Meant to Marry Me

Meeting Monica at the event center where the Nashville Nights concert was to be held was intimidating, even though Bree had her bandmates with her. She had insisted Trent go to work; it was a Thursday afternoon, after all, just after lunch, and there was no reason for him to miss work to walk with her through the building where she'd be playing in a couple of nights, not when she had three capable men and Shawna with her to give her moral support.

Trent had protested, saying he'd feel much more comfortable if Bree allowed him to go along, that the rest of the band wasn't aware of how Monica could be. It had almost led to an argument. Bree had insisted she wasn't a child, and just because Cat had managed to get to her while she was in a vulnerable position, that didn't mean that Monica could. She was neither asleep nor in the hospital after surgery at the moment, after all. Eventually, Trent had let it go, and now, Bree found herself entering an auditorium she'd never been in before with her band, looking for a woman she wished she'd never have to see again.

The moment Zach pulled the door open for all of them to enter, the noise of chaos hit Bree's ear. She paused in the doorway. Being a musician, her brain tried to make sense of all sources of sound, but it was impossible to straighten out the various vibrations into anything that made a melody. Hammers and other tools pounded and wailed, a woman's voice called out, looking for, "Gliza!" whoever that was, furniture was being dragged across the floor, the shriek of hangers sliding on bars, and a sea of fabric ruffled along from one location to another, all of it blended together in a way that left her head spinning.

"Are you all right?" Shawna asked, gripping her hand.

"Oh, yeah. It's just... so loud." Bree tried to shake it off, not allowing herself to consider the fact that Trent might've been right, and she might need him after all.

"It takes a lot of work to make some people beautiful," Griffin muttered under his breath as he followed Dominic and Chase across the linoleum lobby floor that led to the backstage area. Monica had told them to use this door, that she'd be back there somewhere, but a cursory glance around the prep area where model stations were taking shape and other bands were unloading their instruments in preparation for their own performances didn't reveal the beauty. "Can I help you?" An older woman with red hair and glasses carrying a clipboard approached them. She had a severe expression on her face which indicated one too many brush ins with a surgeon's scalpel.

"Hi. We're playing here Saturday night," Dominic began. "This is Bree Matthews, and we're her band. We were told to ask for Monica Edge."

The woman didn't blink the entire time the drummer was speaking. Bree began to wonder if perhaps her plastic surgeon had taken way too much off of her eyelids. "One moment," she said, pivoting on a four-inch heel. Just looking at her shoes made Bree's feet hurt.

Her shoes pinged off of the floor as she walked away, disappearing in the ocean of movement. Bree had never expected this much work to still be going on so near the date of the event, but then, she'd never been in a fashion show before and had no real way of knowing how it all worked.Belongs to (N)ôvel/Drama.Org.

The band waited there for the moment the redhead had indicated--and several more. Bree checked the time and her messages. Nothing. She let out a sigh. Ten or fifteen minutes had passed. The woman with the clipboard hadn't come back, and there'd been no sign of Monica. She sent her a text. "We're here--at the door. Are you around?" No immediate answer. Bree shoved her phone back in her pocket. "Maybe... we could look for her?" Griffin offered. "You know what she looks like, right?"

Bree rolled her eyes. How could she not know what the woman whose wedding she was meant to play at last year looked like? "Yes, I know what she looks like." "Other bands are setting up and moving in their equipment," Chase pointed out.

Bree didn't have a good view of the stage, but when she strained her neck, she could see that he was right. "Okay. Let's find her ourselves," Bree agreed. She hated wasting her band's time and her own. The quicker they found Monica and could unload their equipment, the better. Normally, roadies would do that, but the show allegedly had strict guidelines on who was allowed inside, which was difficult to imagine considering how easy it had been for the five of them to walk right in.

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The bandmates began to wander around backstage, even taking a peek out onto the stage where several technicians were in the process of installing what looked like pipes obscured by some large, plastic cutouts of smoke with sparks and flames shooting out the bottom on one half of the stage and ice cubes on the other.

Seeing the symbols for fire gave Bree pause. "What's the theme of this show?" she whispered, not even sure who was close enough to hear.

"Fire and ice," Zach answered, just before his heavy hand came down on her shoulder.

"Oh." It was all Bree could say. It must've been easy enough to find out that information online were one looking for it, and she had done some research on the show, but either it had escaped her, or she'd blocked it out. Until now. It was obvious the smoke and fire were as fake as could be, but it still brought back memories she didn't care to be locked away in. And she had to wonder what the pipes were for. They weren't touching the plastic cutouts. Rather, they were far behind them and higher. Still, if they were meant to shoot out smoke and snowflakes or something, Bree imagined, from the audience's perspectives, they would look spot on.

"Let's go check backstage." Shawna pulled gently on Bree's wrist, and her feet started moving again, her mind coming back to her. It was silly to be upset about something like that. She was certain the technicians were installing the set props in such a way that no one would get hurt, even if it was meant to launch live flames, which she doubted. Besides, the decorations were so far over her head, it wasn't like they would be anywhere near her. Still, she prayed her band would be assigned to the ice side of the stage.

Back behind the curtains that separated the main stage from the staging area, they did another thorough sweep, looking for Monica, who still hadn't answered Bree's text. Several stations were being set up back here, complete with outfits hanging on racks, makeup and other beauty supplies on counters in front of mirrors. "Hey! This one has our name on it!" Dominic shouted.

They all stepped toward him to see what he meant. Sure enough, one of the makeup stations said, "Bree Matthews and Her Band" across the top. She thought for a moment that she truly should give them a proper name, but she assumed the record label would do that--eventually.

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"Wow! Look at all of this stuff!" Shawna picked up a pallet of makeup that seemed to have every shade of eyeshadow imaginable, as well as dozens of blushers, and who knew what else. She also lifted a bottle of hair gel and put that back down and then a massive can of hairspray that reminded Bree of the Aqua Net commercials she'd seen on a YouTube video making fun of how girls did their hair in the eighties and nineties.

"That'll come in handy if Chase decides to finally go full Flock of Seagulls," Griffin teased.

"I might just do that one day," the rhythm guitar player threatened, getting a laugh out of everyone.

Bree chuckled until a familiar voice caught her attention, and then she froze. She heard Monica over by the wall to her left, just about ten or fifteen feet away. She had just opened a door that looked like it led to a supply closet, and a man in what appeared to be a custodian's uniform was walking out with her. Monica straightened her skirt, and said, "Thanks, Dane. I knew you wouldn't let me down."

"Anything for you," the middle-aged man said before hurrying off. Bree stared at the pair for a moment. It didn't add up. Monica was just as beautiful as ever, and the custodian wasn't good looking at all. Why in the world would she be secreted away in a supply closet with him, emerging to fix her clothing? It was so bizarre....

She managed to avert her eyes before Monica looked up and saw her staring, but when Monica did look her way, she saw the group. "Oh, good! You're here!" she said, the clicking of her heels as she approached dragging Bree's head around again. Monica pulled her phone from a pocket in her skirt. "Damn. Sorry--I guess I missed your text. And lost track of time." She looked a bit sheepish, which the others might've taken as sincere since they didn't know her like Bree did. Looking at the unfamiliar faces, she said, "I'm Monica."

Bree introduced her to each of her bandmates in turn. Each of them shook her hand, smiling politely, and saying it was nice to meet her, even though none of them truly felt that way. That was just what polite people did when they met someone, even if they knew she was a witch and probably had only bad intentions....