The Greatest Gig

Andrew tapped a button on his synth allowing the long bass notes to shudder down his spine. Shifting from one leg to another in a darkened corner of the room, his stomach clenched of its own volition. Sneaking a glance out the window for reassurance, he was instead taunted by the stale bubbles of a half-drunk beer resting on the ledge.

The clock above the pokies neared 9pm. He should have started ten minutes ago, but Andrew had been waiting for more mid-week patrons to be drawn to tonight’s two-for-one cocktail deal. Not even the promise of cut-price Midori was working though, as he stared at empty tables and full bowls of complimentary peanuts.

“Even Oasis started small,” Andrew mumbled. Taking a slow, deliberate breath, he contorted his fingers in a familiar pattern, struck the white keys and began to sing.

He started with a tune that he had composed himself. A little funky, a little sexy. He knew what it took to get people into the mood. Whenever anyone was actually around. With a deftness that belied his height, his long fingers released a riff that had haunted him most nights in his sleep, until one morning the melody had startled him wide awake. If he’d had a girlfriend, she probably would have been upset at being roused by his muse at 3am.

Andrew continued to play and sing above a compelling drumbeat, and after four-and-a-half-minutes he was soaring into wide-open space. Opening his eyes, wide-open space was what also aptly described the scene in front of him. The bored bar staff briefly glanced his way before resuming their ministrations to a rack of wine glasses.

This was all part of it though. This was still his gig. He’d earned it off his own back after busking in the mall every other Friday night ever since he was of legal age. He had played and played, and he’d gotten good. His open guitar case told him that much as the silver turned to gold over the years. If only he’d keep going, he’d see Triple J segments, record deals, fans lined up for miles. They were all in his future.

If only, right?

Andrew turned the volume up slightly to hear himself over the not so subtle banter behind the bar. Grabbing the mic once more, he began crooning another song. It was an old standard and even the bar staff paused for a split second before resuming their chatter.

Andrew didn’t care and launched into this number like he was at a stadium. It was a sold-out night and his gig had hologram tickets. His voice took on a life of its own as he jammed with the treble.

When he opened his eyes this time, there was a sound. Feint but there. It was a small clap.

Andrew squinted against the blazing stage light to a far recess of the room. Sitting by herself was a long-haired woman perched on her own. She was tapping away at her phone but glanced up when he’d paused to throw a sign of appreciation his way. Andrew didn’t know what her deal was, but his essence grasped that appreciation like it was water. He smiled and began tinkering with a few notes in preparation of his next song. Before she’d clapped, it was just going to be any old number. But now he needed something good. Something she’d like.

He kicked off again and began playing a soulful melody, just like his first tune. Tapping the electric drums, he set a quick beat and allowed his eyelids to drift down. He didn’t dare open them again, even as he held onto the final note twice as long as he normally would. His lips however curled into a small smile when he again head that solo clap from the far side of the room.

Diving straight into his next number the same happened again. And again. He wasn’t sure how long she was going to be there, but she was still there and on her own after the sixth song. Andrew was even interacting with her by this stage; throwing lyrics her way with a confident point and wink. A corner of her mouth had lifted at that.

He decided to take a risk. Until now, he had used a standard rock instrument set-up on his laptop. But now was time to pull out the big guns.

It was time for a sax solo.

The lights seemed to lower just a little bit in his mind. Letting his eyelids flutter down again, he began to play. It was another one of his own creations. Something soared from the depths of his chest to the tips of his fingers as his body began to repeat the patterns he knew so well from hours spent in his sparse living room. He loved it. He loved her. He loved every moment he was living right now. The mellow brass tones flowed flawlessly as he pitched his baritone against it. It was magic.

At the end of the number his fingers hovered up from the buttons and keys in suspended animation. His eyes stayed shut as his ears strained.

There was only silence.

Andrew’s breath caught in his chest as he blinked himself back to the present. A lone glass rested on a filthy coaster. Andrew watched as a drop of condensation trickled down the side before disappearing into a beer stain. One of the bar staff sauntered over to the table, and with a deft swipe of a tea towel, all traces of her that night vanished.

For a full beat, Andrew didn’t move a muscle. It wasn’t long though before his fingers began tap, tap, tapping of their own accord. Keeping his facial expression fixed, he cued up the instrumentals for his next song. Andrew cleared his throat, took a breath, and began to sing.