Last Dance in the Spotlight

“Seth. Seth. Seth! Come on! Time to get up! Seth!” The Silver Coffin Sound guitarist was rudely awakened by a pounding on his door. “If you’re not up in the next two minutes, I’m leaving without you!”

“Bloody hell, Dori! What are you going on about?” He rolled over and sat up.

“Don’t tell me you forgot! You’ve got a contract signing in about two hours and you promised we’d go check out that new café for breakfast beforehand.”

“Fuck! That’s all today? Damn! Give me five minutes!”

“Ugh,” and Dori stomped away as he scrambled to get dressed and make himself look somewhat presentable. Throwing an outfit together in two minutes, he combed his hair, brushed his teeth and exited the bedroom.

“About time! Let’s go.” The couple left their building and ventured into the bright sunlight that shined on London’s busy streets. “Can’t believe you spaced on something so crucial.” Dori started as they navigated to the café she wanted to visit. “I even reminded you to set an alarm.”

“Did you? I can’t recall.” He scratched his head, struggling to remember. The activity was causing sweat to bead on his forehead. “Damn. I truly can’t recall you telling me that, let alone, that this was taking place today.”

His girlfriend looked at him as they sat in a booth. “What’s going on with you, Seth? You’ve been having more and more difficulty remembering even the simplest things as of late. Cheers,” she said as the server gave them menus. “I’m beginning to wonder if there’s something you’re not telling me.”

Seth looked at the woman who’d been his companion for the last eight years. He’d even considered marrying her but couldn’t remember if he’d purchased a ring yet. He knew something was wrong with his mind but didn’t want to sound paranoid talking about it. However, if Dori said it was getting worse, it was time to say something.

“You’re right, love. I have been having a lot of memory issues over the last year or two,”

“It’s been two.”

“Right. Anyway, I figured it was just stress with the band and trying to write music, especially with the possibility of being signed. But lately, I can’t remember things like birthdays, mobile numbers, addresses, or my favourite book and film titles.” He waited as the server took their orders from Dori before continuing. “I’m scared, Dori. Downright scared. What’s happening to me? Am I going through what my grandfather did? I don’t want to end up where he did. Help me. Please.”

Dori regarded him with a sad eye. “Seth, I can’t even begin to know what’s truly going on in your head but if you want to get help, I’ll be there with you. If it’s something we can combat, then we’ll fight it every step of the way. However, if this is what Syd Barrette went through then it may just be a matter of time. We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.” She added when she saw the tears well up in his blue eyes. “No matter what, I’ll stick by you, even if you get to the point where you don’t remember me anymore.”

He took her hand and kissed it. “Cheers, Dori. I don’t think I could get through this without you.” Their breakfast came. “Guess we better hurry up and eat so we can get to this album deal.”

She smiled as they dug in. “The band would be highly upset with you if you missed it.”

“That’s it, gentlemen. Now, we just have to get the formalities out of the way then you’re on your way to world fame!” The record executives sitting across from the Silver Coffin Sound and their manager were grinning from ear to ear, almost creepily so. One of them slid a contract over to Seth. “We can start with you, son, then the rest of you can sign.”

“Hold the phone. Excuse me, Seth.” The guitarist sat back as Brock picked up the papers. “Not to be rude but I want to read this first.”

“Of course, of course. We can even leave the room if you want.”

“If you want,” and the suits filed out, closing the doors behind them.

“What’s in it, Brock?” Ryan asked.

“Nothing I haven’t seen before,”

“Except?” Nathan inquired.

“Except for this: Artists are in no way, shape, or form, permitted to produce music of their own accord without record label permission nor are they permitted to perform said music, blah, blah, blah. So, it’s saying whatever you fellas write, it belongs to the label.”

“Even if we don’t record it?” Roger asked.

“Even if you don’t record it. I don’t know about this as you guys are always writing something. I might be able to negotiate that out of there, but it may result in a drop in payment. And that’s fairly significant. More than what previous labels were offering.”

“How much more?” Seth spoke up.

“Five-hundred-thousand pounds each, and that’s just to start. It increases if your album sales are high.”

“Does it specifically say per band member or per album?” Roger wanted to make sure they wouldn’t get screwed by fine print.

“Per band member per album, my friend. I’ll have to read further to see about tours.” Brock continued to pick over the legal documents as the band asked questions. Seth, on the other hand, was mostly silent.

‘What do I do if my problem becomes worse and I can’t play anymore? I don’t know if Dori can support us on her own. Is this something that can be slowed down? I really don’t want to end up where my grandfather did.’ He looked at his friends. ‘Do I find someone to replace me? If so, who? Who would my friends accept in my place? Can I accept someone in my place?’

“Seth? Seth?”

“Hmm… oh, hey Ryan. What’s up?”

The keyboard player looked at him with concern. “Weren’t you listening? Brock said this sounds like a solid deal and we won’t get screwed by the label. I was asking if you were in.”

“Solid deal? Label?” He glanced at his surroundings and remembered where he was. “Oh, right the record label. Yeah, if Brock says it’s a good one then I’m in.”

“O-kay then just sign under our names.” Ryan handed him the papers, and watched his friend scribble his signature. ‘What is going on with him lately? I think he needs help.’

“There we are. Anything else we need to do? I’m kinda hungry.”

“I think we’re squared up. Just have to let the higher ups know.”

The rest of the meeting went by quickly and Seth found himself outside with his bandmates and manager. “I believe you boys will be known worldwide before too long. Just be careful it doesn’t happen too quickly.”

“Right. Cheers, Brock. Be seeing you tomorrow evening.” Nathan waved as the group of four walked in the opposite direction. “Well gents, what say you to lunch?”

“I’m game. What sounds good and isn’t packed right now?” Ryan asked.

“Probably nowhere.” Roger made note of the ever-thickening crowds. “Seth? Any thoughts?”

“Hmm… apologies. What were we speaking about again?”

“Lunch. Remember? You said you were hungry.”

“Did I?” Roger nodded. “Oh right, I did. Um,” he did his best to clear his head. “What about the Green Bottle? Haven’t been there in ages.”

“Works for me. Let’s go.” Nathan led the way to the small diner, where they all enjoyed lunch then departed for their separate flats afterwards.

‘At least I remember the way to my flat.’ Seth noted, keying his way inside. He found a note from Dori, saying she’d met up with Terry, Tiffany, Angelina, and Julia for coffee and shopping but would be back with dinner.

“Angelina? Julia? Who are they?” He searched his mental archives for the faces to the names but was coming up blank. “Oh well. Maybe she made some new friends recently.” He yawned. “Suppose I could take a nap ‘till she gets back. Eating too much always makes me sleepy.” Making sure the door was locked, he laid on the sofa, turned the telly on low volume and nodded off.

He was awoken some time later by the smell of something delicious. “Where is that coming from?” He sat up, rubbing his eyes.

“How’d the record label meeting go?” A voice from the kitchen asked.

“Hmm… oh, Dori. Hey. Um, it went well, I guess.”

“You guess? Did you guys get signed or not?”

“We did. Brock made sure we didn’t get screwed over by legal jargon, as he called it. What’d you get for dinner?”

“Your favourite: Korean BBQ.”

“Good thing I remember that bit about myself.” He sighed as she gave him a plate. “I think I’m slowly getting worse, Dori. I need to do something about this. Fast.”

“Don’t worry, love. I’ve got you an appointment tomorrow morning with a doctor who also works with a psychologist. We’ll find out if this is something physical or mental then go from there.”

“Either way, I hope it can be treated.” They ate dinner with light conversation then went to bed a few hours later. As Seth lay there trying to fall asleep, he wondered what his diagnosis would be and glanced at the clock to make sure the alarm was set. ‘All I’m asking is to not turn out like Grandfather,’ and he drifted off.

“I told you, don’t worry so much. Whatever it is, we’ll get through it.”

“I know but what if nothing can be done? What if I have to be committed? What if…”

“When did you become such a pessimist? Come on. Enough of this guessing game. It’s time for some answers.” Dori and Seth entered the stark white office building and headed to the receptionist desk. “Morning. We’re here to see Dr. Gerald Martin.”

“Patient name?”

“Seth Barrette.”

The man behind the desk looked up. “Did you say ‘Barrette’?”

“Yes, and yes, I’m related to him. I get it almost everywhere.”

“You look just like him too. Dr. Martin’s on the fifth floor, office six.”

“Cheers.” Seth rubbed his forehead as the numbers ticked off on the lift. “Don’t think I’ll ever get used to that. It’ll probably only get worse when we’re famous.”

“Nice to hear you speaking about the future.” The doors opened.

“Here we go.” They turned left and knocked on the sixth door.

“Yes?”

“It’s Seth Barrette, Dr. Martin.”

“Come on in.”

“Here goes nothing.”

“You have what?!”

“Ow! Jeez, Rog. Do you have to shriek like that? Feel like I’m speaking to Terry when she gets irate with you.”

“I’ll have to tell her you said that, but seriously, can you repeat what you said a second ago because I think I’m going bonkers.”

“It’s called ‘depersonalisation-derealisation disorder.’ Feel like my tongue’s in a knot after saying it.”

“Goes without saying. Anything that can be done to alleviate it?”

“Psychotherapy, antidepressants, anti-anxiety or anti-psychotic meds.”

There was silence on the other line for a few moments. “Damn, Seth. Were you told what causes it?”

“Some sort of trauma when I was a kid, although I can’t recall anything like the psychologist was telling me. Could be part of the problem.”

“Possibly. I feel awful asking this but are you still wanting to come to the gig tonight?”

“Nothing to feel awful about. I’ll be there, even if it may be my last one.”

“We’ll cross that bridge if and when we get there. You want Nate to pick you up?”

“That’d be best. At least, that way I won’t miss it. See you later.”

“Later,” and they hung up. “Ugh! Why is this happening to me?!”

Dori hugged him. “I don’t know, love, but I’m here for you. Every step of the way.”

He hugged her back as he started to cry. “Don’t ever leave me. Please. You’re one of the few people keeping me tethered to real life.”

“I’m right here, honey, and I’m not going anywhere.” She wiped his face. “No more tears, hmm?” He nodded with a half-smile. “Now, if I know Nate, he’ll be here about an hour or two before you’re supposed to go on tonight, so you’ll need some dinner beforehand. Any requests?”

“How’d I ever get along without you? Think we got time for some fish and chips?”

“Always.”

“You lads ready for this?” Ryan looked at his bandmates as Roger and Nathan nodded. “Seth?”

“Hmm? Oh yeah. Let’s knock ‘em dead.”

“You sure you wanna do this?” Roger asked.

“Absolutely.” The Echo Club’s house lights went down as the lightshow for the band came on. They opened with one of their more psychedelic numbers and the crowd cheered as the majority recognised the song.

Seth’s fingers expertly picked over the guitar’s strings and frets, as if by their own memory, keeping in time with Ryan’s keyboard notes. ‘I feel like I could do this forever.’ He thought as Roger’s bass joined in. ‘This is where I belong. I can beat this thing in my mind.’ The band played through the song without any hiccups then rolled into something familiar for fans of Pink Floyd. Automatically toning the vibe down while Nate played the drums softly, Seth felt himself starting to detach from where he was. ‘No, no! Not now! I won’t let this happen.’ Forcing himself to focus, he stepped back a few feet as Roger leaned close to the microphone.

“Little by little, the night turns around. Counting the leaves which tremble at dawn. Lotuses lean on each other in yearning. Under the eaves, the swallow is resting.” The vocalising was hypnotic, almost causing the guitarist to lose his concentration. “Set the controls for the heart of the sun. Over the mountain, watching the watcher. Breaking the darkness, waking the grapevine. One inch of love is one inch of shadow. Love is the shadow that ripens the wine. Set the controls for the heart of the sun. The heart of the sun. The heart of the sun…”

The rest of the song flowed from the band as if they were in Pompeii themselves, but Seth was relieved when it was over, despite the crowd cheering. ‘Don’t know if I can do that one again.’ He didn’t have time to think about it as they went into one of their numbers and continued to do so until their time was up.

As Nate finished up the set with a new drum solo, their fans went crazy, clapping and calling for an encore, which they knew wouldn’t happen. ‘Nice to know they still want more.’ The house lights came back up and they packed up their gear then headed the drummer’s auto to head home.

Sitting up front, Seth watched as the bright lights cast a glow on the dark streets while people walked to wherever it was they were going, without a care in the world, it seemed. The pools of gleaming yellow white gave him bits of hope, even as he felt himself spiraling into darkness.