The Devil's Metal (28 page)

Spoken like a true rock star.

In a few minutes he was snoring away. I
sighed and walked over to him. I took off his flip-flops, filled a
glass of water beside him, placed a few Aspirin there too, then got
myself ready for bed. I wondered if Pam ever felt like I did. Based
on what Sage had just told me, I decided she did.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“You guys are looking a little rough,” Jacob
commented. He couldn’t disguise the childish glee in his voice.

Sage and I were sitting at the table as the
bus headed to Nashville. I don’t know about Sage, but I was having
a hell of a time trying to keep down the greasy eggs and bacon we
had for breakfast.

“We’re fine,” Sage assured him, chugging
back orange juice straight out of the carton. He had told me that a
carton of OJ and three ibuprofen were enough to kick the hangover
out. I settled for one pill and a glass of juice and so far it
wasn’t helping. I certainly wasn’t built like a rock star.

I could feel Jacob’s gold-tinged eyes on my
face. After Sage and I emerged from our rooms this morning, the
others made no attempt to hide the fact that they thought we
screwed around. To my surprise, even Graham looked happy at the
prospect and none of them would believe me when I said Sage passed
out at 9PM mumbling about Jim Morrison.

Mickey was on the bus with us, his eyes and
mouth drawn into pensive lines of worry. Noelle was still under
observation for another day but her parents had arrived and made it
very clear that they didn’t want Mickey around. According to him,
she was catatonic, not recognizing anyone, not even him. It was
like she completely shut down. The doctors were still hopeful that
time and being in a friendly, familiar place would bring her
around. We were hopeful too, but I had this dreadful feeling that
tugged in the recesses of my heart, like it was a hope in vain.

I wondered if Sage felt the same way. He
didn’t show it. After opening up to me last night, after our almost
intimate encounter, we were back to the friendly but distant rock
star and journalist relationship. That was fine for the time being
though. I needed to interview him over the next few days so I could
get it over with and head home if I wanted to. It wasn’t an option
at the moment but I wasn’t about to rule it out. A lot of what Bob
had said ran around in my head like it was on spin cycle.

Nashville presented new problems in terms of
having to play after all the recent negative attention the band had
been receiving. Add in the fact that they had a new bassist to
contend with, and the stakes went up. Yet, I was looking forward to
it. Mainly, I was looking forward to hearing from Mel. I crossed my
fingers beneath the table and hoped she could get a hold of me.

Nashville was as exciting as I had imagined.
There was so much music and soul in the atmosphere that it was
immediately addictive. It was like you could feel the presence of
every musician who had passed through or honed their craft there
hanging in the air like the thick humidity.

We all settled into The Hermitage Hotel just
after noon, giving us a few hours before soundcheck. I had my own
room once again and what a room it was. In fact, it was the nicest
room I had ever been in. It had plush carpets, creamy walls, and
expensive wood furnishings that gleamed. No semen-stained bed
sheets for Dawn Emerson anymore!

I was only in my room about ten minutes,
just enough time to take off my hot bell bottoms and put on a pair
of denim cut-offs and a ratty Stones t-shirt, when the phone rang.
I leaped off the bed and my heart followed suit. I snatched up the
phone on the second ring.

“Hello?” I cried out breathlessly.

The dry voice of the operator came on. “Dawn
Emerson? You have a call from Melanie Jones. Please go ahead.”

The line clicked and Mel came through.
“Bitch!”

I nearly cried at the sound of her voice.
“Mel!”

She laughed. “Aw, hey Dawn chicka, oh my god
it’s so good to hear you.”

“I know! I was so afraid you didn’t get my
letter.”

“Oh, I
got
it. Child, we have to
talk. Robbie! What the fuck happened with Robbie Oliver!”

It felt kind of stupid rehashing what
happened with Robbie. Not only did it feel ages ago but there was
nothing exciting about it anymore, not when compared to what had
been going on. But I didn’t really want to get into the heavy stuff
with Mel. I knew she’d worry about me.

So I told her exactly what happened, all the
details of the ‘ludes night.

“Anyway,” I finished, “it was no big deal.
We’re cool.”

“He better be cool or I’m going to come down
there and kick his ass. Speaking of coming down there…I’m coming
down there!”

I was stunned. “What?”

“I booked a flight for the San Antonio show.
I have a cousin down there I can stay with, he’s cool.”

“Oh, Mel…”

“What? Don’t you dare tell me you don’t want
me there, bitch. Because I will cut you. After I hug you first, of
course.”

I rubbed at my forehead.

“No, it’s not that. Of course, I want you
here. I want more than anything to see you. But, I don’t know, it’s
really not as fun as you’d think, Mel.”

She laughed. “Look, I’m not looking to hang
out with the band. I’m not trying to be all cool. I just want to
see you and see the show. That’s it.”

“Have you heard what happened?”

“Yeah, I fucking heard. It’s all over the
radio here. A chick dies, now Noelle’s ill? What even happened with
her? The press just says she’s sick but they won’t say what
with.”

Demonfever
, I thought to myself.

“We don’t actually know. Things are pretty
heavy here.”

“I bet they are. That’s why you need me
there. I know how you get, Dawn when other people are hurting. You
turn into a mother, always taking care of everyone else, sticking
around, making sure everyone’s going to be all right. That’s what
you’re doing, isn’t it?”

“Not really.” And that was true. I couldn’t
take care of those boys if I tried.

“Bogus, Dawn. You totally are. And what’s my
job as your lovely African princess sidekick? It’s to kick your
freckly ass.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. I knew there
would be no convincing her. Mel was coming to join me on tour, and
there was nothing I could do about it. I tried to be happy.

“All right, there’s no stopping you,” I
relented.

“You got that right, sister. Now I better go
before my ma kills me for the phone bill. I love you, lady.”

“Love you too,” I said sadly.

“See you in Texas. Yeee haw!”

We hung up and I heard her voice still in my
head. I sighed and got off the bed. I looked at myself in the
ornate mirror that hung above the polished desk. I looked hardened,
my hair resigned to the eternal fuzz of humidity. It seemed like
every time I got a glimpse of myself, I was looking less like Dawn
and more like some other girl. No, not a girl. A woman.

Whoever I was turning into, I had to be
brave and I had to be strong. I wasn’t about to let some scary
groupies and superstitions stop me from doing my job. I still had
an article to write, one that would finally garner me the respect I
craved, the importance I needed, and I had to stop getting
sidetracked. Yes, Emerrita was a tragedy and Noelle’s condition was
sad, but I had to find that thread of journalistic hardness
somewhere inside me. I needed to stop feeling with the band. Mel
was right, I was becoming too focused on them and how they were
feeling. I was getting too close. I needed to become that impartial
player once more, and I’d start by treating Sage like a subject and
not a friend. And certainly not someone I constantly thought about
getting in the sack.

Even though from the way he handled me and
the feel of his cock on my thigh, he promised to be a very
passionate, rough ride.

“Snap out of it!” I yelled at my reflection.
“Do your damn job.”

The Dawn in the mirror looked surprised. I
took that as a good sign.

***

The first show in Nashville went off without
a hitch. Hybrid played at a tiny venue right downtown and the place
was packed to the doors. Robbie started off the set by saying some
heartfelt words about Noelle, though Jacob made sure that any
mention of Emeritta was zipped. Then the band launched into one of
their most powerful and energetic shows yet. It was good to see
them back in the game, and I could tell they needed the show to let
out all that they’d been feeling since the festival performance. It
was raw and emotive and the crowd called them back for three
encores. They played until they were absolutely exhausted.

Even Fiddles, the new bassist, kept up
nicely and had a nice presence without being too flashy. Jacob
looked pleased to the gills, and I could see the money signs
dancing in his head as concertgoers stuck around after the show,
snapping up Hybrid t-shirts and albums until they were all gone.
Everyone likes a sob story and any press was good press. Jacob was
right about that.

The next day in Nashville we were set to
play at an outdoor venue just outside of town, headlining for a
psychedelic band called Electric Duck Bath. We had the whole day
free for exploring or doing whatever, so I chose to accompany Bob
on his personal tour around the city. He’d been to Nashville with
musicians so many times it was like his second home, and he was a
very enthusiastic host.

To be honest, I also went with Bob because I
wanted to distance myself a bit from the band. After the show last
night, I went straight to my hotel room to compose a review and
then I went to bed. I didn’t want to party and I didn’t want to
socialize. I wanted to be the journalist, and who better to hang
around with than the only other person who wasn’t part of the
band?

Between old guitar shops and tiny cafes
where we scooped up Moonpies and RC Cola, Bob and I danced around
the topic of curses. I asked him if he thought Sage knew something
about all of it.

“Assuming what you say is true,” I added,
licking the sticky marshmallow off my fingers.

“I would think so,” Bob reckoned. “But I
don’t know. If we’re talking about Jacob though, I’d say yes.”

“Why is that?”

He shrugged. “He’s the manager. Managers
know everything. And all of this is working out to the band’s
advantage, don’t you think?”

I stopped in my tracks. A piece of crumbled
cookie nearly fell out of my mouth. “You think Jacob is behind all
this?”

“No,” he quickly refuted. “I don’t. The Cobb
has a reputation for being mean. But I don’t think he’d ever hurt
another person. Well, another girl. Well, a girl that was
harmless.”

“But?”

“You can tell there’s a but, eh? Well, he’s
a smart man. Too smart. Too conniving. I wouldn’t be surprised if
he knew what was going on.”

“But what is going on?”

“I don’t know, Rusty. It could be anything.
It could be nothing. I’m an old bus driver and I ramble
sometimes.”

“Well I’m a young journalist and I don’t
think you’re rambling. I guess we’ll just have to wait and
see.”

He gave me a grave look with his sprightly
blue eyes. “If this does turn out to be more than just my rambling
and throwing around frou-frou ideas, I don’t think either of us
wants to wait and see.”

I nodded, hearing what he was saying but not
finding the strength to keep going, keep touring, keep
wondering.

***

The outdoor venue was nowhere near as nice
as the one Hybrid played the night before, or even the Charlotte
festival. It was pretty much a concert on a farm. Instead of soft
fields of grass, it was a mixture of weeds and dirt. Instead of a
glorious stage, it was a rather rickety old thing made out of rough
wood. The whole thing may have been going for some backwoods,
redneck kind of charm but it just came across as cheap and
dirty.

The crowd was a weird mix too.

“It’s like every Pink Floyd fan is out
there,” Robbie remarked from the side stage as we watched Electric
Duck Bath finish their set. “Where the hell are the Hybrid
fans?”

“Maybe we rocked them too hard last night,”
Chip commented.

Robbie made an annoyed sound. “Ugh. This is
going to be one of those ‘we have to win you over’ shows.”

I smacked him lightly on the shoulder. He
jumped.

“I thought every show was supposed to be one
of those shows.”

He pointed at the crowd. They were young
kids all swaying their muddled heads and waving their lighters to
the band’s spaced out moon music. “Do those kids look like they’re
about to be won over? They’re about to fall asleep in an acid
coma.”

“Weren’t you in an acid coma just recently?”
Chip remarked. “Or was that Quaaludes?”

I smiled bashfully while Robbie glared at
him. “Just make us sound good, Chip.”

“Got it, boss.”

“Where’s boyo?”

“Right here,” Mickey mumbled from behind us.
He was still pale and sullen—I hadn’t seen him smile in days.

Robbie went over and put his arm around him.
“I don’t know what you and the Sage one are planning on doing, but
I’m going to be cranking up my furnace tonight. I mean, I’m going
to be a monkey from mars. I’ll win these spacey fucks over if it
kills me.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” Graham said,
walking past us toward the drums that the Duck Bath’s drummer was
now vacating.

Robbie frowned at his pithy remark and
turned his attention back to Mickey. “Anyway, just so you know. Try
and stay out of my way.”

Mickey finally looked amused. “Have I ever
been in your way, Robbie? I might as well be wallpaper.”

I decided to let the band set up and plot
their course of action and headed out into the crowd. They were
right, it certainly was different, but there were a few metal heads
among the hippies, and everyone looked like they were there to have
a great time.