by Greg Taylor
“So, have we made a decision, Regina?” Mom asked.
I exhaled loudly and looked around the backyard. I still had a hard time believing that I could actually afford such an expensive place. Then something occurred to me. “I should probably talk to Dad first.”
“We discussed that just last night,” Mom said in exasperation. “You know exactly what he would say.”
I was feeling a lot of pressure from Mom to make an on-the-spot decision. As for the agent, she actually didn’t seem too concerned whether I took the house or not. Probably had people coming to look at it after Mom and I left. “How’s this?” I suggested. “I’ll make a decision right after the Grammys. They’re tomorrow night, so that means less than forty-eight hours from now.”
That seemed like a safe and practical thing to say, but Mom got such a disappointed look on her face that I felt sorry for her. It was weird, the way Mom was acting more like the kid. With me in the grown-up role. Well, grown-ups always want to make their kids happy, don’t they? At least I thought that was the way it was supposed to be.
So I smiled and said, “You know what? I don’t think I need to wait. I’ll take it!”
Mom squealed in delight and threw her arms around me. The real estate agent nodded, cool as can be, and said, “Congratulations. You’ve made an excellent choice.”
19
I was standing backstage at the Shrine Auditorium, watching Madonna as she disappeared into the crowd that surrounded us, still in disbelief about what had just happened. A few moments before, Madonna had come right up to me, introduced herself, and told me that Meet the Caverns! was one of the best albums she’d ever heard. I was so stunned I didn’t know what to say. Madonna was totally cool, and after giving me a few pointers on how to deal with the sudden crush of fame, she urged me to keep up the good work, then headed off when someone came up to tell her she was needed onstage.
Incredible!
Actually, Madonna was just one of the music greats I’d met since arriving at the Shrine. Mom and I had returned from our house-buying expedition a bit late (I asked Mom not to say anything to Dad about it for the time being), so Abernathy had to floor it to get Dad and me and the rest of the Caverns (minus Lorna) to the Shrine on time, which I don’t think he appreciated. After we were dropped off behind the auditorium, we entered through the backstage door as an army of paparazzi furiously snapped away from a nearby street.
A slightly out-of-control, partylike atmosphere permeated the backstage area. People with headsets ran around trying to inflict some kind of order. There actually wasn’t much for us to do after arriving except wait, so that had given me plenty of time to rubberneck and meet famous musicians and singers.
Beyoncé. Bruce Springsteen. Norah Jones. Rivers Cuomo.
I felt like I was in one of those movie scenes where the camera moves around the actor in a circle, over and over. It was disorienting but exciting, and things didn’t stop for even a second.
Trey, who had been waiting at the backstage door for us when we arrived, never left my side. He was like my own personal Grammy tour guide, introducing me to people, pointing out producers who wanted to work with me, steering me away from people he didn’t want me to meet for some reason.
I don’t know where Dad and Julian and Danny were during all this. We hadn’t spoken on the way to the Shrine. None of them seemed to want to dip their toes into the murky waters of the Lorna situation. I certainly didn’t, so I was perfectly happy to just sit with my face buried behind the trades as I rode in the limo to the Grammy rehearsal.
Anyway, it was shortly after I’d met Madonna that the Caverns got the nod to rehearse “Hello, Goodbye.” I was stunned when we were led to the Shrine stage by one of the headset people. The auditorium, with its double balconies and sweeping rows of seats, was massive. And very intimidating.
I can’t pull this off! It’s too much! Too overwhelming! That’s what I was nervously thinking as I walked to the microphone in the middle of the stage, strapping on my guitar as I went. Playing on the T.J. stage, in the recording studio, and on the Tonight Show hadn’t prepared me for this. The Shrine was the BIG TIME. Literally.
I was snapped out of my jittery thoughts by some unseen person who spoke to us over a speaker. “Hello, Caverns!” the voice boomed. I waved lamely at the empty auditorium. I suddenly felt like Dorothy meeting the Wizard. “You are opening tomorrow night’s Grammy Awards,” the voice announced. “You’re the very first band. It’s a great honor, so don’t blow it!”
I laughed a fake laugh, then glanced over my shoulder at Julian and Danny. It was comforting to see that they looked as uptight as I’m sure I did. However, our new bass player, a guy named Waverly, didn’t seemed phased by any of this. Trey had assured me he was a pro, and from the looks of it, he was.
“Just kidding,” the voice continued. “You’ll do great. This is what’s going to happen. You’ll be in total darkness, then, when you start the song, BAM! Lights and video! Music! The crowd goes nuts! Regina, I want you to count out the beat before you begin. One, two, three, four! Loud and clear for the light and video people. OK?” I nodded to the Wizard. “Great. Let’s try this baby!”
The lights in the auditorium dimmed until I couldn’t see a thing. I was aware of hushed and excited voices growing in volume in the wings of the stage. The Caverns were the new sensation, the new kids in town, so to speak, and from the sounds of it, we were attracting quite a bit of attention. That only served to make me even more nervous.
“Any time, Regina!” the Wizard boomed in the dark.
OK … OK! I thought, trying to steady myself. I took a deep breath, held it, then yelled, “One, two, three, four!” And then …
BAM!
A blinding barrage of white lights … psychedelic explosions of color on the massive screen behind us … amplified music loud enough to rocket us all the way up to the Shrine ceiling.
When all that sound and visual fury hit me, I felt as if I’d been plugged into a socket the size of say, the Caverns billboard on Sunset Boulevard. Amazing! Transporting! Mind-blowing!
The high-octane, unexpectedly powerful intro to “Hello, Goodbye” completely obliterated my nervousness. It was as if I had been lifted up by invisible hands and touched by the musical gods or something. OK, that’s a bit over the top, but you get the idea. Anyway, after that, it was smooth sailing. The entire band went into one of those “zones.” Julian and Danny and I were completely pumped, and our playing reflected that. Our new bass player was incredible, providing a power and oomph that Lorna had never been able to achieve.
So it was pure bliss playing and singing the rest of the song. More and more people filtered into the auditorium and crowded the wings of the stage to hear us. When we were singing, “Hey-la, hey-hey-lo-ah” over and over at the end of the song, I glanced over to see people in the wings of the stage—some of whom I’d grown up listening to on the radio and on CD—nodding and grooving in approval. (They like us! They really, really like us!) Then we hit the final chord.
CHEERS! APPLAUSE!
The bright lights and video screen snapped off when the song was over and we were once again illuminated by the normal stage lights. It felt like returning from a dream.
But the continuing applause was real enough, and then the Wizard said, “OK. That’ll do,” in a matter-of-fact, ironic way, which got a laugh from the backstage crowd. The next thing I knew, Trey was by my side and leading me triumphantly off the stage and into a cluster of famous smiling faces.
That didn’t feel like a rehearsal, I thought as I was enveloped by the warm embrace of my musician peers. It was more like a coronation!
Yes, that’s exactly what it felt like. A bowing down of the multitudes. An official “welcome to your new world.”
20
“The Instigators … up next!” I was talking to Edge and Dr. Dre when I heard one of the headset people yell that as she walked past. I was mildly curious when I heard “the Instigators” called
out. I had seen their poster at Amoeba, and now here they were at the Grammys. Who were these guys?
But seeing as I was talking to two musical legends, I wasn’t about to excuse myself to go listen to some band I had never heard of. I mean, here Edge and Dr. Dre were talking to me as though I were their equal or something, and Dr. Dre was suggesting we should do something together in the future and I was gushing, “That would be great!” and feeling downright giddy from all the attention I was getting. Then I heard the opening line of the Instigators’ song.
“I walk a lonely road / The only one that I have ever known / Don’t know where it goes / But it’s home to me and I walk alone.”
I frowned and peeked around the curtain at the Instigators. Why were these guys up for a Grammy for singing a Green Day song? That’s exactly the question I asked Edge and Dr. Dre. Their answer?
“Who’s Green Day?”
What?! Say it again?! I didn’t actually ask Edge and Dr. Dre to repeat what they had just said. I could tell from their expressions that they really, truly had never heard of Green Day before.
And that’s when the fabric of my wish-come-true fantasy world split wide open. I felt as though everything around me suddenly dropped away, and I was hovering in a backstage black hole at the Shrine Auditorium. I think I grabbed on to a nearby curtain rope so that I wouldn’t fall into the void.
The Instigators continued playing their song—or rather, Green Day’s song—while I held tightly to the rope.
“I walk this empty street / On the boulevard of broken dreams / Where the city sleeps / And I’m the only one and I walk alone.”
“Are you OK, Regina?” somebody asked me, but I didn’t reply. Instead I slowly made my way toward the nearby stage wing so I could see this unknown band play “Boulevard of Broken Dreams,” one of Green Day’s biggest hits and certainly one of their most powerful songs.
Still in a total, haze-producing daze, I watched and listened until the Instigators front man sang, “Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me / ’Til then, I walk alone.”
Then the song was over and the band walked offstage toward me. One by one they filed past. The lead singer was the last one. Instead of going by, he stopped right in front of me and smiled. “Hello, Regina Bloomsbury.” I didn’t say anything. “Rory,” the lead singer said, holding out his hand. I shook it. Numbly. “You know what? We need to talk,” Rory suggested. I nodded. Numbly. “After we’re done here, can I give you a lift to your hotel?” I nodded once again.
Numbly.
* * *
“Want anything to drink?”
I was in the back of Rory’s limo, and the buildings of the University of Southern California were flashing by the tinted windows. We’d left the Shrine after I rehearsed my presentation of the Best Rap Album with Jay-Z and told Dad that I’d meet him and the rest of the band back at the hotel.
I shook my head no to Rory’s offer of a drink. “So … where do we begin?” Rory smiled when he said this. He looked totally comfortable and relaxed. I studied him before I responded. Rory wasn’t the best-looking guy in the world. With the right clothes and haircut, he managed to look pretty cool, but he wasn’t what you’d call handsome. He was just a regular-looking guy, when you came right down to it.
“Why are you acting like you know me?” I finally asked. “And I don’t mean because of my music or maybe you’ve seen me on MTV or anything like that.”
Rory took a sip from his soda, then said, “We’re living the same wish, Regina.” I closed my eyes and pressed my fingers against my temples. This, I cannot believe!
“I know exactly how you’re feeling right now. That’s why I wanted to talk to you. To tell you that. After my wish was granted? I was thrown right into the thick of things and was all weirded out and had to figure everything out for myself. Same as you. Right? Then, on top of everything else, I catch some guy I never heard of one night on MTV singing his latest hit. Guess what it was.”
Rory said this like an excited kid asking a friend to guess some fun secret. I shrugged. I didn’t know and didn’t want to guess and suddenly felt … betrayed by my Fairy Godmother.
“ ‘Blowin’ in the Wind’!” Rory announced with a laugh when I didn’t answer. “Can you believe it? I had to tip my hat to the guy. Can you imagine trying to remember all the words to a bunch of Bob Dylan songs? But this dude did it. He’s on a worldwide tour right now. I think he’s in Europe.”
Rory moved from his seat to sit next to me. It didn’t feel aggressive or like he was putting the moves on me or anything like that. Rory felt more like an older brother. Or what I imagined having an older brother would feel like. “So I felt the same way you do right now, I’m sure. My wish wasn’t, I don’t know, private anymore after that, right? But it turned out to be just fine. ’Cause once I’d met the new Dylan? It was cool. The dude helped me adjust to all this. I had someone I could talk to. Relate to. Which was good, ’cause I don’t know about your Wishmaster, but mine was totally scarce.”
“Wishmaster?” I asked.
“The person who granted my wish. Whoever it was. Never met him. Or her. Don’t really care to, at this point.”
“I call mine my Fairy Godmother.”
“Fairy Godmother. Wishmaster. Whatever. My point to you is this, Regina. You’re still in the tryout phase, right?”
Tryout phase? I was disoriented and turned inside out by this new twist in my wish-come-true world and had to think about what Rory meant. “Oh … yeah. Tryout phase. Right. I’m in the tryout phase.”
“Well, I don’t know which way you’re leaning, but you gotta stay here! I guarantee it’s everything you wished for, and more. I mean, c’mon. How cool was your rehearsal? You blew those people away! Even the hard-core, cynical old rock stars. Can you imagine anything better than that?”
I had to admit, I couldn’t.
“You still look a bit out of it, Regina. I know this is a lot to lay on you. Let me get you something to drink.”
“Just a … soda. Pepsi, if you got it.”
“Your wish is my command!” Rory grabbed a Pepsi from the small fridge, popped it open, poured some into a glass, and handed it to me. After taking a sip, I did feel a little better. Especially when I put the cold glass against my hot head.
“So,” I said after a bit. “Did you … well, did you have a hard time deciding whether to stay or not?”
Rory thought about that, like it was something that happened a very long time ago. “At first, maybe. Not much. I mean, yeah, there were those little pangs of guilt. About getting credit for all the Green Day songs. I’m sure you’ve felt that, huh?” I nodded, but realized that I’d been quite successful at burying that guilt over the past few days.
“Well, here’s the other thing I wanted to tell you, Regina. It’s really important. Are you listening?” Rory looked at me to make sure that I was. “It’s OK. About the songs, I mean. It’s essential you understand this. It’s absolutely OK about the songs. For one thing, nobody’s getting hurt here. The songs are still getting out there. The people still love them. So what if it’s us instead of John or Paul or Billie Joe or Dylan? It’s like … we’re the guardians of this wonderful music.”
Something occurred to me, for the first time. “Do they still exist? In this world? John, Paul, George, and Ringo? Billie Joe?”
“I wondered about that, too. A little while back, I almost went to Berkeley. To see if Billie Joe had become a short order cook or something. But then I realized, it just doesn’t matter. It really doesn’t. It’s the songs that count. That should become your mantra. It’s the songs that count!”
What Rory said made a kind of sense to me. And he said it so passionately. He seemed to really believe his mantra. It was comforting to hear that.
“By the way,” Rory said, in an offhanded way. “We have the same manager.”
What? “Get out,” I said. “Trey?” Rory nodded. “You’re kidding me.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Yeah. He does.”
I shook my head in dismay. Yet more complications. But wait a second. “Why didn’t he say anything to me?”
“Probably waiting until after the Grammys. When you’re here for good. But, yeah, Trey’s just like us, actually. Made a wish to be the most successful manager in the world. Came true. So whoever comes through comes to him.”
“Are you saying this happens a lot? People coming through?”
“Think about it, Regina. There are a lot of unhappy people out there who’d like to be somebody else.”
What a sad thing to say. But Rory was probably right. As I thought about all of the unhappy people out there, Rory returned to his seat on the other side of the Hummer, stretched out on the seat, and put his hands behind his head. “Yeah … it definitely gets pretty wild here sometimes. The comings and goings, I mean. Just recently it looked like somebody was gonna be U2.”
“U2? I was just talking to Edge at the Shrine.”
“Yeah, they’re back. This guy and his band were them for a week or so during his tryout phase, but then … I don’t know, I guess he decided to return to his old life.” Rory looked over at me and shook his head, as though that was the dumbest thing anyone could do. “Know what? You’re for sure gonna win a couple of Grammys tomorrow. But you wanna bet on best song? I say I take it for ‘Boulevard’ over ‘Yesterday.’ Loser takes winner out to dinner.” Rory held out his hand to shake on the bet.
I thought about that, then stood up—crouching over so my head didn’t hit the ceiling—and reached over to shake Rory’s hand. Nodding happily, Rory said, “Welcome to paradise, Regina.”
PARADISE …
We were silent the rest of the way back to the Sheraton. Me sipping my Pepsi. Rory still stretched out on his seat, staring up at the ceiling, as though something were written up there. I couldn’t tell if Rory liked what he was reading or not.
