The Infinite Beat (T.I.E. Book 2)

by Christine Michelle

  I did as the man asked, and attempted to get by without having to speak to him. The man was having none of that as he scrutinized me though. “You’re Anderson’s younger sibling, right?” He asked, I nodded in agreement, but again refused to speak out loud as I handed off the case that he had asked for. The man sighed. “What are you going to do when you can’t answer a question with the shake of your head?” He asked. Then he grinned at me causing the crow’s feet at the corner of his azure eyes to deepen. “Let me guess, you’re going to attempt to lower your voice and not sound like a complete idiot?”

  I stood frozen as the older man with the shoulder length salt and pepper hair continued to grin at my wide-eyed stare like he knew what was up. “MJ, was it?” The man asked and again I nodded, the motion slower this time. “You’re not fooling me. I knew you were slotted to tour with your brother before his bandmates crashed that car. That must have really ruined plans for you and your brother. I get it. The two of you stick together, like glue. I don’t blame you for lying about being a guy either, because you wouldn’t have been allowed on tour otherwise. I’ll keep my mouth shut. You do your job, keep a low profile, and if anyone messes with you I want you to come to me if you can’t find Dave, alright?”

  Again, I simply nodded, not knowing what exactly to say.

  “I’m Smithy, by the way. It’s good we made friends early on so I could look out for you. Now, get on over there and see how many of those of things you can drag back to me as quickly as possible.”

  He pointed to the numerous black cases of varying lengths and sizes that held the equipment we needed to set the stage. I hustled my butt to get them to him quickly, thus proving that I wouldn’t be a waste of space on this tour, and Smithy smiled up at me. “Always good to work with a person who has a lot to prove. They know how to hustle. Shit, girl, if nothing else your work ethic gives you away. The rest of these guys get a move-on when they need to, but it would have taken twenty minutes for them to bring me everything.” He shook his head then. “Maybe, I should think about hiring only women.” I gave him a crooked smile before he finished up his thought process. “Then again, they’d all have to be ugly, because otherwise they’d be too busy trying to hide from the bands. Something you’re going to have to keep in mind. It’s obvious, even as you try to hide it, that you’re a pretty girl. Don’t fall for the bullshit. Most of the guys in this industry will chew you up and spit you out when they’re done, and they won’t care in what condition you land. You catching what I’m throwing out there for you?”

  “Yeah, I already knew that, but thanks.”

  “Ah, she speaks!” Smithy joked as he mock clutched his chest and feigned a heart attack.

  “You probably shouldn’t do that at your age. People see an old man clutching his chest, and they’re dialing 911 before they can ascertain if he’s serious or not.”

  “Well shit, she gives as good as she gets, too.” The man grumped at me. “And I’m not fuckin’ old just yet. I’m only 43 and this is just premature graying.”

  “Uh-huh. Whatever you say, Smithy,” I teased.

  Smithy was the only person on the tour, other than my brother, who knew my secret. It was crazy that I felt a small weight lift from my shoulders. He gave me a little bit of room to breath in a chaotic situation. I was especially thankful for that after I attempted to go to sleep on the bus that night. I knew what the rock-n-roll lifestyle entailed. What I hadn’t expected was that one of the members of Fourth Down would be on the same bus with the crew and me for some reason. So, when I tried to crawl in my bunk to sleep I was in for a very rude awakening when Fourth Down’s bassist, Clay Miller, brought some woman onboard the bus, proceeded to snort something rather noisily with her, and then bent her over so that the upper half of her body was inside one of the little sleeping compartments while the bottom half of her was hanging out of it. She stood on her tiptoes to reach the floor while he jacked her skirt up. It gave off an oddly disembodied vibe, like she was just the bottom half of a person, because the curtain on that bunk kept closing over her. She wasn’t wearing panties, and I would know, because I let curiosity get the best of me and chose that moment to peek out of my curtain across the narrow aisle that separated the two walls of coffin style bunks that the crew slept in. They were stacked three high on each side. I pulled the curtain closed again just as Clay’s pants came down bearing his upper ass cheeks to me. Apparently, the groupie he’d picked up didn’t warrant them coming down any further. I really didn’t want front row tickets to this scene so I closed my curtain tightly, wishing it had magic soundproofing abilities, and regretting wholeheartedly that it didn’t in the next few minutes. Clay apparently sank into the chick he was nailing and she started snorting like a pig rooting for food in a trough. Seriously? Those were her sex noises? Dear God, someone needed to set up a tape recorder and let her hear herself so she could fix that shit.

  “Yeah, you like that baby? Like getting nailed hard by the bassist of your favorite band?”

  Snort. “Mmm, Micah,” Snort. “Just like that.”

  “It’s Clay, not Micah,” he scoffed but never stopped banging the chick he had before him. Poor Micah was going to get a worse reputation if this asshat kept them thinking he was the bassist for The Infinite Everything instead of the opening act. I just shrugged it off and attempted not to laugh as the piggy little snorts the woman made turned into snort-squeals as Clay picked up his pace.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” A voice I knew all too well yelled from down the other end of the bus.

  “What does it look like, bro?” Clay responded.

  “Get your fucking whore out of my bunk, you sick fuck.” Oh shit, I hadn’t even realized that was my brother’s bunk Clay had the woman pinned in. Eww. Now I felt bad for David.

  “Chill out man, we were almost finished anyway.”

  “You’re finished now!”

  “Do you know who I am?” The man shouted indignantly at my brother, while also not missing a single thrust into the woman.

  “Yeah, you’re the asshole who’s own band doesn’t want him on their bus. You’re going to find you don’t have a place on the crew’s bus either. We don’t take kindly to people invading the little bit of personal space we’re allotted, you stupid fuck. You want to nail a new nasty bitch after every show, find a place backstage, or fuck in your own space.”

  “I’ll have you tossed off this tour in a minute, asshole!” Clay shouted as he finally eased out of the woman. At least, I think that’s what he did because I heard the rustling of clothing, and a zipper being pulled. Then there was the distinct sound of flesh being smacked. “Come on, honey, let’s go somewhere we don’t have an audience.”

  “Um, I think I better just go,” the nasally voiced woman spoke up finally. Then I heard scurrying footsteps before a man’s voice called out to her.

  “Aw, come on honey, we weren’t done yet.”

  “That’s okay, it was, um, yeah, I have to go.”

  “Fuckin’ cockblocking prick!” Clay shouted to my brother before storming off the bus and giving chase to the woman. Why he bothered I didn’t know. I would think the pig noises would be a turn off for at least 99 percent of the male population.

  “Jesus,” my brother hissed out as I pushed my privacy curtain back a bit.

  “Sorry, it didn’t occur to me that they were draped into your bunk, or I would have stopped that train wreck somehow.”

  “Christ, you were here the whole time for that shit show?”

  “Yep, and I have to tell you, I’ll never be able to stare a side of bacon in the face again without thinking of that.”

  “What the hell, Chelle?”

  “Don’t ask. You came during a lull in her pig-centric sex noises.” I shivered at the thought. “Truly disturbing. I’d suggest washing your sheets before attempting to sleep there.”

  Dave just glanced back at his bunk in disgust before stripping the sheets off of the thin Bunkie mattress.

  �
�What’s happening Davey-boy?” I heard Smithy’s gravely baritone ask.

  “Just caught Clay banging some groupie he had pinned inside my bunk.”

  “Shit, I’ll have a talk with the bands, and see if we can’t get that under control. MJ wasn’t around, was she?

  My brother pointed at my bunk. “Damn it, sorry about that.”

  “No worries, I knew what I was getting into when I signed on. I’m just going to be more aware before I hop into my own bunk now. That’s just nasty,” I stated while pointing to my brother’s discarded sheets that now littered the aisle.

  When my brother’s band had first been awarded the opening slot for The Infinite Everything I had done my research. The headlining band partied plenty, a few of their members appeared to be man whores, but otherwise, there hasn't been mention of drug-induced meltdowns or violence of any kind on any of their previous tours. That was something that made me immensely happy. I also thought it would bode well for my brother’s band, because some of his bandmates had started getting into the drug scene. I had no clue they’d implode before they could ever even get on tour though. That sucked – mostly for my brother who wasn’t into the drugs – but also because they had their dreams in their hands, and they let it all go for pussy and blow.

  Since I had done my research, I’d been convinced it wouldn’t be a problem for us being on the crew traveling with The Infinite Everything either. I suppose I should have checked into the new opening band first though. Maybe this was why Clay was riding with the crew instead of the band. I wondered if it was his choice, or if he had been sent here because he was being a bad boy and the other guys didn’t want his influence hanging around. If that were the case, I’d like to shake all of them for sending their mess for the crew to deal with instead of taking care of it themselves. I was at least thankful that David and Smithy were now aware too so that I didn’t feel like an asshole ratting out the situation or keeping it to myself.

  At least with David and Smithy onboard the bus and Clay and his swine gone, I was able to finally drift off to a much-needed sleep. What I really wished for though was a good, long soak in a tub, because every single one of my muscles was screaming at me about all the gym workouts I’d skipped – mostly because I couldn’t afford the membership fees – but also because I couldn’t see paying to torture myself. At least now, I was getting paid for the pleasure of torturing my body daily.

  The next evening I was hauling equipment cases when Markus Bledsoe called out to me. “Hey kid, need you on stage setting up the drum kit.” I glanced up to see he was addressing me. “You know how to rig up a kit, right?” He asked pointing to the sound tech’s boxes full of various microphones that would be applied to the drums. I nodded, hoping I looked more confident than I actually was.

  I’d helped my brother’s old band set up and take down everything often enough that I knew how to do just about all of it, except proper placement for mics on a drum kit in a large venue show. I didn’t even think any of the setup crew was supposed to touch that stuff without the sound techs being there, if at all. I dropped off the crates I’d been hauling and ran up onto the stage while noting the quality of the drum kit before me. I also noted the size and it was nothing like the little kit my brother’s band mate had been using. This thing was monstrous. Actually, it looked like it was several kits placed in a large, tight circle with a stool set up in the middle of it.

  Fourth Down’s kit was already setup on the stage, and I took a quick inventory of how that was put together while trying to assess the kit before me. “I thought the sound tech was supposed to rig this stuff up?” I mumbled the words to myself as I continued to make a plan of action in my head for how I was going to tackle this job. If I fucked up, I’d no doubt lose my job. Musicians did not fuck around with their instruments. I glanced around noting that everyone had moved away, and there wasn’t anyone I could ask for help. Great. Just terrific.

  I was just about to get busy putting this bad boy together when I kicked a box to move it out of the way only to have a cymbal come crashing down on my shoulder from somewhere. “What the fuck?” I shouted, and then quickly cursed some more under my breath at the stupid outburst I’d just made that could definitely have me outted as a woman instead of a man.

  A throat clearing behind me let me know I wasn’t alone anymore. Before I could turn around and assess the damage I prayed silently that it was just my brother there to witness my epic dumbassery.

  ~ Evan ~

  I don’t even know why I felt the need to check on my kit before sound check today. The roadies had done a great job so far, but there was this feeling deep down in my gut that had me curious today. When I opened the door to the bathroom I’d been in I heard laughter as I stepped into the hallway. “You seriously sent the scrawny new kid to put that mother of a kit together by himself?”

  The other man laughed hysterically. “Yeah, if he knew shit about it he would have asked for help, but he didn’t so I’m waiting to see what happens. That kid gives me a weird feeling. There’s something not right about how quiet he is.”

  The crashing of a cymbal from somewhere near the stage caught everyone’s attention. I had already been moving that way and caught the tail end of the girliest, profanity-laden cry of pain I’d ever heard from a roadie. As I turned the corner I noticed a short person standing near my kit holding onto their shoulder while seeming to swear under their breath. Whoever it was had been drowning in the baggiest clothes known to man, so it was no wonder something probably snagged and fell on him. As I glanced around I noticed he was the only one in the area, which had me questioning a few things. I knew I heard a girl’s voice back here. I watched as the person pulled her shirtsleeve down over her shoulder enough for me to notice she was very slight and was also wearing a bra. This was no roadie.

  I was about to get pissed off, thinking a groupie had snuck in amongst the ranks, but then I remembered what the roadies had been saying before I came back here. Maybe the reason this “new guy” had been so quiet and weird to them was that it was a chick in hiding. I cleared my throat and watched as her whole body stiffened in reaction, which was a sight to see happening inside the baggy clothing that was all but swallowing her up.

  She turned ever so slowly, and the moment I saw her face I knew the road crew were a bunch of morons. There was no way any sane human being could mistake her as male. “You need some help in here, honey?” The words slipped from my mouth before I could pull them back. She shook her head no, refusing to look me in the eye as she retrieved the cymbal that had obviously crashed down on her shoulder. Looking at the shoulder in question had me seeing red, literally. This girl was bleeding.

  “Seriously, loves, just put that down and let’s go get you checked out. You’re bleeding.”

  “It’s fine,” she mumbled in a ridiculously bad attempt at lowering her voice register.

  “You’re not fine. You have blood dripping down your arm. I’m worried about my kit too. It usually takes two people to put my touring monster together each night, and your mobility is seriously lacking in that get-up you’re wearing. It’s no wonder things came crashing down on you.”

  She made the attempt to see who I was then, though the bill to the cap she had on her head was pulled low on her brow, hiding most of her face from view. I still managed to get a good look at her plump bottom lip as she pulled it between her teeth to hide the wince she didn’t want me to see. She was apparently well aware of who I was now.

  “Besides,” I continued on, taunting her just a bit. “Cat’s out of the bag now anyway. It’s obvious you’re a woman.” This caused her to suck in a surprised breath. Her shoulders shot up into a tensed, fight or flight position and I almost felt bad for her. “Look, I get it. Women aren’t usually on the road crew. I’m not sure why you’re hiding out there, but I am certainly not going to get you fired either. I just want to make sure you’re okay because that shoulder is looking worse by the minute.”

  She glanced down at
the blood that was now dripping to the floor, having traveled the length of her arm to get there. “Damn it, one week, and my cover is blown all because of an evil cymbal crashing into me.”

  I couldn’t help chuckling. “Hey, that’s my cymbal we’re talking about, and usually it isn’t evil. I don’t think I’ve ever seen my kit bite anyone like that. Maybe she likes you,” I teased. She just gave me a pained version of a sheepish smile, prompting me to ask. “Why the cover, anyway?”

  “My brother’s band was supposed to open for you guys so we let our apartment go because I was going to work their merchandise booth for them. When the rest of those idiots screwed up we had to do something. Dave got us jobs on the road crew, but they wouldn’t hire a woman, so…” she indicated her baggy, completely unflattering ensemble.

  “I’m Evan, by the way,” I interjected before she could ramble on any further.

  “Chelle, but everyone here knows me as MJ.” She grinned and shrugged her shoulders, wincing once again as the movement pulled at whatever damaged my cymbal had done to her.

  “MJ?” I asked, curious.

  “My initials. It was the closest to a boy’s identity that I would actually respond to.”

  “Okay, Chelle, let’s go get your shoulder checked out, deal with the crew member who thought hazing someone on my kit was a good idea, and then we’ll get you squared away with the job you should have had to begin with. Fourth Down doesn’t have a dedicated helper at their merchandise table. They’ve just been pulling from some of the staff, which hasn’t worked in their favor since inventory is going out, but money hasn’t been adding up. I think you’ll both be relieved to have that position filled.”

  She gave me a thankful look before a man came around the corner. “MJ?” He called her name warily.