Tim Wade lounged in
a lawn chair outside his RV, a fresh cup of coffee in hand. Most of the
campers, both the RV’ers and tenters, were still asleep, as it had been a late,
raucous night. Though he stayed up far later than normal, he didn’t mind; he
wouldn’t expect anything less at HeavyMetalFest, the premier annual heavy metal
festival in Southern California. He hadn’t bothered climbing into bed until
well after 3 in the morning, even if he’d done nothing but sit in this same
lawn chair, enjoying the ambiance. Well, except for the little excitement after
the Friday night concert, which had been open only for those camping out this
weekend.
While there would
be 12 hours of music on both Saturday and Sunday, with many bands overlapping
on different stages, the Friday night show took place on a single stage with
five relatively unknown bands playing short sets. The headliners, Metal Knives,
had a following, but they’d been out of the limelight for a few years. Tim had
toured with them back when he’d been the lead guitarist for Splitting
Braincells, this year’s Saturday headliners on the main stage. All those years
ago, Metal Knives had been the direct support for the headliner, Bring the
Pain, while he and Splitting Braincells were the small-time, just breaking onto
the national scene, opener.
He himself had
never heard of the first four bands, and he dug a couple of them enough to
where he purchased their digital albums once he got back to the WiFi hotspot in
his rig. Metal Knives did a hell of a job closing out the short night, even
starting a small mosh pit, the lone one of the night. The next two days would
see plenty of bigger ones, and though he would steer clear, he enjoyed watching
the mayhem. Back in the day, when he’d been the one on-stage, he never got tired
of witnessing all those bodies hurling themselves at each other. Truth be told,
he incited more than one for his viewing pleasure, though it didn’t take much
to get metalheads slamming.
Once the final
notes had been hit, and the waves and good nights thrown out, a woman walked up
to him. The glint in her eyes showed she recognized him. He guessed her to be a
few years older than his 29, but no more than her mid-30s. Had he bedded her
when he was the lead shredder for Splitting Braincells? It wouldn’t surprise
him, as he’d been a true rock star back in the day. Much different from now,
eight years later, when in all that time he’d been with one woman, although
they’d been together for a year and a half before she decided to cheat on him
after a fight.
“Moth Man Wade,
right?” she asked. He contemplated shaking his head and saying sorry, my name
is Steve Jones or something, but didn’t.
“Hi, yeah. You a
fan of my shred school?” He gave an internal smirk. He started his online
guitar lessons a little over a year after his accident, and it turned into a
full-time business. He’d since expanded to all metal instruments, sans singing,
both in cyberspace and a land-based studio. No one recognized him for that,
though his long-time fans often knew.
“No, though I think
it’s cool. I follow you on Twitter, and I love the clips you share. Reminds me
of your shredding days. I saw you in the small clubs around So Cal so many
times before you guys blew up. I don’t think I can tell you how often I tried
to meet up back then. I caught one of your picks at a show at the Big Orange,
and you gave me a high-five at the Palladium, but I never got any closer.”
“Ah, the Big Orange Orange County
“Great place to
watch, too. You never disappointed.”
“Thanks. I
appreciate it. Those were the days.”
“So,” she drawled
out. Oh, great. He saw where this was going, and didn’t relish it. He wasn’t
here to meet anyone, even for a few hours.
“Yeah?”
“You here alone?”
Now that it was
out, he could smell the alcohol on her breath. He’d been so caught up in
reminiscing that he hadn’t before. Or maybe the slight breeze had changed
directions. Either way, he needed to end this.
“Yup. Flying solo.
About to head back to my spot and hit the hay.” That was a lie, as the
campground would be far too loud for the next few hours to even attempt sleep. “Enjoy
the rest of the weekend.”
It didn’t deter
her. “You don’t want to go to bed yet. Besides, my boyfriend and his friends
went back to our tent to smoke out. I wasn’t invited.” The lilt in her voice
made it clear she expected him to salve her wounded ego.
Sorry, lady.
Though he supposed
he could let her sit outside the RV with him for an hour or two. If she’d been
a fan back in the day, maybe she could hold up her end of the conversation
about metal, his favorite topic, at least at rock shows. Okay, all the time,
but all the more so at shows.
They headed to his
RV, and he pulled out two lawn chairs. She frowned, disappointment at the fact
he didn’t invite her inside written all over her face, but she held it in
check. No doubt she figured he’d build to it. Again, she was out of luck, but
he didn’t want to bring it up yet and cause a scene.
The conversation
went about how he hoped, as she knew quite a bit about the metal scene, both
current and a decade ago. Too much turned to how she’d bedded her share of
musicians, with her favorites being the shredding guitarists, and he did
everything he could to steer their talk in other directions. Once they focused
on the music and got on about recent bands they’d both seen live, their talk
bloomed. He even found it amusing when people wandered by, said hello, and she
introduced him as if he were her prize.
About one in the
morning, she stood and stretched, giving him a show of her braless breasts
beneath her t-shirt. “I need to get back soon.” She tossed him a wicked grin
and nodded towards his RV. “A romp before I go? I suck a mean dick, and I love
it in the ass.”
It took all his
self-control not to laugh out loud. “Nah, not tonight. I had a great time
talking to you, though. Thanks for being a fan.”
It took a second
for her to get her head around his words. “What? You don’t want to fuck?”
Another few seconds of processing. “What the hell? Are you gay or something?”
“No. I’m here for
the music. Like I said, I enjoyed meeting you.”
He stuck out his
hand for her to shake, hoping the act would disarm her, but she instead scowled
and stomped away, tossing a vitriol, “Fuck you, you washed-up has-been,” over
her shoulder. He had controlled his laughter in the moment, but now, the next
morning, a deep belly laugh escaped as he set his coffee on the grass so he
didn’t spill it all over himself. Plus, it would have been a horrible waste of
good coffee. Camping in an RV had definite advantages over tenting it; much
easier to bring his electric bean grinder and good French press. Why suffer
through a camping stove kettle of cheap brew or the crap sold at the camp
store?
“Someone a jokester
over here?” his neighbor called, sticking his head out of his own RV. He couldn’t
remember the guy or his wife’s names, but they seemed pleasant enough. Both
were older than him, in their mid to late 40s. Tim was afraid he woke him at
first, but the big grin on the guy’s face proved he hadn’t. Good. Nothing worse
than pissing off the neighbor at a campground. Not that he’d be here much,
spending most of the time inside the festival, but still.
“Sorry, no.
Thinking about something that happened last night.”
“It was an
interesting night, right? Let me finish waking up, and then we’d love to swap
some stories. Can’t head over to the venue for another few hours. Unless we’d
be imposing.”
“Not at all. I’m
about to rustle up some bacon sandwiches for breakfast if you guys want to join
me. I have plenty.”
“Only if you let us
supply a side of scrambled eggs and juice. We have plenty, too.”
He smiled. “Deal. I’ll
have my sandwiches done in half an hour or so. Need to finish my cup o’ joe.”
“Great. See you
then.”
Tim picked his
coffee back up, and as he took a sip, his eyes wandered out to the path where
people from the tent area had started to wake up and wander to the camp store
and porta-johns. He enjoyed watching the blurry-eyed crowd, most in sweatshirts
or jackets on this early March morning, though he and everyone else lucked out
at how mild the weather was supposed to be all weekend, even for Southern
California. He chuckled at how many stumbled around like zombies, and not the
freshly-dead ones.
And then he saw
her.
Dark auburn hair
ran about a quarter of the way down her back. She wore a black sweatshirt with
the Crushed Edges logo emblazoned on the front, one of the bands playing the
main stage tonight. They were, in his opinion, a metal starter band, but, hey,
if a teen, and she couldn’t be older than 19, if that—Oh, shit, please be over 18; I don’t want to be ogling a minor—wanted
to listen to any type of hard music instead of the pop crap that dominated
society, he was all for it. He couldn’t help but let his imagination run wild
at how her small but perky breasts, which would look perfect on her petite
frame, pushed up in the middle of the logo, even if the sweatshirt hid most of
the view. He also tried to be gallant and not check out her ass, but he couldn’t
help himself. Despite the fact the hem of her sweatshirt dipped low, he could
still tell it was nice, tight, and fit, perfect for a sexy grab.
Before he could
tear his eyes from her, she turned, and her bright emerald eyes burned into his
soul. She stopped, an unreadable expression on her face. He wanted to smile,
tried to smile, but didn’t think he succeeded. Her mouth tugged up a few
millimeters, and then she bit her bottom lip, a look of…something…on her face.
Before he could shake any other thoughts loose in his brain, she jerked,
blushed, and raced after the couple she’d been walking with.
Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. What was that? Women never affected him like this, especially such
young ones. Yeah, he’d like to meet that special girl, but she wouldn’t be ten
years or more his junior, would she? No, of course not. At least not at this
stage of his life. And hadn’t he said more than once last night that he wasn’t
here to meet anyone? It hadn’t been meant as a brush-off to his groupie, but
the god-honest truth.
Tim took a deep
breath, drained what remained in his coffee mug, and pushed himself to his
feet, careful to not show the campground the boner the sweet young stranger had
given him with a simple look. The fuck am
I, 16 again? He chuckled, making sure to keep it in check so his neighbor
didn’t ask what was so funny this time, and then headed into his rig to both
refill his mug and to start breakfast. He’d promised bacon sandwiches to the
nice older couple next door, after all. He also fired up his music on the sound
system. Metal never failed to get everything back to normal.
Read Ch. 2 by clicking here
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