an in-process, open-source novel
Read. Play. Create.
Read. Play. Create.
Saturday Afternoon
(feeding time at the zoo)
(feeding time at the zoo)
We all looked up at once to watch a small girl with a pleased smile make her way down the aisle, pushing a large but unsteady cart that creaked suspiciously under its pile of food. Everyone dropped what they were doing and ran toward her while she laughed a tinkling sound, delighted to be so popular.
Trix appeared in front of me and gently removed the guitar from my hands, placing it carefully on a stool; I had been gripping it possessively the whole time. She motioned to the commotion.
"Feeding time at the zoo, Mouse," she said.
I scrunched up my nose at her, disgusted at the nickname, but realized that probably made me look even more mousey. In any case, she had leaped from the stage without noticing my reaction. I clamoured down behind her.
Food was sandwich wraps, vegetarian without being bland or boring. Warm, full of sprouts and shredded carrots with a gentle, insistently spiciness. I savoured the sour, salty bite even as sauce dripped onto my jeans.
At least twenty people lounged throughout the theatre, eating intently with few words between them. Looking more closely in the dim light, I thought most of them appeared to be teenage boys, or not much older. The few girls among could hardly be distinguished by look and dress. Trace and Bash sat on stairs off-side from the stage with one of the drummers and Mr. Strat. I wondered where Trace had disappeared to during the session. Exactly what role did she play in the band?
Trix walked the room, talking with anyone in her path. As my eyes followed her, they caught on Jamie at the centre of the theatre. He bent over a kid at the sound controls, his compact body exuding competence and gentle authority. He looked somehow older next to someone likely the same age. I watched him place an almost fatherly hand on the boy's shoulder before taking his leave, and continued watching as he retrieved a sandwich and took a seat on the outside edge of the front row. I walked deliberately over to sit beside him, and he flashed me a quick smile.
"You nailed it," he said, his face in profile. "I bet she has you in the show."
"Really?" I asked, surprisingly pleased with his praise.
"Most of the kids who sub for guitar kinda suck lately. Next to them, you're a rock star. Plus Trix'll like how sexy you look with her big Axe in your fast little hands." He looked me up and down boldly with no attempt to hide his assessment, then ducked his head shyly.
I felt tempted to whack him, but restrained myself - I had to remember that I'd only met Jamie a couple of hours ago. He felt like a kid brother, if I'd had one. But I intuited that random violence, no matter how fun-intended, might not go over so well.
"So is that what this was? An audition?" I pursued.
"You're not from around here, are you?" His tone said this was no great surprise. "Trix likes to keep the sound...fluid, you know? So she subs in musicians like, all the time. Some kids wait months to get a spot at practice to show their stuff - and then you... well, here you are. Anyway, it's cool - the songs change so much as new musicians get into them. She keeps people around as long as it's working, then subs in someone else. There are a few regulars that come back a lot, especially from the Performing Arts school? But the only ones who are always here are Trix, Trace and Bash."
"What about Mr. Strat?"
"John? He's amazing, huh? But he and Trix don't like to share the sandbox. He's kind of...in and out. He's Trace's uncle, so he keeps coming back? And things go better when he's here, he kinda keeps the calm in the bunkers."
"The bunkers?" Now I was really curious. Keeps the calm? But Jamie nudged me to be quiet. Trix stood before the assembly, quietly watching. She said nothing, but her bearing, her very presence in wait, demanded our attention. All the little satellite conversations dropped off suddenly as people turned their faces her way.
When she had the room at attention, she spoke. "We had some great subs today. Thoughts?" Trix looked around the room. The boy at the sound equipment called out "Al Roy!" and punched at the sky. I heard mumbled assent and the rap artist raised his fist in thanks for solidarity.
"Yes, that almost worked. We'll have to practice a few numbers this week and see what takes. Could be interesting for Friday." The boy didn't jump up and down, but I could tell he felt proud.
Jamie leaned in and whispered, "No one thought Trix would go for it. Hardly anyone gets a show first time out, and rap? He probably just won a hundred bucks off his friends." I felt happy for the rapper's win. Then Jamie raised his hand like a kid in school. Trix flashed him a bright, proud smile - clearly one of her favourites. She played along, adopting an officious tone.
"Yes, Jamie, please share your thoughts on this weeks' subs."
"Christine here lit up your sorry stage." He nodded my way and I heard some agreement from the room. My face burned, and this time I really did almost whack him. Trix grinned appreciatively.
"Indeed. And she can play, too. Of course we're keeping you, Mouse. You'll join us Friday night." It wasn't a question.
Discussion continued. The boy who couldn't keep up on guitar needed more practice with a band before he could try again. The trumpet could come to rehearsals, but no promises, and if he made a nuisance of himself in every song he was out. Someone wanted to know if he played saxophone, which interested Trix for about five seconds until he admitted he didn't. A lot of laughter and light-hearted banter accompanied conversation that moved over various aspects of the performance, lighting and sound. No one seemed to take criticism too seriously, and since I'd escaped unscathed, I found it easy to join in the general mood.
It had gotten later than I'd planned to be there, and I didn't know what time the bus came by, or even when the last bus left. I quietly made my way to the front, seeking the exit.
Trix appeared in front of me and gently removed the guitar from my hands, placing it carefully on a stool; I had been gripping it possessively the whole time. She motioned to the commotion.
"Feeding time at the zoo, Mouse," she said.
I scrunched up my nose at her, disgusted at the nickname, but realized that probably made me look even more mousey. In any case, she had leaped from the stage without noticing my reaction. I clamoured down behind her.
Food was sandwich wraps, vegetarian without being bland or boring. Warm, full of sprouts and shredded carrots with a gentle, insistently spiciness. I savoured the sour, salty bite even as sauce dripped onto my jeans.
At least twenty people lounged throughout the theatre, eating intently with few words between them. Looking more closely in the dim light, I thought most of them appeared to be teenage boys, or not much older. The few girls among could hardly be distinguished by look and dress. Trace and Bash sat on stairs off-side from the stage with one of the drummers and Mr. Strat. I wondered where Trace had disappeared to during the session. Exactly what role did she play in the band?
Trix walked the room, talking with anyone in her path. As my eyes followed her, they caught on Jamie at the centre of the theatre. He bent over a kid at the sound controls, his compact body exuding competence and gentle authority. He looked somehow older next to someone likely the same age. I watched him place an almost fatherly hand on the boy's shoulder before taking his leave, and continued watching as he retrieved a sandwich and took a seat on the outside edge of the front row. I walked deliberately over to sit beside him, and he flashed me a quick smile.
"You nailed it," he said, his face in profile. "I bet she has you in the show."
"Really?" I asked, surprisingly pleased with his praise.
"Most of the kids who sub for guitar kinda suck lately. Next to them, you're a rock star. Plus Trix'll like how sexy you look with her big Axe in your fast little hands." He looked me up and down boldly with no attempt to hide his assessment, then ducked his head shyly.
I felt tempted to whack him, but restrained myself - I had to remember that I'd only met Jamie a couple of hours ago. He felt like a kid brother, if I'd had one. But I intuited that random violence, no matter how fun-intended, might not go over so well.
"So is that what this was? An audition?" I pursued.
"You're not from around here, are you?" His tone said this was no great surprise. "Trix likes to keep the sound...fluid, you know? So she subs in musicians like, all the time. Some kids wait months to get a spot at practice to show their stuff - and then you... well, here you are. Anyway, it's cool - the songs change so much as new musicians get into them. She keeps people around as long as it's working, then subs in someone else. There are a few regulars that come back a lot, especially from the Performing Arts school? But the only ones who are always here are Trix, Trace and Bash."
"What about Mr. Strat?"
"John? He's amazing, huh? But he and Trix don't like to share the sandbox. He's kind of...in and out. He's Trace's uncle, so he keeps coming back? And things go better when he's here, he kinda keeps the calm in the bunkers."
"The bunkers?" Now I was really curious. Keeps the calm? But Jamie nudged me to be quiet. Trix stood before the assembly, quietly watching. She said nothing, but her bearing, her very presence in wait, demanded our attention. All the little satellite conversations dropped off suddenly as people turned their faces her way.
When she had the room at attention, she spoke. "We had some great subs today. Thoughts?" Trix looked around the room. The boy at the sound equipment called out "Al Roy!" and punched at the sky. I heard mumbled assent and the rap artist raised his fist in thanks for solidarity.
"Yes, that almost worked. We'll have to practice a few numbers this week and see what takes. Could be interesting for Friday." The boy didn't jump up and down, but I could tell he felt proud.
Jamie leaned in and whispered, "No one thought Trix would go for it. Hardly anyone gets a show first time out, and rap? He probably just won a hundred bucks off his friends." I felt happy for the rapper's win. Then Jamie raised his hand like a kid in school. Trix flashed him a bright, proud smile - clearly one of her favourites. She played along, adopting an officious tone.
"Yes, Jamie, please share your thoughts on this weeks' subs."
"Christine here lit up your sorry stage." He nodded my way and I heard some agreement from the room. My face burned, and this time I really did almost whack him. Trix grinned appreciatively.
"Indeed. And she can play, too. Of course we're keeping you, Mouse. You'll join us Friday night." It wasn't a question.
Discussion continued. The boy who couldn't keep up on guitar needed more practice with a band before he could try again. The trumpet could come to rehearsals, but no promises, and if he made a nuisance of himself in every song he was out. Someone wanted to know if he played saxophone, which interested Trix for about five seconds until he admitted he didn't. A lot of laughter and light-hearted banter accompanied conversation that moved over various aspects of the performance, lighting and sound. No one seemed to take criticism too seriously, and since I'd escaped unscathed, I found it easy to join in the general mood.
It had gotten later than I'd planned to be there, and I didn't know what time the bus came by, or even when the last bus left. I quietly made my way to the front, seeking the exit.
Preview: Trace & Paperwork
The front lobby looked dark except for a string of lights over the snack counter. I didn't see Trace standing in the shadows until she moved so those lights caught her champagne hair, sleek white jeans, glint of teeth. Her smile called me friend, but I didn't buy it."I was hoping I'd catch you, Mouse." She drawled the nickname gently with a wry humour that knew it got under my skin and thought I should get over it.
Trace rolled her body a little to lean against the counter, regarding me sideways, a cat flirting with the furniture. I noticed her almost flat upper lip and very slightly down turned nose, these minute imperfections only enhancing her loveliness by flourishing her smile. She totally possessed the words beauty and grace as I imagined them. I worked to quench my quick burn of envy.
"You never should have hit that stage without seeing me first. I need to take care of you." Her tone sounded coy. She made me nervous.
"Take care of me?"
She straightened her posture, and assumed a more business-like air.
"There's paperwork, forms to sign. Step this way, please, miss."
She glided beside me and dropped her hand casually on my shoulder, guiding us towards a windowless, unmarked thick steel door just behind the snack counter...