Center Stage
Copyright© 2025 by Lumpy
Chapter 7
I’d played LA, I’d played New York on New Year’s Eve, and I’d played all kinds of clubs and venues across the South. None of them prepared me for playing in Vegas!
It was like stepping into another world, where everything was neon-lit, smoky, and loud. While most people back home would consider that a bad thing, there was a kind of energy to it like I’d never experienced before. I don’t know if it was because of the high style all around or just everyone convinced they were going to get rich, but almost everyone I met had an infectious attitude.
As far as venues went, this wouldn’t be the largest I’d ever played. The Colosseum at Caesar’s Palace held just over a fourth of what the Hollywood Bowl held, less even than the venue where I’d opened for House of Grace. But what it lacked in headcount, it made up for in spectacle. The venue itself was a marvel. Everything was Roman-themed with marble and giant pillars. Every third thing was gold, or at least painted gold, with thick red carpets and a staff member in every direction you turned.
It was going to be hard to top this experience, that was for sure.
Even with all the glamour, they didn’t skimp backstage. One of the things about the Hollywood Bowl was, as classic a venue as it was, a lot of the electronics were outdated and old, feeling a little jury-rigged. Here, everything was top-of-the-line, new, and fancy. I couldn’t even tell how to work half of the equipment they had, not that I needed to. The venue staff made it very clear we weren’t to touch anything. Apparently, unions are big in Vegas, and even plugging something in needs a union guy to do it.
I had a vague memory of someone, maybe Dad or someone I met at one of his shows, talking about how Vegas had been created by the mob, or for the mob, I wasn’t really sure. If TV shows were to be believed, that maybe had something to do with unions being involved. Of course, maybe not. This was the problem with being an okay student who gets most of his facts from prime-time television.
All I knew was that it was intense.
I mostly tried to stay out of the way of the venue people, roadies, and stagehands as they got everything set up with last-minute adjustments.
The first half of the show went about the same as it did the previous weekend. We did the intro song, the groups numbers, and then Dexter went out and did his set, and that all went great. Things started to go off track when Dakota came out for her duet with Dexter and her solo songs. She mostly held it together for the first duet, or at least Dexter was enough of a pro that he covered for her. The first real signs of trouble came during her solo performance, where she completely missed a high note, and everyone heard it. She kind of recovered after that, but the crowd was a little on edge.
Dexter was pissed when he came off stage, muttering something about “at it again” before storming off, followed by yelling from a side hallway a minute later. I couldn’t hear what was said over the music, but he was definitely not happy. I tried to look to one of the producers to see what I should do, but she just waved me forward as Dakota finished her song, not leaving me a lot of choice.
I got out there and we started our stage patter. She was slurring her words a little and, now that I was up next to her, I could see her pupils were the size of dinner plates, dilated all the way out. I knew what that meant. Dad was a drinker normally, but he’d occasionally get into something heavier at a show and come back completely out of his mind. His eyes looked just like Dakota’s did now.
I tried to give her a ‘you good’ look in between our lines, but she didn’t even notice. And then we launched into our duet.
It was a train wreck. She missed notes left and right, making it almost impossible to hit harmonies. I tried to adjust, but she was all over the place, even when we were singing the same note. She flubbed her second verse so badly I had to jump in and make it a two-parter, singing along with her, trying to make it seem like part of the plan.
She didn’t even notice, just kept on going.
I was happy when the torture finally ended. To say the response was bad is an understatement. It’s tough to have five thousand people staring at you, completely stone-faced, with a few pity claps thrown in to make sure you understand how bad the reaction is.
Dakota started staggering off stage, to the point two production people ran out to help her make it back alright.
“Well, that was something, wasn’t it,” I said to no response. “How about we pick things up a little bit? I normally play a country song coming out of that, but I think we need a little bit more energy if we’re going to close this show out right. It might just be time for a One Night Stand.”
I looked back at the stage band to make sure they were with me. I hadn’t just picked that song because of the tempo. We’d been playing around a little bit and talking during rehearsal the day before. I can’t even remember how the song came up, but during some downtime, I played a bit and showed them some of the parts. At the time, it was just musicians goofing around and having fun while we waited for the tech crew to work something out on their end.
Thankfully, these guys were pros and that was all they needed. I wouldn’t say it was my best rendition of that song, but after what had just happened, it probably sounded like a masterpiece. By the end of it, people were up dancing around and having a good time again.
Which was a very good thing, considering what I had planned next.
“Before we continue, I want to take a moment to recognize some special guests here tonight. The Saunders family has joined us all the way from Los Angeles.”
I gestured to where they were sitting, a spotlight finding them in the crowd, where Mrs. Saunders managed a nervous wave. The kids’ eyes were huge. At that moment, it was probably terrifying, but they were going to go back to school on Monday telling everyone they headlined a Vegas show.
“For those who don’t know, Mr. Saunders was involved in a serious accident last weekend. A car crash caused a power outage during our show at the Hollywood Bowl. Mr. Saunders, the driver of that car, suffered a heart attack at the wheel. A tragic accident that put him in the hospital for a week, and ruined their only car. On top of that, he needs surgery to repair a congenital problem with his heart.”
I’d talked over the details I’d give the crowd with Mrs. Saunders the day before when she’d confirmed they were coming to the show. My concern was that people tend to get a little judgy, trying to find a way an accident was someone else’s fault, especially when those people were asking for money. I wanted to make sure they all understood her husband did nothing wrong and shouldn’t be blamed for a cruel twist of fate.
“He’s facing a long road to recovery, and like too many hard-working folks, his family is struggling with the burden of the medical bills on top of his lost wages. It’s a story I know all too well from growing up. One bad break can upend everything. Which is why the Stage Finalists’ Tour and I have partnered to set up a Helping Hands page for the Saunders family. Information on the campaign is in your show booklets, on the tour website, and on my own website. Every little bit helps, whether it’s five dollars or five hundred. If you can spare anything, I urge you to give. And to show that this isn’t just lip service, I’m putting my money where my mouth is. My earnings from last weekend’s shows, every penny, is going directly to the Saunders family to help them weather this storm, along with a matching donation from GLR Records, our fabulous sponsor tonight.”
While that was true, I was still paying Lyla and Seth and refused to let them throw in. Until we got distribution set back up, they were essentially living off of what I made here, and I didn’t actually need the money since I lived with Mrs. Phillips. It was essentially true since it was every penny I was receiving and explaining it would just ruin the message. And Phoenix got his shout-out, which was his due for allowing this to happen on stage.
There was a smattering of applause as the spotlight moved off of Mrs. Sanders. Not a ton, but enough. I hoped it was a sign that we’d start to see some traction for them.
“I want to thank you upfront. This is what music is about, bringing people together, lifting each other up. We’re all in this together, and together, we can make a real difference in people’s lives. Now, with that taken care of, let’s get back to some music, shall we?”
The audience cheered, for real this time, as I launched into Backstage.
The rest of the show finished up well, with no other disasters, although Dakota was noticeably absent from the final number. The crowd seemed to be having a good time again, with a huge round of cheers as we did our final bow.
Backstage was absolute chaos, people running around, yelling into headsets. I made my way back to my dressing room, turning a corner into a group of paramedics and a gurney outside the door to Dakota’s dressing room, which was next to mine.
“What happened? Is she okay?” I asked the dozen or so people gathered around, crowding the paramedics.
I knew she was on something, but Dad had done that a fair number of times, to the point of not being able to walk, and hadn’t needed medical attention. He’d been good after a full night’s sleep.
“She’s having a reaction to something,” one of the PAs said. “They’re taking her to the hospital.”
Even as she said that, I watched them pull the stretcher into her room and load her up on it. We kind of followed them out into a larger area, only stopping as they wheeled her out the loading bay doors to an ambulance waiting in the back.
“I saw her with Vince earlier,” Dillon, who’d just come up to stand next to me, said. “Saw him give her something.”
“What? Are you sure?”
He nodded. “Yeah. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but now...”
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” a voice said from behind us.
I turned and saw Vince standing there, looking annoyed. Well, Vince and pretty much everyone else on the tour. The crowd had seriously grown at this point.
“Bullshit. I saw you give her something. What was it? You need to tell them so they know what to treat her for,” Dillon said, with a lot more passion than I’d ever seen him put into his actual music.
“You want to accuse me of something? Let’s go, right here.”
“Whoa, hold on. That isn’t going to solve anything,” I said, putting myself between them.
It wasn’t until I got close to Vince, separating them, that I noticed his eyes were pretty wacked out too. He wasn’t having the same reaction as Dakota, but he was definitely flying.
Before things went any further, Phoenix and several producers came hurrying over, probably wanting to do damage control.
“What’s going on here?” Phoenix demanded.
“Dakota’s on her way to the hospital,” I said. “Dillon says he saw Vince give her something earlier.”
Vince scoffed. “That’s bullshit. I didn’t give her anything.”
Dillon jabbed a finger at him. “I know what I saw.”
“Vince, you’re as high as she was. Your pupils are dilated. I’m surprised you can even stand,” I said.
“You’re about to be the one having problems standing,” he said, balling his hands into fists.
If that wasn’t proof, I don’t know what was. Being aggressive was one thing, but doing it in front of the people running the show was something else entirely.
“Guys, let’s cool off for a minute,” Phoenix said.
I turned to Phoenix. “Look, that set with Dakota was bad. Really bad. It’s going to hurt the tour, and Vince is just as high. I know how much money you guys have sunk into this tour, and I’m telling you he’s a liability.”
At first, Phoenix didn’t say anything, just looked between us. Considering it was his money tied up in this, I was surprised he was so reticent to do anything about it. Vince was good, no doubt, but he wasn’t worth this kind of mess.
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.