CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE “Drive”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
“Drive”
Deftones
EIGHT MONTHS LATER
I typed furiously on my keyboard as I glanced at the notes I had taken at the show.
There was a new band circling Austin that I knew without a doubt had potential to go far.
I hadn’t been that passionate about any up-and-coming groups since the Sergeants, and I was busting my ass to do them justice.
I was hoping for the same outcome and success the Sergeants had.
I ignored the flicker of memories that tried to surface at the comparison of the two bands.
They had a similar feel, charismatic but with a different sound.
But it was there, the fire, the need to spread the word.
“So fucking beautiful,” Nate whispered as I smiled at my keyboard.
“I’m almost done,” I promised. I took a look at the clock. It was close to midnight.
“Liar,” he said sweetly as he took the seat opposite me. I glanced over my monitor and my breath hitched. His gaze was filled with what his words relayed. “Sometimes I look at you and I can’t believe how close I was to giving up.”
I paused my fingers. “Giving up?”
He waved his hand. “In the beginning. You were so young and I didn’t for one second think you would stay here.”
“New York called this morning,” I said with a wink, “want me to return it?”
“Only if you agree to shoot me first,” he said before he bit his lip in thought.
“I’ve never been to New York,” I said.
“You would eat it alive,” he said with confidence. He walked around to where I still pounded out my admiration for the lead singer, who played keyboard, guitar, and had recently mastered the band’s first demo. Nate scanned through my article.
“That good, huh?”
“Yes, Nate, I think I may call Roger Morris. You think he would listen to me?”
Nate ran his fingers through my hair. “Baby, your opinion matters.”
I paused my fingers on the keys. I had waited five years to hear him say those words.
I looked up to him. “You’re an authority now. That’s why LA called, Chicago called, and New York called. They want music’s new literary voice.”
My lips trembled as he leaned down. “It’s the truth.
It’s not because I love you, or you’re the most beautiful woman in the world, or you make a mean pan of enchiladas, or you have a Midas pussy.
” He grinned wickedly at his crassness. “It’s because you earned it.
Your opinion matters—yours, Stella Emerson. ”
“Midas pussy?” I laughed as happy tears flooded my eyes.
“Yes, shall we demonstrate its effects?” He glanced over his shoulder at the empty newsroom that housed over thirty employees.
I looked at the empty room behind him. “Did you ever think it would be this big?”
“God, I hoped,” he said, arms crossed as he stared at the room with a dreamy smile. “I think it’s time I gave it a rest.”
“Huh, that’ll be the day,” I said and cringed at the small amount of bite in my words.
“Well then, I guess you better get packed, because that day is tomorrow.” He laid two plane tickets on my desk. I picked them up and saw our destination.
“OH MY GOD, NATE!”
“Seven days in Mexico, you, me, and Midas.”
All the promises he’d broken were swept away with this one grand gesture. I understood his drive, I let the needy girlfriend take a backseat to both our ambitions, but the paper was thriving and there was enough middle management to finally and safely escape.
I gripped him to me. “Thank you!”
“Let’s get the hell out of here.”
“Yes!” I said, beaming.
“We don’t leave until six tomorrow night, so let’s go have some fun. Jon Jon has us covered.”
“Where?” I asked, saving my article and throwing it into my flash drive.
“This week is all about Stella,” he said, his arms around my waist as he grabbed my blazer and held it while I slipped my arms through. I had on heels, slacks, and a blouse. I felt sophisticated and sexy, and it reflected in the eyes of my companion. “Let’s do a Stella thing.”
Hand in hand with my man, we walked toward the packed bar. “You’re an old man. I’ll understand if you don’t want to stay all night.”
“I got your old man right here,” he said wickedly as he brought our linked hands briefly and discreetly to his crotch.
“How crude,” I mocked shock.
“You know you love it,” he said without expecting an answer, which I didn’t have to give.
I walked past the long line and nodded to the doorman, Gerry, who waved us in.
Nate whispered into my hair. “My woman is such a bad ass.”
“Damn right,” I said. “I’ve been sweating my ass off for years, earning shit pay for this privilege.”
Nate furrowed his brows, but his twitching lips gave him away. “I paid you decently.”
“It was enough to buy toilet paper, you cheap bastard. A trip to Mexico is a good way to start making it up to me.”
“I could have pulled intern on you,” he said with a sigh.
“You wanted this too much,” I said, waving a dramatic hand over my face and body.
“I want it right now, so what do you say we skip this club and go home?”
“This place is packed,” I said, ignoring him and peeking over shoulders, only to see more shoulders. “I love this song.”
“What is it?”
“‘Talk Tonight’ by Oasis.”
I listened as the guy singing nailed the vocals, his voice soulful and raspy. I began to try to squeeze my way through the crowd.
Emo’s was about twice beyond capacity. Nate nodded. “He’s good. I’m getting a beer. Baby, what do you want?”
“Nothing for now. I’m still full from dinner.”
“Go.” Nate nodded toward the stage neither of us could see. “I’ll find you, but don’t get started on a story, woman. Mexico, tomorrow.”
“Hey, lady!” Casey, one of the managers of the club, came up to me. “Where the hell have you been? It’s been like two months!”
“Busy. I’m sorry. I know I’ve been a shit. I haven’t been able to answer all my emails in months. So I finally decided to take you up on one of those beers you promised.”
“It’s the least I can do for you writing that piece about the renovation. I still can’t believe how you twisted it. Made this place look a national treasure.”
“Looks like business is doing well,” I said, looking around the expansive club. It was almost unrecognizable from my first years in Austin. Still, in its walls held memories no paint or shiny new metal could erase. I cleared my throat.
“Hey, what’s going on here?”
“It’s awesome, right?” Casey said, looking toward the stage.
I swallowed hard as awareness pricked my skin and the crowd began to part.
Look up, Stella.
Static filled my lungs as I finally got a clear view of the stage.
My stomach flipping, as Ben led the audience into a steady clap while Reid belted out the lyrics, his soul echoing through the club, uncompromisingly raw.
My world tilted as I drew a breath and then another in an attempt to stave off the emotion that accompanied my utter shock.
Casey leaned in. “They just came in and said they wanted to borrow the stage. Can you fucking imagine? I guess they were feeling nostalgic. Word’s spreading quickly, we’ve upped security and the line outside isn’t going to make it in.”
Casey’s words splintered into background noise while I nodded. “Crazy thing is they’ve been playing covers all night. None of their own songs.”
With my heart fumbling over itself in rapid succession, I gripped the side of a cocktail table as I watched Dead Sergeants play like the world-class band they’d become. I hadn’t seen them live since before they got signed.
That shock was enhanced by the voice that sounded like a broken angel and it belonged to none other than Reid Crowne.
Reid Crowne was singing.
I sputtered something to Casey in agreement as I shook violently in my skin.
Reid was shirtless, his T-shirt tucked into his back pocket.
A new wall of tattoos covered his right side from his pec and spread over the rest of his chiseled frame.
Inescapably beautiful, he pushed his rhythm, his eyes closed, while sweat dripped from his temple.
He sang the story about a girl who fed him, about a girl he wanted to talk to from miles away, which he only spent a moment with, a girl who saved his life.
He landed his beats expertly on the drums, the drums I won him, as he gouged my heart with his beautiful voice.
I jumped as Nate slipped his hand into mine, intertwining our fingers.
I gripped his fist tight as the song finished.
The audience roared as the guys grinned back at Reid and Ben addressed the room.
“Thank you. We’re just here to pay our respects to this great place that helped give us our start,” Ben toasted, a beer in hand with a nod toward the bar.
Jon, who was still behind it years later, lifted his chin and raised his beer to reciprocate.
“We promise never to fucking forget where we came from, Austin.” The patrons roared in praise as we watched on and Nate leaned over to Casey.
“The Sergeants, right? Holy shit, you’ll be steady for the next six months. ”
“I know, right?” They shared a smile as Nate gripped me tightly in his hold while the rest of me fell to pieces.
I was still reeling as Ben charmed them with his reverie.
“Remember to tip them, folks. They aren’t here because you fucking smell good, because I can smell you from here and I promise you don’t.
” Laughter and anarchy rang out back at the stage as he looked out amongst us.
I could see the satisfaction in his eyes, the collective memories circling over the band’s heads.
I felt immediate pride that I had been there to witness their beginning.
They’d been on tour for the last eight months to sold-out stadiums. Their tour had cemented them as rock gods.
Realizing their dreams must have made them reflective, and in doing that, it must have seemed fitting for them to finish the tour where it all started. Home. And Emo’s was home.