Dylan shook his head, his eyes trained on the floor. “I don’t think so, man.”
“Come on,” Eddie insisted. “Let’s go have another drink, and we’ll talk to Justin about it.”
Dylan flashed us a look and reluctantly followed Eddie over to the bar. I walked over to Beth and pretended to listen to her babble while sneaking glances at Dylan out of the corner of my eye. Finally, Eddie came strolling over while Dylan and Justin were still in conversation at the bar.
“So, what did he say?” I gritted through my teeth, trying not to be obvious.
“He said he’ll think about it,” Eddie said, shrugging.
I scowled. Saying you’ll think about something usually isn’t a good sign. It’s like when you’re little and your parents say “we’ll see.” It virtually always means no.
“So, do you think he’ll go for it?” Eddie asked.
I looked up at him doubtfully. “We’ll see.”
***
“You’re doing it.”
“Absolutely not.”
I’d managed to wait a few days for Dylan’s hangover to subside before badgering him about Justin’s band.
“Come on,” I insisted. “You could at least consider it.”
“What don’t you get?” He threw his arms in the air. “I’ve told you a million times how I feel, and you just continue to harp on me.”
“Because you’re being ridiculous. You have a talent that most people would kill for, and you might as well flush it down the toilet if no one is ever going to see it.” My voice softened a bit, as I realized I was getting nowhere by yelling. “Dylan, just think about it. Please.”
His eyes shifted from the floor, then to me and then back to the floor. I knew he was considering it. He just needed an extra push.
“Renee, I can’t. I’m sorry.”
I could feel my cheeks start to burn as soon as the words escaped his mouth. “I’m going to tell you something that someone once told me; living in fear isn’t living at all.”
I turned and slammed his apartment door shut. I knew I was acting like a toddler, but I’d be damned if I was going to sit back and watch him sing in his living room for the rest of his life. I ran down to my apartment and sat down on my couch, waiting to hear a knock, hoping he’d would show up and tell me he’d changed his mind.
He never came.
Chapter 10
Five days had passed and I had yet to hear from Dylan. Half of me wanted to ignore him until he stopped being a stubborn jackass while the other half wanted to swallow my pride and apologize to him. I chose the latter.
I decided to pay him a surprise visit before I headed off to work. I’d been feeling guilty for the past week about pressuring him into performing when he obviously wasn’t ready. The truth was, he may never be ready, and that was something I’d just have to deal with.
I had my apology speech all prepped and ready to go until some skanky redhead answered his door and caught me completely off guard. I stood there in a state of panic, fumbling to make some sort of comprehendible words come out of my mouth.
“Hi,” I greeted, trying to sound friendly. I’m almost positive that I came off sounding completely and utterly shocked instead. “Is Dylan around?”
Idiot Skank Girl looked me up and down, sizing me up. She was about a step below Christina in the looks department, with tousled auburn hair and heavy makeup that was undoubtedly left over from the night before. “No,” she replied. “Who are you?”
“Just tell him Renee stopped by. I live upstairs.”
She nodded and shut the door without another word. A twinge of jealousy formed in my gut as I tried to envision Dylan in bed with that disgusting troll. I couldn’t even begin to comprehend how such a beautiful, talented soul could end up with these moronic whores.
I came to the conclusion that, as intelligent and interesting as Dylan may be, he was still a man. And men were pigs. All of them.
The next eight hours at work were torture. I couldn’t get Dylan out of my head. I really wanted to apologize for acting like an immature idiot and storming out of his apartment, but intruding on him and his latest flavor of the week was the last thing that was going to aid me in my quest for reconciliation.
As soon as I got home from work, I drowned my sorrows in chocolate chip ice cream and old episodes of Melrose Place, my secret guilty pleasure. They played reruns of it on the soap channel every night from six to seven, and I watched them so often that you’d think it was a modern TV show.
I was about half a carton deep in chocolate chips when I heard a knock at my door. I bounced up from my couch and glanced at myself in the mirror. My hair was in a messy ponytail, I had a smudge of mascara under my left eye and a giant wad of chocolate on the corner of my mouth. I looked no better than Idiot Skank Girl. I fixed my hair, wiped away the mascara and chocolate smears and ran over to open the door.
Relief washed over me when I saw Dylan hovering in my doorway, looking ever-so-serious. He was wearing a fitted navy t-shirt that turned his eyes an unrealistic shade of blue, and he smelled like a mix of pine and peppermint. I wanted to bury my face in his chest.
“Hey,” he said. “Can I come in?”
I nodded and he followed me in the living room. He sat down next to me on the couch, which was odd considering he usually sat in the chair on the opposite side of the room.
“I heard you stopped by today.” I couldn’t tell if he was annoyed or relieved. Sometimes he was so expressionless that he was impossible to read.
“Yeah, I hope I didn’t get you into trouble with your little girlfriend,” I said, tossing my childish envy into the room with a loud thump. I wanted to kick myself as soon as the words were out of my mouth. I didn’t mean to come off sounding so bitter.
A subtle smile inched slowly across his face. “She’s not my girlfriend.”
“Well she was there awfully early this morning. Who is she?”
“An old friend.” I hated when he acted so secretive because then I had to act like I didn’t care, when in reality I wanted to toss a thousand questions at him.
“She’s quite a looker.” There it was again, my jealously slithering into the middle the room, echoing through the walls. What the hell was wrong with me? I used to be the master at this game. I’d been schooled by Justine, the finest master of “how to make a man misplace his brain over you,” and was a pro at bullshitting the utmost level of confidence until the guy was dumb enough to actually believe it. But ever since Dylan came along, I’d lost my touch. I needed to get back in the game.
Dylan thought my attitude was quite amusing. “Yeah, I got a little drunk last night,” he admitted, looking up at the ceiling with that guilty look that I secretly adored. “I ran into her at a bar.” He shrugged like it was no big deal.
I elected to change the subject. “Listen, Dylan, I came by because I wanted to apologize. I’m sorry I was so pushy the other day. I know I shouldn’t force you into something you’re not comfortable with, but I just…”
“Renee,” he interrupted. ‘Can I say something?”
I nodded.
“The reason I didn’t come here sooner was because I needed a few days to think about everything. Yes, you did piss me off, but that’s not why you didn’t hear from me. I know I can be a stubborn asshole sometimes – okay, most of the time – but I really was trying to see things from your perspective. I know you’re right. I should be playing music, despite the fact that I want to puke every time I think about it. So that’s why…” He paused and took a deep breath. “That’s why I’m going to try it.” He winced as though it hurt him to say it.
“Wait, what you mean?” I asked, suspiciously. “You’re going to sing with the band?”
Dylan threw his hands up in defense. “Hold on. I said I’m going to try, meaning I’ll practice with them and see if I feel comfortable. I’m not making any guarantees, but I’m willing to give it a go.”
I cupped my hands over my mouth and muffled my scream
. The plan had worked! I couldn’t wait to tell Eddie.
“You won’t regret it,” I assured him. “I promise.”
He leaned his head back and shot me a skeptical look. “I seriously doubt that.”
***
When the day came that the first band practice was scheduled to take place, I felt similar to the way you feel right before you have to take a final exam or deliver a public speech. It was like an invisible energy force had taken over and sent my nerves completely out of whack. The first day was crucial because if Dylan could get through this practice, he could most likely get through the rest of them, which would only leave one more challenge: the initial stage performance.
Baby steps, I told myself. First things first.
I wanted to go with him to the practice, but he insisted that I would make him even more nervous than he already was if I was there stalking his every move. I understood completely, and instead paced around my living room for the entire two hours that the band was practicing. I fantasized about breaking into the practice space so I could spy on Dylan and see his reactions to singing in front of the other guys. And more importantly, see their reactions to him.
Shortly after the two-hour torture had passed, I glanced at my watch. It was quarter past ten, which meant the rehearsal had been over for fifteen minutes and I still hadn’t heard from him. Giving in to the evil depths of temptation, I reached for my cell and was just about to call him when it started ringing. The unexpected noise startled me so much that I literally jumped out of my seat.
“It’s ten fifteen!” I yelled into the phone. “I’m dying over here! How did it go?”
“It went.” His voice was dismal, discouraging. Not a good sign.
“Stop being so vague. I want details.”
Dylan sighed. “I… I can’t do it, Renee. I was a nervous wreck tonight.”
My heart sank. I dug to find some words of encouragement but came up empty. I was too disappointed.
“Are you okay?” Dylan asked.
“Yeah,” I replied. “Just frustrated. I was really hoping you guys would make some progress tonight.”
“So was I. But as soon as I got up to sing, I folded. I’m really sorry.”
“It’s okay. But, if it didn’t go well, then why were you there for two hours?”
I heard Dylan chuckling on the other end of the phone. “I’m just kidding. It went great, actually. Better than I thought it would.”
My brief sense of relief quickly faded to anger when I thought about how insensitive he was to my feelings. “You’re such an ass.”
He was still laughing when I hung the phone up on him. I stared at my cell for the next five minutes, waiting for it to ring. I was hoping Dylan would be one of those guys that called back after you hung up on him, but no such luck. I knew deep down he didn’t fall for that shit. He was too damn cocky. He was used to insecure girls that wouldn’t dare hang up on him, for fear he might never call again.
Ten minutes later, I heard a knock at my door. When I opened it, Dylan was grinning. I wanted to smack the smug look right off his face.
“So this is all a big joke to you, huh?” I glared at him, trying to stay mad even though his swaggering smile was contagious.
“Oh come on, I was only kidding.” He punched my arm and I backed away from him.
“Funny,” I retorted.
He shut my door and sat down on my living room chair, even though I hadn’t invited him in. I noticed that he was in an unusually good mood.
“So, don’t you want to know how it went?” he asked.
My anger quickly subsided as I studied how cute his left dimple was when he smirked. His hair looked more messy than usual and he hadn’t shaved in days, but it was sexy on him. I always liked when guys had facial hair. It made them look more like men. I wondered what it would feel like brushed up against my face.
“Of course I want to know how it went,” I said, withholding an eye roll. “Spill.”
His eyes glowed with excitement as he dished the details about the evening: how nervous he was, how cool his band mates were, the compliments they gave him throughout the practice. His confidence was definitely headed in the right direction.
I wasted no time driving the nail home. “So, what happens now?”
“Well, we have to practice for a few more weeks. Then they want me to play a gig with them at Chaos Lounge at the end of the month.”
Chaos was a well-known rock club on the north side of Boston. It contained a front room and a back room. The front was smaller and dedicated to the local, non-mainstream scene, while the back was much more spacious and usually only famous bands played there. I actually preferred the front room simply because I liked smaller shows. They always felt more intimate to me. I liked to pretend that the singer was singing directly to me. I couldn’t do that in the back room because often times I could barely even see the stage.
“Front room or back room?” I asked.
Dylan rolled his eyes. “Come on, now. Obviously the front. I think I’d have a mental breakdown playing in the back room in front of all those people.”
My heart started to race. “So you’re really going to do it? You’re going to play the show?”
Dylan fidgeted with my throw pillow, pulling off all the loose threads and tossing them onto the floor. “Renee, like I said before, I’m going to try. Which means I will continue rehearsing with them over the next couple of weeks and pray that it gets easier every time. But I can’t predict how I’m going to feel once the night of the show arrives.”
I rolled my eyes, annoyed at the fact that he acted as though it was no big deal if he chickened out. “So, let’s say that the rehearsals go well, and then the night of the show comes and you want out. What then? Are you going to cancel the show?”
Dylan threw his head back and rested it on the back of the couch. “We’ve already worked it out. If I can’t do it, Justin will fill in. He actually has a pretty good voice.” Dylan squinted and threw his shoulders back, doing his best macho-man impression. “Just not as good as mine.”
I couldn’t help but laugh, even though I had a sneaking suspicion that Dylan was going to wuss out once it came down to the wire, especially if he knew he had a backup plan.
“Once you guys have practiced a few times and you feel more comfortable, would you mind if I went to a rehearsal sometime?” I couldn’t help it. I was dying to see Dylan in action with a full band.
Dylan shot me a look that looked like a cross between admiration and annoyance. “You just don’t give up do you?”
Chapter 11
The rehearsal studio smelled like mildew and had the scariest elevator I’d ever seen in my life. It was transparent and resembled a giant cage, so I could actually see the floors as we ascended. The hallway leading up to their rehearsal room was even more frightening than the elevator. The walls were covered in gang graffiti and the rugs smelled like someone had marinated them in stale beer.
“Hey, you.” I recognized Dylan’s sultry rasp instantly. He was hovering in the doorway to their rehearsal room, giving me that devilish look that made my insides feel like melted ice cream.
“Hey,” I said. “How’s it going?”
“Good. We’re just getting ready to start playing.” He took a long swig of his beer and then peered down the hallway. “You like the digs?”
“Yeah. This place is a gem, huh?”
Dylan nodded, keeping a straight face. “Yeah. I can’t even believe they rent it out so cheap. What a steal.”
He turned around and led me into the rehearsal room to meet the crew. I waved to Justin. “Hey, guys, this is Renee. Renee, you already know Justin. This is Christian and Jeff. Christian plays drums, Jeff plays bass.” He reached into a dorm-sized fridge in the corner of the room and handed me a beer without asking.
I surveyed the room as the guy sucked back their brews, tallying up my first impressions. Christian’s spiky hair and high cheekbones made him look more like a poster boy for
Abercrombie than a guy who was supposed to be the next John Bonham, and Jeff reminded me of the surfer stoners who always hit on Justine and me every time we shopped on Venice Beach. His wavy hair hung limp around his shoulders, and the only words his vocabulary consisted of were “whatever” and “right on.”
Justin filled me in on the fact that Dylan was “quite the song writer” as he put it, something I had zero knowledge of, and told me they were going to start off with one of the songs he’d written. As the first verse kicked in, I couldn’t believe how much more confident Dylan had become compared to the first time I watched him sing. They had only been practicing for a few weeks, but I could already sense a huge improvement. His voice had smoothed out and he wasn’t fidgeting with his hands like he normally did when he was nervous. I felt like a proud mom.
Once the boys were about halfway through their set, I decided to head home so I could give them some privacy. Dylan offered to walk me out, so I waved goodbye to the boys and followed him down the graffiti infested hallway towards the elevator from hell.
“Um, do you know if there is a set of stairs in here?” I had to ask. I didn’t want him to think I was a chickenshit, but there was no way in hell that I was going to set in foot in that death trap again. I’d rather tie sheets together and fling myself out the window like Rapunzel.
“Stairs?” Dylan cocked an eyebrow. “Why?”
“Because that elevator is the scariest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”
He nodded as though he completely understood and led me to a back hallway that contained a big metal door, and behind it was – low and behold – a staircase.
Dylan held the door open for a minute, looking at me in that steady, unwavering way that made my stomach hurt. “Thanks for coming tonight. Did you have fun?”
“I did. That song you wrote was incredible.”
“Thanks. We’re actually practicing a few that I wrote, too. I just hope I man up and get through this first show so you can hear them.”
I couldn’t have agreed more, but opted to change the subject for the sake of argument. “Do you guys have a name for the band?”
Sound Bites: A Rock & Roll Love Story Page 6
