Page 59 of Naughty Dreams
Lonnie pushed back her straight hair. “Oh, I loved that scene.”
At the blank looks from DJ and the others, she sighed. “Really?The Bodyguard, Kevin Costner and Mike Starr having the big kitchen fight? Not a single word exchanged until Frank proves he can beat the crap out of Tony at any time. Then he just says that one line.” She shivered. “He was so sexy.”
“Sounds like we need a watch party after the Atlanta show. Since it’s a total chick flick, any girl we bring will be in a giving mood and…”
Steve cleared his throat loudly. “Give us the kind of attention we dream about,” Pete amended as Lonnie suppressed a giggle.
“Hell, we’re rockstars.” Tal executed a rapid beat on the bunk frame. “We don’t have to dream about it. We fucking live it.”
The tension dissipated. DJ sent Roy an amused look for bringing up the movie reference that kept revisiting their relationship. Then he reached over and slapped Tal’s foot, dangling from the bunk.
“You did good, brother. We’ll sing ‘Stand by Me’ for Lonnie under the stars tonight.”
After DJ sat back, he saw Tal grudgingly send Roy a nod, and Roy tipped his chin at him. Then Tal shot DJ a look that said,See? I can be nice.
DJ shook his head and bent over his guitar again, hiding his expression. He didn’t want to reveal what he was thinking, that he’d prefer to sit with Roy during a movie, rather than a nubile girl excited to be with the lead singer of Survival. If such a thing could ever happen, would Roy stretch an arm over the back of the couch behind DJ’s shoulders, sit close enough their thighs brushed?
God, he was being a teenager. But that was okay. When he lifted his gaze, Roy gave him a potent half-lidded expression that made him wonder if Roy’s thoughts were going the same way.
With its cabins, Olympic-sized pool and extensive playground equipment, the campground was an upscale glamping spot. A handful of roadies accompanied the tour bus in vehicles that could be used for less conspicuous stops, so one had been dispatched, accompanied by a member of Roy’s team, to grab McDonald’s takeout.
As DJ sat in an Adirondack chair by a firepit, he finished his fries and absorbed the potential songs playing out in front of him. Steve pushing Lonnie on a swing. Pete and Tal in the pool with Zed and Harold, one of the roadies. Moss had driven ninety minutes from Atlanta to join them.
In the spirit of the evening, he didn’t bother them with much business, but Moss did tell DJ that Tal had instructed him to bill his own account for the campground cost, not the band’s.
It was nice to hear, even when Tal’s dreamy look told DJ he’d popped some of his pills to mellow out.
Roy had reached out to some local contacts for more manpower to secure the campground to his satisfaction. Coordinating that kept him coming and going, but on one of those trips he grabbed a cheeseburger from the McDonald’s bag. His mouth thinned when he noted Tal’s state, but he didn’t comment.
“Hey, didn’t you promise my girl a song?” Steve asked, bringing Lonnie over to the fire pit. The circle of chairs around it were filling up, Pete and Tal having come to join DJ and Moss, along with Harold, Zed and a few others. Favorite adult beverages were passed around, as well as vintage boxes of McDonald’s animal crackers.
“I didn’t think they had these anymore,” Pete noted, munching on the dessert.
“They don’t, but they sell them at some of the grocery stores,” Lonnie said. “Theo said Roy’s guy had them stop and pick up a bunch.”
A decision which had to be Roy-directed. His bodyguard could be a nurturer when he wanted to be. As long as it didn’t interfere with his warrior-defender role.
“Hey, nobody throw their box away. I’m going to string them together and hang them up in the tour bus. If that’s okay,” Lonnie added, glancing around the circle.
She was always careful to make sure she didn’t overstep the band dynamic. DJ liked that about her.
Pete, sitting on her left, leaned forward to eye Steve. “If you ever fuck it up with her, we’re ejecting you from the band for terminal stupidity.”
Lonnie laughed, a sound that lifted the spirits. As they’d told Leann, DJ had spent quite a bit of time tone-chasing it, knowing it needed to be in their music.
He was going to give her the best Ben E. King version of “Stand By Me” since Ben himself had done it. After throwing his Mickey D wrappers into the trash can, he picked up his guitar and gave Tal a nod.
“Percussion, please.”
“On it, man.” Tal programmed his drum pad and thech-chintro sound started, which he backed up with a light patter on the drum pad’s surface.
Then DJ began to sing under the stars.
Roy completed his latest radio check-in with the cars he’d put at the entrance and service roads, as well as the people patrolling the perimeter on foot. When he headed back to the campground, he heard DJ before he arrived. The kid was right. “Stand by Me” worked exceptionally well under a night sky.
Roy leaned against a tree, not wanting to interrupt. DJ’s sensitive fingers moved over the strings. The rounded butt of the guitar rested on his thigh as he tipped his chin back and sang to the stars, as if he were honoring the beauty and poetry of all music, and those who’d created it before him, while he forged the next link in the chain.
There was a pause between that and the next song, and Roy was amused when DJ tucked his Tootsie Pop under the strings at the top to see how it changed the sound as he adjusted the tuning pegs.
