Rocking Hard, Volume 2

by Samantha M. Derr

  "Cool."

  Once everyone was back in the van, Jon started the engine and drove slowly after Paul. He wondered again if this small town was prepared for the sort of music that Capsicum Head played. He made a mental note to ask Paul about it when they were unloading. Still walking, Paul slowed and pointed at a large building roofed with bright green corrugated iron and a large door that was swung open on one side. Jon grunted, drove the van up to the door, and parked it.

  Getting out of the vehicle again, Jon moved to talk to Paul while the rest of the band, and Tom started unloading.

  "So, Paul," Jon began. "Do these kids like punk rock?"

  Paul nodded. "Oh yeah," he said enthusiastically. "They're really into all that hard rock style of music. My cousin was down in Adelaide last month, he's the one who recommend you guys."

  "Huh." Jon was surprised. "People recommend us?"

  "Yeah, you guys are great! He said your music really rocked. I bet the kids will love it."

  "I hope so," Jon said, still not entirely convinced.

  "How did you come up with the name, Capsicum Head?" Paul asked.

  Jon shrugged. "There's a talkback radio guy in Adelaide who loves the races. His head looks like a capsicum and he lives in the same suburb as us. He's always yelling about horses, so we thought it'd be funny to call ourselves Capsicum Head. He makes a lot of noise, and we do too."

  Paul laughed. "That's great. Well, here's your pay," he handed Jon a thick envelope, "and here's a key so you can lock up after yourselves," and he deposited a key into Jon's hand. "Start around seven p.m.?"

  "Sounds good. One of us is coming up after work, by plane, so he'll be cutting it close, but he should be here on time," Jon said.

  "Great!" Paul clapped a hand to Jon's shoulder. "Look forward to it." And then he sauntered off.

  Jon stared at his retreating back for a moment, then shook his head and opened the envelope. There was a wad of twenty and fifty dollar notes inside, and he counted them, pleased that they hadn't been cheated. Although, Jon thought darkly, as he pocketed the envelope in the inside pocket in his black leather jacket, half of the money would go toward fuel costs.

  Still, a gig was a gig, and they'd been paid, so it was time to get down to work, unload, do a sound check, and get ready to put on a set for the kids of Port Pirie. Jon turned on his heel and went to help his band-mates unload the van.

  "We got paid?" Adam asked, pausing in the act of picking up one of the amps.

  "Yeah, we got paid." Jon grabbed a guitar case. "Don't spend it all at once, though, we have to pay for petrol to get back home."

  Adam groaned and rolled his eyes. "Fucking hell."

  "Hey, you organized this gig, you should've asked for petrol money too." With that, Jon walked into the hall. He was slightly annoyed by Adam's reaction. The gig had been organized with what Jon felt was a laissez-faire attitude, and Adam forgetting to factor in the cost of fuel when making the arrangements felt like the icing on the cake of poor organization. A gig was a gig to be sure, but, Jon thought, a gig with some planning was going to go a whole lot better.

  It was a medium-sized space with a stage that was nearly three feet off the ground. There was a mixing desk on the right side of the room, and Tom was already peering at it, an unlit cigarette tucked behind his ear. The rest of the band was putting gear into a pile: amps, instruments, bags with cables, and guitar pedals stacked by the stage. There were also pillows, blankets, and sleeping bags, and Jon wondered where they going to sleep—on the stage or the dance floor?

  "Danny should be here soon," he said as he slung an arm around Pete's shoulders.

  "Good," Greg said, raising his arms above his head and stretching. "You know, I had no idea what lead smelled like. Until now. It's gross."

  "You have to wonder if your sense of smell would vanish if you lived here," Adam said as he joined them.

  "Yeah, not so much," Greg said. "I'm not wondering about it at all. I'm hungry, though. Let's find somewhere to get food."

  Jon sighed. "I guess that's coming out of the five hundred?"

  "Bloody oath. I haven't got any money!" Greg said.

  Adam scratched the back of his neck, looking sheepish. "Me either. I spent my last tenner buying smokes."

  "I've got twenty bucks," Pete said.

  "I've got about that, too," Tom said as he joined them.

  "Good bloody hell," Jon sighed. "We are fucking broke."

  "You say this like it's a new thing," Adam said. "We're always fucking broke."

  "Let's hope Danny has some cash when he gets here so we can get some beer," Jon said. "I don't want to dip into that five hundred too much, because we have to get home!"

  "Shit, didn't think of that." Greg looked horrified. "I don't want to be stranded in Pirie forever!"

  "Relax, you knob, we'll be fine," Adam said. "Let's get some food, come back here and wait for Danny."

  *~*~*

  It was nearly time to start the show when Danny finally arrived. Jon had been staring anxiously at the clock, while Pete had been muttering, "We are doomed. We're so fucking doomed," over and over again as he paced back and forth on the stage. Danny's expression when he entered the hall and climbed onto the stage was like a thunder cloud.

  "I don't want to talk about it yet," he growled in response to the questions as to why he was so late. "Let's just get this gig done."

  "Okay," Jon agreed. He called out to Paul, who was by the door at the far end of the hall. "We're all here now; you can let the kids in."

  Paul gave him a thumbs up and opened the door. The kids entered the hall slowly, all of them looking bored. Some of them wore t-shirts with the faces and logos of popular bands, such as Cold Chisel and Poison; some of the girls had teased their hair into mountains held in place with hairspray. Still others wore pastel colored jackets with large shoulder-pads, the outlines clearly visible through the fabric. And still others wore tight jeans with their white socks pulled up over the hemlines at their ankles. They sat down on chairs or the floor near the back of the room, and Jon felt grave misgivings as he looked at them. These kids didn't look like they'd enjoy Capsicum Head's music one little bit.

  As the band started playing, Jon soon realized his fears were justified. The kids stared at the band for half of the first song before several of them went back outside. Into the third song, more of the kids walked out. As the band approached the end of their set, the only people in the hall were a cluster of half a dozen kids with cigarettes, Paul, who stood by the mixing desk, oblivious to the smoking teens behind him, and Tom. The smoke from the cigarettes wafted towards the ceiling, silvery and light, thin ribbons in the gloom of the darkened room.

  Finishing up the set, Adam shook his head in disgust, and Jon shot Pete a tight grin. Pete just rolled his eyes, and the final song ended with a flourish of discordant guitars and thumping bass. Tom turned on the house lights and Jon blinked in the sudden brightness, realizing that the last little cluster of kids had abandoned them too. He sighed and unplugged his guitar, moving towards his gear, leaving Adam to deal with Paul, who was approaching the stage with a look of consternation on his face.

  "That was a fucking joke," Pete said as Jon started to pack up.

  "It was," Jon agreed.

  "And we have to sleep on the fucking floor," Pete grumbled, standing up and starting to pack up his drum kit.

  "Yep, we do," Jon said as he put his cords and pedals into a backpack.

  "Which means no sex. Fuck!"

  Jon frowned. "Fuck. I didn't think of that."

  Pete scowled. "This trip sucks, Jon."

  "Just because we can't have sex?"

  "No, because of everything. The money, the shithouse sleeping arrangements, the fact this town stinks to high heaven, the attitude of the audience," Pete said.

  "Too bloody right," Greg agreed as he joined them. "Those kids hated us."

  "I bet they've heard nothing like us before in their lives," Jon said with a sigh.

&nb
sp; "It was a damn waste of time." Danny was scowling as he joined them. "I left work two hours early to catch a fucking tiny toy plane up here, and there was turbulence and it was fucking awful and I threw up everything I've ever eaten in my entire life. Then I get here and the airport, which, I might add, is like a fucking dusty shoebox, is like, ten million miles out of town, and the terminal's closed, so I can't call for a taxi or anything. I had to walk into town and it was a fucking long way, and I got a hole in my boot and my foot's bleeding!" Danny was becoming increasingly irate.

  "And then I get here, and, by the way, I haven't eaten since I left Adelaide, and we play this shithouse show, and I get to sleep on a fucking hard floor with you ugly bastards before we drive back to Adelaide in a tiny van that probably has no suspension so we'll hit every bloody pothole in the damn road."

  Jon, Pete and Greg stared at him, and Danny's scowl deepened further. "What?" he demanded.

  Jon started to laugh. He couldn't help it. "And I thought our day was bad," he said between peals of laughter.

  Pete and Greg were laughing as well, and Danny looked furious.

  "Fuck you all," he grumbled.

  Adam joined them then and looked at them curiously. "What's so funny?"

  "I'll tell you later," Greg promised. "What did Paul say?"

  "Thanks and sorry. In that order. He thought we were great, but the kids clearly aren't ready for our music." Adam shrugged. "He gave me an extra hundred dollars, though, so it wasn't a total waste."

  "It was a fucking complete waste," Greg said. "By the time we get home, once petrol's paid for, and food, and smokes, we'll have jack and shit to show for this."

  Adam nodded. "I know. I'm really sorry, guys."

  Jon shook his head. "Oh well. We're here now, and it's done. We can't go back in time."

  "Still and all." Adam looked the picture of contrition. "I'm really sorry this gig didn't work out."

  "Next time?" Pete lit a cigarette. "Next time, Jon's doing the organizing. You can do the local gigs, 'cause you're good at that, Adam, but Jon's suspicious of everyone, so anything in the country like this? Or interstate? Jon's organizing it."

  "Damn right he is," Greg said.

  Danny grunted. "Jon can't fuck up as bad as this, that's for sure."

  "Do I get a say in this?" Jon asked.

  "No," Pete said. "You're a paranoid, sexy bastard, and your paranoia will mean that we won't get totally ripped off for shows like this in the future, and that we'll at least get a beer rider and petrol money."

  Jon had to admit that Pete was probably right. "Okay, fair enough. Can I make a suggestion?" They all nodded. "How about we get some sleep now so we can pack up and leave this town really fucking early tomorrow?"

  "Hell yes," Greg said.

  "Give me ten bucks first, though. I'm fucking starving. I'll be back when I've had some food," Danny said.

  Jon handed over the money.

  "Get us some chips while you're at it," Pete said.

  Danny rolled his eyes. "Fine. Chips for Pete. Got it."

  "And a sausage roll for me," Greg chimed in.

  "Bloody hell, I'm going now before you all order." Danny jumped down from the stage and left the hall. He slammed the door behind him as he left, the noise echoing in the large space.

  "What a night, eh?" Tom said, chuckling ruefully. "Those kids really weren't into it at all. One lad came up to me while you were playing Mission to Mars and asked if you knew any Poison or Guns N' Roses songs."

  Jon groaned, burying his head in his hands.

  "There, there," Pete said. He reached over and gently patted Jon's back as he continued. "You can go to sleep knowing you were right from the very beginning."

  Jon groaned again.

  *~*~*

  The return to Adelaide was uneventful, although Jon took Adam aside when they dropped him off and told him to hold off on organizing gigs for a few weeks. "I think we need a bit of a break," he said, and a glum looking Adam agreed.

  "Yeah, and I need a few weeks for Danny to calm down and forgive me."

  "He'll get over it," Jon said.

  "I know. Thanks, Jon."

  "No worries, mate." Jon said. He got back in the van, leaning out the open window to talk to Adam. "I'm looking forward to a few weeks of hot sex with Pete, some great food at his mum and dad's, and checking out a few bands that I'm not part of."

  Adam chuckled at that. "Good plan. Although I'll have sex with my girlfriend. No poaching for me!"

  "Yeah, you better not." Jon started the engine. It roared to life and he raised his voice to be heard over it. "Call me if anything comes up."

  Adam waved and stepped back onto the footpath. "Will do. Take it easy!"

  "You too." Jon drove off.

  "It's fucking good to be home," Pete said. "Good old Adelaide. Which doesn't stink."

  Jon laughed. "And where we can sleep on a bed."

  "And eat mum's cooking. I should call her and dad when we get home and see if she can bring over something to eat." Pete rested a hand on Jon's thigh.

  "You can't wait until we've had a shower, sex, and a beer to do that?" Jon teased.

  "I guess I could." Pete lightly squeezed Jon's thigh and Jon hummed. "You horny, huh?"

  "Hell yeah, I'm horny. I'm also dirty and need a shower. So do you. You stink."

  The bickering about who stank more lasted all the way home and long after they'd had a shower, unpacked the van, stowed the band's gear in their living room, and retired to their bedroom. Lying on his back, one arm around Pete's shoulders, Jon gazed up at the dusty ceiling and felt the cares of the world fall away.

  "Pint for your thoughts," Pete said.

  "I'll hold you to that. I wasn't really thinking about anything, though. We've got a few weeks without any gigs, so what do you want to do?"

  Pete hummed, sliding a leg over Jon's. "I don't know. I'll have to work at the restaurant during the week, but weekends ... I don't know. What do you want to do?"

  "Maybe go check out a gig or two? Get beer and pizza, watch a movie? Stuff like that?"

  "Okay." Pete nodded against Jon's side. "Sounds good. We'll have to be careful when we go out, though."

  "I know." Jon frowned. "Doesn't it bother you?"

  "Doesn't what bother me?" Pete sounded confused.

  Jon rolled onto his side, facing Pete, and rested a hand on Pete's hip. "All the fucking hiding we have to do. The rest of the guys know, yeah, and so does Angie and Ellie and the other girls, and Danny's brother, and your mum and dad, but when we go out, we have to pretend we're just mates who share a flat. We can't hug or hold hands or anything like that."

  Pete shrugged. "The world isn't ready for public displays of affection unless they're between a girl and guy, pornos are mostly two girls and a guy or two guys and a girl… It is what it is."

  Jon's frown deepened. "But it shouldn't be. We aren't breaking any laws. We aren't evil or what the fuck ever. Blokes like those skinhead fuckers several weeks ago, they're the ones who are breaking laws, beating up people just because they aren't white and full of hate."

  "I know, Jon." Pete touched Jon's cheek with the tips of his fingers. "But we're lucky. We've got good mates, a great band, mum and dad are on our side, we have a flat, sometimes we have jobs, we've got beer and weed, and we have loads of sex. Anyway, even if we did feel safe enough to be open about us, I don't know that I'd be all public, huggy guy. That's not me. It's not you, either. So why are you whining about something that neither of us would ever do anyway?"

  "I don't know." Jon sighed. "I just don't think it's fair."

  "Baby," Pete laughed, "the world isn't fair. We make the best of it, that's all."

  "I suppose." Jon leaned in and kissed Pete gently. "Maybe we should go to Sydney for the Gay Mardi Gras one year."

  "Why? We'd just get pissed off in Sydney instead of here. We aren't public about us, Jon. Good on 'em over there for feeling comfortable enough to do it, but even if you were a girl, I still wouldn't
want to be all cuddly, hand holding, kissy face in public. I'm private like that."

  "Fair enough," Jon said. "I guess you're right. I'd probably freak out as well. Private's good."

  "Unless some fucker tries to chat you up, then I'm breaking their teeth," Pete said fiercely.

  "Everyone wants me," Jon said, teasing. "I'm a sexy motherfucker."

  "You are a sexy motherfucker, but you're not available." Pete pushed Jon onto his back and straddled him. "You're my sexy motherfucker and now I'm going to fuck your sexy ass."

  "Promises, promises," Jon laughed.

  Pete growled and kissed him then, and Jon groaned, his hands going to Pete's back, and he lightly raked his nails down the length of Pete's spine. Pete moaned, and Jon heard the sound of things landing on the floor as Pete groped on the bedside table for lube and condom without breaking the kiss. After what seemed like forever, Pete's hands were pushing Jon's legs apart, and he was sliding a condom onto his cock. He slicked himself with a generous dollop of lube and grabbed a pillow to shove beneath Jon's hips.

  Jon laughed a little breathlessly at Pete's haste, bending his legs at the knees, and reaching up to Pete's biceps. "Impatient fucker, aren't you?"

  "Shut up," Pete growled. "Your ass is mine. All of you is mine."

  "Bloody oath," Jon agreed, and then he moaned raggedly as he felt Pete slowly thrust into him. He lifted his legs as Pete settled on top of him, thrusting slow and hard, and Pete's hands ran over his body in fevered caresses that fueled the fire within Jon's body. Jon let go of Pete's bicep and worked his hand between them to wrap around his own cock, stroking himself in time with Pete's thrusts.

  Pete was panting harshly against Jon's neck, mouthing at his skin, and that too made Jon want him more. Pete's thrusts sped up and he let out short, low moans each time he was balls deep inside Jon's body. Jon reached up to tangle his free hand in Pete's thick, black hair, and Pete clutched at him, fucking him hard and fast.

  Heat pooled low in Jon's belly and he knew he was close to orgasm, the tendril of pleasure growing more and more intense with each passing moment. Pete whimpered against his neck, and Jon let out a long moan and came.

  A few moments later Pete stilled, his body going tense as his muscles strained, taut with the rush of his own orgasm. Jon ran his free hand down the nape of Pete's neck to his shoulders and back, kissed his cheek, and wriggled a little beneath him.