“Tommy.”
“I did not.” Tommy looked up from slicing the last of the cucumber.
“My light brown hair wasn’t exactly rock and roll.”
“No, but it was still beautiful. I love this color, though. It matches your personality. It’s you. Don’t ever change it.”
The oven timer rang through the kitchen. Angel’s pork roast was done. He took a pair of pot holders with him and opened the oven door. The sweet smell of the fresh ham, covered in Mojo sauce, brought back visions of his family gathered around a large holiday table enjoying his father’s cooking. He placed the roasting pan on top of the stove to let the juices set. When he rejoined Tommy and Jessi, they had moved on to chopping carrots and onions.
Tommy was slicing an onion. It was the least favorite job among new cooks in the kitchen at Garcia’s. Seasoned chefs became immune to the eye irritation from the aromatic root vegetable, but inexperienced cooks would rather gut a fish than chop an onion. It was silly how the trivial task of slicing an onion was so endearing to Angel.
Tommy started to sniffle and blink as the pungent gasses from the Bermuda onion hit him. Tears seeped out of the corners of his eyes and he wiped them on his shoulder, and then blotted them with the back of his wrist. He didn’t know that the enzyme residue on his fingers brought the burning scent of the onion closer to his eyes.
Angel grabbed a napkin. “Let me do it.”
Tommy gave him a helpless and appreciative smile.
He dabbed away Tommy’s tears with a delicate touch. His watery blue irises were magnified and the reddish tint around them amplified their color. With his hair pulled back, the exquisite features of Tommy’s face were accentuated and Angel couldn’t look away. There were no more tears to wipe, but his hand was poised in the air, frozen in place by Tommy’s gaze. Tommy’s throat moved and his eyes fed Angel a deep sense of longing. If Tommy wasn’t married, Angel would have kissed him. He would have cleared the counter of salad prep with one swipe of his hand and lifted Tommy onto it. He would have brought his mouth down, hard, and covered Tommy’s lips.
The clicking of Jessi’s heels on the tile floor broke his gaze. She was looking back at them over her shoulder, as she left the kitchen. Angel expected a harsh, jealous glare, but her face was bright and a provocative smile hid in the corner of her mouth.
Now that Jessi left the kitchen, he was alone with Tommy and still within the confines of his personal space. He wondered if he should dare to offer more physical contact in the form of an embrace, or maybe a gentle caress of his hand across Tommy’s beautiful cheek. No. Physical contact wasn’t a good idea. He was still unsure about the boundaries of Tommy and Jessi’s marriage and he didn’t want to cross them. He looked away first and cleared the board of the sliced onion and slid it into the salad bowl. “I think it’s time for dinner.”
Tommy’s voice was husky and even. “I’m starving.”
Angel froze and slowly turned back to Tommy. His face was full with intensity and desire. Angel nodded. “I’m starving, too.”
Jessi raised her wine glass. “Gracias, Chef Garcia. This is the most exquisite meal I’ve ever tasted. You can cook for me every day of the year.”
Angel absorbed the compliment. And he loved being called Chef Garcia. It was his father’s title. He was Chef Angel, but he didn’t bother to correct her. He bumped her glass in thanks, and took a long sip of wine. “You know, Tommy, I looked into making that music video we talked about.”
“I wasn’t serious, A. That’s big money.”
“I know, but I thought it couldn’t hurt to look into. I would have fronted the money if I thought it would help the band book larger, higher paying venues. I just can’t justify spending that kind of money right now.”
“I wouldn’t let you. I’d rather use whatever money the band has to make another CD.”
Angel never thought about recording another CD. The band already had two full-length CDs, but they weren’t with Tommy on guitar. The songs didn’t contain the signature Tommy Blade guitar solos. The old CDs were outdated. Tommy’s name wasn’t on the sleeve. No wonder he was suggesting a new CD. Plus the band had two new songs to include in the mix. “Tommy Blade, you are an absolute genius. I’m going to book some recording time as soon as we finish dinner.”
“That’s still a lot of money. Are you sure it’s a good idea?”
The finance major, always levelheaded about the ledger. “I’ll make it work. Our band needs a current CD out there. The songs are ready to go. We just need to record the tracks.”
Tommy sat back in his chair, obviously pleased. “I wish I could afford to make a small studio in my house. It would save the band so much money. I thought about it when we first bought the place. I have a decent sized finished basement, but it was too expensive.”
“When we make it big, the first thing I’m going to do is buy a big house and construct a full recording studio that we can utilize. For convenience, not necessity.”
“I’m gonna hold you to it.”
Jessi refilled everyone’s wine glass and held hers up again. “Let’s drink. To the success of Immortal Angel.”
“To your new future recording studio.”
“To our future recording studio.”
As Angel tipped back his glass, and the fruity taste of the wine filled his mouth, he reflected on the growing attraction between himself and Tommy and his friendship with Jessi. He still couldn’t figure out where she fit in all this. She saw the flirtation that transpired. Neither he nor Tommy tried to hide it. She was aware. The last thing Angel wanted to do was interfere in their marriage. If Jessi showed the slightest bit of jealousy or irritation, he would back off right away, but she didn’t. She always had that knowing smile on her face and, sometimes, he swore she was pushing them together, like earlier, when she left the kitchen when he was wiping Tommy’s eyes.
At first he thought Jessi was Tommy’s beard, his wife for appearances sake, but he quickly realized that wasn’t the case. Tommy and Jessi were free with their affection for one another, and they shared their own sexual chemistry. Their marriage was real, that much he knew. It was everything else that confused him.
Chapter Nine
Tommy’s first show with Immortal Angel was at The Quadrangle. It was a Williamsburg staple and the heart of the band’s fan base. The Quadrangle wasn’t a bar. It was a venue for indie musicians. It prided itself on showcasing top notch local music. It was the go-to hot spot. It had a real stage and a state of the art sound system.
It was the first time Jessi was at The Quadrangle and she perused the venue with a curious eye. It didn’t waste its money on fancy décor. The floor was a painted concrete slab and the walls were a mish mosh of graffiti contributed by local artists.
The band stayed in the back room until show time, but Jessi wanted to be in the middle of the crowd. She was interested in Immortal Angel’s fan base. They were pretty much what she expected – leather clad, bright-haired, tattooed punk rockers. She fit in perfectly. The sweet smell of pot hit her as she walked past the bathroom. She turned her head in the direction of the scent and spotted two guys making out near the juke box. The Quadrangle definitely wasn’t a place for prudes.
Jessi overheard several conversations, all discussing the return of Immortal Angel to the stage and the anticipation of seeing Tommy’s debut. She was impressed, and surprised, that they already knew Tommy by name. They were obviously die-hard fans who did their research. And there was camaraderie among them, like a small family.
She introduced herself to some of the fans. As soon as they heard she was with the band, they treated her like an old friend. They were full of compliments. They loved her hair, her studded boots, her makeup – they loved her. Some wore Immortal Angel T-shirts, but she couldn’t find the band’s merchandise table. Angel had a sharp business mind. It was unlike him to miss the opportunity to capitalize on merchandise for the band. She made a mental note to ask him about it later.
Tw
enty minutes before the band was set to take the stage, Jessi was still at the bar shooting tequila. The room was thick with people, and she had a hard time squeezing through them. A voice in the crowd shouted, “She’s the new guitar player’s wife,” and a collection of hands practically carried her to the front of the stage. She found herself next to Alyssa, Damien’s wife. Jessi liked Alyssa, and they were becoming close friends.
Since Tommy left Psychobabble, they lost touch with their old circle of friends. Years of friendship thrown away because of jealousy. The members of the band didn't understand that Tommy had a chance with Immortal Angel. They only saw their talented lead guitar player jumping ship and leaving them to fend for themselves in the competitive music industry. They took it personally, and their friendships slowly dwindled away. It was sad, because she thought Brian, the singer from Psychobabble, and his girlfriend, Diana, were their closest friends. Now, she realized how seamlessly Alyssa and Damien would fill that gap in their lives.
“I was looking for you,” Alyssa said. “Where were you?”
“I was at the bar. Do you know all the people here? They’re very friendly.”
“Yeah. Pretty much. Everyone’s really cool, except . . .” Alyssa trailed off without finishing her sentence, obviously unwilling to share a name.
“Except who?”
“Never mind. I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough.”
Showtime. Nerves were never an issue. Tommy was confident. He knew music was his gift and it was his mission to share it with the world. He cradled his trusty Les Paul in his hands and peeked out from the side of the stage. The Quadrangle was mobbed, but he could see Jessi at the front of the crowd. He smiled in her direction, even though he knew she couldn’t see him.
A chant rose up from the impatient fans: “Immooortal! Immooortal!” Tommy tapped his foot to the beat of their mantra and fought the urge to run out on stage.
Angel clapped him on the shoulder. “Ready to make magic?”
“Never been more ready for anything in my life.”
“How about a little guitar to announce that we’re about to hit the stage?”
The fingers on Tommy’s left hand found the fret board while the pick in his right met the strings. A staunchly melody flew out of his amp and he bounced his way out in front of the crowd. They shouted and stomped until the floor shook beneath his feet. The audience was a blur of black lipstick and leather. A sea of hands, covered in black fingerless-gloves, filled the air. They had waited eight weeks for the return of Immortal Angel and swarmed the stage expressing their enthusiasm with a load roar. Tommy entertained them with a spontaneous improvised riff while Jimmy situated himself behind his bass drum.
Angel was making eye contact with everyone in the audience. He was in awe as he took in the over-the-top reception.
Damien’s mohawk cut through the air as he adjusted the strap on his bass. He looked up and nodded at Tommy. They locked eyes as Jimmy counted out four beats on his sticks.
Both Tommy and Damien sprung off their feet as they played the first note in a choreographed leap three feet into the air. The beat of Jimmy’s drums reverberated in the air and Angel’s immaculate vocals exploded throughout the room.
The crowd screamed with an earsplitting thunder.
Nothing Tommy saw in the studio, or on video, compared to the showmanship and stage presence of Angel’s live performance. He strutted around the stage in skin tight leather pants, thrust his leather-covered crotch at the audience and touched himself to the point where it was almost obscene. And his fans loved it.
Tommy ambled to the front and walked the length of the stage with his guitar held out toward the crowd. He wanted their attention. He needed to stand out and make an impression, which wasn't an easy thing to do when you shared the stage with Angel Garcia. He walked up to Damien and initiated a challenge by rattling off a riff and pointing the neck of the guitar at him. They had a short face-off, bass against guitar, both playing with exaggerated flair. They gave each other a short nod, conceding to a tie.
Tommy zeroed in on Angel and circled him, aiming the guitar at him like weapon. He leaned against Angel’s back and let his head loll against Angel’s neck. Searing guitar riffs accentuated his posture. He rolled off Angel and stopped when they were shoulder to shoulder. Leaning into Angel, he flung his hair from side to side. Through the blur of his tresses he saw glimpses of the crowd, hands and horns raised high. He jumped in front of Angel and stalked him with the guitar until he was trapped against the drum platform and leaning backwards with no means of escape. Tommy planted his feet wide, rocked his head back and forth and whipped Angel in the chest with his hair.
Angel’s strong vocals reversed their dance and sent Tommy scampering backwards with Angel aggressively pursuing him with the microphone. He turned and started to strut across the stage, but Angel grabbed him by the back of the hair and spun him around. Holding a chunk of his hair, Angel belted some lyrics at him before sending him away with the jerk of his hand.
Their antics sent a loud roar through The Quadrangle accompanied by fists pumping hard in the air.
Fueled by the sexual energy that transpired between him and Angel, and by the energy of the crowd, Tommy was ready to deliver a riveting, mind-crushing guitar solo. Moments before it was about to begin, Angel sauntered over to him and draped his arm around his shoulder. Angel paused while he looked out into the audience. The longer he waited, the louder they screamed. Meanwhile, Jimmy kept a steady beat on the drum.
“Do you want to meet my new guitar player?” Angel yelled into the mic. “His talent will amaze you! And he’s pretty cute, too! What do you think ladies? Do you think my new guitar player’s hot?”
Female voices squealed their approval.
“Do you want to hear what he can do on the guitar?” Angel held his hand to his ear. “What? I can’t hear you! I said, do you want to hear what Tommy can do on the guitar?”
Angel knew how to rile up the audience, and their cheers were deafening.
“That’s more like it! Now, put your hands together, and give a kick-ass welcome to the Prince of Punk Rock, Mr. Tommy Blade!”
Tommy was ready. It was his time to shine. His fingers moved like lightening as he played the arrangement the fans knew and loved, but he put his signature on it. He added attention-grabbing guitar chops that took the fans by surprise. He had no intention of becoming a carbon copy of the old guitar player. He was carving out his place as the new lead guitarist of Immortal Angel. This guitar solo was his elaboration. It was complex and sophisticated. It was a risky move. The crowd could have turned against him, not appreciating a new-comer changing one of Immortal Angel’s most popular songs, but they went wild. Their applause brought him to his knees at the end of the stage. Hands reached up and grabbed at his legs. Angel bowed to him like a god, then leaned over and ran his tongue down the neck of the guitar.
The crowd went berserk.
The band played punk rock, fast and loud with a contagious beat, but in the middle of their set, they played a slower song. It definitely wasn’t a ballad, but it was softer and you could see the emotion in Angel’s face and hear it in his voice. Tommy didn’t expect the rowdy crowd to appreciate the tenderness of the song, but everyone quieted down when the song began, so they could listen to the familiar lyrics. It was obviously a fan favorite.
Tommy found Jessi in the crowd. She was in her rightful place at the front of the stage, cheering louder than anyone around her. He knelt down in front of her and played the next guitar solo just for her. He maintained steady eye contact with her while she gazed back at him. Their connection was strong and it blocked out everyone else in the room. It was just the two of them.
Her fingertips covered her mouth, staving off an emotional bout of pride. When the solo ended, he leaned over and gave her a quick kiss on the lips. The rumbling applause he received almost blew the roof off.
By the time the last song rolled around, Tommy was drunk with euphoria. Tonigh
t’s show was far better than he expected. He was worried that fans wouldn’t accept him right away, but they embraced him as part of Immortal Angel from the first song. Before he left the stage, they gave him an enormous round of applause accompanied by shouts of praise. His debut as the new lead guitarist in Immortal Angel was victorious.
He ran off stage and threw his arm around Angel’s shoulder. “That was fuckin’ awesome! It was the best show I ever played.”
“You, my prince, are going to make us all superstars. You’re going to bring us the fame and the recognition that we’ve worked so hard for.”
Angel’s hands slid around Tommy’s neck. They were hot, and a little bit sweaty. Celebratory excitement disappeared and was replaced by intense physical attraction and desire. Smiles faded and were replaced by pouty, slightly parted lips. Angel took a step closer, and the faint musky scent exuding from his pores filled Tommy’s nostrils. He took a deep breath and Angel’s scent made his hormones spiral out of control.
Angel leaned closer. “You’re the one I’ve been waiting for. It was kismet that brought us together, my sweet prince.”
Tommy knew Angel’s words had a double meaning, and every time Angel said “my prince”, it made his heart beat a little bit faster. It was a pet name, reserved just for him.
They were standing close enough so Angel’s warm breath landed on Tommy’s cheek. Suddenly self conscious, he wondered if anyone was watching them. He shifted his weight on his feet and dropped his hand from Angel’s waist, but Angel didn’t react. Angel kept his hands around Tommy’s neck and didn’t break their penetrating gaze. It captivated Tommy and he no longer cared if anyone was watching.
He imagined Angel’s lips getting closer and Angel’s hand moving lower. He imagined putting his hand inside Angel’s open shirt and touching his beautiful flesh. He would lick Angel’s neck and glide his tongue straight down the center of his magnificent chest. He could taste the salty flavor of Angel’s sweat covered body on his tongue, and he licked his lips imagining its taste. A warm gust of air on his face interrupted the sweet vision in his head.
The Prince of Punk Rock Page 4