Animal Beats (Untamed Coaster’s Drummer)

1. Río

RíO

Walking on top of the cement barrier in front of the iconic Roman gods, I point to my left side. “When you say, ‘Gelato!’”

I point to my right side. “You say, ‘Rocks!’”

I raise both my arms to the sky. “Got it?”

The large crowd before me roars their appreciation. The bright blue Italian skies seem to encourage me. Why not? When in Rome, and all that!

Laughing, I finish the beer a nice Italian young lady gave me and set the can down on the ledge. “Are you ready?” Everyone surrounding me seems excited. This boring old landmark needed some sprucing up, in my opinion. I point left. “Gelato!

Half the gathering repeats my word.

“Rocks!” I twist my bare torso to the right, jazzed when these people scream it back to me.

I do this twice more, but an energy’s missing.

I need to rile them up more. Make them lose their minds with excitement.

Looking down, my jeans stick out like a dark blue sore thumb.

I bet if I remove them, I’ll get the rise I’m after out of them.

After unlacing my boots and taking them plus my socks off, I begin to shuck the jeans.

Ladies at both of my legs take the hint, and help to roll them down each leg.

When I’m finally free of the denim, I swing my jeans over my head and toss them.

The woman who gave me the beer holds them up in triumph.

I stick my tongue out toward her, and wiggle it.

She rubs the jeans over her ample chest to let me know she got my meaning.

We’ll hook up tonight, after I get this group to do my call-and-repeat at least half as well as Bennett does during our gigs. Rome is the best.

I point. “Gelato!” Those on my left side scream.

I switch directions. “Rocks!” People on my right side reply.

With my every hand movement, “Gelato!” and “Rocks!” fills the air by the Trevi Fountain. People jump with each word, trying to out yell the other side. This is what I’m talking about!

But still, I want more. In only my underwear, I pace the barrier, getting people jazzed.

Some hold up cones filled with gelato from the nearby store.

A few signs saying “Untamed Coaster” have made their way into the crowd.

Nice. Even though Coop, 007, Tris, and Bennett—who’s with Jenna, no doubt—are off doing whatever, at least these people have the most exciting band member with them. I straighten. Better not disappoint.

I offer a smile to everyone gathered around me.

I never disappoint.

With renewed vigor, I kick and strut and yell the cues, which the people eat up. In a frenzy, I strip buck naked and point to each side before diving into the fountain. At least thirty others follow me into the water.

When I surface, a new sound has entered the fray. Police sirens blare from the streets nearby. Crap. Time to get out of here before UC’s manager, Luke Allen, has another hissy fit. I make it to the side of the fountain, my hands on the concrete when they’re joined by a pair from the other side.

Wearing a long-sleeved dark shirt.

The type police here wear.

I’m yanked out of the fountain by the cops. They scream something unintelligible in Italian when my feet hit the pavement. At least they didn’t scratch anything unmentionable as they pulled me out of the water.

Shaking my head to attempt to clear all the alcohol—droplets flying everywhere—I employ one of the only Italian words I know besides gelato. “Ciao! Ciao!” I smile at the cops, who are yelling to other cops and to the crowd as they yank everyone out of the Trevi Fountain.

“Ciao!” I try once more. A female cop approaches me.

“Hello,” she replies. At least she knows English.

Experience has taught me it’s usually best to admit whatever I was doing and spin it in the most favorable light. “We were only having some fun out here,” I explain. “You didn’t have to waste your time and get involved.”

She shakes out a blanket. “Here you go. Put this on.” She passes me the scratchy fabric.

Deciding now might not be the best moment to complain about the material’s quality, I wrap it around my waist. See... I can be reasonable. The cops round up the others who were in the fountain with me into a rather large circle to my left. I’m not instructed to join them.

“Scusi,” I try another word I’ve learned. I motion toward the crowd. “Should I go with them?”

The female cop shakes her head. “No. They get tickets and fines. You will come with us.”

Going with a cop? That doesn’t bode well. Still, the need to protect my cohorts rises. “They shouldn’t get any fines. They were doing what I asked them to do.” I can afford to pay their bills. No need for them to be out of pocket because of me.

“They broke the law and went around the barricades. They must pay up.”

“I’ll take care of their fees.” When the cop doesn’t respond, I lift my chin and scream into the crowd. “I’m paying any fines!”

A collective cheer goes up into the air. I know I can make this one part of the night right. Ha! I made a rhyme.

“Come on, Mr. Money Bags,” the female cop says. She slaps handcuffs on my arms in front of my crotch, I guess to keep the blanket in place. “I’m taking you to the station. Where you’ll be paying for everyone.”

At least this part turned out okay. “They aren’t going to get tickets either?”

A male cop joins her. The two speak in rapid Italian. When I don’t respond, the policewoman says, “We got the names of the idiots who followed your lead into our beloved Trevi Fountain. They won’t be charged, based upon your representation that you can pay their fines.”

I let out a breath. “Good. I’ll cover everything, no worries.” My head whips around, looking for the woman who has my jeans. “As soon as I locate my jeans, I’ll get my wallet and settle up.” Only problem: the woman—and my jeans—are nowhere to be found.

Some flashes go off. Great. Now the paparazzi are involved. I don’t need this type of attention, especially after everything Bennett put UC through recently. The band is only supposed to generate positive press from now on, per Luke. I look around, but there’s no place to hide.

Unaware of my current turmoil, the male cop asks, “Where are your pants?”

“Uhm. I don’t know. I had them on before.” My heart rate picks up a beat. Using my chin, I point to the side. “There are my boots.”

Another officer retrieves them while the other male cop’s hand goes around my bare upper arm. “Alright, let’s get everything sorted out at the police station.”

“But my jeans,” I complain. I can’t pay without my wallet. Shit. My cellphone’s in the pocket, too. Panic sets in. The paps cannot get their hands on my cell. “I need to find them.” I wiggle and jump from side to side, trying to locate them.

All my efforts are rewarded when I spot the Italian lady who gave me my last beer. Standing over near a smaller fountain, she holds up my jeans. My body slumps. “There they are.”

The female cop hears me and instructs someone to collect them. Noticing the cops approaching her, the Italian lady bends down and carefully places my jeans on the street before disappearing into the throng of people. Smart woman.

Once my jeans are rescued, I become more compliant.

I’ll just have to pay everyone’s fines and then be on my way.

I’m paraded through the crowd, toward a police cruiser.

I bump into a couple of people and my blanket slips, but I catch it with my shackled hands.

Have to be careful with these. They are my livelihood.

Rows of bystanders block my path, with my walk being captured from all angles. Guess it doesn’t matter what the media posts, considering how many phones are capturing my every movement. UC’s PR team is going to have a field day. Luke’s gonna chew my ass out for this, too. Shit.

Questions start being pelted at me from the reporters. I don’t understand the ones in Italian, but the English ones are bad enough. “Where is Bennett?”

How the fuck should I know? Undoubtedly shacked up with Jenna, his wife. I turn my head in another direction.

“What do you think of Rome?”

Alright. I can answer this one. “It’s a beautiful city, with very nice fountains.” Fun to swim in, too. I wink at the reporter.

I continue winding my way through people toward the paddywagon. Definitely not my first rodeo, but this one is nicer than most. Certainly better than in some cities in the United States. I step on a jagged rock and my knee lifts up. “Ow!”

The female police officer steadies me while the male cop tries to push me forward. Guess taking off my shoes wasn’t such a great idea. My stride shortens as I try to recapture my balance. Which only gives the reporters more time.

“What will the rest of Untamed Coaster think of you starting a riot at the Trevi Fountain, Río?”

This question make me freeze. “I didn’t start a riot,” I rebut the pap. “We were only having some good-natured fun. I’m sure these kind officers will understand once I can explain it to them.”

I glance at the male officer and correct my last statement. To myself, at least. Hopefully.

Luke’s going to lose his shit. The PR team will have more than its hands full this time. But, hell, I was only having fun. Don’t Italians like to have fun?

Suddenly I’m all of twelve again. Pop’s divorce to my biological mother had gone through maybe two years before, and he had married the Stepwitch the following one.

So what if I played the drums on a few desks during class because the lesson was soooo boring—the teacher deemed it “acting up,” despite all the cheering of my school chums—and I was sent to the principal’s office.

After making me stand in the corner for several hours, Pop read me the riot act.

I wonder if Luke will put my drum kit in the back of the stage as payback?

Best to do the deed and ask permission later. My chin rises. I am Río Sullivan, the best damn drummer rock’s ever known. A little flirt with the Trevi Fountain won’t break my stride.

The cop puts his palm on top of my head as he directs me into the wagon. This whole mess will soon be over, and I’ll be back enjoying my time with my band of brothers.

I don’t care what the police or reporters do.