Freddie

FREDDIE

"Guys! That was incredible tonight! Your sound was perfection."

We're still on stage, the lights are high and the bar is closing up for the night. We had great feedback from everyone in the bar and we even scored another gig at a different local hole in the wall down the road. But I'd love to be invited back to this one. If not for the folklore, then for the girl.

Okay, only for the girl.

I've been the lead with all things music in our group. I've pushed us as far as I can, always looking for bigger and better, always looking for different shows. Anything to get seen. When the guys get down on their luck, I'm the one lifting us up. I want to be a hit more than anyone.

But one look at this chick has me rethinking my ways.

And it's scary as fuck.

Above being a musician, I'm a romantic. My parents told me that being highly sensitive is what contributes to my success as a songwriter. My heart feels the impact of the words and tone before my mind fully processes them. They warned me there could come a time that I'd give it all up for a greater love. I thought they were crazy. I told them I'd find a girl who wants it as bad as me. They just chuckled and said ‘sometimes love and music don't always work that way.'

Dan, my drummer, swirls his sticks between his fingers. "I really like it here. Vibe was killer and the crowd was hyped for us."

"Yeah, I'd definitely play here again. Did we get a nod from Butch?" George, who plays bass guitar, anxiously asks.

"Like ya weren't starin' at him all night." Dan rolls his eyes.

"The guy is probably filing a restraining order against ya as we speak.

"Speakin' of restraining orders, did ya get served yet, ?" Richie, our other guitarist playfully says.

I furrow my brows. "What ya talkin' about?"

Mimicking my voice, he says, "Can anyone tell me the name of the beautiful waitress?" He laughs and shakes his head. "Man, ya are not smooth."

I chuckle. "I thought it was pretty smooth. I got her name, didn't I?"

"Ya did. But where is she now?" Dan looks pointedly at me. "Can you imagine how many bands she sees in this bar each week? You're just another drop in the bucket, ." He snarks out as he zips up the last of the bags.

I shrug, trying not to feel that dig. He's right. I'm just another singer to come through this bar. Looking for something bigger, trying to get noticed by using any means possible.

"Whatever. She was nice to look at tonight. Come on, wrap those wires, I'll go get the mic stands in the truck." I break down the stands, pulling the mics off and placing them in the bags before grabbing the poles and heading down the back hall to the exit that leads to the parking lot. As I walk past the kitchen, a sound stops me dead in my tracks. It's a voice, but it's more than that. It's beautiful, an angelic like sound laced with an attitude that contradicts the sweetness.

She sings about her phone number and to call her, maybe, and I want nothing more than to playfully answer by yelling out Jenny's number. I chuckle to myself and sing back, "8-6-7—" but she turns the corner and runs right into me, some of the liquid from her glass splashing onto the floor.

"Oh! What are you doing back here?" She snaps out angrily.

"Was that you?"

Her eyes drop from mine and suddenly she appears nervous. "Was what me?"

"Singin'. Your voice is beautiful."

She shakes her head before I'm even done asking and quickly answers me. I feel like I'm getting the brush off. "No. Wasn't me. You can't be back here. We're trying to close for the night."

I step back from her. She's clearly uncomfortable and I don't want to push my luck. "I'm just bringin' our equipment out through the back door to pack up." I study her glass. "Wine, huh? I thought this wasn't a winery?" I raise a brow.

"My bottles aren't for sale."

"Noted. I'll be sure to bring enough Savvy B for the both of us next time."

She crinkles her brows and looks past me. "Next time? Butch?"

I turn at hearing her speak his name and see the old man ambling toward me. I'm still holding the bag of mics and two stands and begin to stutter. I don't want the guy thinking I'm using his name. "Uh, no, he didn't, I mean, I was just say–"

"Yeah, Journey. Next Friday. Same time. The crowd loved ‘em." He eyes me suspiciously and with a slight turn of his head. "I just told your band. Don't be late." He pushes past us making this hallway even smaller. My heart is racing at his invite.

"Good to know." Journey calls after him, already walking in the opposite direction. "I might need some time off, Butch. We'll talk tomorrow."

I'm left standing in the middle of what feels like a fight brewing between the two of them. No matter what's happening with them, all I know is I get another chance at fame, and another chance at the girl. I just hope one of them takes off.