14. Reed

14

REED

“YOU NEVER CAN TELL” – CHUCK BERRY

L una and I slice our way through the crowd, which is getting rowdier and drunker as the late afternoon slips into evening.

“How the hell are we going to meet the Red Lemons?” I ask her. “Let alone convince them to…to let us sing a song in their set?”

She shakes her head. “You don’t have any faith in the universe, do you? I was right about that.”

“I have some faith. But this seems like a big ask.”

“You’ll never know if you don’t try.”

The sky is a brilliant shade of purple to the west. The clouds are all matted together with different shades of violet, pink, and orange. It looks like something out of a painting.

I slow my stride and let Luna walk in front of me. For a moment, and for God knows what reason—well, probably the drugs—Luna’s appearance transforms in front of me. She’s is an elderly woman.

She’s seventy, eighty years old, and we’re walking through a concert together. I picture her with gray and white hair, still as gorgeous, easing into the later years of her life with grace.

Okay who am I kidding? This has got to be the drugs.

She stops and looks at me over her shoulder. “You okay there?”

I snap out of my hallucination. “Oh, uh, yeah. Fine. These drugs are really something. How are we going to get backstage? Any ideas?”

“Luckily getting backstage is something I’m well versed in.” I continue following her until we hit the gate where the real security detail—not Charlie Dunn—is blocking entry. “Follow my lead,” she says, grabbing me by the hand.

Okay. We’re holding hands now. My heart hammers as we approach the gate.

There are two buff guys in black T-shirts that read security .

“Yeah?” the bald one says, crossing his arms as we approach.

Luna breaks down crying. “We lost our backstage passes. My boyfriend got them for our anniversary. He’s so pissed, and he’s going to break up with me if we don’t get backstage.”

“Nice try.” The guy chuckles. “Not the first time I heard that one tonight. Probably won’t be the last.”

Just then, I notice someone beyond the gate. It’s our favorite trucker-hat-wearing guy again. Shit. What the hell is his name? I sift back through my alcohol-soaked memories of last night. “Luuuuuke!” I yell. Definitely not his name.

But it works. He turns and waves. Bingo . “You have backstage passes too?” he asks as he approaches.

I nod vigorously. “We do, but we lost ’em.”

“Frankie, let these kind folks through.” He nods to the non-bald guard, then leans in and winks. “Old high school buddies of mine. They don’t need no papers.”

A little reluctantly, the guard moves aside and lets us through.

Once we’re inside, Luna wraps CC in a big hug, and I scan the area with the new mission: find the Red Lemons.

“You came through back there,” Luna tells me once we’re safely out of earshot of security. “Nice.”

“You too. Good idea with the crying.”

“I tried.”

“First boss of side quest, defeated!” I announce, slanting my eyes back toward the security guard who let us in.

She laughs. “Go, us! Now, how the hell are we going to get on stage with the Red Lemons?”

“I thought you said you had a plan,” I counter.

“To get past security! Not to actually get on stage with them,” she says.

“Also, ‘get on stage with’? We have to do more than that. We have to convince them to let us sing a song as the Red Lemons.”

She shakes her head. “And then the plan is Dunn will make sure Randy’s distracted the rest of the show somehow?”

“I guess. You can sing, right? I mean, I heard you singing along to some tunes on the way here in the car.”

“Yeah, I mean, I’ve never sung in front of thousands of people, that’s for sure.”

I swivel my head, looking for Henry Cooney or Violet Benson, the people we are supposed to impersonate. I try not to think about how absolutely insane this idea is. “You do your vocal warmups,” I tell Luna, grinning. “And on that note, I’m going to hit the bathroom. Be right back.”

“Okay. I’ll be right here, in this same spot.” She smiles like she hasn’t a care in the world.

Impulsively, I give her a hug. “Luna, I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this, but you fucking rock. Really. You’re so cool.”

When I step back, she’s blushing.

The drugs are really kicking in now. I can’t tell if they’re going to make it easier or harder to pull off this ridiculousness. When I turn around, I feel like I’m Keanu Reeves in The Matrix , seeing everything in slow motion. There’s a couple talking, and the woman has her arms crossed. They’re obviously fighting.

Do these drugs enhance my ability to read emotions?

I shake off my curiosity and focus on the mission at hand: make it to the bathroom. I can do this. I turn around one more time and take note of a prominent light pole I can use as a landmark to make my way back to Luna.

She sees me and waves like she’s my mom and it’s my first day of school. For more than a fleeting moment, I can’t stop staring at her. She’s an absolute bombshell. But that’s not why. It’s what’s bubbling beneath the surface of her that intrigues me.

What kind of girl uses a fake name, rolls with the punches with two best friends to go to a concert festival, doesn’t get fazed by us faking our way into a hotel room, getting surprise-dosed with LSD, and now seems down to fake her way onto the stage?

I whirl around and walk hastily toward the backstage bathroom. There are only a few people in line, and one woman piques my curiosity. I loop around so I can approach her from the front.

She’s dressed in a long-sleeved, white, button-down blouse and black pants. She has a black pixie cut, and she’s smoking a cigarette. I do a double take. Is this the drugs, or is she dressed precisely like a certain character from a Quentin Tarantino movie? I blink for a few seconds, then open my eyes again.

Same outfit. Maybe this isn’t the drugs. I approach her. “Uh, excuse me. Are you…Uma Thurman?” I ask.

She laughs. “You got it. Mia Wallace is her name in that movie.”

I nod. “Far out. Well, nice to meet you, uh, Mia.”

“Mia. I like that name.”

“Do you have a real name?” The words tumble out of my mouth. “Uh, I’m sure you have a name. I mean…my name’s Reed.”

“Nice to meet you, Reed. You’re something else.” She cocks her head, as if examining me. “Do you always approach women dressed like movie stars?”

I’m not sure what to say, but I find myself speaking again. “Do you want to dance, Mia? A little twist?”

She laughs again, louder this time.

I’m not even operating as myself anymore. Yep. This is definitely the drugs, now. Thanks, CC.

“We’ll see…” she says.

But what she doesn’t know is that I have the Chuck Berry song from John Travolta and Uma Thurman’s Pulp Fiction dance down pat. I went through a Chuck Berry phase, as well as a Quinton Tarantino phase, so when the two converged, I was all over it.

I start singing. I start twisting. I’m not as good as Travolta, but I think I do all right.

“Aw, hell. Why not?” she says after a moment and starts twisting right along with me. Her face stays impassive, just like Uma’s in the movie, but she’s highly skilled . “You’re pretty good,” she comments. “You said your name was Reed?”

“Yeah. Reed Walker. Nice to meet you.”

“I’m Vi,” she says.

“Ha, Vi. Like Violet Benson.”

She grins as I take her hand. “You got it.”

My blood pressure spikes, and I stop my twist. “Wait. You’re Violet Benson?”

She nods. “Last time I checked.”

“What’s with the Mia getup?”

“We’re doing a, a thing for the beginning of our set.”

“A dress-up-like- Pulp Fiction thing?”

She nods again, ending her dance. “Those are the words I was looking for. I’m actually shockingly bad at talking. All of my energy goes into singing.”

“This is crazy. I can’t believe I’m actually talking to Violet Benson!”

“You just danced with Violet Benson.”

“Right. I love the album you guys made. And I, uh, have a girlfriend. I wasn’t flirting.”

“Suuure, you weren’t. Hey, Henry!” She yells over toward a crowd of guys standing about twenty feet away. “This guy’s trying to steal your girl!”

The tall, tattooed man in the group—dressed like John Travolta from said movie—turns and looks toward us with a cigarette between his lips.

Henry fucking Cooney . Violet’s superstar boyfriend.

“Holy shnikes,” I say as he walks over.

“Come meet my new friend Reed,” she says as he approaches. “I have to go to the bathroom. Be right back.”

“Reed.” He eyes me suspiciously. “Were you just dancing with my girl?”

“Uh? Me? Uh…it was the drugs.” My heart slams against my chest. “I barely even have free will.”

He laughs and slaps me on the shoulder. “I’m just kiddin’ around, man. Relax.”

“Oh, right. Me too.” I muster an awkward laugh.

“So what are you doing backstage? You friends with some of the band?”

“So, uh, that’s a funny story…”

He shrugs and looks at his wrist, which has no watch. “I’ve got some time. Twenty minutes before we go on stage. And I happen to like funny stories.”

This is it. This is my moment.

“I’m hoping my friend and I could sing the first song for the Red Lemons. Do you think you could make that happen?”

He laughs loudly.

I hold my dead-serious face, looking him in the eye.

“Wait. You’re serious?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

He shakes his head. “You are here to ask us if you can get on stage and play with the band. Are you insane?”

“Well, I’m actually hoping my friend—uh, she’s over there somewhere—” I gesture in Luna’s general direction, “can go on with me for the first song. We’ll pretend to be you guys.”

His eyes narrow. “You, and a friend, want to sing a song as our band. As my band?”

“That’s correct.”

He guffaws. “That’s the ballsiest request anyone’s ever made of me.”

“I’ve been trying to grow some balls this weekend, so it checks.”

He cracks up.

Violet comes back from the handwashing station, and her gaze darts between the two of us. “Everything okay here?”

“Vi, this guy wants to play with the band. Wait. Not with the band. He says he wants to sing the first song tonight for us.”

“No shit? Well, he can sing Chuck Berry.” She turns toward me. “Do you know our stuff?”

My heart races. Is this actually happening? “Yeah. I do. Backwards and forwards. Your first album as the “new” Red Lemons was genius. Sorry, uh, for your loss, by the way. Johnny was great.”

“You’ve been listening since the Johnny Donovan era?” Henry asks.

The Red Lemons have been together for at least ten years, and the past three or four of those have been without Johnny.

“Definitely.” I feel like I’ve gained at least a shred of credit for being a long-time fan. I nod. “I, uh, lost my cousin a few years back, and it hurt. So I guess you could say I relate to your music. I was at your show with him at Thalia Hall back then.”

“The last Johnny show.” Violet’s eyes glaze over. “Well, first song on the set list tonight is ‘We Don’t Need Tennessee Whiskey’. Can you sing that one?”

“Hell, yeah, I can. One of my favorites.”

Vi runs a hand through her hair. “Could be kind of cool… I bet the crowd would enjoy seeing someone else—if you’re good. So we’re gonna need to hear you sing it first.”

I nod, summoning more confidence than I thought I had. “All right. Where can we go that’s quiet?”

“Our trailer. We’ve got fifteen minutes now. C’mon—wait, did you say we ?”

“Yeah, my friend and I do a duet.” That’s a bit of a lie. But is it? I get the feeling Luna and I could knock this out of the park.

“Well, shit. Get your friend and let’s go!” Vi says.

“You guys are amazing. Absolutely incredible,” I tell them. “You don’t know what this means to us.”

Henry shrugs. “Man, life is about having fun and doing random stuff like this. Let’s just make sure you can sing it, though.”

“Be right back. I have to grab my friend. Wait here?” Henry nods, and I give the man a hug, which he reciprocates, albeit awkwardly. “Be right back.”

I practically bound back over to Luna, using the lightpost for my guide. A couple of guys have started talking to her.

“Oh look at that, my boyfriend’s back! Have a good one!” she says loudly. She takes my arm. “What took so long? Those guys were giving me the creeps.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. They were commenting on… It doesn’t matter. Sorry about the boyfriend thing. I just wanted them to leave. Anyway, the show starts soon! We still need to find them.”

“Yeah, about that. I found them.”

Her eyebrows lift. “You found them? You found the Red Lemons?”

“Yeah.”

Her jaw falls open, and she seems like she’s trying to talk, but nothing’s coming out.

“Surprised?” I take her hand. “Come on. Can you sing ‘We Don’t Need Tennessee Whiskey’? That’s the first song.”

“You know which song we’re doing already?”

“Yeah. I negotiated with them.”

“Are you…tripping right now?”

“Yes. But I’m not lying.”

I guide her through the crowd, and when we get back to the bathroom line where I was standing, the bottom drops out of my heart.

They’re not here.

“They were right here! I swear.” I drop Luna’s hand, and she gives me a confused look.

Did I hallucinate all of that?

Then a sweet female voice calls out behind me. “Hey, Reed!”

We whip around and see Henry and Violet.

“Violet.”

“Come on! We have to hurry. You better not be some lame karaoke singer.” She smiles.

“He’s not. Hi, by the way,” Luna says.

“Wow. You’re gorgeous.” Vi turns to me. “This is your girlfriend?”

I open my mouth to explain that no, she’s not, but Henry talks over me. “C’mon y’all. Time’s a wasting.”

We hastily follow them to their trailer, and Vi opens the door. Inside is her Johnny Blue guitar.

Vi hands it to me. “Let’s hear it.”

I take it from her, though I’m almost afraid to touch it, and turn to lock eyes with the girl whose name I still don’t know. She gives me a nod. She’s ready.

Quite honestly, at this point I’ve started to wonder if this entire weekend is some kind of fever dream. But dream or not, I take a deep breath and play the infamous riff that opens their song.