Page 6 of The Librarian and the Rock Star

“Oh yeah – how did you find out?”

“My friend Tara is the audio tech here,” she said proudly. “She sent me a text during their soundcheck and swore me to secrecy.”

I looked at her, somewhat stunned. “I have to say, I am really proud of you for not posting this online.” Sherrie is usually a gigantic gossip, both online and off.

She rolled her eyes. “I know what you’re thinking. But I didn’t want to take any chance of the show being mobbed with too many fans, and shut down.”

“Yeah, that’s reasonable.”

We finally made it through the line and through security. I was embarrassed to realize that the burly guard touched me more than any man had in well over a year.

Sherrie led the way through the crowd, and I followed carefully behind. We passed the soundboard, and she paused to catch Tara’s attention. She was obviously too busy to chat, just gave Sherrie a big smile and wave.

Finally, we were in the center of the throng, and I was reminded of my slight nervousness of mobs. These were friendly people, I told myself, and it was only a few hundred. Nothing to panic about. I planted my feet and took a few deep breaths.

The old stone building practically rumbled from anticipation. The air was electric, like ten minutes before a thunderstorm. Groups of people kept bursting into laughter, and whispers, and shrieks, as the entire crowd tried to deduce which band was coming on.

Someone thought it was The Carter Brothers, because of the drums. Somebody else thought it was Evil Green Squid because of the guitar rig. Someone else thought they recognized the monitor tech at the side of the stage.

Gossip swirled around us like tornadoes and kept dying out. Sherrie looked at me knowingly and pressed her lips together in a firm grin. She always loved to have inside information, and for once she actually did.

“Should I tell them?” she asked.

“Absolutely not,” I said. “If it’s supposed to be a surprise, let them have it. And if by some chance you’re wrong, it could break somebody’s heart.”

“You’re right,” she nodded, then suddenly laughed. “See, you really do have all of the answers. One of the advantages of being a librarian.”

“Funny,” I said, “I was telling someone that in a back alley just yesterday.”

She looked at me, alarmed. “What…”

The lights went out except for a dim blue haze. Sherrie grabbed my hand and pulled us forward as the crowd surged, finding any openings she could drag me through until we were only about five rows of bodies from the edge of the stage.

People were shuffling around the instruments, and as close as we were, I don’t think anyone could recognize the band yet. But then I heard a shriek of recognition, followed by a few more, and an excited rumble of “Vegas Mud Disco” flickered through the crowd like wildfire just before the kick drum reverberated through our chests. The guitars began to wail and the stage suddenly bathed in light in a flood of red and purple.

Sherrie squeezed my hand and was practically jumping up and down. It was amusing how excited she was, and I was struck by the look of intense joy in her eyes. Then I looked straight up into the gorgeous face of the nervous boy I saw in the alley yesterday.

7. The Secret Show

The music was dark and hard and raw, and I actually liked the vibe. But then he started to sing, and I felt my bones rattle.

His voice was otherworldly. A low growl that should only be made by an animal. But he didn’t quite have that aggressive swagger that many singers had. His persona was more sincere. Then suddenly a clear, ringing tone that was the voice of a poet, begging people to listen. As if he really wanted everyone to understand what the song was about, and hear every word.

Sherrie squealed into my ear, “Aren’t they amazing?”

“Yeah,” I said loudly. “Who’s the singer?”

She glanced at me with a smirk. “I know, right? He’s beautiful. That’s Jack Vegas.”

Trying to listen to the poetry of the lyrics, I found myself continually drawn back to Jack’s face. But it was more than that. He was tall and powerful, and somehow took up the entire stage at once. That tight black T-shirt was working overtime trying to show off every ripple of muscle. His movements were feline and feral, strange and unexpected. He kept singing directly at various people in the crowd as if he knew them and wanted them to hear a particular line emphatically.

I realized that I was backing away from the stage so that the lights along the edge wouldn’t catch my face. An impostor like me shouldn’t be here in the first place. I didn’t want him to see me, but wasn’t sure why. I’m naturally nervous around guys, but this wasn’t a guy. He was obviously a rock star.

Three songs later, I was finally able to relax enough to listen to the full band properly. The drummer was a powerhouse who varied between basic classic rock drive and complicated prog rock fills. The bass player was hilariously goofy, making weird faces and bouncing around, and also knew when to underplay and when to overplay.

The guitarist was a typical pretty boy, making eyes at the girls every time he put a foot up on the monitor to show off his soloing skills. But between rounds of strutting, he focused on an amazing chug that propelled the music. Jack’s vocals held everything together in a strange dark blend.

It was all quite hypnotic and overpowering, a complete energy shake up for me that apparently I desperately needed. Sometimes I forget that live music can transport you to a completely different realm.

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