Trevor snorted, sounding a bit like a pig, and coughed to cover his embarrassment. The band looked like they wanted to laugh but they continued to eat while Trevor fussed with his clothes and tried to regain his composure. He straightened his coat collar and sniffed, “He’d better get back here soon if we’re to stay on schedule.” He impatiently motioned to one of the men from the van and told him to go fetch Nigel.
Alistair looked up from his meal and said dryly, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Nigel won’t like it.”
“Yeah,” Jayson chimed in. “Lady Deanna makes Nigel happy and anyone that can make Sir Sullen Guilford happy deserves a proper farewell,” Jayson finished with a grin.
“Here! Here!” Brad shouted and raised his beer bottle into the air.
The others followed suit except for Thom, who glared at them in disgust. “Why don’t you bloody wanks just shut the fuck up,” Thom snarled and tossed his plate of food on the floor, scattering the contents in a sticky mess across the threadbare carpet. He grabbed his guitar case and headed for the front door, casting filthy looks at his mates who stared at him in open-mouthed disbelief.
Trevor reached out to stop Thom and sputtered, “Sergei and Angus will take care of loading all of the equipment. That’s why I hired them.”
Thom pushed past him with an angry glare. “No one touches my fucking gear but me,” he growled and slammed the door in Trevor’s shocked face.
Trevor straightened his shoulders and turned to the group who were still reeling from Thom’s furious exit. “Well gentlemen,” he said through gritted teeth, “Just what was that all about?”
They all shrugged and set about trying to clean the gummy mess Thom had left on the floor. Trevor frowned at the absurd notion that Deanna, that little gray mouse of a girl, could actually cause Thom to throw a jealous fit. It would be bloody hilarious if it wasn’t such a dangerous threat to this group of Black Country louts, and his, financial success. He could certainly understand this nonsense if Thom were jealous because he was attracted to Nigel---but that blonde American twit? Trevor could almost appreciate the “gay” perspective, it was far more plausible, but he knew it wasn’t the case. Thom had gone into a rage when the others toasted the silly tart who had evidently become the churlish singer’s girlfriend. Now he might be forced to clean up the mess, and he didn't mean the nasty glob staining the already dirty carpet. Far too much was at stake and that bitch was not going to muck it up any further---he would see to that. There were so many ways to get rid of unwanted vermin…
Alistair snapped Trevor out of his daydream to mention the time. It was getting late and Nigel still hadn’t shown up. Trevor watched Sergei and Angus load the last of Jayson’s drum kit into the van. They stepped aside after Thom said something to them and climbed into the van, slamming the door behind him. The two men shrugged and wandered away to share a joint.
“You lot will ride with me,” Trevor turned and said to the three remaining band members then added, “Nigel better get his bloody arse to Shropshire on time or there will be…”
“Or there will be what?” Nigel asked from the doorway.
Trevor whirled around intending to give Nigel a piece of his mind but thought better of it when he saw the look on the bastard's face. The vocalist was smiling, but only with his mouth. His hazel eyes flashed with an invitation for Trevor to press his luck---if he dared. Unwilling to let Nigel believe he had the upper hand; Trevor glanced at his watch and said sarcastically, “Nice of you to join us, Guilford.”
Nigel ignored him and tugged on his leather driving gloves, flexing his fingers to get a tight fit. Brad hurried towards the door carrying a large plastic sack and Nigel stopped him. “What happened here?” He inquired, indicating the bits of food still stuck to the floor.
“Thom threw one of his tantrums again,” Brad replied and continued outside to put the bag in the rubbish bin.
Slipping on his mirrored shades, Nigel brushed past Trevor who was still furious over the insolent wanker’s show of disrespect toward him; Metal Urge’s new band manager, and obvious superior. Trevor wanted to wipe that look of contempt right off the fucking bastard’s pretty-boy face in a spray of blood, teeth, and cartilage. He sucked in his breath and looked down at his clenched fists. A drop of blood squeezed out from between his trembling fingers and he realized he had curled his hands so tightly that his fingernails left bloody cuts across his palms. He glared at Nigel’s retreating back and sneered. This band of misfit hicks from the back water Midlands slums owed him, and he owned them. They best remember that if they wanted to make it in the cutthroat world of rock n’ roll. He would rein in the cocky Nigel Guilford and muzzle the bastard or he would bury Metal Urge and watch Beastrage piss all over their graves.
It was late afternoon when the black sedan pulled into the long, narrow driveway leading to Wild Bill’s impressive estate. Nigel parked his bike close behind, squinting up at the mammoth stone house and then at the large man headed toward the car. Wild Bill greeted each of the lads as they emerged from the car, his large meaty hand engulfing their hands in a firm and friendly grip. Wild Bill helped Thom from the van, pumping Thom’s hand and smiling. He walked over to Nigel and grasped his hand, complimenting him on his taste in motorbikes before turning and gesturing for everyone to follow him.
They admired the massive hand-carved Georgian pillars that framed wide stone steps leading up to huge double doors fashioned of wood and stained glass, their height nearly as tall as gothic cathedral doors would be. It wasn’t surprising that the renowned record producer favored such imposing architecture: he was a larger-than-life Texan who left the dry plains and oil fields of his native land for the green pastures and verdant hills of England, and never looked back. At 6’4 and 280 pounds, he cut an impressive figure as he welcomed each of the members of Metal Urge into his home, Glaston Hall.
Wild Bill threw his arm around Trevor’s shoulders and thanked him for the opportunity to work with a band he was convinced were going knock the emerging heavy metal scene on its collective ass.
Trevor was surprised that the famed producer had been that impressed by the poorly produced demo tape he had sent Wild Bill some weeks ago; still he was pleased that Metal Urge had earned Wild Bill’s respect. The trick was to retain that respect and exceed the man’s lofty expectations. The band had better be on their best behavior as well as at their best musically or they were all fucked, and Trevor would take any, and all, losses out of their sorry hides.
****
After a sumptuous dinner of Beef Wellington, baby asparagus, and fresh salad straight from Wild Bill’s own garden, they were treated to French pears soaked in brandy and topped with Devon cream. Jayson looked as though he had died and gone to heaven after gorging himself, and everyone laughed at his elaborate show of rubbing his distended belly, including Trevor.
After everyone had finished their delicious meal, Wild Bill led his guests to a room decorated in rich velvets and luxurious hand woven brocades. Large overstuffed pillows ringed an oval table draped in a coppery silk fabric. In the center of the table stood a contraption straight out of the novel “Arabian Nights” which Wild Bill called a hookah. When he filled the clay bowl with a potent mixture of fine Turkish tobacco and hashish, Trevor excused himself citing a headache and rushed to his room to enjoy his own drug of choice. He had no desire to watch those inexperienced fools get stoned out of their minds, not to mention he was beginning to cramp with the need for his white horse. Before he calmed himself with a strong dose of the divine poppy, he had an axe to grind with the air-headed Maggi. Why the hell hadn’t she informed him of her idiot friend’s relationship with that leather-clad horny goat, Nigel Guilford? She better have a bloody good excuse or he would make her pay in more ways than one.
Aching for his fix, Trevor dismissed his ire at Maggi’s ignorant oversight and began to prepare the heroin. He watched the lovely white rock dissolve in its silver spoon, and with a shaky hand he sucked up a careful dose in the hypodermic needle
. It wouldn’t do to inject too much, he just needed to relax and tamp down the raging blaze of anger he always seemed to feel. Pushing the plunger down, he sighed when a spurt of blood swirled into the hypo and mixed with the heavenly liquid. He would deal with Maggi later; for the time being he just wanted to feel the dregs of the day slip away and disappear into a bright red field of poppies.
The members of Metal Urge watched their host inhale the intoxicating smoke and then pass the “arm” to Jayson who inhaled deeply. There were three other arms so Alistair, Brad, and Nigel picked them up and began to smoke. Thom shared the arm with Jayson and Wild Bill, and soon the six men were sprawled against the pillows, regaling each other with stories and anecdotes of their pasts.
Metal Urge recounted their lives on the mean streets of the industrial cities of Bilston and Wolverhampton, recalling how desperation and imminent poverty fueled their creativity, and their drive to succeed as a band.
Wild Bill had a few stories of his own, sharing tales of the hardship of growing up as a renegade “space cowboy” in the conservative Texas Bible belt. They laughed, commiserated, and smoked until the sun peeked through the early morning clouds. Wild Bill showed them to a winding staircase which led to their rooms, and advised them to get some much-needed rest before they embarked on the biggest adventure of their lives.
Brad followed Alistair up the staircase. The two men stopped outside an ornately carved door and looked around before going into Alistair’s bedroom. They wanted to discuss Thom’s strange behavior privately. Alistair discovered a bottle of brandy on the dresser so he poured them both a drink and sat down on an ornate wing chair across from Brad. Alistair admitted that he had entertained the idea of stepping in and sorting out his two mates but after Thom’s latest outburst, he realized that Nigel didn’t have a clue as to what was eating Thom alive. After a short discussion they finally understood the reason for Thom’s hateful attitude of late: he was jealous of Nigel’s relationship with Deanna Darmody. Not only was he jealous, he was going stark raving mad over the fact that the beautiful American never paid him the slightest bit of attention. Nigel had brought her along to a couple of rehearsals, and it was clear that she only had eyes for him. She was very sweet and polite, but she was there for Nigel and had no interest in lengthy conversation or interaction with any of the other band members.
Thom was an extremely good-looking bloke who was used to more than his fair share of attention from the ladies. With his long, thick mane of honey blonde hair, and impossibly blue eyes framed by lashes most women would kill for, it was easy for Thom to flash a dimpled smile at some hapless female and remain confident that before the night was over he would be carving another notch into his bedpost.
Brad and Alistair both agreed that this was different. If love at first sight actually existed, then Thom, without a doubt, had fallen in love with Deanna Darmody the moment he laid eyes on her. Poor sod. They both thought it necessary to have a little chat with Thom before matters really got out of hand. The band was at Glaston Hall to create the record that would determine their fate, and hopefully change all of their lives for the better, not to brawl like a bunch of common yobs at a football match. They believed they could reason with their band mate and the outcome would be far more amicable than Thom and Nigel tearing into one another; especially over Nigel’s girlfriend. When they were sure they had the situation sussed out, Brad clapped Alistair on the shoulder and started to leave. He opened the door just a crack and peeked out to make sure the coast was clear. Hearing faint voices down the hall, he gestured for Alistair to follow him. Nigel and Thom stood outside of Thom’s bedroom, apparently in a heated discussion although they were trying to keep their voices down. Both men were pointing and gesturing, followed by macho posturing, then a few rude gestures to emphasize their vulgar epithets.
Brad looked at Alistair and whispered that he could almost smell the testosterone wafting from the two wanks having a go at each other down the hall. Alistair covered his mouth and frowned at Brad for almost making him laugh which would have certainly alerted Nigel and Thom to their presence creating an even bigger fracas.
The quarrel ended after Thom lifted two fingers and thrust them into Nigel’s face with an audible “Fuck you” before going into his room and slamming the door. Nigel started to knock but backed off. He laid his hands against the door and took a few deep breaths. After a moment or two, he pushed away from the door and stalked towards his bedroom, his anger palpable in the quiet hallway.
Alistair and Brad looked at each other and shrugged helplessly. There went the “little chat” idea. Now all they could do was wait to see how this hormone fueled drama played out.
****
To everyone’s immense relief, the following days went smoothly, the band performing like seasoned pros.
Wild Bill offered invaluable advice and support; critiquing but never criticizing their music or ideas, and by the close of week two at Glaston Hall, Metal Urge had created what would soon prove to be an extremely successful single.
Trevor fairly danced with glee. Just as he had predicted, Metal Urge were about to sky rocket to the stars, and explode on the metal scene, showering him with oodles of cash. He was so delighted, he no longer cared about Deanna, or Maggi’s failure to keep him informed of her stupid blonde friend’s position as Nigel’s bitch. The band had surprised him with their consummate professionalism. He laughed when it occurred to him that they wouldn’t know what that meant, but somehow they instinctively knew how to act accordingly and that was all that mattered.
After receiving a call from a local radio station, the members of Metal Urge, Wild Bill, and Trevor gathered around Wild Bill’s huge console stereo which was connected to concert sized speakers for maximum enjoyment, to listen to the first airing of their single, “Metal Urge.” As the song burst forth in a frenzy of drums and shredding guitars, the reverberation was so powerful they felt their bodies vibrate with every note. Thom’s Flying V shrieked as Nigel’s voice screamed out, “We’re gonna get inside you and fill you with the metal urge!” They all cheered as the singer’s outstanding vocals grabbed them by the throat and squeezed while the instruments slammed into them, unrelenting and unapologetic. Wild Bill looked at Trevor and grinned. He never doubted that these boys would bring the new sound of heavy metal music to its knees, and they had in a way that not even Wild Bill himself could have imagined.
When the song ended the DJ let loose with a few colorful expletives, and then quickly apologized. The band laughed and heartily congratulated each other, Wild Bill, and Trevor for making such an unforgettable impression on the DJ, and hopefully, everyone else who heard their song. Almost immediately Wild Bill’s numerous phones began ringing, and he and his assistant, Clive, began rushing about like madmen to get them all answered. The high-powered suits from Trevor’s party were pleased---extremely pleased---and they were calling to offer their congratulations and suggest that Trevor arrange a press conference, and then a concert at a suitable venue as soon as possible. They wanted to make the most of their new-found sensation, cashing in while the fire was still hot.
Trevor agreed that following up the single’s release with a public appearance would not only promote Metal Urge but stir up much more interest in the band. He went to his room to make a few phone calls, bracing for the fallout when he called Beastrage to offer them a spot as the opening act for the new metal band they would soon view as serious rivals. God, he hated having to smooth ruffled feathers and stroke bruised egos.
The five members of Metal Urge stood around the console stereo, still experiencing the incredible aftershock of hearing their music on the radio at last. They were unable to fully process what had just happened except for the realization that it was far beyond bloody amazing, and their lives were about to change forever.
Chapter 9
Why was it so hard to pick up the telephone receiver and dial? Nigel pulled his hand back for the third time and sighed. He hadn’t spoken to Deanna since
arriving at Glaston Hall, and there was good reason for that. Metal Urge had been working day and night to produce a song which would introduce metal music to the masses and hopefully leave them screaming for more. Judging by the reactions of Wild Bill, Trevor, and the shell shocked DJ the band had more than succeeded. He knew that Deanna was aware the two of them would be incommunicado for a while but after the release of “Metal Urge” over the radio waves tonight it was time for them to talk and for him to make a firm decision about whether or not to continue seeing her. He hated feeling so uneasy. Deanna was just a girl he had dated for a few weeks so why did the thought of hearing her voice fill him with dread? No doubt he was conflicted over his feelings for her.
That was an understatement.
Unable to easily sort out his wild, roller coaster ride feelings for the beautiful, little American, he had done some heavy soul searching and reached the conclusion that he wasn’t in love with her. But when he pictured her lovely face, the soft feel of her lips on his, and the way she smiled at him each time they met, he couldn’t deny that it sent a prickle of some indescribable emotion up and down his spine. Nigel leaned towards the square black phone, cradled his head in his hands, and rested his elbows on his knees. He imagined picking up the receiver and setting off an explosion of plastic shards and metal wires, obliterating himself and all of his niggling doubts. He hesitantly picked up the handset and dialed her number, listening as the phone bleeped on the other end like a harbinger of doom.
“I’ll get it!” Deanna shouted, and picked up the heavy handset, her heart pounding in anticipation of the caller being Nigel.
“Deanna?” he asked sounding hesitant, and her heart leapt with joy and relief. “Hi, Nigel, it’s so good to hear your voice.”
“Yeah, it’s nice to, um, hear yours as well,” he said reluctantly. “Did you hear it? Our song on the radio, I mean,” he asked, hoping she would say yes so they would have something to talk about besides themselves.
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