Victory RUN: Collected Victory RUN 1, 2, 3

by Devon Hartford

  I ask Kellan, “Do you know the order of the bands tonight?”

  “Yeah, I got the list from Cannonballs.”

  “Who?” Dubs frowns.

  Kellan smirks, “Nobody.”

  I ask, “Can I see it?”

  He hands it to me. I scan the list. I see a bunch of names, including Suffer The Gun, Kellan’s band.

  But I don’t see Ninth Street Nymphos, the name Olivia submitted because we haven’t had time to come up with a better one. “I’m not on here!”

  “What?” Kellan asks.

  “My band isn’t on here!”

  “Let me see,” Kellan takes the list. “What are you guys called?”

  “Ninth Street Nymphos.”

  Dubs and Joa chuckle.

  Kellan searches the list, “You’re right.”

  I groan, “What am I gonna do?”

  Kellan arches an eyebrow, “You wanna play with us?”

  “I don’t know your songs!” I say desperately. Now I’m sort of wishing I’d teamed up with Kellan from the beginning. Tonight is going to be a bust. I sigh to myself.

  Kellan asks, “Didn’t you hear us play at The Dive Bomb?”

  “Uh…I sort of spent most of your set outside,” I say sheepishly.

  “You did?” he asks doubtfully. “Why?”

  I roll my eyes, not wanting to answer.

  “Yeah, ésa,” Joaquin says, “Why you diss us like that?”

  I wince. I don’t want them to think I’m a bitch or whatever. Usually, the truth works, so I go with that. I say, “I was jealous of Switchblade.”

  Dubs says thoughtfully, “Yeah, she real good. Too bad she gone.”

  Joaquin asks, “Why were you jealous of Switchblade, ésa? You play way better than her.”

  I’m flattered, but I can’t answer without explaining how I was mostly jealous of the amazing stage chemistry Kellan had with Switchblade, not her playing. Watching the two of them play together reminded me of what I used to have with Victor. And it broke my heart that Kellan had replaced me, even though I told him I didn’t want to be in his band. It doesn’t make any sense, so I don’t bother to mention it.

  So I say, “I don’t know. I just was.”

  “No worries,” Kellan nods.

  I check my phone to see if Liv has sent the files out.

  Still nothing.

  Waiting sucks ass.

  Chapter 123

  JULIAN

  I’m not a tremendous fan of hard rock and heavy metal, but I can appreciate it. Especially when the performer I’m going to see is Victory Payne.

  Since there won’t be a valet at a club like The Cobra Lounge, I took the black Range Rover instead of the Ferrari.

  I drive the Rover down my driveway and past my front gate onto the road outside my home.

  I’ve been very curious to see Victory perform live in front of an audience since the day we first met. She has a distinct quality of self-assuredness combined with emotional honesty and a sense of humor that I rarely see in an individual performer. Couple that with her technical mastery of the guitar and she has the makings of a super star.

  I had hoped Victory would get back to me regarding her performance at the L.A. Gunslingers competition, but she did not. Not a problem. I had previously asked Colette to put the date of the Gunslingers competition on my calendar so there would be no chance that I would miss it.

  The timing of the Gunslingers show is perfect. I’ve spent the day in the studio with Layce and I desperately need to clear my head. A raucous rock club should knock out the cobwebs. It will also expose me to a music scene I rarely see. I welcome the variety.

  I hope Layce has a similarly open mind because she insisted on accompanying me to tonight’s show.

  Layce reclines in the leather passenger seat beside me. She sighs, “How long do we have to stay?”

  In the entire time I’ve known her, which has been a period of many years, Layce has never once been patient. Living in the moment is a concept she cannot fathom.

  “Relax,” I smile without looking at her. My eyes focus on the serpentine road leading down from my home in the Hollywood Hills. “This should be fun. I thought you might enjoy a break from the studio tonight.”

  Layce drums her fingernails on the arm rest nervously, “I suppose you’re right.” She sighs, “But I really want to finish mastering ‘I Rise’ tonight. That rough master I had to listen to at the video shoot was making my ears bleed. Way too much treble.”

  I stop at the bottom of the hill and wait for the red light, “I have no doubt it was the sound stage P.A. You heard the mix in my studio. The high end was delicately balanced to emphasize your voice over all.”

  “I guess,” she sighs. “But I want to listen to it one more time tonight when we get back. With fresh ears.”

  Layce is the consummate perfectionist. I thought I was troublesome. She is far worse. But she’s been very successful in the music business and taught me a few things along the way. In fact, she tends to be an inspiration despite her public persona as a diva. Yes, she is a diva. But she has earned it.

  The light turns green and I turn onto Sunset Boulevard.

  Traffic is moderate for a Saturday evening. The last faint light of the setting sun stains the western horizon as we glide toward it.

  Layce asks, “Do you think anyone will recognize me?”

  I glance over at her. She wears a plain wig of dark hair that looks believable. I told her that we were going to a rock club tonight, so she arrived at the studio this afternoon wearing a stylish head to toe black leather outfit that looks torn from the pages of Vogue magazine rather than a Sunset Strip rock club. I don’t know that anyone will recognize her, but she will certainly stand out from the crowd, a conscious decision on her part.

  Layce is addicted to attention.

  “Put on the dark glasses,” I suggest.

  She slides large dark aviator sunglasses onto her exquisitely beautiful face.

  I smile, “No one will recognize you except me.”

  “Good,” she smiles. “I wouldn’t want to think you’ve forgotten about me, Julian…”

  She slides her fingertips down my shoulder.

  “How could I ever forget you, my dear Layce?”

  She smiles, her full lips easing across her wide mouth. Even in her dark glasses, she is beautiful in the extreme.

  Layce and I have had our fun in the past. She’s as passionate in private as she is in public. But we’re both extremely busy creatives in a cutthroat business. Neither of us has ever spoken of the long term.

  When we near The Cobra Lounge, I ask, “Would you prefer I drop you off at the front and park, or shall I escort you from wherever I park to the front door?”

  Layce chuckles seductively, “You can be my escort.”

  “Excellent,” I grin.

  I park the Range Rover in a residential neighborhood then walk around to get Layce’s door. I open it like I’m the valet and take her hand.

  “You are such a gentleman, Julian,” Layce purrs.

  “Nothing less for you, my dear,” I smile.

  We walk toward The Cobra Lounge, her arm draped over my elbow.

  When we reach the front doors, the crowd is mostly inside, but a few stragglers remain in line, waiting for entry. The men in line gawk at Layce like prairie dogs. Yes, she is that beautiful.

  I lead Layce directly to the doorman in front.

  He is a wide, muscular man who seems a bit crude for my tastes. He says, “You gotta wait in line like everybody else, buddy.”

  “We have V.I.P. tickets,” I say confidently.

  The doorman frowns, “Nobody told me anything about V.I.P. tickets.”

  I pull my wallet out of my suit jacket and hand him four crisp one hundred dollar bills.

  The doorman looks at the money, then runs his eyes over my features, “Yeah, okay. But I still have to pat you down.” He folds the bills into his pocket.

  I raise my arms while he checks me f
or firearms or whatever illegal paraphernalia he thinks I might be hiding. Then he checks Layce’s handbag, which is the size of a coin purse.

  “Okay,” the doorman cocks his thumb toward the entrance, “You guys are good. Have fun.”

  I joke, “Do we get bottle service with the V.I.P. tickets?”

  The doorman grins, “That’s extra.”

  I chuckle and lead Layce inside The Cobra Lounge. We squeeze our way through the crowd.

  All male eyes are on Layce.

  I can tell she is thoroughly enjoying herself.

  We work our way into the main room where the audience is facing the stage, jumping and flailing enthusiastically. It’s very crowded and Layce and I are pressed together.

  She leans into me and murmurs into my ear in an affected high society accent, “All these filthy men are staring at me, Julian. You know what happens to me when men stare at…”

  Layce uses the accent when she wants to feel superior in public settings such as these. Without paparazzi flashing cameras at her as proof of her superiority over the unwashed masses, her insecurities tend to get the best of her. She never hid behind the accent when I first met her years ago. She was much more down to earth then, more honest, direct, and sincere. But her success has turned her into the Stellar Princess she always wanted to be.

  Oh, how she has changed.

  Her innocence is gone.

  Forever, I think.

  I suspect she’s forgotten what a turn on innocence can be.

  Layce continues breathily, “All these filthy men and their filthy stares are making me horny, Julian. But none of them are good enough for me.”

  “Isn’t that always the case with you, my dear?”

  “Mmmm…” she purrs. “When we get back to your place, I want you to fuck me hard and make me feel dirty, Julian. You’re the only man who knows how to make me feel dirty just the way I like it.”

  Layce believes that a man’s ego is at all times defenseless to feminine attack.

  She still doesn’t know me nearly as well as she likes to believe.

  I nod ambiguously at her.

  She coils around to face me, maintaining body contact at all times, her pelvis pressing against mine. She tips her aviator sunglasses down with delicate fingers and shines sultry eyes over the frames.

  In the dark night club, no one can see when she reaches down and guides my fingers between her leather covered legs.

  She emits intense heat.

  She is definitely turned on.

  I know her games well.

  As tantalizing as her beauty and passion always are, I didn’t come here for her.

  I came here for Victory.

  Chapter 124

  VICTORY

  Two hours later, Kellan is shirtless and has his skyburst blue Les Paul over his shoulder. Dubs is also shirtless and leans his bass against his hip. It’s hard to decide which one of them has a better body. It’s damn close.

  Joa is also shirtless, sporting tattoos on every inch of skin, and has been drumming on the thighs of his skater shorts for the last twenty minutes, warming up his hands. Kellan has been playing random riffs on his guitar. Dubs stands patiently. Bass players never seem to warm up.

  I’ve been wearing the KFC bucket and blank white Halloween mask the entire time. It’s damp and miserable, but a small price to pay to play on stage tonight.

  After another band finishes and gear gets moved around, the announcer voice finally says on the P.A., “Everybody welcome Suffer The Gun to the stage!”

  “Time to rock,” Kellan says to the boys. Dubs and Joa follow him to the stage.

  “All right!” Kellan screams into the microphone a minute later.

  I hear the shrill screams of every woman in the house.

  Man, he sure has a way with the ladies.

  “Let’s Live It Up!!!!” he screams.

  The band kicks into their first song, which I recognize from The Dive Bomb.

  I remain huddled at the end of the dark hallway. I check my phone for the hundredth time.

  Aiden should have files.

  Oh my god! The files! Liv sent them! I can’t believe it! I have my backing tracks! She came through!

  Kellan left his phone with me and showed he how to unlock it and check his email. It only takes me a few moments to find Liv’s email. The mp3s from Liv are attached! Now I’m in business.

  I just need to get them to the sound board guy or they won’t do me any good.

  Time for me to emerge from hiding. I skulk toward the main hallway that leads to the stage. The waiting musicians all look at me.

  Yet another person makes a Buckethead comment which I ignore.

  When the coast is clear of Guitar Central staff, I walk toward the stage where the soundboard guy stands behind the mixing console, monitoring the sound and making minor adjustments throughout Kellan’s performance.

  I have to give Kellan’s phone to the soundboard guy so he can run Liv’s mp3 tracks through the P.A. and the monitors. Then I’ll be able to play my own music with at least a basic accompaniment. I wish Liv was here with her keyboard, and Lucas and Logan with their bass and drums, but the mp3 tracks will be better than nothing.

  When I get to the stairs that lead to the stage, I pause.

  I went up this exact staircase with Scott, Rex, and Bobby less than two months ago. My, how time has flown and times have changed. I was welcomed here that night. Tonight, I’m an interloper and a criminal wearing a KFC bucket and a face mask.

  And I have no band.

  Fuck it.

  No sense crying over spilt milk.

  I march up the stairs toward the sound booth.

  And see Rob the Knob standing right in front of it, arms folded across his chest, watching Kellan’s band.

  I can’t get to the sound booth without going past Rob the Knob. I have my mask on, but he’s right in front of the booth. Will he recognize me? Will the sound board guy be able to hear me with my mask on, or will I have to take it off, right in front of Rob?

  Shit, if only Rob the Knob was gone.

  I need to think about this before I dive in. I turn and walk toward the dark hallway where I was hiding and bump right into a Guitar Central goon.

  “Oof!” he says.

  My eyes pop, but they’re hidden behind my mask. Masks sure come in handy when you don’t want people seeing your guilty looks. “Excuse me,” I say in the manliest voice I can muster. I don’t even remotely sound masculine.

  “Oh, sorry,” the goon says. Then he looks at my face, or should I say mask. “Hey, you’re not Buckethead, are you?” he asks doubtfully. “Nobody told me Buckethead was supposed to be here.”

  If I say more, will I incriminate myself? I nod my masked head noncommittally.

  “Yeah,” the goon says thoughtfully, “I would’ve heard.” He pulls a sheet of paper out of his pocket. It’s the band list for tonight. He starts reading it over.

  If I had a hammer, I’d knock him over the head and run for it. But I don’t. Then recognition hits. In my normal voice, I blurt, “Felix!” It’s the guy who asked me out at Guitar Central they day I got my Fender back.

  He looks at me, confused, “Do I know you?”

  I grab him by the hand and lead him to the dark hallway where my Fender is with Kellan and Dubs’ guitar cases.

  “Felix,” I hiss, “It’s me! Victory!”

  “Who?”

  I lift up my mask, “Victory! You asked me out that day at Guitar Central? You followed me to my car!”

  He smiles, “Yeah! The girl from the video! What are you doing here?”

  “I’m playing tonight.”

  “Sweet,” he nods. “What’s your band?” He looks down at the paper still in his hand.

  “I’m not on the list! There was a mix up.”

  “But you’re playing?” he asks doubtfully.

  “Yeah. But I need your help.”

  He smiles, “Anything for you, Victory.”

  “Feli
x?” Rob the Knob yells at the far end of the dark hallway.

  I spin around, hiding my face in shadows. My heart accelerates like a top fuel dragster exploding off the starting line.

  Felix turns to Rob, “Yeah?”

  “You’re supposed to be in the sound booth, buddy. Come on, get moving!”

  “I’ll be right there,” Felix hollers.

  “Hurry it up!” Rob says and walks away.

  Felix turns back to me and scowls, “That guy is such a knob.”

  I blurt laughter.

  “What?” Felix smiles.

  I shake my head, “Nothing.”

  “So, what do you need me to do?”

  I hand him Kellan’s phone. “There’s backing tracks on here. I’m going to play along to them, but I need them hooked up to the P.A.”

  He takes the phone, “I can totally do that. When are you going on?”

  “At the end of Suffer The Gun’s set. They’re letting me onstage to play one song.”

  He nods, “Got it.”

  “I’ll be wearing my mask, so you’ll know it’s me.”

  “Okay. No problem. I better get to the booth.” He turns and takes a step, then stops. “So, ah, can I maybe buy you a drink later? After the show?”

  “Maybe?” I feel like a jerk.

  He smiles, “Cool.” Then he walks to the end of the hall and turns toward the stairs and the sound booth.

  I put my mask back on and pull my Fender out of my case and start warming up.

  As long as Rob the Knob doesn’t notice my guitar and make a connection, I’m good to go.

  Chapter 125

  VICTORY

  The crowd roars as Kellan and the boys finish their third song.

  “All right!!!” Kellan screams into the mic.

  I stop at the base of the stairs to the stage with my guitar over my shoulder, my KFC bucket on my head, and my mask in place.

  The crowd cheers, the women squealing like teenagers at a Beatles concert.

  “You guys fucking rock!!!” Kellan screams.

  “Excuse me,” someone says at my shoulder.