Page 1 of The Fire and the Roar

Chapter One

1989 - Isi

I blew them a kiss.“Y’all are the best! Thank you, Clove!”

Teddy and Len sniggered, cursing behind me on the small stage as dull clapping rose in the bar.

Yeah. Clove, Nebraska, you suck.

In the winter, playing clubs, bars, and small theaters was pretty great compared to the outdoor festival shows with huge raucous crowds which were our norm in the warmer months. A smaller audience offered a different energy and required different, and that was fun. After all these weeks and weeks on the road, we knew how to deliver.

But tonight, at this saloon in Nebraska? The audience seemed fed up with life. Indifferent. Bored. Not much enthusiasm for Isi and the Silver Tongues. Can’t win them all, I guess. We were a good time. At least we thought so.

Whatever. We’d given it everything we had here tonight. Wasn’t that enough? Maybe I was the one who was tired. Fed up.Lonely…

Oh, I was lonely, all right.

Don’t go there. Not right now.

I was holding myself together like a patched up sail on a boat. One tear, two in those sails, and I’d be a goner. Stuck at sea. The band and I had been at this a while. We’d been on the road for a couple months, playing venues large and small, opening for other bands. We were in this for the long haul. We’d learned to deal. But dealing didn’t mean you didn’t feel disappointed and pissed if it all didn’t go your way, one night, two nights.

My shoulders slumped. I felt as if I’d been carrying the weight of all of our expectations for the past ninety minutes. Now it was over, but there was no relief. No release of tension. Only new tension.

I blew the audience a final kiss anyhow. “Good night now!”

“Ah, Little Mary Sunshine,” said Stewart, our drummer, who came up alongside me as we tracked off the stage.

“I try.” And they all appreciated it, that was a fact.

He twisted a stick in his fingers. “You always do, Is.” He slung an arm around my neck. “You’re a nut.”

“And proud of it.”

In the hallway leading to the communal back room, the bar manager thanked our manager, Phil. “Folks round here don’t get out much in the winter, so an occasion like your band playing here puts everyone in a good mood.”

“Oh yeah?” said Phil, his tone tinted with brittle sarcasm. So brittle, the other man missed it completely.

“We’re glad you came,” the man said, shaking Phil’s hand. “We’d love to offer you each a beer on the house if you like.”

Phil must have been dying inside. Len and Teddy only scowled as they packed up their guitars. Rick rolled his eyes, muttering to himself as he dealt with his keyboard and equipment. Barely anyone came through these parts of Nebraska in the winter, but we were desperate for gigs. They were the best opportunities to hone our sound, our songs in front of a live audience, all different kinds of audiences. Nothing better. Always on the move.

At least, I had to be always on the move.

“That’s real kind of you,” said Phil. “But I think we’re going to get back to our motel. Everyone’s real tired, right, you guys?”

“Oh yeah…” I said, fake yawning. Phil winked at me.

We all packed up our shit, and I plopped onto an old vinyl-covered chair in front of the huge mirror, wiping at the black eyeliner that had smudged under my eyes. One of the waitresses appeared, handing a bottle of booze to Rick.

“Here, take this. Enjoy. It’s on me.”

“Thanks, babe.” Rick gave her “the look” coupled with the warm, growly way he uttered the word “babe”…yeah.

She blushed, her eyes brightening even more. “You guys were amazing. My name’s Mary Jane, by the way.”

“Hey, Mary Jane,” said Teddy, siding up next to Rick, the two of them staring at her curvy chest under her tight bar T-shirt.

We drank, passing the bottle around. Bottom line whiskey if ever there was, but what the hell. Len was being interviewed by some young girl, who had a tape recorder mic up in his face, following his every move. She kept the questions flowing, her eyes shooting to a small notepad, and he answered each one with a sly smile or a scowl. She didn’t look much past a teenager. High school newspaper, maybe? Junior College? She kept inching closer to him. His teeth scraped at his bottom lip, one eyebrow rose.There…

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