Rocked Up

It’s an odd moment for me. If it wasn’t for the occasional looks I get when people recognize me, I’d feel like I’m just a normal guy sharing a sunny afternoon with a pretty girl. I have to say, it’s interesting getting to know someone new, even though Lael isn’t exactly new. She just feels new. People will always surprise you if you let them. No one’s exactly as they seem, and Lael is no exception.

As we stroll along the busy walkway dodging strollers and tourists, Lael talks and talks, which is a nice change of pace. It takes the pressure off of me. Just when I think she’s run out of things to say, she keeps going. She’s refreshingly open, the opposite of me, and covers her entire life, every relationship she’s had, where she has been, where she wants to go. And her deep respect for Prince.

“I mean, look at Prince. He lived and breathed what he did. He nearly put out an album a year for his whole career,” she says, totally passionate. “His music is not what he did—it’s who he was. Anyway, about my roommate, Christy…”

It takes some focus to follow her and her wayward trains of thought, but it’s nice to see her so comfortable with me. I almost feel honored, though I have a feeling this is just the way she is.

She finally takes a deep breath when both of our attention goes to a very cinematic moment on a bench just in front of us. A very young girl is accepting an ice cream cone from her mother, her smile, and her star-shaped sunglasses catching the attention of everyone walking by.

“Aww.” Lael clutches her chest, looking in love with the scene. She looks at me with a big, silly smile. “Can I have an ice cream, too?”

“After!” I respond and point to the chowder joint to our right. “Real food first.”

“But ice cream is real food,” she protests. “It’s the only food.”

After we settle at a long table overlooking the small marina and the ferries heading out to Alcatraz and other islands in the bay, Lael takes a breath and for a moment becomes self-aware.

“Am I talking too much?” she asks.

“No,” I answer truthfully. I’m actually enjoying her blabber. She has an unusual approach that’s entertaining.

We sit side by side facing the water. Lael shows no sign of running out of things to talk about, so I make myself comfortable. I can’t be sure if she notices that our legs are touching beneath the table, and the way she is leaning into me is causing our arms to touch as well. I don’t pull my arm or leg away; rather I slightly lean into her, drink my tea, and enjoy this very genuine moment I’m sharing with my new bass player. There’s something about the perfect blue sky and the ocean air blowing her familiar scent toward me that makes me want to take a mental picture.

I’m definitely not one to pull out my phone and snap a photo, but once in a while I make an effort to not let a moment pass me by. I live in the now, taking everything in, and try to file it away wherever memories are kept. I’m doing that right now.

“What are you smiling at, Snyder?” Lael asks with amusement.

I don’t answer her right away. I raise my hands innocently while I try to come up with a response, but my mouth opens and the words fall out, skipping the filtration process.

“You.”

“Am I making you smile, Mr. Snyder?” she asks coyly.

I clear my throat and nudge the conversation in a different direction.

“I was just thinking about the pranks the fellas have in store for you,” I elaborate, hoping she buys it.

“What?!” she asks, her voice high pitched with worry. “What pranks?”

“I don’t know.”

“Brad!”

“Honestly, I don’t know, I just thought I would give you a heads up so you at least have a chance,” I say with a laugh.

Lael grabs me by the collar and playfully pulls me toward her. I play along and pretend she’s hurting me.

“What are they going to do, Snyder?”

It’s during this playful moment that I notice the sniper with the camera taking our photo. I have no doubt he’s been following us for some time.

Lael turns her head to look at what’s grabbed my attention, and in an instant the mood has changed like someone flicked a switch.

We don’t say it out loud but we both know what those photos are going to look like. I place some money on the table.

“Come on. It’s about time to go anyway.”

We make our way back to where the Suburban is waiting. Our driver quickly folds up his newspaper and we drive away, leaving the sneaky photographer behind. By the time we get to the venue, our mood is light again. I always have an irrational fear that no one will show up to the shows, but I notice some pedestrians wearing And Then shirts which gives me some relief.

“The Warfield,” our driver announces.

The security guard at the back entrance notices us right away and we are shown to the rehearsal room beneath the stage. The whole gang is there as well as the usual unfamiliar faces. A small drum kit is in the corner and amps line the wall.

The mood is festive and the volume in the room is high with shouting conversations. Lael walks in first and the small gang breaks into applause.

Her face turns a pretty shade of pink and she tries to play along, waving like she’s a beauty queen. Little does she know, this is what the gang does every time you enter backstage.

I know this shtick, so I’m ready for it when I walk in behind Lael.

The weirdos go from loving applause to a resounding boo, pointing and hissing at me as I find my place in the room. Lael shakes her head, laughing at the bizarre welcomes.

“Hey, Lael,” Calvi says, walking over to her with a suspicious grin.

“Hey, Calvi,” she answers as she opens a beer.

“We were just playing a little game. Check it out. Hey, Switch. Show her how it’s done,” Calvi says. I know where this is going.

Switch springs into action. He rolls a magazine into a funnel and sticks it under his belt, then he puts a quarter on his forehead as he looks up. Tilting his head forward, he drops the quarter into the rolled up magazine tucked into the front of his pants and the room applauds.

“Looks easy enough,” Lael says warily.

“Let’s see you try it,” Calvi says.

“You first.”

Calvi watches her for a second and then tucks the magazine funnel into his pants and tilts his head way back, balancing the quarter on his forehead.

Lael then reaches over and pours most of her beer into the magazine funnel.

“Ahhhh!” Calvi screams as the crotch of his pants darkens. The room erupts into hysterics.

“Dude, seriously, that stupid prank is all over the internet,” Lael says as she shakes the last few drops at Calvi. “You’re going to have to try harder than that.”

“This ain’t over, newbie,” Calvi growls at her before he stalks off toward the restroom.

After the immature, but expected, hijinks we spend the rest of the time mostly goofing around rather than rehearsing new songs. The interview with Rolling Stone goes as expected. Mostly they want to talk about the line-up change and how that’s going to affect things. They also want some dirt on Nick and some soundbites on the chicken incident, but we play it as diplomatic as ever.

I have to say, I appreciate the tone the interviewer has with Lael. The world can sometimes feel like a boys’ club and he doesn’t make a note of her being an attractive young woman. Mostly, he and Lael speak about her unique sound. She really does have a unique aspect that’s making our band sound different.