Page 11 of Crazy Love
Prickles creep across the bare skin of my arms at the sound of her voice. She’s standing a few feet away, long hair wild about her shoulders, eyes focussed intently upon me. She’s still wearing the same outfit she wore on stage—jeans, ripped in so many places they must be a swine to put on, a heavy belt made of chain links, stiletto heeled boots and the sort of top that makes it next to impossible to look her in the face.
“Need lessons?” she asks, positioning a stool before me and perching her tight derriere on its padded surface.
No I fucking don’t. “Go away.”
I sound like such a twerp, but she’s a distraction I don’t need right now, and I can’t see any reason for her to be here. We’re not friends, only rivals. We don’t know one another. In fact, we’re barely acquainted with each other’s names.
“No wonder the ladies swoon over you,” she remarks, and I struggle to know whether she’s being sarcastic. “I bet they think you’re ever so cool and aloof when you glower like that. Do you tell them to piss off and leave you alone?”
“You’re not a fan. What do you want?”
She shrugs, and I decide that she’s not entirely sure herself what it is that’s brought her here to fraternize with the enemy. I think back over Joel’s words, and his assertion that she’s ready to jump, all she needs is incentive. I can’t deny that the fantasy of playing alongside her is a compelling one. The girl has the power to rock my world, no question about it. What’s more thrilling is that she’s capable of rocking the rest of the world at the same time.
Temptation doesn’t mean shit, though, in terms of reality. Two groups are not about to become one and some extras overnight. There’s too much at stake to fuck about like that. Callahan’s not going to stand for it. He’ll just walk. I’m not arrogant enough to think we’re the only band with chops enough to impress him or fill the slot on Black Halo’s tour roster. In fact, low drama probably trumps talent right now.
Safe rather than sorry.
The man’s had his patience stretched to the limits over the last few months between fatalities, exposes, accusations and a jaw-dropping stage dive that’s put the whole tour on hold, and Black Halo’s lead guitarist in a hospital.
“We didn’t know this was going to happen,” she says, leaning forward a little. “It was a complete surprise. He approached us after our set. I didn’t even know who he was.”
“Why the hell are you telling me this?”
She gives another of those little shrugs, and I can’t help admiring the way the action lifts her breasts.
“I just want you to know that we didn’t set out to make trouble for you. I know Jessie lost it earlier, but Bitch Slap’s about more than sticking two fingers up at your brother. We work hard at what we do.”
“Ergo I’m supposed to believe that you deserve it just as much. I don’t give a shit whether you’re worthy.”
What have Bitch Slap being doing since Callahan approached them and then sprang this talent competition on them? Not getting early nights and bedding down like good little girls, by the sound of things. I suspect heated words have been exchanged, which is why she’s antsy, and sounding me out at quarter to two in the morning.
Their keyboardist certainly didn’t sound as if she was enthralled by the idea of living on the road for six months or more. Me, I’m ready to rock as many people as are prepared to listen to me. I reckon that’s something Ms. Trevaskis and I have in common.
“You don’t think we’ve the chops to beat you?” she says.
Seriously, where the fuck does she get that idea from. I’m shitting myself here over how much of a test this breakfast performance will be. Does she imagine I’m composing at this hour for the sheer heck of it?
“Your set was good. It’s not a big shock that Callahan was blown away by you.” Hell knows why I feel obliged to patch up her ego, other than out of some likely mistaken belief it might get her to leave faster.
“Did you even listen to us?”
“Yeah.”
“And you really think that?”
I give her a grudging nod. No need to go into exactly how blown away by her playing I was, or the fact there are ructions in the band because she was so ridiculously good. “I prefer your vocals to Jessie’s. You’ve the more distinctive voice.”
She makes a littlehuhsound in the back of her throat as if she’s genuinely surprised by this praise.
“The track you sang was pretty impressive.”
“No one else has said so, but then no one has said much about our music at all, not even Mr. Callahan. They’re all just rattling on about Ivy’s bush. We told her not to pull that stunt, but she didn’t listen.” Loveday shakes her head and sighs. “Ives doesn’t even want this gig—not really. Can you believe that?”
Clearly she can’t.
“This is just a bit of fun to her, something to do to while away a few evenings a month. I kind of figured she was at least vaguely serious though, and even if she wasn’t, who the hell passes over an opportunity like this?”
“Are you telling me you girls aren’t playing tomorrow morning?” I can’t deny the thrill that shoots through me at that possibility, and not just because I’d enjoy some sleep tonight.
