Page 149 of Naughty Dreams
He nodded to Hal, but shifted his attention specifically to Sy and Trey. Hal had subbed for big names before, so he wouldn’t need as much of what DJ was offering to them.
“It doesn’t matter where the heart beats, it’s always the same heart. Big crowd, small crowd, playing in a studio or someone’s dirty garage. Understand?”
“Fucking A.” Sy nodded, and the three men did a fist bump, Hal giving DJ a grin.
“Good. Also remember, if something goes wrong, we have the best roadies and techs in the business.” He dipped his head toward Shaun, Dub, and the others. “They’ll take care of us.”
DJ put a hand into the middle of the loose circle they were creating. They tightened it up, many managing to overlap his hand, the ones on the outside putting their hands on the shoulders of the men and women in between. A connected circle.
He swept his gaze over all of them. “When people pay you to do what you’d do for free, you’re the luckiest person alive. We can’t ask for more than that.”
A few ferventamensandyeahsswept the group, followed by an enthusiastic break-the-huddle clap. DJ stepped back, finishing the ritual with an encouraging look for them all.
As the techs and roadies departed to take their assigned positions, Roy moved into the hallway that DJ and the band would follow to the stage. It looked the same as a hundred hallways he’d seen before, concrete floors and cinderblock walls lined with equipment and flight cases. Jim, a hundred feet up the corridor, nodded. They were clear. Roy did a radio check with the team members stationed out of view along the same path.
On the way, the hall would briefly widen out into a courtyard. It would be populated by cheering fans who’d won the privilege of an up-close glimpse of the band. G and her team were covering that area and she reported no one looked out of place.
It was time for Guillaume to head for the stage. Moss went with him. As he passed him, Roy noted Moss had lost some weight himself.
“Remember to take time to listen to the music,” Roy said. “Otherwise, why the hell are you doing this?”
Moss paused, his expression easing into a half-smile. “Damn right. Rock on.”
When only the band and Maurice, the assistant stage manager, were left, DJ said something in a low voice to Sy, Trey and Hal that made them grin and clasp one another’s shoulders, a united front. Then Maurice got the signal from Guillaume that it was time to go.
As DJ turned and headed toward him, Roy felt a brief spurt of alarm. The kid was noticeably pale. Roy expected he’d thrown up in the dressing room, but DJ gave him a nod and a thumbs up, acknowledging that he knew he didn’t look a hundred percent, but he was okay.
Roy led the way, two team members falling in behind. When they ran the screaming fan gauntlet, DJ and the others waved, smiled and called out to them. Roy watched carefully, but G was right. There were no flags.
At the stage wings, they came to a halt. In the past, the other members of Survival came out first, started a power jam, and DJ would leap onto the stage from a platform above, or emerge on a lift through an opening in the stage floor. Not this time.
DJ’s shoulders squared as he drew a deep breath. He ran a hand over his short hair, which was growing out, but wasn’t yet long enough to curl. Maybe he was having second thoughts about having removed it, or reminding himself of why he’d done it. Roy would ask him later.
The kid closed his eyes. Roy could almost feel him pulling in the energy of the crowd, the potential of the instruments waiting to be played, the audience waiting to hear, the power his to give them.
Atta boy. You’re going to be fine.
DJ’s fingers twitched at his side, he cracked his neck, this side, that side, and walked out onto stage.
Deafening cheers shook the building, just as Roy had expected. He felt an unexpected tightness in his chest, gratitude toward them for loving DJ enough to be here with him tonight and give him their support.
They’d set him up a standing microphone, center stage. When he reached it, he wrapped his fingers around the microphone. His grip was so tight it was white-knuckled.
Moss stood a few feet away from Roy. He looked like he had all he could do to keep what was churning inside him contained.
It took time for the crowd to quiet. Every time they started to do so, “We love you, DJ” would be yelled out and the cheers would start again. Then someone started a chant, “Steve, Tal, Pete, Steve, Tal, Pete…”
DJ had tears on his face. It made Roy’s heart ache, but he could only watch him peripherally, his attention everywhere else. This was when it would be easy to miss someone doing something they shouldn’t. G, Warren and Henry knew it too. DJ was in their sights because he would be the target, but their primary awareness was toward wherever a threat could materialize.
DJ finally put a fist to his heart and started to sing. He did the first verse three times, and by the third, the crowd had fallen silent enough to listen. His voice was rough and raw, just as the words required.
You will always be here.
They will always be here.
I sing for you.
He stopped and held his hands open palmed toward the heavens. The three large screens above the stage flashed a montage of band scenes. Close-ups of Steve, Tal and Pete were sprinkled among them.
