by Karina Halle
“It doesn’t mean you have to spread your legs if you don’t want to,” she told me in her I’m-a-year-older-let-me-lecture-you voice. “But let those girls be those girls. You be yourself, loosen up, and maybe, just maybe, if you try the groupie angle, you’ll end up getting the real story.”
I gave her fingers a quick kiss before shrugging them off. “You are a terrible influence Miss Melanie Jones.”
She laughed, throwing her head back. “And you need a good shag, Miss Dawn Emerson. You can’t have the rock and roll without the sex. And drugs. Speaking of…”
She brought out her saddlebag purse and brought out a joint from her slim cigarette case.
“What did I say about thinking clearly?” I reminded her. But I ended up taking a quick puff anyway. Pot was good for the musical experience and clearly I needed to loosen up a little. I felt as tense as the coming storm.
We got out of the car sufficiently high. I gathered my confidence, threw back my shoulders, and the two of us strode proudly toward the entrance to The Ripper. We were getting second glances from a lot of the guys. Naturally the sight of a short, curvy Black girl and a tall redhead garnered a lot of attention in itself, plus there were Mel’s boobs swinging around in her top and that flirtatious smile of hers. If they could get past the mess of hair and the horse-shit boots, I knew deep down I wasn’t anything to sneeze at either. But was I “beat out the groupies and score an interview with a rock star” hot? That remained to be seen.
We showed our tickets at the door to a tricked-out bouncer, and after flashing him our IDs, he slapped a yellow band on our wrists, proclaiming to the world that we were of legal drinking age. I grinned despite myself. After years of watching the “cool” older kids have their drinks in the club, it was a relief to be able to do the same.
The club was packed even though half the audience still appeared to be tailgating outside. It was dark and blurry and reeked of cigarette smoke and cheap cologne. I felt like I was floating through the crowd, feeding off the energy of music lovers, intoxicated by the anticipation of a live show. I was in my element and the grass was working fast to mellow me out.
Mel did her usual thing which was to ditch me as soon as we got inside. She spotted a former flame of hers, this real creep from New York who thought he was a ghetto superstar, and took off to him like a moth to a flame. I didn’t mind. I liked to be alone during a concert, the better to feel the music and really immerse myself. Plus observing the crowd was a major tool to creating atmosphere in music reviews, and that was hard to do when you had Mel squealing in your ear, dissecting the size of the lead singer’s dick by the tightness of his pants.
I found a spot against the sweating wall to the left of the stage, conveniently close to the backstage entrance. I kept a deceptively casual watch on it to see if I recognized any of the roadies or managers who were going in and out. So far, none of them looked familiar and after ten minutes the area around the door became crowded with the frosted-lip chicks. I felt my chest tighten. Mel was right, something really was wrong with me. With family issues, my worries about Moonglow’s performance, and Ryan leaving me, it seemed like everything was stressing me out. Music was always the one thing in my life I could count on, the drug that took me away from reality and made me feel whole. Now, it just seemed like too much pressure to make something of myself.
I took in a deep breath of secondhand smoke and closed my eyes. I repeated a Zen mantra I had heard on a.m. television until I started to feel in control again. When I opened my eyes, Todd McFadden was standing in front of me. He worked with me on Big Ears and since he was into the same rock and metal as I was, I was always battling him for music reviews and shows. We were on friendly terms, but I really couldn’t stand his chauvinistic opinions, nor the fact that he always had one long nose hair sticking out of his right nostril.
“Hey Red,” he cooed. He placed his hand against the wall and leaned on it, thinking it probably made him look cool. It just made him look like he couldn’t stand up straight, and after getting a quick glimpse of his red-rimmed eyes, it wasn’t far from the truth.
“Hey Caveman,” I replied. So I may have lied when I said we were on friendly terms.
“Oh, you like the chest-beating type, admit it.” His smile was more reptilian when high.
“The only thing that should be beat is it,” I retorted and turned my attention back to the stage. “So, beat it, I’m trying to watch a show.”
“No show yet, babe,” he said, stepping in closer. “Are you here to write or just listen?”
“Both,” I said, crossing my arms.
He nodded but stood there, not really getting the hint. After a few awkward seconds he said, “Did you hear I’m interviewing Terry after the show?”
I tried really hard to not let that bother me. I failed. My eyes bugged out.
“What? How? For who?”
Todd shrugged. “Spokane. I got a job there for the summer. Beats the hell out of Big Ears.”
I knew it did. Man, that pissed me right off. Of course someone like Todd would be able to land a job like that—he stole half my potential stories anyway.
He glanced over at the scantily-clad girls at the groupie door. “You know you might have a chance if you…”
He trailed off and looked down at my top with disdain. “Never mind. You got shafted, babe.”
That did it.
I pressed both my hands into his scrawny chest and shoved him. Hard. He went stumbling off balance and landed on his ass on the greasy floor. People in the crowd cried out as their drinks spilled, then laughed at him and went about their business.
Todd glared up at me, his face growing visibly red in the darkness. Trying to stifle his embarrassment, he got to his feet and pointed a finger at me.
“Real professional, Red. No wonder you’re not going anywhere.”
And with that he adjusted the collar on his leather jacket and stormed off into the crowd, shoving a few drunks out of his way.
So much for de-stressing. Two seconds talking with Todd and my heart rate was all over the place. I hated, hated knowing he was doing better than I was and hated even more that he thought I was going nowhere. Well, I’d show him.
I tugged my shirt down and began to make my way toward the side door. I didn’t get very far.
The lights in the house went down and the band—minus Terry—took to the stage among cheers and hollers from the crowd. They were all young, fashionably skinny, and trying way too hard to imitate Alice Cooper with their weird boots, tights, and bleeding eye makeup. They looked like ghoulish long-haired clones of each other.
A single spotlight lit up the middle of the small stage, and as the drummer began his roll, Terry Black stepped out in all his glory. He was tall and thin like the rest of the band with hair carefully disheveled in long black waves. He was wearing a cape made out of sewn-on bats and snakeskin platform boots. He looked like an idiot and it was only because he had a handsome, albeit babyish, face that the women were going nuts for him. He raised his arms in the air like he was going to fly away and already a pair of white lace panties were tossed on the stage.
“Minions!” he addressed the crowd in a booming voice. “Calm down before your master.”
Oh dear lord. I shook my head, wondering why I even wanted to interview this loser to begin with.
But the chicks went nuts and even the guys seemed to fall for his faux-metal bullshit. And that was why I wanted to interview him. Because he was popular.
Ugh, I was so close to being a sell-out.
I looked at the stage and saw Todd standing on the side of it, watching the band, taking notes and chatting with one of the roadies.
That’s what I wanted to be? Double ugh.
After about twenty minutes, I had enough of listening to Terry scream and Todd shooting me smug looks from the side stage. I made my way through the sweaty crowd of overheated leather and underage girls until I was at the bar. The line-up was wild, with people shoving and y
elling, and after a few minutes there I realized I wouldn’t be getting a drink either. I started to look around for Mel and finally found her in the corner, sucking face with ghetto creep. She wasn’t even watching the damn show.
I thought about approaching her and dragging her away, but I knew better than to get between Mel and her man, whichever man that was. Frankly, I was a little jealous, too. She had no problems finding a guy to shag, where I was too hung up on Ryan to even consider anybody in the venue. Sure, I liked the looks I had gotten earlier but looks never went very far with me. If Ryan and I were actually really, truly dunzo, I was going to have a hell of a time trying to get over him.
I glanced at my watch. It was only nine and probably still light outside. It was going to be a long walk without the Gremlin but everyone was walking these days because of the gas prices and I was more than used to it. I shot one more glance at Mel, hoping she wasn’t occupied but she still hadn’t come up for air. And with the way ghetto creep’s hand was manhandling her boob, I didn’t think she’d be breathing anytime soon.
I decided to call her house and leave a message with her mother when I got home, just so she wouldn’t worry about me, then pushed my way through the remainder of the concert goers and past the bouncers until I was outside. The sun had set but the air was still bathed in a sticky golden glow. The thunderstorm had passed though rumbles still emanated in the distance.
I only made it one block before a tan VW beetle puttered up to me. I was immediately met with chills, even though the air was heavy with warmth.
“Excuse me,” a male voice called out from the car. I stopped and gave it a wary look as it came to a stop and the engine turned off. If he was wondering if he could give me a ride, he was shit out of luck. Ever since a few girls had been murdered and beaten on campus (including one from my English Lit class) earlier in the spring, no one wanted to take chances with strangers.
I straightened my shoulders and made sure my arms were flexed slightly. A weakling I wasn’t and I wanted this man to know I could take care of myself.
He got out of the car, dressed in a white tennis outfit and thankfully stood on the other side of the vehicle. He gave me a short wave. He wasn’t a bad looking guy at all, tall and dark-haired, and he seemed harmless, especially when I noticed his left arm was in a sling. But he gave me the heebie-jeebies like nothing else. His eyes didn’t look…normal. They looked predatory.
“My name’s Ted,” he said, giving me an open smile.
I didn’t say anything. I wasn’t about to tell him my name. Normally I would have asked if he needed help, but I wasn’t taking any chances.
I stared back at him. I wanted to look away but that would have been a sign of weakness and he looked like one of those animals who’d pounce when your guard was down.
He frowned a bit, perhaps confused by my stand-offishness, then put another smile on. It was about as fake as Santa Claus. “I was wondering if you could help me, I think my friend and I are lost.”
I looked back at the car. I could see the outline of someone else in the backseat, a thin woman it looked like, but that didn’t make me feel any better.
“Sorry, I have to go,” I told him feebly. I turned to keep walking, though I was entertaining the idea of turning around and heading back to the venue for safety.
“But you’re on the cusp of all your dreams,” he called after me.
I stopped in mid-stride and shot him a curious look. If this was his equivalent of offering me candy, it was working.
“Excuse me?” I couldn’t help it.
He smiled again and leaned a bit against the car. He was looking less handsome now. His eyes were devious and disturbing, his lips too small and twisted.
“Could you tell me how to get to the University?” he asked.
I could. But I wanted to hear more about the dreams.
“Turn around, head down Ruby and turn right on East University Way,” I quickly told him. “What did you say about my dreams?”
He stepped back and gestured at the VW. “Come along for a ride and I’ll tell you all about the journey you’re about to embark upon.”
Goosebumps prickled down my arms. “What journey?”
Walking home? That journey?
He shook his head as if he heard my thoughts. “Step inside. I’ll tell you about how it all ends. In fire. With a man you’ll never be able to save.”
Okay, this was beyond creepy. This was run away, now and fast.
“Or find out for yourself,” he added. He started to get back in the car, much to my relief and bewilderment. “It’s your choice.”
The door slammed and the car started up with a roar. The ending notes of a Hybrid song, “Sky Valley” wafted out from the windows. The VW quickly pulled out onto the road and did a U-turn, puttering away in the direction of the university.
As it went past me again, Ted kept his eyes on the road. But in the backseat I got a glimpse of the woman. She was staring straight at me, a blur of pale skin and long white hair obscured by the dirtiness of the rear windshield.
I held my breath, my heart racing strangely as they drove down the street. I waited until they were out of sight before I booked it home. Running in boots was noisy and hard on my ankles, but I went for a run several times a week to keep the weight off and I had enough stamina to push through it for forty-five sweaty minutes.
By the time I arrived home, it was completely dark out and I was soaked in sweat. I had never been so happy to see the farmhouse before. Even in its scrawny, faded condition it felt like a safety net after the night I just had. Just what the hell had happened with that Ted guy? Was he just someone sinister or had I just smoked too much pot? I made a mental note to take it easier next time, especially as my lungs were extra wheezy.
I opened the screen door slowly, knowing it squeaked extra loud at night, and listened for signs of life. It was quiet and almost dark except for a faint light coming from the living room. I crept toward it and spied my father passed out on the couch, two empty cans of cheap beer beside him. I sighed, though I should have been happy he had just been drinking beer and none of the hard stuff. I took the blanket off of the armchair and put it over him.
I loved my dad to pieces, except when he was drunk, which was often. It was a strained relationship at best, especially since I had been such a daddy’s girl growing up. I was really everything he had until Eric came along six years later. But then Mom died and shit just went downhill. Still, I didn’t blame my dad. Well, I tried not to. It was something I worked on every day. He still managed to keep his job at the repair shop, I just wished he’d pull himself together for Eric’s sake. He needed extra care, more than the average sixteen-year-old, and I was tired of taking care of both of them. I knew that was selfish of me, but...
I tucked the quilt underneath his heavy arms and brushed the hair off of his forehead. It was dirty and graying and made me sad. I sighed again, my heart still thumping from the run, and went into the kitchen for a glass of water before bed. I remembered I had to phone Mel’s mom and leave a message for her. It was getting late but she was used to the two of us calling each other all hours of the night.
I went for the phone and saw there was something addressed to me on the message pad. It was my dad’s writing. For a second I hoped that Ryan had called while I was out and the skin prickled deliciously at the back of my neck.
Dawn! Call Maureen at Cream Magazine. 313-587-2837.
Huh. I brought the pad up to my face, as if that would help me understand it better. What area code was 313? And what was Cream? Did he mean Creem Magazine?
My heart pounded loudly.
I looked over at my dad who was now snoring loudly. I didn’t want to wake him up, knowing he’d probably be drunk and disorderly if I did. I’d have to catch him in the morning.
Unless Eric knew something. I quickly filled up a glass with water and downed it before I scuttled up the stairs to our bedrooms. Eric’s door was closed and I leaned against it, li
stening. When I couldn’t tell if he was asleep or not, I opened it quietly and peeked in. He was sprawled under his sheets, twitching slightly, the moonlight shining in through the dusty window. God damn it, why was everyone asleep in this house?
I carefully shut the door behind me and once inside my room, I flicked on my lights and collapsed on the bed. I rolled over on my back and looked up at my heaven—the ceiling. My bedroom was my prized sanctuary, always had been. Through my mom’s depression, my father’s collapse, Eric’s affliction, this was the one place I felt…home. Even when a quick ride on Moonglow didn’t wash away the blues, my room did, so as long as I put a record on my beloved orange player and slipped on a pair of earphones. I had a massive record collection that took up one wall of my room, competing for space with riding ribbons and trophies. I kept the walls more or less bare to showcase the concert photos I had taken and deemed good enough to frame. The ceiling was where my posters were, held to it with sticky blue gum. Lying on my back, it was easy to get lost in Pink Floyd’s rainbow or Elton John’s yellow brick road. Jimmy Page stared down at me with a sleepy look in his eyes, while Ozzy made goofy faces. Jeff Beck, The Guess Who, Dust, Wings, The Doors, and Wishbone Ash, jockeyed for position with Jimi Hendrix, The Rolling Stones, Alice Cooper, The Beatles, Ziggy Stardust, Queen, The Stooges, and The Allman Brothers Band.
Before I had time to wonder what Ryan was doing, if Todd was going to get his interview, who the hell that Ted guy was, and what Cream was all about, I swept away to sleep by the music in my head.
I dreamed of fire.
Two
I was slowly woken up by sunshine streaming in through my window and the phone ringing from downstairs. Before I had time to fathom that I had fallen asleep in my disgusting clothes on top of the covers, my brother was yelling at me through the house.
“Dawn! Phone’s for you!” I heard him at the bottom of the stairs, a small hoot and bark following the sentence.
