Сара Пинскер - A Song for a New Day

“A calendar?”

“Paper. Old like Main Street, but it works.”

“Okay, but how did Mark know his friend’s band was playing without coming here to look on the fridge?”

Mark smiled. “I think it went something like, ‘Hey, Mark, my band’s first show is Saturday night. Please come.’”

“I wonder if I’ll ever get to a point where I’m not asking stupid questions.”

“That wasn’t stupid,” said Joni. “Silly, not stupid. Just because we don’t have Hoodies doesn’t mean we don’t communicate.”

“And not all of us are noncomm.” Mark gestured at his Hoodie. “I just choose to leave it down when I venture out into the real world. Like you, I see.”

A siren whooped, and Rosemary glanced at the stage to see what the teenage band was playing now. A few other people looked in that direction as well. They were still on their toy instruments.

“Must have been passing by outside,” said Joni.

Another whoop. Then another. At the stage’s back, a tear in the paper covering the window let through a small arc of blue and red light.

“I’m going to go take a look outside. Mark, why don’t you open the back door, to be safe?” Joni headed up the stairs.

“There’s a back door?” Rosemary asked.

“Under the porch. For band load-ins and wheelchairs and people who can’t climb stairs.” Mark pointed in the direction he was already walking. “And safety’s sake. Luce has been around long enough to think of that stuff. No firetraps.”

Rosemary followed him a few steps and then stopped, unsure what to do next.

Joni returned. Rosemary took a step toward her, but Joni walked past her as if she were invisible. She walked onto the stage, interrupting the band in midsong. “Hey, everyone, Code Blue. There’s no danger, but I need you all to quietly leave out the kitchen door or the back. Code Blue.”

She made a slashing motion across her neck and the sound guy cut off the mics. For a second, nobody moved. Then a middle-aged white guy pushed past the stage and dashed up the stairs. The crowd followed, moving as a wave toward the two doors, flowing around Rosemary, jostling her. Her stomach dropped, and she found herself rooted to the spot. It couldn’t be a fire. There were fire alarms, but they hadn’t gone off. If somebody was hurt they wouldn’t evacuate; they’d leave everyone where they were. If fire and ambulance were ruled out, that left police. In any of those scenarios, if Joni said to leave, she should go. If her feet worked.

A loud but muffled voice came through the ceiling.

“Turn around!” said somebody on the stairs. “They’re coming in the front door.” The tide swirled. Rosemary was shoved against the merchandise table.

“Stop pushing,” someone said, but nobody did. She squeezed into the alcove she had sat in the first night, trying to put some space between herself and the others. The crowd pushed toward the door. She pressed herself back, deeper. Whatever it was that everyone was trying to escape, it couldn’t be as bad as getting trampled or crushed. She waited, listening to the shouts upstairs.

The last audience members trickled out. More footsteps on the stairs above her head. A small chunk of plaster dislodged.

“Anybody down here?” somebody asked.

“Status?” she heard over a walkie-talkie.

“They all went out the back. Basement’s empty. You catch any?”

“A few.”

“Enough to make the count?”

“Probably. Find anything?”

“Some sound equipment. Definitely being operated as a club. I’ll be up as soon as I take a few pictures.”

Rosemary stayed put. She hoped Joni had gotten out, and Luce, who must have been in the building somewhere. She even worried for Alice. She pictured the scene: Alice sitting in her living room, telling the cops she was home alone. Alice taking on the entire police force single-handedly. Rosemary wondered if one had dressed as an attendee, and if Alice had sniffed them out before they made it through the door.

She had no idea how much time passed. Ten minutes, an hour. An eternity. The blue and red slivers of light reflected on the stage wall until they didn’t anymore. Distant voices drifted downstairs through the disturbing quiet until they were silent, too. She’d never have imagined she might get to a point where she missed a crowd.

At some point, in the millionth minute of eternity, a hinge squeal, then the tumble of a lock. A moment later, Luce appeared in the room, pulling the plug on the lights that marked the stage.

“Are they gone?” Rosemary asked.

Luce dropped the cord and whirled. “Jesus, Rosemary. You nearly gave me a heart attack. Everybody’s gone.”

“I was afraid you got arrested.” Rosemary stepped from the alcove, rolling her head side to side to unkink her neck.

“Not arrested. Cited. Closed down.”

“Closed down like permanently?”

“Probably. I was stupid to run this from my house. Better to rent or squat somewhere, so when they cite you, you can move on to another place. Me, this is all I’ve got. Now the city can seize it if they decide I was involved, which I was, of course, and if they think that’s the best way to keep me from doing it again, which it is.”

Rosemary couldn’t find a word to convey how awful the prospect was, and she’d only been here a short time. This wasn’t another shuttered storefront; this was a community. Anything she said would be inadequate. “Shit.”

“Shit,” Luce agreed. “Do you want a drink? I need a drink.”

“Sure, but shouldn’t we be doing something? Calling lawyers? Making sure everyone’s okay?”

“You’re sweet. As far as I know, they only arrested two guys stupid enough to break away and run because they were carrying hard drugs. A few more got cited for congregating, but that’s a misdemeanor, and I should have enough to cover their fines. Did you see who got people out in time?”

“Joni. She told that Mark guy to open the back door. She isn’t in trouble, is she?”

“I don’t think so. I didn’t see any sign of her. Come on.”

Rosemary followed Luce to the second-floor apartment.

“What can I get you? I’m going for whiskey myself.”

She’d never tried it before. “Whiskey is fine.”

Luce opened a cabinet in her living room, poured two amber tumblers. Shot one, poured another. She gave the other glass to Rosemary, put hers on the coffee table, and flopped face-first onto the couch. Rosemary chose the same chair she’d sat in the last time. She sipped her drink and winced. It had an eye-watering burn to it, but the aftereffect left her strangely calm.

“What I don’t get,” said Luce after a minute, eyes still closed. “What I don’t get is why they busted us on this night of all nights. That was about the quietest band in the rotation. There’s no way anyone complained.”

It wasn’t a question, so Rosemary sipped her drink and stayed silent.

“It’s not the end of the month, and they didn’t go out of their way to bust anyone, so I don’t think it was a quota thing. If there’s somebody wanting to be paid off, they didn’t make it known.”

“Have you had to pay someone off before?”

“Nah. I went to so much trouble to make sure we didn’t bother anyone. Soundproofing. Shows don’t go super late. I own the vacants on both sides and the only people who sleep in them are in bands that play here. Nobody knows about us who shouldn’t. There’s nobody fighting that I know of, and even if they were, they’d take it out on each other, not the show space. This is just shitting where you eat. Sorry—did I say something?”

“No—I, uh, it’s been an upsetting night.” Rosemary’s stomach flipped. She didn’t want to put her horrible thought into words. “Do you mind if I use your bathroom?”