Polaroids and Postcards | ✔️

Chapter 8: An Unpracticed Performance

"A ship in harbor is safe, but that is not what ships are built for."

•••

As I shoved my way through the already-crowded venue, I did my best to keep up with Della. We only had a few minutes left to sign in and run backstage. I huffed, shoving my way through with some difficulty, but Della didn't notice. Unlike me, clutching a guitar that I being overly careful with, Della seemed to just glide right through the mass of people. She didn't seem to mind bumping elbows with others, merely giggling an apology when someone gave her a cross look. I, on the other hand, dodged around every person in there, doing my best to make sure no one even came close to bumping into my guitar. What if they knocked the case out of my hands and my baby was damaged? I really don't think Della would approve of me putting someone in the hospital over something like that. Not right now."Jason, c'mere!" Della waved, five or six feet away from me.

I winced as someone stepped on my foot, but I lumbered through as best as I could, holding my precious property close to my chest.

Della was standing by a table where a really tattooed guy with a beard sat clutching a clipboard in his hands. The sign on the table said "Contestant Sign-In".

"Jason, this is Mark—he's in charge of getting the contestants signed-in tonight."

I tilted my chin at Mark. "Hey."

He returned the gesture, eyeing me closely. "What's up?"

"We just want to get Jason signed in so he can go prepare," Della explained. "Could you help us out with that?"

"Sure thing," he grunted. "Full name?"

"Jason Lovett," I replied, stifling the nervous twitch in my fingers. The venture was so loud and it wasn't even show time yet!

Mark stared at his clipboard for what seemed like a long time, flipped pages, and stared some more. After a few times of repeating this pattern, he glanced back up at us. "Your name isn't on the list."

Great. I knew this wouldn't work.

"I-I'm sorry?" stammered Della.

"Della, you heard him," I groaned, "My name isn't on the list."

"But wait a minute..."

"We had sign-ups over a month ago. Where's your paperwork? Maybe we can fix this," shrugged Mark, trying to be helpful.

Della's face dropped. "The paperwork...?"

"If you don't have the paperwork and his name isn't on the list, he can't compete."

I pursed my lips in frustration and looked over at Della. "Della, let's just—"

She flipped around to face me, her eyes wide with anxiety. "Mr. Lovett, I am beyond sorry for this slip up! I didn't know we were going to need to bring the paperwork with us. Please don't fire me over this, please."

I frowned a little. "D-Della, what are you—?"

She turned back to Mark. "He's so nice, isn't he? Anyone else who drove from New York to Tennessee for a gig and this happened would fire their assistant on the spot."

Mark opened his mouth, looking at me and pointing to Della. "Wait... she's your assistant?"

I dumbly looked over to Della, searching for an answer.

She winked.

What the heck are you doing?

"Oh, forgive me! I'm Della Rae, Mr. Lovett's personal assistant," she sighed, extending her hand to meet Mark's. "We're on our first tour right now and to be honest, I'm just plain forgetful."