by Amy Briggs
Miranda lowered her sunglasses over her steely eyes and took in a deep breath. “Alright, everyone! We’re here!”
Carmen dramatically entered, as she seemed to do quite often, and practically chirped, “Let’s goooooo!” as she charged past everyone.
Shaking her head and holding her hand out in exaggerated fashion, for Carmen to go ahead of her, Miranda replied, “After you, sister.”
Needing to stick as close to Miranda as possible, I immediately got up to follow hot on her heels, while the other guys lined up behind me.
I pretended that I had no idea what was next, and asked, “So, what’s the first order of business?”
Slowing down to walk side by side with me as we walked toward the back of the building, Miranda replied, “Well, I need to get some tea, first and foremost. I’m super thirsty, and we’ve got a sound check here before the show tonight. We’re going to get our credentials now, so we’ve all got the access we need to get around. We’ll practice and then we wait. Lots and lots of waiting.” She let out a small laugh. “It just occurred to me how much waiting around we really do; more than you would think.” She appeared to ponder her own realization.
“There’s quite a bit of that in my job too, actually,” I said. She didn’t need to know that job was protection, not writing. It was true either way.
The second bus was pulling up with a couple of other crew on board, including the girls’ stylist, Leonard, and a roadie named Travis, who I’d seen in passing, but I hadn’t met either yet. I’d planned to rectify that as soon as we got inside and situated, probably while the sound check was going on and I could keep an eye on Miranda from afar.
Assessing the venue, it was pretty standard. We had gone in through the back entrance, down a narrow cement block hallway that led to the dressing rooms and offices, where we were greeted by the manager.
“The Little Queens!” he exclaimed, causing both Carmen and Miranda to beam instantly. For being a pretty big name, they both appeared to be humbled by the fame and recognition.
“Hi, I’m Miranda,” She stuck her hand out to the man.
“David. David Aaron. You must be Carmen?” He shook Miranda’s hand and turned to Carmen, who shook his hand as well, shifting her drumsticks to her other hand. I noticed she carried them around all the time, no matter what she was doing.
“Yes sir, happy to be here,” she replied.
“Well, it is wonderful to meet you. And all of you as well,” he addressed the band and myself, garnering head nods and waves. “Follow me, I’ll show you around, and then my assistant Veronica will get your badges to you.” David was a middle-aged rocker; he had the look about him. His thick gray hair was shaggy, and his black Doors t-shirt hung on his skinny frame, shifting as he scurried us down the hallway.
Our entourage trailed behind the girls, who followed David, nodding and smiling at everything he pointed out until we finally reached two doors side by side. Each were labeled ‘Little Queens’, with a large star printed on them, along with the band’s logo.
“This one is for you girls, and the other is for the rest of the band, or your staff, what have you,” he pointed out.
“Thank you so much, David, this is wonderful,” Miranda replied sweetly.
“It’s my pleasure. We’re very excited to have you here with us. Now, your opening act is already here; they’re down the hall. And we’ll be providing an additional warm-up act that will go on stage around seven pm. You’re set to start at nine. We’d like to get the sound check out of the way as soon as possible, since it’s already almost three o’clock. You good with that?” he asked.
“We are. We just need to get our stuff set up. Travis should be right behind us, and you’ve got some staff to assist as well?” Miranda asked, while Carmen appeared to be completely disinterested in the itinerary of the day.
“The stage is down that hallway and to the left. Just send your people there and my guys are on it. I’ll send Veronica to see you.” He checked his watch, “She should actually be on her way down here now. Just let her know if you need anything else. I have some other stuff to take care of before the show, so I’ll check in with you after you’re finished?”
“Sounds great, thanks again, David.” Miranda stretched her hand out to him again. She was very professional; I enjoyed watching her engage with people. As David disappeared down the hallway, Miranda turned to face the rest of us. “Okay guys, you know the drill. Let’s get our shit together and do our sound check so we can hang out for a while. Cool?”
Miranda and Carmen walked into the dressing room while the rest of the crew went back to the bus to get their equipment. I stayed behind with the girls, but waited to be invited in.
Carmen was the first to address me this time. “Hey writer, you can come in for now, but when Leo gets here, you gotta go. Capiche?” she said sternly.
“Got it.” I mock saluted her again, and followed them into the room, which was stark white, with concert posters framed on the walls. The likes of Aerosmith, Van Halen, and a few other big names had played there before, according to the posters. There was a shabby burgundy couch, and two large mirrors surrounded with naked light bulbs, like you’d expect to see backstage at a show, with chairs that looked like they came from a salon parked in front of them. A flower arrangement with a small envelope attached to it was placed in front of one of the mirrors, and there was a case of bottled water on the table as well.
“What’s this?” Miranda walked over to the flowers, sniffing deeply, before pulling the envelope from them.
“Probably just from the venue. I don’t know why people give us flowers when we’re only here for a day. Like, what are we supposed to do with them? Keep them on a bus?” Carmen rolled her eyes as she plopped down into one of the seats.
“Yeah, that’s a good point. But it’s still very kind.” She examined the envelope, her expression changing to one of apprehension as I noticed her eyes narrow. Immediately, I knew it was another note from the stalker; they’d already found her and we just walked in the door.
“Is something wrong?” I asked, hoping she would just come clean about it right away.
“What?” She looked up at me, surprised, as if I’d interrupted her thoughts.
Carmen noticed the change in demeanor as well and snatched the envelope from Miranda’s hand before she opened it. “Fuck,” she muttered, opening it herself and scrutinizing the words which I couldn’t quite make out.
“It’s nothing,” Miranda said, taking the envelope and note back from Carmen after reading it quickly.
“It’s not nothing, Miranda,” Carmen snapped. “We just fucking got here, and you’re already getting another one.”
“Another what?” I asked calmly. I needed to see the note, but also had to pretend I had no idea what was happening.
“Nothing,” Miranda repeated.
“No. We’re not doing this,” Carmen said, grabbing the note back and handing it to me. “You want the full story, writer? Well, this is part of it. My sister has a goddamn stalker. We’ve been in St. Louis for five fucking minutes and this motherfucker has already found her.”
I scanned the small slip of paper which simply said, Welcome to St. Louis, beautiful. See you soon. Not exactly threatening, but also not signed, and written in what looked like black permanent marker on printer paper cut to fit the mini envelope. Extremely nondescript, which was clever, and obviously the point. It’s impossible to trace printer paper and markers; you can buy them absolutely anywhere. So this guy wasn’t a total dummy, which wasn’t good news.
I contemplated how to respond to Carmen while studying Miranda. I settled on asking questions that I mostly knew the answers to already, while thinking through how the letter got here before we had even arrived, when one had shown up back in Nashville not two days ago. “So, this isn’t the first anonymous letter?”
Visibly shaken and not making eye contact with anyone, Miranda ran her fingers through her bright red hair before shaking h
er head.
“How long have you been getting these?” I asked.
Finally looking up at me through her thick lashes, she quietly responded, “About six months or so. We’ve been to the cops, but it’s all untraceable, so there isn’t much that can be done about it.” She sounded defeated.
“Well, when I find the motherfucker, I’m gonna stab him in the throat with my sticks,” Carmen said angrily.
“Look, we just have to be careful, is all. The notes are harmless. They’re creepy, for sure, but I haven’t been threatened at all, so there’s really not much to worry about,” Miranda continued, attempting to deflect what we all knew.
Continuing to hold onto the letter, I replied, “I think this is pretty serious, actually, but you’re right. If no one is really investigating this, then nothing is going to change, but it could escalate. In my opinion,” I added. “Who else knows about this?” I was curious if the band as a whole knew what was going on, or if the girls and their father had been trying to keep this covered up.
“The guys know, but it’s not public information or anything,” Miranda replied. “I’d like to keep it that way for now.” She shrugged her shoulders and shook her body out, as if to rid it of the moment. “Look, at the end of the tour, you write what you need to write, but this stays between us for now. This doesn’t become fodder for the headlines. We want PR, but we want it for our music; not because I have some two-bit hack sending me flowers and stupid notes.”
“I won’t write it at all if you don’t want me to,” I replied earnestly.
Softening her shoulders, her eyes brightened, and the corners of her mouth turned upward into a slight smile. “Thank you,” she almost whispered.
I put the note in my back pocket, not offering to give it back. I was planning to send it back to my guys to see if anyone could find a trace of something we could go on. I had my own private forensics lab which, while it didn’t produce evidence particularly admissible in court, it did help us find our guy sometimes. That was good enough for me.
“Don’t you two need to go get a sound check done?” I said cheerily, attempting to change the subject, and the mood.
Drumming her sticks on the table excitedly, Carmen replied, “fuck yeah, we do! Let’s do this!”
Laughing at her sister, and quickly switching back to her more normal cheery demeanor, Miranda replied, “Yeah, we need to get our asses in gear. Shit. Let’s go.”
I rubbed my palms together quickly, getting my energy going, and trying to get my mind right. Carmen watched me carefully to see if I was alright, and even though I felt like I wasn’t, I needed to get my shit together and handle business. It’s who I was, and it’s what needed to happen.
“Okay, Ryan, just stick with us until you get your backstage pass, and then you can do whatever you want. Sound check won’t take super long, and then we’ll grab something to eat and check in with the opening act,” I turned to Carmen. “Do you remember their name?”
“Is that a serious question?” She laughed at me.
Realizing that, of all people, Carmen was the least likely to know who they were, because she really didn’t give a shit, I replied, “Okay, fair enough. That was a dumb question,” I let out a light laugh, still needing the answer to my question.
“Bound Temple,” Ryan interjected.
“What?” I asked.
“The opening act. Their name is Bound Temple.” He smirked, drawing attention to the small dimple in his cheek just under his blonde scruff.
“Bound Temple?” Carmen scrunched her nose. “What the fuck kind of name is that?”
“Hell if I know,” Ryan shrugged. “I just know that’s what it is.” Then he chuckled, looking back and forth between Carmen and I and our confused expressions.
“Well, okay then. Thanks, Ryan. At least one of us has our shit together here today,” I replied.
“Hey! I have my shit together.” Carmen swatted at my ass with her drumsticks as I walked past her to leave the dressing room, causing me to let out a little yelp.
“Ouch!” I rubbed my ass where she smacked me. “Let’s not exaggerate, sister,” I teased.
“Blah blah, after you. Let’s get this show on the road already.” She followed me, with Ryan not far behind.
The Veronica person who was supposed to come see us never did, and I really needed to get some tea sooner rather than later. With Ryan and Carmen in tow, I poked in every room along the way to the stage area, looking for our people, and for a drink.
Our little entourage finally reached the stage, where we found the rest of the group setting up instruments. They all had passes on, so someone had found Veronica, apparently. I was slightly annoyed she hadn’t found us yet.
“Hey, where’s the chick with the passes?” I asked Travis, who was setting up some cords, and marking the stage with tape.
Turning to me, he grinned and replied, “Hi Miranda, you look really pretty today. Veronica is just over there, talking to her boss.” He pointed across the bar to a woman with long curly dark hair, who was definitely holding the passes I was looking for.
“Thank you, Travis. Is everything going well with setup?” I asked. Travis was our one permanent roadie; he’d been with us for as long as I could remember. I was pretty sure he had a little crush on me, and while that would never happen for me, he was a sweet guy. My dad had once told me that Travis had a rough upbringing, and working for us was a great opportunity for us to pay it forward. He seemed to have some nervous ticks or something, but other than that, he was always nice, always showed up, and was super reliable.
“Yep! Things are A-OK, business as usual. I got your guitars off your bus for you too,” he beamed.
“Thank you so much.” I smiled at him, showing the approval his expression indicated he was waiting for. “I need to go talk to Veronica now, so I’ll check back in a bit, okay?”
“Sounds good, Miranda,” .He smiled enthusiastically, and went back to work.
Poking me with her sticks, Carmen tried hustling me along. “Let’s go!” she barked.
“Seriously, if you poke me with those motherfucking sticks again…” I snarled at her.
“You’re gonna what?” She laughed dramatically at me, knowing I had no real threat, and reminding me that being a pain in my ass was one of her greatest joys.
“Oh, fuck off,” I huffed at her, making my way to Veronica.
Ryan started chuckling as we walked across the bar, clearly enjoying the banter between Carmen and I. “Something funny, writer?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at him.
Holding his hands up in surrender, he grinned widely and tried to stifle his laughter. “No, nothing funny at all.” He looked around the room, pretending to look for the culprit that wasn’t him.
Pointing my finger at him and trying to be serious, I replied, “That’s right. Nothing’s funny.” But I couldn’t keep a straight face, and started to laugh myself, causing all three of us to chuckle. I was never mad for long; or annoyed, for that matter. And I’m sure that watching my sister and I interact the way we did was hysterical to the newcomer. I shook my head and finally retrieved our passes from the girl, and was told there would be some tea coming to me on stage in a few minutes.
After I made a mental note to get a goddamn travel mug with my own tea on the bus from now on, Carmen and I headed back to the stage to get the sound check over with. I wanted to fuss around a bit, and I had a lot of nervous energy. Between sitting around, the fucking note with the flowers, and just the anticipation of getting the tour underway, I was antsy.
What we’d done back in Nashville was a full run through of the show from start to finish, playing all our songs. While we didn’t need to do that at every venue through the tour, we did need to do a sound check at every stop. Generally, it’s done a little earlier in the day though. I thought we’d left in enough time, but I was feeling a little rushed. A typical sound check for a band like us consisted of re-tuning the instruments and working with the sound engineer at
each stop to check the venue's sound system and ensure that the sound in the front of house which was for the audience, as well as the rear facing speakers, which are the stage monitor sound systems are clear, at the right volumes and not too loud or too quiet.
This was also my opportunity to get my in-ear monitors tuned to the right frequencies so I could hear what I needed to when I was singing. I didn’t use them regularly on the last tour, and while I’d been practicing with them, they were still a bit awkward for me. I had two custom sets made for this tour. They were identical, but I was always a planner, and had a back-up plan for my back up plans. The purpose of the IEM’s - what they’re called by musicians - is to cancel out ambient noise, as well as the drums in most cases. When I was on stage, almost the only thing I could hear was the drums, and so singers wear them, and have them dialed in to the sounds they need to hear in order to hit their cues, and also so they don’t sing too softly or too loudly. In previous shows, I had a lot of trouble hearing anything except the drums, and it caused me to either be behind or ahead in a song from time to time. If all I could hear was Carmen, I’d be shouting into my microphone, which would sound like dog shit to the audience, so getting that just right is part of the sound check too. A lot of artists use them to tune out the audience as well, but because I like to interact with the audience, I have a special set-up.
If a singer wants to be able to hear the audience, but they don’t want the sound to be overwhelming, what we can do is turn a couple of microphones at the sides of the stage to face the audience, and then the sound engineer can add that feed into my ears at a lower level than if I had nothing filtering it. Because I also play guitar at various points in the show, it was important for me to work with the engineer to turn that sound up and down in my ears through the show. From my perspective, it was the longest, most arduous part of the sound check and frankly, gave me a bit of a headache half the time, but when we were performing, it really did make all the difference in the quality of the sound coming out of me specifically. My dad had told me I should have done a mix of my own prior to the tour, and I didn’t, which I was already regretting.
