To The Stage

1 | Failure

Copyright © 2017, Linda Gonzalez - All Rights Reserved

Do not distribute nor copy without author's (my) permission. Thank you for respecting this.

Chapter 1

I let the last chord resonate throughout the room, vaguely aware that my band mates screwed up a couple of times during the songs. I let it slide because it feels like we've performed in front of an adoring crowd, even if there's only one person in the room apart from us.

I squint through the blinding lights to see the guy's reaction, but can't see past two meters. I realize that when I'm famous and on stage, I won't be able to see my fans. I'm in the middle of picturing hot babes when I feel a light pressure on my shoulder, and without turning, I know who it is.

"That was great. There's no way they'll reject us this time," Cruller Douglas' raspy voice says comfortingly in my ear.

I shudder when his hot breath hits my neck, but cover it up with a nod. I'm about to respond when the sound of papers shuffling catches all of our attention. It's only for a few seconds before the room is plunged back into silence. The only thing I hear is the blood flowing through my ringing ears and my band mate breathing heavily.

"Well..." the voice pauses.

Suddenly Cruller stops breathing and my heart stops beating. A pool of sweat collects on my forehead and I can feel my hands sweating on my beloved guitar. I tell myself to take my grimy hands off but I fear that if I let go of my guitar, I'll wake up from this dream. Which when I think about it, wouldn't be so bad because I'd be able to start over.

I take a few short intakes of breath as we wait impatiently for the record manager's decision. We all know that if this guy neglects to give us a record label, he'll spread news to the other record places. When they hear that this guy didn't like our music, no one will hire us. Then we'll get kicked into the streets when we won't be able to pay the rent to the studio.

I close my eyes momentarily, willing the fear clutching my stomach to go away. The hand on my shoulder becomes hot and humid, which in seconds drenches my black tee. I can feel the anxiousness coming from the two others behind me, making me even more nervous. If this fails, it'll all be on me.

We hear more papers shuffling, and I can just imagine the guy trying to choose between us and another band. His eyes are probably raking through our profiles and resumes to see who would make him more money. Which one's more popular, which one could become more popular?

I hear him place the papers down on the table in front of him. He folds his glasses and places them on top of the papers. He coughs lazily, then reaches for his mug of coffee. I can feel the impatience radiating off my band mates. He takes many long gulps and I feel like he's purposely making us wait this long.

I can no longer handle Cruller's hand on my shoulder so I shake him off, knowing he won't take offence because he's growing flustered with the guy holding the key to our future.

"Okay..." he starts as he places his mug down.

I sense the two behind me perk up to hear whatever he's going to say. I try seeing through the blinding light to where the man is sitting. I want to see if he's frowning or if he's smiling. I want a clue so I can be prepared with whatever he throws our way.

The man snaps his fingers twice. Then he calls, "I need more coffee, Florenza."

My jaw drops slightly. My hand falls limp to my side, then I ball it into a fist. Anger boils beneath my skin but I know that even if I yell at him or all the other people who didn't want us, that it's not going to change anything--they still won't take us seriously. I clench my jaw and yank my guitar strap off my shoulders. I want so badly to just scream my mind and release the frustration I've been holding within me.

Skull Folkner, the bassist, takes a step forward until he's in between Cruller and I. I feel Hurl Lewis, the drummer, come to my other side. I know they're trying to support me and show that we are one and they won't blame me if we don't get this label.

My anger grows with that and I'm suddenly exhausted. I'm tired of getting my hopes up and then just getting shot down.

Annoyed, I nibble on my bottom lip. If he gave us a chance, we could prove how great we really are. We messed up a couple of times, but we were nervous. I'd like to see him try performing five or ten times a day trying to get a record deal. This guy probably doesn't even have any talent. He just leeches off other people's talent.

I internally groan. I just want to know whether we're hired or not. I don't expect myself to speak up though; throwing away the resolve that I was going to keep quiet. It surprises all of us.

"Why are you taking your damn sweet time?" I growl. "Does it look like we have all day!?"

The guy barely reacts. I hear him write something down on the papers. For a second, I believe he's signing us a contract. I sense the others around me getting animated as well because they think the same as me. I turn my head towards Cruller. A grin breaks across my face at the same time as he smiles. We've finally made it into show biz!

Suddenly, the blinding light on us turns off. I blink a few times to adjust to the darkness, but realize we're not completely in the dark. There's a small circle around the guy sitting at the back of the auditorium. The deep crevices in his face, mostly around the corner of his mouth and his eyes, remind me of canyons and mountains. His whole face seems to sag to the ground, as if where he's standing there's a lot of gravity. He's frowning and his black emotionless eyes don't look happy. My stomach knots uncomfortably. He sets the pen down then clears his throat.

A few more minutes, which feels like hours, pass before he continues, "I won't be needing you guys."