Page 48 of Shame Me
“It’s still so surreal,” I said.
Braden agreed and Cy said, “I can’t wait to play for a huge audience.”
“Me neither,” Zack said. “This crowd will be as big as the one we had in RiNo over Thanksgiving weekend.”
Braden said, “I think our days of playing for fifty people at a time are behind us.”
“If they love our music.”
It was unspoken among us: we were getting plenty of airplay and we knew we had sales, but we didn’t know how many yet. One thing wedidknow was that we hadn’t gone viral. So, even through the excitement, we hid the fear we all felt inside.
What if no one liked us?
What if they hated our music?
What if they liked it but not enough to buy the album or any of our merch?
There were so manywhat ifsat the beginning, and we weren’t sure what to expect.
That night while the guys played in the pool, I walked around the parking lot looking at the stars…trying to keep myself from all the worries I felt.
The next night in Los Angeles for our first show as a professional band, we felt the love, starting first with the venue. Because they spoiled us right from the get-go, we would be ruined for all future venues that didn’t pamper their artists, especially nobodies like us. Each of us had a dressing room and there was a huge green room where Last Five Seconds had set up a meet and greet for after the show to which we were invited. My dressing room felt plush, like I was already a big star.
Unfortunately, it didn’t help my nerves. Suddenly, I was back in Lamar for our very first show—a bundle of nerves, shaky, doubting my ability.
Where the hell was that coming from?
Probably the knowledge that we were up first—and nobody here knew us.
After getting ready, I lay down on the soft couch in my room, pulling up my knees to my stomach, taking in deep breaths through my nose. The food the venue had offered us earlier—wraps and salads—was now churning in my gut, and I regretted eating any of it. Now I was only sipping water so I wouldn’t throw it up.
Not long after that, I heard a sharp knock on my door that made me jump. “I need you out here in ten minutes, Dani.”
Could I even do it?
I kept breathing as if I were meditating, doing my best to calm my nerves…and managed to fall asleep. That wasn’t surprising, considering how hard it had been falling asleep in that shared room with Braden—in a strange place and far from home—and a bus ride that made it difficult to even nap.
Another sharp rap on my door startled me and I got hit with a wave of nausea—so I got up and went straight to the trash can by the dressing table and lost all my dinner. Another loud knock, followed by Mick. “Everything okay?”
I might have mutteredNoin between waves.
So he asked, “Can I come in?”
“Yeah.”
I expected to be berated, because everything I knew about Mick was that he was all business. In his first meeting with us, he’d told us he wouldn’t tolerate any “drama” or other “prima donna bullshit” that most bands engaged in. He’d seen it all before and would rather “knock our heads together” than put up with “bullshit.”
Although he’d never exactly definedbullshitother than talking about drama and other adolescent behaviors, we got the message: if we had a beef with each other, we needed to deal with it ourselves. He was only there to make sure we got to where we needed safely—including onstage—and to keep things running smoothly.
So I figured I was going to hear something about being irresponsible and disrespectful—and on our first night, no less.
But when he entered, I was still hovering over the trashcan as my stomach stopped heaving, and I wiped my chin. I knew it was just nerves and not some kind of stomach bug because I instantly felt better, though weak.
“Are you all right?” Mick asked, his voice unusually soft.
“Yeah…I just, um…I think I’m a little nervous.”
“It’s your first show. It happens. Can I get you anything?” he asked as he pulled a tissue out of the box on the dressing table.
