Page 61 of Street of Dreams
“You wouldn’t be there if you weren’t a talented singer/songwriter. Speaking of, aren’t you supposed to be performing a concert in front of 20,000 people soon?”
“I know. I gotta go. I just wanted to call you.”
“Call back when the show’s over. And knock ‘em dead, superstar.”
After he hung up with Skylar, he showered and dried his hair so it was pin straight, then trimmed his goatee. He put on his red and black kilt, because it highlighted his hair, a tight black T-shirt, and added several large silver chains. He slipped a few rings onto his fingers and stuck his feet into his black boots. He was ready to rock.
A Town Car brought him to the Superdome. It wasn’t a limo, but it was pretty sweet. He had his own private dressing room where snacks and drinks lined a table. There was leather furniture, and framed photos of mega rock stars covered the walls. A door in the corner of the room caught his attention, and he opened it with curiosity. It was a private bathroom with a shower!
Someone knocked, and he hurried to find out who was at the door. It was his bandmates from Chicago. They’d taken a separate flight and were booked at a different hotel than Mac. By the way they eyed his dressing room, they clearly weren’t receiving the same rock star treatment.
Carlos was the bassist, and he had an incredible wardrobe. He was known for his flashy pants, which usually portrayed some kind of animal print or snazzy pattern, and he always wore a bandana. Most bass players were stoic members of the band, but not Carlos. He had an in-your-face stage presence.
Gary, the drummer, played as if his life depended on it and created a beat that shaped Mac’s songs in a way he never dreamed of. When the A&R rep from Silver Star Records offered Mac a record deal, he was given the option to bring Carlos and Gary or find new band members. He chose to stick with Carlos and Gary.
The two walked into Mac’s dressing room high with enthusiasm.
Carlos whistled as he took in the food platters. “Man, they hooked you up!”
“I still can’t believe we’re here, on tour with The Third Rail and Cut Throat.” Gary poured himself a shot and tossed it back.
“I know,” Mac joined Gary for a swig of scotch. “You guys gotta come back to my hotel room after the show so we can celebrate.”
“I thought there’d be some wild afterparty.” Carlos waggled his eyebrows. “Filled with hot chicas.”
Another knock on the door brought a group of people into the dressing room, led by the A&R rep who offered Mac the recording contract, George Ledger. They shook hands vigorously and then George introduced the half dozen men with him, which were comprised of Mac’s new assistant, the tour manager, and various members of the production crew.
“Do you need anything, Mr. Mackenzie? Do you have a rider?” the assistant asked.
“No. Thank you. Everything has been amazing.”
“Here’s my cell phone number.” The assistant presented his business card. “I’m available 24 hours a day.”
Mac looked at the card in awe. He had an assistant? This was insane! The entire experience was surreal and better than anything he imagined. More people came in and out of his dressing room, and then he was walking down the corridor with Carlos and Gary about to open for Cut Throat.
Even though Mac was first on the lineup, and it was still three hours before the headliner took the stage, the arena was packed. The lights went down and the three of them ran on stage. The audience quieted and Mac felt the collective stare of the crowd. He was the newcomer, and he knew they never heard his name or his music before.
Expectations were high, or maybe there weren’t any at all. If he messed up, no one would probably remember him after tonight, but if he played his heart out and connected with the crowd – if he wowed them – his career could skyrocket.
He opened withStreet of Dreamsand poured his heart into the song. The state-of-the-art sound system projected his voice throughout the arena and carried all the nuances of emotion into the audience. The sound of the guitar was impeccable and sublime. The deep boom of the drums and hard thump of the bass echoed back at him and reverberated in his chest.
The crowd was on their feet, rocking their heads and throwing rock and roll horns in the air. Mac thought he was ready for this moment, but he was totally unprepared for the rush of stepping on stage in front of 20,000 people. It was the most euphoric experience of his life. The energy of the crowd and their approval fed his soul, and he felt his chest expand as he breathed in new life.
“Hello New Orleans!” he greeted the crowd. “That wasStreet of Dreams. I’m just a hometown boy from Chicago.” He fanned out his kilt and smiled. “By way of Glasgow,” he added, with a thick Scottish accent, and received a rumble of laughter in reply. A few girls actually screamed. “That song was about Chicago’s South Side. This is my first show with The Third Rail and Cut Throat, and it’s my first time visiting the magical city of NOLA!” They cheered back, welcoming him to the tour. “This next song isRide or Die.” It was harder than the first and really brought out the raspy quality in his voice, and the crowd responded with shouts of approval.
His set was short and flew by, but he played his most-loved songs and the reception he received left him on top of the world. The performance was foolproof, and he knew he had Gary and Carlos to thank for making his songs sound incredible. “Thank you, New Orleans!” Mac shouted into the mic. “I want to introduce you to my band because I couldn’t do this without them. On the bass, known for his flashy pants and killer bassline, Carlos Sanchez!” Carlos moved his bass to the side in order to show off his pants, which bore a patchwork design of mini Puerto Rican flags, and did a little dance for the audience which included a few spins. They applauded and howled at the entertaining bassist, then he took a short bow and rattled off a dynamic riff.
Mac turned a quarter of the way toward the back of the stage. “On the drums, the man with the golden sticks, Gary Walker!” Gary rolled out a drum solo that shocked the hell out of everyone, including Mac.
After the crowd quieted, Mac introduced himself with an exaggerated Scottish dialect. “And I’m Reid Mackenzie!” He raised his fist in the air to salute the audience. “You’ve been great, New Orleans! Thank you, and we hope to see you again soon!” The three of them stood at the apron, arms slung over each other’s shoulders, and bowed. The stage shook from the roar of applause and cheers they received. It was Mac’s dream come true.
He left the stage with his arms still over Gary and Carlos’ shoulders and barely had time to tell them how awesome he felt before he was escorted to a merch table in the lobby. There were T-shirts and posters that bore his name and photo. Even tartan scarves. The most surprising thing was the group of people already waiting to meet him. He signed everything, including ticket stubs, and took photos. Many people asked about CD’s, but he had nothing professionally recorded. This was so new and overwhelming that if felt like a dream. He expected to wake up at any moment and have the joyful bubble of his life burst in an instant. But it didn’t.
When the last person left the merch table, he was surprised to find that the man who escorted him from the stage still stood nearby waiting for him.
“I could have found my way back to the dressing room,” he told the guy. “You didn’t need to stick around.”
“It’s my job.”
