She Caught Me

The side alley door of the club closed heavily as Fran stepped outside. The temperature dropped; she pulled her jacket closer. Keith was already fishing a loose cigarette out of his pocket.

"Sorry, could you wait a moment on that?" Fran said, pointing at it.

Keith blinked. "Why?"

Fran flattened her lips. "My doctor would drop me. Hormone stuff. I can't be around smoke."

"That might be a problem if you wanna work here," he said, holding it down by his side.

She swallowed and shrugged. "I'll stay inside. Wear a mask or something."

"Sure." He sighed as he returned the cigarette to his jacket pocket and patted it. "Listen, like I said, your work is great. You've already got the job, so no need to squirm."

Fran frowned. "Am I squirming?"

She was. She put her hands back in her jacket pockets in a very cool manner, leaning back—then immediately pulled it closer around her as a gust of wind blew into the alley. She wasn't built for this cold; her teeth chattered.

Keith nodded. "Just try to get along with people and you'll be fine." He waved her back inside as he raised his beloved cig to his mouth. "And get a thicker jacket."

She nodded and let the heavy metal door fall closed behind her as she peeled off said jacket. It was the one thing she hadn't gotten around to yet moving from Arizona; too busy finding work.

The inside of the club was much warmer, and would get warmer still with all the bodies filling it up in the next hour. For now it was relatively deserted, except for a stray member of a band playing tonight who'd been late for sound check like the irresponsible goof he was. He noodled on his guitar and shouted back and forth with the sound tech across the room.

Fran booed Kameron and held up a thumbs down. He pouted and walked to the edge of the stage, cable trailing behind him.

"Can you take a picture of me sound-checking?" he said as he crouched, arms folding over his light pink guitar.

"I'll have plenty of you playing."

"Noooo, it's not the full experience! It's more candid this way," he begged.

"Bro, film is expensive." Fran took her place at the nearest table where she'd left her camera bag. "I'll take it on your phone."

Kam sagged. "Fine."

She took a few quick pictures of him looking nonchalant, the big LED Carnie Corn sign behind him glowing pink and blue, then went to scoping out the best spots for views of the stage. Fran was not a particularly small person, but something she prided herself on was her sneakiness and foresight. When she held a camera, she could be right where the action was before anyone else spotted it—or her.

She wouldn’t mention it, but that was where she and Keith disagreed: she wouldn't have to get along with anyone. They wouldn't even know she was there.

Fran occupied herself with mock shots until club-goers trickled in, drinks in hand, taking seats and chatting with Keith. She didn't know any of the bands playing, but she hoped to plug into the scene; if she was lucky, she could find a newer one to write about and get in good with them. The blog was in need of traffic.

She clutched her bottled Sprite as tables filled up around her—a rare sugary indulgence. She had her mask on, which would hopefully block most of the smoke smell filtering in from outside.

The music over the speakers stopped, and Keith started welcoming people on the mic. He introduced the first band as Fran got into position: Rain of Riches. They played a few heavy songs Fran absentmindedly liked, but their stage presence left much to be desired. Mostly just stared at their feet. Fine.

Fran stewed in her thoughts as they shuffled offstage, going over the shots in her head. They'd surely be, y’know, alright, but beautiful composition wouldn’t matter if the subjects were dull. Maybe—

She jumped at a tap on her shoulder, and turned to meet it. There stood a girl in an oversized T-shirt and far too many colorful beaded bracelets, smiling at her like she was an old friend. She said something Fran couldn't hear over the loud rock music on the speakers.

"What?" Fran shouted.

"I saw your soda!" the girl shouted back.

Fran paused. Her mouth was dry. "What... what about it?"

She was already digging in her pocket. After a second, she held up a small bag of Pop Rocks, blue and purple. She smiled with wide eyes. "Want to make your stomach explode?"

Fran was thoroughly confused. Was she drunk? Did she have anybody looking out for her? Fran looked around, but it was stupidly crowded. She'd been caught off guard. "Like... from the eighties?"

"Seventies," the girl cheerfully corrected. "My mom won a lifetime supply back then. Still hasn't run out."

Fran smiled in bewilderment. What was happening? "Gross." It was not a promising prospect, holding impotent fifty-year-old sugar in her mouth—but her mom would hate it, and that was a point in its favor.

She held her hand out, barely smothering a smile, and the girl poured a small pile into her palm. Fran held her eye contact for a moment, psyching herself up; her coily hair was in two buns on top of her head, and she had thick-rimmed black glasses on. Besides, she had a strange expectant look, and Fran found herself not wanting to disappoint.

Fran barely let herself think about what she was doing. She rolled her eyes, removed her mask, shook up her bottle, dumped all the Pop Rocks in her mouth, and took a drink. Sure enough, they popped, and her entire face puckered, but her jaw wasn’t blown off her skull. She looked at the girl, who laughed lightly. "How do they still pop if they're this old?" Fran asked around a mouthful of bad candy.

"Oh, that was a lie," she said, her laugh cooling into a self-satisfied smile. "I just wanted to talk to you."

Fran coughed, and all the candy and soda went down her throat at once. There was a sourceless patting on her back, and she came back up hot in the face. "So you just—" She burped, violently. "You just carry Pop Rocks around to talk to girls with soda?"

"Not important." She held her hand out, her smile uncurling into something warmer. "I'm Heaven."

Fran's coughs subsided enough to take her hand and give her own name. "Almost killed me," she managed.

"I haven't seen you here before," Heaven said. She was close enough to hear with only mild shouting now.

Moving right along. "I just started working here, yeah." She held up her camera. "Pictures for the website, and my blog."

Heaven's face lit up. "Cool! I'll look it up." She looked at her phone, then made a face like she was in trouble. "Okay, I gotta go, but—nice to meet you! You'll see me again."

"Ah—alright." Fran didn't know how to respond, but Heaven had already dashed off with a wave.

She rubbed her face, feeling flustered. She still couldn’t tell if the girl was drunk or not—hopefully she’d be okay. That sort of thing did not happen to her often. Fran got her heart rate under control as Keith started announcing the next band.

Well, maybe Heaven was right. She'd probably see her again if she kept working here, but that was true about a lot of people. There was nothing special about it.

Still, she was strangely sweet. And pretty cute. She didn't know how to just walk up and talk to someone, so maybe it was good it happened to her. Maybe Fran would try to find her later.

No, what was she thinking? That was the most bizarre interaction she’d had since moving. Better to forget about it and move on.

"Alright, finally," said Keith as Kam's band walked onstage, in his over-the-top emcee voice. "The band of the hour! Generic! Popping! Candy!"

Kam took his place, as did the drummer, bassist, keyboardist—and the lead vocalist.

"Uh," Fran said to nobody, behind her mask.

Heaven stood center stage, a baby blue guitar in front of her. She grinned as Kam started strumming, and she joined him as he moved into the song's lead line.

For the whole first song, Fran forgot to take any pictures.