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hey its adrian.
new story. so if you're reading this,
i'd like some feedback. let me know
if its okay. or not.
adrian st. claire
Except, it was “newbie night” and as much as she hated being called a newbie at anything, especially music, Claire had talked her into it. She ran her fingers through her short black hair and sighed, checking her watch. Five twenty-seven, and neither Claire Jacobson or London Porter, Jonnie’s two best friends who were scheduled to show up at five thirty, where ever late.
“Hey Jonnie. You're looking really cute tonight,” Claire said, already flirting on her way in to back door of the coffee shop. She climbed onto the stage where Jonnie’s drums sat, sparkling. “I like the new set,” she complimented, looking it over and giving Jonnie a playful kiss on the cheek.
“Enough of that,” London ordered the two, lugging her keyboard into the venue, setting up on the left side of Jonnie’s set.
Claire and Jonnie laughed at London’s motherly like orders and went to setting up.
“You’re still all for this tonight, aren’t you?” Claire asked Jonnie, who sighed and sat down behind her drums, running another hand through her hair.
“Of course,” she smiled up at Claire. Anything for you, she thought, looking up into Claire’s soft brown eyes.
“Well good. I’m really nervous,” she confided in Jonnie, opening her guitar case. Her sparkling acoustic electric smiled up at her and she carefully pulled it out, strumming a few chords. “Sing with me?” she asked Jonnie suddenly, her eyes begging.
“I can’t…” Jonnie stuttered, her accent growing thick. She mentally kicked herself for acting so lame in front of Claire, who was frowning now.
“Please?” she begged, and started their opening song quietly. Jonnie opened her mouth to sing, but nothing came out before London sharply asked about the posters they were to have finished.
“They’re in the trunk,” Jonnie said and headed for the door. “Do you want me to get the paintings, too?” she looked down at Claire, who nodded distractedly, still strumming on the guitar.
London Porter warmed up on her keyboard gracefully. She played a C scale, and then arpeggios, humming along in tune. Claire came in the room again, five or ten large posters in her arms. London watched as Jonnie jumped up from behind her set and ran to help Claire. London began to notice more and more everyday just how much Jonnie really liked Claire.
London rolled her eyes, but then smiled to herself, starting to play the song that Claire was playing before she went out to the car to get posters.
“Should I just lean them in front of the stage, or what?” Claire asked, London, who always seemed to know the answers to questions like that.
“Whatever looks best…” London replied thoughtfully. “I’m thinking, lean a few in front of the keyboard.”
The three got in their usual show positions and started practice, Claire quickly setting up the microphones and her acoustic guitar.
“Can we do “Chandeliers” first?” Claire turned her microphone to face the other two, who nodded and London started to play.
“I’ll do just about anything for you,” both London and Claire sang the first lines of the verse. Jonnie came in with symbols at the chorus.
A skinny boy came in quietly from the side exit. He sat down in the back with pen and paper and listened to their practice, his head swaying with the music. He clapped when they were done, making his way to the front of the stage.
“Sounds really good,” he said, his English accent charming all three into listening. He winked up at Claire, who smiled but didn’t blush. Out of the corner of her eye, London saw Jonnie roll her eyes. “I’m the show manager for the Wall. You’ve heard of it haven’t you?” All three girls nodded slowly. “I was wondering if you three wanted a gig there, tomorrow night.” He looked up, hopeful. Both Claire and Jonnie looked to London, who nodded.
“We’re free,” she said. “Who else is playing?”
“Impress and the Todd Brothers,” he named two of London’s favorite local artists. “And if you guys play, The Forgetfulness.”
London smiled over at Claire. Both of them had forever tried to convince Jonnie to add a “the” to the beginning of the bands name.
“Tell your manager we’ll do it,” Jonnie shouted up at the boy, her voice a bit gruffer then usual.
“A-Alright,” he smiled and left, “Good luck with the show tonight.”
London sat down across from the two, counting the money they’d received from the artwork laid out.
“One hundred twenty-five dollars,” she said, satisfied. The other two stopped their playing, flirting as London saw it, and started to speculate what to do with the money.
“Let’s just save it for our speaker system,” Jonnie threw out an idea.
“Well you’ve already got your drums-“ Claire began.
“Which by the way sound totally stellar,” London interrupted.
“-so it’s easy for you to say ‘save’,” Claire pointed out. “It’s time for a new guitar.”
“Your guitar is new,” London corrected her, “We just got it three months ago.”
“Well so is your keyboard,” Jonnie added to the list. “Let’s just save it. What else are we going to do?”
Eventually Claire and London agreed and Jonnie and Claire went back to flirting.
“Why don’t you two just date?” London asked, impulsively. She wanted to kick herself as soon as she said it. Both girls just looked at each other and then back at London. Neither of them said a word.
“Never mind, let me guess,” she pursed her lips, pointing at Claire, “You’re straight,” and she pointed at Jonnie, “And you want her but you can’t have her.”
Claire blushed and Jonnie flushed, getting up and leaving the apartment.
“Why’d you do that?” Claire asked, quietly hurt as she heard Jonnie peel out of the driveway.
“Because, it’s annoying. She likes you so much. We’re supposed to be family, we should talk about this stuff,” London insisted.
“London, if you liked a girl,” Claire paused as if deciding how to pick her words. “And I know you like girls; wouldn’t that ruin everything if I just told the girl you liked her?”
“But you already knew she liked you, Claire. And how would you feel if you had to always sit back and watch your two best friends flirt endlessly?”
“Well…you don’t have to lean back, you could sit forward,” Claire suggested, comically. “Or lay down.” London laughed at the girl’s silliness.
“Or I could stand…”she added, “Or get a groupie and flirt with them.”
“A groupie? We don’t have groupies,” Claire pointed out.
“After we play at the wall we will,” London decided. “But only if we do well.”
“We’ll be fine…”
flashback
“We’ll be fine,” Claire Jacobson whispered in London Porter’s ear, reassuringly. “Just play and sing, honey.”
London smiled and began to play for a small crowd packed into a music store-turned-concert venue called The Rack. London laughed to herself, thinking back to an hour before the show. She had tried, without avail, to get Claire to add a “the” to the beginning of their name, making them The Forgetfulness.
“All of the coolest bands have a “the”,” she had reasoned.
“Name two,” Claire challenged, simply.
“The Rack, The Postal service,” London answered triumphantly.
“And we’re neither techno nor a music store,” Claire beat down her suggestions. “Now let’s just get through the show.”
London started softly singing the first line of the song and Claire joined in, a few of their friends in the audience singing along.
The two ended the show selling a few of their pre-recorded EP’s and their artwork going fast as usual. London remembered watching as a girl with short black hair and piercing blue eyes approached Claire sheepishly.
“Good show,” London read the girls lips. Claire’s back was turned towards London and she wasn’t sure of her reply. “We should get together sometime,” London read the other girls lips. “I play drums. It could be really fun.”
London looked away, realizing she was eavesdropping and set her sights on a brown haired girl who was checking out one of her paintings. London walked up casually, not saying anything to the girl directly. Inwardly she noticed the girl’s gay pride wrist band.
“Did you paint this?” the girl asked quietly, a unique accent prevailing in her voice.
“Mhmm. Do you like it?” London waited patiently for the girl’s response, tearing her eyes from the bracelet and to the painting.
“A lot. Can I buy it?” the girl asked, looking up at London with glittering eyes.
“If you tell me your name first,” London insisted, flirting a bit. “I’ll give you a free EP, too.”
“My name is Maura,” she said, blushing and looking away from London.
“That’s a really pretty name,” London complimented. “I’m London.”
Pretty looking gay girls who bought London’s paintings after the show always had pretty names. Girls who had pretty names always got a free EP. And girls who got free EP’s always ended up, somehow, in London’s bed.