Chapter 10
Ten
I grabbed my gin and tonic off the bar and pressed a handful of dollar bills into the tip jar, giving the bartender a friendly nod as I jumped off the stool and headed toward the front of the venue. There was no standing room left anywhere, not even in the aisles. It took me a good ten minutes to wedge my way through the crowd to the front, where I had to hoist my legs over and push myself into the VIP area. I felt a pang of guilt when I looked back at the throng of people pushing and jostling against each other, craning their necks to see the stage. I’d been that girl way too many times over the years. How many shows had I been to where there had barely been standing room, with some guy breathing hot, sweaty beer breath on the back of my neck, pressing his groin into my thigh accidentally on purpose?
As I turned to scan the crowd, I caught the eye of a woman about my age or a little younger with glittery blue devil horns poking out of her jet-black bob. She couldn’t be taller than five feet on a good day. She was standing behind an absolute giraffe of a guy; he had to be almost Phillip’s height at least, and his thick-heeled Doc Martens made him even taller. The young woman was trying to inch her way to either side to get a good vantage point, but neither the drunk couple making out on her left or the group of teen girls taking selfies on her right were willing to part with even an inch of space. I felt for her; she wasn’t going to be able to see shit.
Despite all those old memories of shitty, beer-soaked jackasses and chaotic crowds, I wouldn’t have traded my time as a music junkie, traveling to shows and catching tours all over the place, for the world. Every single mosh pit gone awry, every single spilled beer, every single disgusting come-on from a metalhead with more piercings than he had sense, were worth it.
It had been years—close to five, in fact—since I’d been to a show of any kind. And I had to admit, despite my misgivings and my overall dour mood, I was thrilled to be here.
I was finally— finally— going to see the Bloomer Demons! My most favorite band of all time! Live!
I still could scarcely believe that Phillip and the guys had pulled things together in three weeks’ time. The guys showing up to our house for impromptu rehearsals, and planning had turned out to be a godsend, as Phillip had bitten off more than he could chew, assuming they could handle it all over Skype and the phone (he still didn’t quite get modern technology, but he was trying). They’d rented space in an old, abandoned pool hall on the outskirts of Brunswick, and I’d had a blast watching them rehearse. I’d invited Roberta, Nikolai, and the rest of the guys to join us a few times, and we’d had a couple impromptu parties there, us with drinks, just watching the guys play. It had occurred to me that this new life—band rehearsals, late-night games of pool, drinks with the motley crew—was the exact type of Southern-friend, downhome fun that Tess would have loved. He’d always tried to get me out more when we’d been together, but I’d been such a homebody. I felt a pang of regret that I was now living the life he’d always tried to have with me. I wondered if the pain I felt at his death would ever fade.
It wasn’t like I had still been in love with him. Far from it. But every time I remembered him, a fresh, searing pain filled my belly. That was something I had to live with, something I would never be able to get over.
But I didn’t want to think about Tess tonight. I looked around the venue, taking in the décor and the layout, loving how opulent and dark it was. Black curtains graced the stage, and the walls had vintage movie posters from the silent-film era interspersed with old cymbals, drumsticks, and faces of guitars from instruments and musicians of time long gone. . This was the perfect place for the band’s reunion show. Lee had gotten every detail perfect.
I did feel a teensy bit smug over my suggestion that the Bloomer Demons take Lee on as their manager, which had turned out to be a real nugget of wisdom so far. In those three short weeks, Lee had done so much wheeling and dealing that he’d managed to book a two-show reunion—one tonight, and one two days from now, both at the same venue—several print-magazine articles, including a front-page spread on Rolling Stone, and had brokered a deal with Spotify for both the band’s backlog, plus a forthcoming new album. Studio time had already been scheduled for next month. I was seriously impressed with all that Lee had managed to do, and I knew Phillip was even more so.
I was so happy that I didn’t even mind being back in Boston. The last time I’d left Phillip Deville’s hometown, running away in the middle of the night while Phillip showered, I’d sworn to myself that I’d never come back. It held too many memories—being held captive in an old, abandoned farmhouse, being beaten and drugged by Shank, ending up in the hospital, and running from the cops were among the things I’d experienced during those few days. Then there was being followed by Lee, Roberta, and my ex-husband Tess…to say nothing of how Lydia Courtenay had literally bewitched me after we’d gone to her for help.
But here I was…Phillip and I had driven up the night before in my old truck, Jason and Ollie in the rented tour van behind us, retracing the steps of our first trip together. But this trip had been much more cheerful, much more exciting. We’d gabbed the whole way about the show and our plans for the next few months. We had even stopped at the same diner where Phillip had sat smirking as I wolfed down French fries and black coffee, back when we were first falling in love. I had to admit, it was only right to have the Bloomer Demons reunion show, the big comeback, in Boston, the town where they’d once practiced in Phillip’s family garage. Their home. And hell, I’d gotten three long, cushy weeks of respite right in the cozy confines of my own trailer, so I felt well-rested and ready to party.
And party we would. The show was going to be epic, and the after-party would be even more epic. We’d hang backstage for a while, where the booze would be flowing, and then a select few people would be invited back to Jason’s place (formerly Phillip’s family home, which Jason now owned) to celebrate. Then I’d spend a night with my lover in his old teenage bed. The last time we’d been there, we’d done quite a few things that still gave me a thrill when I thought about them. Tonight, I planned to put those old thrills to shame and make some new thrills.
I took a long swig of my gin and tonic and made my way to my seat, which was right in the front row. Phillip had come through for me. Damn right he had. After all the concessions I’d made for him to be here, I deserved to be sitting right on the stage! Thankfully, he agreed with me, and had made sure that me and all my “people,” as he called them, would be right up front where he could see us.
The row was empty, save for Nikolai, one of several of the Wolfden’s members who had joined me at this show. He sat with his legs crossed and his arms folded in his lap, as though he were sitting calmly on a school bus. I sat down beside him and nudged his arm. He turned to me with a sweet but slightly guarded smile. When Phillip had handed him and Jamie their front-row tickets, he’d actually turned pink with embarrassment. After getting to know everyone at the Wolfden, I’d come to realize that Nikolai was used to being the man behind the scenes, the window dressing that quietly got things done without garnering much attention. I wanted him to know that I saw him. And that I appreciated him.
“Get you a drink?” I yelled to him over the roar of the crowd. “You look bored. I can’t believe that, man. You’re at a Bloomer Demons show!”
“I’m not bored!” he yelled back, his face brightening a little. “I was just waiting for the rest of you guys to get here!” He gestured to my drink and shook his head. “Jamie’s drinking tonight, so I’m DD. Nothing for me.” I smiled; the friendship between Jamie and Nikolai was so wholesome it was like something from a Disney movie.
“You guys can ride home with us on the bus,” I offered. “I’m buyin’.” I was in a celebratory mood, and I couldn’t stand to see Nikolai sit there without a drink in hand. It was downright desolate.
He shook his head again, and I noticed a look come across his face; one of discomfort or perhaps embarrassment. Then I realized. “Oh. You don’t drink. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to?—"
“it’s okay,” he called back. “You didn’t know!” He patted the leg of his jeans to reveal a Dr. Pepper bottle stashed there, and I had to laugh. Nikolai was wearing JNCOs; real, authentic, actual vintage JNCOs from the nineties with the huge pockets, embroidered logo patch, and wide enough to fit four legs comfortably. They were even fraying at the bottom.
“Please tell me you’ve had those since high school,” I said, and he laughed and nodded.
“Middle school, actually. Hey, I’m not that old,” he called back with a grin, and something about the look on his face stopped me momentarily. Something about the way his blue eyes lit up in his face, the way they crinkled in the corners, seemed familiar. A strange sensation went through my body, something akin to déjà vu or just very tangible nostalgia. I had the urge to reach out and touch him—not in a sexual way, or even in a romantic sense—but to just grab his arm and hold it, to give him a squeeze, to put an arm around him.
I swallowed, collecting myself, and pulled myself out of the weirdness. That sort of thing was happening more and more lately, and I needed to learn to control it. So many of my friends felt new to me, but they weren’t new, not really. I was still recovering memories, and sometimes, they seemed to get jumbled in my head. I’d remember how I knew Nikolai sooner or later. For now, it didn’t matter.
“They’re great! I wish I still had my pair!” I yelled back at him, and settled in my chair, quickly checking my phone for the time. The show was set to start in about twelve minutes. I wondered where Roberta, Jamie, Lee, Benny, Mom, and Clara were; likely parking their cars. I hoped Roberta had followed my instructions on how to find the parking deck rather than circling Beach Road for two hours trying to find free parking near enough to walk.
I hadn’t really wanted to invite Clara, but she was part of the Wolfden’s inner circle, and to exclude her would have added to the weird, grudgy standoff she and I seemed to have going on. Neither of us had said a cross word to the other, not since the tense exchange we’d had when Benny got shot, but there was a lingering whiff of bitterness in the air. As a woman who had once been a petty teenage girl, I knew we were going to have to duke it out eventually. Whether that was an actual physical fight or just a battle of words, I didn’t know, but I hoped it was the latter. Clara was an actual wrestler who was built like a tank and could break me in half.
I looked at my phone again. They were cutting it close. At this rate, they’d barely have time to get their tickets checked and stamped, and make their way to the front row before the show started, never mind getting drinks. I texted Roberta. Where are you at, bitch? Show’s starting in like ten minutes.
Her text came through right away. Just parked. Circled the block about eight times before Benny finally stopped bitching and parked in the deck. Walking up to the venue now. Be there in five.
Hurry up, I texted back, grinning because I’d been right.
I don’t care if I miss the opening band, she responded. As long as I don’t miss Bloomer Demons’ big opening. Oh, by the way, your mom isn’t coming. She called me a little while ago and said she’s got a bad headache. She’s resting in the motel room. She said to tell you sorry and she’ll catch the next one.
I pushed my phone back in my pocket and frowned, disappointed. I hadn’t realized how excited I was for my mom to come and see Phillip play until I knew she wouldn’t be here. She knew how important this was to me, and to Phillip…couldn’t she have made an effort? She’d driven all the way to Boston from Georgia only to back out at the last minute? What was that?
A small voice inside my head spoke up in a nasty voice, an old voice from my past, one that I remembered well. She doesn’t care. You should be used to her disappointing you by now, princess.
I shook my head. I wouldn’t let myself be brought down by those obsessive thoughts, by worry, by negativity. Whatever Mom’s reasons for not coming were, it didn’t have to be my problem.
“You okay?” Nikolai craned to speak into my ear so I could hear him. I shook my head yes and pasted on a smile.
“My mom can’t make it,” I yelled back to him, and for a moment, he almost looked relieved, which I found odd. But then he nodded sympathetically. I thought, then reached a decision. I wouldn’t let anything bring me down, not tonight. I was seeing the Bloomer Demons play! Nothing was going to blight this evening. Nothing. “I’ll be right back; I’ve just got to do something real quick.”
I jumped up from my seat, made my way over to the barricade, and pushed myself over again, making a beeline for the short, black-haired girl with the devil horns. As I approached her, pushing my way through the unmoving crowd—there had to be at least fifty more people here than were there ten minutes ago—her amber-colored eyes widened and she stared at me. She knew who I was. Of course she recognized me! I had to remember that I was famous now too. Thanks, Phillip. Oh well, too late now. I was already standing in front of her.
I pushed past the giraffe guy and extended a hand to the girl. She took it reluctantly, her hand a little limp and sweaty as I shook it. “Hey. I’m Stormy.”
“I know,” she called back, then cleared her throat. “You’re Phillip’s girlfriend. I’m Beth.”
“Hey, Beth,” I said with a grin, noticing her crop top, recognizing the blond, curly-haired man with the violet eyes emblazoned on the front. “Is that the Vampire Lestat on your shirt?”
“Yup,” she said with a grin. “I’m obsessed.”
“Phillip would love that,” I said, and her face lit up. I gestured toward the front row. “Look, one of our party just bailed, and I know you can’t see jack shit with Lurch in front of you. Want to come watch from the front row?”
“Are you fucking serious?” the girl asked, and I looked down, realizing that she had a hula hoop—an actual hula hoop, one of those expensive, fancy light-up ones—hanging from her tiny shoulder. I nodded with a grin.
“I’m totally serious, but only if you promise to use that thing when they play ‘The Death of Love.’” I grinned enthusiastically. “Whaddaya say? Will you join me?”
“Fuck yes, I will!” Beth’s blue devil horns on her head seemed to glow under the venue’s fluorescent lights. They were LED too, I noticed with amusement.
As we walked back to our seats, I thought, The guys should hire her as their official band hooper. I made a mental note to ask Phillip. After all, he owed me a favor.
The lights dimmed, then dimmed some more, eventually going so dark that only the occasional flash of neon bracelets under the strobe lights were visible, the old-fashioned kind that reminded me of being a kid. Someone had been handing them out for free at the entrance, and I wished I hadn’t been in such a screaming hurry to get to the front row and snagged one. An electric blue circle shone off Roberta’s wrist beside me, and I was jealous that I didn’t have one. The gleam of her teeth as she smiled in excitement made my envy disappear, though. She was as giddy as I was.
Beside me was Beth, my newfound friend, who was smiling so big you almost couldn’t see her unique amber eyes above her cheeks. On the other side of her, Jamie, who looked a little confused but perfectly fine with his sudden seatmate, and beside him, Lee, who was carrying a literal clipboard on his arm, looking like a giant nerd. I supposed he could have been backstage, but I was glad he’d chosen to sit here with us and enjoy the show. On the other side of Roberta was Nikolai, who had stood up and was clapping furiously as the first tones of Phillip’s bass check reverberated through the venue. The crowd erupted in cheers, screams, and frenzied yelling as he began to play a few notes, warming up. Rows of goosebumps went up my back at the sound, and I almost had to sit down as a rush of pure elation went through me. Beth shrieked and began to jump up and down like a little wind-up toy, her glittery devil horns shimmering and seeming to dance in her flying hair.
“Where the fuck is Benny?” I asked Roberta, irritation creeping into my voice. She grinned and shook her head, raising her hands as if to say I dunno. I frowned, looking down at my phone. The band was set to play in less than two minutes and he still wasn’t here! What, had he fallen in in the john?
My heart skipped a beat as the first few notes of Jason’s guitar arced through the air. I craned my neck as I listened, trying to pick out which song they’d finally settled on playing first. The last I’d heard, Phillip and Jason hadn’t been able to agree; it was a toss-up between “Devil May Care” and “Blood Covenant .” This sounded like neither.
I didn’t have a chance to figure it out because the lights flashed, and the stage was suddenly illuminated in an aura of bright turquoise, the Phillip’s and Jason Langley’s silhouettes standing front and center, Nate “Ollie” Green standing slightly behind Jason, his rhythm guitar at home in his hands as though it had never left. I heard the familiar clicking one, two, three, of the drumsticks and squinted to see the new drummer—Phillip had told me they’d hired a really great session musician and that I’d love the way he played—who definitely had his work cut out for him, replacing the great Kim Rzeznick. Then my mouth fell open in shock.
Benny, aka the Black Wolf, was sitting behind the drum kit. He held his drumsticks high for a split second, then launched into a ferocious, heavy beat.
“The fuck!?” I screamed to Roberta, not looking at her because I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the stage.
“They wanted it to be a surprise!” she called back, her voice full of glee.
“You assholes! I didn’t even know he was a drummer…” But the words died on my lips as the band launched into their first song, my entire being wrapped up in the melodic sound of Phillip’s bass and the image of him standing at the front of the stage in shadow, nothing visible of him but a ghostly apparition of his long, white fingers as they stroked the bass, and the merest flash of his green eyes under the neon lights. As I watched, Phillip did his signature slide, and as his fingers seared down to the top of the bass, those eyes locked with mine and I could just barely make out the sexy smirk he shot me. My heart began to thump.
Jason and Ollie were strumming along with a beautiful melody I’d never heard before when Phillip stepped up to the mic and began to croon, his razor sharp, velvety voice carrying out over the club. I felt the hush of the crowd go through my entire body as I stood there watching him. His fingers plucked the bass effortlessly, as though he’d never put it down, Benny tapping out a slow, steady beat behind him.
Phillip had written a new song. Just for this occasion. I listened intently, trying to memorize every word, goosebumps breaking out on my arms.
From the cradle to the grave
I crawl back out again
Baby you’re as beautiful
As good old homemade sin
I’ll crawl by my fingertips
To be right by your side
Bring you back to my resting place
A place for us to hide
You’re my coffin girl
Oh, yeah
The hand that rocks the coffin
Rules the world
I screamed with laughter and joy, tears running down my cheeks as I swayed along to the music. Phillip had written a song for me! When had he written it, and how had he managed to keep it a secret? How had he managed to keep Benny a secret?
As Phillip hit the chorus, the lights came back on at full force, encasing the entire stage in fluorescent light. I gasped for the second time that night. Phillip Deville, my beautiful Phillip, was wearing his usual uniform of black jeans, a black tank top, and black combat boots; I’d seen him pulling that same outfit over his muscular, still-damp body fresh from the shower just hours earlier. But to my surprise, he’d slicked back his black hair, which was still growing out from the impromptu, impulsive haircut and was barely below his ears, into a 1950s greaser style. It highlighted his extreme widow’s peak and gave him a dangerous, old-fashioned look that matched perfectly with the glossy leather jacket he wore. The jacket was covered with patches from bands they’d toured with, shows they’d played, and just things Phillip liked. I felt tears spring to my eyes again. I knew that jacket well, had seen it in many a picture over the years. Reporters had asked about it in the nineties dozens of times, asked what each individual patch stood for, and Phillip always demurred. “They’re just for me,” he’d said more than once. I’d assumed that jacket was lost forever, had been auctioned off, given away, or tucked into a box when he’d died.
Jason must’ve kept it. Kept it and given it back to Phillip for this show.
I wiped at my eyes, grinning. Phillip looked so damn good up there. They all did. But Phillip…I felt a wave of lust roll through my body, so strong it made my knees weak. Suddenly, I couldn’t wait to get him home, upstairs to his old bedroom. It was all I could do not to rush the stage and grab him right fucking now .
As if on cue, Phillip did his signature slide again , running his huge hand up the neck of the black bass and sliding it down effortlessly, deliberately doing it slowly, eking it out, drawing out the effect for as long as possible, the alien screeching sound reverberating through the venue and making everyone scream with delight. He segued the slide into a slap ‘n’ pop rhythm, looking down at me again, quick as a flash, and giving me a sexy wink.
Roberta and Beth both elbowed me in the side at the same time, and I grinned, proud. “That’s my man!” I screamed, and Roberta laughed.
“You fan.”
“Always!” I screamed, and then I was hopping up and down, putting tiny Beth to shame, bouncing with the music, letting it flow through my body. I was fourteen again. It was perfect.
As they segued straight from the new tune into “The Death of Love, ” I closed my eyes and let my body move along with the music as though it were taking me away on a breeze. I knew this song so well, could sing not only every lyric, but every single note from every single instrument. In the past, I’d joked that this song was like my lover. Now that the composer was my lover, I knew just how apt that comparison had been.
I was lost in the music, letting it carry me halfway to bliss, when Roberta’s arm crashed into my side, hard. My eyes sprung open.
“Ow!” I rubbed at my ribcage and mock- glared at Roberta, figuring she’d jostled into me by accident. She’d had two gin and tonics to my one already. But Roberta was staring past the stage into the rafters, and she pointed to a shadowy figure standing among the speakers, one tanned hand holding onto the curtain as though he meant to bring it down around us all.
I couldn’t hear Roberta’s voice over the crowd and the loud, scorching music, but I could read her lips as she turned to me, her face white, her expression full of fury. “Stormy,” her lips spelled out, “That’s Shank.”