The Stage: A Radical Rock Stars Novella

by Jenna Galicki

  “It’s your money.” Tommy flipped some chips on the table, moving them to the nearest number to where they landed. He tapped his fingers on the edge of the table while others placed their bets. Watching the little white ball go round and round made him dizzy, so he looked away for a few seconds. When he turned back to the wheel, the ball was jumping through black and red squares, and it came to a stop on black 13.

  “You won!” Angel exclaimed.

  Tommy was too shocked to say anything. He just watched a few chips land in front of him by way of the dealer. He didn’t spread his chips around so thinly on the next round. He put most of his chips on black 28 because it was Angel’s birthday and black was the color of Angel’s hair and eyes. Again, he watched the ball spin through the colored wheel, and it landed on black 28. He raised his fist in the air and hollered, “Woo hoo!”, but felt foolish when others at the table turned to look at him. A few more revolutions of the roulette wheel doubled the stack in front of Tommy, but Angel’s pile was severely diminished. Tommy nudged Angel with his elbow and pointed out the difference.

  “It seems you have a knack for calling numbers,” Angel said. “What was the number you picked in the car? Five?” He placed all of his remaining chips on five red.

  “Are you sure you want to do that, A? At least split it up a little.”

  “You picked five earlier, and you’ve been lucky.”

  “Five red!” the dealer announced when the ball came to a stop.

  “Holy shit! You won!” Tommy played with a column of chips, letting them clink against one another between his fingers. Vegas can be pretty fucking awesome. He opened his mouth to tell Angel that he was having a great time, but a round of screams from the casino floor cut him off. He weaved his head from side to side, straining to see what caused the commotion.

  A huge crowd moved as one unit toward the VIP area. The people at the center were pressed together like the eye of a tornado while everyone swarmed in on them. Tommy wondered if it was a rock star or maybe an A-list movie star that caused the near riot. Then he heard names shrieked above the noise. They were calling Brandon, Derek, Alan, and Jeremy. It was Bulletproof! Tommy’s heart raced like a teenage groupie, and he wanted to rush toward the velvet rope to get a glimpse of Brandon Bullet. But he didn’t. Instead, he just watched with a ridiculous, humongous smile on his face. He turned back to the table just in time to see his chips skirted away. It wasn’t so bad. He was still substantially ahead, and given that this was Angel’s money, even if he was in the negative he wasn’t a loser. “Sorry, A.” He gave Angel an apologetic smile. “I just lost a hundred dollars of your money.”

  Angel pulled another hundred from his pocket and stuffed it down the front of Tommy’s jeans. “I’m happy to reimburse you. Please feel free to lose another hundred dollars.”

  “I’m sure you are,” Tommy said with a chuckle, “but I’d still rather win.” He was placing a stack of chips on the number three when two people next to him left the table and Brandon Bullet and Derek MacAlister took their place. Tommy didn’t even try to play it cool. He held onto the edge of the roulette table, leaned back a little and smiled up at the ceiling. His blood was pumping, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t tone down the goofy, oversized smile on his face. “It’s so nice to meet you! I’ve been hoping to run into you before the festival this weekend.”

  Brandon gave Tommy a hearty handshake in greeting. “Tommy Blade. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, too.” He leaned over to shake Angel’s hand. “And Angel Garcia. I’m a big fan of Immortal Angel.”

  “Thank you.” Angel smiled politely.

  Brandon Bullet was a fan. Thank God Angel replied, because Tommy was at a loss for words. He swallowed to coat his dry throat with saliva. “I know I play punk rock now, but hard rock is the core of my existence. Bulletproof has been one of my favorite bands for years.”

  Derek MacAlister leaned forward and introduced himself. “You’re an incredible guitar player, Tommy. You’ve created a new genre with your mix of punk and hard rock. I’ve never seen anyone do that.”

  The compliment, from someone as talented as Derek MacAlister, was about the best thing anyone ever said to Tommy. It took everything inside him not to gush like a schoolgirl. “Thanks, that’s a real compliment coming from someone with your background.”

  “Sorry to interrupt,” Angel said, “but either we place a bet or we need to leave the table.”

  Others at the table eyed them as if they just realized rock stars accompanied them, although it should’ve been obvious. Tommy, Brandon, and Derek had hair passed their elbows. Angel was wearing eyeliner and a flashy studded leather jacket. Then again, this was Vegas.

  Tommy was ready to leave the roulette wheel and sit at a cocktail table to talk music with Brandon and Derek. He was about to suggest they get a drink, but Brandon and Derek each quickly handed a thousand dollars, or more, to the dealer in exchange for a stack of chips that looked like a small castle resting on the table in front of them. Tommy placed several chips on numbers that just happen to catch his eye. Angel was more frivolous with his chips, but Tommy noticed a pattern, like the kids’ birthdays and their anniversary.

  Brandon and Derek covered the table. Some numbers were stacked a few inches high with chips, and they didn’t stop placing bets until the dealer cut them off. They clapped and cheered, calling out numbers as if they were at a horse race, until the little ball landed on black 33.

  “Yes!” Brandon slung his arm around Derek’s neck, and the two cheered as if they just won the lottery. In reality, the stack they lost was greater than the stack they won, and their overall kitty was depleted by about a quarter.

  “Did you see how much they just lost?” Tommy whispered to Angel. “And they’re cheering.”

  Angel raised his brows and shook his head with a small smile. “Some people play for the fun of it.”

  “When did you guys roll in?” Brandon asked Tommy while they waited for the next revolution of the wheel.

  “We got here late yesterday. We figured we’d make a little vacation out of it.”

  “You’re on tour, right? Going up to San Francisco after the festival, then heading down to San Jose?”

  Brandon Bullet followed Immortal Angel’s tour? Tommy tried to keep his eyeballs from popping out of his head. “Yeah. That’s right.”

  “Cool. When you get to L.A. give me a shout. We’ll grab some brews.” Brandon watched, unfazed, as a large chunk of his chips were raked away by a long wooden stick.

  “That’d be fuckin’ awesome!” Tommy felt Angel watching him, and wondered if he looked as foolish as he felt for shouting his reply with so much enthusiasm. He lowered his voice to a normal decibel. “Same goes for when you guys are in New York.”

  Brandon turned toward Tommy, flashing blue eyes that lit up the dim surroundings. “I forgot you guys are from Brooklyn. My guy’s from New York, too. He’s meeting us here in a little while.” He presented his knuckles for a fist bump. “Cool.”

  Tommy’s fist hit a set of knuckles bearing large silver rings. While Brandon placed more chips on the table, Tommy inspected the skulls and gears that Brandon wore on his fingers. “Check out his rings,” he whispered to Angel.

  Angel held up his hand and flexed his fingers, showing off his own menacing collection of spikes and gemstones.

  Tommy chuckled. “I know how dangerous your jewelry is, Angel.” He placed a stack of chips on black 22, because he liked the double digits, and Brandon added a stack twice as large next to it.

  “I’m using you as a good luck charm.” Brandon motioned to the columns of chips in front of Tommy. “You seem to know what you’re doing.”

  Angel added an equally large stack next to Tommy and Brandon’s chips, so the three of them shared the same number. “Tommy is very smart. He has a BA in music and a BS in finance.”

  “You’re kidding?” Brandon playfully nudged Tommy on the arm. “My guy’s an accountant!”

&nbs
p; “You two have so much in common,” Angel said with a strange smile.

  “Black 22!” the dealer announced.

  “Woo!” Brandon clapped his hands on Tommy’s shoulders with excitement. “I knew you were good luck! Let’s hit the craps table.” Brandon collected his chips, undisturbed that he went through more than half of them in about fifteen minutes.

  Tommy had no idea how to play craps, but he scooped up his chips, ready to follow Brandon.

  Angel stopped Tommy with a hand on his arm. “You didn’t want to play roulette. You want to play craps now?”

  “Not really.” Tommy laughed softly, still giddy about meeting his favorite rock stars. “I just want to hang out with Brandon and Derek.”

  “You guys coming?” Derek asked over his shoulder.

  Tommy laced his fingers through Angel’s and tugged. “Come on.”

  When Tommy and Angel caught up with Brandon and Derek at the craps table, Tommy’s jaw dropped. Jeremy Kagan was standing next to them, and Alan Delgado was throwing the dice onto the green felt. Although Tommy had met Alan and Jeremy yesterday, being all together with Bulletproof was a thrill. He shook Jeremy’s hand. “Great to see you again.”

  “You too, man.” Jeremy shook Angel’s hand next. “Get your bets down. Alan’s on a roll.”

  Unsure of what to do, Tommy looked to Angel for guidance and received the sweetest smile in return.

  “Just place some chips on the table,” Angel whispered, with his lips close enough to brush Tommy’s ear with warm breath. “And give the dealer your bet. Just repeat what Brandon or Jeremy say.”

  Tommy had no clue what winning throws of the dice were, but everyone was cheering wildly, and his chips doubled, then tripled.

  Brandon raised a finger and a waitress was at his side in a matter of seconds. She returned with a tray of shot glasses and an ice bucket filled with open beer bottles.

  “What is this?” Tommy asked, taking a shot glass from the tray.

  “Just a little Jack Daniels. We have to toast our new friendship.” Brandon raised his glass. “To rock and roll, baby!”

  “To rock and roll.” Tommy winced as the alcohol burned his throat.

  Angel was staring at his empty glass, licking his lips. “That was delicious. I never drink liquor. That really hit the spot.”

  Tommy crinkled his brows. Hit the spot? Angel never drank anything harsh in order to protect his delicate vocal chords, and the liquor tasted like gasoline. “You’re acting a little weird tonight. You OK?”

  “Perfectly fine, mi amor.”

  “Hey, Tommy.” Derek got his attention. “You know what would be really cool? If you and me dueled axes. I’d love to throw down with you, bruh. It’s kind of a dream of mine.”

  Playing guitar with me was Derek MacAlister’s dream? Floored by the compliment, Tommy almost wrapped his arms around the guy. “That would be fucking awesome. What if you and Brandon made a surprise guest appearance during our set?”

  “That’d be fuckin’ wicked!”

  “I’d love to sing with you, Angel, if you don’t mind,” Brandon said. “I know my voice is usually gravelly and deep, but I got range. I think we could work out an edgy harmony that would be really cool.”

  “That sounds wonderful,” Angel replied. “I haven’t used my lower register in a long time. I’m looking forward to the challenge of sharing vocals.” He picked up another shot of Jack Daniels and drained it.

  Tommy was on top of the world. He was officially star-struck, and he imagined this was how fans felt when they met him and the rest of Immortal Angel. He was euphoric. He was high on the company around him. He was excited that Brandon and Derek liked him and honored that they respected him as a musician. Sharing casual conversation with them about music and their personal lives was exhilarating. Joining forces on stage would be incredible.

  A wooden stick scraped across the table and confiscated about three hundred dollars of Tommy’s chips. He was so amped that he didn’t even care.

  Since the winning streak at the craps table came to an end, Brandon proclaimed it was time to head outside to smoke.

  “We’re smoking now?” Angel asked Tommy.

  “Maybe.” Tommy wore a mischievous smile. The guys from Bulletproof made him feel adventurous and made him want to try new things.

  Once outside, Brandon’s phone went off, and he stepped away from the group while Derek produced a fat joint, lit the end and took several hefty tokes, which engulfed him in a plume of smoke.

  Angel wore a disapproving scowl, which Tommy found adorable. The guy was so damn serious all the time. “Lighten up, A. I’m not getting high. I’m just hanging out.”

  Angel’s features softened and his mouth curled into a smile. “I like that plan.”

  “Cam!” Derek exclaimed. “You made it!”

  Tommy stretched his neck, passed Derek, to Brandon who was heading toward them with his arm possessively draped around a well-dressed handsome man, obviously the boyfriend.

  After a round of welcoming pats on the back from Brandon’s bandmates, Brandon introduced his boyfriend to Tommy and Angel. “These two dude are in an awesome punk rock band,” Brandon said. “That’s Tommy Blade, one of the best guitarists in the word, and his husband Angel Garcia, an iconic singer and showman. This is my guy, Cam.”

  Tommy was flabbergasted at the introduction, and his ego inflated to twice its size.

  “Musicians? I would have never guessed.” Cam smiled a gorgeous white smile. “Nice meeting you guys.” He extended his hand, which Tommy and Angel shook.

  “Likewise,” Angel replied.

  “Great to meet you. Brandon was just talking about you,” Tommy said.

  “I got here as soon as I could. I drove from L.A. Traffic was a mess.” Cam waved his arm to dissipate some of the pot smoke that drifted in front of his face. “Put that thing out!” he told Derek “You’re gonna get us arrested.”

  “You’re no fun, bruh.” Derek snubbed out the joint on the side of the building and stuffed it into his pocket.

  “He’s lots of fun,” Brandon corrected. “He brought the good stuff.”

  Tommy and Angel glanced at one another, wondering what “the good stuff” could be.

  Cam pulled a small pouch from the inside pocket of his jacket and opened it. “Fresh out of the humidor.”

  They were cigars.

  Jeremy and Alan both reached for the pouch at the same time, but Cam pulled it away. “My man gets first dibs.”

  Brandon lovingly nuzzled his face into Cam’s neck and took a cigar. He ran it under his nose and inhaled deeply. “Ahh. You’d have to go to Cuba to get something better than this.”

  After offering the cigars to Alan and Jeremy, Cam offered them to Tommy and Angel.

  Angel grinned as he helped himself to a cigar and Cam produced a lighter. “My uncle brings the real thing from Havana all the time.”

  “No shit?” Brandon raised his brow, impressed.

  “Yes. Among other things.” Angel pushed his chest out, leaned his head back and puffed on the cigar like Fidel Castro, sending a cone of smoke several feet into the air.

  Tommy stifled a laugh. Enjoying a good cigar was one thing, smoking it like a dying man sucking on an oxygen mask was something totally different. This, plus the drinking, had Tommy baffled. “Take it easy, A. You have to sing this weekend.”

  “I think my throat can handle a little smoke and alcohol, mi amor. But I do appreciate your concern.”

  Derek wrapped his arm around Brandon’s neck. “Maybe Mr. Close-The-Door-I’m-Getting-A-Draft-On-My-Throat can share some of his special remedies.”

  Brandon’s face perked up. “There’s a great herbal tea that—”

  The arm Derek had around Brandon’s neck turned into a playful headlock, cutting off Brandon’s sentence. “I was joking,” Derek said. “No one wants to hear about your herbal tea!”

  Brandon laughed and shoved his friend away. “You’re a riot. Go break up those two
before someone gets hurt.” He was referring to Jeremy and Alan, who were roughhousing next to a row of cars.

  These guys were all about having a good time. Always joking around and play fighting. Watching them made Tommy feel like a teenager again, and he had the urge to tackle Angel, a throwback from Tommy’s football days.

  “What other goodies do you bring back from Cuba?” Brandon asked Angel.

  “Coffee. Rum. But I haven’t been to Cuba since I was a little boy. My uncle brings them with him when he visits.”

  “Which is all the time,” Tommy quickly added. “We get this great sugar, too. It’s like brown sugar or raw sugar, but it’s not. It tastes different. Like toffee. What’s it called, A?”

  “Demerara.”

  “I like sugar.” Brandon placed his arm around Tommy’s shoulder. “Rum. Cigars. Sugar. Your place sounds awesome.”

  “We got a full recording studio, too.” Tommy couldn’t help bragging. He loved that Brandon seemed fascinated by him.

  Brandon jerked his head back. “Woah. That’s rad. I’m definitely gonna hit you up the next time I’m in New York.”

  “Yes.” Angel smiled, but in a weird way. “We’ll drink rum, smoke cigars, eat sugar, and record a song.”

  A car alarm blared as Alan and Jeremy, who still hadn’t stopped roughhousing, fell into a Lexus.

  “Let’s go back inside,” Brandon called to the rest of the guys, who were all inspecting the car for damage. “You ready?” he asked Tommy.

  “Shit yeah. Let’s throw some more money down on the craps table.”

  Brandon pulled the cigar from his mouth and smiled. “You’re all right, bruh.” He held up his hand for a bro-shake, which Tommy slapped as he grabbed it.

  “You too man.” This was turning out to be one of the best nights of Tommy’s life.

  Jessi nudged Tommy, and he groaned. A late night at the craps table left him with a fat stack in his pocket and a sledgehammer in his forehead. He wasn’t used to drinking so much. Those guys from Bulletproof had put him to shame, but he had a few years on them. If it were five years ago and two kids earlier, he would have been able to keep up without the morning-after repercussions.