Blood and Guitars (6 page)

The rhythmic tapping of hickory drumsticks
echoed throughout the lobby of the recording studio. Near the door,
my best friend O’Shea took another sip from his Starbucks cup and
let out an impatient sigh. This was the first time our band,
Catalyst, had gotten together on official business since we
finished touring four months ago. We’re all good friends, so we’d
been hanging out on and off during the summer, but we hadn’t gotten
together with the intent of working on new material until tonight.
It’s sort of a ritual to play all night and get the creative juices
flowing. We’d been on a much needed break, but now it was time to
work again and we needed new material for the next record. The rep
from our record label, Celebrity Dent, thought we were wasting
time. Luckily our manager, Wes, insisted on our behalf that this
rehearsal was a necessary part of the process. Jonas, our bass
player, had never been what one might consider punctual, but his
tardiness wasn’t helping us in the wasting time area.

Chase, our drummer, was rambling on about the
bullet bike he’d just bought and O’Shea was at least pretending to
listen. My mind was preoccupied with the fact that I didn’t have
any new songs to show the guys tonight.

As a musician, it’s rare for me to let a day
go by without playing my favorite guitar at home, but lately
nothing seemed to come together. It seemed like an eternity had
passed since we had started the recording of our last record,
Recycled Coma. I had been ready then. I’d come to the studio with
sheets of hand written lyrics and melodies and a CD I’d recorded at
home with my ideas. Maybe I’d still been riding the high that our
first tour had given me. Being part of a newly discovered band had
given me a lot of material. We’d been all around the world in a
short period of time and, vain as it may seem, we’d had a lot to
say about it.

I’d left Aurora’s house last night feeling
more upbeat than I had in weeks. After retrieving my car at the
lounge, I had driven around town for almost an hour just listening
to the radio and sorting out the jumble of thoughts and emotions in
my head. Meeting Aurora had made a small part of me feel like a
teenager again, and the prospect of getting to know her better was
at the forefront of my mind. Unfortunately, I had other things I
needed to be worrying about at the present, such as the fact that I
was back in the studio again and expected to write some brilliant
songs.

I’d written a few songs during our break
which led to the impromptu performance at the lounge last night to
test them out on a crowd. The response had been good, but I wasn’t
convinced that the material was completely deserving of the cheers.
The songs weren’t bad, but they weren’t incredible either, and that
wasn’t something I could live with.

I ran a hand through my hair, fighting back
the slight wave of panic that was rising within me. I wasn’t ready
for this. Not yet. I didn’t have anything to offer this time
around. That’s probably not unusual for some bands, but I don’t
normally function this way. Was it possible for a musician to have
writer’s block? I was just so used to having lyrics pop into my
head and occupying my dreams at night that my present lack of
inspiration was freaking me out.

The guys were counting on me, especially
O’Shea (our lead guitarist and my best friend since middle school).
He was always telling the press that it was my innate ability to
write with raw emotion that enabled Catalyst to forge our way to
the top of the Billboard charts so quickly. I knew that was just
his way of teasing me for always wearing my heart on my sleeve, but
now, a secure recording contract and two number one albums later, I
was afraid that the little creative block I was experiencing might
throw the other members of the band into a panic … with good
reason.

As if all of that wasn’t enough, something
else was on my mind. All week I’d been dreaming of a beautiful
woman with long black hair. (Okay, so I was only assuming she was
beautiful because I hadn’t actually gotten to see her face. But
judging by the rest of her, I was pretty confident in my assumption
that she was drop-dead gorgeous.) The dreams were actually quite
pleasant with her drifting around vaguely in my subconscious,
almost like she was teasing me. Both times I’d woken abruptly,
feeling as if I’d been right on the brink of identifying her. As
much as I tried to brush the dreams from the forefront of my mind,
I couldn’t completely shake my curiosity about who my mystery woman
might be. I could already see myself searching the crowds for her,
which was a little premature considering we hadn’t even started to
record the album yet, let alone release it and organize a tour.

“Sorry guys.”

The familiar voice brought me out of my
thoughts and I looked up to see Jonas, our tall, lanky, bass player
saunter into the room. I rose to my feet, wanting to get things
started.

“What do you say we get in there and jam
until our fingers bleed?” I smiled, glad that I sounded more
confident than I felt, and my mood seemed to be infectious.

“It’s about time,” Chase said in agreement,
jumping to his feet a little too quickly.

Twenty minutes later we were all set up in a
room at the end of the hall. Guitars and drum heads tuned, we were
geared up for our all-nighter.

Okay, so maybe my creativity had taken a
vacation lately, but being with the guys and playing again was
seriously good for my soul. If this couldn’t jumpstart my
songwriting then nothing would. (I didn’t want to think about that
last part too hard. I needed some new material and fast, or I was …
well … screwed.)

After the first hour we’d gotten a little
sidetracked by a trip down memory lane that had us jamming out to
songs from our favorite bands that we’d listened to in high school.
It was reminiscent of the days we spent playing in O’Shea’s garage.
Of course, that had been back before we’d had access to studios and
rehearsal rooms, hoards of screaming fans and what we jokingly
referred to as “our people.” (Chase overuses the phrase ‘We’ll have
our people call your people’, but the fact that we’d gone from a
loser garage band to having “people” was pretty sweet.)

Four hours after we started playing, our
manager Wes stopped in to check on us. Wes came bearing gifts in
the form of pizza and excessively caffeinated drinks. (He knows us
too well.) After eating, I went back into the rehearsal room and
strapped on Liza, my green Fender Strat. I could feel the pressure
of O’Shea’s expectant gaze before I met his eyes.

“You got anything for us tonight?” O’Shea
pushed some of his black hair out of his eyes.

It was almost painful to hear the hope in his
voice, knowing that I was about to shatter it. My palms were
growing hot and wiped them on my back pockets before grabbing a
pick. “I … uh … I’ve written a few things but nothing to be too
excited about. I’m working on a new song right now but …well … it’s
not really ready yet.” I mentally kicked myself for the uneven
quality to my voice.

“Awe … c’mon.” O’Shea stuck his lower lip out
in a pout.

I couldn’t help but laugh at the pathetic
look on his face. “Dork. Does that ever actually work on anyone?”
He threw his pick at me and it bounced off of my chest, landing
with a ‘tink’ on the wooden floor. “Ouch.” I said in an exaggerated
tone, making him chuckle.

“He’ll bring us the song when he’s ready,”
Chase piped in once the laughter died. “That’s just how Trey works,
you know that,” he said simply.

“Whatever.” O’Shea slugged my shoulder
halfheartedly. “It’s no big deal. I’ve got a few ideas I want to
bounce off of you anyway.”

I tried not to let them see me sigh in relief
as O’Shea grabbed a new pick from his mic stand and went into a
catchy riff he’d been working on. I was off the hook for now, but I
knew that my little white lie wouldn’t buy me much time. I could
already see the hours I’d be spending in my studio at home trying
to come up with something to pitch to them.

O’Shea’s riffs were good, but unfortunately
it wasn’t enough to trigger my own streak of genius like I’d hoped
it might. The studio was almost empty now as I sat on a stool
playing Liza. I saw someone approaching from the corner of my eye
and looked up to see Chase. He stopped when he reached me, a
curious look on his face. (Or maybe it was just a confused look.
It’s sometimes hard to tell with him.)

“Hey man,” I said. “I thought you’d left
already.”

“I’m not in a hurry to get anywhere.”

“No plans with Tatiana?” I was referring to
his current flavor of the week.

“With who?” He laughed at his own joke.

I chuckled and nodded to the couch nearby,
putting my guitar down. He took a seat without hesitation and
pulled off his hat, running a hand over his messy short blond hair.
Chase is my height but he’s he spends more time in the gym than any
of us. I swear he’s packed on more muscle since I saw him just last
week. He doesn’t have a problem meeting girls, but never can seem
to date the same one for long. He’s also never been particularly
observant, which is why his next question surprised me.

“Is everything okay?” he asked.

I heard the sincerity in his voice and looked
up to meet his gaze. A big part of me wanted to confess that I was
struggling with the writing, but the rest of me was screaming that
I shouldn’t give him a reason to panic. I bit my bottom lip for a
second while I debated. Chase probably wouldn’t remember this
conversation by tomorrow so where was the damage in sharing with
him?

I sighed, wondering how much to say and where
to begin. “I’m okay,” I said. “The thought of going into the studio
again is just catching me off guard a bit. I’m sure its just
writer’s block or something, but I feel like there’s this empty
void where the music should be.” (Okay, did I seriously just use
the word void?) I wondered briefly if Chase was following but he
gave me an understanding nod so I continued. “And I’ve been having
these dreams….” I was suddenly reminded of a movie scene involving
a comfortable couch and a shrink. I definitely didn’t want to try
and explain my mystery woman to Chase. He’d either laugh at me or
have me committed. “I don’t know what to do. I’m sure it will
pass.”

“Well that’s easy,” Chase said simply.

I blinked a few times and raised an eyebrow
at him. “It is?”

“You need a girl. That’s all.”

“You think that would solve my problems?” I
asked, grinning, but Aurora’s 7-Up bottle-green eyes came to
mind.

“You never really got any closure with
Nikki,” he continued. “Look, what she did to you wasn’t cool by any
standard, but it’s time to move on.” He studied me for a moment and
said, “Have you ever thought that just maybe you’re trying too
hard. You know, forcing it. Lots of bands don’t do any writing
until they hit the studio. It’s not that big of a deal. You’ll work
it out.”

His faith in me was both reassuring and
overwhelming at the same time. I took a deep breath, considering
his words, when the sound of Chase’s cell phone ringing broke
through the silence. Chase answered the phone and his face beamed
immediately. I knew it was a girl on the line, but I didn’t
recognize the name he called her. Apparently things with Tatiana
had indeed not worked out. Chase gave me an apologetic smile and I
waved a dismissive hand at him. I put my guitar in the closet for
safekeeping and on my way home I fought the urge to drive past
Aurora’s.

“Trey….”

I heard the soft whisper of my name, and I
turned to look over my shoulder just in time to catch a glimpse of
a woman. Even from a distance I could tell that she was staring at
me, but she backed away into the shadows after I looked up. I stood
up slowly and realized that the cool, smooth feel against my bare
feet was actually several layers of silk material in red hues
spread across a hard floor. I glanced around quickly, trying to
take in my surroundings. I didn’t recognize this place, at least
not in real life. I was aware that this was a dream though, because
I had visited this same spot every night in my sleep for the last
three weeks. I took a few steps forward until I felt the cool stone
of the floor against my feet. Another sheet of silk was hanging
down in front of me, obscuring my view. I thought I caught another
glimpse of the woman as I reached out to brush it out of my way. I
rounded the corner I’d seen her disappear into and found myself
standing at one end of a hallway. I stepped onto the threadbare rug
that ran the length of the hall and made my way to the front door.
Just before I reached it, I remembered that it wasn’t really a door
at all, but an archway with more silk material hanging down from
the ceiling to block my view of what or who might be inside. I slid
the curtain aside and saw that the room was empty save for a few
flickering candles and a flowering plant in the corner.

Disappointed, I let the curtain of silk fall
back into place and glanced down the hallway again. I realized that
I had known the room was empty before I’d checked, because I’d seen
it before in this same dream. I looked at the other curtained
archways in the hall and tried to pull from my subconscious any
prior knowledge I may have tucked away to avoid retracing my steps.
My brow furrowed as I focused my train of thought, but nothing came
to me. I decided my best shot at finding her, whoever she was, was
to just keep going and hope that I caught up with her before I
awoke.

The second room was not unlike the first and
I disregarded it quickly once I realized that my mystery woman
wasn’t in it. I moved on to the third archway but as I reached to
pull the silken curtain aside, I heard another whisper coming from
behind me. It was her. She was calling to me again. Her voice
echoed off the stone on the walls and floor and carried to the very
core of me, sending a chill up my spine. I recognized that voice …
and not just because I’d been hearing it in my dreams every night.
I spun on my heels and cast my eyes about, hoping to glimpse her
nearby, but she was nowhere to be seen.