Up and Comer

#1

There was a steady hum of noise from the occupants of The Cell, a buzz reminiscent of bees in a hive. They were likely all as warm as working bees would have been, too. The Cell being what it was—and that was a venue located down a graffitied set of stairs underneath another altogether separate daytime business—trapped heat inside it like a kiln. The bare concrete walls had droplets of sweat beginning to form on them while the overworked and underpowered AC tried its best to keep the buzzing occupants somewhat comfortable in a futile effort to hold back the summer heat. Meanwhile, the bar staff rushed back and forth along its length to serve alcohol to sweaty patrons who thought fighting off dehydration with a dehydration force multiplier was a good idea. The staff themselves had glasses of ice water lined up on the back wall that they were liberally quaffing whenever they got the chance.

At the other end of the concrete cube that made up The Cell—hence the name—stood a stage. Although calling a platform sidewalk height above the rest of the floor a stage was being generous. It was more of a trip hazard than anything else if you were being truthful, but it was the stage and anyone who wasn't standing in the endless queue for a drink was instead stood facing the stage chatting with their friends. And at the front of that was Charlie Girl. Thankfully, there was some separation between her and the crowd, but she wasn't on the stage, that moment had been and gone for that evening. She had gone up and played around four songs to fill in for an act whose car had broken down en route. After each song, she received polite if somewhat confused applause from people who had expected to see someone else entirely and kept expecting a full band to appear, rather than one girl with a laptop and guitar. A tight fifteen and no encore was what she had given them. No one had come up to ask her for any CDs afterward.

But now she stood at the front of the crowd, camera around her neck, waiting for the fourth and final act of the evening to take the one small step onto the stage. She had already taken photos of the prior two acts. That was how she kept getting invited back, everyone enjoyed the fact she would take cool photos of them. The Up and Comers nights at The Cell weren't frequented by magazine photographers often, and even less so since Hagatha and the Coven had been signed to a record deal and VLADA had left for LA. So it had dwindled back down to mainly being Charlie Girl, aside from certain nights where bands brought their own photographer, who was typically a partner of one of the members or a photographer who did the other gig venues had a spare night and went down to The Cell for something to do.

That night was one of those nights. An older man stood off to Charlie Girl's right, adjusting the lens of his camera. She had never seen him before but the event organisers had greeted him with warm smiles and hugs and let him through without payment when he had arrived, which had been after her own set had finished. Charlie Girl didn't get that kind of treatment. She wasn't quite an equal by the people who ran the Up and Comers nights, but she understood why. A lot of people who frequented and worked at The Cell knew and had been friends with her dad from his time on the Vegas music scene. When she had wanted to play in bands and perform at gigs, her dad had accompanied her to The Cell many times, until she was old enough that he felt he could trust her to be by herself. So the organisers looked out for her and that dynamic meant they could never truly be close with her. They needed to keep a professional distance.

Charlie Girl was browsing through her photos of the previous act when someone saying her name caught her attention. Looking up, she swiveled her head around until she realised the older photographer had said it.

"You're Charlie Girl, right?" He asked, perhaps for a second time. She wasn't sure.

"Uhh yeah?" Came her bemused response.

Her eyes scanned over him. He didn't look that different from what she expected of an indie music photographer, he was around his early to mid-thirties if she had to guess, wearing a thin flannel shirt over a dark grey round-necked t-shirt. His eyes were behind the lenses of frameless glasses, and he had shaggy dark hair that stopped just above his eyebrows. Well, when she looked more, she realised it was only shaggy at the front, as the back and sides were cut in a low fade. He had the face of a rectangle with rounded edges, with high cheekbones, and a faint layer of stubble.

Deciding her original answer may not have been polite or assertive enough, Charlie Girl gave it another go.

"Yeah, I'm Charlie Girl." She said again.

His eyes lit up at the confirmation. "I've heard about you. You used to be VLADA's drummer, right? I remember people talking about this young girl she had drumming and doing backing vocals for her."

Charlie Girl felt her cheeks redden as she gave an awkward little laugh and immediately felt her cheeks redden further. "Yeah, I was her drummer, before she moved."

"Yeah, she was talented, probably too talented to be stuck here." The older photographer said, almost wistfully, "But I heard you were pretty talented too, and that you play solo now?"

"Uh yeah, I have my stuff I play. I played today actually, because one of the other bands had to cancel. I think that was before you arrived though." It had been, and she knew that, but she had to remain polite and keep the conversation going.

"Damn, that's a shame," He said with a rueful head shake, that Charlie Girl thought was a bit too much. "You mind if I take a look at some of your photos?" He asked. Charlie Girl didn't respond but unhooked the camera from around her neck and passed it over to him, watching silently as he cycled through the photos and made assertative tutting noises. She didn't know if they were sounds that indicated satisfaction or disappointment. But eventually, just when Charlie Girl was certain he didn't like any of her photos and was just trying to find a compliment neutral enough to not be rude he passed the camera back. "You've got some good photos on there," He said, with no small degree of authority. "Good compositions and you capture the performers energy well, which is the most important thing in my opinion."

Even though Charlie Girl didn't know who he was, she felt a sense of pride swelling inside her, and she replaced the camera around her neck. After all, he seemed to know everyone else, so he must have been someone of some importance.

"You play as well?" He asked, from his new position next to her. Charlie Girl hadn't noticed him move closer, but she realised he must have at some point to take her camera.

"Yeah, I do solo stuff, I compose and perform it all, but since it's just me, I record the rhythm parts and play it through my laptop then do the guitars live."

"That's pretty impressive," He said with a smile, as he looked over her. "You know, I help out a lot with other nights at other venues, y'know, Triple Barrel Saloon and The Secret Bar, I do bookings and recommendations for some of their events. I can get you booked there, You can do the same thing you do here, play some songs, then do photography after. What do you think?"

What Charlie Girl thought was that he was way too close to her. What she thought was that the warmth and hazy sweat sweat-filled air of The Cell was beginning to suffocate her.

"Really?" She asked, trying as hard as she could to keep her voice level.

"Yeah, really," He said, dropping his voice slightly. "I think you'd do really well, you seem very talented." The word came out of his mouth like honey, sweet and sickly, and Charlie Girl could feel her pulse quicken. A rush of fear rather than sugar made her hands begin to shake. She knew exactly what he wanted and she also knew exactly the power he held. He'd made that clear enough.

"Thank you for the offer," She said, keeping her voice as level as possible. She didn't want to make him angry or give away too much. "I'd love to perform at either of those." It was easier to make that part sound true, as it was. She would have bitten someone's arm off to be able to perform at Triple Barrel or The Secret Bar, bigger acts got booked to play there. IDLES had played at The Secret Bar only a couple of months before.

"That's great!" He said, smiling, although it didn't reach his eyes, which, while they were focused on her, weren't meeting her own eyes. "You know, I think you're very talented."

"Yeah, haha, I think you already said that." Charlie Girl said, taking a step back, which he matched. She needed an escape. "I think I'm going to go get some water."

He frowned briefly at that, but then a smile slowly crossed his face, liked he'd realised something and it made Charlie Girl feel sick. "I can get you something. Do you want a beer or a cocktail?"

"Oh, I'm seventeen, I don't drink." Was her meek reply.

"Oh?" He said, quirking an eyebrow, "Don't you want to try? It'll be fun, and you're not afraid of the law, are you?"

Charlie Girl fought to keep her breath level, but his insistence did give her opportunity. She feigned thinking, letting him believe his rancid charisma was winning her over. That he was such a smooth operator that she was firmly enthralled. "Ok," She finally said, "I guess a small drink won't hurt."

"That's a good girl." He said with a grin and she nearly threw up on his shoes right then and there. "Do you have a preference?" He asked, which Charlie Girl thought was a stupid fucking question given she'd just said she didn't drink and she would have told him so if she wasn't scared about what he'd do if she said so. Instead, she heard the words:

"You choose." Come out of her mouth, and then he told her to wait there and he'd be right back. But as soon as he started pushing his way through the crowd and disappeared into their mass, Charlie Girl was moving. She hurried past the front of the stage and took a hopping step over the corner towards the back right of the room, her pace quickening with each step. She pushed open the door to the green room and swerved through the sofas and people. At the back of the room, she found the side exit and burst through it, taking the steps two at a time as she raced for the freedom of the above-ground Las Vegas night.

The air was still warm and sticky, despite the night. It had been an unseasonably warm week, but it was still cooler than The Cell, and Charlie Girl didn't feel like she was about to suffocate.

Once she hit the open air, she doubled over, her breathing coming in time with her elevated heart rate. Both of them were going at a double, nearly triple tempo. Her body was moments away from throwing up or shutting down and she couldn't tell which urge was going to win out.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck," She breathed over and over to herself, her hands resting on her knees as she tried to regain a sense of composure and blinking away tears.

As she was crouched there, behind the bins to the venue, she heard the door she had come through open and someone walk out. Instantly, her body tensed up, and her breathing ceased as she waited.

"Charlie Girl?" Came a familiar, concerned voice.

It was only Matt. The bassist for the headline act, they'd been together in VLADA's group before she'd left.

"Charlie, you out here?" He called again.

"Yeah," She called back, her voice shaky.

"You alright? You kinda sprinted past, looking upset."

"Yeah, I'm OK, just needed some air, it's really hot in there today."

A long and awkward silence followed that. He didn't believe her. Of course he didn't believe her, Charlie Girl thought. She was, after all, crouched behind the bins and not coming out.

"You sure?" He asked again, giving her a second chance to let him know what was going on.

"Yeah, I'll be back down in a few."

Another silence.

She could hear Matt kicking at the concrete. Then he called back.

"Alright, I'll see you back inside." Then the door opened, and he began to descend the stairs.

When she came back down, she kept to the far side of The Cell, sticking close to the sweat-soaked walls. But the other photographer was there, watching her, she knew it.