Staged

by Olivia Cunning

  “We missed the first one,” Lily said. “But another will be along shortly.”

  “I’m sorry I made us late.” Would she have to give up her nights with Steve? All because that stupid reporter wouldn’t leave them alone? Was it really asking too much that she could have her time with Steve and keep up appearances with her band as well? The plan had gone so smoothly in her head.

  The camping sites and outer festival grounds were already crowded, even though the main gates didn’t open for another hour. Baroquen wasn’t playing until later that afternoon, but they all wanted to experience as much of the atmosphere as possible. Well, Iona mostly wanted to network, but that was easy enough to do when dozens of bands were congregated.

  “I had a dream last night that only four people showed up for our set,” Sage said as they meandered through the parked tour buses.

  “Did they throw buckets of piss at us?” Azura asked.

  “No, they liked us,” Sage said. “But there were only four of them.”

  “That makes four more UK fans than we had before the show.” Azura patted Sage’s shoulder just beneath the lower curved edge of her black and green wig.

  No one knew who Baroquen was over here. They didn’t have many fans in the US either, but in Europe they were completely unknown. What if Sage’s dream turned out to be a prophecy? What if no one showed up?

  Some musician stumbled out of a tour bus, nearly knocking Iona on her ass. She greeted him and smiled but was entirely ignored. Maybe it was just too early for him to be friendly. Roux was too amped up to be jet-lagged, but not every traveler was chipper in the morning.

  Iona watched the guy walk away as if she didn’t exist. “Maybe instead of trying to rub elbows with our better-known peers we should be rounding up some fans.”

  “Like out there?” Sage pointed toward the main gate, which wasn’t visible from their current position.

  “It’s where the really important people are,” Iona said.

  “Do you think that’s wise?” Lily asked. “Jack said I should be careful. These festivals can quickly get out of hand.”

  “We’ll be fine,” Iona said. “And I’m sure Sam would approve. He’s always talking about how important it is to get a loyal fan base. How better to gain loyalty than by meeting potential fans one-on-one?”

  Roux had to admit Sam was right, but she wasn’t sure that the door-to-door-salesman approach was their best bet. “You don’t think that will make us seem desperate?”

  “We are desperate,” Iona said. “This won’t be like our arena shows opening for Exodus End. We have to draw our own crowd. We can’t depend on them to do it for us.”

  “It reminds me of our basement gig days,” Azura said. “How many flyers did we have to hand out to get thirty people in the door?”

  “So many trees were sacrificed,” Sage said.

  “But once we got those thirty there and showed them a good time, they told their friends and we had to pass out fewer and fewer flyers until we didn’t have to pass out any. Eventually we had to turn people away.”

  “But we don’t have any flyers,” Roux pointed out.

  “I have an idea,” Iona said. From the bodice of her dress, she pulled out a pack of multicolored permanent markers. “Don’t judge. I was hoping someone would ask for my autograph.”

  Roux laughed but didn’t refuse the red marker that Iona handed her. “What are these for?”

  “Turning people into flyers,” she said. “If they’ll let us.”

  It was a long walk to the main gates, which were set to open in less than half an hour. Eager attendees were standing in line waiting to enter the concert area. Those at the front of the line were the most eager and the most bored—they’d been waiting a long time. Iona—who didn’t have a shy bone in her body—walked right up to a young couple who were watching their approach with interest.

  “I know you’ve never heard of us,” Iona said, “but we’re hoping you’ll come see us at three this afternoon on the second stage.”

  “Who are you?” the man asked.

  “Baroquen.”

  “What now?”

  “Baroquen. B-A-R . . . Here, let me write it on your arm.”

  And the guy actually extended his arm over the barrier. Security was watching closely, but they didn’t intervene. Iona took the cap off her purple marker and wrote Baroquen across his forearm, with the time and place beneath.

  “Are you like their roadies or something?” he asked, staring down at his walking billboard of a forearm.

  “No, we’re in the band. We’re opening for Exodus End this summer, but we’re new, so—”

  “Exodus End! Have you met them?” The guy’s eyes were wide as he glanced from one member of Baroquen to the next. Roux wondered how excited he’d be if he knew how truly close she’d become to one member of the band.

  “Yes. They’re great guys. Very supportive of newbies like us. We hope we can count on your support as well.”

  “If Exodus End supports you, count me in.” He grabbed the arm of the woman with him and pulled it over the barrier. “Do hers too. And like, maybe autograph it or something.”

  Iona grinned like she’d just won the lottery and signed her much practiced autograph on the guy’s arm.

  Azura stepped forward to mark the woman’s arm with their band name, and the time and location of their performance. Naturally, she wrote the message in blue, which matched her costume and undertones of her wig. A few men behind the couple leaned in to see what was going on.

  “They’re a new band from America,” their first new fan told the men. “Opening for Exodus End this summer.”

  “Are they any good?”

  Someone in line had already downloaded one of their songs onto their phone and played it for nearby spectators. Roux couldn’t believe that Iona’s crazy plan was working. Well, unless they hated their music. Then they were sunk.

  “That sounds pretty badass,” some guy said. “A mix of Black Veil Brides, Marilyn Manson, and Nine Inch Nails.”

  Uh, okay. If he said so.

  “And every member of the band is a hot chick?” another man asked. “I’m so there. Write on my arm!”

  Roux was closest to him, so she uncapped her marker and wrote their flyer message on his arm. “Are you the guitarist?” he asked.

  “Keyboards,” she said, her voice slightly muffled by the marker cap she held between her teeth. She placed it on the top of her marker, seeing as it looked like everyone in line now wanted a forearm message. “Azura and Sage are the guitarists.” She nodded in their direction. “The blue and green ones.”

  “I want them to autograph my arm too. Their dueling guitar solo is lit.”

  Lit? Was that a good thing?

  That guy’s trend quickly caught on. Everyone wanted not one autograph beneath their flyer message, but one in every color. The gates opened, and people behind the initial entrants stopped to see what was going on. Not everyone was interested in being marked, but enough people were, and most of them insisted on hearing a sample of music before they agreed to being written on with permanent markers. The best part was that once a skeptical person was introduced to Baroquen’s unique sound, they always wanted to be included.

  “Ahh,” Iona said, writing her purple messages and autographs much more rapidly than in the beginning. “I don’t care what any drug addict says. This is the best kind of buzz.”

  Roux grinned, once again recognizing that her sister was a publicity wizard.

  The fans were surprisingly well-behaved. They didn’t shove other attendees or try to grope her or have anything to say but positive things. A lot of them were already drunk—at noon—but not unruly. Maybe British drunks were less offensive than American drunks. Or maybe the insanity didn’t start until the sun went down. After a while, their new potential fans started insisting on posing for pictures with their billboard arms, and once those started hitting social media, Baroquen was sought out at the main gates by people who’d be
en planning to stay in the campgrounds until later. Like the flyer situation, they had only needed that initial seed of excitement to grow a forest of new admirers.

  “We’re going to have to leave now,” Lily said, signing in black marker, since white wasn’t an option. “We have to be on stage in an hour.”

  An hour? How had over two hours flown by so quickly? Roux glanced up from the arm she was writing on between a sea of colorful tattoos and smiled at the middle-aged rocker it belonged to. “You’re my last one,” she said. “I have to go perform now. You’ll be there in the crowd cheering me on, right?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it. I’ll bring all my blokes.”

  “Perfect. We really appreciate your support.”

  Someone grabbed Roux’s wrist and tugged her backwards. She felt a moment of panic, thinking that she was being accosted by an overzealous concert-goer, before realizing it was just Lily trying to get her to move. Those who’d been waiting to be marked were none too happy to be left without Baroquen and five colorful autographs written on their person.

  “We’ll come hang out with you after the show,” Iona promised, her eyes glazed with excitement.

  Security had to step in so they could pass and make their way to the backstage area. Roux was surprised to find Steve waiting for her in the wings. “I thought you might miss your first performance and that would be a shame. Will you look at the size of that crowd?”

  Roux peeked over the stage and went instantly light-headed. Their publicity stunt had worked a bit too well. The area was swamped with an ocean of eager faces. Many of them held their arms proudly in the air, showing off the messages they’d scored from the band.

  “Max will be wanting pointers from you ladies,” Steve said with a chuckle. He extended his arm toward her. “Where’s my mark?”

  “Seriously?”

  “I’m your biggest fan. I want in on this.”

  She grinned up at him—loving him a little more every second—and uncapped the marker she was still carrying. It was running low on ink, but she was able to pen the band name and her signature boldly on his arm and even added the event time and place, even though he obviously already had that information. “Knock ’em dead, Roux, who I’m not allowed to kiss right now.” He lifted his fist, knuckles pointed toward her and said, “So I’ll have to fist bump you instead.” She tried to hide her disappointment over not getting that kiss but tapped her knuckles against his. “Consider that the deep, passionate kiss I’m thinking of.”

  She giggled. It wasn’t quite the same.

  “One with lots of tongue,” he added in a near whisper. “I’m talking tonsil involvement. And of course, I’m squeezing your ass.”

  “Of course,” she said, laughing. She knocked her knuckles against his again.

  “Easy there,” he said. “You wouldn’t want to get me too worked up in front of all these people.”

  Who, luckily, weren’t paying them much attention.

  “Look who I found wandering around the hotel looking lost,” Raven said. She hadn’t ridden to the grounds on the shuttle bus with them, but Roux was happy she showed up to offer her support.

  Zach stepped out from behind Raven, and Steve crushed him in a huge bear hug. “About time you got here,” Steve said.

  “The limo I was expecting to pick me up from the airport never showed.”

  Steve snorted. “Those are reserved for real rock stars.”

  “Don’t feel bad,” Roux said, offering Zach a much more subdued hug than Steve had given him. “We didn’t get limo service either.”

  “I guess I’m in good company then. Better than being a limos-only snob like this real rock star.”

  Zach lifted his knuckles and tapped them against Roux’s. Steve immediately grabbed him in a headlock. “Watch that tonsil kissing, mister. Only I get to grab her ass like that.”

  Roux burst out laughing at Raven’s confused expression.

  “Did you get a new tattoo?” Zach asked, eyeing the forearm smashed against his face.

  Steve released his friend and showed him his arm. “These brilliant ladies went to the gates and wrote their band name and the time and place of their performance on the forearms of fans.”

  Roux rolled her eyes. “They weren’t our fans. No one had ever heard of us.”

  Steve pointed to the crowd beyond the stage, which had grown even larger since she’d last checked. “I think that’s about to change.”

  “Fucking hell,” Raven said, pressing trembling fingers to her cheeks. “Look at them all.”

  “I’d rather not,” Roux said, taking a deep breath. “I feel sick.”

  “You’ll do fine.” Steve squeezed her shoulder. “All that rehearsing will kick in as soon as you start to play. It’s muscle memory. Like riding a bike.”

  He’d never once told her that all that rehearsing that Iona insisted upon was unnecessary. She supposed this was why.

  “And time will fly by so fast, you’ll scarcely remember any of it,” Zach added. “Will you write your message on me too?” He held his arm out to her. “I want to be a part of this.”

  She felt kind of bad as she wrote Baroquen 3 p.m. Second Stage across Zach’s arm. He was supposed to be in her shoes right now. The older festival flyers still had Twisted Element listed in the slot. She capped her marker and gave him a tight hug.

  “I totally get why Steve thinks the world of you,” she said.

  His arms tightened around her. “Likewise.”

  “I’d better bother the rest of the band for their autographs so I don’t rouse suspicion,” Steve said. “People will wonder if I have a thing for the red one.”

  He tapped Iona on the shoulder. When he presented his forearm to her, she lit up with excitement and scrambled to locate her purple marker.

  He’s so great, Roux thought. I want to show him off to the world.

  But she shouldn’t. She had recently witnessed the power Exodus End’s name had over people. She doubted that first concert attendee would have even allowed Iona to write on him if she hadn’t mentioned that they were opening for Exodus End this summer. So why was it okay for Iona to name-drop, but not okay for Roux to proudly show that she was in love with Steve? It wasn’t the same, Roux realized, as she watched Steve get his marks from Azura and Sage at the same time. Name-dropping about who they were opening for was not the same as name-dropping about who she slept with.

  “So I’m supposed to get written on by all five of you?” Zach asked. He was watching Raven fix Lily’s wig, which was inexplicably on backwards again.

  “It’s the cool thing to do,” Roux said.

  “I’m glad he found you,” Zach said, still not looking at her. “He’s like his old self again. A little less fun, I must admit, but a whole hell of a lot happier.”

  “He’s still fun,” Roux insisted.

  Zach snorted and laughed. “Yeah, okay, by your standards, I’m sure he is.”

  “Holy fucking shit!” Steve yelled. “It’s really you.”

  Apparently Steve had discovered Jack Tanner hanging out with Lily.

  Before Roux could respond to Zach, his eyes widened and he said, “Is that who I think it is?”

  “The Fallen’s Jack Tanner?” Roux couldn’t stop smiling at Steve, who was jerking Jack’s arm out of its socket as he simultaneously shook his hand and pounded him on the shoulder. “Yep, that’s him.”

  “Holy fucking shit!” Zach shouted as he dashed over to join the other three drummers.

  Dare and Reagan had come to wish them luck while Roux had been distracted. They were in some serious discussion about guitar riffs with Azura and Sage. Iona and Max were also bonding, probably over how to make band members behave rather than over their vocals. Once again, the keyboardist was left on the sidelines.

  “Why do you look depressed?” Raven said.

  “A stupid reason.” She fiddled with her bracelet, longing to join Steve just so she could squeeze the bullet he was still borrowing. Maybe it was time to ask
for it back.

  “Is it because you’re excluding yourself again?”

  “I’m not . . .” She was. It was a vice of her more introverted nature. Because she wasn’t likely to force her company on anyone, she expected people to approach her and include her.

  She didn’t have time to dwell on that tendency because someone called curtain, and the five members of Baroquen flocked together like terrified sheep. One of her sisters grabbed her hand, and she took someone else’s in her other hand, until they were all involved in a pretzel of hand holding.

  “Let’s make Mama proud,” Azura said.

  “Ramona!” they shouted in unison before separating to take their places onstage.

  Don’t trip, don’t trip, don’t trip, Roux repeated to herself, her gaze focused on her keyboard, which was set up on a platform on the far side of the stage. Don’t trip.

  She released a relieved breath when she made it to her spot without falling on her face. For a second she felt completely at home standing with her fingers poised over the keys and her microphone adjusted perfectly at mouth level. And then she looked out at the crowd and forgot how to breathe. There were thousands of them—all expecting to get their faces rocked off—and she couldn’t remember what song they were supposed to play first.

  That was when she noticed a set list taped to the platform. Now, if only her eyes would focus well enough for her to read it. Luckily, Iona wasn’t the least bit intimidated. She stepped up to the microphone center stage and managed to get out, “Thank you all for—” before horrendous feedback screeched at the fans. There was a collective groan as most of them covered their ears.

  Iona stepped away from the microphone, and the screeching died. Iona glanced at Azura and then stepped forward to try again. “We’re Baroq—” A loud buzz grew in intensity until everyone was covering their ears again. A technician dashed onstage. Someone threw a shoe at him, but he dodged the projectile. He fiddled with something on Iona’s shiny purple bass guitar. Roux could see the front of house sound crew out in the middle of the audience scrambling to try to fix the problem on their end.

  The crowd grew restless. Some idiot threw a water bottle on the stage, and it hit hard near Sage’s feet. The bottle’s contents splashed all over her lower legs. She hopped backwards a second too late.