Okay folks, I usually just write straight from the muse, but this one is a little different. For one thing, I usually don't kiss and tell. That's right, this story is real. The names have been changed to protect the guilty, identifying bits of the story have been removed, and just enough fiction was put back in for story continuity. This was just to much serendipity to keep it to myself, and has been approved by all involved before it was submitted.
The story will take a while to get going. Real life can be stranger than fiction, but it usually doesn't get a person from first meeting to laid in a page and a half. It is written from my own perspective instead of the usual omnipotent 3rd person perspective with 1st person quotes on both sides. Some of this makes this story a little awkward, but life's just like that sometimes. Stick with it. I think you'll like where this goes...
...I certainly did.
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Living in small town America has certain advantages. I haven't locked my doors since I moved here. I know everyone; judges, priests, sheriff, kids, and storekeepers... everyone. It's the kind of town where the sheriff doesn't chase you for speeding. He waits on your doorstep or if you are a juvenile, he's already talked to your grandma. It has been compared to Mayberry.
This means that life can get pretty boring too. The closest town of any size is an hour's drive in any direction, but folks make the drive, even with today's gas prices, just to see something new. This makes the town hemorrhage money. Most money that comes into the community's families goes straight to WalMart, 80 miles to the north. Now that the mines closed, were it not for the welfare and retirement checks coming in, this place would be a ghost town.
It's also a very conservative town. If you aren't Catholic or Methodist, you are regarded with a bit of suspicion. My being an active participant in a non-Christian faith makes it necessary to practice in private, even though Pagans of various types comprise 20-25% of the county's population. They probably live here for the same reason I do. To me, GOD is an acronym. It stands for the Great Out Doors. The view from my front porch is more than sufficient for a daily devotional, and should I need a more serious retreat, nearly virgin wilderness is within a 30 minute drive.
As a semi-retired professional sound and lights guy, I produce most of the live shows that come to our local theater. At about 250 seats including the balcony, it's fairly roomy yet cozy. Normally it shows movies and employs most of the teens who don't work at our two fast food restaurants.
The theater was bought twenty five years back in terrible shape... roof caved in and 4 feet of water in the lower seating rows by the stage, but it was all we had. The man who bought it realized that he had a chance to keep some hard earned money in the community and maybe even bring in some revenue from other places. He sunk a fortune into the building and brought it back from the brink of being condemned. He also had a good sound and light system put in along with the projector which he bought when the drive-in closed.
Today it's still here, more as a testament to the good workmanship of the repairmen a quarter of a century ago than to any maintenance done since. The paint, which is done in some of those eye-popping jewel tones favored back then, is chipping and peeling. All the equipment is still there and suffers from the fact that it is expected to perform well beyond its anticipated lifespan. What was once top of the line gear is now scarcely adequate and poorly maintained. Productions are done with skill, luck, and with a fire extinguisher handy.
Both the sound and light system are antiquated now. The Crown amps still work, and with some basic maintenance, sound as sweet as they did back when they were new. I wish I could say the same for the light board. Back in the day, NSI made some bleeding edge equipment, but times have not been kind to the system. Not only do the controls not always do what they are told, the wiring for the lights has been modified by many well meaning, yet inept people over the years.
It was to the point where all folks could do was turn all the lights on or off. It was pitiful. Volunteering to help make things better, I had a look. Six months of unpaid labor later, some of that on a 25 foot rickety ladder to reach an improvised light bridge, I could make the lights sit up and dance... barely.
I wasn't entirely happy with things since it wasn't perfect, but it was a damn sight better than it had been. There was only one problem. I was the only one in town who could make it do anything other than turn pairs of lights on and off, much less program it. When a fairly well known "crossover" band announced that it was coming to town, I had to make sure it was the best show I could make it. Not just for the performers and myself, but primarily for my community.
It was a sunny Thursday afternoon and time for the first rehearsal. While I saw the pictures in the fliers, nothing prepared me for what walked through that door. Four twenty-something clock-stopping female bodies with none of the "performer attitude" I have grown to expect, having cut my teeth in Nashville's music industry. Everyone was human and professional... rare traits in the music biz I found to be filled with prima donnas of both sexes.
During set up, the drummer noticed a buzz in her set. Anyone who has played drums will tell you that finding an intermittent buzz in a drum set is just about impossible by yourself. Moving around to listen changes the way things sit against each other, and the sound changes or goes away. The solution was self evident. While she thumped on the drum, I wound my body around the set under her legs to find the loose bit. It must have been a sight, me an athletic forty-something twisting around underneath this gorgeous creature to chase down a ghost. To my credit, I never tried to catch a peek; I was the epitome of professional.
What I found was an easy fix... the bass drum pedal mount had a loose screw. Locktite and a screwdriver fixed that, while a little gaffer's tape in the jaws of the clamp made things a little more forgiving. As I was cinching things down, she remarked that I was remarkably flexible for an older guy. I just took the backhanded compliment, smiled, and moved on. Other issues fell quickly as well... So quickly in fact that we were set up and ready with hours to spare. It was then that I took the time to formally introduce myself to the band.
It turns out that they were all sisters. Faye, a wiry 24 year old was on strings, Chrissy, a curvy 26 year old was the vocal talent, May and April were tall dark twins who did keyboard and drums respectively. I noticed that for identical twins, May and April were remarkably different. May had more confidence and a bit more of an experienced air about her, while April had a childlike innocence and shyness. Physically they were close, but they had enough differences to easily tell them apart if you knew where to look.
While I hit it off with all the sisters, April and I just migrated toward each other. Before we knew it, the rest of the crew has left us alone to talk. In contrast to much of the small town I live in, she came across as smart and educated. I heartily enjoyed our chat. It was over way too fast, but it was time for the full rehearsal.
I took my station, followed the play list and made the sound "pop". The lights were appropriate and on time, but uninspired. I am a perfectionist, and I was almost happy for a rehearsal. The trouble was spotlighting the players while creating the mood for each song. I started scribbling notes to improve things. I was getting ready to move the stage monitors a little to kill an 80Hz resonant growl that made things sound a little muddy, when April sauntered up.
"Thanks for helping me out with the drum set," she said.
"No trouble at all. I expect issues like this, that's why I have what I call a crash kit. It's a bag with everything needed to fix just about anything," I said smiling.
"That was incredibly well done for a practice. It's even better than some shows we have done."
"Really?"
"Yeah. The sound guy usually blows off practice sessions. I guess they think rehearsals are just for the musicians."
"Hon, my sound experience comes from production studio and stage work in Nashville. If there's one thing I learned from that, it's that there's no such thing as a 'blow off event'."
"That explains it. We've worked with some real winners, let me tell ya!" Faye said in passing.
"Don't worry about a thing. The concerts will be even better." I said.
April flashed a smile that lit up the room and winked at me as her sisters dragged her off to dinner. Smiling and shaking my head, I finished my notes, adjusted the position of the monitors about 18" inboard to kill the ground wave on the stage which caused the resonant growl and went home.
Coming home to an empty house is always rough on me. I'm a divorced dad who's daughter plays musical houses, and that particular week she was with her mom. Still, I had this warm spot growing in my heart and a grin that I just couldn't get rid of. I wish I could have told my daughter about this right then and there.
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The next morning I got up, made coffee, fed my daughter's kitten and Babe, a coyote-shepherd mix who's smarter than I am, and did the rest of my morning ritual. Looking at myself in the mirror, I thought about the previous day.
"Quit thinking about things you'll never get. Yeah, she's gorgeous, but look, don't touch," I thought. "And guard that heart dammit! It's taken a while to find all the pieces from the last time."
I decided to eat breakfast out. A breakfast croissant and hash browns... the teen in the drive through called me "sir" when she handed me my change.
"Oh well, you are getting up there you know..." I thought. With some gray in my hair, an athletic build, and a young face, folks have a hard time pinning an age on me. Opening the old theater, I took out my list to see what I could do while my food cooled down from thermonuclear.
Hours later, all the work was done and I'm was eating cold food. I liked what I saw. Looking at the watch I had time to run a full test before the theater opens. I hooked up my laptop to the mixer and brought up similar music. I ramped up the volume and worked the lights. Walking to various positions around the theater, I took notes. Bright presence here, Dead spot here. Tip out the monitors five degrees...
I didn't notice that anyone else was in the theater until I felt a tap on the shoulder. Jumping out of my skin, I spun around. There was April with her megawatt grin putting my stage lights to shame. She said something; I could see her lips move, but I couldn't hear. Extending my index finger in the universal 'wait-a-sec' sign, I bounded down to the sound board and brought the volume down to mere mortal levels.
"Hi!" I greet her with a smile.
