Chapter Nine
Bowie
Tibby was chill as hell, funny, laid back, and easy to listen to when he contributed to the conversation.
I could tell he was in awe of how down-to-earth Stoli, Joey, and Mickey were, despite their level of fame and success.
These welcome-to-the-family meals were a nice way of getting to know one another too, and with the private rooms we dined in, there weren’t any gawkers staring our way, which more than put me at ease.
I couldn’t fully explain it, but having Pressley see my scars the other night and not pull me aside to tell me that he wasn’t sure it was going to work, having me be a part of the band and up front under the lights, had really started to ease some of the worry and fear that had eaten at me since he’d seen them.
As we neared the forty-eight-hour mark, it started to dawn on me that the moment I’d been agonizing over and tormenting myself about wasn’t going to happen, and for the first time, I was really able to relax when he sat beside me at the table that night.
For the most part, he’d seen everything too.
Like ripping the band-aid off, he’d gotten the full effect of the damage, minus the scar that curled over my upper thigh, but that one had been minor compared to the rest of the mess.
Hell, he hadn’t even approached me with some lame-ass bullshit about rethinking my stage makeup suggestion, which I’d halfway expected too.
What I’d never imagined in my wildest dreams was the sad looks he shot me whenever I ducked my head or shied away from him.
It was like it hurt him to see me hide and shrink back from everyone whenever they approached me on my damaged side, something I was super conscious of doing with Joey, Mickey, and Stoli, to the point of half-hiding behind Tony anytime the overhead lights were too bright.
Tibby had a couple notebooks full of songs as well, so I’d taken the initiative, before Joey or Stoli had to, to tell him that we’d decided to narrow down what we had to five apiece to go over, once we’d had time to practice some cover songs together.
Tony and I each had our lists with us, so we shared them with him, and he circled a bunch that were strong suits of his before adding his list of twenty covers right there at the table.
While we might not have intended for it to be a working dinner, Tony and I passed it back and forth, circling the ones we were most comfortable with, and then Tony, who had much better handwriting than I did, created a fresh list of the cover songs the three of us were most comfortable with.
We had seventeen before we left the table that night.
It would be interesting to see what our drummer added to the list and how that round of auditions was going to go, with Diamond coming in to spearhead them.
I was curious to meet him and a little bit terrified too.
Dude looked scary as hell on every poster, CD cover, t-shirt, and photo I’d ever seen, like he’d break a motherfucker in half just for looking at him wrong.
Would definitely be an eyes-open, mouth-shut kind of day tomorrow.
Something told me Joey and Stoli had already filled him in on how the auditions for a singer had gone, and I had no doubt that Mickey would touch base with him, if he hadn’t done so already, to tell him about bass auditions and the method he’d used to move things along and allow us to find Tibby.
It still blew me away that so many people had thought nothing of clogging up our audition line just to have the chance to meet their idols.
Come on, seriously, had they really thought about how unimpressive that would actually be, not to mention time-consuming?
On one hand, I had to agree with Pressley’s suggestion about requiring videotapes to be submitted before someone was given the nod to audition live, though there was another part of me that worried about it alienating someone like me, who wouldn’t have had the confidence to send in a tape and maybe didn’t have someone in their lives like Tony, who’d have taped one of our practice sessions if he needed to, just to make sure I had the chance to audition.
Yeah, that one was gonna eat at me ‘cause I knew how hard it was to love something as passionately as I loved my guitar yet be fearful that something about you was going to put people off before you had the opportunity to show them what you could do.
Twice I’d tried to audition for new bands only to have them glimpse my scars and grow so uncomfortable that I’d excuse myself and never finish the audition process, yet another reason Tony hadn’t told me where we were headed last week.
He’d known how gun-shy I was, and yet with this group, I don’t know, I wasn’t feeling the same level of tension I had before.
I didn’t get that kind of read off any of the guys, even Tibby, who we’d just met a few hours before.
Was it a Masterson thing? The whole family vibe they put out and all that.
That would explain everyone else, but Tibby, I know he glimpsed something when we were leaning over the notebook with our heads pressed together, yet he’d just smiled a little wider and kept right on helping narrow down the list of songs for us to practice together.
It had happened so fast, I hadn’t even had time to duck away and rearrange my hair.
Still couldn’t figure out how the hell I’d gotten maneuvered into sitting in a middle seat at the table either, but Stoli had done this awkward-ass stumble hip-check thing that I’d swear was deliberate, and the next thing I knew, Tibby had claimed the end, Mickey had claimed the seat across from him, and I’d been left no choice but to sit my ass down beside him and across from Tony, who’d almost lost that seat to Stoli, who hadn’t looked happy about it at first. Yeah, these guys weren’t oblivious, and I’d definitely done exactly what Tony had warned me against doing.
I’d called attention to there being an issue by fussing so much with my hair and where I sat.
Perception at its finest, that was my best friend.
Now we were back at Pressley’s, and I was having a bitch of a time settling in for the night.
I’d heard him go into his room, so I slipped silently out of mine and down the hall, notebook in hand, to quietly open the door leading out back, where everything was lit up with solar lights, including a bowling ball-sized one at the base of the small bird fountain that gurgled and trickled as water flowed from the top to the pool at the bottom, creating an endless loop of sound.
Something about it soothed the restlessness that had hit me as soon as we’d arrived back at the house.
There was a sort of harmony to the ebb and flow of it, a rhythm I knew I’d be able to capture if I slipped back inside to grab my acoustic, but I didn’t dare risk him hearing me move around because I knew he’d ask if I was okay, and I wasn’t ready for that conversation yet.
Instead, I pulled out my cart, tipped my head back, and stared at the stars while I sucked in a little mellowness and let the sound of flowing water wrap around me.
As they always did, words started swirling through my head, just a few at first, edgy and disjointed, waiting for me to put them together. I jotted them down as they came, tangled strands with glimmers of deep, intense meanings and emotions that hadn’t evolved to their fullest potential yet.
They’d get there though, eventually, especially after I passed them off to Tony.
A couple more tokes and several more scribbles, and time just sort of melted into this beautiful haze.
Lost in the rhythm of the water, free from the worry and the what-ifs, I filled pages without a care in the world, at least until the first shimmer of sunlight broke through the treetops and bright, golden-tipped crimson smacked me across the face.
Shit.
I hadn’t even closed my eyes tonight. Something told me this was no time to attempt a power nap situation either, not when I still had a few more words to jot down, as well as a shower to take before we jumped into what I hoped would please, for the love of the metal gods, be the final day of band auditions.
At least traffic proved to be shitty enough that I was able to slip a nap in, slumped in the backseat of Pressley’s truck, which was surprisingly comfortable, or maybe it was just how exhausted I realized I was once the notebook was out of my hands and reality replaced the smoke and water haze I’d been wrapped up in.
One look at the fierce, formidable drummer awaiting us, and Tony and I both took two steps back while Tibby, who’d arrived just as we were pulling up, let out a soft eep and shuffled over until he was clustered up with me and Tony.
He peered over the top of his dark sunglasses at us and nodded.
“Clearly, you three know who I am, so let’s get our asses in gear and find you a drummer.”
Mouths shut, we hurried to keep up with him, already bonding over how completely overwhelmed we were by his presence and the aura rolling off him.
We’d learn something today, that was for damn sure, I could tell that just by the way he carried himself and the first words to come out of his mouth as he eyed the first group assembled.
“Listen up and listen good, I’m only gonna say this once,” he announced, not even bothering with the seat we’d left open for him, he just paced in front of the stage.
“You’ve got thirty seconds to grab my attention, twenty if you kick shit off too slow, and ten if you start playing wild and out of control.
I’m not gonna be here until my kids graduate from high school trying to pick a fuckin’ drummer. ”