Rocking Hard, Volume 2

by Samantha M. Derr

  "I'm fine, I promise." Pete climbed up onto the stage. "Let's get this show going."

  Jon shrugged as Greg looked at him. "What he said, I guess."

  Greg frowned and shook his head. "He's like bloody Sid Vicious, that whole rock and roll, sex and drugs lifestyle thing. Except Chinese. And a drummer, not a bass player."

  Jon burst out laughing. It felt good, lightening the stress and concern for Pete he was feeling. "I call him that all the time."

  "I can understand why!" Greg said and hoisted himself up onto the stage. "Shall we play?"

  "Yeah, let's."

  Unlike the antipathy of their audience in Port Pirie, the Melbourne audience was receptive to Capsicum Head's music. So much so that they yelled for an encore, and threw only the occasional empty can of beer at the stage. Jon considered that a win. Anything that didn't involve ducking for cover or using his guitar as a cricket bat was a plus in his book. Playing the songs that he and his friends had written, listening to the sounds of whoops and cheers for more, feeling the power of the drum beat and the bass guitar thrumming through him—it was better than any drug. And almost as good as sex. He was smiling broadly as he wiped the sweat from his face with his t-shirt, and he winked at Pete, who was resting his hands on his knees, looking around the band room with satisfaction.

  The way it felt when he played, it was as if everything around him came magically to life, as if the music brought color and energy to an otherwise stale, gray world. Jon felt energized by playing, especially playing live, when the audience was into the music just as much as he was. The applause and yells of appreciation rang in his ears, and Jon felt the thrum of the bass in his blood, the echo of the guitar in his heart and the pounding of the drums in his gut. Playing music was a high better than any drug. Jon coasted on the wave of adrenalin and happiness as they wound up their set to raucous cheers. They walked off stage, tired, thirsty and sweaty, but Jon felt that was more than worth it for the pleasure playing gave him.

  "That was a great set," Adam said as they started to pack up the gear.

  "It was awesome," Greg agreed.

  Jon unplugged his amp. "Loads better than Pirie."

  "Fucking oath," Danny snorted. "Being hit with a dead rat would be better than that show in Pirie!"

  Pete laughed. "Anything would be better than being hit with a dead rat."

  The good mood and camaraderie continued as the band packed up, deciding not to put all the gear in Jon's car, instead splitting it evenly between the two cars as they had when they'd first left George's house for the gig. Sheena noted that the ride back in Adam's car was going to be "squishy" with so many people crammed into the vehicle, and Adam mocked an evil laugh at her that had everyone else laughing as well. Jon almost reconsidered his decision to take Pete straight home after the set, until he saw Pete leaning against the door, his eyes closed.

  "I think I should take Mr. Rock Star home now," Jon said, and after hugs, pats on the arm and shoulders from the girls and the rest of his band, Jon opened the passenger side door and helped Pete into the car. Pete muttered protests but moved willingly, grumbling about not being a baby as Jon leaned over to him to buckle up the seatbelt. When he was sure that Pete was safe and secure, Jon shut the door and moved around to the driver's side, got in and started the car's engine.

  Pete shifted in his seat, opening his eyes and looking at Jon with a bleary expression. "We going home?"

  "To George's, yeah." Jon slowly backed the car out of the back alley that he'd parked in so they could load up the band's gear at the back of the pub.

  "Good. I'm pretty tired."

  "You should have said something," Jon scolded. "We could have rescheduled the show, you know."

  "I was fine then," Pete protested. "It was a good gig. I'm just tired from taking bad speed, throwing up, playing a wicked set, and sweating like a fucking pig. A good night's sleep and I'll be fine."

  "Speaking of," Jon paused as he pulled into traffic and began to drive back to George's house in Essendon, "Sheena said you're to take the sofa bed. No arguing."

  Pete huffed. "Fine." A moment later, he brightened. "Hey look! McDonald's! Let's get drive through!"

  Jon laughed. "You must be feeling better." But he obligingly drove into the McDonald's lot and towards the drive through.

  Later, after four burgers, two soft drinks, and two orders of fries between them, Pete stretched out in the passenger seat, and Jon finally navigated the narrow backstreets of Melbourne's suburbs. He pulled into the garage that was built into the rear of George's house. He roused Pete from his light doze and ordered him indoors and straight to bed; once he was certain that Pete was doing as he was told Jon got to work carrying in two amp stacks and three guitar cases into the house. When he finished unloading his car, he locked it up, closed the door of the garage, and went to join Pete.

  Pete was sprawled on the sofa, his t-shirt tossed over the back of it, his Doc Marten boots kicked off and thrown to one side. His jeans were open, and he was holding a coffee mug that was, upon Jon's investigation, full of cold water.

  "Go to sleep," Jon chided.

  "Gonna," Pete slurred, scratching his stomach. "I wanted to wait for you, though."

  "Why?" Jon was amused. "We both stink, so I'm going to take a shower while there's still hot water. You lie down and sleep."

  Pete stuck his tongue out. "Give me a kiss, first."

  "You are so bloody demanding," Jon teased, but he complied, giving Pete a gentle, loving kiss, ignoring the fact that Pete hadn't yet brushed his teeth. "Now go to bed."

  "Okay," Pete wriggled out of his jeans and threw them onto the floor beside his boots. Then he stood up, tugged out the sofa bed, grabbed his pillow and sleeping bag, and lay down. Jon could hear Pete's grunts and groans and the squeak of mattress springs as he moved around, getting comfortable.

  After taking a quick shower, Jon felt much better. He changed into a clean t-shirt and sweat pants and padded barefoot from the bathroom into the living room. Jon saw that Pete was lying spread-eagled on the sofa bed, leaving Jon exactly ten inches of space to lie down.

  "Move over, you bloody bed hog," Jon said, sitting down beside him.

  "Not a bed hog," Pete grumbled, but he moved over, and Jon lay down, shifting around until he found a spot with less lumps in the mattress. After a moment, he felt the press of Pete's body against him, and he lifted his arm so Pete could snuggle closer. As Pete cuddled up to him, Jon lowered his arm and let out a contented sigh. He listened to the sound of Pete's breathing, the slow in and out that became even and gentle as Pete fell asleep. Even the sound of a soft meow from George's cat as it jumped up onto the sofa bed to join them didn't wake Pete, and Jon, listening to the noises of the cat's purr and Pete's breathing, fell asleep.

  He sat bolt upright some time later, awoken by the sound of voices, clattering glassware, and light streaming into the living room from the kitchen. Jon rubbed his eyes, trying to orient himself, as Pete sat up, yawning.

  "What's going on?" Pete asked, his voice thick with sleep.

  "The others are back," Jon said. He was annoyed—he had been comfortably asleep.

  Adam came in then and stopped, seeing the two of them sitting up. "Oh shit, did we wake you? We didn't mean to."

  Jon waved a hand. "'s all right."

  "Can I put the light on?" Adam asked.

  "Yeah, okay." Jon shuffled back, leaning against the back of the sofa, and propped his pillow behind his head. Pete followed suit.

  "Can you get me a glass of water, Adam?" he asked.

  "Of course." Adam turned on the living room light. "How are you feeling, Petey?"

  "Tired." Pete pouted. "You woke me up from a really good dream."

  "Shit, sorry." Adam looked contrite. "I'll get you some water. Do you want anything, Jonny?"

  "Yeah, water or juice if there is any." Jon yawned, stretching his arms above his head.

  "Okay." Adam disappeared back into the kitchen and Jon winked at Pete. Pet
e made a clicking noise as the cat jumped back onto the sofa bed. Tail aloft, the animal padded up towards Pete's outstretched hand, rubbing its face against his fingers. Then it climbed onto his lap, walked in a little circle, lied down, and fell asleep.

  "I would love to be a cat, some days," Pete said, gently stroking the soft fur. "Eat, shit, sleep."

  "And pettings," Jon added.

  "That too." Pete nodded his thanks as Adam came back in holding out a bottle of water and a bottle of juice. "Thanks, man."

  "Cheers," Jon said, taking the juice.

  The others wandered into the living room, sitting down on the two armchairs or the floor, and shooting Adam looks that could only be described as daggers. Jon, taking a long swig from his juice, quirked an eyebrow, even as Ellie sat down on the foot of the sofa bed.

  "I take it something went wrong?" Jon asked.

  "Well, that depends on who you are," Ellie said.

  "Huh?"

  "Adam and Ellie are bastards," Sheena said. She was scowling. "Total bastards."

  "Bastards who think they're funny," Greg added.

  "What happened?" Pete asked.

  "Before that, how're you feeling?" Danny asked.

  "Better." Pete smiled bashfully. "Like a party pooper, though. I didn't mean to get you all so freaked."

  There was a chorus of denials and shakes of head at that, Angie leaning over from her armchair to pat his hand. "We're just glad you're all right," she said.

  "Thanks, guys." Pete's smile broadened. "I am. So, tell us what happened?"

  "Well," Danny began, "on the way home, we had to go around a round-a-bout. We were all squashed into the back seat with some of the gear—the stuff that couldn't fit into the trunk. So, when Adam drove around the round-a-bout, we all kind of got thrown to one side."

  Ellie started laughing. "They were all shrieking and clutching at each other and the back of the front seats, so I suggested to Adam he drive around it again."

  "Bastards," Sheena said.

  "So I did," Adam said, chuckling. "Several times. We went around and around and around, and this lot in the back are screaming and clinging and it was fucking hilarious."

  "Comedy gold," Ellie added.

  "You are both bastards," Danny said. "I got Greg's elbow in my bloody ear."

  Ellie doubled over with laughter at that. Jon shook his head, laughing as well. "I'm glad I wasn't in your car then, Adam."

  "Hey, you would've done the same thing," Adam said.

  Jon laughed. "Probably."

  "All of you drivers are bastards," Greg declared. "And now I'm going to have a shower. And use all the hot water. So there!"

  Jon and Pete burst out laughing at the horrified expressions on Ellie and Adam's faces. "You deserved that," Pete said.

  "No way," Adam said.

  Jon stifled a yawn. "Whatever. Why don't you go hang out in the kitchen if you're going to keep talking? I'm still tired."

  "So am I," Pete admitted.

  Instantly contrite, everyone got to their feet. "We'll close the door and be quiet when we come back in," Sheena said.

  "And I'll just let Greg know," Angie added.

  "Thanks, guys." Jon lay down again, Pete joining him. The cat on Pete's lap protested the movement, but a moment later it was curled up between Jon and Pete's legs.

  Adam clicked off the light. "Sleep well," he said.

  As the door between the kitchen and living room closed, only a thin sliver of light shone through between the gap of door and doorframe, and Jon let out a soft, contented sigh. Perhaps Pete was right and tomorrow would be a better day. Even if it wasn't, it wouldn't be too long until they were on the way home to Adelaide and their own bed. The thought cheered him, and he was in a good mood when he fell asleep, Pete pressed against his side.

  *~*~*

  The day dawned overcast and grey as the band finished packing the trailers and cars and prepared to head home to Adelaide. The weekend had gone very well, as Pete predicted. Saturday and Sunday's shows had been played to full houses, and the cassette tapes of Capsicum Head's music that they'd brought with them had sold out. Between door takings, the guarantees, and the sale of the tapes, they made just over a thousand dollars.

  Jon was amazed—and a little jumpy—at having so much cash. He'd never had more than a hundred dollars in his possession at any one time, the gig at Port Pirie aside, and the final takings from the weekend were more money than he had ever seen in his life. He stared at the fistful of notes he held, and then wondered where on earth he was going to put them.

  Adam solved his dilemma for him. "When we get back to Adelaide, whatever's left over after petrol and food and drink from the drive, we split five ways so everyone gets some cash."

  Jon looked grateful. "Thanks, man. I was wondering what to do with it all. That's a good suggestion."

  "It's the fairest one. So, we ready to head home?" Adam asked.

  "Bloody oath." Jon pulled a face at himself, amused at his own vehemence. "Melbourne's nice for a weekend, but there's nothing like home. Even if we play shows where the only audience we have are your girlfriends and our mixer, or shows where we get all kinds of shit thrown at us, we still go home to our own beds and showers, and we don't have to worry about bad drugs."

  "Yeah, agreed." Adam clapped Jon's shoulder companionably. "Saturday and Sunday went pretty smooth, all things considered, but it'll be good to be home again." He pointed towards the trailer attached to Jon's car, which had a blue, plastic tarpaulin tied over the gear inside it. "You sure that's tied on properly?"

  "Yeah, it'll be fine." Jon pocketed the money he'd been holding. "Let's get out of here and home."

  Adam went to his car and got in, starting the engine, and Jon followed suit. Riding in the passenger seat beside Jon was of course Pete, who was popping chocolate milk buds into his mouth. In the back seat were Greg, Sheena, and Danny.

  "Ready to go?" Jon asked as he started the engine.

  A loud chorus of "YES" met that question, and laughing, Jon pulled out into traffic, following Adam out of the suburbs of Melbourne towards the Interstate Highway.

  A few drops of rain splashed on the windshield, but Jon wasn't too concerned. It was Melbourne, after all, and it always rained in Melbourne. True, the weekend had been rain free, but now it was drizzling, and Jon felt that this was a good omen of a drama-free drive home. Rain and Melbourne were synonymous, like Vegemite on toast or cheese on pizza.

  They drove down the highway, through the outer suburbs of Melbourne and into the countryside, past gently rolling hills with bright green grass upon which fluffy grey-white sheep grazed, all of them unconcerned about the traffic whizzing by. Before long, the farmland gave way to miles and miles of wheat fields, flat and monotonous, and Jon settled into the drive.

  Hours later, they drove through the town of Horsham, stopping only for petrol and snacks. Pete nudged Jon's shoulder, pointing at the horizon behind them.

  "Storm's coming," he said.

  "A little rain won't kill us," Jon replied, tearing open the wrapper on a giant chocolate chip cookie.

  "I was thinking about the gear," Pete said tartly. "Will the tarp be enough to keep everything from getting soaked?"

  Jon paused, looked at the trailer, then at the dark grey storm clouds in the distance. He shrugged. "Don't see why not."

  "Okay, well, if it doesn't and we get rained on, don't say I didn't warn you if your amps don't work," Pete said, getting into the car.

  Jon walked around to the driver's side and got in, taking a bite of his cookie as he did so. "It'll be fine," he repeated his assertion from that morning. "We can outrun it, anyway."

  Pete guffawed at that. "In this? Are you kidding? This car isn't KITT and we aren't in an episode of 'Knight Rider.'"

  Jon frowned at him as he started the car. "It'll be fine," he said again.

  Pete shook his head, amused, and turned to look out the window. Sheena, Greg, and Danny got into the back seat, and when the doors were clo
sed and seatbelts fastened, Jon drove off. He once again followed Adam down the street as they drove out of Horsham and back onto the highway.

  The sky grew darker and Jon kept one eye on the rearview mirror as he drove. He could see the blue plastic tarp flapping in the wind, and he began to wonder if he had in fact tied it down securely enough. He was contemplating pulling over and retying the tarp when the wind pulled it free and it kited off into the distance; a large, blue plastic bird, carried by the rough wind associated with the storm.

  "Well," Pete said after a moment's silence as everyone watched the tarp fly out of sight, "I told you so."

  "Shut up," Jon groused.

  "We should pull over at the next open gas station and get a new one," Greg said. "Just in case."

  "Fine," Jon grumbled. He felt like an idiot. Pete reached over and lightly squeezed his thigh, and Jon shot him a quick look. Pete mouthed, 'I'm sorry,' and he sighed, and returned his full attention to the road.

  It was midafternoon when they crossed the Victoria-South Australia border into South Australia. In Bordertown, Adam pulled into the parking lot of a large gas station with roadside diner attached. There was a truck stop to one side, and out the back of the diner, a picnic area with a playground. Jon was relieved to be stopping; he wanted to get out of the car and stretch his legs.

  He parked next to Adam in the diner's parking lot and got out of the car with a great deal of relief. Jon's knee had begun to twitch, a sign that he knew well; it required him to walk around a little and stretch his muscles. Locking up the car, Jon raised his arms and stretched, rocking onto the balls of his feet and letting out a satisfied grunt as muscles stretched and popped.

  Pete came to stand beside him, looking at him as Jon rocked back onto his heels before rocking forward onto the balls of his feet again.

  "Standing up feels good, huh," Pete said.

  "Does it ever. And I'm hungry, too."

  Pete laughed. "You're always hungry."

  "You're not?" Jon retorted, reaching over to ruffle Pete's hair.

  "Hey, I didn't say that." Pete started towards the diner with the others. "Come on, then," he called over his shoulder, and Jon rolled his shoulders as he lowered his arms and followed.