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After the Show

The audience roared and roared and didn’t stop for a full ten minutes with a standing ovation. She made promises that she would be in the lobby to talk to people although she didn’t want to think about that. She felt totally disgusting. It was hot, hotter than most nights and she had sweat until she was sure she was nothing left but a puddle.
She hurried back to her dressing room and locked the door, pushing against it and letting herself catch her breath. She walked away from the door and ignored the knocking that usually proceeded the end of the show.
“Come on, I know you’re in there!” It was Gary, the overly annoying venue manager that hit on her every night after every show thinking that because she was bored and lonely that she’d jump into bed with him. She knew the reason that she did not have a boyfriend and was perfectly fine with admitting that to herself. She was happy with the platonic relationships that she had with her friends back home, romance had a lot of pitfalls as did one nigh stands and pity fucks.
She ignored the constant knocking, going towards the bathroom, but not before shoving a chair under the doorknob. She took a ten-minute ice cold shower until she felt like a solid block of ice and put on her clean clothes. It was her last few minutes before being herded out into the lobby to meet people she didn’t know, sign pictures to names of people she would not remember and generally feel uncomfortable for the next hour to two hours. She longed for an ice-cold beer and a dark room where she could slowly lapse into the oblivion of exhaustion.
It wasn’t the fact that she didn’t want to meet the people and be the person on stage that she herself liked, it was that she didn’t like the person that she was offstage. She wasn’t that quirky, loud, fun loving person that paraded around the stage doing impressions of her family and making fun of her own voice until she was so exhausted at just laughing at herself that she could have fallen into bed on a whim.
The knocking continued as she came out of the bathroom and pulled on her high heels under the bells of her jeans. She considered herself a fairly attractive woman, most of the men who spoke to her and knew her considered her to be supermodel quality especially with the height she was graced with. She boasted quite muscular arms, mostly because of the trays of drinks she was used to carrying around and helping her uncles with the construction work on the weekend. Her face was finely formed and pretty, crazy light hazel eyes that were almost transparent, long curling brown hair and skin that was light brown from the fact that she had been the only one in the family that had a black father. It was that voice that the guys didn’t find attractive.
The knocking didn’t stop until she opened the door and was finishing with attaching her earrings.
“Yes?” she asked.
“So, were you ever going to open the door, or what?” Gary leaned in the door with a swagger that made her want to barf. He was so annoying that it seemed incredible the guy had lasted this long without someone deciding to hit him with a sharp object. His chest hair and several gold chains poked out of his V-ed silk shirt and she turned away to grab her sunglasses.
“No,” she said quickly as he stepped inside the room. He made his usual gesture of swiping his eyebrows to get out the messed hairs and shook them at her. She gave a little sigh and shake of the head as she slid the glasses onto her head and pushed them up to keep the hair out of her eyes.
“Baby, come on,” he grinned at her and she shook her head at him before going to the door. He stepped in her way and she huffed.
“You’re not a man Gary, stop pretending and admit you’re the leech you really are,” she sniggered before knocking him out of her way. She walked down the hall, her heels clicking as she heard him gallop up alongside her.
“You know, we could sign you here, to a yearlong deal, the people love you down here, they really think you’re something!” Gary had been pitching this since her first show and she was getting sick of hearing it.
“So do the people at Comedy Central Gary, besides, I hate you,” she replied as she rounded the bend in the hall and turned to go down the stairs.
“Babe, come on, we could really make something out of this. You and me, I could be your manager, we’d make it to the top,” he stumbled on the stairs as he stumbled on his words.
“I’m doing fine as my own manager Gary, thank you very much.” She indeed was doing more business for herself than anyone else had gotten for her. She’d raked in over five hundred thousand just for the awards show, not to mention the tidy sum she was making for the shows she was doing, the commercials and other guest spots she’s snagged. She was an expert at reading over contracts by now and had no need for legal lawyers or a manager in any respect. She found she preferred to be in control of all aspects of her career, right down to finding her own flights and hotels and making her own reservations. The less people involved in her business, the better.
“But baby, I’m telling you, it’s so much easier if you let other people handle the business aspect! A little lady like yourself shouldn’t have to hurt her pretty little head with those figures huh?” he asked. She stopped and pinned him to the wall with one hand placed firmly below his Adam’s apple.
“I was smart enough to get one-hundred thou a night in this dump, wasn’t I? Or have you forgot that? You make one more comment to me and I won’t go on stage on Saturday night!” She was bluffing of course, she’d agreed to an extra Saturday show on a night that she didn’t have to be there, only because she was bored and had nothing better to do. This show was not in her contract and she could either show up or not show up depending on whether she felt like dealing with Gary or not. But she’d show up, she had nothing better to do, it was just nice to get him back for a change.
“Okay! Okay! I’ll stop!” Gary gasped as he struggled to push her arm away.
“Now that we’ve made our selves clear, I have some people to go meet.” She dropped him and allowed him to breathe again. Her heels clicked down the stairs and into the foyer where her public awaited her.

By the time she had managed to escape the throng she was so tired that a drink in the bar was not favorable to her instincts, but her body said otherwise. She needed the cold alcohol to calm the headache in her head and the melancholy song that piano guy played every night when he showed up, to ease her nerves.
She was almost a wreck. She’d had to face six people who’d attempted to heckle her and were later escorted out of the show. They’d been screaming racial obscenities and blasting her because she refused to say the word “nigger” because she thought it a vile and disrespectful word. She did not believe that because a person was black that it was anymore okay for them to say it than anyone else.
Aside from that she’d been hit on by a guy who thought she was a guy in drag because of her voice and Gary showed up pretending that he had just taken up as her manager. Everything else wasn’t so bad. Meeting the fans, talking and laughing and joking with them, signing autographs and taking pictures, it was all okay, better than most evenings.
But she needed the drink. The bartender didn’t bother asking and instead had the bottle of Coors sitting out on the counter with a bowl of bar pretzels alongside it. She nodded her thanks, took a long drink and waited for the strains of the piano. She chewed on some pretzels and listened to the scores of the recent football game she’d missed on television.
It was about ten minutes later that she heard the song on the piano and she closed her eyes as she drank another swallow. It was infectious this song, very soft, very solid, very real and beautiful. She could imagine singing to this song and in her heart she felt she was singing along to it. Her head moved slightly to the rhythm of the keys as he struck them and she knew the reason suddenly why she’d never been able to play. She just didn’t feel it the right way. She was a bit off.
The song ended and she was aware of someone else coming into the bar and taking a seat a stool or more down from her. He ordered a soda and turned to watch the guy on the piano, the next song a little more lively and happier than the last, but still soulful to the most.
“He tends to get to you, doesn’t he?” She wasn’t exactly sure she was the one being spoken to as she hunched over the bar and concentrated on her beer and the four pretzels left in the bowl. She turned and looked at the person and assumed that he had indeed directed this comment to her.
“I suppose so, yes,” she replied as softly as she could manage with her rough voice. It still sounded harsh and ugly, no matter what.
“Hard to believe he’s asleep, right?” She sat up and turned to the guy sitting there and had to know.
“Asleep?”
“Yeah, he’s sleep walking. Comes down here every night, plays the same song and then goes back to his room.” She found it very hard to believe that a guy playing that well could be asleep. She turned to look at the guy at the piano and sure enough, his eyes were closed and he danced as much as he could as he played the keys. He was almost emotionally tied to the piano and the instrument played merely because he asked it too. It was quite a spectacle and it was a wonder this wasn’t for show.
“Hmm,” she offered as a reply, finishing off the pretzels and swallowing with a swig of beer. She turned to get a look at him once more but it offered nothing from the first time she looked so she turned away. The guy sitting two stools down took a sip of his soda and kept his eyes riveted to the man playing, not so much interested in her as the music. She didn’t care, she wasn’t looking for a pick up.
After a few more minutes, he stopped playing and was gone as soon as he had come. That was signal for her to leave. It was clearly after two and she should have been in bed, she had a meeting at nine later that morning and sleep was imperative. She finished the beer and left a tip for the bar keep before straightening up and departing her favorite stool. She offered no attention to the guy at the bar and returned to her room.
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