The Gig

As I got in the queue for the cash point machine I heard an instantly recognisable voice, although I didn’t see a familiar face in sight. My eyes carried on gazing in front trying not to make eye contact with the people around me, knowing full well I had never met anyone here before.

I started to think about work, and how I shouldn’t have caught the train to this town- however my intentions were objectable; just one drink, watch Billy’s gig, maybe a lemonade or two, then the late train home ready for work in the morning. Although normally I was only too accustomed to an alcohol fuelled night. Just not this night.

My daydreaming was distracted with the thought that the queue was taking forever to get through, there were five people in front of me, at least four of whom were very drunk, could be here a while.

That’s when I started to notice that voice again; it was the person near the front of the queue, so loud, so vulgar. I looked at the jeans he was wearing; ripped look women’s jeans, they were ridiculously tight on him. He was outrageously dressed, almost like a Mick Jagger type character, very self aware of his own presence, but spoke with an almost comic voice. Where did I know that voice?

Then it hit me.

“S’cuse me, are you Sam Mathews?” I asked.

He looked at me in an angry drunken manner, even in his tight jeans and with his comic voice, he was still quite intimidating.

“Who the fuck are you? Do I owe you money or sumfin’?” He replied aggressively.

“I don’t know, do you? You can get it from the ATM as were stood here” I tried to be funny. Not even a smile.

 “You work at Project E Music don’t you? I’m Sonny, the manager of the West City branch. You call up quite often requesting obscure vinyl transfers. I recognise your voice.”

Sam’s body language instantly changed, it resembled that of a clown.

“Hello mate, pleased to meet you! You ‘ere for Billy’s gig?”

                        I had only met Billy twice; he had come from the other branch to cover some of my staff who were on holiday leaving me short. Billy was a small framed guy, almost looked like he didn’t eat. With such a big character about him, he was very engaging and everyone around him wanted his attention. The second time he covered in the store, he brought his guitar, played a small set in the shop for us after we closed shop for the day. We all knew he was destined for better things, if only he could keep his drug habit at bay.

                        Sam was with one of his friends, an older guy who didn’t talk too much, didn’t have much to say when pursued. None the less, we three decided the pub was a good idea before the gig started. Although Sam was quite clearly drunk, he was sniffing a lot and talked incessantly. It was evident he had been taking cocaine and couldn’t control himself too well.  I instantly liked Sam regardless of his lifestyle choices, his charismatic and funny persona was hiding something though; I felt as though a lot of what he said and did was a façade, an act for everyone to see.

                         As I came back from the bathroom, I could hear Sam before I could see him. Extravagantly telling whoever would listen to him how much MDMA he had taken just four days ago and he still hadn’t come down. As I saw his sorry figure at the bar, with the non interested barman, Sam resembled a typical old timer you could find in any British pub, with lots of stories to tell and no one to listen. I didn’t feel sorry for him though, he didn’t care if anyone was listening, he was going to tell his stories of messy drunken, drug fuelled times that occurred.

“Where’s your mate gone Sammy” I asked, at the same time noticing a tray of ten shot glasses filled with tequila on the bar.

“Fuck him, couldn’t take it and went home”

“Couldn’t take what?” Feeling worried at this point. I really hoped those shots weren’t intended for just us two.

                       

I felt sick before the tequila even touched my lips. As the liquor went down, I felt it trying to come back up. Tequila has never been my friend. I quickly grabbed my ale to rinse it down. I would have preferred lager, but Sam brought the first round without asking what I’d like to drink, but he paid so I was in no position to grumble.

Before I had a chance to compose myself Sam was passing me my next shot. “Bottoms up” he beamed with his comic voice.

By the time we reached the venue I could hardly talk without mixing up my words. I was excited to see Billy’s performance; I didn’t want him to be angry that I was so intoxicated for his gig though. So for the first twenty minutes of being there I avoided Billy, just casually waving across the room trying to seem sober.

While hiding in a sea of people at the bar, trying to drink a pint of water without bringing it back up, Sam found me, with more tequila. I didn’t know much more tequila I could handle. “Please, anything but tequila.” I prayed to myself.

By this point Billy had made his way over to me and Sam.

“Ah boys I’m so glad you made it down for this!” He beamed, making me feel proud I turned up.

“I didn’t know you two knew each other?”

“Haha, funny story…” I started.

Sam vulgarly interrupts “Yeah man, old mates, known each other since we were ten years old. This guy is a fucking animal” He said pointing at me.

“I, uh…” Is all I could manage before Sam hands us a shot each.

                        As I looked at Billy, he didn’t seem nervous or concerned, Billy loved the music, and people loved him. Gigging was him, it was obvious to see. Yet I could see something wasn’t quite right. There was sadness about him

“Right then lads, toilets? Cheeky couple of lines before I go on?” Billy said with a grin on his face.

Sam was all over it, almost running towards the stairs leading to the toilets. I decided to just wait at the bar, not that they waited for me to reply.

When they returned it was time for Billy to go on stage. He started off with a couple of folk covers, before moving onto his own material. Everyone was entranced by Billy, his on stage presence, his guitar skill, his voice. Billy had the full package.

Sam moved towards the front of the crowd, looking round towards me, edging to join him at the front. I could see he was out of control by this point. Billy’s talent couldn’t be denied, the music carried me somewhere else.

In between songs, Billy would engage with the crowd, but this was inundated with shouts from Sam;

“We love you Bill! Play another song! Play a fucking song I know” which then quickly moved on to messy shouts of

“You’re shit!”

After the gig, I waited around for Billy, to say bye and what a great night it had been. Sam stood with me. Billy came up to us, shook my hand and thanked me for coming.

He then turned straight to Sam and kicked him right in the nuts. Sam fell to the floor in a fit of laughter while holding his groin in pain.

                        “Bastard!” said Billy in such a casual way. “Right boys, let’s go and get messy”

“Let’s do it!” shouted Sam still lying on the floor cupping himself.

                        All I could think was ‘How much messier can this get?!’

I obviously had a train to get, so with a sense of relief declined the offer to get messy. Sam and Billy knew an easy route back to the train station and offered to walk me. I knew better than to accept offers from fiends, but they were both loveable rogues in there own way.

Twenty five minutes later and with only three minutes until the last train of the evening leaves, we were lost…

The next morning, with a pang of regret, and the worst pain my head had ever felt; I headed toward the bathroom of Billy’s small unkempt flat. As I walked into the bathroom for a quick wash before leaving, the first thing I could see was blood on the wall and sick all over the floor.  Startled by Billy’s panicked shout of

“Get out, I’m having a beeriod mate, you don’t want to be in here for this Sonny!”

I decided to shout my goodbyes and leave for the train. If quick enough, I may just be in time to open the shop at 10am.

As I arrived to work, just over half an hour late, my staff all stood at the door waiting to get in, one of them asked me why I have the word ‘twat’ on my left cheek and a crudely drawn penis on my right cheek.

That would explain the angry looks on my train journey; I had just assumed it was the smell of stale alcohol coming off of my breath. Brilliant! I thought sarcastically.

                        Later that day I received a call from Billy saying Sam hadn’t turned up for work that day, and asked if I was ok. Neither of us could recall what had happened that night, but according to Billy the blood was a lot more than I had first perceived.

Sam wasn’t answering his calls from anybody, I felt worried about this, but Billy assured me it was probably nothing.

                        “Classic Sam” he laughed, as he hung up the phone.