“Well, they booked this gig under the band’s old name, Electric Wreck, but I kind of like it, so I’m thinking we should keep it.”
I nodded. I thought it was a pretty cool name, too. “Your lyrics were great, too. I had no idea you even wrote your own stuff.”
“Thanks. I try to write them so they come from the heart. I want them to be meaningful, you know?”
“You’re telling me,” I agreed. “Half of the shit on the radio today is crap. Avril Lavigne is a millionaire, and she quite possibly has the worst lyrics I’ve ever heard.”
His eyes gleamed like I’d just hit the jackpot. “They’re terrible! He was a skater boy…”
“I said see you later boy,” I chimed in.
Dylan threw his head back and let out a loud laugh. I always felt proud when I made him laugh because it happened so infrequently. “I’ll see you later,” he whispered before turning around and heading back down the corridor.
I watched him as he walked away, analyzing the steady way he moved. And even though he never once turned around, I was pretty sure he knew I watched him the entire time.
***
“I think I’m falling for him.”
I could hear Beth sigh on the other end of the phone. Poor Beth had slowly but surely become my go-to person for much needed advice. And I needed a lot of it these days.
“Well, I knew that was bound to happen. Do you think he feels the same way?”
I shrugged, but then remembered that she couldn’t see me. “I don’t know. I can’t tell if he has the hots for me or thinks I’m a huge pain the ass.”
“Renee, just tell him how you feel,” she instructed. As if it were that simple. “I mean, what do you have to lose?”
“Well, a friendship, for one,” I reminded her. “He and I have become practically best friends. What if I tell him how I feel and he doesn’t feel the same way? It would never be the same between us.”
“Good point. But you know, I bet he secretly has a thing for you, too. I just don’t know how you guys are ever going to figure it out unless one of you makes a move.” She giggled. “It’s kind of cute.”
Beth was a Pisces, which are known for several things: good intuition, pessimistic overviews and a love for romance. Beth had always been a hopeless romantic at heart. I constantly gave her shit because she swore that every boyfriend was “The One.” She lived in the clouds when it came to her own love life, but as far as everyone else’s, she was usually dead-on.
“Honestly, I’m more concerned with his upcoming show in a few weeks,” I confessed. “I think I should be more worried about his music career than wondering if he’s attracted to me or not.”
“Typical Renee, always putting other people before yourself,” she sighed. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, selflessness is a good trait to possess, but you might not want to get your hopes up just yet.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Beth’s backhanded compliments always came out sounding more like insults, which automatically put me on the defense.
“Well, all I’m saying is not to dwell on it too much, just in case he decides that singing in public isn’t his thing. It could happen.”
I exhaled loudly, well aware of this fact. Dylan could very well get up on that stage, panic, and go back to singing in his room and never look back.
“I know,” I admitted. “I’m just trying not to think about that.”
“Well, just remember, if it’s meant to be, it will happen. Maybe not now, but eventually. And that goes for your love life, too.”
Beth was also a firm believer in fate, the same philosophy I’d shared up until my life had been dumped down the shithole. Now, I figured that I had no choice except to submit to this notion yet again and see if fate would give a break this time around. In the meantime, there was really nothing else I could do except wait. And hope.
Chapter 12
Dylan’s big day had finally arrived and as usual, I was running late. The punctuality gene had skipped out on me, and as a result, I was constantly late for everything. I’d thrown on a black lace top and matching suede knee boots after eliminating the rest of my closet, applied my makeup in the car, and circled the block three times until I finally found a parking spot.
By the time I arrived at Chaos, the place was already packed to capacity with a melting pot of urban hipsters, all lining the front of the stage with their Pabst cans and thrift apparel. I hadn’t been there in years, but it was still the same low-lit, sticky-floored venue, except the inside was smaller than I remembered. The walls and ceilings were painted completely black and the only lighting illuminated from the blue and white Christmas lights that hung from the ceiling. I spotted Beth and Eddie hovering in the back corner and pushed through the crowd to get to them.
Acetone, the opening-band-slash-cheesy-Spin-Doctor’s-rip-off, had already begun to burn a hole in my frontal lobe from their sickeningly sweet commercial rock jingles. They sounded like theme music for Disneyland advertisements. My head started to throb and I couldn’t decide if it was because of the music or because I was stressing about whether or not Dylan would actually make it on stage.
Beth and Eddie were standing in front of a maroon leather couch in the back of the room, most likely so that Beth could dump all her crap on it and keep a close watch. She always carried the biggest purses known to woman, and I never understood how her tiny self could hold onto them without toppling over. I also wondered how she and Eddie could still be such close friends after sharing the same bed for over two years. I’d always been the kind of girl that wanted nothing to do with her exes after the big heave-ho. If they’re happy, sad, have a new girlfriend, have a family, I’d rather not know.
“Hey,” Beth greeted as I made my way through the horrendous crowd to the back of the bar. “You look bangin’.” She eyed me up and down and gave me the thumbs-up sign.
“Hi guys,” I sighed. I didn’t mean to sound as stressed as I felt, but I was doing a pretty lousy job at hiding it. “Have you seen Dylan yet?”
Eddie shook his head. “We just got here about fifteen minutes ago. Why don’t you go backstage and see if you can find him?”
I nodded in agreement and handed Beth my purse so that I didn’t have to lug it through the crowd with me. I wanted to keep things as light as possible. “Hold this,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”
I must have uttered the words “excuse me” about a dozen times until I made my way to the front. I was almost at ground zero when I hit a wall. Two butch lesbians who had absolutely no intention of moving for the likes of me. I mumbled “excuse me” a few more times, but they refused to budge.
“Listen!” I yelled, throwing my hands up in frustration. “I’m not trying to get a front row view. I’m trying to go see my friend back there.” I pointed to the guy standing guard at the door. “Can I get through, please?”
Mean lesbian number one shot a glance at mean lesbian number two, as if saying should we let her? Finally, mean lesbian number two shrugged her shoulders, and they stepped aside. Good thing I was a good looking chick or else I probably would’ve ended up eating pavement.
I sauntered up to the door man and flashed him my most charming smile. “Hey,” I said. “I’m a friend of Dylan Cavallari’s, Electric Wreck’s singer, and I was wondering if I could talk to him for a minute.”
The door man was a burly black giant with dark, leery eyes and a poor excuse for a goatee. He looked me up and down, sizing me up like I was some band stalker trying to sneak back stage. “Who should I say is asking for him?”
“Renee Evans.”
“Alright Miss Evans, you wait right here.” He disappeared into the back room and returned moments later with Dylan trailing behind. Dylan’s eyes widened when he saw me, but not in a good way. He looked stressed as hell.
“Man, am I glad to see you,” he said. “Come on back.” He led me to a room full of nothing but instruments and microphones that were scattered everywhere, then sat down on a speak
er. I could hear the opening band’s music echoing through the walls.
“This band is pretty, um…” I began.
“Awful?” Dylan finished, cracking a small smile. “I know. But, actually, you know who loves these guys?” He leaned in towards me, pointing his thumb in the direction of the stage. “These guys.”
I burst out laughing.
Dylan shook his head. “I’m not kidding. I’m surprised they didn’t line the entire stage with mirrors. We were here during their sound check, and they’re the biggest divas I’ve ever seen. The singer especially.”
And there it was, the elephant in the room.
“So, speaking of singers,” I hinted, ever-so-casually, “how are you holding up?” It was stupid question. I knew how he was holding up. His face was soaked with sweat and he was shaking like a high-speed washing machine.
“Not good,” he said. “Did you see all those people out there?”
I nodded. His gaze was fixed on a deep crack in the floor. “Listen to me,” I instructed, refocusing his gaze on me. “You can do this. Once you get through that first song, you’ll be fine.”
He took the sleeve of his shirt and wiped the sweat from his forehead, then stood up and started pacing around the room in a circular motion. “How did I let you talk me into this?”
“Come on, you know you want this for yourself just as much as I do. All I did was make it happen, which you never would’ve done. If I hadn’t come along, you would’ve wished you were that guy on stage for the rest of your life.”
Dylan stopped pacing and resumed his original seat on the speaker. “Are you going to hate me if I can’t go through with it?”
I sighed. “I’m not going to hate you,” I said calmly. “But if you don’t do it, you’re going to hate yourself, and you’ll always wonder what would’ve happened.” I forced a smile. “Just remember, this is the hardest part, right here, right now. After this, it only gets easier.”
Without another word, I got up and walked out of the room before he could utter the word “can’t” one more time. I crossed my fingers and hoped for the best as I made my way back to the corner of the bar where Beth and Eddie were waiting.
Beth studied my face as I walked over like she was trying to decipher the outcome backstage based on my expression. “So, what happened?” she asked.
I shrugged. “Nothing I didn’t already expect. He’s freaking out and telling me he can’t go through with it. I told him he’ll be fine.”
Beth looked at me as though she was expecting more. “So… what now?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. We’ll just have to wait around and find out.”
The next thirty minutes couldn’t have gone by any slower than if I had duct taped the clock to my chest. Molasses was seeping through the windows. Turtles were jogging by me. Every time one of Acetone’s songs ended, I prayed that it would be the last one. Finally, they announced, “Okay, guys, this is our last song.”
“Thank God!” I exclaimed, exhaling a breath of relief.
Eddie stared at me, dumbfounded. “You don’t like these guys? I think they’re great.”
His statement amused me for two reasons, the first being that he was completely immune to the fact that I could’ve cared less if they were the goddamn Rolling Stones, I just wanted them off the stage so I could see if Dylan actually made it out here in one piece, and the second being that he was actually enjoying their sappy music and the singer’s “I Am God” stage antics.
As soon as Acetone’s set was finished, Justin, Christian and Jeff all appeared on stage and started setting up their equipment. Dylan, however, was M.I.A. I told myself not to panic until the moment of truth had arrived.
“I need a drink,” I mumbled to Beth. “Do you want to come to the bar with me?”
She nodded and trailed behind me to the bar at the opposite end of the room.
The bartender flashed me a toothy grin as soon as we walked up. His mouth looked like it belonged on a horse instead of a human being. “What can I get you ladies?” he asked.
“Rum and Coke,” I said.
“Stoli and Sprite,” said Beth.
“Coming right up.”
Mr. Ed returned with our drinks a minute later, which immediately redirected my thoughts back to Dylan, who was still nowhere among the living. I grabbed Beth’s hand and led her back through the crowd. We had almost returned to our spot when I heard Justin’s voice come through the speakers. My heart sank.
“Hey guys, I want to thank you all for coming tonight,” Justin announced into the mic. “We’re Electric Wreck, for those of you who haven’t seen us before. We’re going to start off with one of our originals tonight, my personal favorite. This one’s called ‘Fall Down.’”
My eyes remained glued to the stage, hoping that Dylan was going to unexpectedly leap out from behind the curtain. But as Justin stepped up to the mic again and started belting out the first verse, then the second, then the chorus, I realized my hopes were shot.
“Fucking coward,” I hissed. Beth and Eddie both looked at me with mirrored masks of sympathy.
“Are you going to go backstage and talk to him again?” Beth asked. I shook my head. I had already said what I had to say a million times over. There was nothing left.
I politely waited for the first song to end before deciding to head home. I couldn’t stand there all night and watch the show that Dylan was supposed to be a part of. I felt cheated. I grabbed my jacket off the couch and hugged Eddie goodbye.
“You’re leaving?” Eddie exclaimed. “Oh come on, why don’t you stay for a while longer?”
I shot him a look that insinuated exactly how I was feeling inside. He nodded as if he understood. Beth was still looking at me like my dog had just died.
“Do you want Eddie to go talk to him?” she asked.
“No, it’s okay. I don’t think it will do much good now.”
“This really sucks, Renee,” she whined, like she was telling me something I didn’t already know. “But despite all this crap, I still like him. Don’t be too hard on him.” She winked at me and then leaned in to give me a hug goodbye. I turned around and started to push my way through the crowd again when I heard a familiar voice come through the speakers.
“And just where do you think you’re going, pretty lady? Leaving so soon?”
I spun around towards the stage and came face to face with Dylan, microphone in hand, grinning like the little shit he was. I threw my hands up in the air in disbelief, part of me pissed at the emotional tornado he’d inflicted during the last five minutes, but most of me relieved that he’d actually sucked it up and got his ass on stage. I looked over at Beth, who was laughing hysterically, and she grabbed my hand and dragged me back through the crowd once again.
“Hey, everyone,” Dylan yelled, adjusting the microphone down towards his mouth. “I’m Dylan Cavallari, the new singer of Electric Wreck. I want to thank you all for coming tonight. This is actually my first show with these guys, so instead of joining in on the first song, I decided to stick around backstage and suck back some Jack Daniels to ease my nerves.” The crowd exploded into a wild cheer, which I could tell surprised Dylan by the way his eyes lit up. He looked like an amateur stand-up comedian that just got the audience to laugh at his first joke. “So, anyways, I hope you guys go easy on me. This next song is one of my favorites. Enjoy.”
I could feel my throat swell shut as he struck up the first chords of “Lover You Should’ve Come Over.” Beth’s jaw dropped in excitement but I couldn’t even look at her. I don’t think my eyes moved from the stage throughout the entire set. I stood frozen in place as each song ended and another one began, unable to do anything except listen. And I could tell from all the hopeful faces gathered around the stage that I wasn’t alone.
Chapter 13
Dylan’s debut with Electric Wreck was such a hit that Chaos had booked them on the bill with some of their other weekly Thursday night slots. In honor of the good news, Dylan and I
decided to celebrate at his place. I grabbed some booze, a movie and two ice cream cartons at the store, then changed into a pair of gray sweatpants and a fitted pink T-shirt and headed upstairs.
Dylan was sitting on the floor when I walked in, guitar in hand, a concentrated look on his face.
“Writing a song?” I asked, twisting off the top of the champagne bottle I’d brought.
Dylan ran his hands through his hair, something he always did when he was stressed out. I had made a point of observing little things about him, like how he bit his bottom lip every time he talked about sex or how he crinkled his eyebrows every time a conversation topic piqued his interest.
“I’m trying to,” he answered. “But you know what sucks? I’ve probably worked harder in these past few weeks than I ever have in my life, and I’ve probably got paid the least amount of money for it.” He removed the guitar from his lap and set it down next to him. “I bust my ass writing these songs and practicing them and you know what I get paid? A hundred bucks. That’s what they pay us: a hundred each. And some places don’t even pay original bands that much. I’d have to play seven nights a week if I ever wanted to be able to make enough to survive.”
He had a point, but I knew all of this already. My father was a big shot musician back in the early eighties, and even though he loved to brag about all the bands he toured with before I was born, he’d also reiterated how hard it was to make a living in the music industry. When I was little, we’d spend every Sunday afternoon running errands together while he told me all about his hot-shot rocker days.
“So, why did you quit?” I’d asked him.
“I wasn’t making enough money,” my dad had explained. “It’s really hard to support yourself in that line of business, unless you make it big. If you play as much as we did, it takes up too much of your time to be able to have another job, too. It was all or nothing for me. I was either going to put everything I had into it or give it up altogether. I put everything I had into that band for years but I still wasn’t making enough to survive. So we broke up.”
Sound Bites: A Rock & Roll Love Story Page 7
