perhaps the only one that could possibly work.
“What if we did a benefit concert to save the Artemis?” Jace said. “It might not be hard to put together. You’ve had so many acts at the club over the years, we could pull together an amazing lineup.”
Sabine sat up, her face brightening. “Do you think they’d want to help?”
“Of course! They owe you,” Mo said. “I saw how many times you broke your ‘no free drinks’ policy when I was tending bar. And you didn’t just give them a few beers.
You gave them a place to crash. You cooked for them, gave them gas money, convinced other clubs to book them.
Face it: You’re the den mother of the Detroit music scene. ”
“And going to a concert at the Artemis was a rite of passage for so many music fans,” Jace added.
“None of them want to see it close, and a lot of people would pay a premium to see a star-studded show while saving a piece of musical history.” She got out her phone and opened the calculator app. “What’s the venue capacity?”
“About five hundred,” Sabine said.
Jace typed for a few seconds. “So if we’re trying to cover two hundred thousand plus have a surplus for show expenses plus other unanticipated costs at the Artemis—”
Mo whistled. “That’s more than four hundred dollars per ticket already.”
“Not necessarily,” Jace said. “We’ll make a chunk of money off of food and beverage, and if we can get that donated we’ll pull in even more. Plus we can charge more for VIP packages: special seating, meet-and-greets with the musicians, autographed merchandise…”
Mo grinned. “Just think, Sab, you can finally get rid of all those neon T-shirts in the basement. Excuse me, I meant to say ‘vintage Artemis merch.’ ”
“Special seating?” Sabine said, a little deflated. “Our space is general admission, standing room only.”
“Yeah, and a lot of folks won’t go to a show if they can’t sit down,” Mo added.
Jace was undeterred. “We’ll work something out: risers and folding chairs, barstools. Don’t worry; I’ll give you some options, and we can charge a couple hundred more for them.”
“A lot of our clientele can’t afford to pay that much for a ticket,” Sabine said. “We need to offer some tickets for a lot less, like twenty-five bucks.”
“You’re joking, right?” Mo said. “This is a fundraiser, Sab. You’re the charity, not the audience.”
Jace saw the resolve in Sabine’s gaze and knew she wasn’t going to budge.
“We might be able to offset some lower-cost tickets through higher-priced VIP packages, but we’d need a lineup of heavy hitters to make that viable.
Maybe even a musician who doesn’t usually do gigs like this.
We want to give people plenty of reasons to pony up for the pricier tickets. ”
Mo raised her hand like a schoolgirl, and Jace snickered. “Yes, Ms. McIlheny?”
“I have an idea, but I don’t think either of you want to hear it.”
“There are no bad ideas during a brainstorm,” Jace said, parroting what she’d told many a Function Fest client.
Mo leaned in. “What if we could get Paloma as the headliner?”
“No!” Jace and Sabine roared in unison.
Mo raised her index finger. “Hear me out. If we were able to announce that Paloma Doralle was returning to the stage for the first time in twenty-odd years, we could charge whatever we wanted and sell out in a matter of seconds. And since ‘Heart Fire’ is huge right now, all kinds of new people would want to come. Then they’d fall in love with the Artemis and come back for future shows, too, so you aren’t in this mess ever again. What do you say?”
Jace felt like she was having an out-of-body experience.
Her brain was agreeing with every point Mo was making, but her heart had slowed to a stop.
Sure, they could put together a banger of a lineup without Paloma, but there was little chance they’d make the money Sabine needed to put her financial trouble behind her for good.
After so many years out of the spotlight, Paloma had transformed from a pop music sensation into a mythical creature, and lots of people would pay insane amounts of money for a glimpse of that unicorn.
Even though Jace would probably end up gored in the process.
Jace was lying to her friends when she said she was done with dating.
She was actually done with love altogether.
All these years after Paloma traipsed off into the unknown, Jace still had so much emotional scar tissue, she could barely feel her pulse.
She had exited the music industry, founded her own business, and even gone through the motions with other women several times since then, but none of that could repair the damage.
And even though she believed she’d been through the worst of it already, who knew how bad it might get if she saw Paloma again?
Mo was staring at her, awaiting her reply, and while Sabine’s frown was set in granite, her eyes were pleading for help.
Jace realized this situation wasn’t about her feelings.
It was about saving Sabine’s livelihood and reputation.
It was about being a professional who could put her own emotions aside because she had a job to do.
And if the universe intended for her to live on purpose, what better way to start than by helping a dear friend in need? She really had no choice.
Before she could talk herself out of it, Jace spoke up. “Mo is right. Paloma could make or break this event.”
“Forget it,” Sabine said, folding her arms. “I’d rather go bankrupt than ask her to perform here again.”
“Then I’ll ask her,” Jace said, doubling down to silence the protestations in her head. “I’ll hunt her down and convince her to headline the show.”
Sabine briskly shook her head. “Jace, you can’t do that.”
“You ought to know by now you can’t tell me what to do,” Jace said with a smile.
Sabine exhaled sharply. Normally aglow with hope and kindness, she now looked wrung out and tired in ways her makeup couldn’t hide. She took Jace’s hand and leaned in. “I don’t want you to get hurt all over again. This is my problem, not yours. Don’t do this to yourself.”
Jace gave Sabine’s hand a smooch. “You’ve been my friend longer than anyone else on earth. I love you, and I love the Artemis. Whether you want me to or not, I’m going to save you and your club by producing a blowout benefit concert with special guest star Paloma Doralle.”
“Shit, that’s so dope! How can I help?”
Mo, Sabine, and Jace swiveled their heads toward Rennie, who was standing in the hallway dressed in motorcycle leathers, sporting a guitar case and a big grin.
Putting her momentary surprise aside, Jace said, “I’ll let you know.”
“Got it, got it. Fantastic! Well, anyway, gotta go.”
“Which outfit are you playing with these days, Rennie?” Mo asked.
“We call ourselves Purple Betty.”
“Why?” Jace asked, worried that they’d named themselves after some sort of party drug.
“It took Flintstones vitamins twenty years to finally include Betty Rubble,” they elaborated. “Me and the band consider her a symbol of being true to yourself and breaking free of gender-based repression. And grape is my favorite flavor, so Purple Betty!”
“Ah,” Jace said.
“See ya!” With that, Rennie put on their helmet and strolled out the front door.
Jace watched them go, wondering what she’d just gotten herself into.