Almost Easy

I wasn’t a bad person.
Indulgent, maybe; but not bad.
I’d abandoned any semblances of my former life in lieu of one of glitz and glamour. When I say glamour, I actually mean dingy dive bars and seedy producers, each more conniving than the last.
My band had hit a lucky streak six months prior and we’d started to develop a pretty solid fan base. I’d been hitting the high notes since I was in diapers; so, really it only made sense to make a career out of it. If you wanted to make it in metal back then, the recipe was pretty simple: a hefty dollop of killer guitar, solid kicks on the kit, and if you wanted instant notary, add a woman to the front.
So, that’s what we did.
A record deal that promised of very little financial earnings but we were young and we were stupid and so we signed the dotted line.
I was soaking it up—the photoshoots, the constant compliments. However, beyond all of that, I was able to get up on stage night after night and do my thing. That was, by far, the most satisfying of all the positive notations.
We were set to head out on a four-month North American stint in only a few months. It was the most adventurous thing I’d ever done—we were pretty excited.
“I was thinking,” Tyler, my demon of a guitarist mused from atop his amp. “We should go check out that festival in LA this weekend.”
I rolled my eyes, “I’m not going to lie to you, Ty. I intend to do a whole lot of hermitting before we head out on the road. I don’t know that a festival is in line with my interests.”
“System is playing,” he smirked knowingly.
“Fuck—really? No way.”
“Yes way,” he nodded cockily. “Call Austin and get him to throw us on the list—we should use our names for personal gain for once.”
“For once?” I laughed.
We’d had Austin, our band manager, put us on lists for shows for months. We’d never been denied, never had a problem on the way in—it was any music lover’s dream.
“Okay, fair,” Ty laughed. “But it’s fucking System.”
“Well twist my rubber arm,” I groaned. “Fine—but we’re driving. I’m not flying.”
“I know,” he rolled his eyes. “Your stupid phobia.”
“Planes crash, Tyler,” I said seriously. “It’s a real thing. It happens.”
He laughed, tossing a pick at me that fumbled into the air and onto the floor, “I’m not feeling particularly inspired today—and since the others didn’t feel like showing up, should we call it a day or what?”
I fidgeted with the pen between my fingers, I’d been playing with lyrics all afternoon, “Yeah, go ahead. I’m gonna hang around for a bit longer.”
“Fuck that,” he grinned. “You stay, I stay. Show me what ya got, Peterson.”

-----

The drive to Los Angeles was as long as it was dreary. It was good for tunes and inappropriately loud singing. My throat was sore by time we pulled into the allocated festival parking.
Austin had given us a fair amount of attitude about our last minute desperation to see System of a Down but ultimately obliged us.
“You pumped or what?” Tyler beamed, pulling at my Nirvana t-shirt as we walked.
I beamed, “Fuck yeah.”
We’d almost made it to the back entrance when a small group of three jumped in front of our bodies. Their faces were excited and their hearts were thumping so hard I could feel them from where I stood.
Tyler instinctively put himself in front of me. We’d been friends since we were four and he was always protecting me—in the sandbox, the stage, and everything in between. Prospective boyfriends beware.
“Are you Blair Peterson?” one of the teen girls shrieked.
She was probably only a few years younger than I was but in my composure I felt ancient.
“Hey,” I waved sheepishly.
“Oh my fucking god!” she shrieked. “Can I have your autograph?”
Tyler freed me from his prison.
“That means you’re Ty!” one of her friends gushed. “Man, you shred so hard.”
“Yeah, Ty,” I giggled. “You shred so hard.”
He nudged me in the ribs but played friendly with our apparent fans.
Once they’d gotten their fill—and their pictures—they let us pass. We wasted no time rushing to security, proving ourselves, and then sheltering ourselves indoors.
I pretended like each fan didn’t thrill me—it was something that I didn’t think would ever get old.
I pulled my cigarettes from my pocket and pursed one between my lips, “Okay. Drinks first or straight to the stage?”
Tyler raised his brows, “Drinks obviously.”
The line for backstage refreshments was astonishing small. This, also, would never get old. It was 4:30 in the afternoon which seemed like the perfect time for a rum and coke.
“Make it two,” I winked at the bartender.
I was freshly 21 and was in my prime. Legal drinking was truly superior to sneaking brown paper bags into clubs and sneaking sips in the bathroom stalls.
“Okay,” I said, puffing on the cigarette dangling from my mouth. “Stage?”
“You go,” Tyler said but wasn’t looking at me. “There are some points of interest to my right that I’d like to go see to.”
To his right were a group of blondes. Tall, thin, shrieking voices. Just Tyler’s type.
I was no one’s type. My hair was painted jet black, my eyeliner always matched. I was thin enough but was fairly covered in tattoos. I’d learned that this was not the average man’s version of a dream woman.
That was fine with me—I did well enough with the men if you know what I mean.
I struggled to hold my drinks and keep the smoke out of my eye.
Tyler reached out and took the cigarette from my mouth, tossing it to the floor and smashing it with his toes, “You should quit.”
“Off you go then,” I rushed, kicking him in the back of the leg before turning myself around and making my way to the stage.
If Tyler wanted to waste his time on women and miss out on the actual talent in the building, so be it. That, however, was not my style.
I’d positioned myself to the right of the stage, far enough out that I wouldn’t be in the way but close enough that I had a decent view. The crowd was massive—I hoped that one day my band would be big enough to play shows of this size.
That’s how I’d know that we’d made it.
“Hey,” a voice grumbled from behind me. “Hold this, would ya?”
A giant of a human was thrusting three beers at me, he was very obviously struggling not to drop them.
I put my own drinks on the floor to better receive this stranger’s beverages.
“Thank you,” he huffed. “Fuck.”
I stared at him.
“Stocking up,” he grinned. “Then I won’t have to leave—duh.”
“That’s a fair point,” I noted.
“I see you had the same idea,” he replied, gesturing to my two drinks on the floor by my feet.
I hesitated, “No…I actually just—yeah.”
He cackled maniacally, “Fucking expert level.”
I could feel my face become flush.
He tossed a lanky arm around my shoulders, “I’m Jimmy.”
“Blair,” I said from under his weight. “Came to watch System?”
“I came to watch everybody!” he shouted loudly.
My ear rang.
“So what are you, a girlfriend or something?” he said then, removing his arm from my body.
He gestured to return the bottles.
“What?”
“How’d you end up back here?” he tried again, sipping at one of the opened beers. “You fucking someone in the band? They’re a little old for you, don’t ya think?”
“Don’t be weird,” I retorted with my face scrunched. “I’m not fucking them. I was on the list.”
“What list?” he smirked.
“The same list you were on, I’m guessing,” I replied with a laugh.
“You’re witty—I like you. You’re going to be my favourite friend, kay?”
I smiled, “Okay, Jimmy.”
“Rev!” someone shouted from across the way.
He waved them off with a frazzled look before turning back to me, putting the stupid grin back onto his smug face.
“So—“
“Rev?” I interrupted with a skip in my chest. “What’s a Rev?”
“The Reverend Tholomew Plague,” he bowed, keeping his eyes locked with mine, “at your service.”
I had a sneaking suspicion he was going to be my favourite friend too.

Notes

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