Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93936 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93936 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
“Good,” I say, “because I plan on taking full advantage of that.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
The lights go out just as we’re finishing sound check, and for a moment, I think it’s part of the show. Then I realize the emergency exit signs are the only things still glowing, casting everything in an eerie red wash.
Not just the stage lights. Everything. The entire arena plunges into darkness, the hum of amplifiers dies is quickly drowned out by the sound of the emergency exit telling us we need to leave.
“Well, that’s not good,” Ajay says from behind his drum kit, his voice echoing strangely in the sudden acoustic space.
“Power’s out citywide,” someone shouts from the back of the venue. “Grid failure. Could be hours.”
The arena manager appears with a flashlight, looking more frazzled than I’ve ever seen him. Earlier, his blond hair was gelled stylishly and now it’s a disheveled me, and he’s got his phone pressed to his ear while trying to coordinate with someone on the other end.
“I’m sorry, but we’re going to have to cancel tonight’s show,” he announces to our small group. “Insurance won’t cover anything without proper lighting and security systems. The fire marshal’s already on his way to shut us down.”
My heart sinks like a stone. Canceling is always the last option. The logistics of rescheduling is a nightmare according to Elle. We got lucky when Elle went into labor, we were about to break for the holidays. It’s as if Elle timed it all perfectly.
“What about the fans?” Dana asks.
“Refunds will be processed within three to five business days,” the manager says, already scrolling through his phone. “Security’s making announcements now.”
“This sucks,” Hendrix says, unplugging his electric guitar from an amp that’s no longer working. “I can’t remember the last time we’ve had to cancel.”
“Actually,” I say, an idea forming that’s either brilliant or completely insane, “what if we don’t cancel?”
Everyone turns to look at me like I’ve lost my mind.
“Why does Elle have to be on leave?” Keane groans.
“Insurance, liability, crown control,” the manager says as he shakes his head.
“Here me out,” I say. “If there’s a grid out and no one knows when the lights will be on, isn’t it better the people out there stay here instead of driving? What if there’s an accident?” I ask. “The police are already outside and paid for, why not use them?”
The manager sighs and runs his hand through his hair, tugging at the ends.
“The power’s out, but we’ve got acoustic guitars,” I continue. “We’ve got voices. Battery-powered amps for small venues. And we’ve got fans who came here to hear music, not to see a light show.”
“It would be completely unplugged,” Keane says, and I can hear he’s already considering it. “Like MTV Unplugged, but in a parking lot.”
“With nothing but the music,” Dana says. “Just us and them and the songs. This will be bad ass and intimate. Do I need to call Elle?”
Ajay stands up from behind his kit. “I’m in. I’ve got a cajón in the bus, and honestly? Some of our best songs would sound incredible stripped down.”
I look at the manager who continues to shake his head. “Dana, maybe get Elle on the phone. Let her know what’s going on and tell her what we want to do.” I get the hesitation, but this seems like a no brainer. It’s far better than letting people leave. At least we’d be able to give them somewhat of a show.
After talking to Elle for a few moments, Dana hangs up with a smile. “Elle says acoustic only, security must stay close, and people have to say behind the barricades. The police make the final decisions so if they’re not on board, it’s a no go and . . .” Dana says as she looks at the manager. “Elle would like to know if it’s possible for you to hand out water, soda, candy, and the food you already had made for the show. She says to bill her for it all.”
The manager groans. “I’ll be right back.” As he walks off stage, he’s talking into his walkie talkie with a raised voice. He barely makes it out of view before he’s back. “Your manager has a lot of pull.”
I smile wide and feel almost giddy at the thought of performing outside.
“You can play outside, as long as there aren’t any disturbances. Once the police say shut it down, it goes down. All fans must stay behind the metal barricades and no meet-and-greets.”
“Deal,” I say, already feeling the adrenaline kick in. I shake his hand, letting him know we’ll be on our best behavior.
Twenty minutes later, we’re set up on the arena’s front door. Someone found extension cords and a small generator to power a basic PA system. Ajay’s got his cajón instead of his full kit, Hendrix and I have acoustic guitars, and Keane’s keyboard is set up. Plum is set up next to us with their acoustic instruments too.