What to Read After FSOG: The Gemstone Collection (WTRAFSOG Book 3)

by Lauren Hawkeye

  Sitting at the bar, I ordered a beer and ran a hand over my face. A loud burst of laughter drew my attention back across the bar and there she was. The relief that she was real sliced through my chest and I heaved a sigh of relief.

  She was with a group of guys and they all seemed to be friends. I watched carefully, trying to figure out if one of them was her boyfriend. The tall guy with the quiff looked very familiar with her, but he didn’t move to wrap his arm around her waist or lean in for a kiss. Maybe they were just good friends?

  “Do you know her?” Pete asked, noticing that I’d been staring.

  “No.”

  “Why don’t you go over there, then?”

  I looked at the guys she was with and didn’t like that idea. They’d hardly left her side all night.

  “What’s up?” Pete prodded, when I didn’t make a move. He knew me better than anyone and could probably tell I was worked up about something.

  “Nothing.” Truth was, there was something different about her. It was like she was untouchable. If I went up to her now, one of two things would happen. One; her male friends would beat me up. Two; she’d shoot me down, thinking I was only after one thing.

  I was stuck in an impossible place. How could I go up to a beautiful woman like that and not have her think I was after sex? Well, I was in a way, but it was more than that. I wanted to know her and suddenly it didn’t matter how much of a wreck I’d been and how much I didn’t want to go down that road of hurt anymore. I would have risked it for this woman who I didn’t even know.

  When I finally worked up the courage to look at her again, she was gone. The disappointment must have been clear on my face, because Pete shoved me with his shoulder.

  “Next time,” he said.

  I hoped there would be a next time, because I think I just developed a blinding crush on a mystery woman.

  Chapter Three

  Zoe

  Deep down, I almost believed Dee had forgotten to pick me up. Deep down, I hoped he had.

  I was draped over my couch, hands over my eyes, silently praying to be left alone. I can’t handle this singing thing. I can’t handle the thought of standing anywhere else other than in the audience and we hadn’t even started yet. My guitar sat in its case against the wall and I swear it’s agreeing with me.

  Suddenly, there’s thumping on my front door and Dee’s calling out, “Zoe! Rise and shine, baby cakes! I know you’re in there. No use hiding.”

  I flung open the door and he was standing there with keys in his hand.

  “We’re going to Frank’s,” he said, pushing his way inside and grabbing my guitar case before I could argue.

  I had no choice but to follow him out to the car if I wanted my beloved Epiphone back. Truth was, I think I’m more afraid of the unknown that actually doing this band thing. I don’t know how to write music and I’m not sure how it all works together with other instruments. Epic cluelessness.

  Jumping in the car with a second to spare, Dee pulled out into traffic and we headed across town. The sun was shining and summer was all but over, but the days were still mild. As we drove through suburb after suburb, I couldn’t help playing with the hem of my shirt. Dee looked over and caught me fidgeting.

  “You’re going to be fine,” he said, patting my leg. “We’re all mates and the only person we’re gunna laugh at is Frank and he’s used to it.”

  “I’m not worried about that,” I reassured him. “It’s just the bit after.”

  He knew I meant the whole getting up on stage thing. Melbourne was a big place, but small at the same time. Word got around.

  “I know you’re going to be great,” he said quietly as we started to climb the West Gate Bridge that linked the west of the city to the CBD. “You shouldn’t worry about what anyone else thinks.”

  “It’s not that easy, Dee.”

  “I know it’s been tough the last two years, but it’s time to get out, Zo. I love you, you know that. I hate to see you like this.”

  I felt tears prickle in my eyes and I’m thankful I’m wearing my aviator sunnies with the mirrored fronts. “I know,” I whispered.

  “I’m doing this for you. I’m shit scared as well, but there’s a time and a place, you know.”

  That stopped me in my tracks. Dee admitting he’s nervous? I don’t think I’ve ever heard him say anything like that before and the fact that he’s putting himself out there for me, made me feel warm inside. All this time I thought the world had abandoned me and I had had Dee all along. Bloody hell I was selfish.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “Nothing to be sorry for.”

  “I didn’t mean…”

  “Stop it, Zo. If you wanna make it up to me, then just be in my band.”

  “Oh, so now it’s your band?”

  He let out a laugh and turned up the radio. It was Spiderbait’s cover version of Black Betty, a fast and heavy rock song and perfect for driving to. “You little devil,” he shouted.

  When the vocals kicked in, we sung in unison all the way to Frank’s and I felt a lot better. Funny thing about music, it could make you feel better almost always and I found myself hoping deep down, that this band would finally see the start of better things.

  Frank lived in a falling down miner’s cottage in Footscray. It backed onto the train line so every thirty minutes we’re overwhelmed with a shaking floor and the sound of a suburban train whooshing by. He was excited to see us when he opened the door and helped us bring our gear through the house to a room out the back that had been taped up haphazardly with soundproofing. At one end he has a nice looking drum kit set up and at the other is two old couches where Chris is already sitting, his bass and portable amp against the wall.

  “Hey, Zoe,” he said. “Frank’s been telling me how great you are.” He nodded at my guitar case.

  “Oh?” I asked, looking at Frank.

  “So I hear,” he said with a wink and I knew Dee had been talking me up like I’m Da Vinci.

  “Let’s hear, then,” Chris chipped in.

  I opened my case and pulled out my guitar while Frank plugged me into an amp.

  “Sweet guitar.” Chris was in love.

  “I’m so jealous.” Dee winked. “You should see her effects pedals.”

  “That sounds like a dirty pick up line,” Frank declared, wiggling his eyebrows at me.

  Before I could chicken out, I played the opening bars to Black Rebel Motorcycle Club’s Ain’t No Easy Way and Chris whistled. “You’re tight, Zoe.”

  “That’s what all the boys say.” I winked and he blushed.

  “How long you been playin’?”

  “About two years, give or take.” I shrugged, putting the guitar down.

  “Yeah, she’s like a prodigy or something.” Dee was up to his old tricks.

  “Just had a lot of time on my hands and I got into it.” It was the truth.

  “That’s a tough song.” Frank handed me a cider. “I dunno anyone who’d be able to play that after two years.”

  “That’s because you only know people in punk bands and they only know three chords,” Dee said with a laugh.

  “Lets look at your songs,” I said to Dee. I’ve heard some of his stuff before when he’s played it on the street, so I know he can do it.

  He handed me a tattered notebook. “It’s a bit different,” he said. “I wanted to try something more classic rock.”

  “Like what?” Frank asked. “Led Zeppelin, classic? Deep Purple? Oh, I know, glam rock like T-Rex.”

  “Led Zeppelin,” Dee and I echoed at the same time and he grinned at me.

  He picked up his guitar then and played through the first song in his book. It’s a fast rock song.

  I read through his lyrics and whistle. “Nice words, Dee Dee.”

  “Naa, not really. I want you to rewrite them.”

  “Me?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  “They’re all about love and sex,” I said. “Not exactly my forte.
”

  “How is it not your thing, Zo Zo?” Frank exclaimed. “Look at you.”

  I looked at myself and shrugged.

  “She doesn’t see it,” Dee said to the others. “Not yet.”

  I looked down at the song Dee’s written, so I could hide my blush, and played the first few bars the way he’s shown me. Dee’s idea of writing is to illegibly scribble the chord down and demonstrate. Unlike me, he hasn’t bothered to learn how to read or write music. He’s intended it to be a fast rock number, but I slow it down and play around with it. I’m surprised at how pretty it sounds this way.

  “Fucking hell, Zoe,” Dee exclaimed and at first I think he’s mad and my fingers scratch across the strings making a horrible sound.

  “Don’t stop,” Chris said from his corner.

  “I never thought of it that way.” Dee’s wetting his pants. “That sounds hot.”

  “Like sex on a stick,” Frank said, much to the amusement of the guys.

  “What’s it called?” Chris asked.

  “Walls,” I said.

  Dee pulled out another notebook from his bag and tossed it to me. “Write the lyrics.”

  I looked at the empty notebook and Dee’s tattered one that’s full of ideas and marks and don’t know where to start. I tried not to think about it too much as I grabbed a pen and wrote out the music best I could manage. It’s already there, I just have to translate it into something coherent. But, when it came to the words, I saw what Dee has written and it could be a song for me. No wonder he wants me to change it. He wants the song to be from me, instead. My side of the story.

  The couch dipped next to me and Dee stuck his head over my shoulder to see what I’m writing. I pressed the notebook into my chest and he tried to snatch it away.

  “Hey,” I cried. “I like you and all Dee, but stop trying to feel me up.”

  His lips curved into a sly smile and he knew that I was onto him and for once I didn’t argue.

  “What are we gunna call ourselves?” Frank asked. Before Chris could open his mouth he added, “No ideas accepted from Chris.”

  “Why not?” he grumbled.

  “We’re not into Morrissey.” Dee laughed.

  “I think Empty Hands is a good name for an indie band,” I said kindly.

  “Thanks, Zoe.” Chris smiled and tapped his bottle against mine.

  “We’re not a pansy mopey indie band,” Frank said and beat on his chest. “I want to beat the shit outta those skins, for one. I’m too manly to get in touch with my feminine side.”

  Dee was watching me with a frown and I realized I’d been running a finger along the scar on my arm.

  “Tattoo,” he said, his eyes meeting mine.

  “What?” I jumped and tucked my hands under my legs.

  “Tattoo,” he said again and I could almost see the light bulb over his head. “The Devil’s Tattoo.”

  As soon as he said it, I knew he wanted to name the band after me. I couldn’t help but wonder who the devil was meant to be. The devil scarred my arm and I covered it with a tattoo.

  “Dee,” I began to scold him.

  “Bloody LOVE IT,” Frank shouted, on his feet.

  “It’s not like that, Zoe,” Dee whispered in my ear. “You’re my phoenix from the ashes. You’re my version of the devil, babe.”

  It sounded like he was declaring his love for me and in a way he was, but not like that. Dee’s my brother. Dee’s my family.

  I smiled at him. “The Devil’s Tattoo.”

  “All in favor?” Dee asked, but it’d already been decided.

  “Hell yeah!” everyone shouted, and it was done.

  The next couple of months flew by in a haze of band rehearsal. We got together almost every day at Frank’s place and worked through Dee’s songs. I rewrote some lyrics and together we came up with some stuff that we were all really pleased with.

  It was one Thursday night, just after rehearsal on our way home, when Dee dropped a bomb on top of me.

  “You did what?” I almost screeched at him.

  “I booked us a gig,” he said like it was the most normal thing in the world.

  “And you’re dumping this on me now?”

  “Yep.”

  “When?”

  “Tomorrow night.”

  “Tomorrow?” This can’t be happening. I needed time to mentally prepare myself.

  “Tomorrow night at Cherry,” Dee said proudly.

  “Cherry?” Cherry Bar was probably Melbourne’s most famous rock venue. It sat off AC/DC Lane in the city and was a tiny hole in the wall. It attracted rockers, punks, indies and all kinds of alternative types.

  “We’re supporting Ipswich.”

  I knew Ipswich was a hard rock outfit that had been doing pretty well locally. The thought of playing before them made me even more edgy.

  “We’ve got the songs, Zoe. With a cover, we’ve got a tight set. This will be amazing.”

  The thought flowed through my mind that there would be people I knew there. People that didn’t like me all that much. What if I bombed? It would give them fodder for years.

  Dee seemed to read my mind. “It’s your chance to rub their faces in it.”

  “But…”

  “No buts,” he scolded me. “I’d say picture them all naked, but that’s a bit of a cliché.”

  “And it’d scar me for life.”

  “Ugh, don’t go there.”

  “You went there first.”

  Dee pulled into the drive of my apartment block and kissed me on the cheek. “If I don’t see you tomorrow, I’ll pick you up at six thirty sharp. Doors at eight.”

  “Okay,” I replied, getting out the car and retrieving my guitar from the back.

  As he drove away, I couldn’t help but feel my stomach churn already and what ifs bounced around my brain. Before, when I thought about becoming fodder for gossip again? That was my only real fear. After the break up with my ex, everyone turned on me. They didn’t want to hear my side of the story and Walls? Walls was my side. What would happen if someone I knew from before was there and heard it? What would happen then? I was worried it would drag everything back up the moment I began to feel happy and destroy this great thing that Dee had created for me. That’s what I was most afraid of.

  Was I destined to feel afraid the rest of my life because of what someone else did to me?

  The guys in Ipswich were actually pretty nice. They’d listened to our hastily recorded CD of songs and were happy to have us along to support after another group dropped out at the last second. They’d been hanging round in the alley out front of the bar when we arrived and chatted to us like we were already friends. They had four members like we did, but all guys and all of them were dressed like they were Guns’n’Roses and AC/DC hybrids. Black skinny jeans, torn t-shirts and long hair ranging from below the ears to almost as long as mine.

  Being in the band meant you had to be there early to set up your gear. In a small venue like this, you had to DIY. There was no such thing as a roadie and you even had to find someone to help with the sound. Luckily, Ipswich’s guy helped us out since we’d come on at such late notice. We were doing them a favor, apparently. Even they didn’t have enough songs to fill two sets.

  We were sitting in the corner on some couches drinking and passing the time until it was time for us to go on. Frank was all worked up and ready to go. He’d done this a million times and so has Chris who was so mellow, it made me jealous as hell. Right now, I felt like throwing up. Dee has this uncanny ability to guess whatever I’m thinking and he poked me and feigned throwing up.

  “Not funny,” I said with a groan.

  “Take your hair out,” Dee said, tugging on my braid.

  “Why?”

  “I’m not getting up there with you looking like that. And if you do happen to throw up, I’ll hold it out the way.”

  “Thanks, girlfriend.” I punched him in the shoulder.

  “You look better with it out,” he said with a laug
h. “Image, Zo Zo. And you can hide behind it and people think it looks rock ‘n’ roll.”

  I pulled my braid out and shook my hair, much to Dee’s amusement. I was suddenly very glad I let my fringe grow out, because now I can hide behind it as well. If your eyes are the windows to your soul, then on stage I didn’t want anyone looking into them.

  One of the guys from behind the bar leaned over and said something in Dee’s ear and my heart almost stopped.

  “Time to rock’n’roll, Zo Zo,” he said to me.

  I swallowed hard and for the first time, I looked up at the crowd around us and understood just how popular Ipswich were. The place was crammed with people and now I had to go and play in front of them.

  “Close your eyes and jump, sweetness.” Frank wrapped an arm around my waist, guiding me through the throng.

  “We believe in you.” Chris squeezed my shoulder as he passed.

  I stepped up onto stage and slung my guitar strap over my shoulder and I can’t hear a word Dee is saying into his mic. Frank smiled at me from behind the drum kit and began to count us in for the first song. It’s now or never, so I turned around and began to play, the words of our opening song tumbling from my mouth and I imagine myself in Frank’s back room. We’re at rehearsal. No one else is here. I know the stuff. I know it. It’s going to be awesome.

  Then the first song is done and the crowd is clapping and cheering and I don’t understand what’s going on until Dee’s in my ear saying, “They fucking love you Zo. I love you.”

  I grinned up at him and realized he was right. They were liking us. They were really liking us. We powered through our set, not skipping a beat and all too soon it was time for Walls. The song that bared my soul and nausea washed over me.

  “This next song,” Dee was saying, “is one that’s close to home. It’s quite personal and we hope that it resonates with some of you. It’s called Walls.”

  Taking a deep breath, I dove into it, playing the intro solo, and as the music progressed, Chris added his bass and Dee came in on the second guitar part. Frank was playing a soft beat and other than the hum from the bar at the back of the venue, everything seemed deathly still. I forgot about the crowd in front of me and began singing.