Bullet(40)

My mind toyed with the idea of getting a tattoo, but I knew my parents would flip out. Maybe I could sneak in a piercing somewhere, though, and I decided to think on that for a while.

One last thing, and I texted Brad about it. Would they pick me up before all concerts, even though Winchester was totally out of the way? Did I need to invest in a vehicle?

I stressed at first but then reminded myself how much I wanted to do this. Besides, I could use a car anyway. Our first show was somewhere in Denver, and it was next Saturday, so I wasn’t worried about catching a ride. It was another thing we’d have to discuss later on, though.

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 f*ckin’ 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, but 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?”