Mental Stronghold - A Short Story
“Your boss said he wants to go because of the venue,” Chloe says, “Not the band, the venue. Y’really don’t think that’s weird?”
“Your boss said he wants to go because of the venue,” Chloe says, “Not the band, the venue. Y’really don’t think that’s weird?”
The day fades beyond the latticed window of their living room, pinkwhite smears in sfumato across the darkening sky. Lance sits on the couch while Chloe sits on the love seat, a matching set of overstuffed olive green.
The faded T-Rex on his shirt gives the thumbs up while riding a skateboard, concealed as it is beneath a black track jacket. “I mean, Eugene’s kinda weird so it’s on brand for him.” His dark hair is short above his wide green eyes.
Chloe wears year-old Doc Martens and faded jeans and a yellow flannel. Her round face is framed by long brunette bangs. “You really don’t think he’s scoping you out? Do you think the guy in charge of your promotion really wants to spend an agenda-free night listening to screamo and enjoying the architecture?”
“Will you not?” Lance says, irked.
A silence falls across the bare beams accenting the beige ceiling, across the quiet TV ever watching, across the pale sea foam of the accent wall that offsets the burgundy hues of the room. Together for four years, in this house for two, they sit in the anxiety inherent in Lance’s words.
She places a loving hand to stop his bouncing leg. He says, “If I give in to the panic then it’ll ruin my night when I’m just trying to have some fun. I haven’t seen this band in years. But saying no to him felt like the wrong thing to do.”
The doorbell rings. He gets up to answer it. On the other side is Eugene, tall with shoulder-length blond hair and a smile framed by a small gap near one of his incisors. “Lance my man!” he exclaims with open arms. His opened denim jacket reveals a shirt with Bugs Bunny on it.
“Hey hey, come on in,” Lance steps back and Eugene enters.
“Chloe?” Eugene says.
“That’d be me,” she says with warmth, “It’s nice to meet you, Eugene.”
With a handshake, he says, “The pleasure’s all mine.”
Lance, nervous, says “So I’m figuring it’d be best if we head straight over there. Mental Stronghold fans can be an obsessive bunch.”
“I already know from this living room that the house is lovely. We can go whenever you want.”
Chloe says, “Do you want a water for the road or anything?”
“I judge my Ubers based on whether or not I wind up with water. Kidding, but no, I should be good. I don’t wanna fill up the ol’ well only for it to crack in the middle of the venue.”
“You could crowd surf to the bathroom.”
“It’s a new feature, right? They’ll surf you all the way to the stall.”
Lance smiles, “Good one. Let’s call a car.”
⥁⥀⥁
Out of the line and across the terrazzo tile of the entryway they went, into the lobby of the venue with art deco expressed in every inch. The mass of people gathered were excited, many of them dressed like British mods. The lobby was lined with ornate columns of white that people wove around on their way into the general admission area.
Chloe prods, “What do you love about comin’ here?” A hope to find a hole in his excuse to join.
“It’s gotta be the ceilings to me—not just the one over the main area even though it’s super cool. But, like, look at this one,” he points upward, “There’s this architectural eyeball watching all of us, reminding us we’re small.”
“Are you gonna drink?” Lance asks, “I think they sell beer over there.”
“Then let’s get a drink.”
Eugene pulls in front to lead them. Chloe squeezes Lance’s hand as she whispers, “Watch yourself.”
They reach the opposite end of the lobby and its small bar. They settle into the line as Eugene turns to Chloe. “Lance says you’re over at the jet lab?”
“Data science, yeah.”
“Is there some like top secret government shit happening in there?”
In a serious tone, she says, “I wouldn’t be allowed to tell you.”
“Oh damn!”
“Joshin’,” she says, “I just crunch the numbers in a junior role, though it’s cool to show my badge every morning.”
“A badge means you belong. It means you’ve made it.”
“Or it’s just a key card.”
“Oh c’mon, don’t downplay your accomplishment. I’m sure you’re their number one data muncher.”
Lance says, “She’s so good with numbers she’s banned from doing fantasy sports.”
“Really?”
“He’s joking.”
“Ah c’mon, play along,” Lance says, “She got banned after winning first place in three sports for six years in a row.”
“None of this is true, Eugene, don’t believe him.”
Eugene laughs, “This is all adding up to me thinking you’re a secret agent.”
“He’s Brad Pitt and I’m Angelina Jolie. We’re chasing after each other but also in love.”
“What a conundrum!”
They reach the woman behind the register, dressed all in black except for red framed glasses to match her lipstick.
Lance says, “Let me get an Aloha IPA,” he glances at Eugene then adds, “A small one.”
“No no no,” Eugene says, “You ain’t drivin’. Ma’am, please give him the biggest Aloha IPA you can find. Give him both the hello and goodbye editions.”
The cashier laughs, “We’ve only got one size.” She pulls the tall boy from a tub of ice and hands it off. “Who else?”
“I’ll take the cider,” Chloe says.
“Just a Coke,” Eugene says.
They receive their drinks. Eugene says, “Lance, quick, say something about work.”
“Uhm, everything is great at Sun Vector.”
“Good enough. Now we can call it a business expense.” He pulls out the corporate card, “They can write it off somehow.”
They take their drinks and head into the venue, its ceiling designed with the spires and spikes of envisioned high rises over a rainbow-colored starfield of plaster. Club music thumps through the interim between bands. They raise their drinks as they enter the rising tide of strangers all squished together in a swell of B.O. and shouting and sweat and excitement. They squeeze into a spot toward the middle.
Eugene looks around then says, “Alright, bitchin’. Seems like a passionate bunch.” Many in the crowd were dressed in black and white suits. “Where’s your getup, Mr. Super Fan?”
“I can’t pull off the look,” Lance says.
“Trust me he tried,” Chloe says, “I already had to talk him off that ledge.”
“Bowl cuts and bow ties work best for you, Lance.” Eugene ribbed.
The crowd around them starts to chants. The left side yells “Men-tal” and the right responds with “Strong-hold” in a game of crowdsea Marco Polo. “It’s about to get real fuckin’ loud in here,” Lance says.
“That’s what I like to hear.” Eugene removes ear plugs from his pocket. “But tinnitus is a deadly disease. I brought extras.”
Chloe says, “I can get behind preparedness. Gimme a pair.”
“I wanna feel it,” Lance says. “Y’never know when you’ll see them again.”
“It’s like he’s choosing not to wear goggles in a champagne shower.”
“Gotta feel the burn!” They laugh.
Chloe and Eugene insert their ear plugs. She looks around and says, “Oh damn, these are the industrial ones.”
“What!” Eugene laughs, “Kidding, yeah, I researched the decibel levels when I bought them. Just gotta shove’em up in there then suddenly you’re in a Zen Garden. Well, maybe not right now with all these people, but they’re good when I’m working from home. My mom’s dog is a yapper.”
“Oh, you live with your mom?” Chloe asks.
“She’s been dealing with some things and needed me there. The commute’s hell but I’m happy to do it. She’s my mom, y’know?”
The lights go low and the gray striped curtain parts to reveal the stage. A pale white drum set is at the center of the stage, flanked by guitars at attention. On a large tapestry is the band’s name in elaborate lettering. “Oh it’s about to get real,” Eugene says.
The crowd presses toward the front, a suffocating rush that results in a burly man shaped like a funnel spilling beer on Lance.
“Oh shit bro, not the T-Rex!” the man says.
Lance looks down, wet and slightly shocked.
“It’s so packed in here.”
The guy is dressed with a thin black tie over a white shirt, his black chinos slim fit, his shoes a black leather. “Your favorite band too?” Lance asks him.
“You know it,” he says, “You guys too?”
“I’m the moral support,” Chloe says.
“I’m here for the ceilings,” Eugene adds.
“These guys…” he laughs as he turns back toward his friends.
“You want another one?” Eugene offers, “I’ve got nothing invested and could squeeze my way out. I’m sure the line’s short around now.”
“Nah man, no need. We’re already here. Not like my liver needs it anyway.”
The crowd swells as four guys dressed like Mods take the stage. “Oh shit now I get the costumes,” Eugene shouts.
The lead singer mumbles a few words of thanks and shakes out the long mic cable. He raises his hand and let’s out a howl. Minor chords and massive drums fill the room. The singer moves like a whirling dervish caught up in the jagged rhythm. Lance smiles.
⥁⥀⥁
Beneath the neon and patterned blue-green of the venue, they wait with everyone else for a car to come get them.
Eugene plucks out his ear plugs as the traffic races by on the busy avenue.
“Total blast, right?” Lance says.
“An epic night for sure…” Eugene trails off and goes quiet.
“Sounds like you didn’t enjoy it.”
“It wasn’t the concert. It’s this: I’ve been testing you all night.”
Chloe backhands Lance’s shoulder. She lets out a loud and long “See?”
Eugene laughs, “So I guess you guys were on to me.”
Lance shifts with nervousness. “I was hoping that wasn’t the case, shit.”
“Don’t worry, you passed. It’s good news. You got the promotion.”
Lance lets out a yowl then does a fist-pump-and-leg-kick combo move. “Thank you,” he tells Eugene.
“He wouldn’t believe me,” Chloe says, “But I really couldn’t get past the fact that you’d just come for the venue.”
“The ceilings are cool, though, aren’t they?”
Chloe agrees.
“Well, I think my wife and I need to celebrate. You good with getting back to your car?”
“I’m sober as a bird and ready to fly. Go have fun.”
⥁⥀⥁
Chloe and Lance wind up at a bar themed to a 70’s living room, ashy orange carpet and all. They sit in a booth-lined alcove surrounded by wood and panel accents, the dim light glowing red over their umbrella’d drinks.
“Alright,” Lance says, “You were correct. I’m glad I stayed on my best behavior.”
She lifts her drink, “Here’s to the day that you’ll finally fully believe me.”
“And here’s to the eight minutes before the sun goes out on that day.”
They clink their glasses and he puts an arm around her.