“Parker!”
He stared down at her, his eyes full of lust. Her gaze fell on his crotch, and she immediately understood why he had stopped. He pushed his boxers down and positioned himself. He slid easily into her, picking up a rhythm straight away, sending a whole raft of new sensations through Poppy’s body. As he pounded into her, one of his hands grabbed at her breast, freeing it from the confines of her bra. She raked her nails down his back, not caring if she left marks. With a primal grunt, Parker thrust and exploded inside her. He collapsed on top of her, breathing heavily.
“Fuck me, Poppy, that was incredible.”
She stroked the back of his head as he nuzzled her neck. She smiled against the skin of his shoulder. “I guess I was sure about this.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
The third date of the tour took the band to Richey’s old stomping ground in the South West, although they would be playing much grander venues than he would have done with NightDrive. Because of the distance, they were there the night before and had plenty of time to kill. The first two shows had been well-attended, and Richey had been pleased with his performance, but the gig the next evening would be where he was debuting ‘Such A Lonely Ride’. That would be a whole different ballgame for him; he wasn’t used to being the focal point of the band. He had worked with Alik to polish the song, and the singer had encouraged him. During the hours they had spent on the road so far, the two of them had come up with the bones of new material. It gave him a buzz—a better buzz than the one he used to chase.
He sat in the room in the B&B that he was sharing with Dev—Parker hadn’t been wrong when he said they were doing things on a shoestring—strumming the acoustic that Nate had lent him. He swore to himself that he would buy one of his own just as soon as he had some real money. He also wanted to take Eva away. He hadn’t realised quite how much he would miss her. They hadn’t had a great deal of time as a couple before he had to go on tour.
There was a knock on the door. Dev had gone out for a run, and it wouldn’t have surprised Richey if he had forgotten to take a key. He laid the guitar on the bed and went to the door.
“I thought we could do a quick run through,” said Alik. “I know what it’s like when you’re thrust into the spotlight and you might not feel ready.”
“Sure, good idea.” Richey went to pick up the guitar again, but Alik shook his head.
“Not here. We’ve been rehearsing it in private for too long. I found an open mic night at one of the pubs down the road, we can go there.”
“What?” Richey froze. “I can’t do that.”
“Mate, you’re going out in front of a live audience tomorrow night and doing it, why not tonight?”
Because I don’t have the confidence, thought Richey. He needed help to get that. And if he got that help, he might not come back. Instead he said “I thought we were saving the exclusive for tomorrow.”
Alik shook his head. “Come on, there will probably be about five people there.”
Richey was on edge as they walked into the Market House. Alik was right; it wasn’t packed like the pubs back in Oak Ridge would have been for an open mic night, but there was a good handful of people sitting around, chatting quietly between performers. Alik approached the bar and had a word with the barman, trying not to draw attention to them.
“I’m going for a piss.” Richey stalked off upstairs, leaving Alik in the bar with the guitar. He went into the one cubicle and shut the door, leaning against it. He took a few deep breaths, trying to calm the nerves that were coursing through his system. Right then, he would have given anything for a fix, a swift hit of something to make him feel on top of the world, like he could take on anyone. It was something he would have done regularly before a gig, but he couldn’t do it anymore. He had fucked up too many things in the past because of it. It took him a couple more minutes to build up the courage to go back down into the bar, and when he arrived, Alik gestured that it was his turn.
Richey set himself up and counted in. He saw Alik watched him carefully as he sang, listening to the chords and the lyrics, tapping along to the beat. The rest of the small crowd did the same, and Richey relaxed, letting the music take over. When he finished, an overwhelming wave of emotion and relief engulfed him as the assembled audience politely clapped. He’d got through it.
He went to join Alik at the table as another guitarist took his place. He drained a pint of beer in one.
“That, my friend, was fantastic,” Alik said. If you can channel the same level of emotion when you’re up on stage, you’ll have the audience eating out of your hand, and Eva will have some serious competition.”
Richey laughed. “No competition as far as she is concerned. I wish she was here now.”
“Probably best she’s not, mate, you know what it can get like on tour. Now Nate’s effectively single...” Alik winked.
“What went on while you guys were on the road then?” asked Richey. He’d been party to a couple of conversations that probably weren’t for his ears and had some sort of loyalty to Poppy as she’d taken him into her home. “You were both in relationships then?”
“Caro’s the only one for me, Richey. But Nate, well, he was a bit less faithful this time, let’s just say that. I think the whole reality of fatherhood hit him, and not being in that environment gave him the freedom to do what he wanted.”
Richey understood some of that sentiment. The song told his own story of that part of his life. He thought back to something Eva had told him about how Poppy had felt while she was at home on her own. Hearing that Nate hadn’t exactly been the best-behaved husband was a surprise. He had thought they were a solid couple, or at least had been until relatively recently.
“You want to stay here and listen to the others?” asked Alik.
Richey glanced around. “It’s only fair as they took the time to hear me out. You want another beer?”
* * *
The Scala Hall was a small venue with a capacity of around two hundred people about thirty miles or so from Westbourne Deane. Another part of going out on tour was to get a support act from the local community. When they arrived at the Scala Hall to soundcheck the next evening, there were already clusters of people waiting outside. As Blood Stone Riot made their way inside, there was barely a raised eyebrow amongst them.
“Wow, looks like we’ve got a tough crowd tonight,” said Richey. “I guess the support band must be pretty popular around here.”
The tech guy didn’t take long to get them set up, making Alik ask if he was a professional. It turned out that he was the father of one of the guitarists in the support band, Blackhorse, and had previously been a technician for various music festivals. He also told them that the drummer was the son of a daytime soap opera actress, which accounted for some of the popularity of the group.
“We’re rubbing shoulders with some serious personalities down here then!” said Richey.
Alik told him about the Newcomen Farm studio complex that they had spent time at a year or so previously, which was located in Westbourne Deane. It seemed that this part of the country definitely had their fair share of stars.
“When we’ve rounded the edges off the new stuff, we’ll have to get down there again,” said Alik.
Just the thought of going into a proper studio to record a track he had written gave Richey a huge sense of pride. He couldn’t wait.
They stood in the wings, watching Blackhorse play. For a bunch of sixteen and seventeen-year-olds, they were incredibly talented, playing a mix of covers and a couple of their own tracks. The audience was packed, mostly with kids of around the same age, but also some older people who, Richey hoped, had come for them. He hated the thought that as soon as the support band finished, the crowd would halve. He was wrong. As soon as Blood Stone Riot took to the stage, there was a massive cheer.
“Good evening, Scala Hall!” said Alik. “We’re Blood Stone Riot, and you know we’re ‘In It For The Craic.’”
Richey playe
d the first six songs in a blur, everything leading up to him singing solo. They had agreed that the rest of the band would leave the stage, and the focus would purely be on him. It would be his first experience of being alone, without the rest of a band for back-up. It scared the shit out of him. As ‘The Imperial Kill’ finished, Alik took the mic and walked over to Richey.
“Guys, we’re going to do something a bit different for you now,” he said. “Give it up for Richey Mason’s first solo effort, ‘Such A Lonely Ride’!” He slapped Richey affectionately on the arm. “Good luck, mate.” And then he was gone.
Richey swapped his bass for the acoustic and adjusted the strap as the spotlight zoomed in on him. He cleared his throat and started to play. For the next three minutes, he was in a bubble, the words he sang reminded him of what had happened back then, the things that made him who he was today. The emotions started to get to him, and he nearly cracked, but pride at having a spellbound audience listening to him prevented it. When the song drew to a close, there was thunderous applause, wolf whistles, and cheering. And that was just from Alik, Nate, and Dev.
“That was fantastic.” Alik’s grin was as wide as Richey’s. “We have to get that recorded as soon as possible. Once this tour is done, we’re definitely going in the studio.” He turned to the crowd. “There’s just time for one more tonight, this is ‘Bleed Like Cyanide.’”
As Richey played the band’s most popular track, he couldn’t help but feel totally overwhelmed, both from the success of what he had just done and the myriad of sentiments that whirled around in his head. All he wanted to do was get some time on his own.
When the gig was finished, and they had packed everything away, Alik suggested going to one of the local pubs for celebratory drinks. He had been given a tip off that Jack’s Place would be open until the early hours. The bar reminded Richey of the old days, where he’d been able to get anything he wanted. The headspace he currently occupied was sending him dangerous messages. He told himself that alcohol would be enough and he didn’t need anything else, but the nagging voice whispered that a small taste wouldn’t hurt. It wouldn’t be like before; he could handle it; he had learned when enough was enough now. All he had to do was ask someone. It would be easy. For the hundredth time, Richey wished that Eva were with him. She would keep him honest, keep his mind off the addictive thoughts that were running through his brain. If he focused on her, then he wouldn’t feel the need to go in search of what he craved. Alik handed him a beer, and he downed it in one, before demanding another from the barman.
“Take it easy, mate,” said Alik. “We’re travelling again early in the morning and I don’t think you’ll want a hangover with the journey we’re doing.”
“Don’t worry,” replied Richey. “I can handle it.”
He thought that he could. Alcohol wasn’t his problem; the contents of the bag burning a hole in his wallet were.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Despite Richey’s assurances to Alik that he would be fine, the journey to Southside had been horrendous. They had been stuck on the M5 for hours, following a lorry spillage, and Richey had spent a good hour sitting on the grass verge by the hard shoulder feeling like absolute shit. When they finally arrived, they had to go straight to The Corner Tavern to soundcheck. The pub overlooked the quay, standing, unsurprisingly, on the corner of the street. It was just like any other local pub that enjoyed hosting live music: slightly downtrodden, threadbare carpets, lots of wooden furniture. It reminded Richey of the pubs he played in with NightDrive, which somehow made him slightly more at ease. He was utterly exhausted though. The tour had taken more out of him than he had expected, gigging virtually every night was something he hadn’t experienced before, and the constant travelling in between times, as well as hanging around before each gig, was excruciatingly dull. Alik and Nate were doing fine. Dev was, well, Dev. He seemed to appear and disappear as needed. Sometimes Richey wished he could be more like that.
Which was why he found himself locked in the cubicle in the gents staring at the small bag of cocaine that Leo Kendrick had given him. If he indulged, he’d have more energy than he knew what to do with, not to mention the additional confidence. He also knew the risks if he gave in again. He wouldn’t be able to do it just the once. Who knew what would happen this time if he took that chance?
There was a knock on the door. “You ready, Richey? We’re on in five,” said Nate.
Richey took one last look at the bag and shoved it deep into his pocket. It was the right thing to do. “Yeah, just coming.”
It was a less successful gig than the previous night at the Scala Hall. The sound guy wasn’t as slick, and it turned out to be a slightly shambolic, messy performance. Richey got through ‘Such A Lonely Ride’, but only just.
Richey was amazed at how popular he appeared to be afterwards. There were several girls gathered around him, all eager to be the one that went home with him that night. The band had experienced some interest at the few previous gigs they’d done, but there seemed to be more attention from the crowd in Southside, in particular the female contingent.
One of the blondes caught his eye, and he winked at her, watching as she preened in front of him. She manoeuvred her way through the others and appeared at his side.
“You look like you need a drink, what can I get you?” he asked, sliding an arm around her waist.
She giggled. “Malibu and coke, please.” She tossed her hair and smiled, fluttering her long, fake eyelashes at him. “I’m Kelly.”
Richey’s head screamed at him that this blonde Barbie was nothing like Eva and he should walk away now while he still could. But his libido had other ideas. He signalled to the barman, ordering Kelly’s drink along with a beer. “Hi Kelly, I’m Richey.”
“Oh, I already knew that.” There was that giggle again and the tossing of some bleached blonde hair. “Why don’t we go and find somewhere a little bit quieter?”
The bar was rammed, and it was difficult to hear anyone speak over the jukebox. But Richey pushed his way through the crowd and bagged a recently-vacated tall table that had just one stool. Richey gestured to Kelly to take the stool and observed as she hiked herself up. She adjusted her short skirt so that pretty much everything was on display. Catching Richey watching her, she crossed her legs and sucked suggestively on the straw in her drink. Richey wondered what it would take for her to open them up again. He guessed not much, maybe a few more Malibu and cokes.
“How often have you seen Blood Stone Riot?” he asked.
“Who?” said Kelly, before recovering herself. “Oh, um yeah, loads. I already downloaded your EP.”
Bullshit, thought Richey. The EP wasn’t out yet. Clearly, Kelly wasn’t interested in the music. Richey was struggling with his conscience. The devil on one shoulder was telling him that this was one of the perks of being on tour, being worshipped, being in a band. The angel on his other shoulder was reminding him of his gorgeous, understanding, sexy girlfriend waiting for him at home. Why would he want to jeopardise that?
Kelly started talking at him, telling him about her job as a massage therapist and her friends, all of whom seemed to be single mums who were pregnant with more kids. The words washed over him, and his eyes kept drifting to the hem of her skirt. As she started talking about some reality TV programme she was obsessed with, Richey tuned out. He was grateful when Nate came over to them.
“Mate, we’re getting a cab back to the hotel. Are you ready to go?” The guitarist looked at Kelly, then at Richey.
Richey looked at Kelly and then thought of Eva. If he didn’t leave now, he’d have to spend a fortune on his own taxi and probably have to take Kelly with him. He knew that wasn’t the right thing to do. He touched Kelly’s arm.
“Sorry, babe, I’m going to head off now. Lovely to meet you and hopefully we’ll see you at another gig?”
Kelly pouted. Richey suspected she wouldn’t be at any other Blood Stone Riot gigs anytime soon. His eyes fell on a poster advertising
another band for the following night and wondered whether Kelly would turn up for them. She grabbed his hand and pulled him close to her. She kissed him on both cheeks and pressed a business card into his hand. “If you need anything, just give me a call.”
Richey nodded and smiled. “Will do.” And then he walked away.
“That looked like a lucky escape,” said Nate.
Richey looked down at the card, which was decorated with pink swirly writing and had a suggestive tagline for Kelly’s massage therapy business. He tossed it into the bin as they left the pub. “I think you might be right.”
When they got back to the hotel, Richey was thankful that, for once, he had a room to himself and wasn’t sharing with Dev. He appreciated that life on the road needed to be cheap, but he needed some time to himself. He was still wrestling with himself over the cocaine and the near miss with Kelly. What the hell had he been thinking?
He let himself into his room, surprised to find it dimly-lit and infused with the sweet smell of incense. As his eyes adjusted to the semi-darkness, he was aware of someone else being in the room. For a swift moment, he wondered if Kelly had followed him. But as he got closer, standing in front of him, naked but for a barely-there black lace thong and skyscraper heels, was Eva. Her dark hair tumbled around her shoulders, not quite obscuring her delightful, voluptuous breasts. Her full lips were slicked with a cerise gloss, and she sucked provocatively on a straw that was poking out of a cocktail.
“Surprise!” she said.
His cock sprang to attention. All thoughts of Kelly were erased from his memory, and he was eternally grateful that he hadn’t acted on the impulse to bring her back with him.
“What are you…? I mean, how did you…?”
“I thought you probably deserved a treat. A little bit of harmless flirting with the young lad on reception got me in.”
One Last Shot Page 13
