Metal Urge

by Wilbourn, E. D.

  Leaning against the imposing stone building, Deanna watched the breeze play through Thom's thick, honey colored hair that fell in glistening waves to the middle of his back. It was gloriously radiant in the bright sunlight, and he looked more like a golden god than a mere mortal man. Once again she was struck by his near-perfect looks. Strong chiseled features, a dimpled smile that made her heart flutter, eyes which glowed brilliant neon blue, and long, dark lashes framing those stunning windows to his soul with absolute perfection, providing an intense contrast to his sun-kissed skin. The guitarist was absolutely magnificent. Standing a few inches shorter than Nigel’s six-one frame, Thom had a tight, compact physique with stocky, well-shaped legs, a narrow waistline, and proportioned shoulders lending him a healthy, athletic look. She had admired his build numerous times since sharing the flat with him.

  It was hard to believe she never really noticed him when she first saw the band perform, but she knew it was because she couldn't bear to take her eyes off of Nigel: the moody, heartless lead singer so beautiful in that pale, flawlessly creamy way that only the English seem to possess. His vivid hazel eyes created a brilliant contrast to his peaches and cream complexion and tousled shoulder-length tawny brown hair streaked summer blonde by hours of riding his motorbike in the sun. The sultry front man was definitely not the typical tall, dark, and handsome stereotype that so many women found attractive. Nigel was wonderfully unique, mysterious, and provocative with a sexy, mouth-watering body that unfortunately still held the power to make her heart pound and her groin ache when picturing him naked and beguiling on her bed in the Kentish Town flat.

  Would she ever lose her desire for him? She desperately wanted to, and it seemed that the more she turned her thoughts to the movie-star handsome Thom McCordy, the easier it was to push her thoughts of Nigel aside. She sighed, willing to forgive Thom's ridiculous suggestion. He probably thought he was saying what she wanted to hear. Her memories of Nigel might haunt her forever, but she knew he definitely wasn't who she needed---he was a user, and a jerk. He would never be man enough to help her through her grief, and the baby would mean absolutely nothing to him. So what if he asked about her now and then? He was probably pissed off because she wasn't following him around, begging him to take her back---the egotistical jerk.

  Thom turned when Deanna called out to him. She ran up and hugged him so tightly he found it hard to breathe for a moment.

  “I'm not being expelled. All I have to do is take a couple of extra classes to make up for the summer classes I didn't finish.” She squeezed him even tighter and shouted, “I am so stoked!”

  He hugged her back, loving the feel of her in his arms. When she pulled back and looked into his eyes it took all of his restraint not to kiss her.

  The wind blew a thick strand of his golden hair into her face and she grabbed it, running the long length of it through her fingers. She smiled up at him and tucked the strand behind his ear. “Let's get seriously wasted,” she said, grinning widely.

  Thom laughed and grabbed her hand, pulling her towards the car. He suggested they find a pub by the river so they could enjoy the fresh breeze and Deanna said that sounded just like what she needed. He drove along the river until he found the perfect pub with plenty of outdoor seating overlooking the Thames. They ordered their first round and Thom listened while Deanna described everything that went on in her meeting with the program director, and her prissy, uptight teacher. It hadn't been as unpleasant as he imagined, and he was glad for her sake, although the fussy old cows had condemned her promiscuous behavior and lectured her on “proper conduct for young ladies attending their school.” Deanna made a face and they laughed, spilling some of their lager on the table, making them laugh even harder. After the third round they were definitely on their way to becoming totally pissed. One of Thom's last coherent thoughts was to take a cab home and pray that his car didn't get booted by the fuzz.

  Chapter 20

  “What in bloody hell was that about?” Nick Ramsay whispered in Nigel’s ear.

  Nigel leaned back and crossed his arms, glaring at Trevor Hampton’s retreating form as he fled the rehearsal hall. “Fucking wanker,” Nigel snarled. The fool had just announced his resignation as both band’s manager, leaving the ten unsuspecting band members stunned and angry.

  “Lads, please!” a boyish looking red-headed man stood up, desperate to get their attention.

  Everyone was talking at once, gesturing angrily, and cursing Trevor, threatening to take him to court or better yet, to some dark alley where they could kick his sorry ass for abandoning them just when their careers were taking off in a big way, and they were headed to America for their first important tour.

  The young red-haired man waved his arms, his face sweaty and beginning to match the fiery shade of his hair. “Listen to me please!” he pleaded with them.

  Piper Howlen stood up and shouted, “Oi! Shut your bloody gobs!” Everyone stopped talking and looked at the raven-haired drummer with surprise. He turned and gave the red-haired man the once-over before inquiring; “And just who the fuck are you?”

  The man wiped his sweaty hands over his suit jacket and squared his narrow shoulders before answering, “I’m Andy Trent, your new manager.”

  “This is bollocks!” Brad Bradmon said to enthusiastic shouts of agreement from the other musicians. “C’mon boys, let’s get our gear and get out of this bloody place.”

  Almost everyone followed Brad to an area in front of the mock-stage littered with guitar cases, amplifiers, and drum kits. Ignoring the other band members, Thom McCordy and Alistair Staley walked up to Trent and shook his hand.

  “Give us a minute, yeah?” Alistair said to Andy before turning to address his angry mates. “I think we should give Mr. Trent a chance to tell his side of the story. At least that bloody prat, Hampton didn’t leave us without a manager.”

  “He might as well have!” Piper spat. “I mean, who is this git? He looks like a spotty-faced English schoolboy.”

  There were snickers and bursts of cruel laughter but that didn’t stop Thom from stepping up to defend the hapless Andy Trent. “Not one of you bloody yobs would be standing here snorting and snickering if someone hadn’t given you the chance to play your music. Don‘t you think Mr. Trent deserves a chance as well?” Thom looked around at the guilty faces, satisfied that Andy would get his opportunity to explain.

  Once all of the men were settled in their seats, Andy Trent began his story. To everyone’s amazement, the youthful Mr. Trent had an impressive background in the music business having worked with some of the giants in rock music in the late 1960’s and into the early 1970’s. He cut his teeth on the most progressive music management agency in Britain as well as a two year stint in the United States working for the record label giant, Capitol Records in Los Angeles. Tired of the lunatic excesses and debauchery of L.A., he returned to England and decided to freelance, eventually hooking up with none other than the infamous Wild Bill Dennison. That led to his short business relationship with Trevor Hampton, who would if he kept his promise, be admitting himself into the care of Elysian Fields, a rehabilitation center for hard core drug addicts. After his presentation, no one said a word prompting Andy to introduce himself to each man individually. When he had shaken the last man’s hand, he asked Beastrage to take the stage and give him a taste of what Britain’s first recorded heavy metal band had to offer. They didn’t disappoint, nor did their successors, Metal Urge. Each band member put their heart and soul into their performances leaving Andy Trent a very happy man. Agreeing to step into Trevor’s role as manager was the smartest move he had made since returning to England. All he could think of after one of the lads invited him for a drink was, “Watch out America. This is one British invasion you won’t win. Hell, you won’t even want to!”

  The thought made him grin from ear to ear just like a spotty-faced English schoolboy.

  Nick Ramsay asked Nigel to stay for a drink after Andy and the others decided to call it
a night. Nigel agreed, seeing that he had nothing better to do but go back to his shoddy flat after Thom refused to tell him where Deanna was staying. He wanted to talk to her. No, it was much more than that; he wanted to beg her forgiveness, tell her what a selfish idiot he'd been and ask her for a second chance. That was probably too much to hope for. In his heart he knew he didn’t deserve another chance with her. It was obvious that Thom wanted Deanna for himself, and probably had her staying with him at his new flat in Chelsea. The thought of her sleeping with Thom made his body go cold. His mind filled with images of Thom pleasuring Deanna’s beautiful body. He could hear her soft sighs and moans as Thom moved between her straining thighs, bringing her to the brink again and again. Nigel clenched his fists, trying to erase the disturbing thought of his Deanna having sex with another man.

  His Deanna?

  What right did he have to make any claims on her? He broke up with her after she admitted her love for him and betrayed her in the cruelest way possible by sleeping with Maggi. Almost two months had passed since Deanna confronted him at his flat under the most dreadful circumstances imaginable. He knew he’d hurt her so deeply she might never be able to forgive him. But he couldn’t forget her no matter how hard he tried. And he had tried with every selfish act he could think of committing. None of those women had meant a thing to him, especially Maggi---his most reckless lapse in judgment. Now he didn’t stand a chance in hell of getting near Deanna with Thom standing guard over her like a rabid junkyard dog. They had grown up as best mates yet Thom was treating him like a hated enemy and had never been this vicious, even after the nightmare of losing his only sister, Chloe. There was no other explanation for it; Thom was protecting Deanna because he was in love with her.

  “Oi mate, where have you been?” Nick nudged Nigel with his elbow and pointed to his head.

  Nigel shrugged and picked up his empty glass, “I’ll get the next round.” He started to get up but Nick stopped him.

  “It’s my turn. Besides, you bloody well deserve a free drink after the way Thom McCordy bit your head off earlier.”

  Before Nigel could say anything more, Nick was on his way to the bar to buy another round. No doubt Nick would ask for an explanation of Thom’s reaction to his question about Deanna. He didn’t really wish to go into anything that personal with Nick---they hardly knew each other---but it might help to talk to someone who didn’t have a stake in his and Thom’s relationship like their mates in Metal Urge undoubtedly did. He steeled himself for Nick’s return formulating in his mind what he would tell his new drinking mate about his failed involvement with the beautiful American who had stolen his heart; a feat he never imagined any other woman capable of since his lovely, mad, Chloe some six years earlier. He shook his head and sighed. They were just kids. Who could have known that such an unspeakable tragedy would be born of their innocent and naïve love?

  Just as Nigel predicted, Nick was curious about the American bird that had sent Thom into a jealous rage, shouting loud enough to be heard over the din inside of the pub even though he was only inches from Nigel’s startled face. Careful not to disclose any sensitive details, Nigel gave him the abridged version.

  Nick took a long drink of his foamy lager and smacked his lips. “I’m a bit disappointed, mate.”

  “What d'you mean?”

  Nick draped his arm around Nigel’s shoulder and pointed at a group of reasonably good-looking ladies sitting at a nearby table. “I thought you'd be the perfect bloke to go fox hunting with. Footloose and fancy free as they say in the States. But it seems you‘ve been smitten just like my old mate, Piper.”

  Nigel couldn’t help but laugh at the look of disappointment on Nick’s face. “What happened to Piper? I heard the two of you were notorious ladies men.”

  Grinning, Nick removed his arm from Nigel’s shoulder and stood up to take off his leather jacket. “We were legendary in the Black Country and Essex.”

  “Essex?” Nigel laughed. “Go on then, tell us what happened.”

  Nick settled back against the cushioned seat and sighed, “Alas, Piper was shot in the heart by cupid’s love arrow and recently moved in with his new lady love, a lingerie model named Candy.

  “You're jokin’,” Nigel chuckled. “Candy? Hmmm, she must be quite tasty on the tongue. A bit sweet, a bit tart, and deliciously wet and sticky in the center, yeah?”

  “One lick and you'll be begging for more,” Nick grinned wickedly.

  The two men burst into raucous laughter, elbowing each other as they slopped lager all over the table and themselves. Nigel tried to soak up the mess with napkins, still snickering over their crude references to Candy.

  Nick batted his eyelashes and grinned, “You wouldn’t happen to know of a love-sick singer in need of a place to live? He would have his own bedroom with a private loo and garage parking.”

  “Well…,” Nigel began but Nick interrupted, trying to sweeten the deal.

  “The rent is cheap for the area, and there's an option to sublet if it doesn’t work out. We wouldn’t be obligated to honor the lease as long as we find someone else to let the place.”

  It was obvious Nick was feeling desperate, and Nigel was getting tired of living in that crappy little flat. Even Alistair and Brad were thinking about moving since the band had made a nice bit of dosh from album sales and their Hammersmith concert. “Where is it?”

  “Near the Tower. Well, sort of between it and Aldgate. It’s a nice area, actually.”

  How coincidental was that? Nick’s flat was near the Tower of London, which in turn was near the Tower Bridge, an area he was more than familiar with. He had gone to the bridge a couple of times in the past few weeks hoping to run into Deanna. She was right; that bridge did have an almost magical quality. He was hoping it might work its magic on her so she could find it in her heart to forgive him.

  “Oi mate, you’re drifting away again. Thinking about your lovely Deanna?”

  Nigel smiled. “How soon can I move in?”

  Chapter 21

  Mims was crying piteously, tapping Deanna's cheek with her paw, trying desperately to wake her. She pushed the cat away but Mims was determined to wake her mistress for the sole purpose of being fed. A damp nose pressed against Deanna's temple and when she turned over to shoo the annoying animal off of the bed a sickening pain exploded inside of her head. She fell back moaning and pressed her pounding temples with both hands. How much did she have to drink the night before? It must have been at least a barrel of that strong, pungent lager the Brits loved to drown their sorrows in. The inside of her mouth was dry, and she tried to swallow, tasting something like raw sewage that caused her to gag. Mims changed tactics and lay next to Deanna, rolling around with little chirps of affection. She rubbed the cat's belly and tried not think of her pounding head, roiling stomach, and itchy, burning hand but it was impossible. She finally pushed herself up and out of the bed, her stomach threatening to erupt and her head throbbing with every beat of her heart.

  She stumbled down the stairs and knocked on Thom's bedroom door but there was no answer. She noticed his guitar stand was empty which meant he had gone to meet his band mates to rehearse for their upcoming tour. It was hard to believe Metal Urge would be on their way to the States in less than two months, leaving her working diligently to graduate so she could return to Arizona. She wondered if she would ever see England or Metal Urge again. She wasn’t sure she even wanted to after all of the heartache and devastating loss. A persistent Mims wound around Deanna's legs, mewling with hunger. She reached down to scratch the cat's head and groaned when a sickening pain made her slightly dizzy. Mims followed Deanna into the kitchen meowing loudly until she filled her bowl with a can of reeking cat food that threatened to make her vomit.

  Deanna ran to Thom's bathroom and grabbed a bottle of Paracetamol, swallowing four capsules and washing them down with handfuls of tap water that splashed down the front of her T-shirt, soaking the thin material. Water dripped from her chin as she clutche
d the sink, trying hard not to be sick. She thought she could actually hear her head pounding until she realized that the sound was someone knocking at the front door. She stumbled to the front entryway and pulled the door open, blinking a few times at the painfully bright sunlight outlining the emaciated frame of Trevor Hampton. He had on a heavy trench coat, and Deanna thought he must be burning up in the warm afternoon sunshine. She stared at him for a few seconds, shading her eyes against the light before Trevor stepped toward her.

  “I trust you've seen enough to determine I'm not a stranger.” He removed his sunglasses.” May I come in?”

  Deanna moved back from the door and he slipped past her into the darkened entryway. He stared appreciatively at the way the wet T-shirt hugged her sweet little curves. She crossed her arms over her chest and led him to the living room. Unsure of what to say, she asked if he would like a cup of tea. His eyes traveled down her slender frame, stopping to admire her legs which were covered to her mid-thighs by the thin, white cotton shirt. Water glued the flimsy material against her torso all the way down to the T-shirt’s hem, outlining every detail of her body. Her face flushed a deep scarlet when she realized she wasn't wearing panties and that little was left to the leering Trevor Hampton's imagination. “Excuse me while I go upstairs.” She backed up until she reached the stairwell and bounded up the stairs to escape Trevor's lascivious grin.

  He smirked at her discomfort while he removed his coat and made himself comfortable on the plush couch. No doubt Thom was plowing that fertile field as often as he could. Who could blame him? Although he had never found Deanna particularly attractive after viewing her numerous attributes he could certainly understand her appeal. She returned with her long, cascading blonde curls fluffed and shining, fully dressed---including a bra---the little prig. Trevor had to focus on the matters at hand to keep from laughing in her perfectly flawless face. As she bit her moist, pink bee-stung lips, looking good enough to eat, he felt a stirring in his groin. How odd. He hadn’t felt desire since Maggi surreptitiously spurned him for a roll in the hay with the gallant Nigel Guilford.