What He Left Behind

Three

When the weekend arrives, I've just about constructed an excuse to tell my dad. There's no way in hell he will let me go to a bar to see a rock band, much less if he knows about Charlie and his reputation, so I tell him I'm hanging out with a girl from school. He's surprised, probably owing to the fact I never socialised back home, but he simply gives me some money for dinner and doesn't question it. He's not the sort of person to check out my story to see if I'm lying anyway. He doesn't care enough to do that.

Charlie assures me the gig isn't anything special; they're just playing at a small bar downtown that always has some kind of live music on. It's not ticketed or anything, so I wonder how Charlie plans on getting me in being as I'm only sixteen, five years from being legally allowed into a bar. Charlie himself has only turned eighteen just last weekend so I'm not sure how he managed to get the band a gig there. Then again, this is Charlie Hemmingway. It does seem like he gets everything he wants.

I'm not someone to spend ages deliberating over what to wear, so I quickly settle for a cute black dress and a cropped denim jacket. I pair the outfit with my torn up old Converse – comfort over glamour any day – and then I put on more makeup than usual so that I look a bit older and don't stick out so obviously in the bar.

It is a warm autumn evening outside and not too long a walk downtown. Charlie offered to pick me up but I refused, partly because I didn't want to risk my dad seeing him, but more because I'm not about to accept any favours from him or he'll start thinking I owe him something. Besides, I haven't explored the city much at all yet so walking gives me a chance to get my bearings.

When I arrive at the venue, I'm pleasantly surprised to see it looks a bit nicer than I expected, on the exterior at least. It's somewhere between the absolute dive I was expecting and semi-classy. Despite it being only 8:30pm, there are several people milling about outside, most of them dressed down with tattoos covering every inch of visible skin. I bet Charlie fits right in here.

"Miss, can I see your I.D?" queries the younger of the two bouncers when I reach the entrance.

"I'm Noelle Fisher," I tell them, "Charlie said he told you about me?" They look at each other and exchange sceptical looks.

"You're Noelle?" the younger one, who looks only a few years older than Charlie, asks.

"Yeah," I assure, confused. The pair smirk, but then the younger one extends his hand.

"I'm Nick, a mate of Charlie's," he greets, shaking my hand, "I don't think I've met you before."

"No, I just moved here. Charlie told me about his band. I wanted to see if he's half as good as he thinks he is."

"You're in for a treat," he muses.

"Why do you say that?"

"Charlie's got a bit of a reputation round here," Nick explains.

"He's not that bad, is he?"

"Nah, he's alright. I like him. Just watch yourself because that boy doesn't half get himself into some shit."

"So I've heard."

"You'll be fine. He just lets his ego get ahead of him sometimes. He's real talented but he gets caught up in the booze and the girls and the idea of fame."

"Does he bring a lot of girls here?"

"Not so much brings them in as takes them home. The guys are kind of local celebrities so a lot of girls come to the shows. He usually gets off with one of them. He's brought a couple of girls his age in. Do you know Tay Anderson? I think she goes to your school."