Backstage Encore

The baby monitor crackled with the soft rhythm of my daughter’s breathing. I was half-asleep on the couch, a half-empty bottle of beer sweating on the coaster, when my phone buzzed. It was 11:47 PM – late for a call, especially from my best friend, Derek.

“Hey, man. You up?” His voice was tight, not his usual easy drawl.

“Yeah, watching Lily. What’s wrong?”

A long pause. I heard the muffled thump of bass from a club in the background. “It’s… about Jenna.”

Jenna, my wife. Lead singer of The Velvet Larks. She’d been so excited about tonight’s gig – a packed house at The Underground. I’d offered to get a sitter, but she insisted I stay home with Lily, said she’d feel guilty dragging the baby out that late. So I’d kissed her goodbye at eight, a glittery smear of lipstick on my cheek.

“What about her?” I sat up, my heart starting a slow, heavy drum.

“I don’t know how to say this, Mike.” Derek cleared his throat. “She’s… she’s been all over Cole. The guitarist. I’m talking full-on lap-sitting between sets. And then I saw them slip out the back door together.”

The words didn’t land at first. They hung in the air like smoke. “You’re sure?” My voice came out hollow.

“I’m standing by the dumpster outside. They’re behind the stage door. I can hear them.” There was a ragged edge to his voice, like he was grinding his teeth. “I couldn’t not tell you, man. I’m sorry.”

I stared at the baby monitor. Lily stirred, let out a tiny sigh. The perfect innocence of that sound made my chest ache. “What am I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know. But I thought you should see for yourself. I’ll text you when she heads back in.”

I didn’t put on shoes. I drove the six blocks to The Underground in my bare feet, the cold pedals a numb pressure. The bouncer knew me; he waved me in. The club was dim, reeking of stale beer and sweat. The band was packing up. I spotted Jenna near the stage, laughing at something a roadie said. She saw me, and her smile flickered like a shorted bulb.

“Mike? What are you doing here?”

I didn’t answer. I walked past her, toward the back hallway. She called my name, her heels clicking after me. The door to the loading bay was propped open. I stepped outside into the cool night air.

Cole was leaning against the wall, smoking. His eyes widened when he saw me. I didn’t say a word. I just stood there, looking at him, then at the lipstick smudge on his collar.

“It’s not what you think,” Jenna said, her hand on my arm. I shook her off.

“Then what is it? Because Derek told me he watched you sit in his lap like a fucking groupie. And then you came out here.” My voice was stone.

She opened her mouth, closed it. Her eyes darted to Cole, who had gone pale. “I was just… having fun. It was a good show.”

“Fun?” I laughed, but there was no humor in it. “You were having fun by disappearing with him in front of our friends?”

“Derek called you, didn’t he?” Her tone turned sharp, defensive. “He’s always been jealous of the band. He wants me to fail.”

“He’s my best friend. He came out here and saw what he saw.” I turned to Cole. “What do you have to say?”

He dropped the cigarette, crushed it under his boot. “Nothing happened. We were just talking.”

“Talking with your hand on her hip?” I’d seen him touch her that way tonight, during the encore, but I’d chalked it up to stage chemistry. Now it burned in my mind.

Jenna stepped between us. “Mike, let’s go home. We’ll talk there.”

“No.” I looked at her, really looked. The glitter on her temples, the tired lines around her eyes. “I think you should stay here with Cole. You two can ‘talk’ some more.” I pulled my keys from my pocket and tossed them to her. “I’ll get a ride.”

I walked back inside, through the club, out the front door. Derek was waiting on the sidewalk. He didn’t say anything. He just put a hand on my shoulder.

We stood there in silence, the bass still thumping from inside, as the door to The Underground closed behind me. I thought of Lily, asleep in her crib. And I wondered if my marriage was already a ghost, drifting away in the dark, glittering air.