Frenzy

A girl meets rock star romance

Chapter One

How it all began: In which we meet Rachel, her friends flake on her, and that leads to other things.

This, I must remind you, is a story. I tell you this so that you do not accidentally forget and expect this tale to mimic the realities of life. But although the world of this tale may closely mimic our own, it is as much a world of the fantastic as any novel of high adventure. And it begins, as many other such novels have begun, with a girl.

Her name is Rachel Dempsey, and she is sitting on an armless spinning chair in a lavish home recording studio. Her father gave the recording studio to her almost a year ago. He’s a rich lawyer, and what he has found himself incapable of giving in emotion he makes up for in impressive gifts. It’s a relationship, of sorts. Better than nothing, and Rachel doesn’t mind. She’s found family love and friendship elsewhere, and she never wants for anything.

She’s not tall, but she’s long, which can make her appear taller than she really is. She has short, fashionably uneven brown hair. The rich chestnut brown is her mother’s, and the hint of red belongs to the Bella Lily Salon. Her eyes are her father’s, bright, sharp and piercing ice blue orbs that sit in the middle of her face and draw attention away from her rather ordinary features. Many people mistake her for beautiful at first sight. She has almost completely un-endowed in the chest department, a gift from her mother’s Asian heritage. She doesn’t mind, she’s comfortable in her body, or at least as much as can be expected of a teenager. She’s nineteen, and has never been in love.

Rachel sat on her chair, an acoustic guitar on her lap, idly fiddling through a simple chord progression. It’s the first one that she ever wrote, and it has long since burned itself into her memory and the muscles of her hands. She isn’t thinking about the song, she has long since forgotten the lyrics. As her hands occupy themselves, her mind focuses in on her disappointment.

She had plans for today. She had been looking forward to it for weeks. For after 3 weeks of trouble and cancellations, Victorian Mansion was finally getting together to work on some songs. She’d been preparing for this get-together for days, getting the chords of her songs down pat, ready to show what she had, ready to add some layers to her work, to see what they could be with a full band. But at the last minute, they all had cancelled.

The first to call was the drummer. His car had a flat, the busses weren’t running, and he had to go get it fixed in time for Tachycardia. Next, her second guitarist (and once, for a week, boyfriend, though that had ended badly and they currently existed in some sort of an awkward friendship), Dylan, called. He had another commitment; it would hardly end in time for Tachycardia, much less in time for a full band meeting. And so it went, until even the band’s keyboardist and Rachel’s best friend Celia had called in. She was sick. She needed to rest up for Tachycardia, because not even the plague itself could make her skip the very last concert of the most amazing band any of them had ever heard.

Tachycardia were going on tour, Portland would not see them again for months. Before they left, they were playing just 2 more nights at the Crystal Ballroom. Then, they would be gone.

Rachel let out a long sigh and began to pick out the lead guitar part of “Yankee Bayonet”, a song by The Decemberists. Though Tachycardia was of course miles ahead of the rest, The Decemberists were most likely second on Rachel’s list of favorite bands. But today, the melody failed to hold her interest, so she took out a polishing cloth and began to wipe the fingerprints off her guitar. Finally, decisively, she wiped down the strings one by one. One… Two… Three… Four… Five… Six…. And it was done. She put the precious instrument back in its case and stood up.

There were six hours to go before the doors opened. It was a weekday, and although it was the middle of summer, most of Tachycardia’s audience worked. Rachel had never needed to work. She lived at home, went to Reed college full time as a music major, and basically played music all summer long. She’d been called a spoiled rich kid before, but tried to avoid the label whenever possible.

Six hours to go… so if she got there soon, she’d be the first one in line. And as flaky as her friends might be about their commitment to the band, she couldn’t wait to see their faces when they saw how far to the front she was. It was front row and nothing else for her crowd!

An hour later, she stepped off her bus outside the Crystal Ballroom. The line hadn’t even begun to form as she sat down under the awning, right by the door. She was wearing her concert pants, even though she knew how silly and emo they looked. She wore them for the pockets. On a day like today, she was lucky enough not to need a jacket, and though she had sunscreen in one of the numerous pockets, she was under the awning enough that she didn’t need it right then. The rest of the pockets contained some sudoku puzzles, a music magazine, a book, and a cd player with ear buds.

She didn’t listen to Tachycardia while she waited, she had always been a bit superstitious about listening to a band right before she saw them live, instead she was listening to Guster, and dancing along a little while sitting down. It was something she wouldn’t have done if there had been others in line with her, but as she was alone she saw nothing wrong with a little butt dancing. And it was in this embarrassing state that she had her greatest dream come true…

But that will have to wait, for first I must tell you of the other girl, for no story can even begin to be complete with only one character.

Though they had never met, the other girl played a primary role in Rachel’s life. And, although they did not know it, they were less than a few feet and a few walls away from each other.

“Check. Check. Check. Chalk. Chick. Chicken. Chick chick chick chick chicken, lay a little egg for me… Yeah, it’s on!” Said the tall, lanky girl leaning towards the expensive dynamic microphone currently sending her voice out all the way into the vast empty space of the standing room only venue.

Her name, as many well knew, was Devyn Kelly, and she was the lead singer for the indie rock/ electro-pop band known as Tachycardia. She was dressed for the concert in a long skirted blue dress the color of her eyes, though they would flash all sorts of colors under the stage light. She had tied a white sash around her waist in a loose approximation of something fashionable. Mainly, she wore pants, but occasionally the need to look pretty would strike and she would throw on one of the few skirted items in her wardrobe.

She wasn’t sure if the mood had ever struck before a show before. She would have to check the forums later; it was a sort of addiction for her. Her fans knew more than she did about her own life. Sometimes it felt that if she just asked the right question, they could tell her the future, but try as she might she had only discovered an encyclopedic knowledge of her past.

Drums boomed in the background as the wonderful sound magicians (or so Devyn referred to them in her head) checked each of the drums mics separately. “Check one two three” Her drummer’s voice echoed about her ears, as the mic set up for her backup vocals flicked on, and it was followed by a danceably fun guitar solo from Bruce, the lead guitarist. He smiled and nodded in the direction of the magicians. He had no vocal mic. Though he had a lovely voice he always refused to sing in front of anyone, especially after Devyn had taped his singing in the shower and played it back to him one day, confronting him about his beautiful, obviously highly trained voice.

Devyn relaxed, knowing that her task was done for a moment as the four keyboards arranged in a square and rack of electric guitars and cables still needed checking. She listened with half an ear to the music, and let her thoughts drift.

She was tall and lanky, as I have mentioned, and her eyes were deep calm pools of blue. Her hair was black and curly, and fell about half way between chin and shoulder length. It was short enough to be always in the way, but as of the last month or so she had been able to pull it back into a tiny, poofy ponytail, as it was currently, with only a few tendrils escaping. She was fairly curvy, though it wasn’t a fact she particularly emphasized, even on stage.

Really, for all her world-weary personality, there was something innocent in Devyn. Something soft and untested, something that might be sorely tried on their upcoming tour. For truly, the first major tour is a rite of passage for a band. A journey, a series of trials. And somewhere in every rite of passage, in every growing up story, every soft place must be tested and tried. Some will fade, will disappear, and other naïve but hopeful convictions will only become stronger. That’s what defines our character, in the end: those soft yet hard spots in our character. Sometimes it’s just naïveté, but sometimes… sometimes these pieces of preserved innocence are not stupidity but instead strength of character of the purest kind.

We preserve our beliefs because without them we cannot feel joy.

Devyn Kelly is 23, and she has been in love what feels like hundreds of times, though in truth the number is at most around ten. When it comes to the subject of love, it is all too easy to exaggerate perceptions. At the time this story began, she had begun to feel as if she fell in love with every pretty girl she saw, and that they all would break her heart. She had also decided that if she didn’t try to win their hearts, she would never get the requited love she so deserved.

Standing on the stage, all Devyn could think was the strangest thing: How much she longed to stand on the stage and tell a room full of so many people it seemed like the whole world that she was in love and that the love was returned. How much she longed to be able to make that announcement. Perhaps she could get her chance on that tour.

They had already moved on from sound check into a last minute rehearsal when Tanya, the drummer, suggested that they take a much-needed break. It was still 5 hours to doors open. The opening band wouldn’t need the stage or sound check for a while yet, and there wasn’t much left to do for their rehearsal. They had more than enough time to take a short break, and Devyn quickly agreed, followed by the rest of the band.

She took the time to engage in a ritual she had held since she first played live in a real concert venue a little over 2 years ago. She sat at the edge of the stage and looked out over the empty floor. It was a sight that only a few types of people ever see. The people who clean the venue, all the engineers and roadies, the venue staff, and the bands themselves.

Never having been a part of any of the other groups on the list, Devyn hadn’t seen a venue empty like this until Tachycardia had gotten big enough to be playing venues instead of bars.

It looked to her like the place was naked, stripped bare and huge. It seemed to go on forever, enough room to house thousands of people on the bouncy wooden floor. Tachycardia hadn’t played the Crystal Ballroom before, and Devyn wondered if she would have any effect if she were to jump up and down on the famously bouncy floor by herself.

She considered what she would do with the crowd that would soon be at her beck and call. Not that she intended to torment them, no, to the contrary. She intended to liven them up, to play some sort of fun, bouncy game. But what?

A tap on the shoulder interrupted her thoughts, and she turned to see her clean shaven, bookish, but admittedly awesome guitarist standing behind her.

“Hey Bruce!” She smiled, turning away from the vast empty space. It was sometimes hard to remember that there were enough people interested in her music to fill that place up to the gills, and one like it in every city. Empty, it looked gigantic. Full, it was even more impressive.

“Devyn.” He smiled. He was a man of few words, though not in any way unfriendly. He simply preferred to let his expressive, deceptively youthful face convey the details of his meaning. “You should eat.” He told her. She nodded.

“I should. It’s still far enough from the show that I’ll be able to sing.” He smiled and nodded.

“It’s still hours to the show.” He said. She still hadn’t gotten him to admit to the years of vocal training she could hear in his voice every time he spoke, but it would be a long time before she could be convinced to give up.

“I guess I’ll make some popcorn, then.” She said, with a sigh. Though the great Devyn Kelly had many skills, cooking was most definitely on the list. “Unless you still have some of that sausage you made…?” She queried, her voice rising hopefully. Bruce, on the other hand, was an amazing cook. The entire band was looking forward to his on the road recipes during the upcoming tour.

“Serephina ate it all.” He growled. She hadn’t left a bite, even for him. Stealing Bruce’s food was a crime only Devyn could get away with, and Serephina would pay. “I’ll make you something.” He added. Devyn’s face lit up.

“Super yummy many meat pizza?” She asked, and he smiled a weary grin. He had know that was what she would want.

“What about singing tonight?” He asked her, knowing it was hopeless. Devyn could consume a wheel of cheese and still sing like an angel.

“We have goat cheese. And pecorino.” She told him, quite reasonably. “No cows milk.” He smiled at her, and turned wordlessly to prepare his culinary specialty. He’d need to pre-heat the oven. Luckily, he lived only a short drive away from the Crystal, so he could be back with the pizza long before the final run-through of their new songs.

He left through the back door, and therefore didn’t see the girl sitting in the doorway, long before the fans usually lined up.

Devyn was left sitting on the edge of the stage, dangling her feet in the area behind the barrier. It frustrated her that the audience wouldn’t be able to reach the stage; one of her favorite things to do was to go out into the crowd but that wouldn’t be possible either with this barrier in place. The barrier was divided into several pieces that together were pretty heavy, but alone could be shifted. She went to find the venue staff and try to talk them into dismantling the needless barrier.

Half an hour later, when she returned to the stage, the barrier was halfway down. She smiled to herself and wandered towards the front door. She needed fresh air, and there wouldn’t be anyone in line for a long while.

The place seemed like a shell, separating the inside and the outside with twisting hallways and a total lack of windows. As Devyn emerged from the second staircase and finally reached some natural light, she smiled, letting her worries and the stress of sound check fall away. She was doing what she loved. There was no need to worry, the tour would be great.

Rachel had settled into the long wait, opening up her magazine. It wasn’t very flashy, it wasn’t one of those magazines that always had sparkly pictures of famous people on the cover. Instead, the cover held a cartoon-y drawing of a red guitar. It was full of long, intense articles on bass amps and writing story songs. It was a brand new issue that Rachel had saved 2 weeks for this very concert. She had intended to save it for the second night, but had failed in the end and started reading.

It was for these reasons that she was completely engrossed in reading an article about modern luthiers, the people who build and repair musical instruments, when Devyn Kelly walked out of the door.

Rachel had spent her life without falling in love, watching in mild interest whenever her friends pointed out a cute boy. She just didn’t see what was so interesting. She had never had a crush. She didn’t even know what one felt like. She just never had found any guy that interesting. And suddenly, she knew why.

Something on the top of her head started tingling. The luthier in the article she had been reading seemed to suddenly disconnect from her attention, and she looked up. There, with her back to the dark doorways of the venue and her face to the cascading sun, stood Devyn Kelly. And she was beautiful.

But keep reading, for this is far from the end. This story, into which I have introduced two girls and one mysterious cook, has just begun.