Chapter 16 Way Back When
Way Back When
By the time Paloma parked the car, she was regretting not wearing shorts.
Although it was close to sunset, it was still in the high eighties, and she was going to have to drag a flatbed of equipment for several blocks on her own while carrying her Strat on her back.
That was one of the downsides of playing a solo gig when Jace was out of town: She had to schlep everything by herself.
Paloma hadn’t run her own gig since she met Jace two years ago, and despite sweating like a farmhand, it felt freeing.
She knew Jace hadn’t wanted her to do a street fair, even in support of The Community.
She wouldn’t come out and say she thought it was beneath them, but Paloma knew Jace had her sights set on bigger crowds in larger cities.
For months, though, Paloma had longed to see some familiar faces and reconnect with her musician buddies after so many strangers had been up in her personal space before and after shows, demanding autographs and passes and acting as if they were longtime friends just because they’d gotten bootlegs of her earlier concerts.
Even though Paloma had committed to do the gig months ago during the release party, Jace still planned her business trip to happen at the same time, which irked her even more. Why would a trip that she could take any time be more important than something close to home?
Walking past the Ferndale Family Fair signs, she cut over to 9 Mile Road.
Tents were lined up for blocks and spilled over on the side streets as well, showcasing small businesses, artists, social organizations, and more than a few gay and lesbian groups.
The richly charred aroma from the Middle Eastern food trucks made her tummy growl, but she figured it would be better to wait until after her set to dive into food that was delicious but might make her sweat garlic for hours.
Apologizing every few steps for nearly running over a baby stroller or a small dog on a leash, Paloma snaked her way through the throng toward the main stage.
There was a crowd of about a hundred folks watching a three-piece ska group pogo and shriek through a goofy number that had parents dancing with their little kids.
They wrapped their set as Paloma approached, announcing, “We’re the Punkins, and you’re the best! ”
The band came off stage just as Paloma found a place to park her cart behind the structure, and right when she was about to tell them, “Great set!” they turned and went back on stage, not to do an encore but to collect their gear.
“Well, Nolan warned me this would be very DIY,” she mumbled, sliding her guitar case strap off her shoulders.
She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand and searched for a crew member to tell her what to do next.
A man dressed in a black T-shirt and cargo shorts whooshed by her, speaking into a walkie-talkie. Paloma trotted behind him for a few steps. “Excuse me, are you working the mainstage show?”
The man stopped, looking annoyed. “Why?”
For a second, Paloma was surprised he didn’t recognize who she was, which was humbling. She offered up her best “We’re all friends here” expression anyway. “I’m one of the acts. I’m supposed to go on at eight, and I’m not sure if I’m supposed to check in with someone or—”
“Not me,” he said, speeding off.
She knew Jace would have been seething if this had happened to her, but then again, it wouldn’t have happened to her; she would have arrived a lot earlier with a clipboard full of notes and maps and contingency plans.
Paloma hadn’t had to keep track of so much as a guitar pick since Jace had become her manager, and she realized she hadn’t appreciated all Jace did so Paloma could solely focus on the music part of the music business.
Maybe that was why Jace had gone out of town this weekend: to remind Paloma to be a little more grateful.
Paloma moved down the block to the edge of the backstage area, dragging the flatbed and laughing at the absurdity of the situation.
Like many events that were long on good intentions but short on infrastructure, no one else walked by who looked like they knew what they were doing.
Paloma wished she had put Nolan’s phone number into her cellular phone; she was never sure if it was worth the trouble since there were only so many people she knew who bothered to take their phones with them all the time.
She looked down the street and scanned the crowd, hoping to spot a white Stetson rising above the fray.
Finally, a tall guy in a black-and-silver Western jacket, spotless black 501s, and pointy-toed cowboy boots walked up to her.
“Paloma?” he asked with a smile so white it seemed to be glowing.
“Nolan! Thank God!”
“I was wondering where you were,” he said, enveloping her in a hug.
“I should have figured out the logistics before I left the house,” she said, pointing to her equipment. “I’ve been relying on Jace so long, I forgot how to hustle.”
“She’s not here?” he asked. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you two more than a few feet apart from each other.”
Paloma knew he was being good-natured, but given how cranky she was at Jace at the moment, she didn’t feel like joking. “I mean, I do things on my own sometimes.”
Nolan’s expression turned awkward. “Of course you do.”
“She had a trip planned for this weekend that was too important for her to change,” Paloma explained.
“Where did she go?”
“Indio, California, east of Palm Springs. She’s meeting with the organizers of some new festival this October. Coach…Coachella.”
“Coachella? Never heard of it.”
“The promoter was passing around flyers backstage when I played Glastonbury. He told Jace his vision is to feature a bunch of cool bands that aren’t super well known over a weekend this fall at some polo club out in the California desert.
” She continued with an exasperated eye roll.
“And Jace is all about expanding my reach.”
Nolan seemed impressed. “Well, it sounds like a good chance for you to perform for a totally different audience.”
“Sounds like a hot box of chaos to me,” she said flatly. “I mean, have you done any festivals?”
“Nothing more complicated than this,” Nolan said, turning in a circle to take in the Ferndale passersby.
“You’re smart then. It was a good business decision to do Glastonbury, but…” She trailed off.
“Did you feel like you got lost in the lineup?”
“Actually, the opposite. We had a huge audience, which surprised me since I didn’t think anyone outside of the US knew who we were. That was fucking surreal.”
“People know awesome when they hear it,” Nolan said, delighted. “But even with that, you didn’t like the experience?”
“I just—” She paused, her throat going dry.
“I bet it was a lot to deal with all at once,” Nolan said, filling the silence and finishing her thought. “So many people, so much noise.”
She nodded. “Exactly. I tried to explain that to someone once, and they thought I was crazy. Like, ‘Why would you go into rock and roll if you don’t like the crowds?’ ” She didn’t say that the someone had been herself.
A burst of memories overwhelmed her. How her heart started to pound when she looked out at an endless sea of people milling around the Glastonbury grounds.
How she started to sweat and the insides of her lungs felt stuck together so she couldn’t breathe.
How for several terrifying seconds, every lyric she’d ever known had flown out of her head.
How Jace hadn’t noticed that it had taken forever for her to pick up her guitar and take center stage, probably because she’d managed to snap out of it and put in a great performance.
Paloma didn’t say anything at the time because, once the show was over, they got swept up in the swirl of the festival, seeing other acts and chatting with producers and promoters.
By the time she and Jace got around to sightseeing, she felt like herself again, so she assumed the episode was the growing pains of being an up-and-coming artist. Maybe she just had to get used to it.
And with the uptick in CD sales and interviews once they were back in the states, Jace was so, so pleased, so why question success?
“It’s tough to be an introvert in the music business,” Nolan said. “That’s why I left punk for this oddball, alt-country outfit: smaller, more appreciative audiences and a lot less bullshit.”
“Yeah,” she said, amazed that she wasn’t the only musician who felt that way. She looked at her watch. “I’m supposed to go on in a few minutes and need to set up, maybe do a mic check. Do you know who I need to talk to?”
“I’ll find Byron; he’ll take care of you.” He looked at her flatbed overflowing with cables, pedals, equipment, and milk crates full of pieces and parts. “How many of you are going to be on stage?”
Paloma felt like a dope. “Just me; I’m a solo act tonight. Jace warned me that whatever I didn’t bring would be the one thing I needed most, so I packed everything.”
“Jace knows what she’s talking about, but I don’t think you’ll need this unless you’re playing bass, too,” he said as he picked up an amp. “May I borrow this? Stuart’s fell out of the van when we were unloading.”
“Sure,” she said, tamping down Jace’s typical response: Neither a borrower nor a lender be. Jace said it was a quote from Shakespeare. Obviously, Shakespeare had gotten shafted by musicians who stole his gear.
“Thanks a million,” he said, taking his cellular phone out of his jacket pocket.
“If we don’t connect later tonight, I want to make sure I get it back to you.
What’s your number?” She told him, and immediately she heard the electronic tootling of her own phone in her bag.
He shared another blazing-white smile, this one revealing a dimple in his left cheek.
“Of course, I hope you’ll stay for our set.
You’re welcome to join us if you have a country number up your sleeve, too. Always great to play with friends.”
Paloma had gotten used to other people asking to join her sets, but Nolan asking her to join him, not knowing if she knew Dolly Parton from the Dalai Lama, was flattering. “Thanks. I’ll think about it.”
Nolan looked over her shoulder and cupped his hands around his mouth. “Hey, Byron! Could you come over here?” he yelled.
A stocky guy with blond curls stepped out of the flow of people and dipped under a stanchion to join them. Nolan pointed to Paloma. “Can you help this rock star, please? I found her wandering the streets looking for a roadie.”
“Sure thing,” Byron replied.
“You’re in good hands,” Nolan told her. “Now, before I leave you to do your magic, just a heads-up that I’ll be introducing you. Anything in particular you want me to say?”
“Just my name is fine.”
“No, it’s not,” he said with a raffish shake of his head. “You’ve been places! You’ve done things! You deserve a proper intro, girl!”
She smiled, her cheeks reddening. “Whatever you want to say, but leave the ‘rock star’ part out, please.”
“Got it. I need to go get my hat. See you in a few.”
Soon, Byron got her gear on stage and did a sound check, giving her a thumbs-up as he climbed down to where she was waiting.
She was so focused on reviewing her set list and mentally running through her lyrics, she didn’t notice that Nolan had taken the stage until she heard his voice rolling over the crowd.
“Hello, pardners, and thank you for joining us for the third annual Ferndale Family Fair! It’s wonderful to see so many kids here, and I have to thank you for letting your parents come, too.
My name is Tex Mechs, and my band the Moo-town Spurs will be playing in a little bit, but only if we can possibly follow the incredible musician you’re about to hear.
She’s a hometown gal with an international following.
She’s a singer-songwriter who just got back from the Glastonbury Festival in England.
And you kids in the audience will be able to tell your kids that you got to see her play live, and they are going to be so jealous.
Folks, I am proud to introduce my friend, Paloma Doralle. ”
Paloma walked up the metal stairs at the left of the stage and looked out over the audience.
Tiny children clapped as they sat on their parents’ shoulders; teenagers in eyeliner and shredded jeans were waving their hands in the air; a range of adults, from hippie to alt-new wave, were all smiles.
Even though the crowd had grown to fill the block, she wasn’t intimidated or nervous in the slightest. And for once she didn’t have to deal with Mary’s demands or Colin’s erratic behavior.
There was no pressure to be anyone but herself here, and that felt amazing.
Nolan walked over to her, his Stetson practically glowing in the stage lights. He gave her a quick hug and whispered, “Have fun!” before exiting stage right. She slipped her guitar strap over her shoulder and stepped behind the microphone stand.
“Hello, Ferndale!” she said, waving to the crowd and prompting another round of cheers.
“Let me tell you that this has to be the cutest audience I’ve ever seen.
You’re worth giving up swearing for a night, let me tell you.
” She played a couple of chords to ensure everything was ready to go then grinned into the mic.
“Are you all ready to stay up past your bedtimes?”
“YES!” responded a choir of voices, ranging from high to low.
She’d never been so charmed. “Good, because so am I! Okay, kids, let’s play.”