Chapter 5 #3
Dillon placed his hand on Lizzy’s shoulder. “Don’t pay attention to them. Let’s finish talking about us.”
“I don’t think there’s anything?—”
A loud crash cut off her sentence as Sid and Zach went at one another like professional wrestlers, knocking over a small table with a bucket of ice, glasses, and cans of soda in the process.
Walter rushed in with one of the stagehands, and they pulled Zach and Sid apart, still kicking and trying to connect with punches.
The stagehand got an elbow in the ribs from Zach, and Sid shook himself free from Walter’s hold.
The two rushed at one another, eyes blazing and spewing curses, but it was Sid who connected first with a fist to Zach’s jaw.
Zach stumbled back while a trickle of blood seeped out the corner of his mouth.
At first, he looked surprised by the punch, but his eyes quickly turned hard with anger, and he lunged.
His fist hit Sid square in the nose causing blood to gush down his face and onto his shirt.
Sid’s hands flew to his face, the blood seeping through his fingers at an alarming rate. “You broke my nose you son of a bitch!”
Zach held his swollen hand to his chest. “Your nose broke my hand you fucking bastard!”
Security, medics, and a million other people came rushing in. Everyone was yelling. It was total fucking chaos.
“Get them both to the hospital!” Walter shouted, and the medics took Zach and Sid away, still yelling at one another.
Lizzy watched, flabbergasted, at what transpired. It happened so fast, seemingly in the blink of an eye. Suddenly, she realized that half her band had been whisked away, and they were supposed to go back on stage any minute. “What about the encore? ”
Walter waved his hand. “Forget it. It’s over. You have no singer and no guitar player.”
“No,” she protested. “We can’t go out with a lackluster bow.
” The elaborate 40-minute encore was unprecedented, and it was designed to blow away any show they ever performed.
The sound of the fans screaming for them to return to the stage was still audible over the noise backstage.
Speculation about the surprise finale had been rumored for months, and Lizzy refused to disappoint the fans.
“We can’t let the fans down! We need to do something! ”
“What do you expect me to do, Lizzy?” Walter was frazzled, and his cheeks were flushed. “If I could play the guitar or sing, I’d step in, but I can’t. Do you think I want this? Do you know how much money we just wasted on a finale that’s not going to happen?”
“Lizzy can sing.”
She snapped her head toward Dillon. “What?”
“You know all the songs, and I’ve heard you. You’re one hell of a heavy metal singer. Taking the mic could be the big surprise the fans are anticipating.”
For a brief second Walter’s eyes lit up, but his creased brow showcased his skepticism. “If you can pull it off they’ll love you, but if you screw it up, the fans are going to eat you alive. Let me hear the chorus of “Blindside” right now.”
Lizzy didn’t hesitate. She opened her mouth, and the lyrics flew out.
Unprepared for the trajectory and power behind her voice, the crew in the backstage area jumped and turned in her direction .
Walter put his hand up to stop her. “Save it for the stage. That was golden.”
It was the break she was waiting for. It was the opportunity of a lifetime; one she’d been waiting for since she joined Blind Fury. She wished someone would have punched Sid in the face years ago.
Walter’s enthusiasm quickly vanished, and he threw his hands up. “We still got a problem. You don’t have a guitar player.”
Lizzy’s big break was disappearing just as fast as it presented itself, and her spirits and her shoulders dropped.
Dillon furrowed his brow, just as disappointed as Lizzy. Then his eyes brightened with an idea. “Wait here.” Then he took off down the corridor.
Lizzy wondered if they could pull off the elaborate encore. If they couldn’t get a replacement on the guitar, she would be more upset about letting the fans down than missing the chance to sing for them.
Dillon came running back with a young guy Lizzy recognized as someone she’d often seen setting up Dillon’s drum kit.
Walter huffed and shook his head. “This is your solution? Who is this kid?”
“Eric’s one of the roadies,” Dillon explained. “He’s a drummer. I can play the guitar well enough to carry us, and he can play the drums. I let him play my kit all the time. He knows all our songs, and he’s good.”
Walter sighed, pressed his lips together, and assessed Eric with one sweeping glance from head to toe. “Are you sure you know the songs, kid?”
“I’ve been playing the drums since I was ten years old, and I’m a big fan. I was in a Blind Fury cover band before the tour.” Eric leaned closer to Walter for emphasis. “I can do this.”
Eric had a fresh and eager spark in his eyes, something Lizzy hadn’t seen from any of her bandmates in a long, long time. It was refreshing to see and gave her hope that they might just salvage the encore and go out in style.
Walter scrutinized Eric, still contemplating the offer. He glanced at Lizzy and Dillon, then back to Eric. “You’re all we got, kid. Don’t fuck it up.”
“I won’t. Thank you. You won’t regret this.” Eric bubbled over with enthusiasm and excitement and looked as if he were about to jump through the roof.
Dillon wrapped his arm around his friend’s shoulder. “Let’s rock this shit.”
Lizzy went on stage first, still reeling with the knowledge that she was finally going to sing, and Dillon followed.
The lengthy span of time backstage doubled the crowd’s anticipation, and they erupted with a thunderous cheer that made Lizzy’s ears ring and the floor vibrate under her boots.
The energy that filled the stadium was pure adrenaline, and her blood rushed through her chest as she prepared to fulfill her lifelong dream as lead singer.
Dillon took the mic and approached the crowd to explain the changes in the lineup, but the fans’ screams and chants were so loud that he needed to wait for them to quiet down so they could hear him.
He turned to Lizzy, and they shared a look of disbelief at the loudest reception they received in their career.
“You didn’t think we were gonna leave with that shitty goodbye, did you?” Dillon yelled into the mic.
The audience screamed a collective, “FUCK, NO!”
“We got a little problem.” The caution was clear in Dillon’s voice, and the audience quieted.
Nerves fluttered in Lizzy’s gut, worried the fans were going to revolt once they heard Sid and Zach weren’t going to be part of the end of the show.
“There was a little accident backstage,” Dillon explained. “Sid and Zach needed to go to Urgent Care. They’re fine, but they won’t be able to join us for the encore.”
A loud murmur of concern and disappointment spread across the stadium and rose like a tidal wave. Shouts of, “What happened?” and “No!” were clearly audible.
Dillon held his hand up to quiet the crowd. “Don’t worry. Me and Lizzy are going to rock the FUCK outta this stage for the next 40 minutes. Wait until you hear what she can do on this microphone. And I’m gonna do my best on Zach’s guitar. I promise, you won’t believe what you’re about to hear.”
The fans were still murmuring with doubt and uncertainty and shouting questions about Sid and Zach, but Dillon continued.
“Since I’m gonna fill in for Zach on the guitar, we have a surprise guest drummer.
” He extended his arm toward the curtain, and Eric rambled out, full of confidence and attitude .
“Allow me to introduce my personal protégé, Eric Wade!”
The fans gave him a lackluster greeting until Eric pulled off his shirt and threw it to a bunch of girls in the front row. He had a ripped upper body covered in tattoos and nipple piercings, and the female fans shouted their appreciation. Even Lizzy raised a brow.
Eric jumped behind Dillon’s DW kit and waited for his cue to count off the first song.
Eager for the finale to start, the crowd hollered with impatience.
As bass player, Lizzy relied on Eric’s beat. If he was off, the music would suffer. Each of them was playing a new role tonight, and it sent a fresh set of nerves coursing through her body. They could look like absolute fools. Or they could make history.
She was still stationed at her usual spot, cradling her bass in her hands, and Dillon was still at the center mic. He put the mic back in its stand, picked up one of Zach’s guitars and positioned himself in front of the left mic. He turned to Lizzy and gave her an encouraging nod.
Her heart pounded and echoed inside her head as she took the longest walk of her life, ten feet across the stage to the center mic.
Time slowed to a crawl. She watched the screaming fans, pumping their fists in the air.
She looked down at the front row, and up at the dark silhouettes that occupied the balcony, all chanting her name.
Dillon’s voice was in her ear. “Say something. Don’t freeze up.”
She broke into a smile that her cheeks could barely contain. This was a moment twelve years in the making. She leaned into the microphone and screamed, “VEGAS, I’M GONNA ROCK YOUR FUCKIN’ BALLS OFF!”
The fans hollered, whistled, and stomped their feet.
“You’re gonna remember this night for the rest of your life as the best fuckin’ concert you ever went to! It’s gonna be the Holy Grail of finales! We’re going out with guns blazing and horns in the air, so get those hands up!”