The musicians were supposed to meet in Providence’s lobby Monday morning. I held Othello on the edge of the room near a pillar, waiting for others to show up. I’d settled for a pink sheath instead of the black one with puppy sequins. Maybe I’d wear that tomorrow if everyone else was in black.
They weren’t. The musicians came in a loud group, guitars and keyboards mixed with percussion. These were not classical musicians. Wouldn’t they at least have an oboe or something that wasn’t scraped from a generic rock band?
When they saw me, they started muttering. A stringy-haired guitarist came over with a nod that didn’t make him look cool, however talented he was. “I’ve seen some sick renditions of some classics on cello. Thunderstruck, Welcome to the Jungle, Walk This Way… What’s your jam?”
This idiot thought those were classics? This was going to be a long day. I kind of wanted to put him in his place and make him realize his idiocy, but I wanted to play well with a band even more.
“I’m adaptable.”
“Cool. So Band of Demons usually does some classic kicks and then moves onto a smoother set to calm people down before the big pep speeches.”
“I think it is her. I’m telling you, it’s the nose,” the only female musician muttered to the drummer, gripping her bass.
“No one was looking at her nose,” the drummer said and then hit the drums, badumptsch.
“We aren’t setting up in the lobby,” a woman with a tight bun and sleek skirt suit said, coming up and giving us all an evil eye.
“Hey, Janice. Where are we at?” the long-haired guitarist asked.
“Heaven.”
All the musicians got big-eyed. “That’s not a musical venue; that’s a club. Is there a DJ involved? I hate those egomaniacal sons of?—”
“No DJ, Hawkins, just an exemplary light show with dancers. They’ll be working with us tomorrow. Dani… Pinkie…I wasn’t told exactly what your name is.” She narrowed her eyes at me, and I got that prostitute vibe again.
My heart pounded. Could I actually perform under my own name? My grandfather would find out, and it would be over. “Just Dani. Pinkie is what my friends call me.” Did I consider Dirk my friend? Apparently.
“I see. Come into Heaven. You’ll have to get accustomed to playing on a moving platform.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Also, your instrument will be white like your costume. This is heaven, after all.”
Heaven was the club portion of Providence, and it was absolutely bizarre. It was like walking into the clouds if you gilded them. A moving sunset sky swept across the domed ceiling. The walls subtly glowed with diffuse light that made everyone look younger and happier. There were two tiersof balconies circling the perimeter, and glass elevators every twenty feet.
“It’s sacrilegious,” the short-haired girl with way too many piercings in her face said, looking around in awe.
“Thank you for your input, Ziggy. Any other comments before we begin?” Janice asked.
I raised my hand. “This platform I’m supposed to play on. It’s not that, is it?” I asked, pointing to the tiny circle twenty-five feet in the air.
“Yes, Dani. That is the platform. It’ll only be moving periodically. When you’re playing your solo pieces, it will be lower with all the spotlights on you. It’ll only move during more lively pieces where the other musicians play their own parts, so you don’t have to worry about precision. I know it’s difficult to play on a moving platform, but don’t worry, everything will be dubbed. If you have any problems with the pieces in the lineup, we’ll get a backup cellist to cover for you during recording.”
I opened my mouth and closed it. There were so many issues there that I didn’t know where to start. Moving wasn’t the problem; it was hanging from the ceiling high above everyone else that was the issue. Did I not mention my fear of heights in my counseling session? I’m pretty certain I had. Maybe this was more unconventional treatment that a complete jerk would give me. If I fell off the stupid thing, hopefully I'd land on Horse and break his neck. Second, my backup cellist would have prerecorded the music? What kind of abomination was this supposed to be?
I’d stupidly thought that rehearsing with other musicians would be the difficult part, but no, it was coming out of the wall on a flying electronic Pegasus with flapping wings and then descending to the overlapping platforms to the large one where I’d be playing with the other musicians. Not that I’d actually be playing. I had a smaller circle in the center of the larger one thatwould rise and move around for absolutely no rational reason just to keep me on my toes. Had someone put aerialist on my resume?
I wasn’t supposed to do anything I didn’t want to do, right? So why would I be in the middle of this situation where I wanted to perform for me, but was forced to do all sorts of things I absolutely hated?
What did I want most? This was a private club, a private party. If the whole thing was a disaster, I could forget it ever happened and go back to playing solo in my soundproof bedroom, but not if I wasn’t actually playing. That would have to change. If it went well, if it somehow ended up being cool, Dirk would have a front-row seat. He’d also see that I was fine with heights. I’d done hard things I didn’t want to do, so I could do hard things that I wanted to try. But it couldn’t be recorded. That meant I would have to do some villainous manipulation.
When we finally got set up on the large platform only four feet above the floor, I sat on my stool with the electric cello between my knees on the slightly raised personal platform thinking my own thoughts.
Janice handed out a list, but no music, just a title with a key. I’d heard of some of these songs thanks to Toni’s influence, but others were completely out of my wheelhouse.
“Am I supposed to pretend to play along with every song?” I asked.
Janice frowned at me. “You are part of the band, aren’t you? You are the soloist. Instead of a singer, there’s you.” She pointed to the guitarist. “Are there songs without the singer, Hawkins? No,” she answered for him.
