Page 46 of Crimson Desires
One person even covered an old pop song of mine. The performance was difficult to listen to for a number of reasons.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the guy with the clipboard called my name. Or rather, the fake name that Aster had given him.
“Now, our last performer of the night: Vincent Johnson!”
“That’s you,” Aster hissed.
“Vincent Johnson?” I whispered, raising my brow behind my mask. “Aster, that’s got to be the lamest fucking name ever.”
“Fuck off,” Aster laughed. “Get up there and play, Vince.”
I didn’t have an instrument with me, but thankfully, one of the other performers—a young guy who had performed a 9-minute folk-punk rhapsody—offered to let me borrow his guitar.
I climbed up to the stage. The heat from the cheap Fresnel lights warmed my skin even through the fabric of my black hoodie. The microphone in front of me was a cheap dynamic mic. The same kind that tends to come with novelty karaoke machines.
Only hours ago, I was performing in the Red Hat Amphitheater to thousands of devoted fans. And now, here I was, in a hole-in-the-wall bar, playing to a mostly disinterested group of about thirty people. Somehow, playing at the Fringe Factory was more nerve-wracking.
Ironically, the mask I wore made me more vulnerable. Usually, my name and celebrity status offered me a baseline level of protection against the judgments of others. People treated me well because I was famous. My success as a musician cushioned me against criticisms of my talent.
But now that my notoriety had been stripped from me, I was just a regular jackass with a borrowed guitar. I had no status. No name. No nothing.
I stepped up to the microphone and took a deep breath.
I wasn’t sure how my voice was going to sound through my mask. Carefully, I pulled the mask up—just enough to expose my lips.
Then, I closed my eyes and sang.
I was by no means a good guitarist. At least, I wasn’t as good as Axel or Zephyr. But I knew my way around the open chords, and I could play most of Wicked Crimson’s songs. The song that I chose to play was an unreleased track from our second album. It was about the confusing yet inevitable nature of love. The words had been written by Kane, but I’d been the one behind the melody.
The song was quieter than most of our discography. Perfect for an unplugged acoustic performance.
I finished the song with one final chord. I let the steel strings ring out for a moment. Then, I stepped away from the mic and pulled my mask back over my face.
The crowd’s applause was the loudest I’d heard all night. I couldn’t stop the grin that overtook my face—I had officially earned the bar patrons’ stamp of approval. With one last quick wave to the crowd, I stepped off the stage.
I handed the guitar back to the guy that I had borrowed it from. He accepted it and offered me a friendly fist bump.
“Dude, that was sick! Is your music up anywhere?” he asked.
“That song is actually part of an album that I’m working on. I’m planning to release it in about two months.” I tried my best to not give my identity away while still remaining honest.
“Well, when that album comes out, you can bet that I’m going to be the first person listening to it.” The guy clapped me on the shoulder. “Seriously, man. I hope you’re taking this music thing seriously. Because you’ve got talent.”
I had to laugh. “Believe me. I am.”
With that, I headed back to Aster’s table.
I expected Aster to offer me a sarcastic comment. Maybe even coupled with a small grin. Instead, she jumped out of her seat and hugged me. Her skinny arms tightened around my chest almost suffocatingly.
“That was fucking amazing,” Aster said, her voice somewhat muffled by my hoodie. She pulled back slightly but didn’t let go of me. “See? I knew you’d kill it. And the best part? None of those people knew who you were. And they cheered. Not for your name, your celebrity status, or your father. They cheered for you.”
Behind my mask, I smiled. “Thank you. Hearing you say that means a lot to me.”
Maybe it was the sincerity in my voice, but Aster suddenly became shy. She let her arms fall to her sides and averted her gaze to the floor.
“Of course. Now, let’s get something to eat. I’m hungry.”
***