[Note for Literotica: heavy use of italics below]
Jess pulled her truck in to the parking lot of The Pentagruel, killed the engine, and unbuckled her seat belt. Unfortunately, she'd done what she always did when she was nervous about an upcoming event: showed up way too early for it. It was 6:14 PM. The sun had already set, with only a hint of purple visible over what little horizon Jess could see between the buildings. The street lights had started to come on, and it appeared that no line had formed yet outside the club. The building's lights flicked on and displayed the logo: five severed arms all grabbing each other in the shape of a pentacle. The blood from the severed ends of the arms dribbled down behind them. "Lovely," Jess flatly muttered.
She glanced over at the comically-huge water bottle with the large canvas strap sitting on the passenger side of the truck. It would have been fairer to call it a small water tank. Jess wondered if she should've buckled it in for the drive, for fear of it becoming a 10-pound missile if she had to make a sudden stop. The recently-purchased monstrosity was mostly empty now, though, so it was a moot point. She wanted to make sure she didn't pass out again, and had been pounding water throughout the week.
"God, I hope I don't have to pee mid-concert," she said aloud.
She looked out the driver's side window at the club again and saw a few people starting to form a line at the door. Jess gripped the steering wheel. The thought of having to work her way through the crowd just to get to the bathroom brought with it the panic. Her breathing became shallow and rapid. The sound of her keys dangling and swaying from the ignition helped her focus. She looked down at herself. Her outfit was somewhat similar to what she'd worn the previous Sunday. She'd found some pre-ripped blue jeans and a pair of black boots that actually had ankle support. The only thing she wore that was exactly the same was the red zip-up hoodie. She looked in the mirror, and made sure the two puffballs she'd tied her hair up in were relatively even. Her makeup was inoffensive, she supposed: a little bit of eyeshadow, a light application of eyeliner; it was more or less the amount she wore to work.
With her self-check completed, she found she had calmed down. "Fuck me, what am I doing here?" she asked herself -- again, aloud. She put her seatbelt back on and reached for the keys already in the ignition. She paused, then reached for her phone sitting in the tray under the stereo. She unlocked it and went to the photo gallery. Swiping through the photos, she found the selfie of her and Jordan. She looked back at the club, the line now reaching almost to the edge of her window. "Fuck it, let's go," she said to no one in particular. She put her phone in her sweater pocket, unbuckled her seatbelt, and grabbed her keys out of the ignition.
Jess got out of the truck and locked it. It was starting to get cold enough that she could see her breath with every exhalation. Hands firmly in her sweater pockets, gripping her phone tightly in her right hand, she walked briskly towards the line -- partly to keep warm, and partly to get farther away from the truck, and thus further away from backing out.
She made her way to the back of the line. At the very least it wasn't around the corner yet, but then again, Jess and the other people waiting were still pretty early. Cars were starting to fill up the lot where she'd parked; people were piling out of buses and taxis. The line quickly stretched out behind her and around the corner. The guy in front of her had a short green mohawk and a black leather jacket with a huge Misfits patch on the back. Thankfully she wasn't sharing a spot in line with a puddle of pee this time.
The Pentagruel shared a part of downtown with a few 4-star hotels, a couple bodegas, and several restaurants and cafes that made food from countries that Jess would never have the time or the money to visit. The club didn't really seem to belong in this place. Looking down at herself, then looking around at the people lining up, she couldn't help but laugh to herself at the thought.
Jess heard a door open. When she peeked around the side of the leather jacket in front of her, she could see the anticipation and excitement pass through the line like an electrical current. Once it got to her, she couldn't help but feel it too. "Here we go!" she heard someone shout behind her.
Up ahead, she saw a large man wearing a black t-shirt that was easily 3 sizes too small walking up the line from the entrance. It looked like he had one of those earpieces in, and he was wearing a lanyard around his neck. As he walked, he appeared to be scanning through everyone in line. Right around the midway point between Jess and the entrance, he turned his head up the line, and then started walking straight towards Jess.
As he got closer, Jess noticed he wasn't so much tall as he was wide -- still taller than Jess, but then, almost all men were. Between the IFB in his ear, the short crew cut hair, and the fact that he was five-and-a-half-feet squared, Jess was plenty intimidated by this cube of humanity making his way to her.
"You Jenn?" he asked her in a clear, baritone voice.
She tried to be as casual as possible. "Uh, Jess, actually. 'Sup?"
"Whatever. Band's askin' for you," he replied, and he pulled a second lanyard and badge out of his front pocket and held it out for her. She couldn't process it. She stared at the badge outstretched before her.
This has to be some kind of joke. Or a scam. Somebody's fucking with me, right? Like, he couldn't have
known
I was coming.
Then she considered that maybe it wasn't Jordan; maybe one of the other guys had asked Jordan about her, gotten her name from him, then asked to bring her backstage.
If so,
she thought,
then this is super sketch. But if not...
"You comin' or what?"
"Huh? Yeah, cool. Sure." She took the badge from him and looped it around her neck. She looked at the line of people as she passed, and saw some looks of wonder, some of jealousy, and some of spite; a couple younger girls in line wearing heavy makeup threw her the devil horns and cheered.
"So, do they always ask people to come backstage?" she asked.
He kept walking in front of her in silence.
"Do you know which one asked for me?"
Still no response.
"Don't I need to pay first?"
"Nope," he finally answered.
"Well, at least there's that."
Jess felt like a lamb being led to the slaughter. The living slab led her past the main entrance to a door several feet beyond it along the same wall. It had a white sign with 'STAFF ONLY' printed on it in red block lettering. The door had no handle on the exterior; only a keyhole. The guard -- Jess assumed at this point that he was a security guard -- unlocked the door and pulled it open with the key. He showed her in and led her to the backstage area.
"Here, this way," he said, turning right to another door. This one had a long vertical handle on it, and didn't appear to be locked. When he opened it, she saw a dim light coming from the left side of the room, but it was otherwise dark inside.
Jess gripped her phone tightly, her thumb on the unlock button just in case. "Okay, thanks." She exhaled slowly and walked through the doorway.
Jess found herself standing next to the stage. The band's gear had already been arranged. "You the one Jordan asked for?" she heard from her right. It was a woman wearing a lanyard and badge that said STAFF on it. Jess nodded. "Cool. Just stay here with me, we'll be starting in twenty. You want anything? Snacks? Drinks? We got beers, if you want."
"No. No, I'm good."
I heard that right, right? Jordan asked for me. Holy fuck, he asked for
me
