Center Stage - Chapter 4

After a day spent in LA, mostly just sightseeing, it was time to get started with the reason I was really here. Thankfully, the rehearsal phase of the tour was on the same lot where we had filmed everything, so at least it was easy to find my way around. I still had to go through the normal check-in procedures at the guard stand, where the guard seemed completely bored by it all.

Between that and how the Late Show had gone, it was easy to not get a big head. Of course, this was a studio lot where movies and TV shows were filmed, so I’m sure he got to see all kinds of famous people. I might have done okay on a reality show, but I was still small potatoes. It was helpful to remember that after all the hoopla at the airport.

He directed me to a different stage from where we filmed the show, but I found it right next to the stage where we’d filmed the show, so at least I was going to know where everything was. Our first show was here in LA on Monday, but we had rehearsals scheduled pretty much straight for the next three days, I guess so everyone knew where they needed to be and what was going to happen.

Which I was glad about. My gigs, it was just us up on stage playing, but if this was anything like the show, it was going to be much bigger and managed. There were about fifteen or so of us performing, so there was going to be all that to deal with.

One of the PAs checked me in and sent me to a holding area to wait.

I made my way through the corridor, following signs put up for the performer holding area, when I turned a corner and almost ran headlong into Phoenix West. He was looking at his phone and I’m not sure he even saw me until I twisted sideways to avoid smashing into him. He looked up with a scowl that shifted into something unreadable as he saw me.

For a moment, we both just stood there, staring at each other. I hadn’t seen him since the meeting at GLR where I’d turned down his contract offer, and to say we’d left under not great terms was an understatement. Still, he was also the executive producer of the tour and someone I’d have to deal with, so I gave him a polite nod. The contract business aside, it didn’t do to burn bridges that I didn’t have to.

“Charlie,” he said, his tone completely neutral. “It rust you’ve been well?”

“Yeah, thanks. It’s good to see you again.”

“Indeed. I imagine you’re excited for the tour. It’s a wonderful opportunity, especially for someone just starting out.”

I wasn’t sure if that was a crack or not, and was about to respond when he said something that made it very clear what he was getting at.

“Of course, long-term success in this industry requires making wise choices. Surrounding yourself with the right people, signing with the right label...”

Ah. There it was. He was definitely still mad about me turning down his offer.

“Absolutely, it’s why I’m so happy with the people I have around me,” I agreed, trying to sound as non-confrontational as I could manage.

Phoenix hummed noncommittally. “Well. I suppose time will tell. If you’ll excuse me.”

With that, he walked away, head dropping back to look at his phone. I just shook my head and continued on, wondering if every record label was run by assholes.

I put im out of my mind as I entered the holding area. I hadn’t seen a full headcount of everyone that was coming, but this was a larger number than I expected. They were all familiar faces, although I didn’t get particularly close with any of the finalist.

It wasn’t just finalists, though. I also spotted two of our judges for the show, Dakota Rayne and Dexter Heart. The pair made a b-line for me when I walked in, direct enough that I actually turned to see if Phoenix had doubled back and come in behind me.

“Charlie Nelson, as I live and breathe! Get over here, sugar, and give me a hug.”

I awkwardly did as she ordered and stepped back, feeling a little self-conscious. The judges had all been very nice, but we hadn’t had any kind of relationship. They’d stayed separate from the contestants except for judging performances, so having them be buddy-buddy all of a sudden felt weird.

I couldn’t get a sense off of either if they were being friendly, or if this was some kind of ploy. Not that I thought they were being nice to use me, but neither had had a hit in quite a long time, and after the thing with Hayden, I was starting to second guess my interactions with anyone famous.

“It’s good to see both of you again,” I said. “How’ve you been?”

“Oh, you know me, just keeping busy,” she said with a wink. “Been in the studio, working on some new material. Gotta keep the fans happy, right Dex?”

“Indeed we do. Actually, I hear you’re doing quite well. I swung through Nashville last week, and a friend of mine mentioned you’d played a pretty big show out there. They said it was amazing.”

“Really? I’m glad they thought so. My manager’s been getting calls since the show, but that was my first time out since the finale. I know a lot of people were there because of it, and I wanted to give them a good time, with it just being me and not the whole shebang we had on set.”

“From what I heard, you absolutely did.”

“Listen, Charlie, I’ve been talking to the producers, and I’ve got a little proposition for you,” Dakota said. “I don’t know if they mentioned it, but Dex and I are joining you all on the show, getting out from behind the judges’ desk and having some fun with the rest of you. While we’ll both have spots right before you go on, I was thinking, how would you feel about doing a duet with me, to kind of bridge from when we finish to when you start? I’d then head off and let you finish the show with the big finale, but I thought it might be some fun.”

“Really? Yeah, that’d be great.”

Dakota may not have had any big albums recently, but she was still a huge name in the business and had gold records going back from since I was born. If she wanted to sing with me on stage, I would do it.

Besides, while I preferred classic rock, country wasn’t a far stretch for me.

“Excellent. I’ll talk to the producers and get it all set.”

“It’ll be good for both of you,” Dexter said. “A little boost, if you will. Lord knows we could all use one these days.”

Dakota waved off his comment. “Oh, hush, Dex. We’re not dead yet. And with fresh talent like Charlie here, the future’s looking bright.”

An awkward silence fell over us for a moment before Dakota clapped her hands together.

“Well! We best be off. Dex and I have an appointment with the producers to make sure they don’t give away our good spot. You behave yourself, you hear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, smiling back as the two left.

Dexter wasn’t wrong. I know he meant it as a self-deprecating dig, but doing a set each night with Dakota would help give me a boost, since she still had an audience that would come out to see her if, even if she wasn’t the focus of the tour. I might be riding high, but I was still a minor player in the industry, so any boost I could get would be worth it.

I started looking around and saw Mariss and Dillion standing together. Mariss saw me at the same moment.

“Hey Charlie,” she said, waving me over.

While the only person I actually made friends with on the show was Cole, Marissa and Dillion were both okay. Dillon had struggled, but Marissa was a heck of a musician.

“How’ve things been?” I asked, making my way over to them.

“Good. Started booking more gigs after the show, which was great, and stuff a lot bigger than the coffee house open mics I’d been doing. I actually got booked as the opener of this big outdoor venue in Tucson. There were almost fifteen-hundred people. It was a rush.”

“Man, puts mine to shame,” Dillon said. “I got offered to play at a bar and it went pretty good, but there were maybe a hundred people there. A far cry from fifteen-hundred and miles from being on the Late Show.”

“I know, I saw that,” Marissa said. “How awesome was that.”

“It was weird. Don’t get me wrong, it was an amazing experience and I can’t believe how lucky I’ve gotten, but it was nuts. The whole thing is scheduled down to the second and producers and whatever are constantly moving you from here to there. I was so busy trying to be in the right place and not screw up, but the time I looked up, it was all over.”

“You seemed pretty comfortable on the couch with Hayden,” Dillon said.

“I really wasn’t. I mean, him on one side and a movie star on the other. I can’t even remember what came out of my mouth. I was fighting for my life.”

I tried very hard to dance around some of the stranger things that had happened, the way I was kind of ignored by the host and how everything we see on TV feels completely phony once you see it made. I knew I had it good, and I didn’t want to seem ungrateful or like I was throwing it in their faces. It’s why I hadn’t mentioned any gigs I’d had. I’d gotten my first real, thousand plus venue last year, and I knew how amazing that had felt. The last thing I wanted to do was take the wind out of her sails.

“Poor baby, with the life of the rich and famous,” Marissa said.

“Hey, I’m not complaining. I just meant it was kind of wild.”

Whatever Marissa was going to say next was covered up by a frown as she looked past me. I turned to see what had shut her down, and was shocked to see Vince Fiore and Larry Walsh. Neither had made it past the prelims, and I hadn’t expected to see either there. If it had just been Larry, it would have been a nice surprise.

Vince, however, was a completely different story.

I ignored Vince and waved Larry over.

“Larry! What are you doing here, man? I thought you got cut in the prelims.”

He grinned, clapping me on the shoulder. “Charlie, good to see you. Yeah, I did. But apparently a few people dropped out last minute, so they brought us in as an alternate. Lucky break, huh?”

“Well that really worked out for you. Glad to have you with us.”

Vince didn’t take the hint of my just talking to Larry, because he made his way to us and said, “Nelson. I see you’re still riding that winner’s high. Enjoy it while it lasts.”

“I see you got lucky, made the cut for backup players,” I said, and then winced.

Larry made a face as I said that. I hadn’t actually meant to include him in the dig, but he was in the same boat as Vince, and so could be considered a “backup player” himself.

“Please.” He rolled his eyes. “Everyone knows you winning was a joke. You’ve got one sound, and it’s tired and played out. I swear to god, how the judges ever got fooled by your fifteenth ‘stripped down’ version of a song, I’ll never know. I’m guessing they finally figured out they needed to get real talent for a live show, and brought me back to make up for their biggest mistake.”

“Come on, Vince,” Larry said. “The show needed some last-minute replacements, and you got lucky. That’s all there is to it.”

Vince sneered. “Keep telling yourself that, Walsh. We all know I’m here because I deserve to be. Unlike some people.”

He shot a pointed look in my direction before walking off. I just shook my head, turning back to Larry.

“Some people never change, huh?”

“Ignore him, man. He’s just bitter. You killed it in the finals and everyone knows it.”

Both Dillon and Marissa seconded his sentiment. I wasn’t worried about Vince, but it was nice to know some people had my back.

“Thanks guys. I really just want to be done with the drama and focus on the tour.”

As if on cue, a PA entered the room and called for our attention. It was time to start rehearsals.

***

Unlike every other time I’d performed in Los Angeles, this time I wasn’t on some theater inside a soundstage. They’d sent a car to my hotel, and we’d pulled into the parking lot of the Hollywood Bowl just as the sun was going down, backlighting the classic white shell in a golden hew.

It was breathtaking. This was also going to be by far the largest venue I’d ever headlined. I’m not sure, for raw numbers, anything would be the Times Square New Year’s Eve Show, but I’d been early on the ticket, which was a far cry from headlining. My largest show where we were either the only performers or the headliners was twenty-five hundred people. The Hollywood Bowl held a whopping eighteen thousand, and it was sold out.

And better yet, I was at the top of the ticket and would be playing last. True, this was a tour show and not me or my band on the sign, but this was a big step up for me. No doubt about it.

After spending almost five minutes in the back stage parking area, I finally went inside. As with every large show, people were running everywhere, organizing and getting things set up. I was halfway through the door and saw Vince on the far side of the the rear hallway. Thankfully, all the signs pointed us in the opposite direction. I don’t know what he was doing down there, but at least I didn’t have to go past him.

We made eye contact for a moment, and then I turned and walked away, not wanting to let him ruin this moment for me. The afternoon passed in a blur of soundchecks and last-minute preparations. Before I knew it, the sun was down, and the seats out front were starting to fill up. I peeked around from backstage and saw an endless sea of faces. Well, not endless. The design of the bowl made it so people weren’t spread out like they were at more field-type outdoor venues like the one we’d played in Charlotte.

The sound check had been amazing. I’d never played a place with acoustics like this, and it really lifted my voice to another level.

“Five minutes to showtime,” a stagehand called out. “Places, everyone!”

I hadn’t been nervous for a show in a long time, but I was tonight. I could feel that old knot that I had the first few times I’d ever performed back. I hadn’t even felt it when I went on national TV, but this was something else. My first big headlining show at one of the most iconic venues in the country.

This was a “I made it” kind of moment.

The MC made the announcement, and then the lights went down as the music started over the speakers. This was a group number, with more dancing than real singing, which was new for me. All weekend they’d run me through the steps, and I still wasn’t great at it.

I know I did some pop music, but I wasn’t that kind of singer. Still, we all had to do it, and I was far from the worst of us. The curtain rose, and we launched into the choreography, all singing this song written just for the show. It was about contestants on the stage, and a bunch of us got name-checked, where we’d come out, sing a little part by ourselves, then fade back into the group. Honestly, it wasn’t a great song, but the crowd seemed to love it. 

The song ended to thunderous applause, and most of us went offstage as they started the first rounds of duets made up of all the people who didn’t make it past the semi-finals. Already not great for those singers, since a duet didn’t generally let you shine like you’d normally get to, especially considering the songs they had to do, which were mostly covers. They didn’t have time for a band to rehearse everything, so anyone not doing a song from the show had to do popular covers. The crowd loved it, but it cost those performers a chance to show who they were, which would mean most of the audience wouldn’t seek that artist out to buy their music or see their shows further down the line.

Vince and Larry both ended up in a trio. I felt a little bad for Larry, since this would have been a good break for him, but I couldn’t help but feel a little smug that Vince had the same fate. Not that I was going to say anything.

Then it was time for all of the finalists but me. Marissa was the only finalist I actually knew, and as usual she killed it.

Before I got to go on, it was Dexter and Dakota’s turn. Dexter went first and showed why he’d been a big hit for so many years. He played three songs, two from his old stuff that the crowd really got into, and one from his newest album, that had flopped. Unfortunately, the crowd kind of checked out for that one, which isn’t what any singer wants. If it were me, I’d read it as a sign that I wasn’t making the right choice, and switch back to my old style.

He still got a good applause at the end, which turned into a standing ovation as Dakota joined him for their duet. They’d chosen to do a cover of a poppy ballad, since neither would have done well in the others genre. They were both absolute pros though, and made it look easy, like they’d been singing together for their whole lives.

Then it was Dakota’s turn for three songs, which she’d switched back to straight country. Unlike Dexter, she stuck to the classics, and the crowd seemed to really respond to it. And then I was up. My first song was an pop-country ballad that we could both pull off. We only rehearsed it once, but that had gone well and there had been enough stuff with my own sets to work out, mostly involving me saying no over and over every time they tried to add choreography.

It wasn’t that different from what I’d done with Linda Chapman during the competition, trading verses off and then harmonizing on the vocals. She had an amazingly high range, so it worked well. I was usually a little hesitant with harmonies, since I’m a straight tenor with a limited bass range. If paired with an alto, we tended to run into trouble getting the really sweet spot. 

When it was over, the audience jumped to their feet, cheering and clapping, which always feels good.

Dakota pulled me into a fierce hug, both of us breathing hard. 

“Thank you, LA!” she shouted into the mic. “And a big thank you to Charlie Nelson! This kid’s gonna be a star!” 

I blushed a little at that. She hadn’t done that in rehearsal, and it hadn’t been on any of the pre-scripted stuff. With a final wave, she released me and jogged offstage, leaving me to do my five songs and finish off the show.

When I started my set, I knew I was coming off the duet with Dakota, so I started with “Country Road.” Being a ballad, its tempo was close to that of the song she’d picked for us.

Unlike the other acts, I was an unknown, performing an original song since I didn’t know if we were mandated to perform covers or if the other performers simply didn’t have their own music. I now knew that everyone performed GLR songs, likely for licensing reasons. GLR was sponsoring the tour, so that made rights and any royalty payments easier to manage, and they could pay the label back as a license. Since I wasn’t signed with the label and my performance wasn’t in the original contract—probably because they didn’t think someone would win and decline the offer—Warren and Benny had more leverage when negotiating the tour’s details.

In the end, I agreed to perform one cover of a popular GLR song as my last number and forgo royalty payments for the performance. It would’ve been a nice check, but Warren felt the exposure at a venue with such a large crowd was worth more. I was still getting paid for the actual performance, and Benny got over it, even though he acted like Warren was demanding his firstborn. 

The crowd seemed to enjoy the song, swaying and holding up their phones like they do at slow songs.

Then, I transitioned into “Backstage.” Since the cover I’d picked was fast and challenging, I figured that if I was going to play someone else’s song, I’d make it worth their while by showing what I could do.

It got the crowd on their feet, so it did its job.

By the time I reached the cover song, which would be my last for the night before the big finale—when all of us would sing a still universally loved seventies classic, the only non-GLR-licensed song of the night other than my own—I was riding high.

I looked back at the band to start the count. The drummer started the beat, and then there was a really loud bang—not in the stadium but just outside of it, maybe a block away. It sounded like thunder or a bomb going off. It was so loud. A beat later, there was a flash of light, mostly obscured because I had just turned when the blast sounded.

Then, everything went dark. The music cut out abruptly. Emergency lights were the only source of light, illuminating the stage edge and the crowd walkways. A low buzz of noise started as everyone tried to figure out what happened. I saw more phones coming on, shining on the faces of their owners as they tried to figure out what the hell had happened.

“What’s going on?” I stage-whispered to the band.

Before anyone could respond, a PA hurried onto the stage, looking flustered. Thankfully, there was just enough emergency lighting to keep her from tripping over any of the cables that stretched across the stage.

“We’ve got a power outage affecting several blocks in the area,” she said, sounding understandably frustrated. “The light company already has a crew headed to check on it, but they don’t have an ETA yet.”

“What about backup generators?” I asked.

“We have some,” she replied, “but they’re really only enough to run the emergency lighting and backstage essentials. Not the full PA system or stage lighting. They said they should know more in about ten minutes if power can be restored or not.”

I wasn’t worried about the show exactly, but the crowd was starting to get restless, the excited energy from moments ago quickly dissipating and being replaced by boredom. A few jeers started, since they didn’t know this wasn’t our fault and no one from the tour itself had come out to say anything.

“Do you guys know anything acoustic?” I said to the band.

“I know Black Dog Moan,” the drummer said. “You thinking about doing it acoustic?”

“Yea. Just to keep these people going until the power comes back on. The acoustics here are amazing, or so I’ve heard. Not everyone will hear it, but if I really belt, most will, I think. You guys are going to have to sit this one out, I guess,” I said to the keyboardist and bass player, since neither could do much without power.

That wasn’t a GLR song and might cause problems down the line, but someone had to do something.

“We can’t play either way, so fine by me,” the bass player said.

“Could you go find me an acoustic guitar backstage?” I told the PA. “There’s probably one somewhere and it will keep the crowd from rioting.”

The last part seemed to convince her and she dashed off while I made my way to the front of the stage and held my hands up.

“Hey everybody. Hey!” I called out, not yelling, but projecting the way Mr. French had always told us. “So there’s been some kind of accident just outside the stadium and power will be out for a little bit, but they’re working on it. While we wait, since you guys paid to hear some music, I thought I’d switch up some songs and do something acoustic. How’s that sound? Clap if you wanna hear something?”

The audience cheered and clapped, enough at least that I took it as approval. The PA came out with an acoustic guitar she found somewhere, I gave the sign to the drummer, and we got going. The crowd went wild as I started and they realized what I was doing, but quieted down fast, probably so they could hear.

I belted like my life depended on it, enough that even with keeping control, I knew I was going to have a sore throat in the morning. And then people started singing along, which solved the no one being able to hear part of it. By the time we hit the last verse, the entire venue was singing, and it was beautiful. There’s something powerful about thousands of people all singing together that makes such an amazing sound all to itself.

The cherry on top was, as we finished, the lights all came back on as the power was restored.

I moved over to the mic and said, “Guys, that was amazing. Next time I’m on tour, you’re all hired as backup singers. Now, give us five minutes to get the show back on track, and we’ll finish this with a bang.”

What a wild first night.