Road Rash

by Mark Huntley Parsons

  Wow. “Hey, man,” I said. “Really. You don’t have to do that.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Whatever!” Brad said, clearly annoyed. “We’ll be fine without you. And after tonight the manager’s gonna know you’re not in the band anymore, so you’re out of a room starting tomorrow.”

  And with that, he got up and left.

  37

  “Imminent Bail Out”

  “Hold on there, pardners—what’s goin’ on here?”

  We were hauling our gear from the club back to our room when we ran into Danny. The band’s rooms were spread out, and we’d planned on looking up the others after we’d regrouped.

  “Uh, we’re schlepping our gear?” Okay, I wasn’t exactly in the best mood.

  “Good answer. But the question is, why?”

  “That would be a question for Brad,” Glenn said. “I don’t want to put words in his mouth, so you’re better off getting it straight from him.”

  “Seriously, bro?”

  “Seriously.”

  “Okaaay … I’ll check in with you after I’ve talked to him.”

  After Danny headed out, I said to Glenn, “Man, that was pretty damn big of you. I was just getting ready to tell him what an asshole he was working with.”

  “You think he doesn’t know? Plus, if you do that, then Brad fires back about you, and we’re off to the races. The way to avoid a pissing contest is to not piss.”

  I stopped and looked at him. “Dude,” I finally said, “sometimes you are way too calm.”

  Jamie, however, felt a little more like I did. She showed up as we were loading the last of our stuff into the room, and believe me—she did not look happy.

  “What the hell’s going on around here? Danny just told me it looked like you guys were pulling out.”

  I glanced up from stacking my toms on top of my kick. “We’re not pulling—someone’s pushing.”

  “Why?” At least she didn’t ask who.

  “Maybe you ought to get that from the horse’s mouth,” Glenn replied.

  “Or the horse’s ass …,” I muttered under my breath.

  Her eyes flashed. “Don’t give me that crap, GT! This is me you’re talking to. And I want to know what’s going on. Right now. From you.”

  Whoa. I’d never seen her do that she-who-must-be-obeyed thing before. It was impressive.

  “Brad just told Zach he’s been replaced,” Glenn said.

  “But why?”

  “He didn’t say, so this is all conjecture,” Glenn said.

  “I’m listening. Conject away.”

  Glenn took a seat straddling his amp, and Jamie sat on the corner of my bed. I tried to look busy messing with my hardware, debating whether I should go.

  “Okay, but remember—you asked,” he said. “Brad’s problems with Zach—and with me, too, lately—don’t have shit to do with the music, no matter what he says. It’s important to him that he runs the show. Hell, it’s everything to him. Before, Nate sided with Brad, and Danny was pretty much neutral. And you … well, you rarely voiced an opinion, for whatever reason. So Brad felt in control …” He paused. “But you’ll remember he never wanted to do any of my songs. Because once you open that box …” He shrugged. “Anyway, Zach replaced Nate and that upset the balance of power. He had some new ideas—good ideas—but they involved playing originals. Including my originals. And he can’t have that.”

  “So …?”

  “So Zach had to go. But Brad couldn’t just say I’m threatened because it feels like I’m losing control of the group, so I’m firing the new guy. Hell, maybe he doesn’t even know that’s what he’s doing. So he makes up these nonexistent issues as an excuse to get rid of the problem child.”

  “Interesting theory.”

  Glenn nodded. “Uh-huh.” He paused. “And I’m sure Brad has a very different view.” It wasn’t really a question, but after he said it he just looked at her, waiting.

  “Yes, he does,” she finally admitted. But that’s all she said about that, and I sure wasn’t going to press. “But that doesn’t explain why your gear’s here,” she said, nodding at his amp. “Did you get, um … let go, too?”

  “No. I let myself go.”

  “Why?”

  He jerked his thumb toward me. “I pushed to hire him, he signed on to do this, and he’s been doing a great job. Hell, besides his drumming, he got one of our tunes on the radio. He’s moving things forward. And now, through no fault of his own, he’s been pushed out. I can’t just abandon him here, a thousand miles from home. And I can’t stay in a band that would do that to someone.…” He paused, then said quietly, “Things are changing. You’ll be fine without me.”

  She didn’t say anything for a long time. In fact, I had to look twice to make sure she’d even heard him, but then I saw that her eyes were watering. Finally, she kinda snorted and looked down, just shaking her head. I couldn’t tell if that meant No, I won’t be fine without you or No, you just don’t get it or No, I’m an idiot. Maybe a little of each. But in the end it didn’t really matter, because she walked out of the room.

  Suddenly I wished I could disappear.

  DID YOU HEAR ABOUT THE GUITAR PLAYER WHO LOCKED HIS KEYS IN HIS CAR?

  HE HAD TO BREAK THE WINDOW TO GET THE DRUMMER OUT.

  “Hey, look at this one,” I said. “Chevy half-ton. Supposedly runs good and it’s cheap. Body’s a little beat up, but who cares?”

  He shook his head. “Sorry, but a pickup won’t work. What happens if it rains? Who watches our stuff if we go into a restaurant? And where do we sleep if we’re tapped out?”

  I turned back to the computer.

  After Jamie left, we’d had a strategy session. I just wanted to get the heck out of there, so I’d suggested pawning our gear and flying home, but Glenn convinced me we’d be giving it away for next to nothing. Then we looked into renting a van, but that was expensive—for not much more we could buy some old beater. That way we could at least sell it when we got home and maybe get some of our money back. So we called up the local Craigslist and were looking at the prospects … which seemed pretty slim, considering our limited time frame and finances.

  “Well, what about this one? An old minivan—got almost two hundred and fifty thousand miles on it but had the motor rebuilt at a hundred and fifty. Looks okay.”

  “Let’s see.” He looked at it. “Hmm. Six-banger … might get okay mileage.” He looked at his watch. “No time to be picky. Let’s go look at it …”

  It turned out to be more beat up in person than it looked in the pic. This scruffy old guy was selling it—it had been a delivery vehicle for his bait business. The rear bench seat was MIA, and the slider didn’t really latch, so it was held closed with the strategic application of duct tape. There were dents all around—mostly on the rear end, like his backing-up technique involved going in reverse until he heard a noise. And the paint was peeling pretty bad.

  But we took it on a short spin and it seemed okay. I mean, it moved forward when you pressed the gas and it stopped (eventually) when you hit the brakes. The guy wanted $1,750. Between Glenn and me we had less than two grand.

  “We’ve got to drive to the Coast,” Glenn said to the guy, “and we have to leave tomorrow morning. If we pay that, we’ll either go hungry or run out of gas somewhere in Nevada, because we’re low on funds.” He took out the envelope with our money in it and thumbed through it so the guy could see the green. “We can give you twelve hundred bucks, and that’s it. Cash. Right now. Will that work for you?”

  The guy looked at the money, then at Glenn. Then back at the money. He nodded. “Okay.”

  “Thanks.”

  As we drove away, I said, “So, is this thing now the Bait Mobile?”

  He grimaced at that. “How about the Worm Wagon?”

  I laughed. “Sounds good.”

  Q: WHAT’S THE BIGGEST LIE EVER TOLD TO DRUMMERS?

  A: “HANG ON A MINUTE AND I’LL HELP YOU WITH THAT …”
<
br />   In the morning we headed to the dining area to fill our tanks one last time before we hit the road.

  The other guys were there. At least, all of them but Brad.

  Talk about serious weirdness. Then I thought, It’s only weird because I think it’s weird. I mean, they were still the same people they were last week, right? Brad was still an asshole, Danny was still funny, Amber was still Danny’s “humor soul mate,” and Jamie was still … well, whatever Jamie was, she was still that. So I figured what the heck, and I got some food and sat right down among them at a big long table, just like usual. And Glenn joined me.

  And at first it was weird. But I turned to Danny and asked how it was going, and he made some small talk about needing a new bass amp, then I started riffing on the Worm Wagon, exaggerating every little problem. And pretty soon he was cracking up, which got Amber going, and it was actually pretty unweird. At least for a little while, which was nice.

  Then he leaned closer and spoke quietly. “Look, bro—this sucks big-time. It’s not right.” I tried to wave him off, but he wasn’t interested. “Part of me really wants to get on the bus with you. Right now. But Jamie’s staying because … well, because she’s trying to make something work, I guess.” He glanced over at her. “And Amber is her best bud, so she’s staying with her. And I …” He paused.

  “And you’re gonna stay with Amber,” I said, “which makes sense.”

  He nodded. “Yeah. And I’ve got bills to pay. This is my job.”

  I could tell he felt guilty. “This isn’t even your fault. You’ve been great, man—I couldn’t ask for a better road guide, onstage or off.”

  “Thanks, bro. It’s been absolutely killer playing with you. We definitely need to get together and make some noise in the fall.”

  “That’s a deal.”

  Amber leaned across Danny. “Take care of yourself, baby bro. And your baby girl, too. You’re a first-class guy.” She grinned. “And I still say you look sexy as hell with those whiskers.”

  “Thanks.” I rubbed my chin. “That’s all your fault, you know.” I nodded toward Danny. “Keep an eye on the wild man, here.”

  I looked over toward Glenn. He was on the other side of me, and next to him was Jamie. I could only hear snatches of their conversation, but it seemed personal, so I looked around for somewhere else to be.

  I wandered across the room to graze at the buffet. It was already a gorgeous day out and I was standing by the open double French doors when someone familiar walked by on the sidewalk outside. He stopped in the doorway and looked at me, too. It took me a second because it was so out of context. It was Nate, the guy I’d replaced. Wow. All of a sudden a few things fell into place.

  I was about to say How’s it going or something when he sneered at me. “Hey, thanks for subbing for me while I was on vacation, man.”

  “No problem.” I smiled and stuck out my hand. He took it, a little confused, and I pulled him in close and did that backslap-hug thing. Then I grinned like he was the funniest damn thing I’d ever seen. “You poor son of a bitch,” I said, shaking my head. Then I turned and walked away.

  The hell with the food. I walked over to the table and looked at Glenn, but he was still talking to Jamie. Finally, he looked up and I gave him a let’s-go head tilt.

  He nodded, but Jamie got up to see me first. “What can I say?” she said.

  “Nothing. You don’t have to.”

  “Take care of yourself.” She glanced over at Glenn, who was saying goodbye to Danny and Amber. “And take care of him, too.”

  I thought that was weird, but I said, “Sure.” Then I hugged her and said quietly, “Thanks for everything, Cupid. And hey …”

  “Yeah?”

  “You deserve to be happy, too.…”

  Finally, we were all loaded up and good to go.

  “Well, you ready?” I asked Glenn.

  I guess a door was open somewhere, because we could hear the guys in the club across the resort, loud and clear, working through a few tunes with Nate. Listening to them, I couldn’t imagine it would take him too long to get back in the groove. With just Brad on six-string there wouldn’t be many solos until they found another guitarist, but they’d manage.

  “Yup. What about you? You wanna go say one last goodbye or anything?”

  “Nope,” I said. “I’ve already done it, except for Brad, and I’ve got nothing to say to him.”

  He nodded. “I hear you.”

  The band started playing “So Far,” our usual opener. Suddenly I felt like crap, hearing them do that with another drummer. And they totally killed it, too—Brad really was a great singer.

  Glenn must have read me. He turned to me and said, “That sucks compared to that night when you sang it!”

  That made me laugh.

  At least for a minute.

  38

  “Going to California”

  SALT LAKE CITY—146 MILES.

  I can remember seeing those signs before, only I’d been driving north instead of south. Amazing what a little change in direction can mean, huh?

  Anything new is an adventure. At least for a while. But then the novelty wears off and you’re stuck dealing with whatever’s left, good or bad. In this case, what was left was the simple fact that I’d been fired from my band. Again.

  And no matter how hard I tried to rationalize that it wasn’t my fault or that it had nothing to do with me or my drumming, there was no getting around it. And this time it double-sucked, because getting in this band had kinda redeemed me from getting kicked from that band.

  And okay, I’ll admit it—I’d had hopes of maybe getting somewhere with these guys. Especially after I’d worked with them for a while and seen what they could do. Things had started to turn around. And then … the bus drove right off a freakin’ cliff.

  “What are you thinking about?” Glenn asked, interrupting my thoughts.

  “Food,” I said.

  “Yeah, right. Your knuckles are white on the wheel and you’ve got death and destruction in your eyes. That must be one hell of a hamburger you’re thinking about.”

  “Okay, here’s what I’m thinking … I’m thinking this sucks. I’m thinking it sucks big-time. I know it sucks for you, too, and I really appreciate you backing me up, but that doesn’t hide the fact that I just got canned from the best band I’ve ever been in … not three months after getting canned from my last band. Which totally sucks.” I looked over at him for a second, then I turned back to the road. “That’s what I’m thinking. So, what are you thinking?”

  “I’m thinking it’s about time to get some food.…”

  A few minutes later my phone rang. Kimber. Oh God. I let it roll over to my voice mail and I listened to it maybe half an hour later, after we’d stopped and gotten a bite in Logan.

  Hey, just wanted to check in with my drummer boy—I hope everything’s going good for you. You’re probably working on some new songs or something before your gig tonight. From what you said earlier, it sounds like a beautiful place. Let’s put it on our list, okay? All right, I’ll let you go. Just wanted to say have a good gig tonight, and I’ll talk to you soon. Bye!

  God. I had some calls to make, and I was totally dreading them.

  The first was to Don Davis about the show. I mean, I had to let him know. I sure didn’t want them printing up posters or whatever with our name on them. Well, hopefully he’d contact me first for specifics or maybe a picture before he did something like that, but still, he’d need time to find a replacement. But I was going to feel like such a freakin’ chump, making that call. I mean, I’d full-on promised him that we could cover the job, and now I had to tell him that I’d been full of crap and that the band that played that song didn’t really exist. God, what a loser story that was, huh?

  And then there was Kimber. Man, she’d just been up here and heard us and everything. And I’ll admit, it felt pretty cool to have her see me playing with such a good band in such a nice venue. It’s like it validated al
l the supportive things she’d been telling me all along. So to have to tell her I’d been kicked again … Well, in some ways that was even worse than calling Don.

  Oh yeah. And my parents. Well, that could keep until I got around to it. Or until I rolled up to the house. Whichever came first. Man, there was almost too much wonderfulness here to handle at once, huh?

  Anyway, Kimber wouldn’t expect to hear back from me until tomorrow. Except she’d be in school until after noon. Of course, that way I could conveniently return her call in the morning and get away with leaving a message. But that was a little too chickenshit, even for me. The other option was to wait until tomorrow afternoon, but that meant I’d have all night and half of tomorrow to think about it.…

  We’d swapped in Logan, so Glenn was driving. It was dark out, and there was music on.

  The hell with it. I took out my phone.

  “Hi, Zach!” she answered, really cheerful. Which only made me feel worse.

  “Hi, Kimber …”

  “What’s wrong?” she immediately asked.

  “Nothing” was my automatic reply. Way to go, Mr. Honesty.

  “I figured you’d be playing by now. It’s after nine there, right?”

  “Uh, right …” Brilliant, dude. Keep it up and you might make it all the way to moron.

  “Did something happen at the club? Did they cancel the gig?”

  “Well, not exactly …”

  “Okay. So what’s going on?” She was being patient with my stumbling, but I could tell that the long, slow buildup wasn’t going to work.

  I took a deep breath and held it, then let it all out at once. “I got fired. From the band.”

  “What? I can’t believe that! Why? Where are you now?”

  “I’m in northern Utah, on my way home—I should be there in a couple of days.”

  She sounded happy at that, which kinda threw me. “Oh God, I can’t wait to see you!” Then she got serious. “Sorry. Selfish. I just miss you. Tell me what happened.”