Forty-Eight
FORTY-EIGHT
MARICK, EVERYBODY
Deegan Records sent “I Kissed Her In An Alcove” out as the first single from Marick, our new band name. It debuted on the Hot 100 right as the Sparrow tour was ending, which was fun for Emily and Cheddar. Miguel’s still bummed we’re not called Genre Explosion.
Tonight’s our first show on a new tour. We’re co-openers with Shades of Grey, Deegan Records’ other new act, opening for their biggest artist, The Research. Shades of Grey are such great guys and we’re beyond excited to be able to tour with them. Don told me when Emily and Cheddar found out we’re on the same label and on tour together, Emily threw Cheddar’s iPad across the room and shattered the screen. Don also said Emily and Cheddar lost their investor and haven’t been able to get their label off the ground. We chuckled about it over the phone and I found out Don is no fan of Emily Wu.
Don, ever the supportive uncle I never had, talks about Marick in interviews and on socials more than he talks about Sparrow, always hyping us up as the hottest new act he’s seen in a long time.
For this tour, Kick and I are alternating with Shades of Grey for who plays first each night. Tonight, we’re up first at the Orpheum in Memphis, playing to a sold-out crowd. It’s a much smaller venue than what we played on the Sparrow tour, but I couldn’t be happier.
We’re in the wings on the right side of the stage while Miguel and Mateo wait on the left side, all four of us brimming with excitement. I feel a tug on my arm and follow Kick as he pulls me into a tiny alcove carved into the wall, a look of utter glee on his face.
“Can you believe this is here?”
I look up and around. “What is this thing?”
He grins my favorite grin, eyes sparkling. Even after all this time, those palm branch eyelashes still make my toes curl.
“I think they call it an alcove.” He brushes my hair behind my shoulder and wraps a warm hand softly around my neck. “It’ll take a Costco-sized can of WD-40 to get us out of here.”
He leans in and captures my lips in a hungry kiss, so familiar and still so new.
When he pulls away, we’re both breathless, wide-eyed, just like the first time. I run my hands up his chest. “Can you believe this is happening?”
“Yes.” He kisses my temple. “And no. It still doesn’t feel real.”
I lean around the corner of the alcove and peek out into the packed audience. My mother’s sitting on the second row like a regular concertgoer, her way of showing me she’s here for me as a mom, not a manager. We’ve both been working hard to fix what’s broken between us, to build something we should have built a long time ago. I wouldn’t say we’re all the way there yet, but we’re a lot closer than we were. I’m happy she’s here tonight.
“Are you two serious right now?” Cass says, finding our hiding spot. She’s flourished since becoming our official manager, running the Marick machine like a CEO in a power suit while still being as Cass as ever.
“Look,” I say, “It’s an alcove.”
“It’s show time,” she replies, so done with us. “But first, news. Kelly Clarkson is going to cover “I Kissed Her In An Alcove” on her show. And she wants you to come on as guests.”
“Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait,” I say, pushing out of the alcove. “Kelly Clarkson is going to cover our song? Kelly Clarkson. Like, Kelly Clarkson .”
“Would you both think less of me if I fainted right now?” Kick says.
Cass laughs. “You can faint after the show. Now get out there and entertain the people.”
I pull Kick toward the stage as he continues mumbling “Kelly Clarkson” under his breath.
Kick Raines, my love. The man who’d never written a song and is now being covered by one of the greatest singers of all time. Being with him is a daily surprise, my life taken over by his big, giant heart and unending capacity for love. I am the luckiest.
The DJ from the radio station sponsoring tonight’s show appears on stage to introduce us. Kick and I run onto the dark stage and get into position. The DJ announces upcoming shows and throws station t-shirts into the crowd before booming into the mic, “Anybody here excited to see Marick tonight?” Loud cheers fill the theater. Fill my heart. “You’re in luck, ’cause here they are. Marick, everybody!”
The spotlights hit us and Kick and I launch into a high speed drum duet. It’s only two minutes long, something we cooked up a few days ago as we were rehearsing for the tour. We’re totally showboating, playing into Emily’s paparazzi-style creeper videos of us that have been gaining momentum online since the Sparrow tour. But it’s also incredibly fun.
On the last beat, we jump up and jog to our microphones to thunderous applause. Our guitars are waiting for us, already plugged in. Kick gives Mateo a head nod and Mateo hits four beats on the kick drum.
Bum, bum, bum, bum
“Hey there, Mari,” Kick says, smiling into the mic.
Bum, bum, bum, bu m
“Hey there, Kick.”
Bum, bum, bum, bum
“Beautiful night tonight in Memphis, isn’t it?’
Bum, bum, bum, bum
“Love Memphis. Great barbeque.”
The crowd cheers through four drum beats so we wait for four more.
Bum, bum, bum, bum.
“And the people are so nice. Very inviting.”
Bum, bum, bum, bum.
“Reminds me of that night back in Nashville,” I grin at him. “When you tried to kiss me in an alcove.”
The crowd is eating it up, laughing and cheering, in on our little game.
“I think you’ve got that backwards. The way I remember, it was you who kissed me.”
Bum, bum, bum, bum
“No, no,” I say, smiling, “I’m pretty sure it was you doing the kissing.”
Bum, bum, bum, bum
“Sure, okay, just as long as I get to kiss you again.”
We hit the downbeat and launch into our songs, the songs that made us, the songs that survived us, the songs that are carrying us forward as we live out our wildest dreams. Together.