by Nicole James
“Nice,” Tommy said, taking in the blue and gold flames coming from the crushed glass.
Rory took his acoustic guitar out of its case, while Tommy dug into his food.
“Umm. These are awesome.” He pushed the bag around toward Rory. “Have some before they get cold.”
Rory dug in. “Thanks, bro. I was starved.”
Tommy laughed. “Right. Because there’s no food in this place and not anything you could want by calling doorman-dude downstairs.”
“Call him that to his face, I dare you.”
“What, doorman-dude? That’s what he is, right?”
“He’s a concierge.”
“Oooo. How highfalutin’. Excuse me.”
Rory chuckled, strumming and tuning his guitar.
“Let me see these awesome lyrics you wrote.”
Rory dug in his back pocket and unfolded the sheet of paper, passing it to his band mate.
Tommy scanned the sheet. “Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Uh-huh.” He lifted his gaze from the paper to Rory. “You fall in love or something?”
Rory just bit his lip and kept playing, trying to remember the tune he’d come up with.
“You dog! You totally did.”
“What do you think of the lyrics?”
“They’re good. You need a chorus.”
“I’m working on it.”
“Uh huh. You want any help with this song?”
“What do you think of this?” Rory played him the melody he’d come up with.
Tommy nodded. “It’s good, but…” He scanned the paper again.
“But what?”
“These lyrics, that music, it’s not really Convicted Chrome material, man.”
“I know.”
“You do?”
Rory nodded.
“You remember what happened with that pretty little tune you wrote last year, don’t you? You give this to Hamish and the boys, they’ll change it. You know that right?”
Rory nodded.
“They’re gonna heavy-metal the shit out of it and make it dark as hell,” Tommy elaborated, studying him. “You good with that?”
Rory shook his head, continuing to work the tune out in his head, his eyes closed. “Not giving ‘em this song.”
“Huh?”
Rory opened his eyes. “They’re not getting this one.”
“That so? You goin’ solo or something I don’t know about?”
“No. But this song is mine, for me. Not for the band. Understand?”
Tommy nodded. “Sure. Sure. So…tell me about the girl.”
Rory looked at him and grinned. “She’s amazing, bro.”
“I need to meet her. Where is she?” He glanced around, like he might find her in the condo.
“She’s not here. She’s on her way to California.”
“California, huh? Where’d you meet her?”
“Brewery near Vail. Karaoke night.”
“Karaoke?” Tommy made a face.
“Don’t laugh. It was fun.”
“So, you’re what, singing amateur nights now?”
“Quit. We sang one song. It was nice.”
“Nice?”
“I like her. A lot.”
Tommy glanced down at the paper again. “Yeah, I got that. So she live around here or is this some kind of long-distance relationship?”
“She’s from Denver.”
“Well, that’s convenient.”
“Except…I lost my phone and her number.”
“You dumb fuck. How’d you lose your phone?”
“I don’t know. I had it, then I didn’t.”
Tommy rolled his eyes. “Well, good luck with that. I gotta get back.”
“Already?”
“Yeah.” He stood. “Hey, look, I’m real happy for you and all, and the song’s good, I just wish you’d write something the band could use.”
Rory put his guitar aside and stood. “I know. I will.” He slugged Tommy in the arm. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Sound check is at six.”
“I’ll be there.”
Rory watched Tommy walk out, then he sat down in the quiet night air, pulled his guitar to him, and studied the mountains. They were a beautiful purple now, and it made him think of Rayne’s hair.
He strummed softly and began to murmur the lyrics he’d written.
A Song for Rayne
The girl with the lavender hair
The one with the beautiful smile
She looks like she has not a care in the world
But you don’t know a thing about her
She carries her pain on the inside
She hides all her fear and her worry
She can’t let it show, can’t let him see
How afraid she is that soon he’ll be gone
She does what she can, she does what she must
But it’s never enough, how can it be?
Their time is too short, the end ever near
And she can’t do a thing to slow time
Desperation is cold, this illness is heartless
Nothing is fair in this world
When all that she wants, is all that she had
With a brother she loved and called Daniel.
The girl with the lavender hair
The one with the beautiful smile
No you don’t know a thing about her, boy
You don’t know a thing about her
Chapter Eight
Rory pulled his guitar off and carried it with him as he walked off stage after the sound check. The doors to the auditorium would be opening in less than an hour. He headed down a backstage hallway and passed Charlotte Justice’s dressing room.
“Hey, Rory. Come here,” she called out.
He stopped and walked in. She was sitting on a couch, strumming on her electric blue Fender Stratocaster. She had long blonde curls and a sweet smile. She wore low-slung jeans and a bohemian-style flowing shirt with lots of bracelets and long dangling earrings. Rory always thought her look was cool as hell.
“What do you think of this?” She played him a melodic bluesy rift.
“I love it. Is that a new song?”
“One I’m working on. How about you? You still writing?”
“Some. I’ve been sort of blocked for the longest time. Until last night.”
“What happened to unblock you?” She strummed her guitar with a razzmatazz sound and smiled at him.
“I met someone.”
“Ah, love. It does it every time. Well, let’s hear it.”
“Really?”
“Sure.”
“It’s not like what the band usually plays. It’s a slower song.”
“Sounds interesting. Play it for me.”
He looked at the open door. “Mind if I shut this?”
She smiled. “Ah, a secret song, huh?”
He shut the door. “No, it’s just not Convicted Chrome material.”
“Nothing says all your stuff has to fit in a box. Music is all about experimentation. Right?”
“Right.”
She held her guitar up. “Mind if I jump in if the mood strikes?”
“No, not at all.” He played it for her, and she did indeed jump in, providing another layer of melody blending in with his. It added richness to the sound of the song.
When he finished, he said, “I like what you did. That needs to be in the music.”
“I love the lyrics you wrote. With your deep growly voice, it’s the perfect song for you.”
“Thanks.” He was glad for her praise and any input she could give him, but he knew it was a long shot the song would ever be recorded. “Do you think I should put it out there, see if anyone wants to record it? Maybe Harrison Mayfield or Chance Rollins would be interested in doing it.”
She gave him a funny look. “Why would you do that? It’s your song. Do you really want some other artist to have it?”
He shook his head. “No, but it’s not Convicted Chrome’s style, and I don’t w
ant Hamish getting his hands on it; he’ll completely change it until it’s unrecognizable.”
She nodded. “I understand, Rory. I do. Maybe I can help you.”
“How?” He huffed out a laugh. “You want to record it?”
“No, something better than that. It really needs a male voice.” She eyed him. “Do you trust me?”
He frowned. That was an odd thing for her to say.
“Professionally… do you trust me?” she prodded.
“Sure, I guess. Why?”
“Just leave it to me. Okay? And be ready.”
He gave her a suspicious look. “Be ready for what?”
She smiled and nodded toward her dressing room door. “Go. I’ll see you later.”
He moved to leave.
“Oh, and Rory?”
“Yeah?”
“Stick around for my show, okay?”
“Of course.” He wasn’t sure he had been planning on that, but when the headliner of the tour asks you to stick around for her performance, you do it.
Chapter Nine
Lou “Crawdaddy” Crawford watched Charlotte Justice from just off stage—a place he often watched his most lucrative performer. Of all the acts he managed, she was his biggest star and his biggest paycheck. Because of that, he kept close tabs on her act and a short leash on her. No one messed with his meal ticket; he personally saw to that. She was his bread and butter, and he made special effort to keep her healthy and happy.
Tonight’s show was going well. The opening act, Convicted Chrome, had finished, and the crowd had loved them. They weren’t his taste; he hated heavy metal. It was all crap in his opinion. But Charlotte liked them and wanted them on her tour. With his contract coming up for renewal, he wanted to keep her happy, so he went along with it. Any other time, he’d have dumped them after the first leg of this American tour.
If he had any say in it, they sure as hell wouldn’t be on the European tour next Spring. He sucked on his cigar, rolling it in his lips, pissed off all over again that he could no longer light it up. Fucking smoking ordinances. He longed for the old days when Rock & Roll was king and a man could smoke whatever he wanted backstage.
His cell phone vibrated in his pocket, and he pulled it out, looking at the screen. Mickey. The man knew better than to call him during a show unless it was urgent. He put it to his ear. “Yeah?”
“Bad news.”
“What now?”
“Axel Rod just OD’d. They’ve taken him to the Royal London Hospital.”
“Fucking Christ, what happened?”
“I don’t know. They found him in his hotel suite about an hour ago.”
Crawford checked his watch. It was 10:45pm Denver time, which meant it was 5:45am London time. “When was his studio time scheduled for?”
“Lou, we don’t even know how he’s doing—”
“I don’t give a fuck how he’s doing! I’m not going to eat the cost of a week’s worth of studio time in LA for that fucking junky. Not again.”
“It’s next week, Lou.”
“Shit. Who the hell am I suppose to fill his timeslot with?”
“I don’t know, Lou. How about Kandy Karter?”
“She’s on her honeymoon.”
“Maybe we could get her back.”
“Her last release bombed. I’m in no hurry to rush out another.”
“How about that opening act on Justice’s tour?”
“Convicted Chrome?”
“Yeah. Are they ready for the next level? Do they have the songs to go in and cut an album?”
“No. Their lead singer sucks, and while the band has some talent…” Lou paused, frowning at what was happening on stage. Mickey and this bullshit had distracted him and now Charlotte was going off script. When she finished Dragonfly she always went right into Shackles and Chains. Why was she unstrapping her guitar and resting it in its stand? He pulled the wet cigar from his mouth, intending to tell Mickey he’d call him back, when she moved back to the microphone stand and began speaking.
“I always love coming to Denver.” The crowd roared. “Our opening act began right here in Colorado. Let’s hear it for Convicted Chrome.” There was another roar. “So I’ve got a special surprise for all of you tonight. I’m going to ask Rory O’Rourke from Convicted Chrome to come up here.” She turned toward the other side of the stage, smiling.
Lou cut his eyes to where she was looking and saw the guitar player point at his chest in surprise. His white shirt was unbuttoned and open, revealing his tattoos and abs.
“Yes, Rory. Come on out here. Don’t be shy now.”
The women in the audience screamed excitedly. Lou’s gaze skated down him. He had that classic rock star look: the long hair, the ink, and the tall lean body the girls swooned over.
Rory joined Charlotte, and she put her arm around him.
“I tease, ladies. Rory’s not shy.”
The women all screamed again.
“Some of you may not know, but Rory is a very talented songwriter, and he’s going to play a song for you that he just recently wrote. You’re going to love it, I promise.”
A roadie rushed forward and handed Rory his guitar.
Slipping the strap over his head, Rory moved to the microphone, giving Charlotte an I’m-going-to-kill-you look.
She just gave him a big smile and blew him a kiss, then moved back. Her band all stood quietly, then she picked up her guitar again and put it over her head.
“Thank you,” Rory spoke into the microphone. He looked at Charlotte. “And I want to thank Ms. Justice for this unexpected opportunity.”
The crowd laughed.
Charlotte softly strummed in the background, and Rory began playing. He leaned into the microphone and said, “This is called A Song For Rayne.”
He started singing and out came a phenomenal voice, taking the auditorium by surprise.
Lou watched the audience’s reaction. They roared, and Lou looked back at this new talent. He had no idea the guitarist could sing like this. Why the hell wasn’t he the lead singer? But Lou could answer his own question. This kid had a voice that had depth and power and was not made for screaming heavy metal garbage into a microphone at gazillions of decibels.
Lou watched phones come up all across the auditorium as people filmed the song. That rarely occurred. That happened only when something magical was transpiring. The wheels in his head began turning.
“Lou, are you there? Do you want me to cancel?” Mickey yelled into the phone.
“Hang on,” Lou hissed.
The song was hauntingly hypnotic, and the music, though raw with only Rory on guitar and Charlotte filling in with a background melody, was beautiful by its very simplicity. The lyrics carried the song; too many instruments would have only distracted from them. And his voice! It was made to sing this song.
Lou growled into the receiver. “Don’t cancel the studio time. I think I’ve got an act.”
Chapter Ten
As the last notes of music drifted out, the crowd went wild. Rory stepped back and bowed. Charlotte walked to the microphone and invited Rory to stay on stage and finish out the night. They played two more songs.
When the lights finally went down at the end of the show and Charlotte and the band walked off stage, Rory was ecstatic. He couldn’t believe how wonderfully his song had been received.
“Oh, my God. That was insane!” he told Charlotte. He couldn’t stop smiling.
“You were awesome, kid.”
“When you asked me if I trusted you earlier, I had no idea what you were planning.”
She grinned. “You didn’t believe me about the song. I had to prove you wrong. They loved your voice, Rory, and you had them in the palm of your hand with those lyrics.”
They walked down the back hall.
Charlotte looked up, and Rory followed her gaze. He knew from being on this tour that it was Charlotte’s tour manager. He was a real bigwig in the industry and had handled the careers of numerous succe
ssful acts.
He waved his arm. “Charlotte, come here, and bring the kid.”
Charlotte’s eyes flicked to Rory. “I’m guessing he means you, kid,” she teased.
Rory followed Charlotte into her dressing room where Lou Crawford waited.
“What’s up, Crawdaddy?” Charlotte asked.
“You went off script. You know I hate when you do that. We talked about it. Any changes need to be run by me.”
Rory’s eyes cut between the two of them. Last thing he wanted to do was be in the room when her tour manager was reprimanding her like this.
“Lou, maybe you need to start trusting my judgment. I know my audience and I know good music. It was a hit, wasn’t it?”
“Lucky for you. It could have backfired just as easily. The kid could have bombed.”
“The kid has a name,” Charlotte snapped. “And he’s standing right here, Lou.”
Lou shoved his cigar in his mouth and stared at Rory. “Yeah. Sit down, kid. I want to talk to you.”
Rory looked to Charlotte, not sure she wanted him here.
She gestured to the couch. “Please, Rory. Sit.”
When he did, she introduced them. “Rory, this is my manager, Lou Crawford, also known in the industry as Crawdaddy. I’m sure you know who he is, but I’ve probably never had a chance to introduce you. Lou, Rory O’Rourke.
Rory put his hand out. “Mr. Crawford.”
“So, kid, you wrote that song?”
“Yeah.”
Lou nodded, chewing on his stogie. “Uh huh. I understand you also wrote Love Gone Wrong.”
“I wrote a different version. It was supposed to be a love song. The band changed it up to fit their sound.”
“Play it for me.”
“Now?”
“Yeah, right now.”
Charlotte passed him one of her acoustic guitars. “Here, Rory. You can use this.”
Rory took it and played a few notes, getting the feel for the tune of the strings. Then he sang the song slow, the way he’d originally wrote it. When he was through, he looked at Lou Crawford.
