Page 21 of Filthy Rock Stars

She’s gorgeous. And powerful. Mare stands nearly six feet tall, and she sports a shaved head and bright purple eyebrows. In a torn polka-dot dress, and with a microphone dangling in one hand, she offers me a wide smile.

My knees turn to pudding. “Hi,” I say, lugging my keyboard case out to the stage, an empty auditorium around us. “Ah, I’m Nico.”

And you’re a rock legend.

“Mare,” she says, as though I wouldn’t know. “And that’s Case on the drums.” She gestures to the lanky man with an easy smile. “And Star over here on the bass.”

Star is as tall as Mare, but with long curls of dark hair cascading down her back. She's wearing a pair of suspenders and men’s trousers, as well as dark eyeliner, circling her eyes.

“Hi!” I say, waving at Star, then turn to Case and repeat myself. “Hi!”

“You heard we were looking for a new member,” Mare says, friendly. “What band are you in now?”

“No band,” I say like I’m apologizing. “And I haven’t released anything.”

Mare shrugs, taking it in stride. “Okay. That’s cool. And I see you brought your keyboard. I tend to drift between keyboard and guitar, depending on the song. The band decided we want some fresh energy, though, so we’re looking to add someone who can complement what we already do while adding something new.”

“We’re open to new instrumentation,” Case adds helpfully.

“Sure.” I lift my keyboard, feeling entirely like a fraud. My voice sounds wobbly, but I clear my throat and manage to steady it. “Let me set this up quick.”

“Do you read sheet music?” Star asks. She steps across the stage and hands me some papers. “We’ll talk more, of course, if it seems like we might all be a good fit.”

“But the best way to get to know each other,” Mare says, “is just to play music. Right?”

I look at the sheet music, and instantly, I can hear the song in my head. It’s got the heavy grunge aesthetic that Kissing Dirt revitalized woven brilliantly into a dreamy pop song.

“Got it,” I say. It takes me a second to set up my keyboard, and I overhear Star complaining to Case about some rivalry another band is trying to start.

Holy crap. I’m overhearing rock star gossip.

Suddenly, I really, really want to impress them. I respect their music, and they’re nice people, and I want this.

With one glance at the sheet music, I stretch my hands and give Mare a nod. “Ready.”

She smiles. “Improvise. Mess it up. Play with the song. Just let it take you wherever it takes you.”

Without any fanfare, the drums start up. I drag my fingers over the familiar keyboard, and when the instruments all fall into harmony, I feel like I’m at home, lost in songwriting.

Mare sings. The bass picks up, and my hands are on the keys. Music pours through the auditorium, and my eyes burn into the sheet music, following every note with impeccable precision.

I’m playing with Kissing Dirt, and I feel like I’m flying. Like I’m on Solo’s motorcycle again, driving this time.

We soar through the ballad, hitting emotional highs and lows, and when the song comes to an end, I’m sweating and breathing heavily. I never play with other people, not since high school, and the sensation is exhilarating.

“Damn, Nico,” Case says, impressed. “That was flawless.”

“Yeah, truly impressive skill,” Star agrees.

I swallow. Holy shit. “Thank you. It’s such a brilliant song.”

“Aw, thanks,” Mare says sincerely, although she must hear that all the time. “You’re not an improviser?” she asks.

I drag my hand across the keyboard. Did I mess up by playing the song too accurately?

“I just really like it the way it is,” I try.

Mare smiles. “Great!” She glances over her shoulder. “We have the other sheet music, right? Maybe we can give one more song a go before you take off?”

---