Page 55 of Naughty Dreams
A chorus of dog noises and cat calls erupted. Roy returned his attention to his laptop, a pointed discouragement to Leann to include him further. He noticed DJ took a raspberry Tootsie Pop, but set it aside.
“Sugar doesn’t help the singing voice,” DJ explained, noticing his attention. “Tends to gum up the works.”
“He has a whole list right before a show,” Pete said. “No caffeine. It dehydrates the vocal cords. And do not light a cigarette around him. He will lose his shit.”
“Good thing I quit,” Roy noted.
“You used to smoke?” DJ raised a surprised brow.
“Fifteen years ago. When I was in the service.”
“It’s all bullshit,” Tal said, drawing their attention. “The greatest legends in the rock world were heavy smokers and drug users. Nobody said a damn thing about them having a hard time singing the way they were meant to sing.”
“No entirely true,” Steve pointed out. “The biographies that have come out on some of them have revealed just how much a problem it was for them professionally.”
“That was about showing up for gigs and shit. Not for how they performed when they got on stage. It’s what you put into the music, into the song; that’s what the audience wants. Soon as someone says there’s a rule that applies to success, someone comes along and breaks it. At the end of the day, the listeners decide. Not the executives, critics, therapists, or any other damn know-it-alls who never hit the top of the heap like we did.We’rethe real experts. Us and our fans.”
Leann scribbled the quote down on a notepad. “I really need my recorder back,” she complained.
“Tal will get me to sing K-Pop, you’ll record it, and my career will be ruined,” DJ told her, straight-faced. “No dice.”
He turned an expectant look toward Roy. “Song request. Serious. A personal favorite.”
“How’s your Joan Baez?” Roy asked with an impassive expression.
The gauntlet sent a new wave of ominous “oohs,” through the bus.
“Guess my favorite,” he added.
His bandmates called out suggestions, like “Diamonds and Rust” and “Blowin’ in the Wind.” The photographer surprisingly offered “Virgin Mary Had One Son.”
DJ lowered his head. Roy enjoyed the deep thought pose, curls partially hiding his eyes, the slight twitch of DJ’s fingers on the strings, a single tap of his forefinger against them as he considered his options.
Then that heartbreaking smile crossed his face, and DJ dipped his head toward his bandmates. “I’ll need some help. The chorus works better with multiple vocals. Tal, get your drum pad, and Pete, you’ll need your acoustic bass and Schroeder board. Let’s do it right.”
Pete grabbed his composition keyboard, self-dubbed the Schroeder board because its compact size was comparable to the one used in thePeanutsChristmas special.
When DJ started strumming the easy rocking rhythm, Roy suppressed a satisfied and pleased expression. DJ had guessed right.
“Solid choice.” Steve had reached for another acoustic for sound depth. Tal picked up the quiet background drumbeat, and Pete delivered the laid-back bassline. Then DJ dove into the vocals for Joan’s “The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down.” He found a light vocal register and added a touch of vibrato that paid tribute to the sound Joan brought to the song. It wasn’t longbefore even Zed was joining in on the chorus, with enthusiastic “la la la la la las.”
When they finished, Roy gave him two thumbs up that resulted in applause and DJ’s smile. The kid did like praise. The thought tightened Roy’s groin. Fortunately, he had his ankle on his opposite knee, so the cargo pants exerted a quelling pressure. For tour bus travel, he’d chosen them and a heavyweight black T-shirt with his security firm logo.
“How’d you guess?” Pete asked DJ.
DJ shrugged. “Roy doesn’t have a heavy drawl, but he can’t hide the deep South roots. Plus he broadcasts rural childhood.”
“My mom was raised in Louisiana,” Roy relented. “And she’s a Joan Baez fan.”
“Ironically, Joan was born on Staten Island. And Robbie Robertson from The Band, who wrote the song, was Canadian,” Steve added. “Joan took their country soul sound and gave it a pop makeover.”
“Levon, their drummer, was from Arkansas,” DJ explained to an attentive Leann. “Robbie wrote the song after visiting Levon’s home and parents. He said he felt like the South ‘had rhythm in the air.’ He also said ‘No wonder they invented rock ‘n’ roll here. Everything sounds like music.’”
“Roy, you have a mother?” Tal’s tone dripped with incredulity. “I thought you were made in a bioweapons lab.”
“I notice you saved the snark until after you got a Tootsie Pop,” Roy responded.
That only invited another wave of snark. A few minutes later, the bus pulled into the diner where Leann’s ride was picking her up. Roy had her wait until he and his team surveilled the parking lot, then he let her and the photographer disembark. She made her departure, after getting a warm hug from DJ that left those pretty cheeks pink again.
