The street in front of the Toe was deserted, not exactly lending credence to Paul’s claim of hundreds coming to the show. The area itself was pretty dirty and rundown, and we found a really sketchy restaurant up the street.
“So there’s a guy there named Mitchell, he’s the Toe’s sound guy,” Socks reported once we’d ordered our cheap food from the stained menu. “He’s going to mix our sound tonight. He’s also doing Heathenistic Bile’s sound.”
“But how can he do our sound if he’s never heard our music?” I asked.
“He’ll just wing it. I’m sure he’s been doing sound there for years, done tons of bands. He seems like a grumpy guy. Tonight is going to suck,” Socks warned us. “Make no mistake.”
“I’m still worried about what kind of show they put on,” Edgar said.
“We saw them load in their gear,” Fern reminded him. “I didn’t see any crazy props or anything, just instruments. I guess they probably just get really into it.”
“I guess,” Edgar said.
“Well, we’ll get into it too,” I said stubbornly. “We’ll upstage them.” I spoke more confidently than I felt. I’d never gotten into it before, but I was hoping that once I was onstage in front of a crowd, something would just sort of kick in instinctively.
“Besides, we have two chicks in our band. That sets us apart from them already. They’re just a bunch of boring kids with big egos. What they’re doing has all been said and done before,” said Socks. “We already have an edge, just going in.”
He was trying to motivate us, but it didn’t do anything to lessen the feeling of dread at the table. My stomach was starting to feel queasy, and we ate the greasy food in near silence. It was a far cry from how great we’d all been feeling when we left earlier that afternoon.
TWENTY-ONE
The doors were set to open at 7, and our band to take the stage at 8, so we went back to the bar shortly after 7. We showed the guy at the door our wristbands and walked into a dark, pretty much empty room. I was shocked to see less than twenty people sitting at a few of the tables around the room. Loud music played on the overhead speakers, but the room was dead.
We stared at the emptiness in disappointment, and then Socks turned to rally us. “Okay. Let’s go get dressed and then get our gear set up. We have less than an hour, right? So let’s get ready to rock.” I appreciated his effort, but all it was doing was depressing me even more. “I’m ready to go, so I’m going to find Mitchell and then I’ll meet you guys at the side of the stage in a little while.” He smiled and gave us all an inspiring thumbs-up, and then walked off towards the bar.
Fern, Edgar, and I went past the bathrooms towards the little room we had been shown where the bands could relax. We opened the door and all the guys from the other band were sprawled on the disgusting, torn-up couches. The walls were cov-ered with graffiti and marker scrawling, mostly of sex organs in all manner of stupid mutations, and band stickers posted here and there.
“Hi guys, getting excited?” Paul greeted us. One of his girlfriends was applying black liner to his eyes.
“There aren’t too many people here,” Fern said.
Paul shrugged. “It’s still early. People come later. By the time we get onstage, this place will be packed.”
“Right on,” the bass player agreed, and everyone in the room except for us laughed.
I wanted to ask them whether or not sitting on those filthy couches was a good idea, considering the amount of piss and bugs that likely festered there, but didn’t bother. It was actually a pretty fitting environment for those assholes, as far as I was concerned.
Edgar decided to go find Socks and start getting ready, and Fern and I took our knapsacks into the girls’ bathroom so that we could get dressed and do our makeup.
“It’s cute how his girlfriend is doing his eyeliner for him,” she hissed, struggling to put on her pantyhose without placing her shoeless foot onto the disgusting tile floor.