Page 34 of Down Beat

“The side of stage.” I thumb toward the stairs.

The sudden silence indicates Tabby has finished her first song.

“Oh.” Emery kicks back on the sofa, frowning at Kris who touches up the smudge under his eye. “I thought we weren’t bothering anymore now Toby’s off to sort it out.”

Truth. I have no reason to go hang out up there until we’re called to play, but I still want to. “It gets boring in here with you fuckers,” I quip, and then stride out the door before he can question me further.

I want to see her play. I want to know how she looks, what the audience do. I want to absorb and analyze it all.

I make my way up the stage stairs slowly, careful not to let my boots slam down on the wooden steps. Two of the crew straighten their backs as I pass where they sit on one of the road cases, watching Tabby play. They look sheepish as all fuck, being caught out chilling side of stage, but I couldn’t give a fuck what they do during sets as long as everything runs smoothly on stage when I’m there.

I edge out into the wings, careful not to step too far. Golden rule of theaters like this: if you can see the audience, they can see you.

Tabby settles into her second song, her hips slightly swaying as she pushes through the notes. She gives her performance an edge, kitted out in a fitted tee, a tutu-like skirt, and those boots with the notes on. The woman looks at ease, comfortable even, but I can fucking guarantee she’s anything but.

As it was, her hands shook too hard to get her practice song right when we first rocked up at the theater this afternoon. Her bow had screeched over the strings, those of us in the auditorium covering our ears as the microphone amplified the head-splitting tone.

I was convinced she’d bail right then and there, but the fiery little thing simply took a deep breath, muttered something to herself, and then puffed her chest out to try again.

The top seats are mesmerized. I inch further than I should so I can see her ticket holders up in the balcony. They sit motionless, eyes glued to her as she plays a more mainstream piece. The kind of classical I’d expect to hear in a car commercial or some shit.

My gaze drifts south. And just like that, I’m ready to choke a motherfucker. Some dickwad in the third row talks animatedly to his girlfriend, twisting to throw a comment or two at what must be his buddies in the row behind. Watch the performer, fuckhead. Why do I care? I can’t really say. Maybe it’s because I like Tabby—there, I said it. Or maybe it’s because as the guy who stands front and center in the stage, I know how much it fucking burns when people can’t give you some simple goddamn respect and watch the show.

Tabitha finishes her second song, seemingly oblivious to the asshole. I catch the runner Toby sent, skim back up the aisle to loop around backstage from the foyer. Tabby gets into her third song, and it’s only when she opens her eyes to move to the quicker tempo that she spots him—the asshole in third.

Her bow falters. She misses a note. At least, to my ears, it sounded like she missed one. The whole fucking scenario throws her right off before she manages to compose herself and carry on.

I should laugh. After all, the exact thing I wanted to happen just did.

But I don’t. Instead, I drill my fingertips into my thighs to save from marching into the auditorium myself. Where the fuck are those crew? I spin and wave my hand at the pair to get their attention. The shorter and stockier of the two approaches.

“Yeah, man?” He leans in close enough to whisper that I catch the stale smell of smoke on his breath.

Fuck yeah. A smoke right now would be epic.

“I need you to do me a favor.”

He nods.

I take the guy by the shoulders and position him where I was. “See that douche in the third row, talking to fuckin’ everyone around him?”

He nods again.

“Get his fucking ass out of this goddamn theater, and tell him if he so much as tries to reenter while this gig still plays, he gets blocked from our fan site.”

“Um, I’m not sure if I have autho—”

“This is my show.” I level with him, eye to eye. “I give you authority. Anybody questions it, they come see me.”

“Just him?” The guy frowns.

“Just him. Not his friends’ fault he’s a cunt.”

He scurries away, passing Toby on the stairs. My brother looks as though somebody just left him an ounce in the dressing room.

“You will never believe this.”

“What?” I position myself so I can witness this takedown when it happens.