Blazed

by Jason Myers

  Like, this is getting ridiculous, ya know. How amazing and thoughtful and wonderful this girl is.

  It’s just too fucking good.

  I almost wish she’d do something that sucked, so I could at least have one shitty point of reference to dwell on so I can feel a little bit better when I finally leave San Francisco.

  “Dominique,” I say. “That’s so fucking sweet of you.”

  “I did it myself at band practice. Mark helped me with the stencil. You like it?”

  “I love it.”

  “Good,” she says. “I made you one too.”

  I grab her and pull her into me. “Every time I see you, it’s better than the last time,” I say. “And the first time we kicked it, I thought it was the perfect time. Like a hundred out of a hundred, and here we are again and it’s just so much fucking better. I never thought I’d have a girlfriend as good as you.”

  Fuck! I think immediately after I’ve said this.

  My hearts starts racing and my mouth gets dry.

  Stepping back from me, Dominique says, “What’d you say?”

  I stutter.

  I’m thinking, You idiot, Jaime. You goddamn fool. You and your stupid mouth. You and your stupid fucking mouth and tongue and teeth. Idiot!

  Wiping the sweat off my face, I go, “I . . .” I stop. Then, “I, um . . .” I stop again. “Like, nothing,” I finally say.

  “Stop it,” she says. She’s still smiling too. “Just stop it. You know what you said, Jaime.”

  I nod. “I do.”

  “Oh my god,” she goes, and puts her hands over her face.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell her. “I didn’t—”

  But before I can finish, she throws her arms back around me and goes, “You just made me happy, boo. I’ve been wanting to say something like that all day to you. Jaime.” She kisses my neck. “My Jaime, my boyfriend.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “I am.” Even though I think it’s a horrible place to go there like this. With me leaving in a few days. It’s stupid and I wasn’t thinking right. I do feel that way, but I’m not going to be in San Francisco after Saturday. I’m leaving, and it’s the worst idea ever to push me and her even closer together given the reality of the actual situation.

  She kisses me again and then takes my hand and introduces me to the rest of Vicious Lips, who both look really nice and sharp and pretty as well.

  Mark is a little bit taller than me. He’s got thick, shaggy brown hair, and his bangs are pushed across his forehead from the right to left. He’s super skinny and scrawny, and he’s got a giraffe tattooed on the inside of his left forearm. Mark’s wearing a pair of supertight black cutoff jean shorts, a pair of orange-and-white Keds with no socks on underneath, and a gray-and-maroon-striped tank top.

  Keisha is a fucking babe. Like, she’s actually up there with Dominique now that I’m seeing her in person.

  Her hair is dyed purple and hangs down her back. She’s super skinny and taller than me and has a nice rack.

  What she’s wearing is this: A short, tight white dress, a pair of white, shredded stockings, a pair of all-black Chucks, and a huge gold chain with a golden gun attached to it.

  After them, Dominique introduces me to her brother Jamal. He’s fucking ripped and has a tiny Afro with a Z in his ’fro, and when he shakes my hand, he stares me dead in the eyes and his face stays straight.

  Dominique’s mother gives me a hug and says it’s nice to see me again and that she’s so happy that Dominique has been so excited and happy all week.

  “That’s cool,” I say. “I have been too.”

  When I say this, I look back at Jamal. He’s still grilling me with his eyes and it doesn’t bother me, but I don’t fucking like it either.

  Before me and Brandon and Eddie jump in line to get inside, Dominique takes me to their van so I can store my backpack in it. I jacked my father for another bottle of red wine, and since they’re checking bags at the door, I’ll lose it if I try to get it past them.

  When she’s done locking the van back up, she runs her fingers up and down the side of my face slowly. I’m leaning against the van, looking up at her, just in awe of her beauty and her smile.

  “This is the most excited I’ve ever been about anything,” she says.

  “It’s gonna be great,” I say. “This is so huge for you guys. And you’re gonna kill. I mean, you signed two fucking copies of your EP when we walked over here. Kids know who you are, they love you.”

  “I’m not talking about the show,” she says. “I’m talking about this. Here. Me and you.”

  “Oh,” I say. Then, “Dominique, I’m excited too, but—”

  “You’re leaving,” she snaps. “I know. You don’t need to keep saying it. I know you’re not gonna be in San Francisco when next week starts, but I don’t want to think about that until you’re gone. Until I text you to hang out and you can’t because you’re three thousand miles away. I’ll think about it then, but right now, I want to enjoy you being here. Cos that’s what’s real right now.”

  “All right,” I whisper. “You look so pretty tonight.”

  “So do you.”

  “Where are we going after the show?”

  “I ain’t telling you that, dude. It’s a surprise. But we’re gonna take my acoustic guitar with us, and it’s gonna blow you away.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  “Me neither,” she says, then leans into me and we kiss and we keep kissing and keep kissing, and I even put my hand over her pussy and press on it a couple of times and she bites my bottom lip and moans.

  She says, “Nothing makes me happier than seeing you at my show.”

  “You should get in there.”

  “Kay . . . ,” she says. “See you inside, Jaime Miles.”

  We kiss again, and this time she puts my hand over her pussy and I rub on it until she bites my bottom lip so hard it bleeds.

  “Vicious teeth,” I say, as I wipe the blood off with my hand.

  “Vicious pussy, too,” she says, then turns around and runs inside the venue.

  73.

  BY THE TIME WE FINALLY get inside, It’s nearly filled to capacity, which Eddie says is at least six or seven hundred. Place is huge. Two levels even. It’s fucking electric in here too. That MGMT song “Kids” is blasting from the house speakers, and Brandon is singing to it as the three of us make our way to the backstage area. I’ve never been in anything like this. Not even close. It seems even more intense than that last LCD Soundsystem looked in Shut Up and Play the Hits.

  Since I have an all-access wristband, I can escort these guys with me. It’s pretty fucking cool. Even though I always thought that people who make such a big deal about having this kinda access were jerks and booger pussies, it’s totally cool to see pretty much everyone out in the crowd staring at us while we head back there, wondering who the fuck we are and why the fuck do we get to hang tough backstage and what they’d probably do to trade places with us.

  Right when we get inside the area, Eddie turns back to the crowd and yells, “Devil Feeder!” and flashes the rock horns.

  “Skullburns!” Brandon yells, and when he turns back around, he bumps into this super-skinny guy who’s, like, flamboyantly gay but dressed supersharp, and he’s really handsome, too.

  “Well, hey there,” he says, grabbing Brandon’s arm.

  “Hey,” Brandon says, then stops walking and starts talking to him.

  Eddie throws his arm over my shoulder and says, “I snuck in three one-shooters of Jack Daniel’s in my underwear. I’m pretty excited about that.”

  “Let’s mow them scuds down,” I say.

  “Atta boy.”

  Right before we descend these stairs that lead to the greenrooms, I look back at Brandon again and he’s really chatting up that dude now. He’s laughing and keeps bumping into him and he’s blushing.

  I don’t say anything, though. It’s weird. But I don’t wanna assume anything, so I just follow Eddie down the stairs.


  Me and Eddie, we do our shots of whiskey real quick and then pop into the Vicious Lips room. The band’s all in there with Jamal and Dominique’s mother and Mark’s girlfriend, this babe with long black hair and bangs cut crooked across her forehead, who looks like she wants to look like Karen O and that’s totally fine by me.

  There’s one girl in there just snapping a ton of photos of the band, and this other guy is holding a video camera.

  “Okay,” he says. “You guys ready?”

  And everyone in the band says they are.

  Me and Eddie, we look at each other and shrug. They don’t go on for another ten minutes. Even all the way down here, the anticipation and the noise and the house music (“Such Great Heights” by the Postal Service) just vibrate through the walls and through the floor.

  King Krule is a huge band right now. There’s a ton of industry people hanging around the hallway and in their room. Eddie’s the one who tells me they’re industry people.

  “All those press passes and sleazy, asshole-looking dudes in suits smelling like they bathed in a tub of shitty cologne,” he says. “That’s how I know.”

  I’m, like, nervous for Dominique. For Mark and Keisha. For all of us who know them. This is a way bigger deal than I ever imagined it would be. It’s a massive thing. Every last hair on my body is standing straight up because of the energy and anticipation swarming through my gut like a million bees.

  Keisha and Dominique sit down alongside Mark now on this leather sofa. Dominique’s in the middle. Mark’s girlfriend hands Dominique an acoustic guitar. Keisha’s already holding one, and Mark has a tambourine in his hands.

  “Whenever you guys are good,” Mr. Cameraman says, “just start playing.”

  Dominique looks up at me and winks. This small grin cuts to the left of her face. Then she looks at Keisha and then Mark and she nods and counts off. . . .

  “One, two, one, two, three, four . . .”

  Vicious Lips starts playing. It takes me about ten seconds to finally recognize the song they’re performing. Eddie, too. Cos he turns to me right as I’m about to turn to him and he goes, “Mazzy Star.”

  “ ‘Look on Down from the Bridge,’ ” I say. “Fuck. My mother used to listen to this song late at night all the time. She’d just play it over and over and over, looking out the window of our living room. It’s beautiful. My mother always looked so beautiful when she listened to it.”

  When Dominique starts singing, fucking chills slam down my spine and I get dizzy from it. I just watch her sing and play guitar. Her eyes are closed. She’s singing from the bottom of her heart. Her mother is crying as she watches her, and Jamal, finally that dude smiles. How can you not? This is mesmerizing. Stunning. This . . .

  “Everybody seems so far away from me, everybody just wants to be free . . .”

  Immediately after those words leave her mouth, Dominique finally opens her eyes and looks right at me and smiles. Eddie nudges me and my heart is fucking melting.

  Like, holy shit!

  Holy shit!

  I think I’m in fucking love with this girl.

  Holy fucking shit, man!

  74.

  ME AND EDDIE ARE STANDING off to the side of the stage and to the back of it in the all-access area. We can see the entire space from here. See all the happy fucking kids just packed in and laughing and waiting.

  I don’t see Brandon anywhere and when I ask Eddie, he says, “I don’t know where he went, man. Dude does that at shows. He wanders. Meets a ton of people. Dances. Laughs. That’s his thing, homie. He’s out there somewhere with ten new friends and a smile.”

  I really like what Eddie just said. You can tell him and Brandon are true friends. That they care for each other and understand each other and let one another be who they are.

  Scanning the first couple of rows in the crowd, I see so many babes and they’re all sorta looking in our direction, and it’s nice to know that the hottest girl here is the one that likes me and isn’t lying about it and won’t play any mean jokes on me or make me feel like a loser for wanting to be with her so badly.

  The house lights dim suddenly. Then the whole room goes black, and everyone starts screaming and whistling and clapping while that Cage song “I Found My Mind in Connecticut” from his album Depart from Me starts bumping.

  “Sick!” Eddie yells. “So dope!”

  Me, I’m clapping and right when the chorus starts . . .

  “Every morning I just lay in bed cause I don’t wanna wake up, pick my stupid face up, give my shit away . . .”

  This flashlight cuts across the floor and out walks Vicious Lips, and they take the fucking stage to an applause and an appreciation that I’ve never come close to witnessing before.

  It’s so special.

  And they deserve it all and probably so much more.

  When the lights are brought back up a tiny bit, there’s my girl standing front and center on the stage behind her keyboard synth, next to a blue-and-white Gretsch guitar lying in a stand, a tambourine hanging from a hook on the side of the synth.

  Keisha is to her right and Mark is set up on his sick drum kit to her left, but he’s facing both of them.

  After a few seconds of her checking her gear, the applause begins to die and she leans forward into the microphone and says, “Thank you so much . . . wow.” She looks like the happiest person in the history of the world. They all do. And then she says, “Thank you all so much for coming out tonight.”

  Some girl in the crowd yells, “We love you!” and people cheer again and Dominique laughs and says thank you one more time, then “We’re Vicious Lips from right here in San Francisco. This first song’s called ‘The Fury and the Night.’ ”

  Dominique rips her cardigan off now, and then it begins. And, like, a minute later this entire place is fucking jumping and ten times more alive than it was when we walked in.

  • • •

  About halfway through their third song, “Wet Kisses,” I look to my left and see Jamal walking toward me.

  I ain’t nervous, though. Like, her mother gave me another hug after the first song was over and told me how impressed she was with me from all the things Dominique has told her so far.

  “What’s up, man,” I say.

  He stands right next to me and crosses his arms.

  “It’s so good,” I say next.

  “Yeah it is, man. My sister is special. She’s the most talented and caring person I’ve ever met, and that includes my momma.”

  “She’s great,” I say. “She really is.”

  “I’m glad to hear that from you,” he snorts. “Cos that girl on stage, dancing and slamming on that keyboard and ripping the crowd to pieces with that angel-like voice, that girl is too good for anyone.”

  I look up at him. “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me, man. You know exactly what I said, and it’s the truth and you know it too.”

  I don’t say anything.

  “If she was as smart as we know she is, she wouldn’t be messing around with no dudes ever. She’d just focus on her music and get big and then deal with all the dicks later.”

  “Hey, man,” I snap.

  “What?” he snaps.

  Eddie hears that and steps towards us. “Yo, Jaime, what’s up?”

  “This don’t concern you, homie. Stay the fuck back.”

  “Fuck you.”

  I put my hands on Eddie’s shoulders and say, “Relax, man. It’s fine.”

  “Asshole,” I hear Eddie mumble.

  Turning back to Jamal, I go, “Listen, man. Dominique is amazing, and that’s how I’m treating her.”

  “Good,” he says. “And it better stay that way, because if you fucking hurt her in any way, if you ever lie to her or talk shit about her or doing something funny behind her back and make her sad or make her cry, I promise you I will track you down and take you out. She’s the most important person in my life, and I will protect her and defend her with force.”

&n
bsp; “Okay, dude. I got it.”

  “Do you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I will ruin you if you make her cry.”

  “Dude,” I say, throwing my arms in the air. “I got it. She ain’t gonna cry from anything I do.”

  “Jamal!”

  Dominique’s mother yells this at him.

  “Get over here,” she says. “Leave that boy alone. I work for his daddy.”

  “You should go,” I tell him, smirking.

  “That attitude gonna get you hurt,” he says.

  “Jamal! Now!” his mother goes.

  But before he walks away, he says, “Hurt her or dishonor her in any way and you’re a dead man. She’s better than you. She’s better than all of us.”

  Jamal walks away and Eddie puts his arm around my shoulders again and I whisper, “I know, dude.”

  I whisper, “She’s way better than I’ll ever be.”

  • • •

  The fourth song of the set is a cover of Nada Surf’s “Blonde on Blonde,” and me and Eddie freak out. I love this song. It was the fourth song I learned to play on the guitar. So cool they’re covering it. This set is insanely fucking good. Me and Eddie, we run to the front of the stage and start singing along with everyone else around us. . . .

  “I’ve got blonde on blonde, on my portable stereo . . .”

  Hearing half a crowd this big, so maybe four hundred people, singing along with you has gotta be such a monster fucking thrill. And when the song is over, I look over my shoulder and see Brandon making out with that guy he bumped into earlier.

  I’m shocked to see this. Stunned, I guess.

  I grab Eddie by the shoulder and say, “You see that, man?”

  “What?”

  “That,” I say, pointing.

  “Oh yeah. What about it?”

  “I mean nothing, I guess. I just didn’t know he was gay.”

  “He ain’t. Dude flips both ways, but he’s been into boys a lot more recently. It’s all good. That dude loves to suck some cock,” Eddie says, then walks over to this girl who’s been making eyes at him all night long and starts talking to her.