Metal Urge

by Wilbourn, E. D.

  “You what?” Thom shouted and lunged through the doorway, his eyes blazing.

  Nigel could see from Thom’s reaction that he knew nothing about what had happened at the airport…until now. “Fuck,” Nigel said under his breath as Thom grasped his shirt, yanking him up, his fist primed and ready to draw blood.

  “You bloody bastard,” Thom shouted, his face scarlet with rage. “I’m gonna make you truly sorry. Sorrier than you’ve ever been in your miserable, useless life.”

  Alistair ran in and grabbed Thom‘s shoulders, holding him steady while Andy pried Nigel’s T-shirt out of his grip.

  “Take it easy mate,” Andy said as he pulled Thom back into the narrow hallway, rubbing his shoulders as he slumped against the wall almost panting with rage.

  Alistair coaxed Nigel to sit down, which he did, relieved that the two men had come in before all hell broke loose. “What the fuck is going on between you two?” Alistair asked quietly, trying to remain calm after finding the two hotheads at it again. When Nigel looked away without answering, Alistair knew it was the same old hormone fueled drama over Deanna. He liked the girl, but he wished she had never gotten mixed up with these two wanks. They seemed destined to muck up every chance that Metal Urge had to be successful and all because of a pretty blonde. “You’re thinking with your dick again,” Alistair hissed. “Put it back in your leather trousers and get on with your job as lead singer of this band. She’s Thom’s wife, and you had better get that through your head or you’re gonna fuck it up for Metal Urge.”

  ****

  The show went off without a hitch, but Andy made sure the two men were kept apart both before, and after the concert, just as a precaution. After he returned to the tour bus, Andy received word that a radio station disc jockey in Indianapolis was keen to interview the band on-air following the debut of their newest single. That would be fantastic publicity for Metal Urge, and their album, so he contacted the station manager and finalized the arrangements. Once the interview was over he faced a very unpleasant task. He loathed the idea of having a “talk” with Nigel and Thom but if he didn’t he would be babysitting their arses through the entire tour. Not a pleasant thought. There were always one or two prima donnas in these bloody, spoiled rock bands, and in that context, those two were spot on. Thank God for Beastrage---they played nice with one another. He yawned and looked at his watch. God, he was knackered and needed a good kip. He hoped that those two wankers could refrain from killing each other during the night.

  The radio station DJ enthusiastically welcomed the members of Metal Urge, helping them get comfortable with the headphone gear they would have to wear during the interview. He took Andy aside and asked if he would be interested in giving away a few concert tickets and back stage passes to provide some lucky fans the opportunity to meet the band and take a photo with them. It was the perfect publicity stunt. Unwilling to commit without the lads approval, Andy asked them if they would mind. Of course they didn’t mind; it was a brilliant idea.

  The DJ was a pro. He asked each band member a couple of questions, giving them equal opportunity to talk about themselves. After the interview was over, Andy gave him a promotional photo of the band, and the DJ asked if they would each sign it so he could have it framed and hung on the wall. For the first time since the group played their debut gig in Bilston, the lads felt like a genuine rock band. Each musician signed his name with a flourish, proud to be taken seriously at last. Not one to play favorites, Andy would make sure that the next interview would feature Beastrage. They deserved the chance to promote their music as well. Besides, he was starting to respect them far more than he did Metal Urge, and that was a sad fact. He had happened upon another row between Thom and Nigel right before they were scheduled to leave for the radio station. This time it wasn’t physical, but he still had to step in and quiet them down. He would talk to them as soon as they got back to their tour bus---this bloody nonsense had to stop.

  Stung by Andy’s school-marm lecture on appropriate behavior, and learning to get along, Thom seethed with anger and humiliation. No doubt Nigel told him about the kiss just to get a rise out of him and make him look like a bloody fool. It was unprofessional to be at each other’s throats, and he was gutted that it affected Jayson, Alistair, and Brad---they were the innocent parties stuck in the middle of this ridiculous feud. Nigel was obviously getting off on being a trouble-making bastard, using his bollocks attitude as a way to pay him back for marrying Deanna. For the remainder of the tour he would have to swallow his pride even if he choked on it because the bands’ success depended on him and that prat getting along. Once this tour was over Nigel was out of the band, contract or no contract, and he would take great pleasure in literally throwing his back-stabbing arse out.

  Nigel kicked back on his bed and considered Andy’s condescending attitude during their “talk.” He knew it was wrong to involve his band mates in a personal situation between him and Thom. He had made such a stupid mistake. If he hadn’t jumped to conclusions about Thom’s intentions none of this would have happened. He felt like a witless git, but then he had been feeling that way quite a lot lately. He resented Andy asking if Metal Urge was important to him…of course it bloody was. He loved Metal Urge and wanted the band to succeed. They had worked their arses off for it hadn’t they? But the fact remained that at the end of the day music couldn’t hold you in its arms, have your babies, or love you unconditionally after you lost your hair, your physique, and your teeth. Those sentiments might make him the biggest sap in the world, but he would be the first to admit that a loving, committed relationship was all he ever really wanted.

  And God help him, he wanted it with Thom McCordy’s wife.

  ****

  Thom sat as far away from the bustling throng of roadies, venue management, punters decorated with “VIP” backstage passes and wide-eyed hangers-on as he could possibly get. Listening carefully to the unique sound of his Flying V, he painstakingly tuned the guitar to the perfect tone and pitch for each string. He stopped for a moment and stared at his trembling fingers. Nigel's cruel, vindictive confession still ate at his guts with a ferocity that almost rendered him useless. He was devastated that Deanna never bothered to mention that Judas kiss even after all of these weeks. He had afforded her every opportunity to come clean, almost to the point of goading her into betraying her ex-lover, but she never said a word. It galled him to think that she always acted the loving, devoted wife during their phone conversations; so innocently unaware of the raging emotions that were practically eating him alive.

  It hurt so damn much.

  The truth of the matter was that he loved her far too deeply for his own good. Now it seemed he had all the more reason to fear that she might throw herself back into Nigel's open arms. The bloody bastard had wasted no time slithering right back into Deanna's life. He had no idea how to stop him. Only Deanna could do that but would she? He was so sick and tired of worrying about losing his wife to Nigel. Surely she realized what this was doing to him. Didn't she care that their lives were being slowly and methodically destroyed by Guilford's treachery? Trying to focus on the task at hand, Thom closed his eyes and resumed tuning his guitar, desperate to block out the fear gnawing on the tender flesh of his heart, making it pound wildly in his chest like Jayson's bass drum.

  “Oi, Mate.” Jayson said, clapping him on the shoulder.

  “Hey, Jayson.” He looked around and noticed Penny was nowhere in sight. “Where's your beautiful fiancé?”

  “She’s feeling a bit under the weather.”

  “Sorry to hear that,” Thom said, placing the deftly tuned guitar back on its stand. “Would you mind fetching us a couple of beers?”

  Jayson shook his head and disappeared behind a heavy black curtain near the amplifiers, promptly returning with two frosty cans of Bud. “D'you like this American rubbish?” Jayson asked, sniffing the bubbling froth threatening to drip down the sides of the can.

  “Not really,” Thom grimaced after he
took a sip of the beer. At least it was icy cold, cooling the feverish jealousy which threatened to incinerate his very soul.

  They drank in silence, Jayson restlessly switching the beer can from hand to hand, clearly anxious to ask a question he wasn't entirely sure Thom would be willing to answer.

  “What is it?” Thom said, growing tired of Jayson's agitation.

  Shrugging, Jayson drank the last dregs of the bitter beer and crushed the can, tossing it back and forth in his hands until Thom grabbed it away from him.

  “Alright, alright,” Jayson said. He took a deep breath and glanced at Thom. “I reckon something is going on between you and Nigel again, yeah?”

  Thom nodded and leaned back, rubbing his face and pushing his hair behind his ears.

  “It's because of Deanna isn't it?”

  “Who else?”

  Jayson placed his hand on Thom's shoulder, squeezing gently. “D’you want to talk about it, mate?”

  “Why beat about the bush?” Thom thought as he looked at his friend's kind and caring face. He needed to get the dreadful situation off his chest before he went stark raving mad. “Nigel kissed Deanna at Heathrow after I boarded the plane.”

  “No fucking way!” Jayson exclaimed.

  “He told me himself after I went to talk to him about setting aside our differences. How bloody ironic is that?”

  “Why would he do that, Thom?”

  Shaking his head, Thom stood up and looked around as though he could find a clear cut answer in one of the hundreds of objects and people all around him. “I dunno, Jayson. Maybe he thought it was a clever way to get back at me for marrying her. What else could it be?” Thom crossed his arms and shrugged. “It makes no sense. The wanker wasn't even involved with her anymore and hadn't been for months.”

  “I don't think that's why he kissed her,” Jayson frowned, pulling at one of his tight curls thoughtfully. “I'd be willing to wager he's convinced himself that he still wants her, maybe even loves her. I reckon he's hell bent on getting her back no matter who he fucks over. That bit seems obvious, yeah?”

  Thom stared at Jayson, shocked at the insight his seemingly unaware, often air-headed mate actually possessed. Before he could respond to Jayson's last comment, Andy raced up to escort them to their dressing room where they would have fifteen minutes to get changed and ready to go on. He noticed the murmurs and occasional shouts and cheers coming from the restless crowd as they headed for their dressing room. He was determined to set this conversation with Jayson aside until the show was over because those kids deserved a mind blowing concert. After the show he would have nothing but time to reconsider Nigel's twisted motivation for shamelessly molesting his wife.

  ****

  The lock refused to open forcing Deanna to jiggle the key frantically while the phone went on ringing inside the flat. When the lock finally turned, she rushed in and grabbed the handset, knowing instinctively that it was Thom.

  “What took you so long?” he asked.

  “Well, hi to you too,” she teased. “The deadbolt is acting up again. Do you mind holding while I go upstairs? I'll take your call in my old bedroom.”

  “Yeah, fine.”

  She took the stairs two at a time, anxious to talk to her husband. It had been a really difficult day, and she missed him like crazy. Hearing his voice would help wash away her troubles and loneliness for a while, but what she really needed was for him to walk through that door, take her in his arms, and make love to her with the energy and passion he always possessed. Grabbing the handset she lay back on the bed and sighed. “I miss you, babe.”

  “Deanna…”

  “Wait, Thom. Please. I need to feel close to you. I want to feel like you're here with me and we're touching each other. It feels so good. Oh, baby,” she groaned, “I miss you so much it's driving me insane.”

  He cleared his throat but said nothing.

  “Thom? Is something wrong?”

  “Yeah, Deanna, something is wrong and phone sex isn't gonna make it magically disappear.”

  Feeling embarrassed and a bit cheap, she pushed down the hem of her skirt and sat up. What could she have possibly done to upset him so much? The silence dragged on for so long, she wondered if he was still there until she heard him take a deep breath.

  “Why didn't you tell me that Nigel kissed you at the airport?”

  Startled, her hand flew to her throat. She pressed gently against her larynx as if willing it to work. “I didn't…I don't…Oh God, Thom. How did you find out about that?”

  “Just answer my question.” His voice was so cold she could almost feel ice forming on the earpiece, stinging the flesh of her ear.

  “I didn't want to cause trouble for the band.”

  “What kind of bloody lame excuse is that, Deanna? It was a personal matter between you and me, and I had the right to know!”

  His voice rose to a shout and she pulled the handset away from her ear, wincing at his barely concealed rage. “Do you hear yourself?” she asked in a thin, shaky voice.

  “Are you trying to turn this back on me?” His laugh sounded strangled and harsh. “Well, that's a brilliant ploy my girl, but it won't work.”

  “A ploy?”

  “Don't act the dumb blonde bitch with me, Deanna. You know exactly what I mean.”

  “I don't know what you mean, Thom, but I do know that you're acting like a first class shithead.”

  Thom pounded the handset against the metal payphone until the earpiece cracked and split, spraying tiny pieces of plastic around his face. “I'm not the shithead, Deanna, your back-stabbing ex-lover is! He kissed you just to fuck with us...with our marriage! Why can't you see that?” he screamed into the damaged receiver.

  Deanna flinched and jerked the handset away from her ear again, shocked at Thom's unrestrained rage. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she cried.

  Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Thom pressed the ruined handset against his ear and listened to Deanna's uneven breathing as she tried to calm herself. The sibilant sound of her breath made his heart clench with outrage and pain. “Why do you try so hard to protect that sleazy bastard?” he snarled. “He's using you, Deanna, and you're so bloody stupid you can't even see it!”

  “How can you say such horrible things to me? I didn't do anything wrong,” she whimpered, slamming the phone down and collapsing on the bed in a flood of tears.

  Thom listened to the droning, crackling dial tone, his breath coming in little gasps of impotent rage. He laid the handset in its cradle where it hung lopsided and accusing. Staring out of the pocked and pitted phone booth glass, he knew that he had gone too far. She said she hadn't done anything wrong and before dialing their phone number and hearing her cherished voice, he never believed that she had. That traitorous kiss was Nigel's doing---she was the innocent victim. Unexpectedly, feelings of betrayal and indignation surfaced and before he could stop himself, he was shouting accusations and calling her names. The metallic clang of a nail being driven into a coffin of his own making rang in his head causing him to feel dizzy. He leaned against the glass wondering how long it would be before he drove her out of his miserable life and straight into Nigel's slimy embrace.

  Chapter 35

  Hanging up the phone, Deanna mentally counted this conversation as Thom’s fourth attempt to take back his hateful insults and accusations unleashed on her with a fury she never imagined him capable of. After apologizing and begging her forgiveness he actually wept, the sound of his remorse breaking her resolve, forcing her to reluctantly forgive him. But their reconciliation came with a caveat: he was never to bring up the subject of Nigel’s kiss again. His promise sounded so fierce she could picture him lying prone on the floor like a loyal subject swearing fealty to his lord and master. It was mean and petty, but she wanted to laugh at his misery. He must have told her that he loved her a dozen times during their short conversation, anxious to hear her say that she loved him too.

  It wasn't easy.

  Her s
tubborn pride almost prevented her from speaking the words just so she could give him one last figurative kick in the ass. She wasn’t proud of her lingering resentment, but she knew it would take time to let it go. She glanced at the clock and decided to call in sick at work. She had clocked over ten extra hours in the past few days to avoid brooding over Thom’s hateful call so she didn’t feel the least bit guilty about missing an evening at the hotel. After changing into her favorite T-shirt, a “Feel the Urge” concert prototype Thom gave her before he left for the States, she took a pint of ice cream from the freezer and went into the living room to watch TV and play with Mims. An old black and white movie starring Basil Rathbone was just beginning to pique her interest when the phone rang. An unfamiliar male voice greeted her enthusiastically and when she hesitated, he introduced himself as David Hadley, the owner of the Chelsea flat. She apologized immediately but he laughed and said it was his fault.

  They chatted about how well she and Thom were getting on in the flat, and about how Mims was faring during her owners’ absence. After a brief pause, David asked if he could come by in the morning. A woman was talking to him in the background, he said he had to go, and would it be alright if he came round at ten o’clock? She agreed, and they hung up. The call was unsettling. She felt a bit panicked not knowing why he needed to see her. If he and his wife intended to move back into the flat, she would be forced to find a new place on her own and get all of their things moved while trying to keep up with her classes and her job. The thought was overwhelming and she felt her stomach turn sour. There was no way to contact Thom---the band left for Omaha right after his call. Stashing what was left of the ice cream in the freezer, Deanna made her way upstairs to bed. She hadn’t slept in Thom’s bedroom since the night Nigel called. It was going to take a clever lie to cover up what had really happened to the telephone's cracked handset.