Louder Than Thunder

The Whisky was the busiest club the girls had ever seen. People drank, danced, and chatted from wall to wall, and some go-go dancers swayed on raised platforms. A band performed, playing a rather meditative song with some selectively sparse guitar playing and a singer with a mystical, smoky voice, joined by ride-heavy percussion.
Paul brought the girls to some seating upstairs, where some other hip and upcoming musicians and their managers were hanging out as well. Some of them looked up as they entered the area, causing the girls to feel slightly uncomfortable. One man came up to Paul and looked down the row at the girls.
“Are you the Rag Dolls?” he asked in a proper American accent.
“Yes. I’m their manger, Paul-“
“Nice to meet you girls!” he said, cutting Paul off. “I represent BeatScene Magazine and we’d love to have you girls in our next issue.”
“Really? That’d be so groovy!” Darlene said cheerfully.
“That sounds great, sir,” Michelle affirmed.
“Which one of you is the singer?” he asked.
“That’d be me,” Mary said, putting her hand up slightly.
“Lovely. Come with me, dear, let’s talk about your piece.”
With that he led Mary over and sat her down with a couple other people - rock photographers and makeup artists. Paul followed them over to see what was being discussed.
“What should we do, then?” Michelle asked Darlene.
“I don’t know. I’ve never been to a place like this before.”
“You don’t think this will go to Mary’s head, do you?”
“If it does, we’ll have a talk.”
They decided to head back downstairs and dance for the rest of the night. The smoky club was alive, as it was every evening. Later on, they got into a conversation with a couple of local musicians.
“Yeah, we were on the radio this morning,” Darlene informed them.
“Wow. What’s your band’s name?” one girl in a psychedelic flower-patterned dress asked.
“The Rag Dolls.”
“I heard your song! That was a cool tune, man,” a boy with a Beatle-cut said.
“Thanks. Michelle, here, wrote it.”
“Nice. You’re a good songwriter.”
“Thanks,” Michelle answered shyly.
“Here,” he said, opening up her hand in front of him.
He reached into his pockets and then dropped a couple pills on her flat waiting hand.
“Compliments to the songwriter,” he said as he dropped a couple in Darlene’s hands as well.
“What are they?” Michelle asked.
“French blues straight from England. Enjoy.”
“Cheers,” Michelle said, not taking another moment to think before taking them.
With that the boy put a hand on the girl’s waist and they went off to dance.
“You take pills?” Darlene asked.
“These are nothing. Before the band, when I used to go to clubs for fun, two wasn’t enough. I needed at least three or four to feel anything. It’s been so long, though.”
“I don’t take pills though.”
“Then don’t take them.”
“Besides, if you’ve been off them for so long, why are you bothering to start again?”
“They’re just pills, Darlene. You get pills when you’re sick, don’tcha?”
“I suppose.”
“Here, I’ll take them. Go get a drink if you’d like.”
“Alright.”
Darlene was about to take off when she looked down at Michelle once more. Michelle saw her worried eyes and pouted.
“What’s wrong now?”
“I’m worried about you. I didn’t know you like pills. Are you stressed?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“So, what, I drink and I’m hurting myself but you take pills and it’s nothing?”
“I thought we agreed to handle our problems differently. You do what you want and I’ll do what I want. That was supposed to get rid of our problems.”
“I know, you’re right. I just don’t want you to be handling stress with pills and parties. It’s not like you, after all.”
“Not like me as you’ve seen me. I used to go dancing more before the band. I stopped for business. If we’re gonna be big though, it doesn’t hurt to loosen up a bit again.”
“Alright. Maybe it’s an English thing then.”
When Mary joined them, Michelle handed her the other pills. They danced a while longer and left when the pills’ main high began to wear off. The girls arrived back at the hotel tired and ready to sleep, preparing for the concert the next evening and the photo-shoot during the rest of the week.

A couple weeks later, the magazine had come out. Paul left bright and early and received an early copy of it, hours before the stores opened and set it on their shelves. He knocked on the girls’ door upon returning and was let inside by a sleepy Michelle.
“I have the magazine,” he whispered.
“Darlene’s still sleeping,” Mary said, walking over to her.
She playfully slapped at her face.
“Wake up. Wake up, Darlene. I have beer.”
“What?” Darlene said, suddenly lifting her head.
“Paul has the magazine.”
“Oh. Finally,” she said, sitting up.
Michelle sat down between them on the bed and opened up the magazine, flipping through until they came across a page with a full picture of them and an article of mostly interviews with each band member.
“Well, do you like it?” Paul asked, sitting on the opposite bed.
The girls’ faces went from bright smiles to odd faces within seconds of reading it. They began scanning the page, scrutinizing every detail.
“What?”
“What is this?”
“Paul, you let them print this?” Mary asked.
“What? What’s wrong with it?”
“They made us look like. . .a girl group, like a fad,” Michelle expressed.
“Paul, you promised you’d make sure we looked serious. This doesn’t make us look serious,” Darlene said, analyzing the article.
“They gave a more in-depth and serious article on The Monkees than us,” Mary said, flipping through the rest now.
“Girls, this is publicity! The first article isn’t going to be perfect. They don’t know you yet, give it time,” Paul explained, attempting to calm them down.
“Paul, we’ve given you so much time and things hardly change. We gave you time to book our gigs, and the only reason why you got us here was because we forced you to go look for nicer venues,” Darlene said, frustrated.
“Yeah. You may have managed us, but you certainly did so lazily. You’re always talking about time and business, but you don’t work on either. This is bad for business. You’re lucky that, for those who saw our concerts, this isn’t their very first impression. If this was our first impression,” Mary said, holding up the magazine. “We would be forever put into this category.”
“Now we’re kind of lucky that we smashed drums and an amp. Anyone who was present at that concert, at least, will know that we’re not kids’ stuff,” Michelle explained.
“Girls, when Mr. Young came in and wanted to record your single, I’m the one who told him, convinced him, that you girls were a very serious band. I’m the one who convinced him to produce you. I’m the reason you’re going to be recording your album,” Paul tried to remind them.
“Yeah, but at what cost? Think of all the time we’ve wasted under your watch.”
“What does this mean?” Paul asked, standing with a poised attitude.
“I think we need a new manager,” Mary said, sliding the magazine towards them.
“You want a new manager? Now?”
“Yeah. Yeah, we do.”
“Fine, but you can find him on your own. I’m not gonna stick around for one more second, you ungrateful, pseudo-rock ‘n’ roll girl group! Before you can even think of saying ‘You’re fired’, I’m saying I quit!”
With that, Paul stormed out of the room, slamming the door shut in his leave. The girls looked between them. Though it was quiet and awkward, a small chuckle sneaked by Darlene’s lips.
“He’s so angry, and so small,” she laughed.
This caused the three of them to all begin laughing hard. Mary picked up the magazine, and turned back to the page again.
“You know, this photograph is actually quite nice.”
“While this article isn’t the worst thing in the world, I do think it was time for this. Overdue, in fact,” Michelle said.
“Yeah, definitely,” Darlene said.
“That’s it, then! We’ve taken over the band,” Mary cheered.
“Just one problem,” Michelle interrupted.
“What’s that?”
“We have no idea how to book gigs and manage ourselves.”
“Right. Well, there are always people hanging around the Whisky. Let’s go back and we can try and find ourselves a person,” Darlene pointed out.
“Yes, let us find a person,” Mary replied whimsically.
“I know I should feel terrible for throwing Paul out, and leaving him to fly back to England alone, but I feel so free,” Michelle said, spinning around as she headed over to the bathroom to wash her face.
“We’ll probably feel bad tomorrow,” Darlene said.
“Yeah, probably. For now, let’s concentrate on what we’re looking for in a manger when we go to the Whisky tonight. Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m thinking that a girl will be far more understanding,” Mary suggested.
“Yes! Definitely! She needs to be focused as well – dedicated to the band.”
“Yes, exactly!”
“What’s going on with us?” Michelle wondered aloud as she exited the bathroom.
“What d’you mean?”
“First, I get back on pills – well, I don’t mean ‘get back’ on them, really, it was only last night – but still I ‘aven’t taken ‘em since before we started playin’ clubs. Then we get this second wind and fire our manager. What is this? Empowerment? Freedom?”
“Probably just us gettin' cocky. We need to be careful.”
“You don’t really think we did that just because we’re cocky, do you? You think hearing our song on the radio once really did this to us?” Darlene asked.
“I don’t know for sure. Maybe,” Michelle replied.
“It’s not like we couldn’t use the courage.”
“I guess.”
“I guess now is the time to act.”
“I guess.”
“Well then, I guess we’re going to the Whisky.”
“I guess.”
“Stop guessing, start dressing.”