The High Notes: A Novel(10)
“It’s a glamorous life, isn’t it?” Pattie said, and they both laughed as they looked at what must have been equipment closets in another life and turned into dressing rooms. Each one was just big enough for a rolling rack for their clothes, and a dressing table with a mirror and a chair to put their stage makeup on. Iris wore very little, but Pattie went on in full war paint in a low-cut black leather halter and tight black leather pants, and looked incredibly sexy when she was onstage. Iris wore black jeans and a black sweater, her long blond hair brushed straight, in order to draw the least amount of attention to herself. She wanted the songs and the music to speak for themselves. Their theories and their styles were completely different, but they got along anyway, and were each grateful to have a friend.
After they set up, Tom, Ben, Willy, and Judd from the band went out for something to eat, and brought food back for Pattie and Iris. They rehearsed at four, and were finished at six. The concert started at eight. The other bands had arrived before that, and rehearsed before Pattie and her group.
Iris was nervous before she went on. The stage was completely dark when she took her place on a tall stool, with the two musicians from Pattie’s band in the darkness behind her. Iris wanted the music to hang in the air and envelop the crowd and pull them in.
The audience was excited and hadn’t settled down yet when she came on. She had to work when she started, and by the end of the first song, she knew she had them in her grip. Pattie watched her from the wings and was fascinated. Iris held them totally captive with the sheer power of her voice. She was a tiny, little thing with an angel’s face, and as soon as she started singing, the crowd didn’t move until frantic applause at the end. She warmed them up beautifully for Pattie, who exploded onto the stage. She gave a wildly athletic performance, which Iris thought was good enough for any show in Vegas, but no one had discovered her yet.
They all worked hard, and so did the other bands that night, and the crowd went home satisfied. The reviews were good the next day. And Iris was happy. The crowd had felt just right to her, and they had connected immediately. They compared Pattie to Beyoncé, which was high praise. They were both pleased the next day.
They spent four days in Seattle, and after their last performance, they drove to Portland that night, where they spent three days, and from there to San Francisco, for another four days, two days at the Oakland Arena, with a much bigger band headlining, and then another two days in San Jose. They were going to make their way slowly down the state, and then go to Arizona and Texas, and then head for the Midwest. By the time they left San Francisco, for L.A. and San Diego, they had another ten weeks of the tour left, but it was going well.
In L.A., Iris met Glen Hendrix himself for the first time, and nothing had prepared her for the barrage of abuse he heaped on them. They had done really well, and gotten good reviews. He came backstage after their first performance in L.A., and told them how pathetic they were. He told them they looked cheap and second rate, and he should fire all of them. They were an embarrassment to him. Iris looked shocked and he told her that her material was terrible and she’d never be more than an opening act. She was crushed as she listened to him berate Pattie and the band, after he had viciously attacked her. She was almost in tears.
“Nobody warned you?” Pattie asked her, after he left backstage. Iris shook her head, as two lone tears slid down her cheeks, and Pattie handed her a tissue.
“That’s his thing. He wants to convince us we’re no good, and no one else will ever hire us, so he can pay us as little as possible, and we think we’re dependent on him. Only the worst slime in the human race are managers in this business, except for a couple of guys on top whom we’ll never be able to get to anyway. They’re too busy with the really big stars to give us the time of day, so we wind up with the Billy Westons and the Glen Hendrixes who kick us in the teeth in order to exploit us and treat us like shit for another day.”
“I never saw Billy Weston the whole time I toured for him,” Iris said, and blew her nose on the tissue Pattie had given her.
“Hendrix likes to show up and surprise us, particularly if we get good reviews somewhere. He wants to make sure he keeps our self-confidence at sub-zero level. Don’t believe a word he says.”
“He said I’m going to be an opening act forever, and my original material is garbage. Do you think that’s true?” Iris looked devastated. “I’ve been playing in lousy venues for so long, maybe that’s all I’m good enough to do.”
“What does the audience tell you?” Pattie asked her. “Do they sound bored? Are they talking while you sing? Your songs make me cry, and when you sing gospel, I feel like I’m going straight to Heaven. You even make the guys in the band cry, and they’re tough critics. Don’t let that jerk fool you. That’s just what he wants, to beat you down and make you doubt yourself and believe you need him. You don’t. He needs you!” Pattie gave her a hug, and Iris felt better. They went out for something to eat afterward with the band, and got back to their hotel late. They were staying at a fairly sleazy hotel off Sunset Strip, and they’d been to an all-night diner, and drowned their sorrows in French fries, chili, and ketchup. Some of the boys in the band told Iris the things Hendrix had said to them over the years that were even worse than what he’d told her. It was hard to imagine why anyone would do that, but Pattie’s explanation made sense. It was disgusting of him, but apparently par for the course.