Benjamin - Eric: A Clean Billionaire Romance

Eric

M y fingers, calloused from years of plucking guitar strings, dance against my thighs with anxietythough Id never admit that out loud. Im the face of this band and theres no room for doubts. Not today.

Somewhere behind me, I can hear James riffing quietly on his bass. The lime green instrument is unplugged so he can go over his chords one last time without drowning out the sound of the cheering people beyond the stage. Im not even sure why hes bothering to practice with only a few minutes left before we go on.

Practicing is all weve been doing for months. Ever since we found out that wed managed to secure a gig at Lancaster Stadium weve been clocking more practice hours than a med student.

Though the stadium gig is still months away we arent taking it for granted. Every musician in this city wants to play in the infamous Battle of the Bands showcase hosted there. Somehow, we managed to be one of the lucky bands selected after the event organizer, Reggie Smith, saw us playing at a nearby dive barwhich is just the type of establishment we find ourselves at tonight.

But not for long.

Lancaster Stadium is going to be our big breakI can feel it.

If we dont catch an agents eye there, we never will, and weve all put in too much sweat and tears to fail now. Thats why I booked us this last-minute live show.

We can practice all we want but theres no substitute for playing in front of a hungry crowd. The energy can make or break you. At a bar as rough as this, my moneys on break, but right now isnt the time to stress. Right now, its time to breathe, to focus, and to down a bit of booze. Liquid courage is mandatory before we hit the stage.

When the curtains move just right, I can see bobbing heads in the crowd. Bodies writhe like snakes, hands lifted in the air, hair flying as their chins sway back and forth to the tune of the loud music pulsing through the speakers. When my band and I arrived a few hours ago, the small dive bar with its black brick walls covered in various out of state license plates had been all but empty. The owner, taking in our uncertain faces, had simply promised us it would be a full house by eleven. Turns out he was right.

Id heard this seedy underground spot was one of the best to get your start, and we needed a good start since our first big performance at the stadium was quickly approaching. This was the last gig I booked before then.

I check my watch. Nearly showtime.

Some guy with a mic strides past me to address the crowd, the smell of whiskey and cigars follow him. My nose twitches at the familiar scent, making me pine for a shot. My stomach always gets knotted up before performances. The only thing that helps take the edge off is a stiff drink. Plus, it helps me forget things, things I dont want to bring out on that stage with me.

My life hasnt always been easy, but at least Ive always had music. Its my outlet for the things I cant seem to face. But the road to this stage has been tough enough without bringing my past into the mix. Ive fought too hard and struggled too long to be restrained by my past.

Id always known the path to being a rockstar would be a difficult one, but I had no idea just how twisted that road would be and just how much I would flounder. At least Im not alone. I glance at Alex and James. Theyve stuck with me, getting me through some dark dayseven if they didnt know it.

The voice of the man on stage with the microphone rises over the noise of the crowd as he explains that the headliner everyone is waiting to see has canceled at the last minute and theyre left with some struggling group of unknowns to entertain them. Us.

Weve performed here and there over the years, paying our dues on the local music scene, but weve yet to have our big break. Until we rock the house at Lancaster Stadium, barely anyone knows our name. But I aim to change that tonight.

I can see the exact moment the people realize the band theyre expecting isnt coming. All the excited cheers suddenly change to angry grumbles. I feel their pain. They were getting pumped up for a three-woman band thats already done a nationwide tour. I know I have some tall stilettos to fill.

James stops his quiet bass playing, eyes connecting with mine when I glance at him with an uncertain shrug. Theres not much we can do but play our hearts out. Weve already been paid for the gig. Might as well make the most of it, even if no one here actually came to see us.

Armed with my smooth vocals and guitar and James and Alex rocking the bass and drums, I have every confidence well change their minds.

The lights dim beyond the moth-eaten curtains. This bar may not be the fanciest in town, but its a well-known gold mine for rock groupies looking to headbang and jam out to some sick guitar solos. Id been trying to get us a gig here for months and the only reason wed been able to squeeze in is because one of the Rasping Sallies was having a little too much fun on the tour bus last night and took an intoxicated tumble that ended with a concussion. I felt sorry for the girl. Some people just cant hold their liquor. Luckily, I can. And since I happened to be partying with them, I swiftly offered to fill in when it was obvious they wouldnt be playing.

What about the Rasping Sallies, Mick? cries someone from the crowd. We paid to see them!

Mick grimaces as the rest of the crowd begins to holler unhappily in agreement. Weve got a great show for yall, just like we always do, he answers, shooting us a look offstage that says we better not make a fool of him. Hes gripping his microphone so hard that his knuckles are pale as bone.

This isnt gonna be good, Eric. James says, always the voice of doubt in the group.

I just roll my eyes, blocking out his uncertainty. Only good vibes welcome here.

Its the best weve got, right? Alex offers softly with a nudge in my ribs, gripping his drumsticks the same way Mick is gripping his microphone. I mean weve got that huge stadium show coming up and we need to be as prepared as possible. This gig is perfect for that.

At least at our next show the crowd will be expecting us, I mutter back.

Alex holds out a flask of what I know will be warm, spicy whiskey. I grab it and flip it open with a deft thumb, tilting my head back to welcome the booze without hesitation. It stings my tongue, flooding sharp heat down my throat to drip pleasantly into my stomach. I close my eyes as the comforting dullness washes over me, before taking another hearty gulp.

Hey, man! Alex grunts, snatching the flask away. I was just letting you have a pick-me-up, not down the entire thing!