“No way.” Dane twists his mush up into a tequila-face, like the very notion is noxious to his being.
“What’s up, she turn you down?” Joel asks.
“Fuck you. No she didn’t. She’s way too easy.”
“You mean she didn’t offer.”
Dane casts me the evil eye, but whatever. He’s such a goddamned hypocrite.
“Who are we talking about?” Knox butts his way into the middle of our group.
“Loveday Trevaskis, the lady on stage.” I let Joel bring Knox up to speed, while I continue to be mesmerised by both what I’m seeing and hearing. I kid you not, the first flush of love is blooming right here and now between me and the girl who is bruising me with her perfect bass-playing. It’s melodic simplicity at its best, and it’s right there at the heart of the song. Clearly, my attention must have been riveted on Jessie and Dane earlier for me not to have noticed this woman, because not only is her talent obvious and astonishing, she’s stunning too. She’s the most perfect woman I’ve seen since Reception class at school, when I was blessed with a whole year of Miss Hewitt, of the never-ending legs and azure eyes.
This pixie is also blonde, but it’s more a yellowy, buttercup blonde, than Miss Hewitt’s ashen tresses. Nor has it been ironed into perfect straightness, but instead forms a halo of light around her face. My palms tingle with the urge to reach out and touch those dazzling strands, to cup the curve of her cheek, drag her closer and spread my palm over her perky behind. I want to jam with her, duel with her, and then gradually blend our sounds. I’ve no doubt the outcome would be an explosive eargasm.
All right, so the image of us riffing off one another fades to one of us battling in a different way, but cut me some slack here. It’s not often that music turns me on in this way unless it’s something I’ve just written. What’s more, I know I’m not alone in what I’m feeling. There’s an energy in the room that’s unmistakeable. It’s like this is ’74 and I’m watching Led Zepplin play, or hell, even ’84 and Cliff Burton is blinding everyone by sticking two fingers up at the notion of the bass being the backing rhythm and playing like he’s leading the show.
This girl is one monumental turn-on.
“Yeah, I remember her.” Knox giggles over whatever Joel said, and has a brief showdown with gravity. He prevails by throwing his arms around Dane and Joel’s shoulders, before leering at me. “She’s Jessie’s mate. The one with the pulling pen.”
Please God, don’t let Knox have been inside her pants. That’d be almost as bad as finding out she’s slept with my brother.
“Pulling pen?” Joel asks. I wish he hadn’t.
“Yeah, she has this Sharpie that she carries around with her, and if she wants a guy, she walks right up to him, tugs up his shirt and scrawls her number right across his abs. This one time, I heard she wrote an invitation right onto a guy’s dick.”
“Yeah, right.” Like that’s at all likely.
“Straight up. She wrote, ‘Stick it in my pussy.’”
“She did not.”
“It’s a true story, man.” Knox lets go of his leaning support team in order to throw his arms out wide. It takes a moment for him to find a gravitationally neutral pose, then he’s waggling his finger in my face and struggling to recall what he’s disagreeing with me for.
“Told you, she’s easy,” Dane says, smirking at me, as if the fact that her being upfront about what she wants makes his description of her, or his own antics, somehow justified. One day, he’ll realise that there’s no justifiable reason for any of his shit. Until then, I work on keeping my mouth buttoned and saving my breath. The trouble then, is that there’s only one other thing I could possibly turn my attention to in this room, and that’s the magic happening up on stage.
“What are you asking about her for anyway?” Dane enquires a moment later.
Duh, moron. Do you want to think about that for a moment? Can’t you hear it? It’s the sound of serious competition. I bite back an actual reply, bearing in mind that it was only a few minutes ago that Dane was ready to jump on stage and start pulling heads off. If he thinks for a minute that Jessie’s band is going to do us out of a major contract, then a whole roomful of people will be witnesses to his murderous rage.
I want to go places, and one of them isn’t jail.
Having escaped from Knox’s overfriendliness, Joel throws an arm around my shoulders, and brings our heads together so we can hear one another over the noise without shouting. “She hardly looks big enough to play bass.”
“Yeah—although I’m told it’s not the size that counts.”
I snort, as does Joel.
“Fuck you, man.” Knox hollers, having obviously caught the quip.
“You know I love you.” I blow him a kiss and that seems to soothe his wounded pride, but doesn’t alter the fact that this girl could out play him in her sleep.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Joel asks with both eyebrows raised and his lips pursed into a Jim Morrison-esque pout. He looks over his shoulder to make sure Knox is out of earshot.
“It’s not an option.” I say, making the rebuttal sharp and swift. At least, that was my intention, but Joel, just like the rest of them, never thinks twice about challenging my authority when he thinks he’s in the right. There’s a lot of head butting that goes on inside this band, enough of it for me to occasionally contemplate investing in some sort of steel head guard. I reckon the fact I’d look like a dick in it would be offset by the reduction in tension headaches.
“You can’t look after him forever, Nate. There’s a point where your…our ambition and the direction you’re leading this band ceases to be realistic while you cling so persistently to him being part of it.”
