Different Circles

Matt waited until the applause and cheers died down—it took nearly three minutes—and then turned and walked into the narrow corridor that led back to guarded access gate for the SVIP section. The guards looked at the all-access pass around his neck, gave him a nod, and he started walking back to the trailer he and his band had been assigned to. He was troubled as he made the journey.

That asshole just put on one fuck of a show, he kept thinking. Did I really think he was going to step up there and bomb? Yes, he really had. How painfully naïve that thought seemed now. This was Jake Kingsley, after all. Jake always had been the master of planning out performances, had been the driving force behind what had made Intemperance’s live shows so appealing to crowds with his witchlike sense of how to play to their emotions and psychology. He had been doing it ever since their days playing the clubs in Heritage, had perfected the art once the band had been given back control of their sets after the renegotiation of their contract granted them the power to use him in that role once again. How in the hell did I forget that? Did I think he just lost that when Intemperance broke up?

The most unsettling thought, however, was: How can I compete with what he just did? Me, with my standard set we’ve been playing all along, a set we haven’t played or rehearsed in more than three weeks now, and with a sound team that aren’t worthy to suck Nerdly’s dick?

The answer to that, he feared, was that he could not.

He entered the trailer to find his band extremely anxious and agitated.

“Jesus Christ, Matt!” Austin said. “Where the fuck have you been? We have to report to the stage in ten fucking minutes!”

“And you’re not even dressed yet!” added Corban.

Matt simply shrugged. “I was just out wandering around and checking out the gash,” he said.

“Checking out the gash?” Austin cried. “Now?”

“Yep,” Matt said simply. “I’m gonna get changed. Should only take me a few minutes.”

Corban was looking at him with concern. “Are you okay, Matt?” he asked carefully.

“Yeah,” Matt said with a nod. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Jake’s band was elated and enthusiastic as they made their way back to their trailer after the show. They had nailed their performance and they knew it. High fives were exchanged spontaneously. G taught a few elaborate handshakes. With the exception of Laura, they were all drenched in sweat and parched, drinking from bottles of Gatorade to rehydrate as they made the walk.

“Did you hear that fucking crowd cheering us?” asked Ted, a huge smile on his face.

“I heard them,” Jake said, feeling quite fine himself. They had exceeded even his most optimistic expectations and this knowledge was giving him a dopamine rush that not even the finest cocaine, the most pungent greenbud could hope to compete with. After all the rehearsals and planning, after all the agonizing over the set list and what musicians he would end up with, they had pulled off their first show with style, absolutely wowing the crowd of ninety-five thousand at a festival they were said not to belong in.

“That was hell to the badass!” Ted said. “They gave us a standing O! Twice!”

“You absolutely nailed your solos in High, Jake,” Lenny said. “I am in fucking awe of you! I mean, I already was before we even started playing together, but that was ... that was ... I can’t even describe it.”

“That’s what lots of rehearsal and a badass sound team gets you,” Jake told him.

“Sure, that’s a big part of it,” Lenny said. “But rehearsal and a good sound team don’t mean shit if you don’t have the talent to take advantage of it. And you do. You shined out there, Jake. Absolutely fucking shined. I am so incredibly stoked that I was able to be a part of it.”

“You were pretty badass yourself,” Jake told him. “All of you were. That wasn’t just me up there, it was us, and we carried this off to perfection.”

“Beyond perfection, I think,” G said. “That was sublime, homies. Fucking sublime!”