Sound Bites: A Rock & Roll Love Story

by Sound Bites (epub)

  He nodded. “Basically, a lot of up and coming bands sponsor it and preach to the kids in the program about how drugs affected their lives. The band members all take pictures with the kids and sign autographs for them. Obviously, no one is going to give a shit about us or a few other no-name bands that are playing, but there are some headlining acts performing tonight that are pretty well known around here.”

  “Who are the big bands playing? Anyone that I’d know?”

  “Ever heard of Anti-Gravity?”

  I slammed my coke down on the table. “Are you kidding?” I asked. “I love those guys.” I couldn’t believe he had withheld such vital information from me. I had been listening to Anti-Gravity ever since they had released their debut album a year earlier. Their music wasn’t life-changing by any means, but the fact that they were performing put an uplifting spin to the evening.

  “Yeah, they’re actually from New York, and I guess the singer had a major dope problem years ago, but now he’s all religious and shit so he’s all for these type of charity events.”

  I nodded. “I’ve seen that happen a lot.”

  Directly above us, two red cardinals were flying around like they were chasing each other. Dylan watched them as he spoke. “I think a lot people just need something to obsess about,” he said. “They need to fill that void in their lives. And when they can’t fill it with drugs or alcohol, they turn to turn to religion because it’s something that makes their life feel meaningful. But what pisses me off is when people get goddamn obsessive about it and try to force their beliefs on everyone else.”

  “My mother is like that!” I exclaimed, a lot louder than I intended to. I had developed what my dad called an “Irish whisper.” “She made me go to Catholic school for eight years.”

  Dylan’s lip biting resurfaced. “Did you have to wear those little plaid uniforms?” He moved his eyebrows up and down in a perverted manner. I kicked him under the table.

  “Unfortunately. It was almost as traumatizing as having to pray the rosary forty-five times a day.”

  I filled Dylan in on the daily church visits I encountered as a child, sitting in a dark, stuffy building lined with creepy paintings of a bleeding man nailed to a cross. Those pictures scared the shit out of me. You might as well lock a ten year-old kid in a closet with a TV and make them watch Freddie Krueger reruns. And aside from the prayer repetition and the bizarre sit-stand-kneel musical chair routine, their supposed moving speeches were always delivered by the same monotone priest, mechanically reciting out of the bible. It was about as moving as listening to someone read their grocery list aloud.

  “Wait, so did you have to wear those little knee socks, too?”

  “Are you even listening to me?” I asked, rolling my eyes. I’d learned from experience that any time a woman mentioned attending Catholic school to a man, that automatically provoked them to visualize her in a teeny tiny schoolgirl outfit.

  My head shifted to the right as some middle-aged suit sauntered up to us, looking like he’d just run a marathon. He was carrying a coffee in one hand and a newspaper in the other.

  “Excuse me,” he greeted, smiling. “I’m sorry to bother you, but do either of you know how to get to the Nokia Theater?”

  “Absolutely,” Dylan chimed in. “That street right there is forty-second.” He pointed to the right of where we were sitting. “You want to follow that for another four blocks and then turn right when you see Yangsoon’s Kitchen. Then you want to go up another two blocks and bang a left at Starbucks. You’ll see the theater up on your right after the big McDonald’s sign. You can’t miss it.”

  The man put the newspaper he was holding under his arm and extended his hand out to shake Dylan’s. “Thank you sir. I really appreciate it.” He turned and scrambled off at lightning speed.

  I peered at Dylan suspiciously. “You don’t really know how to get to the theater, do you?”

  His face remained blank as he shook his head. “Not a clue.”

  ***

  “How do I look?”

  Dylan and I had about fifteen minutes before we were scheduled to meet the rest of the crew and head over to the theater for the big night. I’d helped him pick out three different outfits, all of which he’d loved earlier in the day, but now that it was show time, he’d decided that he hated all of them.

  “Dylan, you’re acting like a woman,” I told him. “You’re acting like me. This is what I do.”

  “Well, you don’t have to get up on a stage and perform for hundreds of people tonight.” He was pacing around the hotel room in circles, continuously running his hands through his hair in between visits to the mirror.

  “Honestly, I like the outfit that you’re wearing the best.” I really did. He was wearing a black fitted T-shirt that showed off his toned, tattooed arms, and jeans that made his ass look like it should be buffed and hung on the mantle like the trophy it was. The bleak colors coupled with the way they hugged his frame made my head swell.

  He took a break from staring at his reflection and tilted his head back over his left shoulder to face me. “Is that a cop-out because you want to leave or do you really like it?”

  I dramatically flung myself backwards on the bed and threw the pillow over my face. “I haven’t even got dressed yet because you’re hogging the bathroom!”

  “Well, we only have fifteen minutes, so you better get your ass ready.”

  I disappeared into the bathroom and emerged ten minutes later, sporting a jean miniskirt and a low-cut brown top with brown and black beads that lined the neck. I threw on a pair of tan knee boots that were dressy enough to go with my outfit, but comfortable enough to walk in. I tried to make a habit of avoiding heels at all costs, not only because they were uncomfortable, but because Dylan was short.

  “So, you really think…” Dylan’s voice trailed off as soon as he saw me. His eyes moved up and down my entire body, staring at me like I was a meal. “Wow. You look… great.”

  I grinned and turned away before he could see me blush. God, I hated myself for being so queer sometimes. I felt like I was in the seventh grade again.

  “No, really,” he insisted, heading towards me. “I mean it. That outfit is bad-ass.”

  “Thanks,” I said, attempting to give him my best pair of fuck-me eyes. I wondered if he picked up on my intentional flirtatiousness because I was trying like hell to be seductive instead of acting like a dorky middle schooler.

  “Okay,” he said, finally releasing his eyes off my evening attire. “Let’s roll before I chicken out.”

  I snuck one last glance at myself in the mirror, then grabbed my purse and followed him out the door.

  Chapter 15

  I grabbed a flyer as soon as I reached the theater entrance and was psyched when I saw the Electric Wreck’s name in fine print. Even if their name appeared last on the list, it was still printed on the same flyer as some of the biggest up and coming rock bands in New York City.

  “Paul Barnett is here, too?” I asked. I turned to face Dylan when I didn’t get a response and noticed that all-too-familiar panic stricken look on his face as he gasped in horror at all the people entering the theater. His skin turned a pale shade of white and a thick pool of sweat began to trickle down his forehead.

  As soon as we got inside the theater, Dylan bolted backstage. Jeff and Christian followed him, but Justin stayed behind and flashed me a concerned look.

  “Is he okay?” he asked me, looking as though he knew that okay was definitely not the right word for Dylan’s current state of mind.

  I shrugged it off. “He’ll be fine, just give him a couple shots of Jack Daniels. That always eases his tension.”

  Justin laughed and pointed to the empty bar in the corner, which had padlocks on all the liquor cabinets. “They aren’t serving alcohol tonight because of the occasion, but maybe we can smuggle some booze backstage.” He flashed me a reassuring smile. “We’ll come find you guys after the set.”

  And with that, I was l
eft with Bianca, the walking robot. Between the lack of booze and the lack of conversation, my mood was slowly beginning to deteriorate. Luckily, Electric Wreck was the second band to take the stage, so I knew I wouldn’t be stuck with mute girl for too long.

  Eclipsys was the first to perform, another New York based band whose lead singer looked like a blonde Ani DiFranco and sounded similar to the way Courtney Love will probably sound in about twenty years. My mood was just beginning to reach an all-time low until I discovered one of the most dangerously gorgeous men I’d ever seen checking me out. Our eyes met from across the room, and I flashed him a coy smile. It did the trick. He waltzed right over and introduced himself to me.

  “Hi there,” he greeted. “Having fun?”

  I studied him for a minute before replying, my eyes browsing his giant coffee brown eyes, perfectly sculpted arms, devastatingly flawless olive skin. I couldn’t believe this beautiful creature was actually approaching me. Things like this didn’t happen to me. I was the girl who fell for charming cheating jerk-offs and scrawny womanizing musicians, not tall, handsome dreamboats.

  “I am now,” I replied, still smiling. I extended my hand out. “I’m Renee.”

  “Nice to meet you Renee,” he said, grabbing my hand and shaking it firmly. “I’m Walter.”

  Good god, I thought. I knew there had to be a catch. I tried to picture what his parents were like. Any imbecile that would name their child Walter ought to be locked up in parental prison, even if it was a name that had passed down for ten generations.

  “Hey, Walter,” I choked, withholding the strong urge to have a little fun with his name. “What brings you here?”

  “My brother’s the guitarist in Eclipsys,” he replied, nodding his head towards the stage. “I came to give him some support. What about you?”

  “My friend is the singer of Electric Wreck. They’re up next.”

  Walter gave me a curious look. “They any good?”

  “Oh, you’ll see,” I replied matter-of-factly.

  He seemed impressed by my confidence. “So, what do you think of these guys?” he asked, nodding towards the stage again.

  I crinkled my nose, debating on whether or not to give him my honest opinion or not, but apparently my facial expression gave it away because he burst out laughing.

  “That bad huh?” he asked.

  “Tell your brother he needs a new singer. The songs aren’t bad, but I think people expect singers, especially female singers, to be able to… well… sing. Her voice would be okay if it was 1994 and that whole angry rocker chick thing was still in.”

  He nodded in agreement. “So I assume your friend has a pretty good voice?”

  I rolled my eyes back in my head and Walter cracked up again. I had only spent two minutes with the guy but clearly he was already enjoying my sense of humor. I leaned in closer to him and whispered, “You have no idea.”

  He raised his eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh yeah?”

  I nodded. “One of the best I’ve ever heard.”

  I suddenly realized that I was being completely rude and hadn’t introduced Walter to Bianca, although it really wasn’t that rude since she was such a nonentity that it was easy to forget her presence. I waved my hand in her direction and said, “Walter, this is Bianca. She’s Christian’s girlfriend, the drummer in Electric Wreck.”

  As Walter introduced himself to Bianca, I couldn’t stop staring at his beautiful dark eyes. Up close that they were a lighter brown than I had initially thought, like creamed chestnuts. He had a perfectly chiseled, heart-shaped face and a tiny scar above his eyebrow. “Universally hot,” Justine would’ve called him. That was her renowned expression for all the beautiful model/actor look-a-likes in L.A. The ones too perfect for words. Like Walter.

  I realized at that moment that I had spent the last few months pining over Dylan, someone who apparently would rather make fun of me than sleep with me, when there were plenty of guys in the world, and gorgeous ones to boot, who would be more than willing to take me on a date and tear my clothes off at the end of the night. I was newly twenty-five and I knew that I couldn’t wait around forever to find out if Dylan wanted to cross over the friendship line.

  Walter focused his attention back on me, realizing that Bianca wasn’t much of a talker. “So, where are you from Renee?”

  I smirked, glancing at the Yankees cap on his head. “You sure you want to know?”

  “Am I shoo-wah I want to know?” Walter had a quiet laugh that almost sounded like a whisper. It was sexy. “Well, judging from your accent, I’m going to assume you’re a Red Sox fan, am I right?”

  I nodded. “You got the location right, however, I’m not a baseball fan whatsoever, so don’t hold it against me.”

  He stepped backwards like I just sucker punched him. “You don’t watch baseball at all?”

  I shook my head. “Not into the sports scene. It’s like a foreign language to me.”

  We spent the next ten minutes discussing music and sports until Eclipsys finished playing and Electric Wreck took the stage, at which point I silenced Walter and made him devote his utmost attention to the three-song set they were about to perform. Dylan and I had decided that he should open with a powerful rock ballad he had written titled, “Fallen,” followed by a slower track, “Mystic Avenue,” which I thought showed off his vocals and falsetto power the most, and end the set with “Wicked,” which was like a melodic thunderstorm. It started off slow, exploded in the middle, then calmed back down towards the end. “Wicked” was undeniably their best song to date, so we wanted to save the best for last in hopes of leaving an impressionable impact on the audience.

  I spotted a group of teenage boys to my left and excused myself from Walter momentarily to promote Dylan’s band before they began playing.

  “Have you heard these guys?” I asked them, elbowing a tall kid who had curly blonde hair and a friendly face.

  “What’s their name?” he asked, while his friends eye-balled me like starving piranhas. I loved teenage boys because they always listened to me when I preached about music. I could promote Marilyn Manson to a bunch of twelve-year-old Catholic boys and bet my life that they’d have Smells Like Children in their possession the next day.

  “Electric Wreck,” I replied, my eyes widening like they had invented the entire theory of music itself. “They’re awesome.”

  “Really? Who do they sound like?” the curly-haired boy’s friend asked.

  “Do you guys like loud rock?” I asked. “Like Muse?”

  “Yeah,” curly-haired boy exclaimed. “Muse is awesome.”

  “Then you’ll like these guys,” I replied. “They’re giving away demo CD’s at a table in the hallway. Make sure you grab some after the set.”

  The boys nodded in agreement and I sauntered back over to Walter, who was chuckling to himself. He knew what I was up to.

  “Teenage boys,” I explained. “They listen to me.”

  “I wonder why.”

  Walter, Bianca and I stood in silence for the next fifteen minutes as Electric Wreck lit up the stage, with Dylan wailing out every note like his lungs were on fire. The only words we spoke were halfway through the set, when Walter elbowed me, his eyes wide with disbelief.

  “You weren’t kidding, huh?” he asked, turning to face me.

  I nodded, my eyes still glued to the stage. I glanced around at the audience, who had a mix of reactions. Some obnoxious teenagers up front were being rowdy and throwing things, but the rest of the audience stared intently at the stage, nodding their heads to the music and occasionally whispering to the person next to them, pointing at the stage in amazement.

  They understood. They knew.

  They were one of us.

  ***

  Walter and I were sitting on a bench in the hallway engrossed in a deep conversation about New York nightlife, when Dylan came barreling towards us with fire darts shooting out of his eyes.

  “Where’ve you been?” he asked me, paying no ackno
wledgment to Walter’s presence.

  “I came out here after your set. I…”

  “So you just left Bianca by herself?” he scowled. “That’s nice.”

  “I told her I’d be right back. She’s a big girl. She can take care of herself.” I waived my hand and pointed towards Walter. “Dylan, this is Walter.”

  “Hey, Wally,” Dylan replied sarcastically, clearly mocking his name. He focused his gaze back on me. “Did you see that kid in the front throw shit at me?” He shook his head in disgust. “Unbelievable.”

  “He’s just an immature kid,” I said. “The kids next to us loved you. They all grabbed demos from the table after you guys were done.”

  “Yeah,” Walter agreed. “Don’t let it get you down. Everyone’s going to react differently to a band they’ve never heard before.”

  “Oh, is that so?” Dylan challenged.

  “Yeah, dude, don’t worry about it,” Walter continued. “Kids can be mean sometimes.”

  Dylan’s eyes glazed over, as if he was about to roll them but held himself back. “Thanks, dude,” he scoffed. “Next time I want your advice, I’ll ask.”

  “Walter, please excuse us for one second.” I grabbed Dylan’s arm and dragged him to the nearest abandoned corner.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” I yelled, once we were out of earshot from Walter. “Seriously, Dylan, what was that all about?”

  He rolled his head in a circle and looked at me like it was perfectly normal for him to behave like an ass in front of a complete stranger. “Oh come on, Renee, are you serious about that guy? What the fuck are you doing with that clown?”

  “It doesn’t matter! I happen to think he’s a perfectly nice guy and you were just a rude, arrogant son of a bitch to him for absolutely no reason. He was nothing but nice to you and did not deserve to be treated like that.”

  “You know what, if you want to take off with some tool in a Yankees hat whose name is Wally, then go ahead, be my guest.”