Chapter Thirty-three
Present
CHRIS WAS ABOUT a year and half when Fully Automatic went on tour again. The first leg was in the U.S., but I knew they had some international dates too. I would have worried if I hadn’t known the band was in good hands with Brad.
Ethan denied it. Completely denied it. And maybe it was because I loved him so much, I wanted to believe him, but I was positive he was using again. I had no proof, though. None. Just suspicions. And even though I had plenty of historical evidence to support those suspicions, I chose to push them to the back of my mind. I know I did it because of the baby. I wanted our marriage to work. I wanted Ethan to be a good dad. And I’d seen glimpses of that man. I knew he was there. I just had to find a way to entice him to stay.
I knew that was foolish too, though, because I knew Ethan had to decide he had a problem and also decide he was tired of living that way. Until he did, he’d continue to victimize himself, me, and his son…even if he wasn’t using.
But those thoughts were hidden in the back of my mind where I didn’t want to go. It didn’t help that I was fully absorbed in being a new mother, both the wonderful and not-so-great parts. I felt like a bad mom half the time, because it seemed like I was inept when it came to so many things. Other things, though, like holding my son when he cried, were instinctive. And, when Ethan wasn’t around, I gave that child my everything. He was a joy to watch, to love.
One night—or, actually, it was early one Friday morning, sometime after three a.m., my phone rang. I wasn’t fully awake when I sat up in bed and answered it.
It was Brad.
Oh, no. This couldn’t be good. “Sorry to wake you.”
“What’s going on? What’s wrong?”
I already knew. Something had happened to Ethan. No. God, no. In the space of those few seconds before Brad answered, my mind conjured up every horrifying scenario I could think of—the tour bus crashed or a crazed fan tried to kill him or the scenario most likely: “He OD’d on H.”
The air escaped my lungs. Jesus Christ, Ethan. I knew he’d been hooked on heroine before, but hadn’t he promised to never take it again? He’d called it a siren…she beckoned to him, urged him to follow her to his demise, but because he knew his demons, he’d said, he knew he could never ever ever do it again. Never. So why the fuck was I getting this phone call?
I kept my voice calm even though inside I felt like quivering jelly. “So…how is he? Is he—?” I couldn’t even finish my thought.
“They’ve got him stabilized now. He should pull through, but he’s in a coma right now.”
I swallowed. I heard Chris starting to fuss in his crib and got out of bed, but I said, “Coma?” I took another breath. “What the hell happened?” I propped the phone between my ear and shoulder and reached into the crib to lift out my son. “He told me he wasn’t using.”
I heard Brad sigh into the phone. “Apparently he was lying. Like that’s a first. You know him as well as I do, Val. Ethan’s gonna do what Ethan’s gonna do.” Yes, I knew that, but I didn’t need to hear it. “We were partying, and you know Ethan parties harder than anyone else.”
I tried to concentrate. I couldn’t even remember how many weeks they’d been on tour. “Where are you guys right now?”
“Spokane.”
“I’m gonna book a flight. Not sure when I’ll be there.” In less than eight hours, Chris and I were in the air heading to Washington, and I was praying harder than I had in years.
Chapter Thirty-four
Past
SUMMER DRIFTED INTO fall. Yeah, I missed Clay. I missed the hot sex, and I missed the sweet playful guy I’d grown so very fond of. But I felt like I was able to refocus on what I was in Denver for in the first place—the music. And Clay would have respected that.
Brad managed to find a studio where we could record four or five of our best songs and put together an EP. Not just the shitty little garage-band type demo we’d been selling at our gigs but a professional-sounding, high quality CD that would maybe get us noticed. I thought it would be cool to hear ourselves sounding clean and polished. Like everything, though, that EP was going to cost us a pretty penny, so we wouldn’t be able to record right away.
Brad had written an insane song. He played it in the living room of our new apartment one day, having perfected it. It was tight and hardcore, but what I appreciated most was the solo. Brad had never until now invested too much time in solos, but this time, he had so much to say through his guitar, and it was the most mature playing by him I’d ever seen. He’d been practicing this song for a long time; I could tell by watching him play. His fingers were flawless and flying so quickly across the fretboard that I could barely see them. More than that, though…it sounded different. It was hardcore, yeah, but there was something different. It was more melodic. I could literally hear more emotion in it.
I just stared. It was impressive. Brad had changed so much in past two years since I’d first met him. Not as a person. No, Brad was even more solid, more trustworthy, and even harder working than when I’d first met him. But instead of looking like a kid fresh out of high school, he looked like a rock god. He had a few more tattoos and his hair was rock star long. When he worked, he pulled it back into a ponytail and even sometimes at home, but at concerts, he let it flow. Nothing in his wardrobe looked out of place on him. Even the coveralls he had to wear for his day job seemed to fit somehow.
And that was a good thing, because after listening to that solo, I knew it was just a matter of time before we got noticed on a bigger level. I was still working on my own performances, because I wanted to sound as hardcore as our band. There were times, though, that my throat would be sore after a particularly grueling performance. Yeah, I should have taken that as a clue to get vocal training or at least cut back on what I was doing, but I was young. I wasn’t thinking. I just figured after all I was putting my voice through, a little discomfort was natural. It came with the territory, and I just had to suck it up and drink some warm tea with honey and lemon.
Brad kept us booked. We were becoming recognized locally and so we started earning more money as the venues figured we were actually drawing crowds. And then I thought back to Brad’s lecture to our bandmates last spring, where he asked them to contribute somehow. I wondered how, aside from writing, singing, and working another job I was contributing to our success as a band. More than that, I wondered how I could do more.
After pondering the thought for several days, I hit on what I thought was gold. In a profession filled mostly with boys (that of heavy metal music), I decided to play up on the difference. My singing would earn me respect. But my plan would get me noticed.
I had a little money tucked away and decided to use it to go shopping. I spent my money in lingerie shops this time. I knew we had a few female fans, and I hoped my new image wouldn’t offend them, but I hoped to win the admiration of the males. I was going to show some skin. I was twenty now, what I thought of as almost fully legal, and I had grown into feeling okay with my body. I bought camisoles, bustiers, and a red panty and bra set with a garter belt. I also bought some of the tallest, shiniest black boots I’d ever seen in my life. I was going to sell my sex appeal, and I didn’t plan to tell the guys till I was ready. I also got a three-month membership at a local gym. I paid for two sessions with a trainer, because—even though I wasn’t a chubby teenager anymore—I wanted to look solid.
I got another tattoo as well, this one on my lower back—not a tramp stamp. It was smaller. I got a three-dimensional red heart on my right hip. I also got my ears pierced twice more and an eyebrow piercing. Three days later at our next show, I decided to unveil my new look. I hadn’t even let the guys know what I was doing. I’d also bought a used trench coat, and I was glad it had been raining that cool October morning. No one suspected I was hardly wearing anything underneath. And then I realized this look would only work in warmer weather or indoor venues. Fortunately, the first show was in an indoor theater w
here we’d played before.
While we were setting up our equipment, Brad said, “Val, you’d have an easier time with your coat off. Are you still cold?” I just smiled and said nothing. I wanted to work it to my advantage.
Before it was time to go on, I asked the guys if they would start playing and let me walk on after they’d started. Ethan asked, “Why?”
“I want to try something new.”
“You’re not gonna ditch out on us, are you?”
“No, of course not. Just trust me.”
This was also going to be the first show where we played Brad’s new song. Like with all our other songs, I wrote lyrics and the guys added to it, but it was still Brad’s baby. We wound up calling it “Primeval,” and we were opening the act with it. There was a thirty-second lead in, long enough for me to take the trench coat off and inhale a deep breath, getting up the gumption to go through with it.
My mind raced. What the fuck had I done? And I hadn’t just eased into it. Oh, no. I’d worn red heels with the panty, bra, and garter set. I should’ve worn something a little less revealing the first time. Ah, well. Why not? At this point, though, I had to admit a drink would have been good. Now I could halfway understand why the guys would sometimes have a drink or something harder before a show. I figured it would take the edge off.
But I had to do it. Ethan had already asked if I was going to bail, not even knowing what I’d planned. I couldn’t let them down. Time to grow a pair…a figurative one, of course. One more deep breath, and I strutted onstage to the mike stand.
Someone slipped and hit a wrong note. Shit. If I had that effect on my own bandmates, then I knew the audience would love it.
And they did. If I’d had any doubts, the screams, howls, and wolf whistles were all I needed as affirmation. I didn’t want to acknowledge that they were doing exactly what I’d wanted them to do. I still had to act tough, so I threw up the devil’s horns with both hands before grabbing the mike.
Holy shit. The energy of that show was amazing. We were getting more electricity off our audience than ever, and it was so easy to throw it back at them. And once my bandmates got over their initial shock, they fed on it too. It was to that date one of our best shows ever.
After the show, I was asked for a crazy amount of autographs. I’d been asked once in a while before, but this time was above and beyond anything I’d ever experienced before. I finally felt like I was earning my keep as their vocalist.
No one said a word, though, not until we were in the van. I expected Brad to say something first, but it was Ethan who talked. “What the hell inspired that shit, Val?”
I wasn’t going to play coy, as much as I wanted to. I half turned in the seat and said, “The outfit?”
“Yeah.” I could see his smile, even in the darkness. “Not that any of us are complaining.”
I shrugged. “I dunno. I just thought if I looked kinda sexy, it could only help us.”
Zane said, “It worked. I think half the audience had hard ons for most of the show.”
“Okay, I didn’t need that visual, Zane. Thanks.” Brad still hadn’t said a word. I knew what that meant. He hated it, but he hadn’t been able to find a diplomatic way to say it yet. Nick…well, for him to not say anything was nothing unusual. “I guess I might as well warn you guys—there’s plenty more where this came from.”
“Jesus Christ.” Ethan? Ethan was going crazy. He’d seen me naked. He already knew what was underneath the lingerie, so why was he acting like that? “Please just tell me you don’t have any more garters. My heart can’t take it.”
Zane started laughing. “I think I’m gonna ask Tanya to buy something like that.” Oh…that told me Zane’s girlfriend was serious. The fact that I was hearing the girl’s name was significant.
“Why don’t you buy it for her, stud?”
He laughed again. “Wouldn’t she find it insulting if I bought her something and then asked her to wear it? Like she’s not good enough on her own?”
“I dunno. Why don’t you go shopping together?”
He considered it. “That’s a great idea.”
We were all quiet for a few moments and then Brad was ready to talk. “Val, I’m not gonna tell you what to do, but are you sure you want to go down this path?”
“What do you mean?”
I saw him shrug as he turned the steering wheel. “There’s always a chance people won’t take you seriously. They’ll think you’re just a cupcake.”
“A cupcake?” I giggled. “Why would they think that? I sing and rock out.”
“I’m just sayin’. It’s a chance you’re taking.”
“So what should I do, Brad?” I turned a little in the chair again. “Was it just me, or was the audience insane tonight?”
“You think that was all you?”
“You think I had nothing to do with it?”
“I didn’t say that.”
Ethan—the one guy I didn’t expect to be on board with my sexy transformation—said, “Bradley, man…you know they were eating it up because of Valerie. I know you don’t want to hear it, but she stole the show. And goddamn. If we get that kinda reaction just ‘cause she’s showing a little skin, then I say we let her.”
Nick finally spoke up. “I’m for it.”
“Me too.”
That left Brad as the odd man out. I was pretty sure he was pissed, but he didn’t say another word. He just clenched his teeth together and kept driving.
That fall, the guys got used to the skimpier outfits and so did I. I wasn’t so freaked out by it after a while. And, as we started earning a little more money, I invested in more. I bought short shorts and started doing different things with my hair. And one of the times I was in the mall in a lingerie shop, the clerk showed me a schoolgirl outfit. It showed less, but I could unbutton it to show some cleavage. The guys (except for Brad who refused to weigh in on any of my clothing choices) liked it too.
As winter neared, I was glad we didn’t have to play at any outdoor venues. I’d been tempted to switch back to leather pants or jeans just during the coldest months but changed my mind every time I got onstage and got the reactions I was used to. I had taken to wearing sweat pants to and from our apartment, though, just so my legs stayed warm.
Working out was starting to pay off too. I saw definition in my upper arms and abdomen. I wasn’t overdone by any means, but I’d obtained the hard body look I’d wanted. And that was when I decided to get a tattoo on the top of my right breast—a small one of a gun to represent Fully Automatic.
We were playing a show in mid November, the first one we would be playing with Last Five Seconds since Clay and I had split. I was feeling a little weird about it, but the fact was we’d parted friends. And a small part of me was looking forward to seeing Clay.
We were up first, and LFS wasn’t even there yet. It was a long show, four bands. We were first and Clay and his guys were third. So, by the time we were done, I’d long forgotten about Clay. Well, that wasn’t entirely true, but I wasn’t worried about him anymore.
We loaded all our stuff up like usual, and then I slipped on a pair of jeans, leather jacket, and boots so I could watch the rest of the show. When I was walking out of the women’s restroom, backpack in hand, I heard a voice behind me calling me by name. I knew who it was before I saw his face. “I see the rumors were true.”
I was smiling before I even turned around. “Glad you’re still not believing everything you hear.”
Clay had a huge grin on his face. “Val. How the hell are you?”
I walked over and hugged him. It just felt natural. Oh, I’d forgotten how nice his body felt. “I’m doing great.”
“So what the hell have you been doing?” He tugged at my jacket…underneath I was wearing just a thin pink camisole. “What inspired this?”
I shrugged. “We need to stand out of the crowd, you know. Just because we’re making good music doesn’t mean anything. I mean…I look at all the other bands out there.
So I asked myself what I could do to make an impression on our audience.”
“You definitely did. The buzz out there right now is insane.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Trust me—you’ve forced your audience to step up a notch. I was out there. I felt it.”
I was feeling like a bug under a microscope, and I was pleasantly surprised, because I hadn’t thought Clay had seen our show. “So what’s new with you, Clay?”
Oh, that smile was his happy smile, his truly contented and okay-with-the-world smile. I’d hardly ever seen it, but I loved it. “We’re pretty sure we’ve got a contract with a major label.”
“Yeah? Which one?”
“I don’t wanna say…don’t wanna jinx it. But we won’t know till next week. I’ll tell you then.”
I nodded. “Good luck.”
“You sticking around for the whole show?”
“I think so. Got any new tunes?”
“Always.”
When I watched his band that night, I was impressed. It had only been a few months since I’d seen them, but they were even better. There was something…and it took me a while to figure out what it was. They seemed more cohesive, more in tune with each other, like they hadn’t been on the same wavelength before and now they were. They seemed to play almost intuitively, as though if one of them decided to veer off the worn path, the others would sense it and follow. It was amazing to watch, and if I hadn’t seen them play together so much before, I probably wouldn’t have even noticed.
After they played, Clay tracked me down in the audience. I’d never before seen the fourth band who was playing next, and they were good, but I thought they were having an off night. Or maybe they just couldn’t hold a candle to Last Five Seconds. So when Clay said in my ear, “Let’s go talk,” and he grabbed my hand, I agreed.
This particular venue had more backstage room than a lot of other places we’d played, and we were actually able to find a couple of chairs. We sat and talked for a long time. He caught me up on what had been happening with LFS and what had led up to the possibility of recording a real album that would be in stores nationwide.
Dirty Boys: Bad Boy Rock Star Romance Box Set Page 39