Page 7 of Naughty Dreams
“I’ve decided the bad guy shouldn’t get what he wants.”
CHAPTER TWO
He’d said forty-eight hours, but once he signed, Roy was on the clock. He brought his two shift leaders, G and Warren, up to speed, and set them to working out scheduling for their teams. He also began meeting with the people working full-time for Survival.
Their show process didn’t differ much from his experience with other high profile band clients. The roadies had come into town three days before his and DJ’s first meeting to do the loading in, setting up tons of equipment and the stage. The techs made sure the instruments were tuned and met the performers’ specifications. Sound and lighting engineers reviewed set lists and ran tests. All while the arena staff did their end of things. Earlier today, the band had performed the sound check, and now it was showtime.
As excited fans started arriving, streaming in from the parking lot to converge on the lobby and buy T-shirts, mugs and other Survival swag, Roy observed Henry and his team. They were veterans, capably and cordially keeping fans from breaching barriers and getting into places they hadn’t been invited. They were trained to handle more serious issues, butRoy would offer them additional skills to help him and his teams handle the specific threat this stalker presented.
When the stadium was packed with the sold-out crowd, Roy joined Moss in the stage wings, in a spot where they wouldn’t be in the way of the constant movement of techs, camera, sound or light people, or the band itself. All of Survival’s concerts were filmed for archive purposes, which allowed the band to review their performance, and Moss to use clips for music video compilations or marketing efforts.
Every time Roy had seen him, Moss had been on his phone, talking to or texting promoters, influencers, record label executives, arena staff, caterers, and afterparty organizers. As the noise volume grew, Roy had to assume Moss’s earpiece had the same heavy duty noise cancelling tech to help him hear, like Roy’s had. He’d done several check-ins with Warren and G, who were circling to scope things out just as he was, before they were “officially” working the job.
When he’d first started this work, Roy had wondered if grueling tour schedules and behind-the-scenes nitty gritty kept the band from feeling the magic and wonder the crowd did, but bands with the right attitude fed off their fans energy to replenish their own, and passed that attitude to their people. Since those he'd talked to today had displayed genuine enthusiasm for their jobs, Survival was that kind of band.
Plus, compared to other bands who did back-to-back appearances, Survival kept a spacious tour roster. While the schedule was still demanding, it allowed enough time between commitments for creativity, meet-ups with other musicians and die-hard fans. Roy guessed they'd worked so hard to get where they were, Survival arranged the tour the way they wanted. That decision also benefitted their people, especially those with families.
A flash of lights, a dramatic intro, and Tal, Steve and Pete ran on stage, whooping and waving their arms at the crowd. Steve grabbed his guitar, Pete jumped up onto a platform with a bass in hand, and Tal vaulted into the space behind his drum kit. They were backlit with explosions of light and color on the giant screens behind them.
Tal counted it off, sticks thrust in the air, and they ripped into the intro of the first song. As they played it, DJ emerged on a platform brought up from beneath the stage floor. The roar of the crowd vibrated through Roy’s feet and the wall behind him. The noise couldn’t be absorbed by all of it, so it crackled in the air around them.
DJ wore snug black jeans and an open black shirt, rippling away from his bare torso thanks to strategic fan placement. His eyeliner and the slicked back curly hair emphasized the sharp bones of his face.
The drum and bass locked in tight, providing the aggressive, exhilarating background to Steve’s powerfully melodic guitar riffs. DJ stepped forward and belted out the first verse into a standing mic. Then he prowled the stage for the next verses, his mic in his left hand and his right pointing and gesturing at his bobbing and jumping fans. As he leaped up onto a platform, a lightning strike crossed all screens, going in every direction.
He flung his face up to that manufactured sky. The center screen showed a close-up, the lightning flickering across his pale skin and sneering mouth. His dark eyes yearned to ride that electricity, become a part of it.
DJ was as much performer as musician and singer.“The trifecta every record label hopes to find,”one industry magazine had declared.
The song was a conversation between two people.
I feel like I'm always crying inside.
I'm drowning in here.
The tears can’t leave.
I understand your pain
I understand you.
Come to me.
Will you pierce me?
Thrust the tears out into the open?
Grip my arms
Let me feel your power over me.
I will be your hollow place.
Come shelter inside me.
My roots will hold you.
No storm will take you.
