Chapter 4 Way Back When #2
“That’s iconic! I’m jealous!” Paloma gushed. The clerk scanned Mo’s items without sparing her an extra glance, and she left the store without incident. “You’ve gotta have some stories,” Paloma went on as Jace approached the register.
“How much time you got?” He peered over his glasses and chuckled along with Paloma. “Let’s just say nothing gets the crazies to come out of the woodwork like a concert at the Grande.”
“Oh my God!” Paloma said, ignoring Jace. “Ever think about going back on stage?”
He shook his head. “I’d had my fill of it by 1979. By then, my girlfriend was insisting on becoming my wife, and her dad wanted to sell his store, and then the kids came one, two, three, so: Welcome to the Liquor Coliseum.”
“Nothing wrong with that,” Paloma said. “Your kids are lucky to have such a cool dad.”
“Not sure they’d agree with you,” he said, handing Jace her receipt. “Here you go.”
Jace dragged her cart to the door and looked over her shoulder to see Paloma hoisting her cardboard box full of handles of hard liquor and various mixers. “Thanks a bunch!” she told the clerk.
He started to walk around the counter. “Hey, I can help you with that.”
“Oh, no, that’s okay,” Paloma said, walking backward through the door as Jace held it open for her without looking her in the eye. “If I can’t lift it, I shouldn’t drink it. Bye now!”
Within a few minutes, the booze was packed up in the van, and after a round of high fives, the women were back on I-94 speeding toward the club.
Once they arrived, Mo located Clem, who was very eager to help them unload to make up for what had happened earlier, and Jace and Paloma went inside to find Sabine.
While they probably didn’t have time to eat anywhere beyond walking distance, Jace figured they could dine at a restaurant with placemats if they hurried.
They found Sabine in her office, holding the phone receiver to her ear. “No, we got her to leave on her own. You don’t have to send anyone anymore; we’re all set.”
Once she hung up, Jace asked, “Who were you talking to? The cops?”
“Animal Control.”
Jace’s face tensed up. “What kind of animal were you controlling this time?”
“A bat.”
Paloma’s eyes went wide. “Those things live wild in Detroit?”
“The unlucky ones do. Thankfully, Mo was able to wrap the poor little thing in a towel and send her on her way.” Sabine sighed heavily. “I’m sorry; I can’t go out to dinner with you. Doors just opened, and being on critter patrol put me behind schedule.”
“Want us to bring something back for you?” Jace asked.
“Thanks for asking, but no,” Sabine said. “Mo and I will grab something later. You two go and have a good time.”
Sabine shut the door behind her, and Paloma sidled up to Jace. “I’m so hungry, I’m about to eat my left arm. What’s a decent place to eat around here?”
“Well, Lafayette Coney Island is not too far away, which is all we have time for if we’re going to be back ahead of the opening act. Or I can grab a couple of pizzas and we can have a leisurely dinner backstage.”
“Backstage pizza,” Paloma said with small laugh. “My favorite.”
“Wait: We’ll eat here in the office instead, just in case they’re hosing bat guano out of the dressing room.”
Paloma giggled, and Jace kissed her lightly on the mouth. “I’ll be right back.”
Not long afterward, Jace walked from the stage door through the general admission audience, holding two large boxes aloft to avoid bumping into the gathering crowd. She stopped at the bar.
“Yo, Mo!”
Her friend looked up as she finished ringing up a couple of beers. “Yo, Jace!”
“Can I get that bubbly I bought tonight and a couple of cups?”
Mo reached into the bar fridge. “Here you go.”
Balancing everything, Jace carefully tapped on the office door. When Paloma answered, Jace beamed and raised the bottle. “Happy homecoming, baby!”
As a group of Ferndale teenagers calling themselves the Propositions played their warm-up act, Jace and Paloma proceeded to gobble the pizza and polish off the Freixenet, with help from Mo and Sabine when they dropped in during a break.
Paloma sat relaxed and laughing, and Jace took her in, wondering how someone so effortlessly sexy could exist in the same room as she did, much less the same bed at the end of the evening.
“So, are you nervous?” Mo asked Paloma, cadging a stray piece of pepperoni from the pizza box.
“Nervous about what?” Paloma responded.
“Bob Sarkisian coming tonight.”
Paloma looked to Jace. “Bob who?”
“Sarkisian,” Jace answered. “He’s a producer.”
“Not just any producer,” Sabine added. “He’s recorded half the bands who play around here, and he’s got connections at most of the major labels on the West Coast.”
“So why is he going to be here?” As Paloma said this, Jace noticed her eyes widening.
Jace kept her tone light. “You need someone to produce your EP, so I invited him to see the show, and he accepted.”
“Which is an honor,” Sabine added with a nod. “He doesn’t do this for every band. He must believe you’re worth seeing.”
“Is this an audition?” Paloma asked.
“No,” Jace said. “He just likes to check out the talent before he agrees to work with them in the studio.”
“That sounds like an audition to me,” Paloma said, the tension ticking up in her voice. “I’ve fucked up every audition I’ve ever done.”
“Babe, just play like you always do,” Jace assured her. “You have nothing to worry about.”
“I’m not so sure, Jace,” Paloma replied with a broken laugh. “Maybe the Propositions should do another set.”
Jace knew she was joking—she had to be joking—but Sabine made a point of shooting her a look before saying, “Okay, break’s over, Mo.” As she walked past, she whispered to Jace, “Good luck fixing this, Talent Manager.”
Jace took that to mean, Don’t let her cancel a sold-out show.
She kneeled in front of Paloma, who was staring dejectedly at the floor. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
“I know you worked hard to line this up, but if I see him in the audience, I’m going to fuck up.
I know it.” There was a desperation in Paloma’s voice that told Jace that her beloved wasn’t playing the diva or fishing for praise.
She really was as freaked out as she sounded, and Jace’s job was to help her get out of her own way.
She took Paloma’s hands in hers. “You won’t. You’re a pro. Besides, there have been VIPs at your shows before, and they loved your music enough to stick around and tell you so. Tonight will be just the same.”
“I didn’t find out they were watching me until after the show was over,” Paloma said with a crease in her brow. “That’s a big difference; you know that.”
“Well, I didn’t know that,” she said with an exasperated chuckle; there was a lot she didn’t know about her a girlfriend a year into their relationship.
She stood and pulled Paloma to her feet.
“You’re going to impress him. I wouldn’t have invited him if you weren’t ready to take this next step. Trust me, okay?”
Paloma’s shoulders relaxed. “I trust you.”
“I’ll make sure he’s seated out of your sight line.”
“Thank you.” Paloma pulled her close. “There is one person I do want to see from the stage, though. It’s you. Somehow, I can spot you in the back of the house, no matter how dark or big the place is.”
“Is that okay?”
She ran her fingers through Jace’s wavy bob. “More than okay. That’s how I know I’m not alone up there; you’re here with me at all times. I love that.”
Jace felt radiant. “I love you.”
“Thank God.”
They kissed until they heard a drum roll and crash of cymbals from the performance space. “Shit,” Jace said, “it sounds like Brother Uncle is getting started.”
“Time for this ragamuffin to turn into a princess,” Paloma said, taking Jace’s hand.
Paloma went backstage to change, and Jace stayed in the back to watch the opening act and greet Bob Sarkisian when he arrived.
He looked older than Jace had expected, with gray splotches at the roots of his shoulder-length black curls and the hangdog face of someone who did most of his work at night.
“Thank you so much for coming,” Jace said over the music pouring from the PA as she bought him a drink then pointed him toward the office. “There’s gotta be a lot of bands asking you to check them out. I appreciate you making the time.”
“The people whose taste I trust told me I couldn’t miss this show,” Bob said. “And that demo you sent me was pretty convincing, even though the sound quality was total shit. Where did she record it, the men’s john at the Greyhound station?”
Jace chose not to explain to the top producer in Detroit, the one with the ear of execs at three major labels, that Paloma’s demo was recorded on a four-track in an empty classroom in the Wayne State music department by a former classmate of Jace’s who let them use his equipment for the cost of a case of beer.
“This is a perfect night to see Paloma: packed house, brand-new audio system, lots of material from her time on the road plus crowd favorites she’s been performing for a while that haven’t officially been released yet.
She’s got more than enough cuts to choose from for a really strong EP. ”
Bob nodded. “Alrighty then. If I like what I see and hear out there and I think she’s ready, I can start recording early next month.”
Jace kept her cool, even though she wanted to jump up and down fist-bumping the air. “That should work. May I get you another Jack and Coke?”
Once Bob had his cocktail, Jace got him a chair to Louis’s left at the sound board then took her usual place standing to his right. Once Mary and Colin got on stage, Louis took a microphone and with his best Voice of God said, “And now, Paloma Doralle.”
The shrieks and whoops rushed toward the stage in a wave as Paloma walked to the microphone.
She’d changed into her sequined Sun Records T-shirt over a black-and-white plaid skirt and bloodred tights, towering over her bass player in silver ankle boots.
Butterfly barrettes kept her bangs off her face, and her makeup was leaning even further into 1920s Hollywood, with a cupid’s bow of a mouth and outsized upper and lower lashes.
Seeing her in the stage lights made Jace’s breath catch.
The cheering had barely crested when Paloma brought the mic close to her lips and, with the grin of a little girl about to rip open her birthday presents, said:
“Okay, kids, let’s play!”