Bullet

chapter Thirty-four

Past



SUMMER DRIFTED INTO fall. Yeah, I missed Clay. I missed the hot sex, and I missed the sweet playful guy I’d grown so very fond of. But I felt like I was able to refocus on what I was in Denver for in the first place—the music. And Clay would have respected that.

Brad managed to find a studio where we could record four or five of our best songs and put together an EP. Not just the shitty little garage-band type demo we’d been selling at our gigs but a professional-sounding, high quality CD that would maybe get us noticed. I thought it would be cool to hear ourselves sounding clean and polished. Like everything, though, that EP was going to cost us a pretty penny, so we wouldn’t be able to record right away.

Brad had written an insane song. He played it in the living room of our new apartment one day, having perfected it. It was tight and hardcore, but what I appreciated most was the solo. Brad had never until now invested too much time in solos, but this time, he had so much to say through his guitar, and it was the most mature playing by him I’d ever seen. He’d been practicing this song for a long time; I could tell by watching him play. His fingers were flawless and flying so quickly across the fretboard that I could barely see them. More than that, though…it sounded different. It was hardcore, yeah, but there was something different. It was more melodic. I could literally hear more emotion in it.

I just stared. It was impressive. Brad had changed so much in past two years since I’d first met him. Not as a person. No, Brad was even more solid, more trustworthy, and even harder working than when I’d first met him. But instead of looking like a kid fresh out of high school, he looked like a rock god. He had a few more tattoos and his hair was rock star long. When he worked, he pulled it back into a ponytail and even sometimes at home, but at concerts, he let it flow. Nothing in his wardrobe looked out of place on him. Even the coveralls he had to wear for his day job seemed to fit somehow.

And that was a good thing, because after listening to that solo, I knew it was just a matter of time before we got noticed on a bigger level. I was still working on my own performances, because I wanted to sound as hardcore as our band. There were times, though, that my throat would be sore after a particularly grueling performance. Yeah, I should have taken that as a clue to get vocal training or at least cut back on what I was doing, but I was young. I wasn’t thinking. I just figured after all I was putting my voice through, a little discomfort was natural. It came with the territory, and I just had to suck it up and drink some warm tea with honey and lemon.

Brad kept us booked. We were becoming recognized locally and so we started earning more money as the venues figured we were actually drawing crowds. And then I thought back to Brad’s lecture to our bandmates last spring, where he asked them to contribute somehow. I wondered how, aside from writing, singing, and working another job I was contributing to our success as a band. More than that, I wondered how I could do more.

After pondering the thought for several days, I hit on what I thought was gold. In a profession filled mostly with boys (that of heavy metal music), I decided to play up on the difference. My singing would earn me respect. But my plan would get me noticed.

I had a little money tucked away and decided to use it to go shopping. I spent my money in lingerie shops this time. I knew we had a few female fans, and I hoped my new image wouldn’t offend them, but I hoped to win the admiration of the males. I was going to show some skin. I was twenty now, what I thought of as almost fully legal, and I had grown into feeling okay with my body. I bought camisoles, bustiers, and a red panty and bra set with a garter belt. I also bought some of the tallest, shiniest black boots I’d ever seen in my life. I was going to sell my sex appeal, and I didn’t plan to tell the guys till I was ready. I also got a three-month membership at a local gym. I paid for two sessions with a trainer, because—even though I wasn’t a chubby teenager anymore—I wanted to look solid.

I got another tattoo as well, this one on my lower back—not a tramp stamp. It was smaller. I got a three-dimensional red heart on my right hip. I also got my ears pierced twice more and an eyebrow piercing. Three days later at our next show, I decided to unveil my new look. I hadn’t even let the guys know what I was doing. I’d also bought a used trench coat, and I was glad it had been raining that cool October morning. No one suspected I was hardly wearing anything underneath. And then I realized this look would only work in warmer weather or indoor venues. Fortunately, the first show was in an indoor theater where we’d played before.

While we were setting up our equipment, Brad said, “Val, you’d have an easier time with your coat off. Are you still cold?” I just smiled and said nothing. I wanted to work it to my advantage.

Before it was time to go on, I asked the guys if they would start playing and let me walk on after they’d started. Ethan asked, “Why?”

“I want to try something new.”

“You’re not gonna ditch out on us, are you?”

“No, of course not. Just trust me.”

This was also going to be the first show where we played Brad’s new song. Like with all our other songs, I wrote lyrics and the guys added to it, but it was still Brad’s baby. We wound up calling it “Primeval,” and we were opening the act with it. There was a thirty-second lead in, long enough for me to take the trench coat off and inhale a deep breath, getting up the gumption to go through with it.

My mind raced. What the f*ck had I done? And I hadn’t just eased into it. Oh, no. I’d worn red heels with the panty, bra, and garter set. I should’ve worn something a little less revealing the first time. Ah, well. Why not? At this point, though, I had to admit a drink would have been good. Now I could halfway understand why the guys would sometimes have a drink or something harder before a show. I figured it would take the edge off.

But I had to do it. Ethan had already asked if I was going to bail, not even knowing what I’d planned. I couldn’t let them down. Time to grow a pair…a figurative one, of course. One more deep breath, and I strutted onstage to the mike stand.

Someone slipped and hit a wrong note. Shit. If I had that effect on my own bandmates, then I knew the audience would love it.

And they did. If I’d had any doubts, the screams, howls, and wolf whistles were all I needed as affirmation. I didn’t want to acknowledge that they were doing exactly what I’d wanted them to do. I still had to act tough, so I threw up the devil’s horns with both hands before grabbing the mike.

Holy shit. The energy of that show was amazing. We were getting more electricity off our audience than ever, and it was so easy to throw it back at them. And once my bandmates got over their initial shock, they fed on it too. It was to that date one of our best shows ever.

After the show, I was asked for a crazy amount of autographs. I’d been asked once in a while before, but this time was above and beyond anything I’d ever experienced before. I finally felt like I was earning my keep as their vocalist.

No one said a word, though, not until we were in the van. I expected Brad to say something first, but it was Ethan who talked. “What the hell inspired that shit, Val?”

I wasn’t going to play coy, as much as I wanted to. I half turned in the seat and said, “The outfit?”

“Yeah.” I could see his smile, even in the darkness. “Not that any of us are complaining.”

I shrugged. “I dunno. I just thought if I looked kinda sexy, it could only help us.”

Zane said, “It worked. I think half the audience had hard ons for most of the show.”

“Okay, I didn’t need that visual, Zane. Thanks.” Brad still hadn’t said a word. I knew what that meant. He hated it, but he hadn’t been able to find a diplomatic way to say it yet. Nick…well, for him to not say anything was nothing unusual. “I guess I might as well warn you guys—there’s plenty more where this came from.”

“Jesus Christ.” Ethan? Ethan was going crazy. He’d seen me naked. He already knew what was underneath the lingerie, so why was he acting like that? “Please just tell me you don’t have any more garters. My heart can’t take it.”

Zane started laughing. “I think I’m gonna ask Tanya to buy something like that.” Oh…that told me Zane’s girlfriend was serious. The fact that I was hearing the girl’s name was significant.

“Why don’t you buy it for her, stud?”

He laughed again. “Wouldn’t she find it insulting if I bought her something and then asked her to wear it? Like she’s not good enough on her own?”

“I dunno. Why don’t you go shopping together?”

He considered it. “That’s a great idea.”

We were all quiet for a few moments and then Brad was ready to talk. “Val, I’m not gonna tell you what to do, but are you sure you want to go down this path?”

“What do you mean?”

I saw him shrug as he turned the steering wheel. “There’s always a chance people won’t take you seriously. They’ll think you’re just a cupcake.”

“A cupcake?” I giggled. “Why would they think that? I sing and rock out.”

“I’m just sayin’. It’s a chance you’re taking.”

“So what should I do, Brad?” I turned a little in the chair again. “Was it just me, or was the audience insane tonight?”

“You think that was all you?”

“You think I had nothing to do with it?”

“I didn’t say that.”

Ethan—the one guy I didn’t expect to be on board with my sexy transformation—said, “Bradley, man…you know they were eating it up because of Valerie. I know you don’t want to hear it, but she stole the show. And goddamn. If we get that kinda reaction just ‘cause she’s showing a little skin, then I say we let her.”

Nick finally spoke up. “I’m for it.”

“Me too.”

That left Brad as the odd man out. I was pretty sure he was pissed, but he didn’t say another word. He just clenched his teeth together and kept driving.

That fall, the guys got used to the skimpier outfits and so did I. I wasn’t so freaked out by it after a while. And, as we started earning a little more money, I invested in more. I bought short shorts and started doing different things with my hair. And one of the times I was in the mall in a lingerie shop, the clerk showed me a schoolgirl outfit. It showed less, but I could unbutton it to show some cleavage. The guys (except for Brad who refused to weigh in on any of my clothing choices) liked it too.

As winter neared, I was glad we didn’t have to play at any outdoor venues. I’d been tempted to switch back to leather pants or jeans just during the coldest months but changed my mind every time I got onstage and got the reactions I was used to. I had taken to wearing sweat pants to and from our apartment, though, just so my legs stayed warm.

Working out was starting to pay off too. I saw definition in my upper arms and abdomen. I wasn’t overdone by any means, but I’d obtained the hard body look I’d wanted. And that was when I decided to get a tattoo on the top of my right breast—a small one of a gun to represent Fully Automatic.

We were playing a show in mid November, the first one we would be playing with Last Five Seconds since Clay and I had split. I was feeling a little weird about it, but the fact was we’d parted friends. And a small part of me was looking forward to seeing Clay.

We were up first, and LFS wasn’t even there yet. It was a long show, four bands. We were first and Clay and his guys were third. So, by the time we were done, I’d long forgotten about Clay. Well, that wasn’t entirely true, but I wasn’t worried about him anymore.

We loaded all our stuff up like usual, and then I slipped on a pair of jeans, leather jacket, and boots so I could watch the rest of the show. When I was walking out of the women’s restroom, backpack in hand, I heard a voice behind me calling me by name. I knew who it was before I saw his face. “I see the rumors were true.”

I was smiling before I even turned around. “Glad you’re still not believing everything you hear.”

Clay had a huge grin on his face. “Val. How the hell are you?”

I walked over and hugged him. It just felt natural. Oh, I’d forgotten how nice his body felt. “I’m doing great.”

“So what the hell have you been doing?” He tugged at my jacket…underneath I was wearing just a thin pink camisole. “What inspired this?”

I shrugged. “We need to stand out of the crowd, you know. Just because we’re making good music doesn’t mean anything. I mean…I look at all the other bands out there. So I asked myself what I could do to make an impression on our audience.”

“You definitely did. The buzz out there right now is insane.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Trust me—you’ve forced your audience to step up a notch. I was out there. I felt it.”

I was feeling like a bug under a microscope, and I was pleasantly surprised, because I hadn’t thought Clay had seen our show. “So what’s new with you, Clay?”

Oh, that smile was his happy smile, his truly contented and okay-with-the-world smile. I’d hardly ever seen it, but I loved it. “We’re pretty sure we’ve got a contract with a major label.”

“Yeah? Which one?”

“I don’t wanna say…don’t wanna jinx it. But we won’t know till next week. I’ll tell you then.”

I nodded. “Good luck.”

“You sticking around for the whole show?”

“I think so. Got any new tunes?”

“Always.”

When I watched his band that night, I was impressed. It had only been a few months since I’d seen them, but they were even better. There was something…and it took me a while to figure out what it was. They seemed more cohesive, more in tune with each other, like they hadn’t been on the same wavelength before and now they were. They seemed to play almost intuitively, as though if one of them decided to veer off the worn path, the others would sense it and follow. It was amazing to watch, and if I hadn’t seen them play together so much before, I probably wouldn’t have even noticed.

After they played, Clay tracked me down in the audience. I’d never before seen the fourth band who was playing next, and they were good, but I thought they were having an off night. Or maybe they just couldn’t hold a candle to Last Five Seconds. So when Clay said in my ear, “Let’s go talk,” and he grabbed my hand, I agreed.

This particular venue had more backstage room than a lot of other places we’d played, and we were actually able to find a couple of chairs. We sat and talked for a long time. He caught me up on what had been happening with LFS and what had led up to the possibility of recording a real album that would be in stores nationwide.

“Wow. Sounds like it’s really gonna happen.”

He grinned, “I think it is, and if it does, I want you to know…if we have any influence—you know, any pull—not just you but a lot of other bands will come along for the ride.”

“That’s awesome, Clay, but you guys worry about you first. I’m sure there’s a lot that’ll happen that neither of us have any clue about.” I don’t know why I did, but I just grabbed his hand that had been resting on his thigh in my two smaller ones and squeezed. Clay, one of the most genuine guys I’d ever met, and I felt like he needed a little extra support. He was excited about what was coming…but he was nervous too. I could tell.

“Yeah…” I saw that look in his eye and my body remembered…remembered all those hot sweaty nights and days together. It didn’t take much and suddenly I was primed. So when he leaned forward to kiss me, you better believe I responded. I was on his lap and his hands were under my jacket, touching the skin on my back under the camisole before I was fully in the moment.

Oh, God, I’d forgotten what an incredible kisser he was, and I’d forgotten all the sensations I’d never tired of with him. So when his lips moved to my neck and I felt my nipples turn rigid, like bullets ready to drill through his chest, my fingers entwined themselves in his hair, and I was ready to give in to every animal desire in my body.

But something…something inside me grabbed my consciousness and told me to wake up. It was then that I knew I loved Clay, but it wasn’t the kind of love I knew I needed to feel to sustain a relationship. And if I let myself go down this path, this time would lead to heartbreak. I knew that. I’d already felt a large empty hole after we’d decided we weren’t working before. How would I feel if I just let myself go?

I don’t think he felt the same way, because he said, “Stay with me tonight.”

We were still locked in a tight embrace, but his words were a jolt. I was at a crossroads, and I had to make a decision. Oh, I wanted him. I wanted him just as badly as I ever had. And I would have loved a man’s touch. It had been a while, and my body craved nourishment that only a man could give. But…

It took everything I had to loosen my grip on his hair and slide my hands down to his chest, holding them as if in a defensive motion. I had to be honest. I had never lied to Clay, and I didn’t plan to now. “Part of me really wants to.” I sighed, absorbed by that intense gaze. “But I can’t, Clay. I just…”

His eyes were dark, but he managed a smile. “Just can’t do the one-night thing, can ya?”

He knew me too well. I smiled back. “Oh, I’m sure I could. I just think I’d regret it.”

“Yeah, I know you would, and that’s what I love about ya.”

So, deep down, I think Clay and I both knew we had a mutual admiration, respect, and even love for each other, but we knew there was nothing permanent in the cards. And while I wouldn’t have minded one more night with Jet, I’d finally started feeling good about being single for a while. Being with him—even just one night—would have wrecked it. I would have had to start all over, and I didn’t think my fragile young heart could take it.

And, I thought, that was that. But the next day, before I got ready to leave for work, Ethan knocked on my bedroom door. “Can I come in for a minute?”

“Yeah, sure.” I was standing at my dresser, pulling my hair into a ponytail.

He sat on my bed, and I could see his face through the mirror. “You and that Jet douchebag getting back together?”

“Why would you care?”

“Ah, come on, Val. You know exactly why.”

“It’s really none of your business, but no.”

He nodded slowly, taking in my words, letting them sink in. “Why didn’t we work out, Val?”

Was he f*cking with me? Or did he really not remember? Had he been so high for months and months he couldn’t remember the morning I told him we were through? I wanted to scream at him, Because you were a cheating a*shole! But I didn’t. I maintained my composure, and my voice was as calm as a lake on a balmy summer day. “Because you couldn’t keep your dick in your pants.”

He gave me a cocky grin that—had I not been remembering how he’d broken my heart—would have melted my thighs. “I thought you preferred it out.” I turned around and sneered and then sat on the edge of my little twin bed so I could put my work shoes on. I could have kept up the clever banter all day, but I was over it. I decided not to say anything. “Would you consider trying again?”

I couldn’t believe he wanted to have this conversation…right here, right now. Clay and I might have once again walked away from each other and saved ourselves a little heartache, but that didn’t mean my heart wasn’t feeling any pains from it. Still…deep down I loved Ethan more than I had any right to. It wasn’t rational, but I did, and part of me hoped that maybe someday it could work. After tying one shoe, I rested the other ankle on the opposite knee to slide the last shoe on. I said, “Not right now.” After tightening the lace, I set my foot on the floor and turned so I could look Ethan in the eye. “Ethan, you’re still in love with the shit you take. I can’t handle that. And until you give it up, we will never work.”

“What do you mean the shit I take?”

“You know what I mean—I’m talking about the stuff you smoke, drink, snort, shoot up. Am I forgetting anything?”

His mouth wrinkled up. “I thought it was the other girls.”

Ah…so he did remember. The bastard. I just nodded and stood. I had a job to go to.

“What if I gave them up?”

I felt the air leave my lungs. “The drugs or the girls?”

“Both.”

I grabbed my purse off the floor by the door and said, “See me when you do. Then we can talk.” And I left. But don’t think my walk to work was a fun one. All I could think about was Clay…and Ethan. But that wall I’d put up to protect myself from poisonous Ethan? It had to stay up. That boy had the potential to trash my heart for good, and it was my responsibility to see that it didn’t happen.

* * *

We made it through another holiday season, and the fans were still loving my new look. I didn’t regret it for a moment. That I was surviving some of the coldest months wearing that skimpy stuff was just short of miraculous, and I knew in the summer I’d appreciate it.

As a band, we were maturing and growing, much as I had imagined Clay’s band had. And, yeah…they had a contract with a major label and were getting ready to record a real album. My band? We started to sense each other, and I think my brazen move emboldened my bandmates to try new things. Ethan started doing weird guitar tricks onstage, always performed with more skill when he was sober, and the fans ate it up. And Brad—my most reliable second vocalist—started talking more. It started out just as the occasional thank you to fans, but he and I started joking around with each other…and before you knew it, the jokes became sexual in nature. At first, I’d gotten a sense that we shouldn’t, that any fandom earned because of my sex appeal would be lost if they imagined Brad as my guy, but it wasn’t like that, and I think it’s because our fans knew Brad and I were just teasing, just having fun. Brad and I had become close friends over the years. I respected and admired the man and his drive, and I knew he felt the same way about me. And as we noticed the fans loving the repartee, I relaxed and stopped worrying about the reception.

The problem? All that flirting we did in January and February just started to remind me of what a hot guy Brad was. We’d spent some breathtaking moments together in the past, and I’d never forget them. I think if we hadn’t had that past that my brain never would have gone there. We were still just “buddies” offstage like always, but Ethan hated the onstage antics. He never said a word, but I could see it in his eyes. The biggest problem with that was I knew it could potentially detract from the illusion. Or maybe that was part of what the audience liked about it—watching Ethan simmer and roll his eyes might have been funny.

In March at a concert, I sang “Happy Birthday” a capella to Brad, and I did it a la Marilyn-Monroe-singing-to-JFK. In the third line, I exchanged “Mr. President” for “Hot guitarist.” By the end we got a lot of cheers, but I could hear the girl fans going wild too. I even saw one girl in the audience lift up her shirt.

Once the noise died down, I heard a guy with a bass voice yell, “Whatcha gonna give him for his birthday?”

I cocked an eyebrow and smiled and then said, “I bet you’d like to know, but it’s not something we should talk about in public.” And then we went on to the next song.

And all that had done was make the flirting worse, because I’d actually seen how Brad looked at me when I sang him the modified Happy Birthday song. So it was starting to get to him too. And what drove that point home even more than the way he’d looked at me was the way it was starting to spill over into our personal lives. In fact, I’d known for a while that Brad had an occasional night away. He was a young man with needs and desires, but unlike the other three guys, he never brought them home. As I started paying more attention, I noticed that he hadn’t actually stayed the night elsewhere in months. What did that mean?

Well, I knew, but I chose to ignore it. Unlike the way I’d ultimately felt about sweet Clay, I thought Brad and I had a lot more in common, were a lot more compatible in a lot of ways, and I based that on the fact that we’d been friends and even roommates for a long while now. But Brad and I had made that agreement so long ago, that we wouldn’t f*ck up the band with a relationship.

Still…Ethan and I had gone there, and it hadn’t ruined the band.

No…but Ethan was so f*cked up that we all just worked around him, and his relationship with me had been just another one of those things. Something with Brad, though…that could be a potential wreck. Why? Because if we didn’t work out, one of us would be hurt. I was still young, and I believed it would be a bad idea, so I didn’t even want to try. And I got the feeling Brad felt the same way, that he didn’t want to even have the chance to hurt me, so he kept his distance.

Onstage, though, there was no stopping us.

One night in April, we had just finished a song, and someone threw a condom onstage and it hit me on the arm. It was still in its wrapper, and when I went to pick it up, I realized I had been showered with them. There were several on the stage around me. I said into the mike, “Glad to see you folks are practicing safe sex.”

Brad cozied up to his mike but looked over at me. “Not very safe if they’re throwing them up here instead of hanging onto them.”

Some guy in the audience that I couldn’t see yelled, “Let me at ‘em. You’ll never be the same, Valerie!”

Wow. That was huge…that a fan knew my name. That meant people were paying attention. They must have been logging into Facebook and also checking out the new website Nick had designed for us. They might have even been buying our CDs. So I smiled but was at a loss for words. Brad was still poised and ready, though, and didn’t hesitate. “Now why the hell would she want you when she’s got my sexy bod?” I started laughing as the women in the audience went wild, screaming and tittering. “And she’s never been the same sense.”

I regained my figurative footing and looked over at him, eyeing him up and down. Jesus Christ. Yeah, he had a beautiful body, and he was sexy as hell. If I hadn’t been on display, I might have sighed. Instead, I winked at him and finally grabbed onto some words. I waggled the condom package at him and said, “You know, Brad, I don’t think this would fit you anyway. You need the large size, right?”

He started laughing, and I knew no one in the audience could tell, but I actually made him blush. The screams from the girls died down and he said, “Hit it, guys.” Guys actually meant Nick, who’d have to lead us off with the beat. But the song started with Ethan on the guitar—Brad would join a little way in. Brad walked right over to me and took my face in his hands and laid a smoldering kiss on me. He caught me totally by surprise.

But I let him. And, aside from seeming like an even better kisser than he’d been before, it was as though no time had passed between us. He let go and started shredding on cue, and I doubt he or anyone else knew how he’d left me breathless. In fact, the effect he’d had on me was cool, because I usually belted the beginning of this particular song and all the way through, but instead I sang it low and breathy for the first verse, trying to get a hold of myself.

Maybe flirting with Brad onstage wasn’t such a good idea after all.