The Devil's Tattoo (3 page)

CHAPTER
THREE

ZOE

Deep down, I almost believed Dee had
forgotten to pick me up. Deep down, I hoped he had.

I was draped over my couch, hands over
my eyes, silently praying to be left alone. I can't handle this singing thing.
I can't handle the thought of standing anywhere else other than in the audience
and we hadn't even started yet. My guitar sat in its case against the wall and
I swear it's agreeing with me.

Suddenly, there's thumping on my front
door and Dee's calling out, "Zoe! Rise and shine, baby cakes! I know
you're in there. No use hiding."

I flung open the door and he was
standing there with keys in his hand.

"We're going to Frank's," he
said, pushing his way inside, grabbing my guitar case before I could argue.

I had no choice but to follow him out
to the car if I wanted my beloved
Epiphone
back. Truth was, I think I'm more afraid of the unknown that actually
doing this band thing. I don't know how to write music and I'm not sure how it
all works together with other instruments. Epic cluelessness.

Jumping in the car with a second to
spare, Dee pulled out into traffic and we headed across town. The sun was
shining and summer was all but over, but the days were still mild. As we drove
through suburb after suburb, I couldn't help playing with the hem of my
shirt. Dee looked over and caught me fidgeting.

"You're going to be fine," he
said, patting my leg. "We're all mates and the only person we're
gunna
laugh at is Frank and he's used to it."

"I'm not worried about that,"
I reassured him. "It's just the bit after."

He knew I meant the whole getting up on
stage thing. Melbourne is a big place, but small at the same time. Word gets
around.

"I know you're going to be
great," he said quietly as we started to climb the West Gate Bridge that
linked the west of the city to the CBD. "You shouldn't worry about what
anyone else thinks."

"It's not that easy, Dee."

"I know it's been tough the last
two years, but it's time to get out,
Zo
.
I love you
,
you know that
. I hate
to see you like this."

I felt tears prickle in my eyes and I'm
thankful I'm wearing my aviator
sunnies
with the
mirrored fronts. "I know," I whispered.

"I'm doing this for you. I'm shit
scared as well, but there's a time and a place, you know."

That stopped me in my tracks. Dee
admitting he's nervous? I don't think I've ever heard him say anything like
that before and the fact that he's putting himself out there for me, made me
feel warm inside. All this time I thought the world had abandoned me and I had
had Dee all along. Bloody hell I was selfish.

"I'm sorry," I said.

"Nothing to be sorry for."

"I didn't mean…"

"Stop it,
Zo
.
If you
wanna
make it up to me, then just be in my
band."

"Oh, so now it's your band?"

He let out a laugh and turned up the
radio. It was 
Spiderbait's
cover version of
Black
Betty
, a fast and heavy rock song and perfect for driving to
.
 "You
little devil," he shouted.

When the vocals kicked in we sung in
unison all the way to Frank's and I felt a lot better. Funny thing about music,
it could make you feel better almost always and I found myself hoping deep
down, that this band will finally see the start of better things.

Frank lived in a falling down miner's
cottage in
Footscray
. It backed onto the train line
so every thirty minutes we're overwhelmed with a shaking floor and the sound of
a suburban train whooshing by. He was excited to see us when he opened the
door and helped us bring our gear through the house to a room out the back that
has been taped up haphazardly with soundproofing. At one end he has a nice
looking drum kit set up and at the other is two old couches, where Chris is
already sitting, his bass and portable amp against the wall.

"Hey, Zoe," he said.
"Frank's been telling me how great you are." He nodded at my guitar
case.

"Oh?" I asked, looking at
Frank.

"So I hear," he said with a
wink and I knew Dee had been talking me up like I'm Da Vinci.

"Let's hear, then," Chris
chipped in.

I opened my case and pulled out my
guitar while Frank plugged me into an amp.

"Sweet guitar." Chris is in
love.

"I'm so jealous," Dee winked.
"You should see her effects peddles."

"That sounds like a dirty pick up
line," Frank declared, wiggling his eyebrows at me.

Before I could chicken out, I played
the opening bars to Black Rebel Motorcycle Club's 
Ain't
No Easy Way
 and Chris whistled. "You're tight, Zoe."

"That's what all the boys
say," I winked and he blushed.

"How long you been
playin
'?"

"About two years, give or
take," I shrugged, putting the guitar down.

"Yeah, she's like a prodigy or
something."
Dee's up to his old tricks.

"Just had a lot of time on my
hands and I got into it." It's the truth.

"That's a tough song," Frank
handed me a cider. "I
dunno
anyone who'd be able
to play that after two years."

"That's because you only know
people in punk bands and they only know three chords," Dee laughed.

"Lets look at your songs," I
said to Dee. I've heard some of his stuff before when he's played it on the
street, so I know he can do it.

He handed me a tattered notebook.
"It's a bit different," he said. "I wanted to try something more
classic rock."

"Like what?" Frank asked.
"Led Zeppelin, classic? Deep Purple? Oh, I know, glam rock like
T-Rex."

"Led Zeppelin," Dee and I
echoed at the same time and he grinned at me.

He picked up his guitar then and played
through the first song in his book. It's a fast rock song.

I read through his lyrics and whistle.
"Nice words, Dee
Dee
."

"
Naa
,
not really. I want you to rewrite them."

"Me?"

"Sure, why not?"

"They're all about love and
sex," I said. "Not exactly my forte."

"How is it not your thing,
Zo
Zo
?" Frank exclaimed.
"Look at you."

I looked at myself and shrugged.

"She doesn't see it," Dee
said to the others. "Not yet."

I looked down at the song Dee's
written, so I could hide my blush, and play the first few bars the way he's
shown me. Dee's idea of writing is to illegibly scribble the chord down and
demonstrate. Unlike me, he hasn't bothered to learn how to read or write music.
He's intended it to be a fast rock number, but I slow it down and play around
with it. I'm surprised at how pretty it sounds this way.

"Fucking hell, Zoe," Dee
exclaimed and at first I think he's mad and my fingers scratch across the
strings making a horrible sound.

"Don't stop," Chris said from
his corner.

"I never thought of it that
way," Dee's wetting his pants. "That sounds hot."

"Like sex on a stick," Frank
said, much to the amusement of the guys.

"What's it called?" Chris
asked.

"
Walls
," I said.

Dee pulled out another notebook from
his bag and tossed it to me. "Write the lyrics."

I looked at the empty notebook and
Dee's tattered one that's full of ideas and marks and don't know where to
start. I tried not to think about it too much as I grabbed a pen and wrote out
the music best I could manage. It's already
there,
I
just have to translate it into something coherent. But, when it came to the
words, I saw what Dee has written and it could be a song for me. No wonder he
wants me to change it. He wants the song to be from me, instead.
My side of the story.

The couch dipped next to me and Dee
stuck his head over my shoulder to see what I'm writing. I pressed the notebook
into my chest and he tried to snatch it away.

"Hey," I cried. "I like
you and all Dee, but stop trying to feel me up."

His lips curved into a sly smile and he
knew that I was onto him and for once I didn't argue.

"What are we
gunna
call ourselves?" Frank asked. Before Chris could open his mouth he added,
"No ideas accepted from Chris."

"Why not?" he grumbled.

"We're not into Morrissey,"
Dee laughed.

"I think
Empty Hands
is a
good name for an indie band," I said kindly.

"Thanks, Zoe," Chris smiled
and tapped his bottle against mine.

"We're not a pansy mopey indie
band," Frank said and beat on his chest. "I want to beat the shit
outta those skins, for one. I'm too manly to get in touch with my feminine
side."

Dee was watching me with a frown and I
realised
I'd been running a finger along the scar on my
arm.

"Tattoo," he said, his eyes
meeting mine.

"What?" I jumped and tucked
my hands under my legs.

"Tattoo," he said again and I
could almost see the light bulb over his head. "The Devil's Tattoo."

As soon as he said it, I knew he wanted
to name the band after me. I couldn't help but wonder who the devil was meant
to be. The devil scarred my arm and I covered it with a tattoo.

"Dee," I began to scold him.

"Bloody LOVE IT," Frank
shouted, on his feet.

"It's not like that, Zoe,"
Dee whispered in my ear. "You're my phoenix from the ashes. You're my
version of the devil, babe."

It sounded like he was declaring his
love for me and in a way he was, but not like that. Dee's my brother. Dee's my
family.

I smiled at him. "
The Devil's
Tattoo.
"

"All in
favour
?"
Dee asked, but it's already been decided.

"Hell yeah!" everyone
shouted, and it's done.

The next couple of months flew by in a
haze of band rehearsal. We got together almost every day at Frank's place and
worked through Dee's songs. I rewrote some lyrics and together we came up with
some stuff that we were all really pleased with.

It was one Thursday night, just after
rehearsal on our way home, when Dee dropped a bomb on top of me.

"You did what?" I almost
screeched at him.

"I booked us a gig," he said
like it was the most normal thing in the world.

"And you're dumping this on me
now?"

"Yep."

"When?"

"Tomorrow night."