by Linda Kage
Was I familiar?
“Pfft.” It took everything I had not to roll my eyes. “I’m familiar with every song you guys have ever produced.”
Hart smiled. “Well, all right then.” He motioned me toward the stool. “Count us off.”
After seating myself, I took a deep breath, lifted my hands into position, and began with the ride cymbal, setting the tempo.
When I added the snare and bass drums, the guitars joined me, completely in sync with the rhythm I set. A smile spread across my face, relief ballooning inside me until I was ingesting my excitement with each breath.
Even if I ended up totally bombing this audition, I was here, right now, living my dream. I was jamming with Non-Castrato. For a minute, I forgot what jerks they were and that I was supposed to hate them.
It was euphoria.
Forcing my lungs to function, I exhaled and sucked in more air. By the time Hart leaned in toward the microphone and began to sing, I already had an adrenaline buzz going, but the sound of his voice sent another spike through me. There was just something about the way he sang. Made me wet in the panties every time.
Yeah, it seemed all kinds of wrong to soak my man panties with girlish enthusiasm, but there you had it.
The music inspired me, flowing through my bloodstream. I was actually living it, morphing into it.
Becoming one with the drum kit, I switched from the ride cymbal to the hi-hat when Hart changed from one passage to the next, giving the song a little extra punch with the added lean sound. The drummer before had never done that, but I’d always thought it would sound better. So I gave it a try.
I mean, hell, what could they do? Tell me to git again? Been there, done that.
Except the overhead ring in the room was growing slightly obnoxious. To reduce it, I yanked a hanky from my pocket without missing a beat and draped it over my knee nearest the drumhead to muffle the snare’s reverberation. I smiled as that instantly helped. Bobbing my head, I switched into overtime as Hart had instructed. His voice rose, coming to a crescendo.
Though I’d never heard one in this song before, I hit the crash cymbal when he peaked and added a strong kick to the bass drum pedal.
The other members stopped playing, and it was over. An echo of guitars, drum, and Hart’s voice continued to resonate through the room, filling it with a heaviness that made me bite the inside of my lip and hold my breath.
All three band members turned to look at me.
“You brought in the hi-hat in the middle of that second verse,” Hart finally said. His stare wasn’t exactly accusatory, but it sure as hell wasn’t reassuring either.
Shit. Maybe I shouldn’t have gotten so carried away, adding my personal touch quite so soon.
But it had felt so right at the time.
I gave a slow nod. “Uh, yeah. It just seemed...fitting.” Growing more nervous, I swiped the hanky from my knee to mop my damp brow, only to remember the sweat wasn’t showing on the outside of my mask.
“And the crash cymbal at the end,” Holden spoke up. “That was new.”
“Well...” I cleared my throat. “You know...I thought...why not?”
“Why not?” Galloway repeated tonelessly, shaking his head as he glanced at Hart and Holden. Then he burst out, “Shit, yeah. Why the fuck not! Christ, that was fucking awesome.”
Holden nodded, agreeing with Galloway.
I nearly peed my pants. “Really? You liked it?” Of course, they liked it. I had totally kicked ass. But to hear them actually admit it aloud... Man, you have no idea how much of a rush that gave me.
“I loved it,” Holden said. His grin was goofy but proud. “I didn’t think we’d ever find anyone half as good as Rock was.”
“But goddamn, if you’re not twice as good,” Galloway exploded. “You got an ear for this shit, Sticks. A fucking brilliant ear.”
Thank God for my mask; I was blushing so hard my true face had to be tomato red right now. Glad I could look cool and collected, I lifted my eyebrows at Asher Hart, who had yet to comment.
Narrowing his eyes as if he didn’t trust my talent and that one song had been a fluke for me, he murmured, “Let’s try ‘Sweat.’ See how well you handle that one.”
Since I’d sat out in the hallway through two days of auditions now, I knew it was rare when a drummer played more than one song with them. This had to mean something.
Something good.
Beyond excited, lightheaded and a little sick to my stomach, I nodded and wiped clammy palms on my jean-clad thighs. “No problem.”
“Sweat” was a hard-core track for them with some tricky drum moves, but it wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle. Ready to show them my mad skills, I dove right into it.
And nailed it.
Bam, I was so good I shocked myself.
As the last beat from my cymbal clanged through the air, Holden and Galloway hooted and hollered while Hart slowly turned to stare at me intently.
I squirmed under the heavy inspection. I knew Jodi had done a damn fine job of guying me up, but what if Hart saw straight through the layers? What if he knew what I really was?
Then he said, “‘Stone-Hearted,’” which was pretty much their signature song.
I grinned and began the count off.
After we finished that one, I immediately started the percussion lead-in for “Ceilings,” a new one, but my favorite, of theirs. Hart glanced back at me, and I wondered if he’d get pissy about me initiating a new song all on my own. But then a small, impressed smile crossed his lips right before he wailed out the first striking line before joining in with his guitar, on cue.
The others followed, and we played a fourth song together, just pretty much rocking out by this point.
I would’ve lit into a fifth after Asher sang the last line, but he held up a hand, stopping me.
I set my drumsticks against my knee and held my breath.
He studied me a second, then nodded. “Can you play this Friday?”
“Friday?” I echoed stupidly. Is that when their second round of callbacks started?
Hart nodded. “Yeah, that’s when our next gig is. Are you available then?”
Holy shit. “Wait. Are you saying I’m... in? I’m in the band?”
They’d been auditioning drummers for three full days. How could they just hire one of us on the spot? No one was good enough to hire after playing four songs with them. Were they?
Hart lifted his eyebrows. “Sure...if you’re interested in joining Non-Castrato.”
His green eyes were freaking hypnotizing and the dark lashes framing them made them pop even more. It didn’t seem fair that a guy should have such gorgeous eyes to go with such a gorgeous face and gorgeous lean body. But hell, put him on a stamp, and I’d write a letter to everyone I knew just for the chance to lick him.
Did they even make lickable stamps anymore? They totally should. Asher Hart lickable stamps.
I blinked, clearing my jumbled brain from all the lust, and what he’d just said finally made an impression in my head. And then, I was filled with a giddy radiance.
Holy shit, they really wanted to hire me after four songs.
I was in the band.
“Fuck, yes I want to join!” I exploded.
But as soon as the words crossed my lips, reality set in. Oh hell, what had I just done?
This was where I was supposed to rip off my mask and tell them all to go screw themselves. Except the words never came. The mask-ripping never commenced. Because I wanted to play that gig on Friday more than I wanted my next breath. Who cared if I was scheduled to work at Castañeda’s? Carmen owed me one. And who cared if I told one little white lie of omission, and just let them believe I was a guy? My gender had no bearing whatsoever on how well I could play. I just knew one thing: nothing was going to let me miss my first performance as a drummer in my first band.
I guessed I was going to have to be a man just a tad bit longer. I could still totally rip off the mask after Friday and make
them all feel as stupid and sexist as they were for not giving me a chance when I’d been a girl. So, yeah, that’s what I’d do. Wait until after Friday to let them in on my secret.
The worst thing about being so laid-back was that when it came to the more professional, business aspect of things, I sucked ass.
“Are you sure I didn’t pay?” I asked, tucking my cell phone between my ear and shoulder as I knelt in front of the garage door of the storage unit to unlock the padlock.
“I’m looking on the computer screen of your account history right in front of me, Mr. Hart. And there’s been no receipt of payment yet.”
Scowling because I was so sure I’d already given them my credit card information, I rolled up the metal door and entered the cramped space.
“Okay, then. Just send me another invoice or whatever, I guess. I’ll make sure to take care of it this time, I swear.”
After the woman assured me she would, we hung up and I set my guitar on a box that had Christmas Decorations scribbled on the side. The unit belonged to Heath’s family. But they only used half the space, so they didn’t mind if we shoved all their things against the walls to make room in the middle for the drum set and sound system. We’d practiced here a couple times each week for almost two years now.
Today was the first chance we had to practice with our new band member. It was also the last opportunity before our first gig to really mesh with him, so I was a bit edgy, hoping he stayed as good as he’d been during his audition. I was almost grateful that Shelly from the studio had called me to distract my nerves.
When I spotted a box that belonged to me, I sat on an old scarred nightstand, settled the box onto my lap, and began to riffle through the scattered pages inside. I’d only glanced at half a dozen when someone knocked on the opening.
I looked up to find the new drummer hesitating in the entrance and gazing around the inside of the unit in half horror, half wonder.
“Hey, you made it. Come on in.” I waved him forward and went back to scanning the documents in the box. “The other two should be here any minute.”
He stepped cautiously forward as if he feared a piano would fall on him as soon as he entered. “So this is really where we practice, huh? I had to reread the address you gave me about ten times, sure there was a mistake when I pulled in the lot of a freaking storage unit.”
“Yeah, it’s not much. But it gets the job done.”
“You’re telling me,” he muttered under his breath.
From the corner of my eye, I saw him wander to the drum set and run his hand over one of the mounted toms. Then he gingerly seated himself on the stool in front of the five-piece set and rubbed his hands up and down his thighs as he took in the sight before him.
Wondering if he was nervous, I glanced up and lifted one of the pages from the box. “Oh, by the way, the sheet music for all our original songs is in here if you need go through them to learn any.”
Sticks zipped his gaze my way as if I’d surprised him. Then he shrugged. “I’m good. I pretty much learned them by ear when I listened to your records.”
I nodded, admiring his ability to do that. “Right on.”
I tried to refocus my attention on my task of finding the receipt I was sure I had when Heath and Gally arrived together, Gally being just as loud and rambunctious as Heath was quiet and subdued.
“What up, losers? You ready to rock this garage?”
Sticks didn’t respond and I barely gave a distracted “Hey,” because I was busy tugging up the sheet I’d been looking for and crying, “Aha! I did pay already.”
“Pay what?” Gally asked as he and Heath went about plugging their guitars into the amplifier.
“Hmm?” I glanced up from my triumphant grin. “Oh. Someone from the music studio just called, saying I hadn’t paid for the three days we rented the room for our auditions. And I knew I’d paid.” I waved the receipt that had a big red Paid stamp on it as I slid my phone out of my pocket.
Gally’s mouth hung half open as he stared at me. “We actually had to pay for that?”
I wrinkled my brow, hoping he wasn’t serious, but I was pretty sure he was. “Uh... Don’t you think we’d practice there daily if it were free?”
“Oh. Huh, yeah, I guess. I never really thought about it.” Then he scratched his head. “I don’t remember paying shit for any studio rental.”
“That’s because you didn’t. I took care of the cost.”
Instead of thanking me for handling it, he mumbled, “Oh,” again and then slipped his guitar strap over his shoulder. “Well, are you ready to play or not?”
I held up a finger. “Not yet. I need to call these people back.” As I dialed, Gally sighed, rolling his eyes, so I assured him, “It’ll only take a second.”
I called the lady I’d just talked to, and once I read her the number on the receipt and the date, she paused a moment before telling me, Oh yeah, there was my payment. Huh, go figure.
By the time I finished the call, everyone was already set up and raring to go, just watching me. “Sorry about that.” I stuffed my phone back into my pocket as Gally demanded to know if I was finally ready yet.
Both Sticks and Heath were silent, but by their expressions, they didn’t appear to be as annoyed by the delay. It seemed the new drummer was going to be as quiet as our lead guitarist.
Until I said, “What do you guys want to play first?” as I got my guitar ready.
Sticks was the first to answer, “‘Ceilings.’”
I zipped a surprised glance his way, not expecting him to speak up, but glad he had. “All right.” Rolling a finger his way, I told him to count us down since the drumbeat led with this song.
He instantly started in and I was blown away all over again by how good he was. I almost missed my cue when I needed to start singing. But once I got with the program, it was easy to immerse myself in the music. We sounded good together, better than we’d ever sounded when Rock had been the drummer. Sticks had a way of keeping us in sync with the beat he set.
We went through most of our original songs as well as the more popular cover records we usually played, and each one sounded better than the last. I called song title after song title, one right after the other, so into jamming that I hadn’t realized how much time had passed until Gally demanded a break.
I checked the time on my phone and nearly pissed myself. “Shit.” We’d practiced over three hours. “I need to get to work.”
Unplugging my guitar, I glanced at the newest member of the band, who’d not only kept up with us without a problem but had basically led us. I’d been a bit worried he might need more practice, but no...he was ready for stage action now.
Still making sure, I asked, “You sure you’re okay with playing live tomorrow?”
Excitement lit his eyes, which made me grin. I remembered the day before my first gig, how it’d felt as the eager anticipation thrummed through me. He was rocking some serious happy endorphins.
But he managed to keep it cool by nodding and merely saying, “Sure. Just tell me where.”
“Ever heard of the Forbidden Nightclub? We play there pretty much every Friday, though I’m trying to get us booked at other places as well.”
“Sure, I’ve heard of it. I’ve even been there once and sang on karaoke night. I saw on your website that you’d been there before, but I guess I didn’t realize that’s where you guys played regularly. Cool.”
“Yep.” I eyed him hard because I’d worked every karaoke night we’d ever had, and I didn’t remember his face.
I was about to say something, but Gally snorted. “You sang karaoke? How lame is that? Wait...was it ‘All About That Bass’?”
Sticks pulled back in surprise, gaping at Gally. “Excuse me?”
Pissed off because he’d only asked Sticks that to dig at me, I spotted an old basketball sitting in the top of one of the packed boxes and grabbed it so I could heave it at him. “Shut it, fucker.”
He laughed and ducked out the
way so the ball merely bounced off his shoulder. Hooting even louder as he dodged most of my attack, he bent at the waist and slapped his knee.
Sticks darted a curious glance between the two of us while a silent Heath merely shook his head.
“Okay, there’s some kind of inside joke in there, right?” Sticks asked.
I sighed. “It’s nothing. Just ignore him.”
“Can do. Easily.”
He said it so cheerfully that Gally stopped laughing to pierce him with a scowl. “Hey, know your place, newbie.”
“Oh? And where’s that? Sitting over here, snickering at you?”
I grinned and tucked my guitar into its case as the two bickered back and forth. Ripping my shirt over my head, I traded it for the black Forbidden Nightclub shirt I had to wear to work that I’d tucked away in my case. I wadded up the old top and crammed it into a side pocket before slipping the case’s strap over my neck so I could settle my guitar against my back. Meanwhile, Gally was trying to prove to Sticks that he was the better man by swearing he’d scored with more women than Sticks ever had.
“Come on,” he challenged. “Just give me a rough estimate. How many bitches you ever fucked?”
I sighed, ready to take off and leave this quickly declining conversation when Heath finally decided to speak up, telling Gally, “You’re wasting your time on him with that line of questioning.”
“Oh?” Gally arched him a curious glance. “Why’s that?”
“Because he obviously plays for the other team. Dude just checked out Hart’s chest when he pulled off his shirt.”
“Say what?” Gally shrieked as he physically leapt a foot away from Sticks.
I whirled to gape at the drummer, shocked to be shoved into the conversation this way.
Sticks shrank lower into his stool, his eyes darting with fear like a cornered animal before he cried, “The hell if I did.”
I lifted my eyebrows. He was acting way too guilty to be telling the truth. “Are you really gay?” I couldn’t help but ask, “Because that would actually be great.”
“Say what?” Gally repeated, spinning toward me as if I’d lost my mind.
“What?” I glanced between him and Heath, confused by their shock. “It would give us more diversity since we’ve been accused of being such a cliché lately.”