Chapter Twenty-Five
Gabby
My left hand shakes as I rub it down my thigh, my violin clenched under my arm. The soundcheck this afternoon was crazy enough, the way my sound bounced around the space, the mic clipped to my bridge sending it through the massive towers of speakers flanking the stage. But the stadium had been empty, the house lights up, roadies and techies moving around getting things ready for tonight.
Jonathan’s on stage, talking to the crowd, and I watch him from the wings, waiting for my cue to go out. I have on heavy makeup, my hair is styled with several small French braids on either side of my head to keep it out of my way, but flowing down my back, and I’m wearing an outfit that makes me look like a badass rocker chick. The stylist wanted me to wear a leather motorcycle jacket too, but I nixed that because there’s no way I could play wearing that. Despite the fact that it was supple and I could move in it easily enough, it had too many metal grommets and the extra thick shoulders would make it so the violin wouldn’t sit right. Instead we went with artfully ripped skinny jeans, a chain for a belt, motorcycle boots, and a leather bustier that leaves my shoulders largely bare, except for two thin straps.
Apparently me complaining about the thick jacket shoulders meant I shouldn’t have anything on my shoulders.
At least I don’t have to worry about it restricting my arm movements.
And even though it resembles a corset, it’s actually really comfortable, not restrictive at all. The boning helps support my posture without making breathing difficult.
Jonathan’s voice reverberates through the stadium now, carrying over the sounds of the crowd and the occasional shouts ringing through the air. I feel it in my bones as well as hearing it over the in-ear monitor I was given today. “I’d like you all to welcome Gabrielle Kane to the stage.”
The crowd erupts into applause, screams and whistles piercing the darkness beyond the stage lights. A spotlight illuminates my corner of the stage, and Barry, the tour manager, nudges me to go on. Swallowing hard and taking a deep breath, I rub my hand down my pants one more time before plastering my best performer’s smile on my face and stepping into the light.
Jonathan stands near the front of the stage, his face turned toward me, and his hand extended in my direction. He beckons me forward with a wide smile, pulling me in close when I take his hand. With his arm around me, he turns to the audience again. I can make out the first few rows of people, but the glare of the stage lights block everyone else. Just the wall of noise they generate letting me know exactly how many people must be here.
Not that I didn’t already know. The show’s been sold out for weeks. And I made Jonathan tell me the capacity of this stadium last week when we announced I’d be joining him for some of his tour stops.
The fan reaction on his social media has been largely positive. And they seem excited tonight.
Hopefully they still feel that way after I play.
Jonathan motions for the audience to quiet down, and slowly, the volume fades. But never goes completely quiet. It’s such a strange contrast to what I’m used to on stage. We walk out, people applaud until you take your place, and they sit in near silence waiting for you to start. It’s a faux pas to clap between movements of the same piece. And then they politely clap you off the stage. And I’ve never played for more than maybe a couple hundred people.
This. This crowd is huge. And rowdy. Screams and whistles and the glow of smartphones sparking in the darkness. Lights flash here and there.
“Everyone, I’d like you to meet Gabrielle.” It’s weird hearing him call me by my full name. But that’s how he’s talked about me in interviews. That’s how I’ve been billed on Facebook and Twitter and IG and Snapchat. When I asked him about it, he said it’s because Gabby is reserved for people who know me. The public can call me my full name. Only friends and family get to call me Gabby.
Another swell of noise greets Jonathan’s introduction. He waits patiently for them to quiet down again.
“You guys are lucky. This is the first show that we’re playing together. And you are the deciding factor over whether this continues or not. We’ve been rehearsing together since last week, and all the roadies and the tour crew like it. But you’re the first audience to hear it. So if you like it, we’ll keep it for future shows. If you hate it …” He trails off, and everyone laughs and cheers some more. A few shouts of, “We love you!” reach us on stage.
Jonathan chuckles into the microphone. “We love you too.”
Whoops and hollers greet that statement, but quickly die away.
“If you’ve read the liner notes, you might realize that Gabrielle helped me write nearly all the songs on my album. She’s an amazing violinist and a talented composer. What she’s playing tonight she wrote while we’ve been apart. I hope you all like it as much as I do.”
He pulls me in close and kisses me for several seconds, but keeping it just the press of his lips against mine. When he pulls back, his eyes are lit from within as he smiles down at me. “Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
After another quick kiss, he releases me, and I step to my mark a few feet to stage right while Jonathan settles on a stool, a roadie coming out to hand him his guitar. It’s an acoustic with electric pickups, not the Taylor he uses to write. This is his concert instrument because it hooks into the amplification system easily. They wanted me to try an electric violin, Jonathan actually had one delivered. Like his guitar, it mimics an acoustic, but can plug in easily. But since this has all been put together on such short notice, I refused. My nerves are rioting as it is. Playing on an unfamiliar instrument sounds like a surefire way to screw myself up.
With a deep breath, I set my violin on my shoulder, telling myself I’m excited, not nervous. This is what I want—to perform. To play music that people connect to. The fact that I’m playing something I wrote adds a whole other level of anxiety. What if everyone hates it?
But no. I can’t think that.
This is exciting. Playing on stage with Jonathan. Our music, that we wrote together. That his fans already love. That I’m just adding to, and everyone who’s heard it thinks it’s awesome.
Jonathan catches my eye, flashing me a smile, and his fingers caress the strings, coaxing out the melody. It plays directly in my ear, and I feel the reverberations through my boots glued to the stage.
I lift my instrument into position, poise the bow on the string, breathe in, and play.