Chapter 1
RYAN'S P.O.V
I walk away from the street, down the alley. Wind hovering nonchalantly over the rooftops. I listen carefully to the sloshing sound of my feet walking through the black puddles-so dark you can see your reflection in them-and the wind is whooshing all around me. Causing my hair to whip and lash at my ivory face. My black boots-I wear them so often, they are practically molded to my feet-are soaked. I can feel the icy cold water swishing between my freezing toes.
I am wearing my black and white pinstripe pants. A belt fastened through the loops. My guitar, in her case, is slung over my shoulder. A bag of my things over the other. My black button down shirt is accented with my old purple scarf. I grip my hat to my head quickly to stop the wind from chasing it away. I now stand in front-the side-backstage-of the cabaret I will now be working at. I take in a deep breath and let it out nice and slow. I reach to open the door. A short skinny, little guy emerges out from behind the door. I step back to let him through. A cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. He searches his pockets for a lighter, I guess, while fiddling with the carton of cigarettes. He looks up, staring blankly at me for a few seconds before smiling up at me. His cigarette is now lit and the carton has disappeared from sight. He loosens the collar of his dress shirt, revealing two distinct tattoos. His hand extends toward me. I shake his gloved hand.
"Hi. I'm Frank. You must be the knew singer?" He says cheerily.
"Yes. I'm Ryan", I mumble quietly.
Frank takes a long drag, blowing the smoke towards the ground. There has to be at least two feet worth of distance between our heights.
"Let me help you with those", he offers. I look sheepishly at my carry on bag. I hand that to him. I wouldn't feel comfortable with another guy touching my guitar.
"Thank you", I finally muster. He holds open the door for me. I step inside. The place looks fairly new. From what I can see. I silently marvel at all the funishings. Wood planked floors, red velvet curtains draping over the stage to my left. Beyond the stage are empty, round tables and cushioned chairs.
"This, is the backstage area. It's also the dressing room slash practice lounge. When we're putting on a show but your NOT performing, you're required to help out. Pull some strings, set up props. Simple stuff like that", Frank says. He motions for me to follow him up the hidden staircase. He turns to face me, slowly walking backwards. "And up here, on the second floor, is where the performers live". A twenty or so-year-old looking guy comes up from behind Frank. He swiftly slips the cigarette out of Franks hand and puts it out.
"You know the rules. If you wanna smoke, go to the roof or the alley", he says.
"Sorry, Matt. Meet our new singer", Frank tells him. "Oh, and, by the way, I'm a comedian", Frank explains to me.
"I'm the manager and owner of this Cabaret. I'm Matt Rubano. Just 'Matt' will be fine. It was nice meeting you, but I have to go check on somethings downstairs", Matt says as he descends the stairs. Frank doesn't speak again until Matt has completely vanished. Frank walks down the hall, I follow. Shuffling my feet against the floor.
"We share rooms around here. Two per room. Do you mind?", He smiles again. He seems like a very happy guy. I had often heard that comedians were depressed in reality. That doesn't seem to be the case here.
"No. That's fine". I tug on one of my sleeves. Assuming my room mate has no problems with me staying up 'till all hours of the night.
"Great". He stops and leans back on a door. "Now since your a singer, You'll be bunking with Adam Lazzara. There are two Adams around here. Lazzara, the singer and Lambert, the dancer". He explains with his hands a lot too. He laughs at a silent joke before opening the door he'd been leaning against. When he moved away from the door, a sign with the name, 'Adam Lazzara' was scrawled in script on a paper sign. I took a second to look around the room. It's was simple looking enough. The floor was carpeted in a soft white, same as in the hallway. The walls were painted tan. It didn't look at all like the downstairs. Sitting on a loveseat at the center of the room, was a half asleep guy. He jumps a little when Frank clears his throat. He rises from his seat and walks over to us. He let outs a tired yawn.
"Hey, Frank. Who's this? The singer?", he gestures to me, flipping his hair out of his face.
"Yeah. His name is Ryan". Frank walks off again, heading towards one of the closed doors in the room. Adam motions that we follow him. We walk into a smaller room. My bag is already sitting on the single bed. Beside the bed is a curtained window. On the other side a tiny bed side table with a lamp resting atop it. A little desk is placed on the opposite side of the room, a dresser standing beside it. A feather pen, sheets of paper and a bottle of ink are arranged neatly atop the desk. Frank opens yet another door. Inside was a clean bathroom. The floor is tiled, a tiny sink has a mirror hovering above it. And of course a toilet beside. Against a wall is a bathtub. (much like the one on 'The Nightmare Before Christmas').
"I'll let you get settled in. If you need anything, I'm right across the hall. 'Frank Iero' and 'Mikey Way' are written on the sign" He lets himself out with a wink and a smile. He's kind of charming, I admit. "What's your last name?", Frank asks me, popping his head through the doorway. I set my guitar in a corner before I respond, "Ross".
"Alright. I'll put it on the sign". This time he disappears for good
Adam and I start to putting my things away. Hair product and things along that line are placed neatly in the bathroom. I lay my clothes neatly inside the dresser. Whatever clothes I DO have.
"I guess you must have realized how quite it is around here for a Cabaret".
"Yeah. I noticed. Why?". I did notice. It's very quite. A weird quite. He lets out a long yawn.
"Some of us are sleeping", he yawns.
"The others?". Watching him yawn is begging to make me tired.
"The others, are around the city. Trying to get more customers or enjoying their free time"
"You seem like you'd rather sleep", I inquire. His eyes are half lidded
"Ha. Yeah. I couldn't sleep last night. I was actually just about to pass out when you guys came in",
"Sorry". I feel kinda bad. I know what its like to be deprived of sleep.
"No worries. I'm gonna go see if I can catch some 'Z's'. Maybe we can get to know each other later?"
"Yeah". I smile with a nod.
I toss my hat on the bed. I fetch my guitar and grab a pick. I start strumming, humming along. I can hear music coming from next door. I slow my playing then go completely silent. I set my sights on the wall, making my way closer. There is no guitar, just singing. It's really beautiful. A golden bell of a voice. I can make out the words.
"...All of my dreams wake up to despise a world I once loved. Why would you bring me in if you knew what you'd become? So curse everyone and everything even the sun. Stall me, stall me. I'm all in! Stall me call me up or break me in. A dark room and the wallflower garden of the party, she's got four on the floor. She's waiting to kick start me. So just stall me! I had a rosy dream. You gave up on you. And I gave up on me. Love came along and said 'leave them be'....".
I start playing along to his words.
"Stall me, stall me. I'm all in! Stall me call me up or break me in! A dark room in the wallflower garden of the party...".
I sit on the floor with my back against the wall. That is a voice I wish I had. That voice demand attention.
