Page 33 of If You Never Come Back
My phone blaring yanks me out of my bliss bubble. I crawl to my phone, which sits on my desk chair and answer.
“Hi, is this Shay Alexander?” A female voice says.
“Yes, this is Shay. Who’s calling?” I reach for the glass of water on my desk to sip while answering the call.
“This is Mari Dash.”
I promptly spit up the water I was sipping, then spend a good thirty seconds hacking up one of my lungs.
“Are you okay?” Mari asks in her trademark sing-song voice.
Automatically I nod, but then remember she can’t see me. I clear my throat. “Y-yeah. Sorry…uh, down the wrong pipe.”
“Oh, I hate when that happens.” She chuckles. “So! I know this is last minute, but I figured that Bend is only a few hours from Portland and it never hurts to ask. Are you free this Saturday night? I’m performing at Portis, this new club on Glisan Street, and I want you to come.”
This time when I choke, it’s on the air I’m swallowing. It’s a struggle just to process the words coming from her mouth. Mari Dash is personally inviting me to her concert? How the hell did she even get my phone number?
Another few seconds of coughing commences until I’m able to speak again. When I do, it’s to ask her the second question I’m wondering.
“Your website.” She laughs. And then I remember that I listed my phone number on it when I first designed it—it’s just that most people these days would prefer to interact online instead of calling.
Except for Mari, apparently.
“You’re such an inspiring artist—your artwork inspired me to change the entire aesthetic of my home decor. And I would love to meet you in person.”
I bite my bottom lip as I struggle to process the fact that Mari Dash wants to meet me.
“Please say you’re free! I want you to sign the prints of yours I just ordered too!”
I take a breath, heart racing, my own smile threatening to split my face in half. “I’d love to.”
Chapter Eleven
Standing at the far edge of the stage at the Portis venue, I do another slow scan of the scene around me. I can see everything perfectly from here. I can see Mari as she grooves from behind her turntable, jumping up and down to the thudding beat of her EDM song. I can see the crowd as they jump in unison with her. I can see the light tech all the way at the top balcony on the opposite side of the venue. The exposed brick walls and industrial ceiling beams give the venue a stripped-down look that’s perfect for this kind of concert. As people sing and dance along to her music, it’s clear they don’t care about anything other than being in Mari’s presence.
Even though it’s a chilly and rainy Saturday evening in Portland, it’s all heat in here. The sheer number of bodies combined with the near-constant jumping has upped the temperature inside the venue to at least twenty degrees warmer than outside.
But even as sweat beads across my skin, I can’t help but smile and sway along to the beat. This night has been a life highlight for me. As soon as I arrived at Portis and gave my name to the security guy standing in front of the door, I was ushered inside and down a long hallway to a closed door at the end. When the door opened, there was Mari Dash, standing in a glittery white bodysuit and black leather stiletto boots that ran all the way to the middle of her thighs. Her jet-black hair was pulled into a loose chignon. Even though she was standing right in front of me, she looked too perfect to be human.
I suddenly felt unglamorous in the flowy top, dark skinny leggings, and boots I was sporting.
But before I could stutter a “hello,” she pulled me into a hug.
“You’re here! Finally!”
She popped a bottle of champagne before shooing the security guy away and shutting the door to her dressing room. She poured two glasses, handed me one, then gestured for me to take a seat on one end of the plush couch.
“So!” She plopped on the other end. “How do you feel about signing some swag for me?”She pointed to a stack of portrait-sized prints on her vanity. “I’m giving them as gifts for people for Christmas. Can you believe it’s almost December? This year is just flying by.”
Speechless, I nodded. Sitting on Mari’s vanity was three months’ worth of income for me.
She leaned over, patting my hand with hers. “I’m a huge fan of yours. Something about your artwork speaks to me. I grew up in a small town in the mountains of Montana, surrounded by the kind of scenes you paint. When I read your bio on your website, about how you were the only mixed-race Filipino kid and how people gave you a hard time about it, it hit home.”
Her eyes fell to her lap. Even though she didn’t say anything, I knew she was thinking back to a time in her past when someone made fun of her for what she looked like—for being different from everyone around her.Just like me.
She cleared her throat, a sad smile playing on her lips. “It’s cool to see another half-Filipino kid from the mountains kicking ass. I just want to support that.”
Her words immediately eased the wave of nerves hitting my stomach. Mari Dash may be a celebrity DJ, but she also comes from the same background as me and struggled with the same issues. I was definitely still starstruck by her, but it was easier to see how human and relatable she was.
