Center Stage - Chapter 7

I’d played LA, I’d played New York on New Year’s Eve, and I’d played all kinds of clubs and venues across the south. None of them prepared me for what playing in Vegas was like.

It was like stepping into another world, where everything was neon-lit, smoky, and loud. While most people back home would consider that a bad thing, there was a kind of energy to it like I’d never experienced before. I don’t know if it was because of the high style all around or just everyone convinced they were going to get rich, but there was almost an infectious attitude on everyone I met.

As far as venues went, this wouldn’t be the largest I’d played. The Colosseum at Caesars Palace held just over a fourth of what the Hollywood Bowl held, less even than the venue I’d opened for House of Grace at. But what it lacked in head count, it made up for in spectacle. The venue itself was a marvel, everything Roman themed with marble and giant pillars. Every third thing was gold, or at least painted gold, with thick red carpets and a staff member in any direction you turned.

It was going to be hard to top this experience, that was sure.

Even with all the glamour, they didn’t skimp backstage. One of the things about the Hollywood Bowl was, as classic of a venue as it was, a lot of the electronics had been outdated and old, feeling a little jury-rigged. Here, everything was top of the line, new, and fancy. I couldn’t even tell how to work half of the equipment they had, not that I needed to. The venue staff made it very clear we weren’t to touch anything. Apparently unions are big in Vegas and even plugging something in needs a union guy to do it.

I had a vague memory of someone, maybe dad or someone I met at one of his shows, talking about how Vegas had been created by the mob, or for the mob, I wasn’t really sure. If TV shows were to be believed, that maybe had something to do with unions being involved. Of course, maybe not. This was the problem with being an okay student who gets most of his facts from prime time television.

All I knew was, it was intense.

I mostly tried to stay out of the way of the venue people, roadies, and stage hands as they got everything set up with last-minute adjustments.

The front of the show went about the same as it did the previous weekend, minus the power outage. We did the intro song, the groups of finalists, and then Dexter went out and did his set, and that all went great. Things started to go off track when Dakota came out for her duet with Dexter and her solo songs. She mostly held it together for the first duet, or at least Dexter was enough of a pro that he covered for her. The first real signs of trouble were during her solo performance, where she completely missed a high note, and everyone heard it. She kind of recovered after that, but the crowd was a little on edge.

Dexter was pissed when he came off stage, muttering something about “at it again” before storming off, followed by yelling from a side hallway a minute later. I couldn’t hear what was said over the music, but he was definitely not happy. I tried to look to one of the producers to see what I should do, but she just waved me forward as Dakota finished her song, not leaving me a lot of choice.

I got out there and we started our stage patter. She was slurring her words a little and, now that I was up next to her, I could see her pupils were the size of dinner plates, dilated all the way out. I knew what that meant. Dad was a drinker normally, but he’d occasionally get into something heavier at a show, and come back completely out of his mind. His eyes looked just like Dakota’s did now.

I tried to give her a ‘you good’ look in between our lines, but she didn’t even notice. And then we launched into our duet.

It was a train wreck. She was missing notes left and right, making it almost impossible to hit harmonies. I tried to adjust, but she was all over the place, even on the same note. She flubbed her second verse so bad I had to jump in and make it a two-parter, singing along with her, trying to make it seem like part of the plan.

She didn’t even notice, just kept on going.

I was happy when the torture finally ended. To say the response was bad was an understatement. It’s tough to have five thousand people staring at you, completely stone-faced, with a few pity claps thrown in to make sure you understood how bad the reaction was.

Dakota started staggering off stage, to the point two production people ran out to help her make it back alright.

“Well, that was something, wasn’t it,” I said to no response. “How about we pick things up a little bit. I normally play a country song coming out of that, but I think we need a little bit more energy if we’re going to close this show out right. It might just be time for a One Night Stand.”

I looked back at the stage band to make sure they were with me. I hadn’t just picked that song because of the tempo. We’d been playing around a little bit and talking during rehearsal the day before. I can’t even remember how the song came up, but during some downtime I played a bit and showed them some of the parts. At the time it was just musicians goofing around and having fun while we waited for the tech crew to work something out on their end.

Thankfully, these guys were pros and that was all they needed. I wouldn’t say it was my best rendition of that song, but after what had just happened, it probably sounded like a masterpiece. By the end of it, people were up dancing around and having a good time again.

Which was a very good thing, considering what I had planned next.

“Before we continue, I want to take a moment to recognize some special guests here tonight. The Saunders family is here, joining us all the way from Los Angeles.”

I gestured to where they were sitting, a spotlight finding them in the crowd, where Mrs. Saunders managed a nervous wave. The kids’ eyes were huge. At the moment, this was probably terrifying, but they were going to go back to school on Monday telling everyone they headlined a Vegas show.

“For those who don’t know, Mr. Saunders was involved in a serious accident last weekend. A car crash caused the power outage during our show at the Hollywood Bowl. Mr. Saunders, the driver of that car, suffered a heart attack at the wheel. A tragic accident that put him in the hospital for a week, ruined their only car, on top of the surgery he needs to repair the congenital problem with his heart.”

I’d talked over the details I’d give the crowd with Mrs. Saunders the day before when she’d confirmed they were coming to the show. My concern was that people tend to get a little judgy, trying to find a way an accident was someone else’s fault, especially when those people were asking for money. I wanted to make sure they all understood her husband did nothing wrong and shouldn’t be blamed for a cruel twist of fate.

“He’s facing a long road to recovery, and like too many hardworking folks, his family is struggling with the burden of medical bills on top of lost wages. It’s a story I know all too well growing up. One bad break can upend everything. Which is why the Stage Finalists Tour and I have partnered to set up a HelpingHands page for the Saunders family. Information on the campaign is in your show booklets, on the tour website, and on my website. Every little bit helps, whether it’s five dollars or five hundred. If you can spare anything, I urge you to give. And to show that this isn’t just lip service, I’m putting my money where my mouth is. My earnings from last weekend’s shows, every penny, is going directly to the Saunders family to help them weather this storm, along with a matching donation from GLR Records, our fabulous sponsors tonight.”

While that was true, I was still paying Lyla and Seth and refused to let them throw in. Until we got distribution set back up, they were essentially living off of what I made here, and I didn’t actually need the money since I lived with Mrs. Phillips. It was essentially true since it was every penny I was making, and explaining it would just ruin the message. And Phoenix got his shout out, which was his due for allowing this to happen on stage.

There was a smattering of applause as the spotlight moved off of Mrs. Sanders. Not a ton, but enough. I hoped it was a sign that we’d start to see some traction for them.

“I want to thank you upfront. This is what music is about, bringing people together, lifting each other up. We’re all in this together, and together, we can make a real difference in people’s lives. Now, with that taken care of, let’s get back to some music, shall we?”

The audience cheered, for real this time, as I launched into Backstage.

The rest of the show finished up well, with no other disasters, although Dakota was noticeably absent from the final number. The crowd seemed to be having a good time again, with a huge round of cheers as we did our final bow.

Backstage was absolute chaos, people running around, yelling into headsets. I made my way back to my dressing room, turning a corner into a group of paramedics and a gurney outside the door to Dakota’s dressing room, which was next to mine.

“What happened? Is she okay?” I asked the dozen or so people gathered around, crowding the paramedics.

I knew she was on something, but dad had done that a fair number of times, to the point of not being able to walk, and hadn’t needed medical attention. He’d been good after a full night’s sleep.

“She’s having a reaction to something,” one of the PAs said. “They’re taking her to the hospital.”

Even as she said that, I saw them pulling the stretcher into her room and load her up on it. We kind of followed them out into the larger area only stopping as they wheeled her out the loading bay doors to an ambulance waiting out back.

“I saw her with Vince earlier,” Dillon, who’d just come up to stand next to me, said. “Saw him give her something.”

“What? Are you sure?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but now...”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” a voice said behind us.

I turned and saw Vince standing there, looking annoyed. Well, Vince and pretty much everyone else on the tour. The crowd had seriously grown at this point.

“Bullshit. I saw you give her something. What was it? You need to tell them so they know what to treat her for,” Dillon said, with a lot more passion than I’d ever seen him put into his actual music.

“You want to accuse me of something? Let’s go, right here.”

“Whoa, hold on. This isn’t going to solve anything,” I said, putting myself between them.

It wasn’t until I got close to Vince, separating them, that I noticed his eyes were pretty wacked out too. He wasn’t having the same reaction as Dakota, but he was definitely flying.

Before it could go any further, Phoenix and several producers were hurrying over, probably wanting to do damage control.

“What’s going on here?” Phoenix demanded.

“Dakota’s on her way to the hospital,” I said. “Dillon says he saw Vince give her something earlier.”

Vince scoffed. “That’s bullshit. I didn’t give her anything.”

Dillon jabbed a finger at him. “I know what I saw.”

“Vince, you’re as high as she was. Look at your eyes. I’m surprised you can even stand,” I said.

“You’re about to be the one having problems standing,” he said, balling his hands into fists.

If that wasn’t proof, I don’t know what was. Being aggressive was one thing, but doing it in front of the people running the show was something else entirely.

“Guys, let’s cool off for a minute,” Phoenix said.

I turned to Phoenix. “Look, that set with Dakota was bad. Really bad. It’s going to hurt the tour, and Vince is just as high. I know how much money you guys have sunk into this tour, and I’m telling you he’s a liability.”

At first, Phoenix didn’t say anything, just looking between us. Considering it was his money tied up in this, I was surprised he was so reticent to do anything about it. Vince was good, no doubt, but he wasn’t worth this kind of mess.

“You trying to get me kicked off the tour, Nelson? You piece of…” He started to say, making a threatening motion toward me.

“See?” I said, interrupting him. “This is what I’m talking about.”

“I’ll take care of it,” he said shortly. “Vince, with me. Now.”

For a second, it looked like Vince was going to argue. But then he clenched his jaw and spun on his heel, following Phoenix down the hall.

“You know they signed him just after the show, right?” Dillon said next to me.

Well, at least that explained why he was here even though he didn’t make the finals and why Phoenix was bending over backward to accommodate him.

Seems jerks still get all the breaks.

***

Monday morning, instead of sleeping in before a mid-day flight back to North Carolina, I was up by five in the morning after a red-eye flight that got into LA just six hours earlier, exhausted as hell.

While I was all for doing publicity and getting my name out there, this was more than I really wanted to handle. Not that I had a choice, the show producers pulled me aside Sunday night, asking me to go onto Sunrise Edition this morning. I didn’t really watch morning TV, but they were the second biggest morning show in the country with very large daily audiences. I had put them off, tempted to say no, but then Warren called and told me I needed to do it. The producers had been cagy about why they needed this last-minute addition, but Warren explained it. There had been a lot of coverage from Dakota’s meltdown Saturday night, and the show was trying to get in front of it.

She’d gone on to miss the rest of the weekend, with the show snipping her part out, and having me do a duet with Dexter at the end of his set and then going right into mine. Since it had gone over well and Dexter was more rock than country, I’d switched out my first song to “One Night Stand,” for those nights. They’d told me she’d be back the following weekend in San Francisco, though.

So, as little as I wanted to be up this early going on no sleep, if they felt this could help Dakota in some way, I’d do it. I also couldn’t help but notice this was yet another NBN show. I hadn’t realized it, when I’d been on the outside looking in, how insular everything was. How these media companies owned one of everything and kept their people in-house.

While it was cool to go on shows I’d seen, or at least heard of, there were other shows on other networks, and I looked forward to the day I got to go on one of those instead.

Like with the Late Show, I didn’t get to see the hosts beforehand, but this didn’t seem personal. They started recording at five in the morning. My start time was at six thirty, and there was no way I was getting up here before I had to. So they were on the air when I arrived and was given a small dressing room to set up in.

The thing they had in common with the Late Show was that the place moved like a well-oiled machine. At six-twenty, they moved me up to a spot offstage and had me out as soon as the hosts threw to commercial. They had multiple tags set up, like one for the hosts’ talking area, a cooking area, a place for the band, that wrapped around in a semicircle, so I was actually pretty far from the hosts when I went on stage.

There hadn’t been time to set up anything for this, so I was just doing a solo version of County Road. I’d done that before and while it wasn’t the best way to experience the song, enough people had seen ‘unplugged’ shows in the past to get the gist of what was happening.

I heard them come back from commercial in my earpiece, followed by a woman saying, “Fresh off his incredible win on The Stage, please welcome Charlie Nelson!”

That, and the lights coming up on me, was my cue to start. I’d played this song literally hundreds of times by now, in performances, not even counting practice, so even tired, I didn’t have any problem with it. It also helped that I’d performed all weekend, including less than ten hours before, so I felt good and warmed up.

The crowd was pretty mellow, a far cry from my normal crowds, but that worked with the unplugged vibe and everyone seemed to enjoy it. When I finished the song off, I got a friendly if not enthusiastic round of applause from the crowd, after which they threw to the weather guy, I guess to give me time to make it all the way over to their section of the stage for the interview portion.

They sat me at this small table with really tall chairs, with the three hosts arranged so they were facing me and the camera positioned like an extra member of our intimate gathering, able to see all of our faces. They even gave me instruction on how I needed to sit so they could see my face properly.

Since I hadn’t actually met them, at least officially yet, and I didn’t want the show, I had only a vague notion of who they were. I knew one of them used to play for the NFL and had won some awards before retiring, and he wasn’t hard to pick out since Emerson he was twice the size of the other two. Which was at least enough to know who I was talking to each time.

The weather guy finished and this a little bit older but still absolutely drop-dead gorgeous blond woman, and only woman of the three co-hosts, transitioned us back from the weather guy and said, “That was an incredible performance, Charlie. Such an amazingly heartfelt song.”

“Thanks, Lena. I wrote it for my best friend a couple of years ago, and so it really means something to me.”

“Well, it really shows through,” Rafael, the third co-host, said. “Now, as much as we love your music, there’s another reason we wanted to get you on this morning. Social media has been absolutely buzzing with talk of Dakota Rayne’s performance Friday night and disappearance for the rest of your Vegas shows. I know our audience is dying to hear if you have some insight into what had happened there.”

While I doubted he ‘loved my music,’ or really knew who I was before I was booked for the show, I appreciated the sentiment before transitioning into the real reason they brought me in.

“Well, Friday night’s the easy part. A lot of that falls on me. While the Colosseum isn’t the biggest venue I’ve played, it was certainly the most over the top one, and I was a little caught off guard. Thankfully Dakota helped carry me a little bit, but clearly not enough for everyone to notice. I guess that’s what happens when they decided to bring the kid on tour,” I said, laughing at the joke.

They smiled along with it, but it was also clear they didn’t completely buy what I was saying. The producers had a story about her coming down with something during the show, which would work for the other nights, but couldn’t explain how off she’d been on Friday. I knew for a fact there was video of it, and people wouldn’t be fooled. I wasn’t sure my explanation would work that much better, but it was the best I’d been able to come up with between when Warren had told me what was going on and now.

“But she missed the next two shows entirely, didn’t she,” Emerson asked. “What’s the story there?”

“From what I understand, she caught something and is under the weather, although I didn’t get a chance to talk to her except a little after the show Friday night. As you know, we still have a show in San Francisco next weekend, so the producers believed our best option was to pull her for two shows and give her the week to recover, in order to protect her voice. I’ve been assured that she’ll be back on stage next weekend, which I’m very grateful for. I don’t have a lot of chances to perform with greats like her, and I would have hated to have it cut short. Not that singing with Dexter isn’t just as fun, mind you.”

“Well, certainly hope she makes a speedy recovery,” Lena said. “That wasn’t the only big news from your weekend show, though. Was it? Let’s talk about the incredible thing you did for the man injured outside the Hollywood Bowl on your opening night.”

“I’m not sure how incredible it is. The Saunders are good, hard-working people who just caught a bad break. I’ve been lucky enough to know them, and they’re truly great folks. Where I’m from, when a neighbor is down on their luck, everyone comes together to help them out. Fate brought Mr. Saunders into my life in an interesting way, so I felt like I kind of had to step up and do my part. I will say, this is just the start, and they’re going to need a fair amount of help. If you go to the tour website, or my own website, which I hope your amazing graphics people can put up on the screen somewhere, you’ll find a link to a donation campaign we’ve set up for the family, to help Mr. Saunders get the heart surgery he needs to correct the congenital problem that ended up causing the accident.”

“Spoken like a true role model, Charlie. We’ll make sure to put that up on our own social media and get the word out,” Emerson said.

“Great. If we all come together, we can really make a difference.”

“We’re all connected in some way,” Emerson said. “That’s a great message to spread. So, what’s next for you after this tour, Charlie?”

That was the first thing they’d asked that I hadn’t been prepared for.

Well, once this tour wraps up, I’m hoping to find new distribution for my first album, Country Roads. It’s a project that’s really close to my heart, and I want to make sure it reaches as many people as possible and maybe start working on a second album.”

“You were previously under a different label, but left them just before the show, right?” Rafael asked, surprising me with how well researched they were for a last-minute booking.

“That’s right. You know, finding the right fit is tough and that’s how it goes with the music industry. I was lucky enough to hold on to the rights of my album though, so there’s still a chance I can find a home for it.”

I kind of whitewashed over what happened with MAC, hoping they hadn’t researched enough to find out how that story ended.

“Other than that,” I continued quickly, just in case they had. “I’ve got a bunch of tours lined up with my band across the South. We’re really looking forward to hitting the road, and hopefully meet some of the people that got to know me from the show, or from shows like yours. Tour dates will be on our social media and on our website.”

I added that last part quickly, which got a chuckle from Emerson, “Very smooth.”

“If I’m not willing to shamelessly promote myself, who will?” I said.

“Too true, brother. Too true. So, anything beyond that?”

“Who knows? I’m just trying to stay in the moment and enjoy the ride. But I’m always writing, always creating. So there will definitely be more music to come.”

Lena turned to the camera. “You heard it here first, folks. New music and tours on the horizon for Charlie, which you can apparently learn all about on his website and social media. We’ll be right back after this short break.”

As the cameras cut and we went to commercial, Lena and Rafael got up, heading off to prepare for the next segment. To my surprise, Emerson stayed behind, turning to me.

“I meant what I said earlier, Charlie. It’s really good to see young people like you taking their opportunities and using them for the good of the community.”

“Thanks.”

“You know, I did something similar when I first got out of the league. I set up numerous charities to help out the people in my hometown of Detroit, trying to help raise up my community. If I could give you a word of advice, for a washed-up old ballplayer, it’s important to remember where we come from and the values that shaped us.”

“I couldn’t agree more, and I’m really trying my best. I know I’ve been given a unique opportunity, and I don’t want to waste it. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for the people who stepped up and helped me, so it would be wrong if I didn’t turn around and try to do the same thing.”

“Good man,” he said, giving me a slap on the shoulder that felt a little like being hit by a bus. “Keep it up, Charlie. You’re on the right path. Don’t let the noise of this industry distract you from what really matters.”

“I won’t. I promise,” I said.

He gave me a warm smile and then headed to catch up with the others as they started counting down to some kind of cooking segment.

Maybe not everyone in Hollywood was bad.