Devil Side

by Lacey Dailey

  The next day, they took me to the store and I picked out Johnny. I had no business asking for him. He was not the type of guitar a beginner used. He was way too big for my body, and I’m sure he was ungodly expensive. Even so, I took one look at the Gibson Hummingbird Supreme and knew I had to have him. He was hanging on the wall with twelve other guitars, and he was the only one of his kind. He was in line next to a bunch of light wooden classical guitars that I’m sure would’ve gotten the job done just fine.

  But I wanted Johnny.

  He stood proud, looking content in a crowd full of objects that are supposed to be the same as him but aren't. After taking one glance at him, anybody would know he wasn’t the same. He was different.

  Just like me.

  I slept with him in my bed for a week. Johnny was my first friend. Maybe my only friend until I met Knox and Beck. Johnny gave me something—lit a spark in me I didn’t know was dull. I didn’t even know it was there waiting to be lit. I thought that was just me.

  Dark.

  Daunting.

  But Johnny gave me light, and my moms gave me Johnny. They’re the reason for all of this—the gigs, the road trip, the money, the songs. All of it. Without them, I might still be coloring outside of the lines in a coloring book and staring at the wall, refusing to speak. My moms gave me a chance at something I never thought I’d have.

  A life.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome to the stage, one of our newest performers, Maaaaxxx Mitchelllll.”

  I step onto the stage, my eyes watering at the bright lights blinding me. I asked Gia if I could wear a pair of sunglasses, and she looked at me like I told her I wanted to walk on stage dressed as a giant lobster. If the two weeks I’ve spent performing in Vegas have taught me anything, it’s this…I was completely, totally, and utterly unprepared.

  The music scene in Vegas hit me like a brick in the face.

  Turns out, a lot of musicians don’t sleep. Why? Because their manager books them gigs at two in the morning, or because the big scary man who gets to decide who plays when demands new material.

  My moms trip to Vegas was quick. They were here long enough to see one show and treat Gia and I to dinner. Still, somewhere in those few hours, they managed to grill me over the amount of sleep I'm getting. When Gia spoke up, sermonizing her knowledge of the REM cycle, I knew my parents approved of who I was spending my summer with. Gia was nervous they would dislike her. I don't know how anyone could dislike Gia Maria.

  I’ve spent two weeks playing nonstop. Either I’m in Gia and I’s suite attempting to write new songs, or I’m standing on a stage bigger than my apartment back home, and getting blinded by lights.

  I turn my head, spotting Gia standing backstage, grinning ear to ear at me and looking sexy as hell in tight jeans, faded Converse, and one of my old T-shirts. Her wild hair is bobbing in a long ponytail. She looks entirely out of place standing next to Landon Carmichael. He’s dressed in a newly pressed suit, a Bluetooth piece in his ear, and a fresh scowl on his face.

  Carmichael is a hardcore mother fucker. His father, Gordon, has a rep for being a pretentious jackass who fires even the biggest of names just as quick as he hires them. Gordon wants money. He wants sold-out shows and stadiums packed to maximum capacity. Hearing what an ass he was about stupid things like ticket sale percentages and onstage appearance was enough to make me want to pack my shit and get right back into my car.

  Apparently, Landon was the one who came up with the idea to start a search for new talent. That’s the only reason I stayed. He isn’t exactly the nicest dude, and he wears a suit that cost more than my guitar, but he fought with his dad to start a new show for all the people who just want to sing but don’t necessarily have the resources to book a Vegas show.

  Gia saw an open call for new, unheard of musicians and shoved me into an audition room. I stepped onto a tiny stage and sang for Landon and his jackass dad. I got scowled at for not having a headshot and then got hired two minutes after that. I’m now part of a line up consisting of seven other musicians. I play five nights a week in the biggest venue I’ve ever seen.

  The walls that cage me are painted a bright blue and look as though they're made of velvet. There are string lights that hang down from the ceilings, high enough that they can't be messed with but low enough that they are a central piece of the atmosphere. Besides the stage lights, they're the only lights that get turned on. The carpet is the same color as the walls and impossibly soft. I argued with Gia this place was way too spectacular for me.

  I got a scowl in return.

  Fast forward two weeks and I’m playing my twelfth show in the royal blue room in Vegas, staring down at hundreds of giddy faces who came to hear me sing. Despite the apparent fanciness of this place, there are no chairs or booths. It’s standing room only.

  I love it.

  I don’t want to play for a bunch of rich people drinking martinis in a velvet, half-moon booth. I want to play for people who are true fans of music. People who jump up and down and scream sing the words. I want to play for people who get drunk off the beat and go home dripping in sweat and high on life.

  I blink a few times, hoping like hell I don’t look like I’m crying under these lights and launch into my first song. It pisses Carmichael off I don’t introduce myself, but my manager took care of that. She claimed it was part of my charm. I just smirked because I liked that Gia thought I was charming.

  * * *

  You get what you see

  That’s what they said about me

  You get the scars, the marks, the broken body parts

  * * *

  You get the trash. The waste. The piece that no-one wanted

  You get the little boy with skin so pale, he looked like he was haunted

  * * *

  Don’t know why you did it.

  Why you chose me that day…

  But the gift that you gave me

  is something I’ll never be able to repay.

  * * *

  You got silence as a thank you

  And a blink as a hug

  Not caring one bit I slept on a rug

  I was stunned when I felt it

  The new sense of calmness

  Tears filled my eyes when I heard it

  You loved me, and that was a promise

  * * *

  I wish you’d run faster when you heard my cries

  But I was too far away, escaping the pain

  Waiting for the sun to rise

  * * *

  It wasn’t long after that, I watched you walk inside

  You approached me slowly with eyes big and wide

  I took off running, scared of what you’d do

  And then you said three words

  And I went with you

  * * *

  You got silence as a thank you

  And a blink as a hug

  Not caring one bit I slept on a rug

  I was stunned when I felt it

  The new sense of calmness

  Tears filled my eyes when I heard it

  You loved me, and that was a promise

  * * *

  She grins and claps excitedly, throwing her arms around me the second I step backstage.

  “Good job, babe! That song about your moms is beautiful.”

  “Thanks, gorgeous.”

  Carmichael slaps my back, not looking up from his phone. “Good show, Mitchell. You’re on again tomorrow at eight. How are your stats?”

  “My what?” I lift Johnny from my sweaty body, heading towards the hallway that houses the dressing rooms.

  “Your EP stats. I checked iTunes when we hired you. Have you seen an increase in sales the last two weeks?”

  Gia’s gasp fills the narrow hall when she punches me straight in the gut. If she wasn't so tiny, it may have hurt. “You’re on iTunes?!”

  “Really, Max?” Landon blinks at me. “Really? Isn’t she supposed to be your manager?”

  “I thought she knew.”
I shrug, pushing open the dressing room door. Gia stomps in behind me, hands on her hips and a huff escaping her lips. Landon hides his amused grin behind his phone, collapsing down onto a blue sofa.

  “I did not know! How did you even get on iTunes without a record deal?”

  “That’s kind of the point of being an indie musician, babe. I have no record deal. I did it on my own. Saved up some money, bought some studio time, and uploaded my songs and an album cover I made myself in Photoshop.”

  “Really?” Landon peels his eyeballs from his phone screen. He’s studying me, looking pleasantly surprised. “You designed that yourself? Looks good.”

  “Thanks.” It really wasn’t that hard. It’s just a white background with the word ‘ME’ scrawled in black lettering. That’s it. Nothing special.

  I walk across the dressing room, setting Johnny on a stand beside a mini bar.

  “I want to see it.” Gia makes a frustrated noise, dropping down next to Landon and yanking his phone from his hand. Her pretty eyes drop from her face. “Maxwell! There are six songs on here. You have six songs on iTunes!”

  “I know, Gia.” Snagging a water, I plop next to her on the edge of the couch. “I put them there.”

  “How?”

  “I hit the upload button.” I kiss her nose when she scowls at me. “Apple sends me a sales report every month.” I peer at Landon over Gia’s ponytail. “I’ll let ya know then.”

  He nods. “Once you get more songs written, I can hook you up with more studio time. You ever think about releasing a full album?”

  “Yes.” The answer flows from me with no hesitation at all. Hell yes, I want to release a full album. Two years ago, when I released my EP, it wasn’t an option. I didn’t have enough money for extra studio time, a backup band, or a producer. It was just me, Johnny, and a dude who helped me press the record button.

  “That would be awesome.” Gia blurts, tossing Landon’s phone in his lap and clicking into badass manager mode. “What do we need to make that happen?”

  “More songs.” Landon looks at me pointedly. I give him the finger and shrug it off, sipping my water. I have about eight more songs in the works though I can’t seem to finish any of them. I’m not normally a believer in writer’s block, but I can’t seem to make the words flow.

  “I’m working on it.”

  “Work faster.” Landon grumbles. “Every performance, you have more and more people fighting for a spot to stand. If you want them to keep coming, you have to give them something new to listen to.”

  “He’s right, Max.” Gia scrolls through her phone with one hand and chews at her thumbnail with the other. “You get more Twitter followers every day. People are tweeting videos of you performing with the hashtag MitchellMagic.”

  “What the hell is a hashtag?” The exasperated groan that comes from her tiny body has me choking on my next drink of water. “Gia, I’m kidding. I remember. You forced me to spend an hour of my life getting updated on that crap.”

  “It isn’t crap, Mitchell.” The tops of Landon’s cheeks redden. “It’s your fans. Give ‘em some more damn music!”

  “You’re a piece of work.”

  “He’s right, Max.” Gia turns towards me, tucking her legs under her butt. “You should give your fans more to listen to.”

  “I promise I’ll get to it.”

  “Look, Mitchell. Let's be serious for a second." My head snaps upward, giving Carmichael and his intense tone my attention. “When I started this line-up, it wasn’t supposed to be about headliners and sold-out shows, but that’s what you're beginning to be. The bouncers have to turn away people every time you play and if I wanted, I could double your cover fee. I know you have no interest in the glam of this lifestyle, but I really think you should consider headlining."

  "Headlining? I've played twelve shows."

  "Exactly. You've played twelve, and it only took three to get the word out. I've had people from four different record labels contact me about you."

  I choke. He has to be bullshitting me. How did I go from playing in a run-down bar three weeks ago to attracting record labels? "Are you serious?"

  "I don't joke about this stuff, Mitchell. I told them I'd speak to you and your manager about it. They haven't told me much about what they're offering, but they are all considered independent labels which I know you'll appreciate. I know you'd be fine doing it on your own forever, but having a record label comes with a lot of perks."

  I know exactly what the perks of having a record label would be. More money, an entire team dedicated to creating music crafted from my soul, and a group of people dedicated to my record and my record only. I can't deny how incredibly appealing that sounds, but I've always been more of a do-it-yourself kind of guy. I'm not sure if I'd like to give up some creative control. Even if it was just a small percentage of it.

  "If you want, I could get in contact. You, me, and Gigi could meet with them. You could see what they're offering. If it isn't for you, say no. A meeting doesn't mean you have to sign anything." He's studying my expression—an expression I’m sure is a healthy mixture of disbelief, excitement, and terror. "Would you be interested in that?"

  Yes.

  His voice echoes in my mind. He’s fighting me, trying to get me to agree to something I haven't ever really considered.

  You deserve this.

  “I’ll think about it. I like where I am. I thought the point of this was to give musicians like me stage time?”

  “It was.” Landon relaxes back, propping his foot on his knee, his fancy Italian leather shoes shining. “But we got more than we bargained for with you. When I asked my dad for some faith and a stage, I didn’t anticipate one of my artists becoming this popular this quick. Maybe that was me being cynical. Maybe not. Fact is, I like the appeal of musicians like you. I like that you aren’t hungry for cash, and I like that you don’t brown nose your way up the ladder. I was sick of people like you not being given the chance. So, I started this show. But, Mitchell, you have a real shot here. A shot to roll with the big dogs. It takes one meeting to get you signed with a label. One meeting to get you a team full of people to help you release a record. You'll still get to keep your gig here, but when your time is up, what will you do? If you sign with a label, you have a better chance at bigger venues and more exposure."

  "I..." My throat closes. My eyes blink fiercely as if that will help me understand what’s happening. "I don't even have a demo."

  "You don't need a demo, Max. You have a self-released EP and a bunch of killer performances in your pocket. Will you at least think about it?"

  Yes.

  I force my eyes closed and beg him to leave. I can’t focus with him surfaced and swimming in my mind. I wasn't prepared to get offered this sort of deal in such a short amount of time. I wasn't prepared to have to make this decision.

  I'll make it for us. We’re doing this.

  “Too fast.” I gasp. I leap from the couch, my hands quivering and sweat running down my shoulder blades. “Don't you think this is happening a little fast? I've only been here for like fifteen days!”

  Landon holds up his hands, pushing himself from the couch with ease. He either is completely blowing off my panic or he doesn't sense it. “What I’m doing is giving you a choice. If you decide it’s not for you, fine. You can keep singing the same six songs. But we can start small. Get you a meeting. Discuss some details. It doesn’t go from day to night, Max. It takes time. There’s a lot involved. You can walk away whenever you want. Think about it, man. You aren’t going to magically turn into a different person.”

  The nervous laugh that escapes my chest is elevated in pitch and slightly hysterical. Landon tilts his head and studies me with dark eyes like I’m a lunatic who just escaped the funny farm.

  There’s a chance I did.

  We weren’t in a funny farm. God, you’re so dramatic.

  “I gotta think.” I grab Johnny from his stand, tripping over my own feet as I hurry to put him in his c
ase. My hands flutter as I work. I think maybe I’m choking.

  It’s too hot in here. Way too hot here.

  I’m not letting you pass this up, Max. Either you do it or I do.

  My lungs do this weird thing where they only work half the time, and I grapple for breath at the thought of him doing anything around Gia. The ring of light around my eyes starts to darken. I’m just able to make out Gia’s concerned face before the fog thickens and I flee the room.

  Damn it, Aiden!

  Not like this.

  I dash past Landon, down the hall, and out the double doors of the blue room. My legs feel like jello as I stumble, running towards the door to the roof. I pant for breath, my feet thudding against the steel steps as I move frantically up four flights of stairs.

  The cool night air blasts my heated face when I reach the top. I drop on my ass just beside the door, cradling my head in my hands and Johnny in my lap.

  It only takes a second.

  The fog closes, and I’m gone.

  10

  Gigi

  As a kid, I used to hear a lot about how men’s and women’s brains operate differently. I thought it was all a bunch of shit. We’re all human. Just because one type of us has something hanging between our legs doesn’t mean we get an excuse to act like morons. Aren’t our brains wired to all work the same? Man or woman?

  I used to say yes.

  After last night, I changed my mind.

  I can’t, for the life of me, think of one good reason why Max would run out of the room like Landon lit his feet on fire and disappear for the remainder of the night. I knew when I shoved him into that audition room he might have some reservations about the whole thing. If there’s one thing Max is, it’s private.