“Well?” asked the handsome man who’s thick, layered shag of long, brunette hair was newly streaked with glistening golden blonde.
She ran her fingers through his soft mane and grinned, “The highlights look really sexy.”
“Yeah?”
“Oh yeah,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.
“Are you sure they’re not ridiculous?”
“No, Ali. It’s 1987, and the 80’s are all about hair. You know, long, big and colorful. She grinned at him, “All the bands are coloring their hair.”
“You’ll show me just how much you like it later, yeah?” he grinned wickedly.
“You’d better believe it.” She kissed the corner of his mouth and whispered, “That’s a promise.”
The little girl lying asleep against his shoulder sighed and mumbled, turning to bury her face in his warm neck. “Petula, my darling, you need to wake up so that you’ll sleep tonight.”
Deanna rubbed her daughter’s back and smiled at her husband. “Let her sleep, Ali. Grandma and Grandpa won’t mind if she’s up late tonight. Everyone’s going to be too excited to sleep anyway.”
His beautiful wife was right. Alistair Staley had waited years for this night; Metal Urge’s first television appearance in England, and the acceptance of a special platinum record for the re-release of their second album, “Beyond the Darkness.” It was quite the honor, but it hurt that Nigel wouldn’t share that award. Metal Urge’s lead singer, Chaz Buxley, had been with them for almost ten years, and he was brilliant, but he wasn’t Nigel Guilford. Tonight they would share a classic video of him and Nigel performing the title song in Wild Bill’s studio in 1976. It had been an impromptu performance in the wee hours of a rainy September morning. He played the piece acoustically while Nigel sang each verse soulfully in a hauntingly beautiful voice as Wild Bill filmed them with a Super 8 camera.
Petula squirmed against him so he put her down watching as she toddled off to join her brother and sister. At eighteen months old she could be hell on wheels, all of their precious children could, but Alistair wouldn’t change one thing in his life including his sometimes rowdy, vocal brood. He never failed to thank Penny Rawley every day in his heart for inviting Deanna to Los Angeles in February of 1980. Penny managed to lure her away from her job as a corporate travel agent in Phoenix just to witness Metal Urge accepting their first Grammy award. Right from the start he and Deanna felt a strong connection and a lusty attraction as well. After they spent their first night together making love on the sandy shores of Laguna Beach a few months later, they quickly progressed from old acquaintances, to lovers, to husband and wife, and finally parents. Quinn was an added bonus to their amazing relationship, and Alistair fell in love with him at first sight. He remembered the day the adoption papers were finalized and he became Quinn’s dad. It touched him deeply; it still did. There was no question that Quinn would know who his biological father was one day. Alistair would be proud to tell the boy that he considered Nigel one of his best mates and always would.
Watching his family on the observation deck of the Tower Bridge made him realize how lucky he was, yet for a moment he felt a familiar twinge of guilt over Thom’s failed marriage to Deanna. Poor bloke, it just wasn’t meant to be. Only months after their divorce was finalized Thom re-married which was undoubtedly a mistake for it was an unhappy, bitter union. It was no secret that Thom still loved Deanna; loved her so deeply and completely that he could never love another woman. Deanna Darmody had changed the course of his life forever and there was no going back. One only had to look into the haunted, lonely eyes of Shell McCordy, Thom’s embittered wife, to understand that sad fact. Alistair’s unexpected relationship with Deanna nearly destroyed the band, ironically, for the second time. Despite all of the emotional pain and drama, Thom couldn’t turn his back on Metal Urge. He had put his heart and soul into the band and their music so in the end he reconciled his feelings as best he could and moved on. Thankfully Thom had a nine-year-old daughter who was the light of his life. Bittersweet consolation, yet solace for him just the same. The child was the very air that he breathed and the only reason he stayed in a loveless marriage.
Alistair sighed and looked at his watch before hustling his family into the lift. They had just enough time to get back to the hotel where he would don his studded leather gear and meet up with his band mates at the BBC television studio.
****
The studio audience was filled with die-hard Metal Urge fans, some sporting vintage concert tees from the 1976 “Feel the Urge” American tour. The mood was high voltage, and the metal heads were ready to rock with one of the only heavy metal bands that had proved the critics wrong: metal music was alive and well in 1987, and the boys were primed and ready to kick some ass to prove it.
Deanna watched the roadies set up the stage from an enclosed sound booth high above the audience. Penny Rawley, and Shell McCordy, along with Brad Bradmon’s, and Chaz Buxley’s long-time partners, Clea and Deb, tried to get comfortable in the crowded, claustrophobic space. A hugely pregnant Penny was shoved into Deanna’s side, giggling and cursing their predicament by turns.
Two sound men spoke softly into their elaborate head gear, and the studio lights faded out. A huge movie screen unfurled as Wild Bill Dennison walked up to the mic and folded his hands.
“Ladies, gentleman, and metal maniacs,” he said into the mic as devil horns pumped the air and shrill whistles and shouts echoed throughout the studio audience. “We would like to share a piece of metal history which captures and celebrates the talent of a man taken from us in the prime of his music career.”
Deanna held her breath, unsure of how she would react when Nigel appeared on screen. Penny clutched her hand and she was grateful for her support although the tender gesture brought tears to her eyes.
“Without further ado,” Wild Bill said, stepping aside and sweeping his hand in front of the screen, “Metal Urge is proud to present the brilliant Nigel Guilford performing ‘Beyond the Darkness’ at Glaston Hall Studios, September 1976.”
The intro began with the camera focused tightly on Alistair’s fingers caressing the strings of an acoustic guitar then cut to the lone figure standing in front of a mike, his head bowed.
Nigel’s body moved rhythmically with the haunting melody until he raised his head and looked directly into the camera. “This song is for a sweet, little Yank who helped me find the light beyond the darkness,” he said softly.
He grasped the mike and began to sing as Deanna felt the world tilt and sway when she tried to focus on his cherished, beautiful face through a blur of bittersweet tears.
In this cold and endless night
A lurking fear compels me
To search the darkness for your light
As I sink beneath a chilling sea
I cry out for you but it’s all in vain
I hear the taunting darkness
Howl its triumph once again.
Pulling back from the microphone, Nigel took a deep breath to help sustain each powerful, soaring note he sang with absolute heartfelt conviction:
Beyond the darkness
I hear you calling, calling me
Beyond the darkness
Only love can set me, set me free.
Throwing his head back, Nigel’s voice sounded like a gut wrenching sob as he sang the last verse of the chorus, and Deanna felt her heart clench with a pain so intense she cried out in shock. No one in the booth noticed her; they were all focused on the man and his mesmerizing vocals as the cadence of his voice spirited them to another place:
I crawl along a desolate shore
I no longer hear your voice
Calling out to me anymore
Darkness whispers there’s no choice
It laughs and steals my soul away
You are gone and I can’t follow
Why does it have to end this way?
Beyond the darkness
I hear you calling, calling me
> Beyond the darkness
Only love can set me, set me free.
The last few guitar chords faded away, and Nigel smiled at the camera before covering the lens with his hand, laughing and insisting that he’d had enough of being filmed. Deanna abruptly left the sound booth, unable to bear the terrible anguish that threatened to steal her sanity. She ran to the stairwell that led to the right wing of the small stage, and hugged herself tightly, trying to stop the fathomless grief from drowning her in its black, agonizing depths. How could losing Nigel still hurt so much after eleven years? She was happy. She had a wonderful life; a loving, devoted husband, and three beautiful children.
Quinn…she hadn’t realized how much he looked like his father until tonight.
“I’m so sorry, Nigel,” she sobbed. “It isn’t fair that you never got to hold your son, or watch him take his first steps, or hear him call you daddy. How I wish you were here with us now,” she wept, sinking down onto a cold, concrete stair step, too overcome with sorrow to stand. Guitars thrummed and shrieked while Jayson crashed and clanged his way into the frenzied intro of “Killerz,” the band’s newest single. The raw power and ear-splitting volume of the song snapped Deanna back to reality. Ali was playing his heart out, and she wasn’t even watching him, showing her support for his, and the band’s first BBC appearance.
She found a restroom and splashed her face with water, tidied her hair, and put on some lip gloss, ashamed that she had allowed old emotions and memories to get the best of her.
****
“You alright?” Alistair stroked Deanna’s moist cheek with his fingertips as she rested her head on his chest.
She kissed his warm, sweaty skin and murmured, “Better than alright.” Scooting up to lay her head beside his on the oversized pillow, she kissed the hollow of his neck and sighed. “You really out did yourself tonight, studly.”
Alistair laughed and hugged her close. “Those blonde streaks gave me some sort of supernatural power. A bit like Samson’s long hair, yeah?” He grinned down at Deanna, “They must have done because I haven’t performed like that since I was in my twenties.”
“I’m glad I was your Delilah,” she teased. “Wow!”
They kissed and cuddled for a few more minutes and then Alistair reached for the phone.
“What are you doing?” Deanna murmured against his shoulder.
“I’m calling room service.”
She grabbed for the phone, but he held it out of her reach. “It’s almost three in the morning!” she laughed.
“I don’t give a toss. Great sex always gears up my appetite, and I’m feeling ravenous.”
Pushing back the covers, Deanna positioned her slender body in a provocative pose and flashed her husband a wicked grin. “Why don’t you feast on this?” she said, running her hands over her breasts and belly slowly.
“Hmmm,” he said, gently pinching a nipple and then the skin around her belly button. “Cheers, but I think I’ll give the kitchen a ring instead.”
“You little shit!” she cried, grabbing the handset and tossing it aside.
They wrestled around on the bed until Alistair had Deanna pinned firmly underneath him. He kissed her hard, growling and grunting as she struggled to push him away.
“Call room service, please!” she squealed as he nibbled on her neck and ears.
“Yeah, you’re a bit tough and salty for my taste,” he said rolling off of her.
“Bastard!” she hissed playfully and handed him the phone.
“Do you fancy anything?” he asked as he dialed room service.
“A huge,juicy cheeseburger with loads of extra pickles and cheese, and a jumbo order of fries.”
“You mean chips,” Alistair grinned.
“Chips, fries, tomato, tomahto. You're such a hopeless Limey,” she sighed dramatically.
He nodded in agreement, kissed the tip of her nose and waited for the kitchen to answer before rattling off an order that was fit for a king. This was the Savoy Hotel---they catered to their guests every whim so why not take advantage of their world renowned hospitality at three a.m.?
Less than an hour later their room was filled with mouth-watering dishes which they dug into with passionate abandon. Groaning and rubbing her stomach, Deanna crawled back into bed and watched Alistair finish up the last few crumbs of a kiwi tart. Wiping his mouth with a fine linen napkin, he got up and went to the window to stare out at the glittering lights along the Thames River. She couldn’t resist joining him. Grabbing her robe she shrugged into it as she hurried to the window to nestle against Alistair’s side and gaze out at the beautiful river. Although she had enjoyed being in London again she was anxious to return to their wonderful old farmhouse in the West Country. London and its tragic memories of Nigel’s loss were wearing thin. She longed to get back to the safe, consistent routine of family life.
“I miss him too,” Alistair said suddenly, as if sensing her thoughts.
Embracing her husband tightly, she felt tears clogging her throat, and though she didn’t want to cry for Nigel or what might have been, the tears began to fall.
They stood silently for a while, watching the river roll gently on its way to the North Sea.
“Life’s a funny old thing, yeah?” Alistair said, hugging his wife against him.
“Yeah, and so are you,” she sniffed, wiping the tears away with the sleeve of her robe. She kissed his cheek and pulled away. Making her way to the plush bed she forced the agonizing memories of the past down into the deepest recesses of her mind. There they would languish in the darkness, their power to wound and torment extinguished---hopefully forever.
Alistair turned out the lights a few minutes later and joined his lovely wife in bed. Through some mysterious set of circumstances or fate, his life had become intertwined with Nigel’s legacy forever. He looked at Deanna breathing softly beside him, kissed her forehead, and snuggled against her warm, inviting body.
Feeling her steady heartbeat against his chest he whispered, “Life really is a funny old thing,” and closed his eyes.
The End
About the Author
E.D. Wilbourn lives in the hot, sultry clime of the splendid Sonoran desert where perpetual triple digit temperatures have been known to cause delirious flights of fancy and riotously brazen hallucinations.
Connect with Me Online:
Webpage: http://edwilbourn.blogspot.com
Twitter: http://twitter.com/@EDWilbourn
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/ddwilbourn
Google+: https://plus.google.com/109476427442422245897/posts
I’m including a Chapter 1 of my new book, Metal Heart: Redemption which is slated for publication on September 20, 2013. Enjoy!
Chapter 1
1994
The pain was back. A sharp, stabbing jolt of flaming agony sliding deep into his left eye: its deadly aim as precise as a razor-edged stiletto.
Thom McCordy leaned forward to brace his elbows against the edge of the recording console, pressing the heels of his hands hard against his throbbing eyelids. He could almost feel the mounting pressure pushing against his palms defiantly. He groaned and sat up, digging in his pants pockets for a bottle of Paracetamol, wrenching the bottle free in anticipation of relief. The sound of one pill rattling around inside the plastic container made his teeth clench against the unrelenting pain. A chirping noise wormed its way into his throbbing head and he realized that Ronson hadn’t turned on the answering machine. “For fuck’s sake, Ronson, I told you to turn on that bloody machine,” he muttered angrily. Struggling to his feet, he lurched to the studio door and flung it open. “Chelsea! Answer the phone!” He leaned his throbbing head against the padded door and waited for the phone to go silent. It kept on ringing. “Chelsea...please...,” he called out, his voice sounding like a sob.
The sound of footsteps on the thick carpeting grew louder as Chelsea bounded down the stairs towards her father’s recording studio. The weakness in his voice had frighten
ed her. She rushed to his side wrapping her arms around his waist as he sagged against the studio door. “Are you getting one of your migraines?” she asked as she helped him to his chair. He nodded weakly so she ran to a small filing cabinet, opened the bottom drawer, and quickly fished out a bottle of prescription pills. Shaking two of the horse-sized pills into her palm she handed them to her father along with a cup of tepid tea so he could wash them down. “I’ll get a cold bottle of water. Be back in a jif.”
Thom leaned back in the chair and pinched the bridge of his nose with a ragged sigh. He swallowed hard, tasting the coppery tang of blood. This was going to be a bad one. Penance paid for his past transgressions no doubt. He let the unsettling thought slip away as the pills started to ease the agony behind his eyes. He felt Chelsea slip a bottle of water into his hand and squeeze his fingers reassuringly. She slid behind the chair and rubbed his shoulders, her touch soothing and gentle.
“The call was from Glenna’s mum. She’s on her way to pick me up.” Chelsea leaned down and pressed her cheek against his hair. “D’you want me to cancel my London holiday with Glenna? I don’t mind, Daddy. Really I don’t.”
Thom smiled at his daughter’s use of what she considered the childishly silly term of “daddy.” She only slipped up and used that endearment when she was sad or afraid. How many fifteen year old girls would willingly give up four days of shopping and grand nights out on the town to keep watch over their old dad? It made his heart swell until it almost burst with love and pride for his baby girl.
“No, sprite, I want you to go and have fun with Glenna and her family. This trip is part of your birthday present from me, yeah?”
Metal Urge Page 33