I’m doing it! she thought happily as she made it through the first verse without anything untoward happen. I’m actually doing it!
After the second verse was the first of many saxophone solos she would be doing on this night. It was one of the least technical ones, thankfully, and she launched right into it without even a thought. She could not see much of the audience because of the brightness of the stage lights contrasted with the dimness of the house lights—all she could make out were a few shadowy forms in the first two rows—but she could hear them! As she soloed, moving her shoulders back and forth to the melody, tapping her foot to the rhythm, they cheered loudly and enthusiastically for her. For her! They’re cheering for me!
In that moment she knew she was doing what she had been put on Earth to do. She was finally able to think of herself as a musician, and not a teacher who played the saxophone.
The set lasted one hour and sixteen minutes, including the two encores. It went well. Squiggle missed a transition during one number and Homer misplayed an intro during another, but both of those errors were minor and had been covered so skillfully that no one in the audience even noticed. Laura herself played flawlessly and the audience cheered for her with enthusiasm during every solo she played.
“That was a good performance, Teach,” Z told her backstage, as they sat down in chairs and opened bottles of beer from the cooler. “You kicked some ass out there.”
“Thanks, Z,” she said happily. She was hot and sweaty from being out under the lights for more than an hour. Her face was flushed and she had damp areas on her back and down the front of her dress. She was thirsty and hungry both, and the only thing to drink back here was beer. Nevertheless, she was very happy and very proud of herself. I really did kick some ass! she kept thinking. I really can do this!
“I would say that the audience had a positive reaction to her,” said Stan, who was smoking a cigarette and sipping from one of the beers.
“I told you they would,” Z said. “She’s just so fucking cute, especially in that dress. Most of them like her at first sight, before she even puts that horn in her mouth. And then, when she starts to play and they realize she’s got some talent ... fucking putty in her hands.”
“They did seem to like me,” she said. “Even if I’m not as good as Dexter.”
“Don’t sell yourself short, Teach,” Squiggle told her. “You blow a goddamn good horn. Dexter had more experience than you, especially in front of an audience, but you got just as much raw talent. By the end of this tour people are going to be comparing Dexter to you.”
Laura smiled at his words, enjoying the thought even if she knew they it was not true. She could never play as well as Dexter Price, but to even be mentioned in the same conversation as him ... that was special.
“Now then,” Z said, pulling a fat joint from his cigarette pack. “Who wants to burn?”
It turned out that everyone wanted to burn, even Laura. Soon the entire band was flying high. It was quite the fun experience.
“There’s one thing we need to work in to the future shows,” Z said shortly after opening his third beer of the night.
“What’s that?” asked Homer.
“An extended solo,” Z said.
“What kind of solo?” Laura asked, wondering when someone was going to serve some food.
“A saxophone solo, of course,” Z told her.
This immediately pushed the thought of food to the back of her mind. “An extended sax solo?” she asked. “You mean you want me to stand out there by myself and play?”
“Damn right,” Z said. “We have to work one in. When he rehearsed up the set in the beginning, we had Dex doing a five-minute solo right after Walking and then leading us into On the Beach. Naturally, we just concentrated on the actual set when we pulled you aboard, Teach, but now that we have that down, I need you to start working something up.”
“But ... I’ve never done anything like that before,” she protested.
“Didn’t you come up with the solos you did for Celia?” Z asked.
“Well ... yes,” she said. “That’s different though. Those were brief solos that I did on a recording.”
“It’s not that different,” Z said. “Now you just need to compose a long solo that you’ll perform live. And, of course, you’ll need to work out a way to transition the end of the solo into the intro for Beach.”
All of her stage fright was now back, the feeling enhanced by the THC coursing through her brain. Compose a five-minute saxophone solo? And then play it live night after night, all by herself out on the stage? I can’t do that!
“You can do it,” Z assured her, as if reading her mind. “I have complete confidence in you, Teach.”
“But ... but ... when would I even work on this?” she asked.
“We have a six-hour bus ride tomorrow morning,” Z said. “That’s a good time to get started on it. After that, you can work it after the sound checks. It doesn’t have to be the exact same thing every time. You only have to get the transitions to be smooth and repetitive. Everything in the middle can just be improv.”
“I don’t know about this, Z,” she said.
“You’ll do fine,” he assured her again. “Squig can help you out with it if you want, can’t you Squig?”
“I’d love to,” Squiggle said. “We’ll start playing around with it tomorrow, as soon as we sleep off a little partying.”
“Well ... all right,” she said. “I guess I can come up with something.”
“That’s the spirit!” Z told her. “Now then, how about we go hit the showers and get some chow? Anyone up for that?”
Everyone was up for that. They went back to the dressing area where a catering company had set them up with ribs, potato salad, baked beans, and more tubs of beer. Since Laura was the only girl among them, they insisted that she shower first. She agreed and retreated into the shower room.
She washed and rinsed herself beneath the weak spray—all the time worrying about the sax solo she was expected to come up with—and then toweled off. She put on fresh underwear and a fresh bra and then threw a pair of jeans and a t-shirt over them. Her dress she dropped into a hamper that had been placed in the locker room specifically for stage clothes. She then combed out her hair a little and left it down. By this time her stomach was making insistent noises at her. She needed to eat.
She walked back out into the dressing room to find that there were a few more people out there now. Someone had brought some fans back to hang out with the group. Squiggle, Sally, and Groove all had young women sitting next to them. Z himself had two young men sitting on the couch beside him, both of whom were smooth shaven, well-muscled, and quite attractive. Only Homer had no companionship. He sat at a table, munching on some of the ribs and drinking beer.
“Hey, everyone!” Z announced when she emerged. “This is Teach, the sax player. Say hi to her!”
All of the companions dutifully greeted her before going back to what they were doing. Laura gave a dutiful hi in return and then walked over to the table and sat down next to Homer. He gave her a brief nod and then went back to gnawing on his rib.
“Who are all these people, Homer?” she asked him.
He raised his eyebrows a bit. “Are you serious?” he asked.
“Uh ... yeah,” she said.
“You’re dating Jake Kingsley and you don’t recognize groupies when you see them?” he asked.
“Groupies?” she asked, her eyes wide. “You mean these people are going to ... that they’re here for ... that they’re coming back to the hotel with us?”
“It’s a motel, not a hotel,” he said, “but yes, that is their purpose in being here. Ron—he’s the security guy, remember?—is pretty good about finding a little something for everyone. He didn’t get anything for you because you didn’t tell him your preference.”