Chasing Death Metal Dreams (21 page)

“Drowned him in mush,” Carlos admitted.

“Mush is a good look on you.” Mia let go and pushed her chair back. “You want anything from the van?”

“I have a bigger music notebook in my guitar case.” He stood too. “I might as well use the time for something.”

“Besides drooling over your boyfriend’s nonexistent abs?”

“He has abs. They’re just soft abs.”

“I’m sure you can design a workout plan to fix that. Lots of pelvic work.”

He stuck out a foot and tried to trip her. “I’ll be right out.” He detoured by the counter as she headed for the door. Nate looked up from the drink he was concocting, head cocked in silent query. Carlos wanted to push the loose strand of hair off his high forehead. Instead he said, “Are you sure you can drive me home later? You don’t mind?”

“I’m not the one who has to be up early tomorrow. It’s fine.”

“Okay, I’m going to get something from the van, and then I’ll hang out and wait.”

“Great.” Nate bent to his measuring. A little smile hovered on his lips, as if he was thinking about something, well, something like what Carlos was thinking.
Hell, yeah.

Mia was waiting for him outside the door. “All set?”

“Yeah, let me get my stuff.”

She turned for the van, saying more quietly, “Does Nate know, um, all about you?”

He knew what she meant, but quipped, “No one knows all about me; I’m a man of mystery.”

“Fucker. Does he know you’re trans?”

“We’ve had sex, for fuck’s sake. What do you think?”

“I’m pretty sure there are guys you’ve blown who have no clue.”

Carlos sure as hell hoped so. “We’ve had naked sex.”

“Okay, then I’ll quit worrying.”

“You worry?”

He’d meant it as a joke, but she turned, her hand on the door handle, suddenly serious. “Yeah, I do. You’re a tough guy, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be hurt. You’re my friend, and I don’t want to see that happen.”

“Oh. Um. Thanks. Although I
can
take care of myself.”

“Captain America.” She smacked his abs with the back of her hand.

“More like Iron Man.”

“Without the billions.”

“Unfortunately.”

“So, like, a smart-mouthed guy with lots of attitude and no super power, money, weapons or technology.”

“I write killer songs.”

“Speaking of, if you start writing sappy love ballads, I’m changing bands.”

He snorted. “No chance.”

“Uh huh. You go on in there and sit for two hours waiting for your guy to get off work and write about hate and death, okay.”

“Well, I will.”

She gave him another sudden hug. “I’m glad for you, all right? You deserve to be happy. As long as you keep the death metal coming.”

He went around, retrieved his pad, and shut the door with a thump to the panel. As she drove away, he turned back for the mellow-lighted space of the café, whistling lightly in the gathering gloom. The tune had that mix of hauntingly familiar and yet new that told him it was his own, and going to be a good one. He went back to his table, opened his notebook, and began transcribing. It was only an hour later that he realized he’d written another love song.
¡Diablos! ¡Ya me fregué!
He was in trouble, for sure.

Nate suddenly said at his elbow, “Hey, whatcha working on?”

Carlos jumped and flipped the book shut fast. “Um, nothing?”

Nate looked startled but then smiled. “You were pretty intent on nothing. Can I get you another coffee?”

“Nah. I’m good.”

He watched Nate head back to the counter, swinging his ass a bit, clearly aware Carlos was looking at him. The girl at the register wasn’t paying any attention. Nate turned and made some kind of gesture that was probably supposed to be a secret message, but looked like he had an itch and a seizure at the same time. Carlos smirked, looked back down and flipped the notebook open more gently, smoothing a new page, his pencil ready.

Your love makes me itch

Makes me twitch

Makes me sigh

Like a spell

by a witch

Or a twig

in my eye…

Maybe not. But he was grinning as he turned to another fresh sheet.

****

Chapter 10

Nate worked his shoulders out, stretched, and glanced down the crowded corridor at Sparkfest. Eli shoved the amp they’d been hauling into the marked-off corner for their equipment. It was only eleven a.m., but the air was already warm. A concert staffer in a “Sparkfest” red T-shirt said, “Okay. You’ll get a bunch of warnings. Half an hour before your set-up, five minutes before, time to get your shit onstage, and five minutes till set. It’s your job to keep things moving on time. We’ll supply boots on the ground, hand trucks and such. But if you’re not here to okay having your stuff moved, we won’t touch it. If you’re not ready to set up on schedule, you’ll get five minutes of slack, and then we’ll move on to the next band. We have twelve sets today. There’s no time to fuck around if someone is late. Got it?”

“Yup,” Eli agreed. He sounded cool and calm, but Nate knew he was pretty freaked out about the whole “
you might win
” thing. Carlos was too, although he kept saying KnifeSwitch didn’t have a hope in hell. Nate was pretty torn about who to cheer for. Although with Twisted Stonemason at the top of the bill, it might not matter. Eli said they were already big, and getting bigger.

Nate watched as the organizer handed Eli a bunch of stick-on tags with the number ten on them and told him to mark all their gear. Eli handed stickers to his bandmates. Nate said, “Hey, if you don’t need me, I’m gonna wander around.”

“That’s fine.” Eli barely looked over. “Say hi to Carlos for me. Wish him luck.”

“But not too much luck,” Tom said.

“I’ll tell him.” Nate slipped away into the stream of people moving around.

He knew Carlos was third on the bill. When he reached the area labeled three, he spotted Mia, sitting on the floor beside their gear, playing with her phone. He scuffed his foot, and she glanced up and snapped, “What? Oh. Hi, Nate. Carlos is around somewhere.”

“You look, um, hot.” What she looked was pissed off, but he knew better than to say that to a woman.

“Hot like you think this new shirt is sick? Or hot like this motherfucking place has crappy AC and it’s already eighty motherfucking degrees in here?”

“Um. Both?”

“Or hot like my head is going to explode if Foster doesn’t get his motherfucking ass here right the fuck now?”

“Ah.” He bit his lip.

“Right. Ah. Carlos is out looking for him. He was supposed to meet us here, an hour ago. Right here. Number three.” She smacked her hand on the painted number on the rough concrete. “You think he can’t count to three?”

“Um. Can I help?”

“I don’t see how. Other than keeping the top of
Carlos’s
head from exploding.”

“Do you know where he is?”

“Not a clue.” She tapped her phone impatiently. “Shit. I died. Dumb game.” She stuck the phone away in her pocket. “Why don’t you keep me company instead. He’ll have to be back here. Eventually. Hopefully with Foster’s head on a pike.”

Nate sat down cross-legged. “Might make it hard for him to play bass that way.”

“Okay, dragging him by the hair. The pike can come later.”

“Carlos said rehearsals were going great.”

“They were. The last couple were like flying, like we were going somewhere. Except now Foster’s gonna crash the plane.”

Nate wasn’t sure what to say to that. He glanced around randomly. “Is that a cello?”

“It’s Carlos’s. Didn’t you know?”

“I’ve seen you guys in a couple of shows, but he never played that.”

“He doesn’t bring it to the house venues. The stages are too small, and he’s worried someone will wreck it. He has a couple of songs though, where it’s all voice over bass and cello. They sound a lot cooler that way than with guitar.”

“I really hope you guys have a great set.”

“Hell, me too.” She looked him in the eye but lowered her voice to a level only the two of them could hear. “If we don’t, if it comes apart and Foster is stoned and falls off the stage and gets his guitar stuck up his nose, will you stay with Carlos? If we lose, big time, and he’s all moody and wants to quit? Or does quit? Are you with the metal guitarist? Or the man?”

“Believe me.” Nate leaned closer and lowered his voice too. “Don’t tell anyone, but I actually like folk music. I love some of the Icelandic metal and stuff. But I’m not dating Carlos for his guitar.”

Mia managed a snicker. “Is that what you call it?” Then she sobered suddenly. “Except, hell, sometimes I forget, you know. That he’s, um, different.”

“Well, that’s the point, right? We should forget.”

“I guess.” She leaned close. “It really doesn’t matter to you? That he’s, you know?”

“Not that it doesn’t
matter
. But if you date anyone, you get some baggage. He’s totally hot in bed, so that’s fine. What’s hard is that he has emotional stuff in his past from being that, and I’m not sure I can understand it all. He hints around and jokes, but you can tell it still hurts. My family’s so great I can’t imagine what it’s like if your family won’t accept you.”

“He talks to his aunt on Skype, I know. She’s like a mom to him. But yeah, not the same thing.”

“You said your mom’s not okay with the gay?”

“She’s more bark than bite. She would never send me away for not being straight. Especially not back when I was ten. God.”

Nate’s chest hurt. “So there’s that. I want to help and not make it worse. And I know I’m gonna screw it up sometimes. I’ve been reading on the Net so I don’t accidentally say the wrong thing, but different articles say they want different things and are insulted by different things. Pronouns, whatever. It’s hard.”

“Carlos is pretty thick-skinned. It’s not that easy to upset him.”

“I don’t know.” He still hadn’t restarted the chest tattoo picture.

Mia raised an eyebrow. “If you’ve managed to get under his skin, then he really is falling for you.”

“Or I’m crappy at dating. My last boyfriend would tell you that. I had totally no clue what he wanted.”

“Well, frankly it amazes me how two guys ever have a relationship that isn’t just sex. Talking to Carlos about anything emotional is like turning on his one-man jokes-and-punchlines routine. The man does not communicate.”

“I don’t know,” Nate said slowly. “He does, kind of, around the edges.”

“See? That’s why you’re perfect for him, and I’m now dating girls.”

They both heard Carlos swearing before he appeared through the flow of musicians and gear. “I swear when I find that—” He spotted Nate. “Oh. Hey.”

“Hey. No luck?”

“I’m going to string my guitar with his guts.”

Mia drawled, “I’ll take that as a no.”

Carlos slumped. “No. But we still have two hours before our set. Lots of time. He’s blown us off and then shown up at the last minute plenty of times before.”

“True.” Mia patted the concrete beside her. “Come sit down.”

Carlos did as he was told, sitting between her and Nate. Nate didn’t dare really touch him here in this busy backstage, but he bumped his knee against Carlos’s. Carlos leaned on the wall and closed his eyes. “Wake me when Foster shows up.”

“Oh, that’s friendly of you,” Mia said.

He rolled his head toward her and cracked one eye open. “Huh?”

“Your, um, friend is here hanging out and you’re gonna sleep?”

“I can sleep, or I can go apeshit on everyone’s ass. Nate’s seen one but not the other. I’d like to keep it that way.”

Mia glanced at Nate. “How do you put up with this gorilla?”

“He gives good—” Nate managed to keep back the word ‘head’— “lyrics.”

“Right. How’s your brother’s band doing? They’re up late, right?”

“Yeah. Number ten.” He kept talking, just to say something. “They’re looking forward to it. They even brought this guy, Eric, to do lights for them. This is the biggest show they’ve done in months.”

“Our biggest ever,” Carlos said without opening his eyes. “KnifeSwitch’s big chance.”

Nate glanced around at all the people and gear and bustle. The air was humid and already thick with the smell of sweat and cigarettes and pot. “Lots of bands’ big chance, I guess. Should be a good show. Eli says a couple of local stations are going to broadcast it.”

“Really?” Mia grinned and cracked her knuckles. “Bring it on. I can handle being on camera.” She looked a little queasy behind the grin though.

“Do you get stage fright?”

“Me?” She laughed. “I eat stage fright for breakfast. I spit on stage fright.”

“You puke stage fright up in the toilet,” Carlos muttered. “Doesn’t matter, because by the time you get on stage you kill it.”

Mia sighed. “Don’t remind me.”

Carlos closed his eyes all the way again. “I won’t. Don’t trip over me on the way to the can.”

“Bastard.” She kicked at his foot, then stood up. “My sister’s got the merch table for us. Hey, Nathaniel… it is Nathaniel?”

“Only if you’re my mother.”

“So, Nathaniel, want to come buy a T-shirt?”

****

Carlos was about ready to puke himself, by the time they got their set-up warning. Nate and Mia had gone to check on their sales, and Nate had come back wearing a KnifeSwitch T-shirt. Black, of course. Carlos knew he should have been there too, chatting up the fans, but he didn’t want to leave their gear, or the forlorn hope that Foster might somehow show up after all.

Mia glanced up when the red-shirt hurried over and stopped in front of them. Carlos leaned back against the wall like he wasn’t keyed up, listening to the second band finish up their set with more energy than imagination. From backstage, the treble was muted, but the bass shook his bones. Decent speakers. The red-shirt said, “Five minutes. I’ll send a team to help with your set-up.”

Carlos opened his eyes, trying to look calm. “Got it.” Nate and Mia broke off their argument about some actor and stood up too.

Nate groaned. “I think my ass is asleep.”

“I’ll fix that.” He took the opportunity for a good swat, and a hidden rub. “Wake up, ass.” Then swung at Mia’s and deliberately missed.