Hot Ticket
Page 6
Jace chuckled. “I have the feeling we’re gonna suck tonight anyway.” He climbed from the comfortable leather sofa and tossed his melting ice pack in the tour bus’s small freezer.
“No one will notice. The fans will be too excited to see Exodus End to give a rat’s ass what we do.”
“I think they’ll notice that we suck.”
Eric chuckled. “Don’t worry. No one ever listens to the bass guitarist. Suck as much as you want.”
Jace bit his lip to prevent himself from telling Eric off. The tension was really starting to get to him, and he needed an outlet. How many hours until he could visit Mistress V? He glanced at the clock on the stereo. Shit. Four hours too many.
After rehearsal and a quick bite of leftover wedding cake, Jace stood backstage off by himself, trying to psyche himself up enough to play live in front of twelve thousand people. The swelling in his hands had gone down, but his fingers lacked their usual flexibility. He feared that they’d let Exodus End down and do a piss-poor job as their opening band tonight. It made him sick to think that he might disappoint them. He owed that band a world of gratitude. Especially their lead guitarist, Dare.
Something poked him in the left shoulder, and he turned to find Eric grinning at him, while using his drumstick as a prod. “You gonna hide out by the drum kit again tonight?”
Jace shrugged. He didn’t like the performance part of playing live. He just wanted to play his bass guitar with all the skill he could muster and leave the crowd entertainment to Sed, Brian, and Trey. The three of them were naturals when it came to interacting with the audience. Jace wasn’t. He felt like an ass whenever he forced himself from the security of the back half of the stage.
“There’s a problem with that idea tonight, little man.”
“What problem?”
“We’re opening, which means we’re working with half a stage. There’s no room for you near the back. My drums take up too much room. It’s front and center for you tonight.”
Jace’s stomach plummeted into his boots. “Shit.”
Eric laughed at his misery. “This should be entertaining. Though I do remember a show when Brian was distracted with Myrna, and you took up his slack. You can be entertaining when you want to be.”
Problem was he never wanted to be. He was there for the music. No other reason. He didn’t require the ego trip of fan adulation. A loud crash startled Jace out of his reverie. Travis, one of their long time roadies, extended a hand into a pile of empty guitar cases and pulled Trey to his feet.
“You okay?” Travis asked.
Trey stumbled sideways as he regained his footing and held onto Travis’s arm for a long moment. Still unnaturally pale, Trey nodded slowly. “Yeah, just lost my balance.”
Jace moved to stand next to their unsteady rhythm guitarist. “I think you should go get checked out. Head injuries aren’t something to mess around with.”
“I’m f**kin’ fine. I wish everyone would stop treating me like I’m severely injured. Where in the hell is Brian?”
“I think he’s getting in a quickie with Myrna,” Sed said, chomping down red licorice ropes by the yard. He used the candy’s glycerin to lubricate his vocal cords, or so he claimed. His throat must still be bothering him.
“Jesus, all he does is f**k that woman these days,” Trey grumbled. “Doesn’t he realize we’re onstage in ten minutes?”
“Seven minutes,” Dave, their front of house soundboard operator, corrected before jogging out into the audience to work his magic on their audio equipment.
Trey stumbled against Jace, who grabbed him by both arms to steady him. “Take deep breaths.”
Trey closed his eyes and obeyed without argument.
“Better?”
He nodded slightly and then winced in pain. “Fuck, my head hurts.”
“Why don’t you sit down?” Eric said. “You’re going to break something.”
“Probably your neck,” Brian said as he finally joined them and lifted his guitar strap over his head.
“Done boning Myrna?” Trey asked, shaking his head at the pu**y-whipped disgrace his best friend had become.
Brian chuckled. “Not by a long shot. The real honeymoon starts in forty-six minutes.”
Sed scowled and grabbed Jake, their Mohawk-sporting, guitar-tuning roadie, by both arms. “Yo, Jake. Find me two real hot ones for tonight.” Sed’s scowl deepened. “Make that three hot ones.”
No one needed to ask three hot whats. Sed meant groupies. He’d been in a mood since he’d run into his ex, Jessica, the night before. Whichever three groupies Jake selected for Sed’s entertainment were going to get f**ked. Fucked long, hard, and good. Sed was in all-out predatory mode. Jace was doubly glad he’d be spending the time after their concert in Mistress V’s dungeon. The bite of her whip was sure to be less painful than watching Sed’s groupies cry and beg for his attention, after he’d finished with them and sent them on their way.
The stadium lights went down, and the crowd cheered, knowing it meant it was time for the band to take the stage.
When Trey stumbled over the bottom step in the dark, Brian took him by one arm and helped him climb up to the stage. “You sure you’re okay, buddy?” Jace heard Brian say over the crowd noise.
“Like you care.” Trey wrenched his arm free of Brian’s hold and trotted over to his usual spot stage right. There wasn’t much light for Jace to find his own yellow X taped on the floor. At least he was behind the front line and somewhere in the middle. Here he could probably hide behind Sed’s broad, muscular form.
The first thump of Eric’s bass drum kicked Jace’s heart rate up a notch. He entered the first song, “Twisted,” with his steady bass line progression. His bruised and swollen fingers protested every note. By the time Brian entered his solo, Jace could scarcely force his fingers to move at all. Trey found a speaker to sit on. He typically strummed his rhythm guitar shreds with great enthusiasm, but several stumbles into his mic stand had him seeking a stable place to rest. He did manage to play without problem, as long as he didn’t move around much. When Sed roared into the mic at the end of Brian’s somewhat screwed up solo, the singer broke off mid-note with a cough. He cleared his throat and tried again with no success. Jesus, what a disaster.
When the song blissfully came to an end, Jace rubbed his stiff and aching knuckles while Sed called to the crowd and told them they were the best audience ever. Same thing he told every crowd. He made no excuses for the band’s unusual suckatude. The only one who was performing anywhere near normal was Eric. As Eric was the main reason they’d gotten into a club brawl in the first place, it didn’t seem fair that he didn’t suck as much as the rest of them.
“No one will notice. The fans will be too excited to see Exodus End to give a rat’s ass what we do.”
“I think they’ll notice that we suck.”
Eric chuckled. “Don’t worry. No one ever listens to the bass guitarist. Suck as much as you want.”
Jace bit his lip to prevent himself from telling Eric off. The tension was really starting to get to him, and he needed an outlet. How many hours until he could visit Mistress V? He glanced at the clock on the stereo. Shit. Four hours too many.
After rehearsal and a quick bite of leftover wedding cake, Jace stood backstage off by himself, trying to psyche himself up enough to play live in front of twelve thousand people. The swelling in his hands had gone down, but his fingers lacked their usual flexibility. He feared that they’d let Exodus End down and do a piss-poor job as their opening band tonight. It made him sick to think that he might disappoint them. He owed that band a world of gratitude. Especially their lead guitarist, Dare.
Something poked him in the left shoulder, and he turned to find Eric grinning at him, while using his drumstick as a prod. “You gonna hide out by the drum kit again tonight?”
Jace shrugged. He didn’t like the performance part of playing live. He just wanted to play his bass guitar with all the skill he could muster and leave the crowd entertainment to Sed, Brian, and Trey. The three of them were naturals when it came to interacting with the audience. Jace wasn’t. He felt like an ass whenever he forced himself from the security of the back half of the stage.
“There’s a problem with that idea tonight, little man.”
“What problem?”
“We’re opening, which means we’re working with half a stage. There’s no room for you near the back. My drums take up too much room. It’s front and center for you tonight.”
Jace’s stomach plummeted into his boots. “Shit.”
Eric laughed at his misery. “This should be entertaining. Though I do remember a show when Brian was distracted with Myrna, and you took up his slack. You can be entertaining when you want to be.”
Problem was he never wanted to be. He was there for the music. No other reason. He didn’t require the ego trip of fan adulation. A loud crash startled Jace out of his reverie. Travis, one of their long time roadies, extended a hand into a pile of empty guitar cases and pulled Trey to his feet.
“You okay?” Travis asked.
Trey stumbled sideways as he regained his footing and held onto Travis’s arm for a long moment. Still unnaturally pale, Trey nodded slowly. “Yeah, just lost my balance.”
Jace moved to stand next to their unsteady rhythm guitarist. “I think you should go get checked out. Head injuries aren’t something to mess around with.”
“I’m f**kin’ fine. I wish everyone would stop treating me like I’m severely injured. Where in the hell is Brian?”
“I think he’s getting in a quickie with Myrna,” Sed said, chomping down red licorice ropes by the yard. He used the candy’s glycerin to lubricate his vocal cords, or so he claimed. His throat must still be bothering him.
“Jesus, all he does is f**k that woman these days,” Trey grumbled. “Doesn’t he realize we’re onstage in ten minutes?”
“Seven minutes,” Dave, their front of house soundboard operator, corrected before jogging out into the audience to work his magic on their audio equipment.
Trey stumbled against Jace, who grabbed him by both arms to steady him. “Take deep breaths.”
Trey closed his eyes and obeyed without argument.
“Better?”
He nodded slightly and then winced in pain. “Fuck, my head hurts.”
“Why don’t you sit down?” Eric said. “You’re going to break something.”
“Probably your neck,” Brian said as he finally joined them and lifted his guitar strap over his head.
“Done boning Myrna?” Trey asked, shaking his head at the pu**y-whipped disgrace his best friend had become.
Brian chuckled. “Not by a long shot. The real honeymoon starts in forty-six minutes.”
Sed scowled and grabbed Jake, their Mohawk-sporting, guitar-tuning roadie, by both arms. “Yo, Jake. Find me two real hot ones for tonight.” Sed’s scowl deepened. “Make that three hot ones.”
No one needed to ask three hot whats. Sed meant groupies. He’d been in a mood since he’d run into his ex, Jessica, the night before. Whichever three groupies Jake selected for Sed’s entertainment were going to get f**ked. Fucked long, hard, and good. Sed was in all-out predatory mode. Jace was doubly glad he’d be spending the time after their concert in Mistress V’s dungeon. The bite of her whip was sure to be less painful than watching Sed’s groupies cry and beg for his attention, after he’d finished with them and sent them on their way.
The stadium lights went down, and the crowd cheered, knowing it meant it was time for the band to take the stage.
When Trey stumbled over the bottom step in the dark, Brian took him by one arm and helped him climb up to the stage. “You sure you’re okay, buddy?” Jace heard Brian say over the crowd noise.
“Like you care.” Trey wrenched his arm free of Brian’s hold and trotted over to his usual spot stage right. There wasn’t much light for Jace to find his own yellow X taped on the floor. At least he was behind the front line and somewhere in the middle. Here he could probably hide behind Sed’s broad, muscular form.
The first thump of Eric’s bass drum kicked Jace’s heart rate up a notch. He entered the first song, “Twisted,” with his steady bass line progression. His bruised and swollen fingers protested every note. By the time Brian entered his solo, Jace could scarcely force his fingers to move at all. Trey found a speaker to sit on. He typically strummed his rhythm guitar shreds with great enthusiasm, but several stumbles into his mic stand had him seeking a stable place to rest. He did manage to play without problem, as long as he didn’t move around much. When Sed roared into the mic at the end of Brian’s somewhat screwed up solo, the singer broke off mid-note with a cough. He cleared his throat and tried again with no success. Jesus, what a disaster.
When the song blissfully came to an end, Jace rubbed his stiff and aching knuckles while Sed called to the crowd and told them they were the best audience ever. Same thing he told every crowd. He made no excuses for the band’s unusual suckatude. The only one who was performing anywhere near normal was Eric. As Eric was the main reason they’d gotten into a club brawl in the first place, it didn’t seem fair that he didn’t suck as much as the rest of them.
