Gabby and I nod together.
“Hm…I don’t see it.” He says.
He doesn’t see it? That coming from the guy who looks no more like Kirk Hammett than Gabby does? He doesn’t see it? I’m at a loss for words.
Gabby comes to the rescue. She looks at our Kirk look-a-like, the one we’ve been talking to the last half hour and who really does look like the Metallica guitarist, and asks, “Who the hell are you then?”
“Hey I just came in for coffee; you guys are the ones who called me over.” Says our Kirk.
“Well why didn’t you say something then if you’re not the guy meeting us here?” I complain.
“Are you joking? Two hot girls wave me over and offer me a seat and I’m supposed to refuse? Are you kidding me?”
He said hot! He said hot. My brain is shooting sparks out of my ears. He said hot! Okay I really gotta settle down here. He said hot! Once more Gabby saves the day.
“Sorry Sam, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but we did promise to meet…” She looks at the sorta Kirk looking guy. “What did you say your name was?”
“Jack.” He says, but I only have ears for Sam.
“Well Jack,” says Gabby, “let’s take a seat over there.” She points to an empty booth, “and we’ll let Sam have his coffee in peace.”
As we get up to leave I glance back once more at Sam. He’s watching us with an amused look in his eyes. “You really are a lunatic,” I say over my shoulder as I walk away. I don’t see his expression but as I head over to the other booth I can feel the hairs on the back of my neck tingling; he’s watching me. Oh yeah, he is definitely watching me.
As we sit here talking to the real Lunatic I find I can’t keep focused on our conversation. It seems so trivial compared to the one we were having with Sam. Jack is just your typical Lunatic. There’s nothing special about him and now that I've gotten a closer look, he doesn’t even look remotely like Kirk Hammett.
The whole time I can feel my body responding on some low frequency to Sam in the other booth, and when the feeling suddenly stops I know he has gone. I don’t have to turn around to know he’s no longer in the coffee shop, and despite myself I feel like something is missing.
I have no idea how long we end up talking to Jack but as we get up to leave I find I can’t recall a single word said, including my own. No, someone else has swept into my life stealing my attention. Now he’s gone and left a gaping hole where there wasn’t one before.
Chapter Two
Searching for Silas Mann
I’ve never fallen in love; at least not that I’m aware of. In fact if I did fall in love, I’m not sure I’d recognize it. What is love anyway? Is it a mental thing or a physical feeling, or a combination of the two, or something completely different?
I have girlfriends that profess to be in love and most of the time it just makes me sick. If its love that turns you from a strong independent woman to a sappy, weepy, I can’t live without him woman; I want no part of it. But I do wanna fall in love; someday, and it has to be something different than what’s been modeled for me.
If my parents' brand of "in love" is what it’s all about then count me out. My father rules the roost so to speak, and my mother is subservient to him. Sure they may discuss important issues, important purchases, and things like that but in the end, my father has the final say; always. So if I’m going to sign up for my parent’s version of love, in my opinion It would be like going back in time a couple hundred years or so. So much for progress.
My best friend Gabby claims to be in love with her boyfriend of 8 months, Kevin. If I’m going to subscribe to her version of love I’ll be checking in with my ‘better half’ on all important decisions ranging from brushing my teeth to…well to anything that requires a choice to be made.
I asked her why she had to run everything by him and she said; “Kevin and I are a team. Of course we’re going to make decisions together.”
Then I asked her if he helped her decide which brand of feminine hygiene products she should be using. That didn’t go over too well. If what she has is love, forget it.
My older sister got married last year to a great guy. One day I decided to ask her what love felt like, you know just in case it’s more a feeling sort of thing than mental. So anyways, I asked her what it felt like to be in love.
She gave me this song and dance about when we were kids and our parents brought home a puppy from the pound. She asked if I remembered how it felt to care for and provide for such an adorable cute puppy. That, she said, is what love feels like.
Yeah that doesn’t work for me either. Four weeks after we got the puppy we returned him because he chewed up everything in sight. I never really missed him. So if love means it’s that easy to just push that special person out of your life, what’s the big deal about it? I’ll take a pass.
That whole no strings attached, friends with benefits kinda thing is sounding more and more appealing every day. Right as I’m about to launch into yet another long mental diatribe about sex with no strings, love comes to town. My internal dialogue is just getting kicked into high gear when I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn around ready to snap at the owner of the offensive finger when I’m stopped dead in my tracks.
There’s a guy standing there behind me, looking totally hot! It’s almost enough to make my mouth water. I mean he is so totally desirable I catch myself wiping imaginary drool from the corner of my lips.
“June right?” He asks in this adorable voice that makes me hang on his every word.
I stammer and splutter: Y-yeah t-that’s right and y-you’re?”
“Oh, sorry, I’m Brand. I saw you at the Portland show.”
“Are you sure it was me?”
“I stood behind you in line for eleven hours. I think I’d remember you.”
“Are you like, stalking me or something?” I ask, not quite sure what to make of this.
“I’m a writer.” He says, as if that answers everything.
“Writers can stalk.”
“I promise, I am here to see Fringe. You, I just ran into. You’re kind of like a side benefit to the whole Fringe show thing.”
“A side benefit? Is that the same thing as a side dish?”
“Your words, not mine,” he says. "You know, for all the time I spent rehearsing this you’d think I’d be a little smoother when it comes to introductions.”
“You actually rehearsed this little bit here?” I ask incredulously.
“That sounded a lot less creepy in my head.”
“You definitely sound like a stalker.”
“Not me. I just notice everything. I actually overheard you and your friend Gabby. You guys are Lunatics right?”
“It’s startin’ to sound like you’re one,” I reply. Despite the weirdness of this conversation, I find myself liking the guy.
“I know what this sounds like-”
“Do you?” I jump in interrupting him. “I think if you really knew what this whole little conversation sounded like, you’d run for the hills in embarrassment.”
“If I were trying to pick you up I might, but I’m just here for the show. You guys are Lunatics right?”
“I think we just covered this, and yeah, we’re Lunatic Fringes. We go to every single Fringe show.”
“Holy shit, that’s gotta get expensive.”
“We have our ways. So obviously you’re not a Lunatic, so what are you, a reporter or something?”
“I write rock and roll articles for different music websites.”
“Oh cool, which ones?”
“Oh geeze, I’ve written for SixStringGods.com, GuitarGods.com, MetalMadness.com, a bunch of others.”
Wow, I may have to give this guy a break. Not only is he hella cute, he’s into the same music as me, he’s a writer which means he’s got brains…I like this hot writer dude.
“So which are you writing for now?” I find myself checking him out as I ask. If I can just maneuver around to see his ass…
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“Guitar Player Magazine.” He says.
“Holy crap? That’s awesome!”
“Wait, before you get all excited, it may not get published. I’m actually in the Get the Dirt contest. The writer who gets the best dirt on a guitar player, real dirt not made up crap, gets his article published with a byline. And, the winner also gets one paid assignment for the magazine. It’s how Hector Oh got his start and now he’s this heavy hitter columnist for Guitar Player. A write up from him could make or break a new guitarist’s career.”
“Wow, I guess I gotta read more.”
“You never heard of Guitar Player?”
“Of course I have silly. I just haven’t really read it. I would if they’d do an article on Fringe’s new lead guitar player.
“Well I’m here for the big reveal. Finally the world is going to see who Fringe’s newest guitarist is. Hey maybe you’ll read mine then. That’s who I’m here to write about, the new guitarist.”
“Wait a second! You’re here to get the dirt on Fringe’s new lead guitarist?”
“Well yeah…I wanna win that contest.”
“But that could totally mess up his career before it really even got started.”
“I guess he better not have any dirt on him then, right?”
“You should be writing about Hammer, he’s the guy who’s always getting the band in shit; him and the drummer Marcus. You heard about that shit last year with the underage Lunatic? Except she wasn’t a Lunatic, she was just posing as one so she could get Hammer into trouble and sue him.”
“So he screwed her?”
“I think so. It was all over the papers and lawyers all got involved and I think they just paid off the girl’s parents or something ‘cause he never went to jail or anything. Yeah, you should write about dirt on Hammer.”
“He’s not a guitarist.”
“He plays sometimes.”
“Yeah but he’s not Fringe’s main guitarist, so he really doesn’t count.”
“What?”
“Are you a U2 fan?”
“Sure.” I’m not sure where he’s going with this, but I do like to hear him talk.
“Who is Bono?”
“He’s their front man.”
“And who’s their lead guitarist?”
“The Edge, of course,” I say without thinking.
“See, Bono does play guitar off and on but not even you consider him a guitarist.”
“I get your point, but I do think you should think twice before you start writing a lot of bull crap about people. Think about lives you could hurt just so you can get a little article in a magazine? That’s messed up.”
“Hey if he’s clean he’s clean and I won’t have anything to write about and no one gets hurt.”
“I don’t know, I still think it’s twisted. I mean, no one’s perfect, so if you looked hard enough you could find dirt on the Pope.”
“Wow, I’ve never had to defend my livelihood like this before. Maybe I should stick to my day job.”
I’m just about to ask him what his day job is, when I catch sight of my best friend Gabby working her way down the twisting line, looking for me.
“Hang on a sec,” I say to writer guy, “my best friend is looking for me.”
I step off to the side of the line and holler. “Gabby…Gabby, down here.” Her head swivels around as she tries to locate my voice. “Gabbs, I’m here!” I shout even louder.
Finally she sees me and walks up, extending a cup of steaming hot Starbucks coffee. “You’re a lot farther up in line than I expected,” she says in between sips of the hot liquid.
Brand holds his hand out to Gabby. “Hi there, Gabby is it?”
She steps back and gives him a suspicious look.
“Sorry Gabbs, this is the enemy, enemy, this is Gabrielle.”
“Hey that’s not fair,” objects the enemy.
“Sorry Gabby, meet the totally honorable guy who’s going to ruin the life of our favorite band’s new guitarist so he can get published.”
I tune out Brand’s inevitable reaction as Gabby whispers loudly in my ear. “OMG, he’s smokin’ hot! I can forgive a lot of shit when it comes wrapped in that,” she says, clearly indicating Brand’s obvious physique.
He has definitely been spending time at the gym. Even if you discount his dreamy eyes, perfect hair, flawless complexion, beautifully tan skin, and so rock hard abs, yeah I can count his muscles right through his tight black turtleneck; he’s still a catch. If I’m not careful he’s going to be Gabby’s catch and not mine though. She’s gone all gaga, and she’s making no attempt to disguise it.
“Hey writer man,” I begin, trying to catch his attention. “Can you hold our spot here for a few minutes?"
“Sure,” he replies. “I’ll hold your spot if you promise to stop calling me the enemy.”
I hook my arm in Gabby’s and turn to leave with her in tow. “See ya in a few…enemy.”
Before he can react or object I spirit Gabby away towards the front of the line. This is where the real Lunatics are gathered. Judging by the stories that are flying around I’d say that of the first 15 people in line for the show today, they’ve each probably seen a good 40-50 shows each on this tour alone.
After we’re finished gawking at the real Lunatics, Gabby stops me. “Okay June spill it, who was that totally hot guy you were talking to? What’s his story?”
“You’re like a guy Gabby, all you need is a warm body. I just can’t get past his whole writer thing. He’s in some contest for Guitar Player where whoever finds the most dirt on a guitarist gets published and gets an assignment or something like that.”
“Holy shit! He’s in the Get the Dirt contest. That’s how Hector Oh got his big break! Now I really wanna talk to him. Hector is a legend. Maybe he knows him.”
“Yeah I don’t think so. He just writes for websites and stuff. Besides, he’s the enemy. He’s trying to bring down Fringe’s new guitarist.”
“You really are a Lunatic June; he might be a Cyclops for all you know.”
“Hey, all lead guitarists are hot; it’s like a prerequisite. Think about it, there’s Kirk Hammett and James Ulrich of Metallica, the Edge from U2, Dan Donnigan from Disturbed, need I say more?”
“Yeah, Eddie Van Halen and Mick Mars, need I say more?” Gabby replies.
“Those are the exceptions; there are always exceptions to every rule.” I reply, a little miffed that she can’t let me have my little fantasy here.
“So how many shows you been to?” Gabby asks, changing the subject.
“This makes number 19.”
“Lightweight!” she replies. “This is number 28 for me on this tour alone. Last tour it was 56 shows; a personal best.”
“Lunatic!”
“Thank you.”
I look up and down the long line. We are the twenty-seventh and twenty-eighth people in line for tonight’s show. It’s about ten-thirty or so and the doors won’t open until six, that's if they open on time. Tonight’s show is set to begin at eight but usually doesn’t begin until after nine. That means we still have about eight or nine hours to kill before we get to finally see our heroes.
The band is on their Straight Jacket tour, the West Coast leg, and after hitting just about every major venue they’ll head across the pond to the United Kingdom for the next six months before returning to the east coast where they’ll tour for another four. On the whole, this their most ambitious tour will end up being nearly a year and a half long. Not bad for a band that is still on the rise and have not even rated a Rolling Stone cover.
That’s pretty damn amazing for a band that lost its lead guitarist to a drug overdose during the first leg of the tour. There was a lot of talk about them disbanding or at least putting off the tour but it would have been financial suicide to cancel a tour of this magnitude, especially when they were promoting their best- selling record yet.
If they want to get a spot in the Billboard top 200, they need those record sales. Ju
st as they were thinking of throwing in the towel, their manager gets a call from none other than Disturbed’s Dan Donnigan who offers to play twenty dates just to keep the band from imploding; and the rest is history. They hired a new guitarist several weeks ago and tonight is the big reveal.
Nobody knows what he looks like, and since he’s a newcomer protégé, internet searches have turned up nothing. Just when people thought the loss of founding member and lead guitarist Myles Ketter, would ruin them, the hubbub over who is the new band member, has kicked up ticket and record sales to frenzy.
They could end up with a number one record by the end of the tour if everything goes right. I have every confidence in my band and their ability to achieve the fame and fortune that they’re destined for. One day the likes of Metallica will be touring with them and bands like Spineshank and Shadows Fall will be their opening acts.
I’m staring at my watch like a hawk. In 75 minutes the DVD of the Denver show will go on sale at Targets all across America. In special promotion, there are free tickets with backstage passes concealed in limited DVD packages all across the US. One hundred fortunate fans will eventually find the tickets and passes and they’ll be able to go to Fringe show of their choice and meet the band back stage.
The DVD’s are expected to sell like hotcakes especially now that it’s the only concert video in existence with the late Myles Ketter. The tickets come in pairs, so when Gabby buys each of us a DVD there is a chance, however slight, that we will both be going backstage tonight to meet the band. It will be the penultimate moment in my life so far. In fact it’ll kind of be downhill for the next sixty or seventy years. Oh well, I’ll take my chances.
I decide to break out my camera and take a few more shots. I just have to make sure I have enough battery power to take pictures of Fringe, then the moment I get home the pics are going up on my blog, ‘Confessions of a Lunatic.’ All up and down the line as far as I can see are homemade signs all designed to catch the bands attention so they’ll be called up on stage to join the band on a song to sing or play with them. Some of the signs are fairly simple while some of them are complete with flashing lights and neon lettering.
Broken Strings (A Rock Star Novel) Page 2
