Page 12 of The River in Spring
“Thanks. Yeah.”
And then the lights dim and the room explodes in applause and whistles. Shit! I just made it. An exceptionally deep voice from offstage interrupts the excitement.
“Ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together for your favorite band, the pride of McCandy’s, the reason you came out in the cold … MONTANA!”
Four guys come onstage to applause and whistles of the crowd. They’re young. Everyone looks that way to me at this point. Two carry guitars and walk out playing the intro to their first song. It’s a Stones song. We are being teased. That guy I noticed on the billboard is better looking in person. And close in age to Dove. Great news. I smirk.
Whoever dressed him took into account the guns. A tight, white shirt shines a spotlight on them for the ladies. Bracelets are stacked on each wrist. He winks at the blonde sitting closest to the stage and bites his lip. The girl is practically wiping the drool from her face. The guy she’s with touches her arm and says something in her ear. Uh oh. Is there going to be an argument?
The other guitarist is dressed to blend with every other band member across the last seventy years. Jeans, a faded T-shirt, the obligatory scarf wrapped loosely around his neck, as if he just threw it on last minute. Kind eyes and a shy smile greet the room.
The drummer is a hard-looking guy, who I picture having a mugshot. He takes his place and doesn’t look at the audience at all. Drums sound the beat, and he becomes lost in the music. A tall long-haired guy, wearing jeans and a green velvet shirt, stands at the keyboard scoping the faces in the audience. He points to a couple of people a few tables from the front and gives them a nod followed by a grin.
Da da. Da da da da da da da da…there it is. Oh yeah!
Final notes of the intro sound as Dove walks out onstage, singing the opening lyrics of “Jumpin’ Jack Flash”. When she sings she was born in a hurricane, it lights the audience. The level of excitement rises in every one of us. Hell yes, woman. Wow! In a beat I’m a crazy fanboy. There’s a sexy rasp to her voice. A sultry ache.
The look, and the way she moves across the stage, connects with the audience. Fuck. What is she wearing? It’s a great choice. The long golden gown is body hugging. The tight sleeves, the top half of the dress poured over her, then flowing and see through from the thighs down. It follows her every move like a trailing mist. The loose wavy hair and the gown match, and a thin ring of gold stars sits atop her head. Looks beautiful. Like an angel. A Sexy. Fucking. Angel.
Is she looking in my direction? No. That was wishful thinking. Scanning the room, it comes together. The men are mostly in the same frame of mind as I am. They all think she’s looking at them. We are held captive to Dove’s appeal like worker bees to the Queen. All happy just to be around her.
There’s a table of four guys who are moving with the music. If I’m not mistaken, and I’m not because one guy just made eye contact with his tablemate and blew him a kiss, they are gay. Their excitement plays out differently than us drooling heterosexuals. It’s the men in the band they’re lusting over and the woman whose beauty they appreciate and love.
The women around the room are moving to the beat. Whentheydo it, it looks cool. Arms in the air, dancing in their chair, always feeling the tempo. It is organic for them. But for us guys, things can be very different. I was not in line when they passed out rhythm. I look like a big dork dancing. But if ever there was a time to be inspired, this is it. So, I tap my foot and rock in my seat. Just so I don’t look like there’s a stick up my ass.
When the song ends, Dove speaks to the audience with an ease that can’t be learned. She’s a natural and comfortable in her art. The band plays a background accompaniment.
“We are so happy to play for you tonight! We’re Montana!”
The applause grows as she walks to the bass guitarist. Mr. I Know I’m Hot.
“Give it up for Tony Taylor!”
The women respond as expected, which prompts Tony to play a riff and bite his lip again. She blows him a kiss. Dove lifts an arm in the other guitarist’s direction.
“You know Oscar Rodriguez! Send him your love!”
Another great reaction, but this guy doesn’t feed on praise. His head lowers with his smile.
“And what about Jimmy Dinkins on the keyboard?”
He makes eye contact with the people in front and sends a salute in response to their whistles and cheers.
“And I know you love our drummer, Z.Z. Casper!”
The ten second drum solo and the response from the crowd makes her point.
“And I’m Dove Solomon,” she says, touching her heart with a bow.
Now the sound grows to an eardrum blasting level.
“Let’s get moving, shall we?”
The time passes quicker than anyone in the crowd wants. This band cannot be pigeonholed. They played rock and country. They did oldies and some original songs. The keyboardist and bassist sing too and the voices blend well. There was a funny bit introducing her grandparents’ love song. The lighting on stage dimmed, and Dove got serious. She layered the sweet moment by sharing she was raised by them, and what their relationship’s successful union was built on. She says they shared a love song that inspired them for over fifty years.
Then the long whine of a guitar sounds, and familiar chords let everyone know what’s coming. An anthem for every generation since the sixties. Dove calls out, “Wild Thing!” It’s a rallying call that prompts everyone to start singing along. I’m grinning like a crazy man. This is very cool, and it gives me a peek inside her upbringing and the things that shaped her.
About an hour in, she spots me. The acknowledgment she sends with her eyes and soft smile land in my heart. And then, as she takes a seat center stage, the words of Faith Hill’s “Breathe” are directed my way. It’s not that I’m so sure of myself, or that I’m reading too much into things. It’s the strange feeling that swept through me when our eyes locked. Like a gentle wind.
