Bullet (29 page)

Brad called me that weekend.  “Are you as worried as your emails sound?”

I started laughing.  “No.  Actually, I’m really starting to get into this.  Who’s your tattoo artist?”

“Seriously?”

I laughed again.  “I wish.  No…my parents would kill me.”

He lowered his voice.  “If you got one on your ass, they’d never know.”

“Yeah…right.”

“So…the Thursday night show in July.  It’s not till eight that night, and I could maybe make sure we’re one of the later bands.  What time do you get off work?”

“It depends…but usually between four and six.  I could let them know what’s happening to see if they could let me go earlier that day.”

“It doesn’t take long to set up.  How long from Winchester to Denver?”

“If you’re not driving through rush hour, two and a half to three hours.  Downtown?”

“Not sure.  Not a problem, though, because if you got done at work by five and it took three hours
and
we played a little later, we’d be okay.  Pushing it and not able to set up a merch table, but it would be doable.”

“You know what would be easier?  You guys just do that show without me.”

“Fuck no, Val.  If you’re part of the band now, you’re part of the band.  If you can’t make it, we don’t do the show.”

“But no pressure.”

I could hear him chuckling.  “The other dates work, though?”

“Yep.”

“How are you feeling about the songs?”  I started singing one of the ones Brad had written before I’d even met him, one he’d called “Take You Down.”  I’d been working on kind of a growl, which I knew had been done much better by Brad, but some of the words warranted it.  So I sang a few lines just so he knew I’d been working my ass off.  “Nice.”

“Thanks.  So…I’m learning the songs, but I’d feel a lot better rehearsing with you guys a little before we play our first show.  Could we maybe Skype some night next week?”

“What are you doing Friday?”

I put a
duh
quality in my voice to tease him.  “Working.”

He matched my tone.  “After that…”

“Nothing.”

“So why can’t we do a rehearsal Friday night?  Maybe even Saturday?”

“Where?”

He was quiet for a few seconds.  “Good question.  My garage is always free.  Would you be able to drive here?”

That
was the problem.  “I don’t know.  My parents might not have a car they’d want me to borrow for that long a trip.  I’m hoping to save enough for a car this summer, but until then…”

“You’re off work around five?”

“Ish…”

“Five-
ish.  Nice.  Maybe I could pick you up and bring you back here.  It might be kinda late.  We might not feel like rehearsing that night, but maybe Saturday late morning, early afternoon, before we hit the road to go to Denver.  Would that work for you?”

I nodded, even though it was only for my benefit.  “Yeah.  I think so.”

We planned to make it work.  Brad showed up Friday evening with Zane in tow.  Zane was feeling stir crazy and wanted to come along.  I had a suitcase crammed full of everything I thought I’d need (including plenty of cash) and off we went.  We stopped and got Taco Bell as we drove through Colorado Springs.  Brad sped like crazy, and I was afraid we were going to get pulled over, but we were lucky.  After we ate, the three of us sang several of our songs, and both guys were impressed with what I’d learned.

Zane
said, “I like some of the things you’re doing kinda different from the douchebags who were singin’ before.”

Brad flipped him off without saying a word.  It was still light out, so I was able to see they were both just kidding around with each other.

I hadn’t thought to ask until we were on our way where I would be staying, but I thought it might be good to ask now.

“Oh, yeah.  Ethan said, since you’d stayed at his house before and you knew his mom pretty well already, you could sleep on his couch.”

I was surprised to find I was still pissed at Ethan, but as soon as Brad mentioned that he had been so good to volunteer his place, I felt the anger flare a little.  “It wouldn’t be imposing on his busy social life, would it?”

Zane
said, completely deadpan, “You know about that?”

Before I could retort or even get an upset look on my face, Brad said, “He’s just
fuckin’ with you, Val.  Ethan really did mean it as a nice gesture.”  He made sure his eyes stayed on the road when he said, “But if you’re not comfortable there, you’re always welcome at my place.  I know my mom wouldn’t have a problem with it.”

Yes, but he hadn’t offered initially, and I didn’t want to impose.  I loved Ethan’s mom, so Ethan’s place it would be.  Besides, it was only for one night.

It turned out that June wasn’t there, but the three guys wound up staying up late watching a movie and drinking, and I dozed off on the couch anyway.  When I awoke the next morning, my shoes were off, my head was on a pillow, and I was covered with a sheet.  Brad was spread out in one of the chairs and Zane was on the floor, a pillow from the couch scrunched up under his head.

I sat up and stretched, wondering how long they’d been up.  Ethan was nowhere to be found, so I guessed he was in his own bed sleeping.  Since I’d been a guest there before, I knew where the shower and towels were, so I got myself ready for the day, b
ut when I was done, everyone else was still asleep.

I sat back on the couch and rested my head on the back, just running the songs through my head.  Yes, I had this.  I needed to
just trust myself.  And once I would run through them a time or two to live music, I’d have the confidence needed to front the band.  I’d seen enough concerts, both live and recorded, to know that the vocalist was typically the performer who would make or break the show.  A frontman (or woman, in this case) was the one who was usually the most mobile.  I’d have to interact with the audience; I’d have to move all over the stage and shine some light on each performer at multiple opportunities.  I was responsible for infusing our show with energy.  The guys just had to play.  I knew a lot weighed on my shoulders, and I hoped I was up for it.  I was just grateful I’d have the chance to practice a couple of times live, because I was sure it wouldn’t be like singing along to a prerecorded song.  There were variables with live music, and that’s what made it good, but that’s what also made me want to run through the show once or twice, just so I knew what I was doing and had some confidence.  I still wouldn’t be perfect, but I’d be relaxed in the knowledge that we, as a group, worked well together.

That was what I was most nervous about too (aside from just feeling
inexperienced)—remembering the order we would do the songs in.  Brad had sent the playlist to me in a text.  Maybe I’d just have to know what song was next by hearing the music, and I knew after doing the show a few times, I’d just know, just like I knew on a CD which song came next after listening to it several times, or I’d remember the order of songs on my iPod after listening to the same list for weeks.  It was just something I knew I’d remember once I’d settled in.

I was making myself sick with worry
, and I just wanted the guys to wake up so we could get on with it.  I wasn’t hungry, so I just got a drink of water and, finally, I turned on the television with the volume low, hoping the sound would stir the guys in the living room.  There was no sign of booze around, so I knew they’d had the presence of mind to clean up after themselves.  I hoped that also meant no hangovers this morning.  I considered letting them sleep late to be sure, but my nerves overruled any sense of empathy I might have had.

I started flipping through channels.  I really wasn’t in the mood to watch anything
, but I needed to be distracted for a while.  I stopped on a channel that showed two women redecorating an apartment using junk store finds.  After fifteen minutes of the show (and I hadn’t turned it up louder), I saw Brad stirring.  Zane had rolled over when I first turned on the TV, and I wondered how the hell he could sleep on the floor like that.

I glanced over at Brad, but his eyes were still closed, so I looked back at the show.  Then I heard
him say in a high-pitched voice, “Oh, my God!  Doesn’t this lamp have so much potential?”

He was making fun of the show.  I glanced over at him
, and his eyes were still closed, but he had a smile on his face.  “I thought you were sleeping.”

He opened his eyes.  “Who can sleep through this riveting programming?”

I giggled.  “What else was I supposed to do while you guys were getting your beauty rest?”

He sat up and stretched his neck.  “You trying to tell me this is the only shit you could find?”

I got up and handed him the remote.  “I just wanted something to do while I waited for you guys.  I want to practice.”

He looked at me then, those dark eyes
of his understanding.  “Val, you’ll be fine.  We’ll have a goddamn blast and make a little cash while we’re at it.  It’s cool.”

I took a deep breath and smiled. 
I nodded my head.  “When can we start?”

That’s when he stood up.  “
First, we gotta get these lazy motherfuckers up.”  He walked over to Zane and nudged him with the tip of his boot.  “Hey, man…we got a vocalist here itching to try us out.”

Zane
muttered something into the pillow but started moving.  Brad wasn’t wasting any time, though.  He strode to the bottom of the stairs and shouted up.  “Ethan!  Get your ass out of bed!”

“I’m up.”

“Hurry up.  Val’s chomping at the bit here.”

Ethan
opened his bedroom door, so I could hear him better.  “Gimme five minutes to shower.”

Brad walked back to the living room.  “Did you hear all that?”  I nodded.  “Feel better?”

I smiled a little and nodded, but no, I didn’t feel better…not yet.  But this was a good start.

Chapter Eighteen

“GODDAMMIT.  WHAT THE fuck are you doing, Nick?”  Ethan was pissed.  He and Nick had been going back and forth for the last hour, bickering over stupid stuff.  Ethan had accused Nick of doing something
funky
with the percussion.  I couldn’t understand his exact issue, so I just shut my mouth.  But Ethan really jumped on him this time.

I’d been giving it my all, but I was starting to worry.  We sucked.  We totally sucked.  I knew they
had to be already regretting asking me aboard.  While Ethan and Nick were settling their shit, Brad stood by me and placed his hand on my shoulder.  “You’re doing a great job, Val, but don’t sing at top capacity.  You need to save your voice for tonight.  No need to impress us.  Just do what you gotta do to feel comfortable, and drink lots of water.”

I took the hint and grabbed my bottle of water off the floor and had another swig while Ethan told Nick he was fucking up the song.
  I still wasn’t convinced that I was
doing a great job
, but I tried to not worry.  Brad said, “Shut the fuck up, guys.  Work through it.  Val wants to go through the set twice, and we’re never gonna get it done if you keep this shit up.”  Ethan wasn’t budging, though.  He was over at the drum kit hovering, and Nick was standing too, puffing out his chest.  Nick might have been a quiet guy, but he wasn’t backing down from Ethan’s challenge.

Brad walked over and pulled Ethan away.  He wasn’t forceful or anything, and I wasn’t really sure how he’d
managed it, but he got Ethan to back off.  Before Ethan had completely returned to position, Brad said, “This practice isn’t for you guys.  It’s for Val.  Let’s give her what she needs.”

We did get through the set once, but then I was ready to cry.  We sounded awful.  Brad, seeming to be a natural-born leader, told us we needed a break.  We could all go out for lunch, or we could take a break apart.  If we needed a little time away from each other, that was fine, but we had to be ready to work together…at least tonight, if nothing else.

Brad offered to buy, so all the guys decided to go together.  I’d just about had all the testosterone I could stand, but I thought it was important that I be with them, especially if we were to bond as a band.  None of the guys seemed to have a beef with me; they just couldn’t get along amongst themselves.  And maybe that was just preshow tension.  I hoped so.  My dreams of enjoying myself this summer were fast fading.  No way could I stand this kind of behavior for that long.

But the second rehearsal was much better.  I wasn’t sure why, but Ethan seemed a lot mellower.  I couldn’t be certain, but I thought maybe he had a little chemical help with calming down.  Whatever the case, after we finished, we packed up the van.  Brad said there were sometimes places to get ready at the venues and sometimes not.  He said if I planned on wearing something else, I might want to dress before we left, so I did.  I figured I could do my makeup on the way.  I pulled out of my bag what I thought would be the perfect outfit for my first night on stage…tight faux leather pants (something I already owned) and a fitted red super-short sleeved t-shirt.  I’d seen a woman in a band wearing one that she’d cut horizontally across the back in about one or two centimeter strips, and I think it was to show off all the tattoos on her back.  I just thought it was a cool grungy look.  So I had done something similar, only I ripped it and made some holes in it, but mostly on the back.  I put a few smaller holes around the tummy area in front.  Yeah, I had no tats, but I hoped it looked cool.  I left my hair down.  I’
d also put on a pair of big black Dr. Martens boots I’d had for a few years.  They were perfect, and I’d worn them to many a metal concert, so why not onstage too?