From the Top - Chapter 42

The van dropped me off at the hotel, and I checked in. I was hungry and thinking about getting something to eat, but other than a quick text to tell Kat I’d made it okay, I hadn’t talked to her since the night before.

I dropped my bags on the floor of my hotel room and pulled my phone out of my pocket.

“At hotel. Finished production meeting. About to grab dinner. Call you later.”

My phone buzzed almost as soon as I hit send.

“Hey,” she said when I answered. “Glad you made it there okay. I’ve only got a minute before class, but I wanted to hear your voice.”

“Yeah, the meeting just finished up. Everything’s about as expected, except we only get an hour to practice with the band and I don’t really have anywhere to practice on my own before tomorrow’s rehearsal. Really cuts down my practice time.”

“You’ll be alright,” she reassured me. “You know the song backwards and forwards by now. Other than getting your accompaniment in shape, you don’t have anything you need to practice. So get some rest tonight and don’t stress yourself out too much. You’re ready for this.”

I was actually ready. I knew what songs I’d do for the semi-finals and finals and had spent a lot of time working on them in the weeks since we got home from the prelims. Seth and Lyla had both really helped me work out the kinks in them, and it was a shame I couldn’t just bring them with me, but I guess they had to even everything out to make it fair.

“Okay, I’ll try,” I chuckled. “What’s your evening look like?”

“I gotta get going actually. I have swim practice soon and then I’ve got my last study group at eight to review for my finance final. But I’ll call you later tonight when I’m back at the dorm and finished up, okay?”

“No problem at all. I’m just really happy to have heard your voice. It’s made me feel better already. Good luck at practice and the final tomorrow too! Call me whenever you’re done with everything.”

“Thanks. And stop worrying so much. You’re doing great. Go get dinner, have an easy night, and try to relax. I love you.”

“Love you, too,” I said, hanging up.

I stared at the phone for a minute, just thinking. She wasn’t wrong, I had gotten into my head and being off by myself like this wasn’t helping.

I grabbed my keycard and headed down to the lobby.

“Hi,” I said to the lady at the front desk when she looked up. “Are there any good places to eat around here? I’m new to LA and not sure where to go.”

“Oh, lots of great places,” she said brightly. “But if it’s your first time in LA, you should check out the Venice Beach boardwalk area. It’s not that far away and it’s a real experience. Great people-watching and lots of funky little cafes and shops.”

“Okay. Thanks,” I said.

I was about to turn and wander out of the hotel to try and figure out how to get there when she took pity on me and gave me directions to call a rideshare service, and twenty minutes later I was being dropped off near the entrance to the bustling oceanfront walk.

The boardwalk was crowded with an eccentric mix of street performers, tourists, locals out for a stroll, and vendors hawking everything from knockoff sunglasses to tie-dyed clothing. Surfers emerged periodically from the water, wetsuits peeled down to their waists and boards tucked under their arms. It wasn’t all that cold here, even though it had started to snow back home, but it was November and the water had to be chilly. I couldn’t imagine jumping into the cold Pacific water, but they seemed unfazed.

The sights, sounds, and even smells were so different than I was used to back home. While not technically my first time, they’d kept us locked down between the studio lot and the cast house last time, so this was my first chance to see LA proper.

This was bright and energetic in a way nowhere I’d ever been was.

I made my way down the boardwalk, dodging a rollerblader and stopping for a second to see a busker doing some modern pop number underneath a big palm tree that sounded pretty good, actually. Couples posed for selfies, backdropped by the neon-lined shops.

As much as I wanted to wander the boardwalk watching all the stuff happening, my rumbling stomach reminded me that I hadn’t actually eaten anything since the small bowl of oatmeal I’d made myself at four-thirty that morning when I got up.

I spotted a small, crowded cafe advertising organic bowls and decided to give it a try. The prices on the menu made my eyes bug out. No wonder everything was so skinny here—you’d have to be rich just to keep from starving. But I only had a protein bar on the plane, so I sucked it up and ordered a bowl with quinoa and veggies.

Finding an empty patch of railing overlooking the beach, I leaned against it and dug into my food. Seeing the weird food the lady behind the counter handed me, I was surprised that it was actually pretty damn good, even if it barely qualified as a snack in my book. I watched the people wandering by as I ate, still marveling at how different everything was.

I’d expected it to be different than Wellsville, but I also had all the places I’d traveled to with my parents when I was younger, when Dad was going from gig to gig. That had included some pretty decent-sized cities, so I had some other comparisons beyond small-town Appalachia. I’d also gone to New York that one time, which had been kind of like those other cities I’d gone to with Dad, just... more.

This, though. This was its own world. It was like stuff you see in movies when the characters are at the beach before something crazy happens, just in real life. People here were colorful, flamboyant, and, apparently, completely carefree. It was interesting to watch.

I finished up my food and considered getting another, since it had barely quashed my hunger. At forty bucks for a small cardboard bowl, it wasn’t worth it. Instead, I headed back onto the boardwalk and just kind of wandered around, watching all of the people. The sun was starting to go down, painting the sky in brilliant hues of orange and pink that were breathtaking. Even with evening coming on, the boardwalk wasn’t slowing down. If anything, the crowds seemed to be getting a little thicker as people came out to enjoy the evening air.

I’d circled my way back around to the busker I’d noticed earlier. I paused to listen as he seamlessly segued into a Nora Clint song. Her range was really high, but he’d done a good job pulling it down into his range. The musician part of my brain couldn’t switch off as I watched him play. His guitar work was solid and his tone rich and emotive. He had some real talent.

When the song ended, I dug a five-dollar bill from my pocket and tossed it into the open guitar case lying at his feet, eliciting a nod of thanks. He took a long drink from a water bottle as I turned to go, but then called out to me.

“Hey man, you play?”

I glanced back, caught off guard by the question. “What makes you ask?”

He grinned, fingers idly strumming his guitar. The crowd had started wandering off during his last song, so it was mostly just the two of us talking at that moment.

“I saw you watching my left hand on the frets. Musicians tend to zone in on technique.” He raised an eyebrow. “So, do you play?”

“Yeah, a little,” I admitted.

“Very cool. What kind of stuff?”

I rubbed my neck self-consciously. “Mostly classic rock, with some country and pop thrown in. I have a band back home on the East Coast.”

“Right on,” he said. “It’s been pretty dead tonight and I’m bored as hell. Wanna throw down a few songs?”

My first instinct was to decline, but then I thought, what the hell?

“Sure, sounds like fun,” I said, moving to stand next to him at the mic.

The guy held out a fist. “Name’s Jesse.”

“Charlie,” I said, bumping it.

“Nice to meet you. So, Charlie from the East Coast. What do you want to play?”

I pondered for a moment before a bluesy riff I knew popped into my head. “How about some Ragwater? You know any?”

Ragwater was a classic rock band my dad loved growing up. Lyla wasn’t crazy about their sound, so we didn’t cover them often, but I liked to play their stuff when I was warming up on my own. As guitar parts go, it’s not challenging, but they had two singers and did a lot of back and forth, so it would work for the two of us. They even had some harmonies to really throw us a challenge.

Jesse grinned widely and said, “Hell yeah, I know ‘em. Used to play a ton of their stuff back in the day.”

He shuffled through his songbook, selecting a Ragwater classic called Bridge Over Tuesday.” He looked over at me and I gave him the thumbs up. That was one of the songs Dad liked, so I’d heard it, and played it, a lot.

“You want the first verse?” Jesse asked.

“Sure.” I stepped closer to the mic and Jesse counted us in.

As he strummed the opening chords, I came in singing the first verse. My voice blended nicely with Jesse’s higher range in the chorus harmonies. We played off each other well, trading off verses and ad-libs. A few people paused to listen. It wasn’t my best work ever, but we hit a groove that happens when the music is really good and by the end, I’d started to shake things loose and get more into the pocket.

As the final chorus faded out, a smattering of applause broke out.

Jesse thanked the audience and said, “You’ve got some pipes on you, man!”

“Thanks, although I’m more of a guitarist than a singer usually.”

While that wasn’t completely true, since I led most of the vocals in my band, I still preferred playing guitar, even when I was singing.

“No kidding? Wanna trade for a song then?” he asked, holding out his guitar to me.

“Uhh, sure,” I said, taking it and pulling the strap over me. “It’s not classic rock, but do you know The Long Kiss by Nightshade?”

It was the first song I’d played with them in Nashville last year when I got the chance to cover for Brad. Since then, I’d played it hundreds of times, partly because I liked the song and partly because it kind of let me relive that moment, which had been amazing.

“Yeah, I know the words, but I don’t think I have the tabs,” he said, rifling through his music.

“It’s okay. I know it.”

“Oh, then sure, let’s go for it.”

It opened with a solid guitar riff, which was absolutely part of the reason I picked it. It would be a lie to say I didn’t want to show off, and this really let me showboat. As I tore through the opening lick, Jesse broke out in a huge grin and even whooped at one point before almost missing where he was supposed to come in.

He did a reasonable impression of Eli, and we really did this one a lot better than the last song. He leaned down at another guitar break and turned up the speaker a little bit, which I hoped wouldn’t get him in trouble. It did start to draw people in with people walking from a little ways down to find out what the music was. By the time we finished, we had a good-sized crowd and someone yelled, “Another!”

He looked at me and I shrugged and went into another Nightshade song. After a second, he started bobbing his head, which I took to mean he knew this one too.

We finished the song and I stepped back, flexing my fingers. Two fast, back-to-back songs like that could cause them to cramp slightly, which is why I usually did a small bit of patter in between each song.

“Another?” Jesse said as people from the crowd started dropping more money into his guitar case, piling up a lot more than he’d had there a minute ago.

I almost said yes, because I was having so much fun, but I looked at my watch. I’d been away for two hours and I still had a big day ahead of me. I also wanted to be back at the hotel by the time Kat called.

“Sorry, man, I have to get headed back,” I said, pulling the guitar strap over my head and handing it back to him.

I felt a little bad, because the crowd we’d built started to disperse a little, but I didn’t want to jeopardize my chances for the next day just to have some fun.

“Oh, hey, no problem,” he said, taking the instrument back. “You are amazing. Like, you really shred.”

“Thanks.”

“Anyway, it was nice playing with you. Really shook things up,” he said, reaching down and starting to stack all of the money from the guitar case. “Man, we really raked it in, and I think most of that was because of you. If you want, we could split some of this.”

He held up a couple of tens someone threw in. I was actually surprised. This was the guy’s livelihood, and here he was offering me a cut of it.

“Nah, you keep it. I just came down here to grab some food and wander around. Playing was fun.”

“You sure?” He waggled the bills. “I insist.”

“Positive. If you really want to pay me back, I’m actually competing on a TV singing competition tomorrow night called ‘The Stage.’ If you watch and vote for me, we’ll call it even.”

Jesse’s eyebrows shot up.

“No way, really? I knew you could sing, but damn. Okay, yeah, I got you.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it.”

“Good luck, dude! Knock ‘em dead.” He held out a fist. “It was great playing with you, Charlie. You ever back out this way, look me up! I’m out here like five days a week.”

I bumped his fist. “For sure, man. Take care of yourself.”

With a wave, I headed off down the boardwalk. I felt lighter than I had all day. Playing music just for fun, no stakes or competition, reminded me why I loved doing this. Lately, my life had revolved around career moves which, while important, took away from what this was all really about.

I needed to remember sometimes, it could just be fun.

***

The next night we were all backstage, trying to stay out of the way as production people ran this way and that, a clock on the wall counting down unstoppably to the beginning of the show.

It had been building to this performance for a month, but I actually felt pretty relaxed. I don’t know if it was actually having some fun the night before or that my practice went well, but I felt in the zone, like this was another performance in front of a crowd just looking for some good music.

I could see some of my competitors didn’t feel the same. Poor Dillon had to run to the restroom twice. While his strategy of staying in the middle had done him well in the prelims, now it was time to put up or shut up, and the nerves had finally hit him.

They had us well back, so no one could see us, but we could still hear the crowd out in the theater, and it sounded like a lot of people. And then it was time to start. The house lights dropped down, and there were a couple of minutes of murmuring from the theater as everyone sat in the dark, only partially lit by the giant screen at the back of the stage.

They were opening the show with a surprise special guest, although it wasn’t until that moment I saw who the guest was, as Laila Carlile, a rising pop star, walked past and onto the stage to get into position for the show to start. I wasn’t a huge fan of her music, but she was wildly popular at the moment, and a big get for the show.

She was in position, head down, arms straight and crossed in front of her, looking more like a dancer than a singer, as intro music came on and spotlights began swooping around the theater.

It looked like, instead of starting with the announcement of the show and Dexter coming out, they’d opted to go right in with a musical number. Sure enough, the intro music ended, and the spotlights all swooped in to point directly at Laila, who burst into song on cue.

Her breathy vocals filled the theater as she belted out her latest pop hit. I wasn’t the biggest fan of her sugary brand of pop music, but I couldn’t deny she had serious pipes and stage presence. The crowd was already on their feet, dancing and singing along.

Laila strutted across the stage, working the audience into a frenzy. Her dance moves were impressively choreographed as she led her troupe of backup dancers through complex routines. The crowd was eating up every second.

After a final soaring high note that she held for an impossibly long time, Laila froze in a dramatic pose as the music cut out abruptly. The crowd leapt to their feet, the applause thunderous. Laila smiled and waved as she exited the stage, production assistants appearing immediately to guide her away.

A few moments later, Dexter Heart emerged to another round of enthusiastic cheers. His familiar blond locks shone under the lights.

“Welcome, everyone, to the semi-finals for ‘The Stage’!” he proclaimed. “We have an exciting show for you all today with amazing performances and all the drama you could want as we decide who’s going on to the finals Christmas night and who’s going home. For seven of our contestants backstage, this is the end of the road. From here on out, there are no more gimmicks, no more challenges or advantages. It’s up to each singer to come out here and deliver their biggest and best performance yet to show us what they’ve got!”

“Now, let’s meet your judges,” he said dramatically. “Please welcome, straight from her sold-out world tour, the fabulous Dakota Rayne!”

Dakota stood from her spot at the judges’ table wearing a fringe-trimmed leather jacket and white cowboy hat, waving a well-manicured hand.

“From New York by way of London, the founder of the American Record Company and discoverer of more top talents than I can name, please welcome industry legend Mr. Hal Steiner!”

Hal rose from the judges’ table, buttoning his suit jacket and nodding formally to the ecstatic crowd.

“And the lovely producer extraordinaire, Lexi Durant!”

Lexi half-stood and gave a wave. Instead of her normal business-sensible pantsuit, she looked like she was headed to a cocktail party, and her dress looked tight enough that she probably couldn’t stand all the way.

“For everyone watching at home, you’ll see a phone number come up as each contestant plays. When you call that number, you’ll be casting your vote for that contestant, just remember some charges may apply. You can also go to our website or on any of The Stage’s social media accounts to find more information to cast your vote for your favorite performer. The cutoff to vote is Thursday, five PM Pacific time. Now, I think that’s enough from me. I bet you’re all ready to get to the performances. So let’s give your judges and contestants a big hand as we get started with The Stage semi-finals!”

The audience cheered and hollered as the spotlights swooped around again and the light over the judges’ table dimmed.

Marissa, who was shaping up as my biggest challenge, was first up. The stagehands gave a signal, and she walked out on stage, getting into place. She picked a pop-country track I recognized from the radio that was a good choice for her. She had a powerful voice that could really hit those big, power notes, letting her project a lot of emotion into a song. Not quite diva-esque, I think, because of the country twang she put on it, she still really could pull out a showstopper.

She also had a lot of stage presence, which is where I was at my weakest. I tended to stay in one place, move a little to the left or right, but that’s it. She wasn’t doing a full choreographed routine, but also wasn’t far from it.

The crowd was clapping along, completely enraptured. Marissa had chosen the perfect song to showcase both her vocals and fun personality. Honestly, her performance was flawless, something the judges pointed out as she finished, and they gave their comments. It was a very high bar to cross.

Dillon had less of a good night. He also went more pop than I’d heard him do before, going with a soft, melodic ballad. Maybe he was hoping to get more emotion or presence in his song than he’d had with the more rock-inspired stuff he’d been doing so far. He started off well, his voice smooth and with a good flow, but he hit a rough patch as the intensity ramped up and he tried to hit some of the power notes, his pitch wavering as he couldn’t quite reach them.

I could see on his face he knew he hadn’t made it. He had the same problem on the next set of big notes later in the song, getting close but not quite hitting them. I didn’t know if the audience picked up on that specific problem or not, and the rest of the song was fine, but the applause when he finished was polite, at best. The judges weren’t as harsh as they had been in the earlier rounds of the competition, but they were still critical.

He looked completely defeated as he came off stage. I think he knew his competition had ended here tonight.

I was slated to go last, which I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing and a vote from the producers, or if they’d screwed me. On the plus side, I’d be the last thing people would hear before going off to vote, but being last also meant I was going to be compared to every other performer who went before me.

I watched as performer after performer went up. None topped Marissa’s performance, but some did really well and were going to be hard competition. Others did around the same as Dillon, and even a few had even more problems. One poor guy went for a big note at the end of his song and missed it entirely. He was a full half-step under where he needed to be, sounding wildly off-key.

And then it was my turn. I made my way out in the dark, careful not to trip over any of the cords that ran everywhere as you got just offstage, and found my mark in the center. I’d gone for just drums and a bass as backup again. I’d practiced this song with Lyla and Seth enough that everything was worked out to our trio, and I didn’t want a larger band getting in the way.

The lights came on, and I started singing The End of the Blues, Willie’s last song that Keenan had given me to finish. He’d been wrong about it only being half-done. The song was amazing and mostly just had to be updated to fit my style since I tended more modern. Even with that, I could feel Willie in every note.

It just sounded like him.

“Silas Johnson was born in the heart of the Delta, where the smokestacks rise like the devil’s own,” I sang, putting extra gravel into my voice to really push that blues feeling.

I closed my eyes, picturing the weary scene as bittersweet lyrics about Silas and the dying age of acoustic Delta blues. Folks headed north, lured by rumors of a better life, and the music was going with them, becoming something different. Faster and with less soul.

I let myself get lost in the melancholy melody, channeling the aching sadness Silas must have felt watching his world slip away. The audience was completely still, enraptured. As I moved into the soaring chorus about the blues nearing their end, I added more drive and urgency to my playing, channeling my grief over Willie into the music.

I’d decided, as soon as I made it into the finals, that this was the song I was going to do first. If I went out in this round, I wanted the world to hear Willie’s last song. He’d been such a great man, but like Silas in the song, he’d been stuck in the past. He never got played on the radio and never toured outside of the Deep South. It was the world he knew and the one he loved, but also one that ensured most people would never know his name.

I wanted to make sure that didn’t happen. Everyone should hear his name once. Know what a great man he was.

Towards the end, I finally opened my eyes as the instrumental pulled back, leaving the last line to stand almost on its own.

“He put away his six-string and let go of the hymn, ‘cause times are changing and they ain’t never comin’ again.” As the last notes faded, the theater fell silent. Then the applause started. At first scattered, then growing louder and more enthusiastic until everyone was on their feet, clapping and cheering thunderously. I let out a shaky breath, overwhelmed.

“Charlie, that was really something,” Dexter said, leaning forward intently. “Tell us about that song. It’s very different than what your competitors did here tonight.”

“It was the last song my mentor, Willie Johnson, wrote before he passed away. He played blues on the Chitlin Circuit back in the ‘50s, and I think it was a reflection of what he saw in his time, as music changed. He’d been working on it for years, but sadly he never got to finish it before his passing, and his family gave it to me, to finish it and help keep his music alive. Of course, it’s different than Willie would have done it, but I tried to keep as much of that raw blues feeling as I could. I think Willie would have liked what I did with it.”

“Well, you did him proud, Charlie,” Dakota said. “That song tells a real story. Makes me think of some of those old story songs from back in the early rock n’ roll days. It’s got that timeless quality but still with a foot solidly in today with how you arranged it.”

“I agree,” Hal said. “It’s rather masterful the way you blended those two styles. Most young musicians today have completely left traditional genres behind. But you’ve shown there’s still power and depth to be found by fusing modern and classic.”

“I just wanted people to hear Willie’s song,” I said. “To me, the lyrics and melody were already perfect.”

“Maybe so, but it takes real talent to showcase a song like that properly,” Hal replied.

“Thanks,” I said.

“Well, now that we know your mentor played the blues, it makes a lot of sense where that powerful yet raw edge to your vocals comes from. That blending of rock, pop, blues, and country is something I don’t think I’ve heard before,” Dakota said. “You’ve really made it your own signature style.”

“I have to say, Charlie, that was nothing short of amazing,” Dexter concluded, glancing between the judges who were all nodding enthusiastically. “Truly fantastic work. I hope the audience at home does the right thing tonight and puts you through to the finals where you belong.”

“Thank you,” I said, walking off stage as Dexter started wrapping up the show, telling people again how to go about voting.

I wasn’t even listening, torn between feeling excited over how well I felt I did and overwhelmed at having played Willie’s song.