Day Late, Dollar Short. Or Whatever [OPEN]

[Norah Byron]

[norah]The only reason they were doing the Rockabilly Festival in Austin was that the Reverend Horton Heat was playing and Alec had practically wet himself at the idea of meeting them. Lorica's sound wasn't exactly psychobilly but they had enough songs to fill out a set that wouldn't be too jarring. And the truth was that the guys loved playing festivals. Norah did too, but not as much as the boys. The atmosphere was different from club shows or even amphitheater gigs, looser and less self-impressed. But the real bonus was hanging out in the tents with the other bands. They didn't much chance to geek about music with other musicians these days, and Norah was half convinced that Alec hadn't left the lounge-tent even to sleep or eat since they had arrived on Thursday.

But it had payed off, because here they were sharing the stage with, as Luke put it, the Goddamned Meteors, climbing up to ride the last number of the Metes' set and jam for a screaming audience of she really didn't care how many because damn. Just damn.

Jamming with other bands being Lorica's sole exception to the 'no covers in live shows' rule, they'd picked out an old song that everybody on the stage knew, worked out a key, and called it good. The whole point was to get up on stage and risk it and so Norah completely ignored the couple of dubious looks she got as she stepped up to the mike in her purple dress and swirly hair, looking too young to drink (she was), let alone to understand the kind of music that broke your heart (she wasn't).

Behind her, the horns wailed into action and then she could hear Luke and Fenech tearing up the guitars. The heavy, draggy beat slammed into her like the first stab of lust and Norah let it happen as she opened her mouth and let the harsh, hurtful, gorgeous music come.

Seems like the other day my baby went away. He went away, 'cross the sea. It's been two years or so since I saw my baby go, and then this letter came for me. It said that we was through, he found somebody new. Oh, lemme think, lemme think, what shall I do? Oh, no. Oh, no oh, no no no no no. Remember walking in the sand? Remember walking hand in hand? Remember the night was so exciting? Remember his smile was so inviting? Remember, then he touched my cheek, remember, with his fingertips? Remember, softly, softly we met with a kiss.

She was too damned young to be able to sing like that. Not just the grate in her voice or the wail at the ends of the lines. Too young to understand how defiance and agony and regret can tangle up and be all the same thing. Too young to be that wry in her anger. Too young to know what she was singing about. But it was there. Every twitch of her hips, every curve of her slick red mouth, every too-wise note was true and real and hers.

Whatever happened to the boy that I once knew? The boy that said he'd been true. Oh, whatever happened to that night I gave it to you? What will I do with it now? Oh... Oh, no. Oh, no oh, no no no no no. Remember walking in the sand? Remember walking hand in hand? Remember the night was so exciting? Remember his smile was so inviting? Remember, then he touched my cheek, remember, with his fingertips? Remember, softly, softly we met with a kiss. Whatever happened to the boy that I once knew? The boy that said he'd been true. Oh, whatever happened to that night I gave it to you? What would you do with it now?

When the song ended there were cheers and whoops and Norah waved happily to the crowd but didn't bow (she never did, it was a thing) but effaced herself to the rest of the blended band. They'd been doing the hard work. She slipped down the stairs at the side of the stage and headed not for the backstage but for a beer vendor a bit away from the main press of the crowd. Sure, there would be beers backstage but what fun was that? She plunged through the crowd, ignoring anyone who tried to get her attention along the way, and all but slammed into the side of the rickety wood stand.

"MGD," she demanded. "Very cold. A beer slushie would not be out of the question right now." Hey, it might have only been May but this was Austin.

The vendor poured a flimsy plastic cup of beer and said, "Six dollars."

Norah dug into the slit pockets of her dress but only came up with a crumpled five. "Oh man!" She looked around desperately for support. "Is there anybody here who can loan me a dollar? Pretty please?"[/norah]

[Charlie Davis]

It had been Charlie's idea to do the vendor thing at the festival, since they'd be in Austin anyway selling the loom. It had been his mother's idea to man their area - which had everything from sweaters, hats and scarves made from the shetland wool to some of the equipment used to make them to, if someone was genuinely interested and not an idiot, the goats themselves. Not that they had any goats with them, of course, but Charlie'd devised a system in which to sell them when they weren't present.

In addition, they had food produced on the farm - cheeses and vegetables and cakes and even soaps, all produced by Charlie's mom, who insisted she could watch their stall while he walked around and, heaven forbid, maybe had a good time. He'd argued, but she'd won in the end and so here he was, about to buy a beer when a girl that looked like she'd stepped out of the forties (except for the hair color) ordered one.

"Six dollars? For an MGD?" he asked, eyes going wide even as he was pulling out his wallet and handing a single dollar over to cover her without so much as blinking. "That's highway robbery."

The vendor shrugged. "That's beer at a festival. You want one?"

Charlie shook his head. He could get a whole six pack for that, almost. "I'm good."

He shook his head and started backing out of line, giving the girl a crooked smile that said he hoped she'd enjoy the beer.

[Norah Byron]

[norah]Norah beamed at Charlie, then took a huge swallow of her beautifully-frigid beer, then went back to smiling at the boy who had 'saved' her. "Bless you forever. I needed this like you would not even believe." Less for the beer and more for the excuse not to be there at the rounds of self-congratulation and the Running of the Fangirls, a post-concert event that thrilled the boys still but which increasingly got on Norah's nerves. She understood it, God knows, and most of the time could find the funny, but it still kind of bugged her sometimes to watch the boys (and the guys from whoever else they were playing with) sorting through the girls like cattle, picking the ones they wanted to try out.

And so she took another sip of her beer and said, "My name's Norah, hi! You having fun at the festival?" Not the most scintillating opener ever but she was really just looking for an excuse to prolong the contact. A reason not to go backstage yet.[/norah]

[Charlie Davis]

[charlie]"I only just escaped the stall I'm working," Charlie said, having no problem being honest about that fact. "Though from what I'm hearing, some of the bands are pretty okay." A music afficianado he wasn't, and he knew that would have helped while he was working the festival - small talk about bands leading up to more sales - but they weren't doing too badly as it was.

He looked at her beer with wry amusement though. "I hear the beer's excellent, though. Very high end stuff that you can't get at any corner store around here."[/charlie]

[Norah Byron]

[norah]A huge smile, teeth perfectly straight and as white as modern dentistry could manage. "Yeah, some of them aren't bad." It honestly amused her that 90 seconds after she got offstage she ran into somebody who had no idea she had been performing. Lorica wasn't at a point in their career where they had universal recognition, or even a consistent one in ten. Plenty of opportunities to keep yourself humble when you're sleeping in chain motels every night and doing interviews with DJs who have never heard your music, nor do they care.

She kind of toasted him with her beer cup. "This is a very special MGD, let me tell you. You have never in your life tasted one quite like it. And for six dollars a cup, you probably never will, you looking like a sensible man and all." Another of those so-big smiles and she asked, "What kind of booth are you working? Not beer, presumably."[/norah]

[Charlie Davis]

[charlie]"Uh, retail," he said slowly, not sure if that was what it was called, especially at a place like this. He'd never honestly labeled it, now that he thought about it. At the local farmer's markets he usually worked he didn't really have to. Around a music festival, he wasn't sure what it would count as.

He laughed at his own lack of certainty and pulled his wallet from his back pocket, taking a card from it and handing it to her. On it was the name of their farm, with requisite web address, email address and phone numbers as well as actual, physical address. Beneath that was his name. "I'm Charlie," he told her, then gave in and told her what it was they did.

"We raise goats. Shetland, they make the softest wool. We also have alpacas and chickens and some pigs and grow some food. We're selling a little bit of everything here. Vegetables and stuff we make from the products we farm."

He looked at her then, head tilting and smile going crooked with it. "You're one of the performers, aren't you? Or with one of them?" It was the dress. And the hair. And the sweat. All of it added up. He was country, but he wasn't stupid.[/charlie]

[Norah Byron]

[norah]A bit of a grin. "I don't have my cards on me." She pocketed his, though, and said, "Yeah, but we're not exactly one of the big groups. They mostly just let us onto the ticket because, well, there are only so many real rockabilly bands out there."

When he told her about the stall she smiled. "Cool." She sounded like she meant it. "Can you show me your booth? Or," a little laugh, "given that you're on a break do you want to go anywhere else but there right now? I could show you around backstage if you preferred? At least back there the beer's free."[/norah]

[Charlie Davis]

[charlie]Having no idea that it was somewhat of a really, really cool thing to get to go backstage (Charlie had been to exactly three concerts in his entire life, two of those with his parents when he'd been a kid), Charlie said, "I don't mind, I like being around our stall. I'd be happy to show you around." His chest even puffed out a bit, because he was very, very proud of the farm and the business he'd built it into.

It wasn't easy anymore to be an independent farmer, though the movement for more earth-friendly products that haven't been tampered with to fit in with a corporate agenda was helping things. Still, it wasn't easy and that he'd managed to a build a solid business out of it with his mother's help made him always more than happy to show their wares off.

He turned and started walking back in the direction from which he'd come and asked, "So do you play these kinds of things...a lot?" He was still smiling slightly, and it went a bit wry as he realized he sounded as uninformed as he actually was about how things worked. "Can you even do that, just play festivals? Or...," a soft but happy laugh, "I have no idea how it works."[/charlie]

[Norah Byron]

[norah]Being well past the point where she found being backstage right after a concert all that cool, Norah smiled and tucked a hand around Charlie's elbow both for friendliness and for necessity as they would be going against the main flow of traffic the direction he was heading and if they got separated the chances of her finding him again were middling at best. "Cool, thanks." She sounded like she meant it because she very much did. Norah had only the vaguest and most academic idea of what went on at a farm, and much of her image of it was formed by old movies or children's songs. Finding out how it actually worked kind of interested her. Besides, Charlie was sweet, nonthreatening, and gave absolutely no indications of wanting to make out with her and post about it on Twitter or talk to her about his band.

"We don't do festivals too often. Mostly clubs and amphitheaters. Small amphitheaters, like at colleges. Music festival season is mostly from mid-spring to early fall, we'll hit a few more this season but not enough to make a living on." She strolled along with him, sipping at her beer now and then. "We've been on tour for about four months, we're not supposed to come off the road until next spring, although we're playing at Disneyworld for six weeks over Christmas, so all our families are going to fly out and we'll do some kind of weird Mickey Mouse reunion thing then." The truth was, she was looking forward to it. A lot. Even flying visits every time the band swung through California didn't keep her from missing her folks.

Keeping that easy grip on his arm she asked, "So what are you guys selling today? I mean, is there a market for, um, goat wool at this kind of event?" A beat, "Is it called wool when it's from goats? Feel free to laugh at the idiot city girl at any time, I totally understand."[/norah]

[Charlie Davis]

[charlie]"Yeah," he laughed, peripherally aware of her hand on his arm but accepting it as natural given the traffic and flow of people and not reading too much into it. "It's called wool. Mohair in this case and we're selling scarves and hats and mittens and sweaters and bags," he grinned, "All selling pretty well. So's the soap and cheese and butter. And eggs - those 're from the chickens, though. So anyway, guess there's a market. So doesn't it suck, being on the road all that time?"

He traveled for work, but never stayed away longer than a week unless his mom was on the road with him. He didn't like the thought of her alone, hired help or not. It didn't count, as far as he was concerned, even if Frank and Marni were like family. It just wasn't the same. So, months and months without seeing her or home would probably make him crazy. [/charlie]

[Norah Byron]

[norah]"Some days it sucks, some days it's wonderful and exciting, a lot of days it's just what you do. When we're going from place to place, just hanging around the RV chatting and geeking about music and getting on one another nerves like we have been since we were kids."

She grinned over at him. "Imagine spending all day every day in a tight confined space with your brothers, their two best friends, and a very cranky man with a gun and gang tats. Then you shower, spend three hours completely exhausting yourself doing the thing you love best in the world, go to an exact, Groundhog-Day replica of the same party you've been to every single other night, then you crash out in a motel bed and start fresh the next day. It's awesome. And awful. And exciting and boring and satisfying and sometimes I wonder what on earth I think I'm doing. Same as, I think, everybody else in the world."[/norah]

[Charlie Davis]

[charlie]It sounded just awful to Charlie, not awesome in the least, but he didn't say that out loud. It wasn't in him to blatantly insult anyone, even if that someone was a person he'd only just met. He couldn't imagine doing something so boring - and the repetitive nature did sound horrifically boring to him - for three hours of excitement. But then, Charlie did not live for excitement and he'd made peace with that fact long ago.

"I'm imagining it," he said, trying to be more diplomatic, "And I don't think I could do it. I'm too much of a home body."[/charlie]

[Norah Byron]

[norah]"Not to sound like every bad VH1 interview ever? But the music makes it worthwhile. There's nothing in the world I love the way I do making music, and I get to do it with my favorite people in the world, my brothers and our friends. I might get sick of some of the stupid stuff that comes with the job, but the music is worth it. It's worth anything." She laughed and shook her head. "Wow, I sound like a goober. That's okay, I am a goober and I'm at peace with it."[/norah]

[Charlie Davis]

[charlie]"Wow," he laughed, "That's some enthusiasm. But that's good, right? To love what you do? It makes all kinds of things worth it." And he sounded like he knew from experience, which he did.

He didn't say anything else, though, stopping in front of a stall that had everything from sweaters, blankets, scarves and shawls to eggs and vegetables and soaps and candles. Standing behind one of the tables was a woman that looked to be in her early to mid fifties, hair the same light brown as Charlie's but going uniformly grey in a way that worked for her, eyes warm and smile wide as she took the two of them in.

"You leave to get a drink and come back with this pretty young thing," Erin Davis said with a laugh that grew as Charlie rolled his eyes.

"Six dollar beers, Mom, can you believe it?"

"Around here, yes," Erin said with a nod, turning back to Norah. "I'm Erin, and I remember teaching him manners along the way, but he seems to have forgotten them."

"Knock it off," Charlie said with a soft laugh of his own. "This is Norah."[/charlie]

[Norah Byron]

[norah]Norah smiled and stepped forward, reaching out to shake the older woman's hand. "He rescued me, I had foolishly gone to the six-dollar beer line with only five dollars in my pocket. And then I made him hang out with me as proof that no good deed goes unpunished."

As they shook hands Norah's smile grew even warmer, friendly and genuinely delighted to be meeting Charlie's mom. This was what made her good at working the parties, that she really did like people this much. "It's good to meet you. This place looks awesome, you really make all this stuff yourself? I mean," a quick laugh, "I know you probably didn't produce the eggs your own self, but all these soaps and candles and the other things are all you guys? That's incredible."[/norah]