Bennys’ parking lot filled up quickly, a definite sign that it would be a great show. We had a small dressing room decorated with the requisite penis graffiti. I pulled on a pair of my bloodstained white knee socks. Fern had stayed in her bunk all afternoon until our soundcheck, and emerged looking worn and withdrawn. She put on her makeup quietly, and I watched her in the mirror. Our eyes met and I smiled at her, and she smiled back, but it was a tired smile. The sound of Timmy checking the gear onstage and the chattering of Toad and the guys faded to a wash as we looked at each other.
xXx
We were halfway through the set and it was a good one. Despite Fern’s melancholy, she was absolutely savage, kicking the audience in front of her into a frenzy. For some reason Edgar was on top of his game too, a wash of flying hair, and I figured it was because we’d done six shows in a row and were starting to get into a good physical and mental place to be for the tour. I was in pretty fine form as well — I’d torn a scab off my palm accidentally, leaped in the air, and when I landed, I smeared some of the blood down the side of my face. I whipped around to the left and saw Chris’s towering figure watching at side of stage next to Timmy.
I whirled away, pretending I hadn’t seen him. I wished I hadn’t — I was now hyper conscious of every step I took, every gesture, every shriek. I felt clownish and juvenile with the blood on my face.
He remained there for the entire set, and when I left the stage there he stood, talking with some of the guys from Gurgol. I glanced at him, and he was looking at me with the same grouchy expression. I hurried past into the dressing room, my clothes soaked, out of breath.
I buried my face in a towel, appreciating having our small dressing room to myself for a few moments while the others and Timmy got the gear offstage. I turned to the mirror, examining my flushed face and sweaty, scraggly hair, and then I saw him appear in the doorway behind me.
“Is that real blood on your socks?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said, looking at myself again, very conscious of my shiny red Rudolph nose and smeared makeup. I looked truly horrible and was a bit irritated that he would just follow me here immediately after our performance without giving me five minutes to chill out and comb my damn hair or whatever.
Edgar appeared in the doorway beside him. “Oh, hey man!”
“Great show, dude,” Chris said to him, and they did one of those stupid finger-snapping handshakes that a lot of guys just seem to instinctively know how to do.
“Oh, cool, thanks for watching,” Edgar said, clearly elated that Chris had watched the set. “It’s a great crowd, they’re really excited for you guys.”
While they chatted I took the opportunity to put some powder on my face and fix up my hair a little bit, and then Socks and Fern came in. Toad followed them, and one of the other guys from Ripsawdomy walked past and must’ve seen Chris so he stopped in, and they all started talking loudly and drinking beer. We heard Gurgol go onstage, and I stood next to Fern and smiled and talked, and all the while I just felt Chris’s eyes on me. Even though I didn’t look at him once, I couldn’t stop smiling this stupid little smile. I’m pretty sure I was batting my eyelashes.
xXx