Boring Girls(54)

Fern, Edgar, and I went past the bathrooms towards the little room we had been shown where the bands could relax. We opened the door and all the guys from the other band were sprawled on the disgusting, torn-up couches. The walls were cov-ered with graffiti and marker scrawling, mostly of sex organs in all manner of stupid mutations, and band stickers posted here and there.

“Hi guys, getting excited?” Paul greeted us. One of his girlfriends was applying black liner to his eyes.

“There aren’t too many people here,” Fern said.

Paul shrugged. “It’s still early. People come later. By the time we get onstage, this place will be packed.”

“Right on,” the bass player agreed, and everyone in the room except for us laughed.

I wanted to ask them whether or not sitting on those filthy couches was a good idea, considering the amount of piss and bugs that likely festered there, but didn’t bother. It was actually a pretty fitting environment for those *s, as far as I was concerned.

Edgar decided to go find Socks and start getting ready, and Fern and I took our knapsacks into the girls’ bathroom so that we could get dressed and do our makeup.

“It’s cute how his girlfriend is doing his eyeliner for him,” she hissed, struggling to put on her pantyhose without placing her shoeless foot onto the disgusting tile floor.

“Oh, she’s his hairstylist too,” I said, tugging down on my skirt to straighten it out. I was really starting to feel sick from nerves, and I took deep breaths to try to calm down.

“How helpful,” Fern scoffed. “I wouldn’t be so pissed about it if they were nice people. Those girls act like we’re prostitutes or something.”

“Yeah. It’s irritating.”

Clothes on, we turned to the cracked mirror over the sinks to quickly put on our makeup. “Fern . . . are you nervous?”

“Yeah, a bit. I’m more disappointed that there aren’t many people here.”

I was almost relieved that there weren’t, because in my nervousness I was doubting my own abilities, worrying that we weren’t any good. Once ready, we walked through the bar, across the large empty expanse of floor to the side of the stage. I felt the few people who sat there watching us, and it was a pretty lousy feeling. Socks was onstage already, setting up his drums, and even though the music was so loud I couldn’t hear, I saw his lips pursed in a merry whistle. I really wished that I knew how to summon up that level of cheerful relaxation.

Edgar was talking to a tall guy at the side of the stage. Leaning in, he introduced us. “Robbie, this is Rachel and Fern. Guys, this is Robbie. He’s the DJ and the promoter.”

“Great to meet you,” Robbie greeted us, smiling. “I’m really excited about your band.”

Fern and Edgar went to set up the rest of their gear, leaving me standing with Robbie and now having to make conversation.

“Heathenistic Bile is great, really great,” Robbie continued. “There aren’t many local metal bands. We’re happy you could make it.”

“Thanks,” I replied. “We’re excited for it.”

“There aren’t many people here,” he continued, gesturing needlessly to the dead-empty dance floor in front of the stage, “but you know, word will spread and more and more people will start coming out. You know, the last Heathenistic Bile show, we had about fifty people come out.”

“Is heathenistic a word?” I said.

“Huh?”

“I was just wondering, is heathenistic actually a word?”

“Well, yeah, I guess it means, you know, ‘like a heathen.’”

“But wouldn’t the proper word just be ‘heathen’? It can be used as an adjective as well as a noun. Or heathenist?”

“I don’t really know.” Robbie looked confused as to why I would even care. “You know, I should probably let you get ready.”

I felt bad. “Yeah. Hey, you know, thank you very much for this, and helping and everything. I think you’re doing a great thing with these shows, and I’m happy we can be part of it.”

“No problem,” he said and smiled at me before disappearing back into the bar.

I stood and watched the others set up, trying to keep from looking at the people in the bar. I could feel their eyes on me and started to feel even sicker, but I tried to keep a bored, relaxed expression on my face.

Socks seated himself behind the drum kit and Fern and Edgar took their places on either side of the stage. My microphone stand stood alone at the front of the stage between them like a spindly flag that I was going to have to stand behind for the next half hour. I burped and tasted my greasy dinner, and realized that vomiting was an actual possibility.