wander around outside of clubs like this without one of us.”
“Like you are, right now?” I point out.
“I’m serious,” she says. “You’re fierce but you’re tiny and these places are full of creeps.”
“I’ve hung out in clubs before, thanks.”
“You’ve hung out in clubs at home, where everybody knows you and looks out for you and this is not the same thing. Trust me. This is the road.”
“Listen to you, ‘the road.’ Sheesh, Emmy. This is your first night of your first tour!”
“It’s not my first time on the road,” she says. “We’ve played lots of out of town shows, and I never go out in the parking lot without one of the guys—”
“And I came out here with Cole so why the hell am I getting a lecture? Seriously.”
“What were you doing out here with Cole anyway?” she asks and one thing’s for certain, I’m not about to tell her I was just making out with him.
“Here’s the change for the merchandise table,” I say, digging the wad of bills out of my dress pocket. Emmy eyes me and lowers her voice.
“You’re keeping two hundred bucks in singles and fives in your dress?”
“No,” I say, rolling my eyes. “I put the bulk of it in the lockbox.”
“Oh okay,” she says. “Good.”
“You’re really pissing me off, you know that?” I say.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m just nervous. First night out and all.”
I’m very familiar with Emmy’s mouth when she’s nervous, she’s like a manic on four espressos. I’m just not used to being the object of her neurotic doubt. I control the urge to tell her to take the roll of bills and choke on it.
“You know I love you, right?” she says, at just the right moment.
“Please don’t make me suffocate you in your sleep on our first night on tour,” I say. “We’ve got twenty shows left to do.”
She laughs and wraps her arm around my shoulders as we walk back into the club, and I feel less like murdering her now. A little. But I’m still so frustrated that I’m not in the back of Steady Beth with Cole’s hands up my dress that I can’t safely say I don’t want to murder someone.
***
The Nyabingi Dance Hall in Morgantown is only a six hour drive from our home in New Brunswick, New Jersey, but right now it feels like a lifetime away. Sure, it looks similar to the Melody, the Budapest, the Court Tavern. But when I look around and see no one I know outside of Emmylou, her boyfriend/guitarist and Steady Beth’s designated driver, Travis Blackwell, who is manning the merchandise table for me with their cannoli of a drummer, Joey Santini, I know this isn’t Hub City. The patrons don’t look all that different in their flannel and combat boots and leather in August. Maybe more beards. I’m from Jersey so their sneers don’t throw me. But this isn’t Jersey and I don’t know what’s behind that attitude. I bristle as I field stares from guys I don’t know. It’s probably because I’m the only one here in a dress with blue hair and tattoos.
I untie my sweater from my waist and put it on, even though it’s 1000 degrees in here, and march over to the merchandise table to give Travis and Joey the roll of bills. There’s a line for the Soft 7” single, Loud is How I Love You b/w Steady Beth, and I’m not surprised by the way the crowd crushed the stage during their set. Soft is the best thing going in New Brunswick right now and if they weren’t in the ever-looming shadow of New York City, they’d probably already have a good deal with a decent indie label by now. That’s why we’re on the road for a few weeks—to see if we can outrun the shadow and get a little recognition.
Listen to me, we. But I can’t help but feel like I’m in the band now. I’ve been working their merchandise table for two years, pretty much ever since they started playing out. I help load gear, hang flyers, hang out at rehearsals, and when they’re doing their Soft thing, there’s nothing else I’d rather be doing. That’s what happens when you’re music-obsessed and your best friend fronts the best band in town. Whenever they play, that’s where I want to be. Usually, standing right in front of Cole, staring at his hands as they stroke and thump that vintage P-bass like it’s a part of him.