Faith Gardner - Violet Is Nowhere

THE JOLVIX EPISODES

Well, looks like I get to check something off my rock-star bucket list, and Im not even a rock star yet: this morning Ive woken up in a bed I dont recognize with no idea how I got here.

I prop myself up on an elbow, brain foggy, head hammering, the spins taking me on a nauseating carousel ride. Its daytime and the light hurts my eyeballs. My mouth tastes the way diesel smells.

I lie back down.

This rings like a hangover, but Im not usually a big drinker. I can barely remember last night though. A gap of time is missing between the show I played and somehow ending up here, in what looks like a cozy cabin and what is definitely not my condo. Above me, a wood-paneled ceiling with dark swirls and a skylight displaying a puffy cloud. Lovely. But not my ceiling. I squint through the air dancing with dust.

Hello? I call out, my voice a croak.

Silence.

Im alone.

Okay, this isnt funny. Did I slam a bunch of cocktails and go home with someone? Thats the most hopeful scenario I can spin right now. Dread swells at the thought that maybe some creep slipped something into my drink. But Im usually so careful. I buy my own. Never accept favors from strangers.

I close my eyes. Focus, Violet. What can I remember?

Last night, I played a show with Violet and the Black Sheep. I remember loading equipment back into the van with Benzo and Lila when it was over. They were giving me the silent treatment because I talked to a rep from Maxam Records earlier in the evening. Maxam was looking to set up a meeting next week with me alone and I, traitor, agreed. Benzo and Lila thought I was trying to cut the Black Sheep out of a possible record deal with a major label, which come on. I was simply trying to seize an opportunity, one I would have turned into something huge for all of us if theyd given me the chance. I guess theyre sick of every success we have, every news article that picks us up, every mention we get, being about me. Curse of the frontwoman. Is that what this is about? Did Benzo and Lila lock me up somewhere to teach me a lesson?

Benzo? I call out. Is this a sick joke?

More silence.

From my horizontal position, I take it all in. This looks far from anywhere Benzos goth ass would ever set foot in. And its too drab for Lila and her adorable vintage taste. And its not like either of them have the money to be renting out vacation rentals or whatever.

This place is something from another century: wooden walls; a table with a chair that could be handmade; a trapezoid-shaped window with bars on it next to the door; a kitchenette of some kind in the corner; and what looks like a doorless, closet-sized bathroom. In Silver Lake, someone would probably slap a label like rustic chic on this baby and call it a luxury rental, but Toto, I have a feeling that were not in Los Angeles anymore.

Its minimal but well kept. No gadgets, no TV, no robot vacuums, no smart speakers. Not a ton of evidence of life here either. Theres a cardboard box beneath the kitchen table. My eyes focus on a plaque hanging on the wall that says Home Sweet Home . Id marvel at the irony, but Im too busy trying not to barf.

Hello? I call out again. Id love to know where the fuck I am. Anyone?

I take it slowly this time. Use my hands to push to an upright position and notice, with a little alarm, that my black-painted fingernails are ragged.

What happened?

Did I climb a cement wall, get in a fight?

Standing up, Im also extremely sore. My worry amps up. One aching step at a time, I embark on the slowest, shortest marathon the world has ever seen, that gold doorknob gleaming like treasure.

Its okay.

Were cool.

I cant remember why Im here, but Ill soon be on my merry way and figure out how to get home.

After the painful few feet to the door, I clasp the doorknob and turn it, ready for the click of a release. Instead I feel the stick of a lock. I jiggle it harder and harder, desperation mounting.

Nope.

Not budging.

Stunned, a wave of weakness washes over me and I slide down to sit on the wooden floor. Five days a week Im running miles on end and here I am making a journey across a cramped room, barely able to stay standing.

This is not good, and that is one hell of an understatement.

Blood pounds in my ears like the thump of a kickdrum. When I wipe sweat from my forehead, its faintly purple on my fingertips. Apparently I didnt rinse the dye out too well. Cute. Working hard on steadying my breath, I take this weakling minute on the floor to go over what I can remember.

Okay. Rewind, replay again. The show last night, our weekly residence opening for Lady Lithium. Awesome time. Packed house. The lady from Maxam set up an appointment for me to come in on MondayViolet sans Black Sheepthen later, the argument backstage with my bandmates. Does all that have something to do with this? I dont remember much after that except packing up our gear and getting into Benzos van. But locking me up in a cabin seems a tad much, even for a six-foot-six drama queen like Benzo. And Lilas sweet as a bunny rabbit.

Focus. Ive got to focus. There has to be a reason.

I use the doorknob to pull myself back up to a standing position. Stars twinkle my vision and disappear. I hobble to the window, acrylic, two-paneled and shaped like a house. Theres a hook and eye latch that I undo to swivel the window open, examining the thick jailhouse-style bars. I try to ignore the panicked thought that Im locked up in here. I cant flip out yet.

This cant be as bad as it looks, it just cant.

A warm breeze reaches in and blows my cheeks. Oh, to feel the wind right now is like drinking cold water after walking in the desert. But outside, its unfamiliar land. Its not my urban neighborhood or anything like it. Theres nothing but tall, thirsty grass and a faraway grove of oaks. Beyond that, low, dark mountains piebald with green patches of woods. No houses, no people anywhere in sight. Not even any animals.

I reach and grip the iron bars and hold them, shake them, but they dont budge.

Hey! I scream, as loud as I can. My throat feels screamed raw. Anybody hear me?

The tall grass hisses with wind.

Hell-ooooooo! I yell, voice breaking.

I cock my ear to hear anyone, or anythinga highway humming, the drone of nearby voices. But no.

Shit! I yell, kicking the wall with a bare foot. What is going on?

The light bulb in my brain pops: what if, somehow, Ive ended up on one of those shows where they suddenly surprise you on camera and you get a prize for your humiliation? Psyched Out, is that what the show on MTV 6 is called? Someone in a band I played with once was on it. There could be hidden cameras here. Hilarious! Must-watch TV! Witness singer/musician Violet Wilde lose it when she wakes up in the middle of nowhere! There could be cameras hidden all over the place. Im beginning to think this is the most logical explanation when my eyes land once again on the cardboard box underneath the table. I noticed it before but didnt think to open it.