Page 21 of Backstage

The show flies by in a succession of emotions that bring me quickly to the last song. Towards the end, I take out one of the earphones to listen to the audience singing Jailbirds’ songs. For the first time since we started this adventure, I allow myself to dream that this will happen for our songs one day. At the mere thought of it I smile, and out of the corner of my eye I see Damian showing a satisfied sneer. He takes out one of his earphones too, and when he hears the girls screaming, he turns towards me and winks at me, accompanied by a sexy, confident smile. I have to look down again so as not to trip over the words of the song.

When we get off the stage, we squeeze an indescribable amount of people’s hands, receive multiple pats on the shoulder and are in a daze from all the excitement around us. But one thing attracts my attention most of all: Damian’s hand clutching mine in a firm grip. He promised me he wouldn’t let go, and he didn’t.

A gorgeous blondie approaches him and clings to his arm. He smiles at her; she devours him with her eyes. A look I’ve often seen in the women around him, all wishing they had a piece of this goodness. She whispers something in his ear. He laughs and responds in the same way; they talk too softly to understand their conversation, but from the way they behave, it is clear to me that there will be an after-party. I stand here, clinging to his hand like a child, the third wheel in an exchange that lasts less than a minute. He managed to get a fuck in less than sixty seconds. As much as it bothers me that I’ve become invisible, I have to admire him for his ability to pick up a woman.

When she leaves us after holding his arm one last time with her black lacquered nails, he turns to me, winks at me, and drags me along, making me forget everything that just happened in the last two minutes. We head to the dressing room with the others, close the door, and allow ourselves this moment alone to enjoy before going back out to feel the situation’s pulse. But when my gaze rests on Evan’s, my happiness wavers a little.

“What did you put on before going on stage?” he asks me, pointing to the sweatshirt.

I lower my gaze, mortified, and pull my hands up my long sleeves.

“We pay Sid to always make you look your best. You can’t just do your own thing,” he adds in a less severe tone, but still makes me feel guilty.

“Look, Evan, you can’t force people to wear what they don’t want. You know she doesn’t want attention; does she necessarily have to go on stage with no clothes on?”

It’s Damian who’s defending me, making me turn to him, surprised he stood up against his manager.

“Okay, we’ll figure something out,” Evan responds, and seems incredulous at his stance as well.

When Damian turns to me, I can almost feel my legs shake. “Let’s try with Sid to find something that’s nice but covers you and makes you feel comfortable, okay? You really can’t walk around in that sweatshirt. It’s huge, it’s stained with sweat from someone who’s used it an entire afternoon to put the instruments on stage, and it stinks,” he says, grabbing me by the shoulders and forcing me to look him in the eyes.

They all burst out laughing, including me, and when I realize he’s right, I take it off immediately and throw it into a corner, making the laugh even harder. This morning I got up with my stomach in knots and the terror of starting our new life. Now I’m happy that Damian dragged me out of this room a few hours ago.

Rock News:

The band discovered by the Jailbirds is definitely one of the best around right now. They have an already well-defined musical identity, and technically they are at a level that few bands can reach in their twenties. Too bad for the horrible singer/bass player’s fashion sense. She really stood out amid the almost maniacal perfection the Jailbirds have grown accustomed us to. Compared to the others, it looked like she wore something from the trash bins behind the club. Hopefully, someone will guide her on her next shopping spree.

Mark This Name - Red Velvet Curtains!

Hi, Roadies!

As you know, last night I was lucky enough to find a ticket to the Red Velvet Curtains exclusive debut concert with the Jailbirds at 59 Club in Manhattan. I’m the luckiest woman on the face of the earth, I can guarantee you that. If I had missed their debut concert, I would have never forgiven myself. They were great! A while ago, I warned that opening the contest to all the bands without any requirements could have been a big mistake. Luckily, I was wrong! Not only are they technically at the level of the Jailbirds, but they also have enviable chemistry between them. Besides singing some of the band’s most famous songs, they’ve also unleashed songs that would make many artists at the top of the charts envious. What a concert! What an interpretation! What about the bass player? Who would have thought? Such a full and confident voice! An unprecedented performance.

Beware, Jailbirds, you may have rivals in the house who’ll knock you off your golden throne and off the top spot.

Be Kind and Rock’n’Roll,

Iris

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Gossip Now:

Seriously, what was that poor bass player dressed in? A garbage bag? Hopefully, they’ll hire a stylist for the next gig, or she’ll make our poor Damian horrified. He was perfect in his black outfit, but she resembled a stray cat in the rain. What did she think before she went on stage? Was she lucky enough to sit for an hour and a half next to the King of rock, and then dressed up like Cinderella before coming out of the attic? I doubt if Damian will ever offer her a glass slipper looking like that. Honey, if that was your goal, you’ve got the wrong tactic, let me tell you.

Live Music:

The Jailbirds’ acoustic concert with the new opening band was a real treat for our ears. We could finally appreciate the band in a less aggressive setting, and it was really a pleasure. No smearing, no uncertainty, not even from the young band, the Red Velvet Curtains, who were able to show they could master the stage like few others. They still have to work on their stage presence, especially the bass player who hasn’t shown off her physical appearance, but they are young. They have a dazzling career ahead of them and plenty of time to find the ideal outfit.

When she gets comfortable with what she has to do, Lilly is a war machine. We’re now halfway through our little tour of Manhattan clubs, and I discover I was wrong about her. She’s not a kid, she’s not insecure, she’s not someone who doesn’t know what to do on stage. On the contrary, she is an unparalleled musician, precise, professional, completely capable of handling the unexpected things that happen during a show. Her only problem is managing the stress of everything that gravitates around this environment, not so much playing with people; apart from some initial uncertainty, she does it without a problem. I would even say she’s having fun.

I’ll never be able to get her shining eyes out of my head when we sing “Two Hearts” at the start of every concert. She loves to play the part of a woman torn between the good guy and the bad guy, and she puts all her effort into making the blood flow from my brain to below my belt. It works every single time.

I wish I knew what happened to make her feel under so much pressure. It’s true, the newspapers torment her for the way she looks on stage, wearing baggy clothes that don’t flatter her physique, but she should be mature enough not to give any weight to that crap. She’s started eating less. She kills herself with ab workouts and push-ups when she thinks nobody’s watching and she eats that candy that makes you feel full without swallowing even a spoonful of food. She’s hungry, I realize that, but she refuses to eat.

“Do you have a moment?” Evan calls me back to reality as my thoughts wander about Lilly.

“Sure.” I gesture him to sit on the couch where I’m relaxing while the others get ready to go out for a bite to eat before the concert tonight.

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