Backstage at the Coliseum, it’s everything I expected and more. Guys in black T-shirts yell at more guys in black T-shirts while moving equipment. Amps wheel by, suits stand in clusters smoking cigars, laughter from random groupies trills through the air. Noisy, crowded, chaos everywhere.
We’ve even been assigned our own dressing room, decked out with a mini-buffet of cold cuts and cut up vegetables. I don’t dare eat a bite. Spewing on stage isn’t on my list of rock star experiences I want to have before I die.
“Are you ready?” Val asks me for the tenth time in less than ten minutes. Our usually cool manager seems to be as nervous as the rest of us.
“I’m okay.”
“Are your parents coming, Jacob?” she asks.
They live not too far from here, so it’s not a stretch that they’d attend their son’s big show. Unfortunately, they won’t make an appearance. Who am I kidding? Make that fortunately. They’ve never supported Jacob’s rock stardom aspirations.
Jacob growls at her and stalks out of the dressing room, slamming the door behind him.
“Keep him away from the liquor.” Val points at our newly hired security guard, Robbie. “He’s going to be a godsend,” she mutters after Robbie tears after Jacob.
“Tired of wrangling us on your own, Val?”
She stares at me for a few seconds. “With great success comes great responsibility.”
Val’s not usually one to spout off one-liners of wisdom. “For you or us?” I ask.
“Both.”
Not sure what to make of that, I drop onto the cracked leather couch and fiddle with the Gibson.
Soundcheck had gone smoothly. We haven’t met the guys from Shooting Fences yet, but Valerie assures us they’re still thrilled to have Kickstart opening for them.
Jacob returns a few minutes later with Robbie on his tail.
“I need to do my warm-ups,” Jacob announces.
I sweep my arms open wide. The floor’s all his.
“I can’t do it with an audience. You know that.”
Actually, this is a new hang-up of his. Normally, I’d razz him, but tonight’s too important to all of us to give him grief. Instead, I hold out my hand to Mallory. “Let’s go check things out.”
Placing my hands on her hips, I guide her into the jam-packed hallway ahead of me. My gaze drops to the orange, red, and pink straps of her dress. The material clings to her body in a maze of knots down her back, giving her the appearance of a flickering flame as we move through the crowd.
“You’re beautiful,” I whisper in her ear.
“Thank you.” Her shaky hands smooth down the sides of her dress. “I don’t know why I’m so nervous tonight. It’s not me going on stage.”
Maybe not, but Mallory’s been to almost all of our rehearsals this week and has been as excited and enthusiastic as all of us.
“Is Jacob going to be okay?” she asks when we’re a good distance from the dressing room.
“He’ll pull it together before we go on.” At least I hope he will.
Alvin’s side stage, watching the crew set up Shooting Fence’s elaborate set. When they’re finished, they toss some black curtains in front of the whole thing. The guys we hired to be our roadies for this weekend will put together our more modest backdrop.
I clap Alvin on the back, and he jumps about ten feet in the air. Guess we’re all on edge tonight.
“You all right, bro?”
“Yeah, you sneaky motherfucker.” He clutches his chest with one hand. “You trying to give me a heart attack?” His gaze slides to Mallory, and the panic slowly leaves his expression. “Damn, you’re the heart attack.”
“At ease, soldier.” I smack his shoulder, and he laughs.
“Chaser!”
I briefly close my eyes when I recognize the voice.
“Why is Cokefiend McMassivePenis here?” Alvin asks through the phony smile plastered on his face. “Hey, Andrew!” He waves.
“Great, call him over,” I mutter.
“Like he’s not headed our way.”
Andrew bounds over to us with the gait of a giraffe mixed with the eagerness of a golden retriever. In his never-ending quest to annoy the shit out of me, he stops to gawk at Mallory.
“I’m not even going to say how hot you are because it won’t do you justice.” He darts a guilty look my way. “And Chaser might kill me.”
“Hey, Andrew.” Mallory smiles up at him.
“Are you guys so stoked?” he asks, grinning like someone who doesn’t have to go on stage in front of seventeen thousand people in two hours.
“Getting there.” My gaze drops to his T-shirt. His Kickstart T-shirt. “What are you wearing, bro?”
He tugs at the material and stares down at it like he’s just as shocked as I am, then grins. “There’s a photographer from HIT around; I thought it’d make a cool photo.” He gestures to the four of us. “One big happy.”
“Thanks.” Now I feel shitty for being annoyed with him.
“Oh! I brought a friend I want to introduce you to.” He turns, searching the area behind him. “Give me a minute.”
“You think it’s one of Pamela’s Playmate friends?” Alvin asks with hopefully raised eyebrows.
“No,” I answer as Andrew curls his arm around the shoulders of an older man in a plaid shirt and points him in our direction. “Hold onto your shit,” I say to Alvin.
Grinning and pointing at his friend, Andrew returns. “This is the man! No one better to work with. Not just in L.A. but the entire world! Mark Cutter, these are the dudes I told you about. Chaser’s a musical wizard. That piece I brought you? This is the genius who helped me arrange it.”
Am I having a stroke?
It has to be well over a hundred degrees back here.
Maybe I’m hallucinating.
Am I finally meeting Mark Cutter?
I tune back into the introductions while Andrew’s praising Alvin’s skin-bashing abilities as, “The best drummer since me.”
“And Mallory’s the coolest chick around,” he finishes.
“Hi, Mr. Cutter,” Mallory leans forward to shake his hand, filling the gap since Alvin and I both seem to have lost control of our manners and motor functions.
“Mr. Cutter, it’s an honor to meet you.” I finally pull my head out of my ass and shake the man’s hand. Alvin does the same, then gives me a subtle elbow bump.
“Andrew insisted I get my ass down here to see Kickstart live.” In a lower voice, he adds, “he mentioned you might be looking for someone to produce your next record?”
“Y-Yes,” Alvin stutters. “Yes, sir. We are.”
“Where’s Jacob?” Andrew asks. “And Garrett?”
“Jacob’s doing his vocal warm-ups. Not sure where Garrett disappeared to.”
“Getting head?” Andrew asks with a straight face. “That always calms me down before a big show.”
Mark side-eyes him, and Andrew shrugs. “What? It does.”
If this man has put up with Andrew’s tornado of crazy for so many years, producing Kickstart will be a warm, gentle breeze.
“Vinnie’s here too somewhere,” Andrew says, searching the area behind him again.