Dead Twin Sister

by Jack Wallen

  Drew chuckled to himself before ordering. “Chaap kari achari and make that baby hot.”

  “Are you certain, sir?” the server asked politely.

  Drew tossed a wink to the woman. “You betcha.”

  Our server offered a slight bow and disappeared through a swinging door, her voice ringing out with the order. Drew’s eyes had never left the woman until she’d vanished from sight.

  “You’re incorrigible, Richards.”

  Drew nearly did a spit take with the mouthful of water he’d been trying to swallow. “You miss nothing, Grog.”

  “I’m a woman, what do you expect?”

  “Touché, my love. Touché.” Drew winked, his demeanor bereft of its usual pointed snark.

  Our server returned with drinks, set them down before us, and immediately bowed out of the moment, but not before flashing the slightest, flirtatious smile toward Drew. The second she was out of earshot, we both broke down in a round of muffled laughter.

  “Oh my God, Drew.”

  “That was so obvious, even I caught it. Do you realize how long it has been since I’d made a woman smile?”

  My heart warmed at the sight of Drew’s brightened face.

  “What is going on in that beautiful head of yours, Grog?”

  “The last time you made a woman smile was about ten minutes ago.” To save confusion, I pointed back at myself.

  “You don’t count, Groggy.”

  I dug a chunk of ice from my drink and tossed it at Drew. “What the fuck? Am I not a woman?”

  “No,” Drew’s voice dragged the word out. “That came out so wrong. What I mean is—”

  Before Drew folded inside out with embarrassment, I waved him silent. “I know what you meant, doll. I’m just fucking with you.” I drank deep from my water, the coolness soothing my cords. I’d never been such a diva that I’d put my voice on a no-fly zone during recording sessions; communication was far too important to me. Even so, I did have to pamper the instrument now and then.

  “So what was it that you thought you heard?” Drew dared breach the subject.

  “Nothing,” I snipped. “Leave it at that.”

  “It’s just me. We don’t keep things from one another, remember?”

  I did. After my return from The Seduction, and Al’s passing, Drew and I made a pact to always be honest. We found it necessary to ensure the foundation of what we’d created together remain intact. Both our identities were so intrinsically entwined with Die So Fluid, the very idea of it crumbling at our feet brought with it a crippling emotional landslide.

  “If you say it was nothing,” Drew shrugged, “then it was nothing.”

  The server returned with our lunch. The smell of the rice alone had my mouth salivating as though I’d not tasted food in weeks. After the young woman placed the last plate, she blushed, bowed, and took her leave.

  “Make sure to put your phone number on the check,” I said while scooping rice onto my plate.

  “You mean when I pay?” Drew scoffed.

  “So … chivalry is dead?” I teased.

  “You’re made of bad stuff, Grog,” Drew replied with a wink.

  “You love me anyway.”

  After shoving a spoonful of chaap into his mouth, Drew said, “You know I do.”

  I raised a glass. “To One Bullet From Paradise.”

  Drew responded, “May it shoot through the heart of the industry and make Die So Fluid a household name.”

  “I will gladly drink to that, Mr. Richards.”

  After a quick hit from my water glass, I dove into the meal with absolute abandon. For the briefest pause, Drew and I ate in silence, enjoying the flavor, the atmosphere, and the company. These were the moments in life that never failed to refuel my heart; a bit of peace away from the non-stop grind of rock and roll.

  My phone buzzed. A quick glance and I knew there was no choice but to answer.

  “Gordon,” I nearly sang the name of our new manager. He was good stuff and very thrilled to have taken the band on. The man gave off such a great energy; we were absolutely certain he was exactly what we needed. “Drew and I were just talking about you.” I shrugged. “What’s going on?”

  “Just wanted to check in, see how the session’s going. Have you blinded the studio with your brilliance yet?”

  “Half of the engineering staff are now wearing welding helmets, if that tells you anything.”

  We shared a quick laugh, while Drew rolled his eyes.

  I flipped the guitarist off. “Seriously though, it’s going great. The staff is tops and the sound is perfect. I think we’ll have at least one more song ready for mixdown today.”

  “Would you mind terribly if I arranged for a videographer to join you in the studio? I’m thinking a ‘making of’ video would be good for online, TV, and merch sales. I’d have to have both yours and Drew’s explicit permission—”

  “Blah, blah, blah,” I said half-jokingly. “You know you have our permission, Gordo. You—”

  It was Gordon’s turn to cut me off short. “It’s a legal thing.”

  “Fine. Fine. You have the explicit permission of Die So Fluid to film the recording sessions.”

  “Thank you, darling. You’ll be receiving waivers to sign in your inbox. I’ll have someone assigned and on site today. I hope you don’t mind such short notice.”

  “Not a problem, Drew is looking as fabulous as ever, so I’m certain whoever you send will be magically fixating the lens of their camera on his overwhelming beauty.”

  Drew offered up a wink and blew me a kiss.

  “Brilliant. Make sure to have his makeup done. Not too gaudy, though. We don’t want our favorite guitarist looking like a prossy.”

  For some random reason, I tossed Drew my best devil horns and unleashed a rock star tongue his way. After a quick goodbye to Gordon, I filled Drew in on the plan.

  “Is this the part where I express uncontrollable delight at the prospect of having a camera in my face all day?”

  “Don’t be a fun-killer, Drew. This is exactly what Die So Fluid needs. You know this.”

  Hesitantly, Drew gave his head a nod. “You’re right. Having a sort of ‘making of’ might be good for us.”

  “And our fans. Never forget the fans, Drew.”

  Once again, Drew raised his glass. “For the fans then.”

  I joined in on the toast. “I have a good feeling about this.”

  A grin snaked its way across Drew’s lips. “I hope you packed a catsuit or two in your luggage. The great Grog wouldn’t want to be caught on film in sweatpants or skinny jeans, would she?”

  “I go nowhere without a catsuit in my wardrobe,” I answered with a wink.

  “That’s my girl. Speaking of which, will all that paneer fit into your vinyl?”

  My boot made a swift arc into Drew’s shin.

  Drew winced and gabbed at his leg. “Yeah, I regretted that one as it was coming out of my mouth. Damn, girl, all that yoga has given you the leg of a soccer star. What position was that? Downward Flog?”

  After another round of raucous laughter, Drew and I finished off the grub, paid the bill, and made our exit.

  Drew slipped on his Ray-bans. “Don’t you sometimes wish we would leave a building and be flanked by the paparazzi?”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Not one fucking bit.”

  I fed my arm though Drew’s. We continued the walk toward the studio with a rock star’s swagger.

  TWO

  Well hello I’m bittersweet, the super freakified unique.

  It’s on the street, tres exotique.

  Our re-entry into the building was met with silence. Drew and I shared a knowing glance and a shrug. It wasn’t as though I’d expected to walk a gauntlet of praise and cheers; however, it would have been nice to hear a rousing round of “Hip hip hooray”. A simple, “Hell yeah”, would have sufficed.

  I checked my ego at the door before we meandered our way back to the studio. Insi
de the already cramped space, two new figures loomed—both young, hipsterish- looking waifs. Immediately, the couple approached, arms extended, to greet us.

  “Hi,” the perky female struck first. She was short, skinny, and tragically hip. Her clothing was straight out of Hot Topic, but she wore it well. Stick-straight blonde hair peeked out from under a ‘Pierce The Veil’ knit cap. I made a note to self to hound Gordon into getting a new run of DSF caps made. “My name is Bella.”

  Of course, it was.

  Shit. I wasn’t sure where the negativity was boiling up from. I was in desperate need of a mat and a minute or thirty of quiet time to re-center myself.

  I swallowed the vitriol and reached my hand toward Bella. “I’m—”

  “Grog,” Bella blushed. “I’m a huge fan of the band.”

  My confidence in Gordon’s new hires skyrocketed.

  Bella continued. “I’m going to be doing any on-camera interviews and setting up the shots. This is Dizzy, the cameraman. Don’t worry, it’s his real name. By the way, he’s killer with a camera.”

  Dizzy was clad in more patterns than I imagined possible. A red-and-yellow tartan covered his legs. A chevron tee shirt and houndstooth jacket did its best to hypnotize me up top. Had Dizzy not been drop-dead gorgeous, the look would have been vomit-inducing.

  “Pleasure,” Dizzy said with a simple nod. The kid might be slightly too cool.

  “What’s the plan,” Drew broke in on the intro-fest.

  “Drew Richards,” Bella’s face lit up. In all my years with Drew, I’d never seen the man move the hormone needle as much as he’d done today.

  “Gordon pretty much left it up to us. I’m thinking we’ll start filming as you do your thing; when you have a break, we can do a quick interview. Sound good?”

  “Sounds bloody perfect.” I turned to Drew and flashed a mischievous smile. “What do you wanna do with your life?”

  “I wanna rock,” Drew offered up the correct response.

  Bella laughed. “Twisted Sister. Nice.”

  “Our little pixie gets us, Drew.”

  Drew flipped his sunglasses to the top of his head and offered up his palm for Bella to slap. “You’re in, kid.”

  Bella’s palm met Drew’s with a resounding crack, sending the man into the control room. Dizzy grabbed his camera and wasted no time in pointing it my way. Bella nodded, as if I needed permission to speak into the camera hired by my manager to capture me on film.

  “This is Grog, from Die So Fluid. We’re in the studio recording a new track for our new album, ‘One Bullet From Paradise.’ You’re going to get a sneak peek at how we do what we do when we rock. Are you ready?” I drew up nice and close to the camera, certain the only object in the frame was my mouth. I pressed my lips against the glass of the lens—assuming I would catch hell for the act—and then pulled back with a laugh. Once I was away from the camera’s line of sight, I apologized to Dizzy, who was busy cleaning my love off his equipment. The young man gave me a nod as if to say We’re cool.

  I made my way to the control room; Drew was sporting a pair of headphones, with a look of concern riddling his face. He waved me over and, once I was within reach, slipped the cans over my ears. The track playing was mine; my voice with an odd distortion burning through my usually clean tone. The sound was a strange mixture of static and backward masking—unlike anything I’d ever heard without the help of overdubbed effects. I spoke over the sound, knowing my voice was too loud for the confined space. “What the fuck is this?”

  I pulled the headphones off and glanced toward Tony, the man seated at the deck.

  “Not sure. We were listening to you live and everything was perfect. Something must have happened to corrupt the file.”

  “In other words,” I huffed, “I’m back in the studio?”

  Tony nodded. “Sorry, Grog.”

  Another check of the ego was in order. I nodded and offered Tony a smile. “It’s fine. I wasn’t perfectly happy with that take anyway. Glad to have another go.”

  Relief washed over the engineer’s face. “I’ll set everything up for you. Be ready in ten?”

  “You got it.” I turned and made my way to the studio, Drew following close behind and the newfound wonder twins following up.

  “Any reason for concern, Grog?”

  Once we were in the studio—Bella and Dizzy left standing outside the room—I closed the door and tested to see if the mics weren’t live. With that assurance, I turned back to Drew. “Gordon hand-picked these guys, so I trust them. We’ll chalk this up to an anomaly and move on.”

  “I’m just glad my tracks were clean. I fucking nailed that last take,” Drew bragged.

  I took a swig of water. “What about the camera crew? You good with them?”

  Drew hesitantly nodded. “Harmless college kids. Probably getting class credit for this project. Besides, at least we know one of ‘em is a fan. They’ll do their thing, which will have Gordon tickled pink at having extra merch for us to shill at the shows.”

  “There’s no arguing that logic,” I agreed.

  “You ready, Grog?” Tony’s voice chimed in over the monitors.

  Before giving the engineer a thumbs-up, I waved Bella and Dizzy into the room.

  Drew clapped his hands together. “Now’s your chance to get a great bit of film. The mighty Grog will steal your soul with her voice alone.” Drew made a charade of covering his ears and suffering some unending pain as he backed out of the room.

  Bella giggled and watched Drew leave. That was not a good sign. The last thing Drew needed was a post-teen hottie fawning over him. After a quick bit of thought, I rescinded idea, knowing Drew’s ego could use the stroking.

  Guitarist and all.

  “Is there any spot in particular you’d like us to set up the shot?” Dizzy asked politely.

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re the pro, dahling. You set up anywhere you need … so long as it’s not right up in my face. I don’t need that much of a close up, Mr. DeMille.” Both Bella and Dizzy looked to me as if I’d sprouted a second head. I scoffed and added, Sunset Boulevard? You’re film students, I assume?”

  Both nodded.

  “What film student, in their right mind, has not seen Sunset Boulevard a bajillion times?”

  Again, I was met with stoic looks of confusion.

  “Never mind. Suffice it say, I’m ready.”

  I leaned into the mic and gave Tony the go-ahead. The click track ticked me in and the song was off and running. I sang:

  “Here’s a curious rose growing in the desert and close by a snake has shed its skin. Bondage to convention is for zealots; sum me up or pin me down, my thorns still sting.”

  I could feel the presence of the camera as I sang, something I should have long-since grown accustomed to. After all, I’d been filmed during shows countless times. That thought sent my mind twirling into the land of amazement how so many people held their phones aloft at concerts, completely forgetting to actually enjoy the moment. Maybe that was the crux of the issue; people had grown incapable of living in and enjoying the here and the now.

  The song continued on, my voice rising to the occasion and to the perfection that was Drew’s guitar work. This was one of those transcendental moments, where the music pulled me from the banality of everyday living to deliver me into some other place. The second the thought fired from one synapse to another, the music in my headphones slowed as if someone were holding their fingers against a wheel on a reel-to-reel. Both Dizzy and Bella ceased all motion. The room was, for all intent and purpose, dead.

  “Drew,” I called out, my voice a few steps lower than it should have been. The sound of my words had been multiplied, as if two voices spoke simultaneously—one in my regular tone and one pitch-shifted down. The headphones slipped from my ears to my neck. I pulled the cans off and awkwardly returned them to the stand. “Hello?” My voice dipped again, nearing contralto territory.

  Sister.

  The singular
word rattled my skull from the inside out. My gaze darted about the room to find no one besides myself and the currently immobile film crew.

  “Drew!” I shouted.

  I’ve found you.

  Each word was drawn out until it was almost unrecognizable. My heart beat a double kick drum pace against my chest; my breathing grew shallow, until I was certain I’d pass out.

  Grog. The voice grew louder and shifted into deeper and deeper tones.

  “Grog!” This time around, the voice was Drew’s. When I snapped out of the reverie, I found him standing in the doorway, hands on his hips and concern etching lines across his brow. “What the fuck, girl. You okay in here?”

  I nodded, confusion still gripping my heart and mind. Truth be told, there wasn’t an ounce of okay to be found in me at the moment. “I’m a bit fuzzy on the details of that take. Anyone care to fill me in?”

  Dizzy drew up, spun his camera around, tilted the LCD panel my way, and tapped play. I was standing at the mic. I sang the first lines of the opening verse and then fell silent and motionless. After a few seconds, my image blurred as though a Gaussian halo surrounded me. The fuzzy figure twitched as if it were about to completely detach from my body; then, at the last second, the shape snapped back until there was just me. It was at that instant everything returned to normal.

  “What the fuck?” Drew whispered. “Did you know that was happening, Grog?”

  I couldn’t lie to my dear friend and colleague. I nodded my head to confirm Drew’s suspicion.

  “You feeling okay, Grog?” Bella’s quiet voice broke in. “Would you like a fresh bottle of water?”

  “Yeah, that’d be great.” I answered, not really certain if a drink of anything but hard liquor would help.

  Bella slipped from the room in search of liquid refreshment. I’d rather she return with a glass of liquid calm.

  I leaned into Drew and whispered, “I heard a voice. It called me sister. What does that mean?”

  “Ruddy fuck if I know,” Drew answered before his eyes went wild. “You don’t think it’s Vau-eal and The Seduction again?”

  I wanted so badly to answer in the negative. Truth be told, I couldn’t be certain of anything at the moment. Even more to the point, I never wanted to hear that name again. “No, it wasn’t him.” I finally managed an answer. “It was female and it—” I stopped myself short.