Rocked Up: A Novel

by Karina Halle

  As we stroll along the busy walkway dodging strollers and tourists, Lael talks and talks, which is a nice change of pace. It takes the pressure off of me. Just when I think she’s run out of things to say, she keeps going. She’s refreshingly open, the opposite of me, and covers her entire life, every relationship she’s had, where she has been, where she wants to go. And her deep respect for Prince.

  “I mean, look at Prince. He lived and breathed what he did. He nearly put out an album a year for his whole career,” she says, totally passionate. “His music is not what he did—it’s who he was. Anyway, about my roommate, Christy…”

  It takes some focus to follow her and her wayward trains of thought, but it’s nice to see her so comfortable with me. I almost feel honored, though I have a feeling this is just the way she is.

  She finally takes a deep breath when both of our attention goes to a very cinematic moment on a bench just in front of us. A very young girl is accepting an ice cream cone from her mother, her smile, and her star-shaped sunglasses catching the attention of everyone walking by.

  “Aww.” Lael clutches her chest, looking in love with the scene. She looks at me with a big, silly smile. “Can I have an ice cream, too?”

  “After!” I respond and point to the chowder joint to our right. “Real food first.”

  “But ice cream is real food,” she protests. “It’s the only food.”

  After we settle at a long table overlooking the small marina and the ferries heading out to Alcatraz and other islands in the bay, Lael takes a breath and for a moment becomes self-aware.

  “Am I talking too much?” she asks.

  “No,” I answer truthfully. I’m actually enjoying her blabber. She has an unusual approach that’s entertaining.

  We sit side by side facing the water. Lael shows no sign of running out of things to talk about, so I make myself comfortable. I can’t be sure if she notices that our legs are touching beneath the table, and the way she is leaning into me is causing our arms to touch as well. I don’t pull my arm or leg away; rather I slightly lean into her, drink my tea, and enjoy this very genuine moment I’m sharing with my new bass player. There’s something about the perfect blue sky and the ocean air blowing her familiar scent toward me that makes me want to take a mental picture.

  I’m definitely not one to pull out my phone and snap a photo, but once in a while I make an effort to not let a moment pass me by. I live in the now, taking everything in, and try to file it away wherever memories are kept. I’m doing that right now.

  “What are you smiling at, Snyder?” Lael asks with amusement.

  I don’t answer her right away. I raise my hands innocently while I try to come up with a response, but my mouth opens and the words fall out, skipping the filtration process.

  “You.”

  “Am I making you smile, Mr. Snyder?” she asks coyly.

  I clear my throat and nudge the conversation in a different direction.

  “I was just thinking about the pranks the fellas have in store for you,” I elaborate, hoping she buys it.

  “What?!” she asks, her voice high pitched with worry. “What pranks?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Brad!”

  “Honestly, I don’t know, I just thought I would give you a heads up so you at least have a chance,” I say with a laugh.

  Lael grabs me by the collar and playfully pulls me toward her. I play along and pretend she’s hurting me.

  “What are they going to do, Snyder?”

  It’s during this playful moment that I notice the sniper with the camera taking our photo. I have no doubt he’s been following us for some time.

  Lael turns her head to look at what’s grabbed my attention, and in an instant the mood has changed like someone flicked a switch.

  We don’t say it out loud but we both know what those photos are going to look like. I place some money on the table.

  “Come on. It’s about time to go anyway.”

  We make our way back to where the Suburban is waiting. Our driver quickly folds up his newspaper and we drive away, leaving the sneaky photographer behind. By the time we get to the venue, our mood is light again. I always have an irrational fear that no one will show up to the shows, but I notice some pedestrians wearing And Then shirts which gives me some relief.

  “The Warfield,” our driver announces.

  The security guard at the back entrance notices us right away and we are shown to the rehearsal room beneath the stage. The whole gang is there as well as the usual unfamiliar faces. A small drum kit is in the corner and amps line the wall.

  The mood is festive and the volume in the room is high with shouting conversations. Lael walks in first and the small gang breaks into applause.

  Her face turns a pretty shade of pink and she tries to play along, waving like she’s a beauty queen. Little does she know, this is what the gang does every time you enter backstage.

  I know this shtick, so I’m ready for it when I walk in behind Lael.

  The weirdos go from loving applause to a resounding boo, pointing and hissing at me as I find my place in the room. Lael shakes her head, laughing at the bizarre welcomes.

  “Hey, Lael,” Calvi says, walking over to her with a suspicious grin.

  “Hey, Calvi,” she answers as she opens a beer.

  “We were just playing a little game. Check it out. Hey, Switch. Show her how it’s done,” Calvi says. I know where this is going.

  Switch springs into action. He rolls a magazine into a funnel and sticks it under his belt, then he puts a quarter on his forehead as he looks up. Tilting his head forward, he drops the quarter into the rolled up magazine tucked into the front of his pants and the room applauds.

  “Looks easy enough,” Lael says warily.

  “Let’s see you try it,” Calvi says.

  “You first.”

  Calvi watches her for a second and then tucks the magazine funnel into his pants and tilts his head way back, balancing the quarter on his forehead.

  Lael then reaches over and pours most of her beer into the magazine funnel.

  “Ahhhh!” Calvi screams as the crotch of his pants darkens. The room erupts into hysterics.

  “Dude, seriously, that stupid prank is all over the internet,” Lael says as she shakes the last few drops at Calvi. “You’re going to have to try harder than that.”

  “This ain’t over, newbie,” Calvi growls at her before he stalks off toward the restroom.

  After the immature, but expected, hijinks we spend the rest of the time mostly goofing around rather than rehearsing new songs. The interview with Rolling Stone goes as expected. Mostly they want to talk about the line-up change and how that’s going to affect things. They also want some dirt on Nick and some soundbites on the chicken incident, but we play it as diplomatic as ever.

  I have to say, I appreciate the tone the interviewer has with Lael. The world can sometimes feel like a boys’ club and he doesn’t make a note of her being an attractive young woman. Mostly, he and Lael speak about her unique sound. She really does have a unique aspect that’s making our band sound different.

  Better, even.

  The meet and greet is standard—some quick conversations, a few pictures, signing a few things. There’s slight tension between Calvi and Lael from the earlier incident, and I can tell Calvi has something up his sleeve for revenge. Lael is on guard when he’s close.

  “Okay, gang. Time flies, doesn’t it? Let’s do a quick sound check so we can go relax and have dinner,” Arnie says, waving his arms as if to push us toward the stage.

  The theater is empty save the crew, the Rolling Stone interviewer who is scribbling something, and a small group of VIP ticket holders. It’s a strange feeling looking to those empty seats, but I take the time to always visualize things going well as I walk around the stage, strumming my guitar, making sure I can hear myself.

  While we’re making a racket tuning and adjusting, Lael is messing with the knobs on her
teal pedal that I think will be the focal point of the Rolling Stone interview, the cause of her newly signature sound.

  “Test one, two. Okay, let’s play something,” I say into the mic.

  “Let’s do ‘FuzzFace,’” Calvi says.

  I glance at my three bandmates and it looks like they’re ready to go.

  Lael starts the song off ringing out long, deep, rattling notes on her bass. Her eyes are closed and she hits the bass with the side of her fist. I can tell it’s for the benefit of the Rolling Stone guy who is watching her closely.

  Then, right on the beat where we all jump in, right at the moment when Lael theatrically throws her long hair forward and slams her foot down on her pedal, an extremely loud fart noise rumbles out of the main speakers.

  My jaw drops open and I have to stifle a laugh. I did not see that coming.

  Clearly, neither did Lael.

  Calvi falls over with tears in his eyes, and Switch drops his sticks and hunches over laughing. Lael is in shock, frozen in a power stance with her foot on her fart pedal. The Rolling Stone guy is feverishly writing on his pad.

  “You bastard,” Lael yells, pointing to Calvi.

  “Okay, so we’re even now,” Calvi says with a shrug.

  From behind the drum kit Switch shouts, “Welcome to And Then!”

  Chapter Eight

  Brad

  We’re in New Mexico and everything is lined up for total chaos. I have witnessed self-annihilation my entire life and do not have the capacity to put a romantic slant on drugs. We have the day off and Switch and Calvi keep on exchanging mischievous looks, which can only mean one thing. Arnie also feels what’s in the air and makes an attempt to keep them busy, flipping through his iPad, looking for something to do in New Mexico.

  “Aye, how about this,” he says. “The Sandia Peak Tramway, or wait, a history museum. That could be interesting, aye boys?”

  “What do you say, Calvi? Want to go to the museum today?” Switch asks sarcastically.

  “Oh, that sounds just wonderful,” Calvi answers, matching his sarcasm, then they both break out into laughter.

  Arnie throws his iPad to the side and says, “Okay, ya bastards. Do your own thing. Just remember tomorrow comes fast and we have a show to play.”

  Our bus stops at our hotel and Arnie hops out to get everything sorted at the front desk. Lael is reading a book in her little corner in the back, trying to ignore us. Every now and then she and I exchange a private glance and a smile, but at the moment she has all her focus on her book and her coffee.

  To their credit, Switch and Calvi always seem to be able to dust themselves off and show up for work the next day, no matter what drugs they do or how much they drink. And it’s not like they go on a tear every time we have a day off. Our schedule is too intense and expectations are too high. There’s no way anyone could keep this pace up while getting wasted every other night.

  But this isn’t just any day off. We’re in Santa Fe, New Mexico, Switch’s home town. Strangely, And Then has never played Santa Fe so I haven’t been here with Switch before. I have heard the stories, though.

  In the past, it seemed to make things worse when I tried to stop Calvi and Switch from partying too hard. They would get defensive. Case in point, at this very moment, Calvi is looking my way, waiting to see how I’m going to react to the impending doom.

  “Hey, man, it’s none of my business, as long as you’re ready to go tomorrow,” I say, trying not to rile them up.

  “Why don’t you come along? Roar is going to pick us up and take us to the country,” Switch says.

  “Roar?”

  “Yeah. Fucking Roar. You met him like ten times. The Norwegian guy with the beard,” Switch replies. Testy, testy.

  “Right-O, ladies and gentlemen. Here are the room keys. The day is yours, so try to stay out of trouble,” Arnie says as he hands out envelopes to each of us.

  We’re all getting our things together when a rather large Viking-type character steps into the bus. We all stop what we’re doing and stare at the imposing figure.

  “Roooooar!” Switch yells.

  Roar responds with a Viking warrior yell, fists raised and clenched, his eyes wild.

  “Oh, right. That Roar,” I say to no one in particular.

  The bus seems to get smaller as everyone moves around, greeting Roar. Arnie waits for the moment that Roar moves so he can get off the bus, muttering something under his breath as he goes.

  “How have you been, old friend?” Switch asks.

  “Good, man,” Roar says.

  “Still in the same place?”

  “Yup. I thought we would head that way, have a barbecue…I have some new toys to play with.”

  “I’m sure you do,” Switch says then gestures to Lael. “Roar, meet Lael, the newest member of And Then.”

  “Pleasure,” he says with a polite nod that is at odds with his crazed appearance. He then addresses everyone else. “I hope you all will be coming along.”

  Silence follows. I don’t want to go to the country with Roar to play with his new toys, whatever they are. As I’m trying to find the words to get out of this social corner, Lael breaks the silence. “All right. Let’s do this thing.”

  I guess I can see how she would be intrigued, or perhaps she couldn’t stand the silence and wanted to be polite. Either way, if she’s going then so am I.

  We pile into Roar’s old Suburban with the roof cut off. It takes some effort to get the engine started, but once it gets going he revs it and turns his head back to look at us, laughing like a wild man. Then he looks at Switch in the passenger seat and they exchange more crazed laughter and a fist pump, a sort of primal communication that does not require modern language.

  Roar fishtails out of the parking lot, creating a wall of smoke and dust behind us. Their laughter is getting louder, as if they’re competing with the engine.

  The journey is shorter than I thought it would be. We barely have time to listen to more than a couple songs of a Metallica album Roar has blazing. The song “Struggle Within,” is playing when he pulls into the dirt driveway and kills the engine.

  “Welcome,” Roar says as he climbs out of the vehicle and is promptly greeted by a large Mastiff.

  We all climb out except Lael who’s struggling with her seatbelt. Before I do the gentlemanly thing of lending her a hand, I take advantage of her vulnerable state and tickle her.

  She laughs, swatting my hands away and goes back to struggling.

  “What kind of mess is this?” I think out loud. I press the rusty button but nothing happens.

  Roar comes over, scratching his head, and says, “I didn’t know I had seatbelts.” He leans in to look closer and continues, “I mean, this is literally a couch I found that I tied down to the floor, so how the hell is this possible? Hang on. Hey, Switch, can you grab the knife in the shed?”

  “Knife?” Lael asks with big eyes.

  “The big one,” Roar shouts to Switch.

  “Okay…” Switch says, walking into the rickety shed.

  Lael and I are looking at each other with equal parts amusement and fear.

  “Seriously, how did you manage to do that?” Switch asks, pulling down on the back of the couch and looking behind to where she could have possibly retrieved the old seatbelt.

  I can feel my phone vibrating in my pocket, so I pull it out to see who’s calling.

  Ronald Ramsey flashes on my screen.

  Oh boy, I say to myself, stepping away from Lael who is strapped to a death machine.

  I answer. “Ronald.”

  “I thought I would check in to see how you’re taking care of my daughter,” he says, his voice just as brusque over the phone as it is in person.

  “She’s good, no problems at all,” I say as Roar begins to lower a large machete to her seatbelt, Calvi and Switch standing over them as if they are in a surgery observatory.

  “Look. I’m hearing things, bad things, some things I don’t like,” Ronald say
s.

  “Well, I don’t know, Ronald. You can’t believe everything you hear.” I try to sound as casual as possible while my mind flips through the Rolodex of all the things he could have heard.

  “I heard Lael on the radio. Why is she doing press?” Ronald asks. Roar is violently sawing away at the seatbelt, putting his weight into it as he leans over Lael. Calvi and Switch adjust themselves to get a better view of what’s happening.

  “Oh, that. Right, fine, no more press. No problem, Ronald. Won’t happen again,” I answer as the seatbelt snaps and Roar and Lael fall over with the couch. I rush forward to see if she’s okay but the sound of her laughing is the evidence I need, so I back off so Ronald can’t hear the commotion.

  “And the bus. This one amazes me. Seriously, Brad, if this is true…I’m hearing that her bus is traveling empty and she’s traveling in your bus.”

  “What?” I answer, trying to sound innocent.

  “Don’t fuck around,” he snarls. “This fucking tour is something she needs to do and I’m letting her do it so she gets it out of her system. Don’t let her get carried away, got it? When this tour is done, she is done. I don’t want her spending her life around people like you. No offense.”

  “Um,” I say, slightly offended.

  “Look, Brad, I’m thinking long-term, and for her, it’s just not a good life. It’s different for you,” Ronald says.

  Bang-bang-bang.

  The deafening sound of a firearm rings through the air.

  “What the fuck is that?” Ronald asks.

  “Hold on,” I tell him quickly, rushing around the corner of the shed to see Lael with a massive gun pressed against her shoulder.

  Bang!

  She fires and an old television falls over about a hundred feet away.

  “Um,” I say into the phone, “we’re at the history museum. There is some war re-enactment thing, sorry about that.”