Chapter 3

Jett

I’m standing with Trey, one of my guitar technicians, tuning up another one of my guitars for when we play a particular song on our set list, when I see Cruz, Roxy’s lead guitarist, storm through the back room. He looks pissed as hell, and one of their roadies is in his wake. All the roadie does is grab him by the back of the shirt, and Cruz rounds on him. “Don’t fucking try to stop me, asshole! She’s bought this shit a long time ago and you know it!” he says, raising his fist.

The roadie recoils, like Cruz is going to hit him, and I grab Cruz’s hand, before it strikes him. “Hey, dude, cool it. What’s going on?” I ask.

“I fucking quit, man. That’s the end of it.” Cruz says, pulling his hand from mine, dusting himself off. “She’s been pissing me off for years, and I’ve had it.”

“You can’t quit two hours before she goes on stage, man, that’s just cold.” I say honesty. “She’ll be sunk.”

“Then you can play for that bitch, man, I’ve had it.”

I laugh without a trace of mirth. “I get it. I had it out with her myself earlier. But do you really want this? Sure, walk out, fine, but don’t leave her hanging, too, man. That’s not right.”

Trey is watching the exchange. “Be careful, too, man. With her temperament, she’s liable to sue you or get the record company to pull you out so you get shafted on your share of the revenue.”

The roadie lifts his arms, defeated, and walks away. I wait until he’s out of earshot. “Yo, Trey. You mind giving us a minute?” I ask my guitar technician.

“Sure, man. I’ll be in the green room.”

I nod. “Thanks.”

Cruz’s jaw muscles are still working.

“Hey, man, I know she’s a handful.”

“That’s putting it mildly. You know I was in love with her when we first started out. That’s the only reason why I took this job.” He explains. “Now she’s been fucking Stix for years and treating me like a sack of shit for just as long. I can tell you one thing, man, and that’s that I don’t have an ounce of feeling for that chick anymore.”

“That’s a lie.” I say without hesitation. “If you didn’t love her, you would have walked out a long time ago.”

He ignores me. “She doesn’t give a shit about me anymore.”

“She doesn’t give a shit about herself anymore, either, man.” I point out. “For her to be all bitter like that, she can’t love herself. You know she’s fucking flying high now, right?”

He gives me a ‘how-stupid-do-you-think-I-am?’ look. “No shit, Sherlock. That’s all she fucking does, if she’s not hitting the bottle.”

“You ever talk to her about it?” I ask, using a gentle, ‘level with me’ sort of voice.

“What the hell for? It’s Stix that she’s fucking, not me.”

“So, you’re not her friend?”

He scoffs. “Dude, in her eyes, nobody is her friend. None of us are. Stix is just someone she fucks and gets her coke from. The woman is a heartless bitch. She doesn’t even write good music. That’s why her shit doesn’t hit the top anymore. Roxy lost her groove after the first album, man. It’s classic. I’m surprised she’s not a fucking one hit wonder.”

“How do you guys put your music together?”

“We jam most of the time. Roxy makes up lyrics as we go. But what she says goes, man. There’s no room for interpretation. No time for opinions or anything. If she doesn’t like it, it goes. End of story. She stifles the creativity all the time, and that’s when she’s sober. When she’s high or tanked, she just yells and throws shit. It’s a waste of my life. I can join any other band I want to after having this gig for so many years.”

“You want to go ahead and do that, go on, but don’t leave tonight. Just stay with her for this festival and then jump ship. Trey’s right, man, it’s too much of a risk. If she’s the loose cannon you say she is, she’ll try to get you out of your money, man. I’ve seen it.”

“You got a hard on for her?” he asks, his eyes dancing.

“Dude, I wouldn’t touch that lady with a ten-foot pole, and I’ve told her as much myself.”

“Then why are you so hell bent on getting me to stay?”

“Because I can. You ran through here and it took me a half a second to figure out what was going on. If I were in your shoes I would have told her to shove it, too, man, but I know what’s going to happen if you do.”

“Why the fuck do you care so much?”

I smile. “To tell you the truth, I thought you guys might be good to tour with, you know? I haven’t said as much to Roxy yet, but I think it would be the shit.”

“You want to tour? With that thing out there?” he practically screeches, pointing in the direction that he came from. “You must be out of your fucking mind.”

“She can’t be any worse than some of the assholes I’ve toured with.” I say, stretching the truth. We’ve had our share of good luck on the road so far. I figure if I give him more reasons to stay, he will, and I will have done my good deed of the day. I believe in paying it forward. I believe that’s how I got to where I am now.

“You’ve had a really nice taste of her today, my friend. And you’re about to see even more.” He points again. “It’s probably taking the whole crew to hold her back from coming after me and tearing me a new one.”

“What if I go talk to her?”

He chuckles mirthlessly. “You really do have a hard on for her, don’t you.”

“I told you, man. I have nothing for her.” I say, getting irritated. “Listen, you can go, it makes no difference to me, man, but I think you’re just fucking yourself sideways. I can go smooth it over, you can stay, keep your money, and if all goes well, we’ll see about touring together. Maybe with a change in company, she’ll mellow out some.”

“I doubt it.” She smirks. “The only thing that’s going to mellow that bitch out is if she lays off the stimulants. I mean, I’m no prude. I’ve done my share of shit, but it’s only when I’m partying. I don’t mix business with pleasure, and I think that you’re the same, man. That’s why you guys have some killer tunes.”

“Hey, thanks.” I smile. “And give yourself some credit, too, man. You guys have rocking tunes.”

The left side of his mouth twists up into a smirk. “Yeah. We used to.”

I clap him on the back. “Come on, buddy. Let’s go play nice. I’ll show you how.”

 

***

 

The audience is roaring, and we’ve ripped into our number one hit, and that’s when Cruz, Roxy’s lead guitarist, runs onto the stage, naked, making the crowd scream and laugh at the same time. The cameras nab a shot of him, from the front and back, and I’m laughing so hard my cheeks start to hurt. I’m the only one who can maintain some sort of composure, as Slick has just lost it, he’s almost on the floor laughing so hard. And I realize that this is as good as it gets. Pranks. Lots of them. And since they come on after us, we have to hit them with one, too, and I start thinking of one as we go into a lull, and eventually have to stop the song.

“Did you see that shit?” Slick says into the microphone, laughing. He looks over to where Cruz disappeared to, behind the stage, shakes his head and says. “Whatever that was, it needs ironing.”

He’s still shaking his head, face red from laughing. “Okay, we’ll start over…when I can fucking sing again that is.” He’s still chuckling. “Why couldn’t Roxy come out like that.” He adds, gesturing backstage. “Then I wouldn’t be laughing.”

The audience is whistling, wooting, calling for Roxy. “Ay, she’s coming out next, man, pipe down.” He laughs. “Okay, you guys wanna hear that shit again?”

More roaring. “Alright then. Hit it.” We rip back into Fuss, and I’m kind of glad that we got another start to it. As a perfectionist, I feel like the first attempt wasn’t our best, but this one has more adrenaline after the streaking. I find my focus again, and tear into the tune just like I did in the recording studio. My axe is like part of my body as I shred like my life depends on it. I’m one with my instrument when my solo piece approaches, and it comes out perfect, making me smile all over, as I play to a crowd that is happily cheering me on. Best. Feeling. Ever.

The next song is more of a grooving tune, getting the audience involved, and me and Zane singing backup, while Crush beats the drums perfectly in time. We have a real feel for the vibe tonight, and it’s such a rush, it’s better than being high, and almost as good as sex. Slick’s voice is the perfect combination of high pitch yet screamy enough that he can make rocking sounds akin to a bobcat, to give the perfect edge to the lyrics at the right moment. And with mine and Zane’s voices balancing Slick out in the crux of the tune, it sets the stage for greatness.

I’m thankful that some of the performances are being recorded, because sometimes our live shows are even better than the tunes on our albums. We’ve discussed doing a live album before, and after tonight’s show, I’m really feeling it. Next, we break into our softer ballad, and this is where Slick lays on the charm thick with the ladies. He goes to the apron of the stage and touches the fingertips of some of the audience. They scream and some of the ladies climb on top of each other, just to get closer to him, and he reaches further out, making me cringe. Slick has never been pulled in before, but once a girl grabbed his pants and nearly did the deed, but instead just managed to show most of his ass, which might have been what she was going for.

When I go to the apron, I never go without slick or Zane, and I never go right to the edge, either. Once, I was bending on one knee, shredding so my axe would scream, using my whammy bar during a solo, and this chick literally reached up and grabbed my balls. Scared the shit out of me so bad I fucked up my solo. Never again. Chicks can be crazy. The chicks that come backstage are even worse. But then, I don’t mind it backstage. Models, actresses, some of the most beautiful women have come to meet us, and it’s thrilling to say the least.

Speaking of which, this really hot blonde chick, in the front row, is checking me out. I throw her a guitar pick and give her a wink. She must have paid a fortune to get that seat. I have no idea how much front row tickets cost for this shindig, but for some of our concerts, it can cost upwards of fifteen hundred dollars, and that’s if you’re on the V.I.P. list. If you’re not, it can run twice that much. Hell, I don’t make the prices, the record company and the promoters do. We’re just told where to show up, rehearse, and our crew does the rest.

I’m watching Slick from the corner of my eye, as I strum the tune out, matching Zane and Crush’s rhythm, and I feel like I’m in a zone. Slick’s voice is great tonight. He drinks this honey tea before a performance. Lubricates the vocal cords and soothes his throat, so he can roar, hit the high notes, and stay in tune for the whole show. Only a few times has he struggled with his voice, and once was because he was getting a throat infection but he didn’t know it. The other time was when we performed in Arizona, in the goddamn desert, and the wind was so dry, it knocked his Larynx out for a few days. We had to cancel a couple of concerts, but we made up for it when he got his voice back.

We’ve only got three more songs left in our set, and it makes me sad. The crowds at these festivals are fantastic. Full of energy and here for the long haul. It makes me tingle with anticipation for tomorrow’s show, and then the next day. This is our first music festival, and it’s growing on me. During our last song, the crowd is going nuts, just tearing the roof off, if there were a roof, that is, and I can’t help but feel the positive energy. I want so badly to do an encore song, but that’s not allowed in a festival, especially with Roxy, the woman with the least known patience, is coming on next.

At the end of our last song, we all gather at the apron of the stage, hold each other’s hands in the air, and take a few bows. It feels great that the audience is just going out of their minds. We each have the biggest smiles on our faces, and I actually feel like I’m glowing. Slick speaks into the microphone, saying that we’ll see everyone again tomorrow, with an even more kickass performance, which sets them all up again. Wails, roars, screams, you name it. They love us. We love them. It feels great.

As we head down the tunnel at the side of the stage, letting our crew do their work, so that Roxy’s crew can show next, we’re directed to the green room, but on our way, I see Cruz. He’s, of course, dressed now, and we each high five him. “That was brilliant, man. Loved it.” Slick says.

“You like that, huh. Not feeling intimidated seeing that much meat in your face?” Cruz teases.

“Not at all.” Slick smiles. “I almost pissed myself that was so funny.”

Zane chimes in. “Dude, I saw you, man. Slick almost fell over. Well played.” He gives Cruz another high five.

“Hey, where’s Roxy?” I ask Cruz.

“Bumping a line out back with Stix.” He says, none-too-pleased.

I shake my head.

“It’s what they do before every performance.” Cruz shrugs. “Don’t let it bother you. I don’t anymore.”

“It doesn’t bother me a bit. Their business, not mine.” I say pointedly. We hang inside the green room, while our crew and Roxy’s crew ready the stage, and Jim, my roadie, brings a tape back, so we can hear a sample of how we sounded. “Hey, make sure you get a bit from Roxy’s show, okay?”

“Will do.” He nods, before leaving us.

We relax and start listening to the tape, pulling out little nuances that we detected while we were playing. There are no fan meet and greets right now, so we’re taking advantage of the down time. The tape sounds great other than the spot where Cruz bombed when he ran across the stage naked, which we all laugh about again, shaking our heads. That was fun. “Hey, we have to do something back, man.” Zane says.

“Totally.” I agree.

“What do you think, man? Roxy’s going to flip out if we pull a stunt like that.”

“She’ll flip no matter what.” I scoff. “At least this way her band will get a laugh.”

Slick frowns. “True.”

 

***

 

We sneak a peek at Buying Time’s set list from their road manager, who is on some important call in the office backstage, as he covers the phone while evidently on hold. “There’s a copy in the green room.” He answers. I don’t know him from a hole in the ground, but he looks super intense, and I wonder if he always has that expression.

“Okay, so we know what tune is their last one.” I say. “So, at least if we make them fuck up, they’ve already done their show.”

“Exactly. Good plan.” Slick agrees. After we decide what we’re going to do for a prank, we get set on it. “And that way if Roxy blows a gasket, it doesn’t blow the show.”

We nod at each other and set out to get the job done. Crush alerts us when he knows it’s the second last song in their set. “Shit, you guys! Time’s up!”

We’re doing last minute things to pull this prank. Even our stage and road crew are helping with the finishing touches.

“Quick! Get in!” I say to Crush, almost hissing. We’ve never pulled a stunt like this, and we’re almost giddy with anticipation. When the four of us are inside the makeshift costume, which is four cardboard boxes, with plastic strapping from the cardboard cartons that carried some of our equipment, stapled to the tops. We’re wearing the cartons like overalls, using the strapping as shoulder straps…oh yeah…and we’re all naked underneath.

The four of us walk on the stage, starting from behind Cruz, being careful to come out after his solo, and he sees us. The grin on his face is priceless. We hear the audience laughing, catching on, as we weave in and out of their stage equipment and each band member, including Roxy, who I stay well away from. I can’t see the expression on her face, but Blaze, Roxy’s bassist and backup singer, makes a comment. “At least they wore cardboard boxes.”

As we weave our way around to the other side of the stage and exit, I’m laughing so hard, I can barely trot quickly off. “Holy fuck that was wild!” I’m laughing.

“We nailed it!” Slick chuckles. “Best sixty seconds I ever spent naked without a woman!”

“Did you see Roxy’s face?” Crush asks, snuffling. “She looked like she was going to slice us in two just with her gaze.”

“Yeah, if looks could kill.” Slick adds. “But she’ll get over it. At least we waited until the end of their set.”

“I hope the camera dudes caught us, man.” Zane says. “That was epic, and it’ll go great on video with Cruz’s prank, too.”

“Oh yeah, they caught us, I’m sure.” I agree, as we head into the green room and get dressed. We decide to keep the boxes, just in case we ever want to pull another prank. “What do you guys think about asking these guys if they want to tour with us?”

“You mean when our album gets released?” Slick asks.

“Sure, yeah. I mentioned it to Cruz earlier, as sort of an incentive, so I thought I’d bounce it off you guys.”

“I’m game.” Slick frowns. “So long as Cruz sticks around.”

“What if he doesn’t and they get some hot chick to take his place?” Zane teases.

“Tour with two chicks?” Slick clarifies. “That could get real.”

“You wouldn’t fuck them though, man, that’s a bad idea.” Crush suggests. “What if it doesn’t work out, and you end up stuck with the chick for the rest of the tour?”

“Yeah, that’s true.” Slick agrees. “But chances are Cruz will stick. And Roxy…hell, I wouldn’t sleep with her if she was the last chick on the planet.”

Crush high fives Slick. “Here here.”

Zane frowns. “She’s pretty hot. I’d do her.”

“You’re out of your mind, man.” Slick scoffs. “You can have any groupie you want. Stay away from that psycho.”

“She’s not a psycho, man.” I argue, good-naturedly. “She just needs to lay off the coke and the sauce. Not unlike anyone else. She just doesn’t handle it well.”

“I don’t do any of that shit unless it’s a wicked party.” Slick says. “I can’t sing worth a shit if I’m on any of that.”

“I hear ya, man. I’m the same.” I say, clapping him on the back. I don’t look at Crush or Zane, because I know that they’re guilty of dabbling sometimes when we’re performing. But they keep it on the Q-T and can handle it, so I never say anything. It is, after all, a way of life for most rockers. Fact is, Slick and I are exceptions to the rule.

Roxy’s road manager comes out of the office. His face is still set like stone. “Hey, man. You need a beer or something? You look fucking pissed off.” I say, taking a risk, since I don’t know the guy. But what the fuck…what’s the worst that could happen?

“You got any?” he scoffs. “Roxy and Stix drank our entire stash before they went on stage.”

Slick goes into the cooler by the table in the green room, where we’re hanging around, and checks. “Yeah, we’ve got a few in here, man.” He takes one out and tosses it. “Hey, I don’t even know your fucking name, man.”

“It’s Ron.” He says, catching the beer. “Hey, thanks.”

“No problem.” Slick sees Jim and whistles, grabbing his attention as he trots by the green room. “Yo, Jim!”

Jim’s head appears at the door. “Yo!”

“Hey, man, go grab us some more beers. Seems we’re out.”

“Sure. Give me ten.” He says, patting the doorjamb.

I grab a plastic cup from on top of the cooler and fill it with water, downing it in a matter of five gulps. When I’m done, I put the cup down on the cooler. “So, what’s the deal, dude? You looked like your best friend died when you were on that phone call.”

Ron’s gaze lowers. “Ah, politics and shit. You know how it is.”

“All too well, my friend. All too well.” I agree. “Anything we can help with?”

“Nah, not really.” He admits, looking in the direction of the stage. “I’ve got my hands full with this bunch.”

We hear a raucous coming in from the back. “Shit, we better get out of here, before we’re trampled by the next band.” I say. “This place is about to become a zoo.”

Ron waves. “Na, these guys show up and leave. They zipped through their soundcheck like it was a race. They’ve been around the block a few times.” He chuckles. The band has been around since before I was born, so they know what they’re doing. “Hell, I think they were goddamn airlifted here if I’m not mistaken.”

We hear the next band in the dressing room, and it sounds like they’re already warming up. Ron wasn’t kidding. “Hey, Roxy and the guys really nailed it tonight, huh.” Zane says, changing the subject. “We were listening while we were getting ready to go on.”

Ron lifts a brow.

“You disagree?” I ask.

Ron draws in a deep breath. “It’s not what I agree on or disagree.” Buying Time is with Crass Records, the same recording company as us. “You know that with Crass, it’s all about sales, man.”

“What, so, they’re not up to snuff?” I ask, and he’s about to answer, when Roxy and the guys come into the green room. They don’t have any meet and greets, either. We have some before the second show, but not tonight. I think the promoters worked it that way to keep a nice flow to the performances. Cruz high fives Ron while Stix grabs a beer from the cooler, and Blaze takes his soaking wet shirt off, changes it, and grabs a beer. Roxy takes the beer that Stix tosses her way and downs it.

“Chas is on his way.” Ron says to Roxy. “Should be here any minute.”

Roxy lifts a brow but is otherwise nonplussed. “What’s he want?”

“Who’s Chas?” Slick asks.

“Our manager.” Cruz answers. “And the guy is always such a fucking ray of sunshine.” He says facetiously.

“What does he want this time?” Roxy asks again, draining her beer.

Ron just lifts his hands in the air and walks away, not saying a word.

Despite the rock concert that awaits, you can hear a pin drop in the green room.