Road Rash Read online

  “Uh, right.” Where was this going? Had she somehow already heard about me getting kicked? God, did Kimber say something …?

  “So imagine you’re in the middle of a show. They’re paying you, and you’re trying to do a good job. There you are, drumming away on a very challenging song, and people are listening and getting into it when all of a sudden a couple near the front starts talking, totally oblivious to what you’re trying to do.”

  Oh … “Yeah, I’ve been there,” I admitted, nodding. “Sorry. It won’t happen again.”

  “I know it won’t.” She handed me my phone back. “I don’t need this—I don’t think that’s really the issue here.”

  “Wow. Thanks.”

  She looked at the clock. “You’d better get going.”

  I started to go, then turned back. “Hey—how come you laughed when I apologized?”

  “Remember what you said … ‘It’s not her fault, you can blame it on me’ …?”

  “Yeah?”

  She smiled. “Kimberly said exactly the same thing.”

  I did see Kyle a couple of times during the week, but we didn’t really talk. The first time I ran into him between classes, he nodded and mumbled a quick “Hey, man—how’s it going?” and kept on walking.

  The next time I saw him, he tried that again, but I grabbed his arm. “Hey, you got a minute,” I said. It wasn’t a question.

  “What’s up?”

  What’s up? I wanted to say. What the hell do you think is up? But instead I said, “I want some answers on the band thing. So far, all I’ve heard is a load of crap. I mean, it’s no real secret Toby’s an asshole and likes to throw his weight around, and I guess Justin’s pretty much a follower, but I thought you’d back me up a little more.”

  “Hey, I voted to keep you. And it wasn’t even Toby’s idea at first. Justin’s the one who mentioned getting Josh in the band, and Toby just kinda ran with it.”

  “Josh …? As in Justin’s cousin?”

  “Yeah.”

  “When did he start playing? And you’re saying he’s better than me?”

  Kyle looked down. “I dunno. He’s not bad.”

  “Yeah, well … Toby gave me some line that I wasn’t ‘serious’ because I was late a couple of times. That’s a load of crap, too. Do you think I’m a screw-off?”

  “Naw, ’course not.” He looked at the people walking by. “I’ve got to get to class.”

  I grabbed his arm again. “You said you voted to keep me. So I figured we could put a project together without those guys. But Toby says you’re staying. I don’t get it.”

  He shrugged. “They’ve got gigs lined up.… Look, I’m sorry, man. Really. There was nothing I could do about it.”

  “Yeah, right …”

  He looked away. “I gotta go.”

  I held my hands up. “So who’s stopping you?”

  Kimber said hi to me when I walked into math class, but all I did was nod and take my seat. I didn’t really want to get into a discussion about her brother. Plus I’ve been keeping a low profile since the texting thing.

  But when class was over, she came up to me. “Zach—how are you?”

  “Freakin’ wonderful.”

  “Have you talked to Kyle at all?”

  “Yeah, this morning.”

  “And …?”

  “And nothing. I thought he and I might start a new band, but he’s staying put, so I’m out of luck. End of story.”

  “That sucks.”

  “He told me about Josh being their new drummer.”

  She scowled. “Must be nice, getting a new drummer who comes with his own gigs.”

  “What?”

  “His parents are loaded. They throw big parties all summer. Kyle and the guys are playing there tomorrow night.”

  Wow. “Hey …” I paused. “Do you know where he lives?”

  “Josh? Yeah, up in Eastgate. I was with Kyle when he went there to drop off some gear yesterday. It’s a mansion.”

  “If I drove, could you show me how to get there?”

  “Sure.” She smiled. “When—today after school?”

  “No, I was thinking more like tomorrow night.…”

  4

  “Loser”

  Kimber didn’t get why I wanted to go. And I had a hard time putting it into words myself. Maybe just seeing what the hot fuss was all about …?

  “So are we going to, um, crash this party?” she asked as I drove us there in my dad’s truck. To be honest, I was a little distracted by her. Her eyes seemed different somehow, and she was dressed … older? It was a great June evening, the kind Los Robles is famous for—the sun had just gone down but it was still plenty warm out—and Kimber had on shorts and this little strappy tank-top thing. “We’ll feel pretty dorky if we get caught,” she added.

  “Crash is such a vulgar term, Dr. Milhouse. I prefer the phrase surreptitious observation.”

  She didn’t say a word, but I’ve learned what those raised eyebrows mean.

  “Look,” I said, “your brother’s in the band, and it’ll be a huge party, right? No one’s going to notice. Really. Just act like you belong.”

  She was right about one thing—the place was a mansion. It took up half the block, with a low plaster wall around the perimeter. I got the impression it was modeled after one of the Spanish missions around here. And judging by the people going in, it wasn’t just a party for the parents’ friends—it looked like Josh had invited half his high school to come see him and his “new band.” So no one gave us a second glance as we followed a group through a wrought-iron gate and into the yard.

  Kimber stopped and looked around. “Talk about bucks up. All we really saw the other day was the inside of the garage—and that was big enough—but this place is stupid big.”

  She wasn’t kidding. There was the house itself—which was like a castle—and then there were all these other buildings. Like a pool house, and maybe a guest cottage, and an office, and … what? Servants’ quarters?

  Anyway, there were people all over the huge lawn, and waiters in fancy outfits moving around with trays of snacks.

  “I could get used to this,” I said, giving Kimber a wink. “What do you say we go graze?”

  So we mingled with the crowd, helping ourselves to these tasty little midget lobster things whenever a tray cruised by.

  “You know, these are really good,” I said after I’d had three or four, “but I want to check out the band.”

  She nodded toward an area behind me, across the yard.

  I turned to look and about dropped my plate. “Holy …!” There was a full-on elevated stage set up next to one of the buildings. But what was more impressive was what was on it. The only gear that I recognized as actually belonging to the Sock Monkeys was Kyle’s old bass amp. On Justin’s side of the stage was a full Marshall stack, fresh out of the crate—I could practically smell the new-amp scent from here. Our old PA—a used Carvin rig—was nowhere to be seen. Instead, there was a big, brand-new JBL sound system set up, with subs and mains, as well as a beefy stage monitor for everyone in the group. Everything was miked up—not just the vocals, but all the amps and drums, too.

  And the drumset … whoa. It was a seven-piece Drum Workshop kit, with like a dozen gleaming Zildjian cymbals on a forest of chrome stands. The whole outfit was worth at least ten grand, and it looked like it had walked right off the showroom floor. Hell, his snare drum alone was worth more than my whole set. I just stood there staring, trying not to drool.

  “So what are you looking at, mate?”

  I knew who it was before I turned around. “Well, I was admiring all the nice new toys up there,” I said as I turned, “but I got distracted because all of a sudden”—I sniffed the air—“wow, it smells remarkably like ass around here.”

  Kimber stifled a laugh.

  “Uh-huh. So says the pathetic loser who just can’t stay away,” Toby replied. “Well, good! It’ll give you a chance to see how a professional band play
s.” Then he looked Kimber up and down and gave her his bullshit smile. “You, on the other hand, should stick around after the show.” He turned and walked away.

  “Wow,” Kimber said. “I guess I see what you mean.”

  “Yeah, and that’s him being nice.”

  “In that case, seems like you’re better off without them.”

  “Yeah, maybe …” But as I glanced up at the stage, it sure didn’t feel that way.

  She studied me for a moment, then tugged at my arm. “C’mon! There’s a waiter over there with a tray of those pink drinks with umbrellas. I want to try one.”

  I let her drag me along.

  I got us two of them and took a sip. “Whoa, pretty dang sweet.”

  She tried hers. “I like it.” She swished it around in her mouth like a wine taster sampling some rare, expensive vintage. “Hmm … Tastes like an afternoon on the beach. At Cabo San Lucas. Maybe on a Tuesday. After all the tourists have gone.”

  “So you’ve been to Cabo?”

  “Oh, no. But this is what it would taste like. I’m sure of it.”

  I had to laugh. “You’re weird.”

  “So they say,” she said with a grin.

  Suddenly we heard, “Check, test, one, two … Check, testing, one, two, three …”

  I turned to Kimber. “Ever go bird-watching?” She shook her head. “That’s the mating call of the fat-headed dork-meister.”

  She laughed and started to reply, but lights flooded the stage and Toby’s voice came booming over the PA. “Hey, how’re we doing tonight?”

  There was a weak response from the crowd, and Toby spoke again, even louder. “I said, how’re we doing tonight? Are you feeling all right?”

  This time the crowd hooted and hollered a little more. “Good,” Toby said, “because we’re feeling pretty damn good, too. And we’re about to rock your world. But first I’d like to introduce the newest Sock Monkey … the guy who’s going to help us take it to the next level … drummer extraordinaire … Josh Dicenza. Give it up for Josh!”

  It was pretty thick, even for Toby, but the guests responded with serious applause. Of course, everyone also knew that Josh’s parents were hosting this blowout, so it was hard to say exactly who was kissing whose ass here.

  I was a little surprised when I heard them start our usual opening number, but it made sense—there was no way they’d had time to learn many new tunes. Josh had probably been cramming just to learn the existing set list.

  And apparently he’d done his homework. At least, he played the right parts. But it was like he thought his drums might break if he hit them too hard, and that song calls for the drummer to slam the toms and snare at the beginning. And the music seemed to surge ahead and pull back, like there wasn’t a steady anchor under it.

  I don’t know what I was expecting, but this wasn’t it. The production quality of the mix was good, and the tone from those beautiful drums was totally sweet. But … I don’t know. It didn’t have that tight, confident pocket that solid rhythm sections have. Okay, near the end he did this busy double-kick thing that I couldn’t have played. Even if I had a five-hundred-dollar DW double pedal. Which I didn’t.

  Anyway, I thought that maybe they’d work the kinks out during their first tune, but the next song was more of the same. And the third one seemed downright weak.

  But maybe it was just me. I glanced around and tried to read the crowd. The guests were paying attention, and there was polite applause after each song, but no one was dancing or even bobbing their head much. It was a tough call, so I looked to someone who wouldn’t be able to hide the fact that it either was or was not happening—the bass player.

  Kyle was up there doing his part, and he was trying to move with the music, but from where I stood, it wasn’t flying. Whenever things were really in the pocket, he used to put one foot up on something—either a stage wedge or sometimes my kick drum—and he’d close his eyes and just freakin’ play. But tonight he was looking from Josh to Justin, then down at his hands, then back to Josh, and his eyes were open the whole time … maybe a little wider than they should have been.

  I caught Kimber’s eye and nodded my head away from the stage like, Let’s get out of here. When we were far enough away that we could talk, I looked at her and raised my eyebrows.

  “They’re a dog in a dress” was her reply.

  “Huh?”

  “Take a dog. Wash it, blow-dry it, brush it out. Spray French perfume all over it. Shove an expensive blond wig on its head. Put bright red lipstick on its muzzle. Then put it in a sleek little black dress. What’ve you got?”

  “Hey, this is your kinky little scenario. You tell me.”

  “A dog.”

  I smiled. “I thought maybe it was just me. Uh, but Josh did do some stuff that was pretty technical on that first tune. Stuff that was beyond me …”

  “You’re kidding me, right? Is there any doubt that they sounded way stronger with you?”

  I shrugged. “I thought we sounded better than that, but … but that’s what the pathetic loser who can’t stay away would think, isn’t it?”

  She grabbed both my arms and looked me in the eye. “Listen to me. You are not a loser. Not even remotely close, not in any way. And you totally kick Josh’s ass on the drums.”

  I was kind of taken aback by her intensity. “Uh … thanks.”

  “I mean it.” She let go of me and shook her head. “My brother can be such a moron.”

  I looked around. “I’ve seen enough. You ready to go?”

  “Sounds good.”

  I suppose I should have been happy about what I’d just seen and heard. But really, it only made me feel worse. I mean, if my replacement had sounded totally pro, at least that would have made sense. But to get kicked to the curb for this? Was it really about Josh’s parents being bucks-up and throwing a few parties where the band could play?

  Whatever. It was clearly a permanent switch, so I needed to make some decisions.…

  I turned to Kimber as I drove. “Hey, do you mind making a stop on the way home?”

  “Sure, where are we going?”

  “Land of Lights.”

  5

  “Falling Slowly”

  As we pulled into the parking lot at Land of Lights, Kimber asked, “Are we here because Kyle and the guys are playing here this summer? Not to play psychiatrist, but it seems like you’re going out of your way to make yourself feel bad tonight.”

  “No, Doc. In this case, a cigar is just a cigar. We’re here to kill that bad taste with some good music. That’s all.” I knew who was playing tonight but I’d learned my lesson—there was no way I was going to tell anyone else about the offer from Glenn Taylor.

  And from the moment we walked in, it was apparent that Bad Habit wasn’t going to make a liar out of me—they were rocking. The dance floor was already pretty full, and the people sitting around were getting into it, too. There was a raised section behind the dance floor, so we grabbed a table up there and I went and got us cokes.

  “Sorry, they were fresh out of little umbrellas,” I said as I sat down. “But I managed to talk them out of a couple of lime wedges, to give you that south-of-the-border feeling.”

  “Why, thank you.”

  As she took a drink, I had to ask. “So, what does this taste like? Cabo, too?”

  She took another sip, deep in concentration. “No … it tastes like Bora-Bora, in Tahiti. In one of those huts raised on stilts out over the water. Sitting on the little deck at sunset, catching our dinner with a fishing line. And three more weeks of nothing to do.” She looked up at me from her drink and slowly smiled.

  “Whoa … I think you’re a future Hemingway, li’l sis. I don’t have a clue about Tahiti, but I like the way you paint a picture.”

  Just then the band launched into a pile-driver groove of wildly distorted guitar and pounding drums. People started pouring onto the dance floor as Bad Habit went into their own twisted update of “Are You Gonna Go My Way?” />
  Kimber gave me the look. I know the look, trust me. And as nice as it feels to be asked, it’s better to show a little sack and step up.

  I stood up. “C’mon, let’s dance.”

  She gave me a big smile, practically yelling to be heard over the music. “Sounds great!”

  Dancing with Kimber was sorta weird but also a good time, if that makes any sense. The floor was packed and the band was totally slammin’ and we danced our asses off. GT took a couple of extended solos, and unlike Justin, he absolutely rocked. And he wasn’t just shredding at top speed. That guy could play with feeling, stretching out a note until it howled like some demented coyote.

  By the end of the song Kimber had a big sweaty smile on her face. “That was fun!” she said. “Let’s stay for the next one.…”

  So we did, and it was another good dance tune. And then they brought it way down, and I recognized the slow opening chords of “Landlocked Blues,” by Bright Eyes. Kimber was still giving me the look, but I played dumb—that would have been too totally weird. “Uh, I’m thirsty,” I said, nodding toward our table. “Let’s go get a drink.”

  And actually, I was glad for the break. It gave me a chance to sit back and really listen to the band. Which was why I was there … right? They sounded more pro than we—I mean the Sock Monkeys—ever did. There was no getting around that. And I might have thought their equipment had something to do with it, but we’d just witnessed a graphic demonstration that gear does not make the band.

  Okay, they did have five players—including a girl on keyboards who really filled out their sound. And their lead singer also played rhythm guitar on some songs.

  But there was more to it than just numbers or gear.

  Their lead singer had a really good voice and huge stage presence to go along with it. When he was singing, everyone was watching him … including the rest of the band. And while the bassist wasn’t flashy, he was totally on the money. Their drummer, Nate, on the other hand, was flashy. Maybe even too much. He was all over his Mapex sunburst kit, even on the simpler songs. But apparently he hadn’t been drinking that night, because even though he played some pretty technical stuff, he nailed it all. And the girl not only played keys, but she sang some, too, adding another dimension to their vocal mix.