Bullet (63 page)

I think I was also putting things off a bit, but if you’d asked me then, I would have denied it.
  But we were in Winchester Saturday night and all of Sunday before heading back to Denver, and mom and dad put us all up for the night.  I’d demanded Ethan respect my parents’ wishes, which meant we did
not
sleep together while we were there.  In fact, I begged him to not say a word about it.  Just because they suspected and probably knew was no reason to flat out tell them.  I didn’t want my parents praying for my eternal soul.  It was cool enough that they didn’t beg us to go to church with them on Sunday morning.  They knew we were tired from our concert the night before.  Danny was already back at college so he missed our concert, but mom and dad actually watched a couple of songs, even though the music wasn’t their thing.  And, yeah…I was fully dressed for this concert.  I was back in my old hometown and didn’t want my parents or old friends giving me grief about what I looked like.  If we ever got a recording contract, I knew they’d figure it out, but for now, I didn’t want the hassle.  I wanted to enjoy visiting.

I actually
did
get to see a few old friends after the show and introduced them to my band buddies, but afterward we headed to my house and visited with my parents before hitting the hay.  The next day we started talking wedding plans.  Even the guys got in on it, and we settled on a date in July.  Brad hadn’t booked any shows yet, so we chose a week and a half where we wouldn’t do any shows.

I watched Brad as we worked through the process.  He seemed okay with it.  We still weren’t where I would have liked us to be friend-wise, but I supposed that would
still take a while.  Obviously, our stage act suffered.  I was still wearing the skimpy stuff, but Brad and I were no longer flirting.  I just couldn’t bring myself to do it, and I think Brad felt the same way.

By the time we left to go back to Denver, I was mentally exhausted.  I hadn’t realized there was so much to a wedding.  After all that, I considered just standing in front of a Justice of the Peace and calling it done, but another part of me wanted the fairytale wedding, the one with lace and flowers and personal vows.  And that was the wedding I was going to get.

Brad had already agreed to be the best man, and Nick and Zane were going to be the groomsmen.  I managed to contact Jill through email, and she agreed to be my matron of honor.  I hadn’t talked with her in a while, and I discovered she and Chad were expecting their first child.  She would already have the baby by the time the wedding rolled around, so she said she wouldn’t want to be fitted until May.  My mother was going to contact my closest female cousin (who lived in Grand Junction) to see if she would be a bridesmaid, and I was even able to get a hold of Jennifer Manders, my old college roommate who was finishing up college.

We also looked at dresses online, but mom insisted I buy one in person.  The only way to get it right would be that way.  So she planned to visit me in Denver the next week
, and we’d find a dress together.  I couldn’t have done any of it without mom.

I was already hating it all, and I don’t think there would have been any way I would have enjoyed it. 
And Ethan sensed that.

That night, back in our apartment, Ethan curled up next to me after we
’d made love.  “You act like you’re hating this.  Are you getting cold feet?”

“No.  This is just so complicated.  Why can’t we just get married and be done with it?”

He grinned and pulled me close.  “Let’s do it.”

I considered it for a moment.  “No.  My mom would kill me, especially after everything she’s done already.”

“She’s your mom.  She’ll forgive you.”

But I could tell that just that tiny conversation put Ethan’s heart at ease, and as summer approached, I found that my love fully blossomed for the man.  He was staying sober
, and he was treating me well.  Some days were harder than others, and more than once he complained that sobriety ruined his creativity.  But he did it, and I could see the love in him.

The wedding arrived quickly.  My dress was a beautiful traditional white
, and it fit like a glove.  The church was full of people I hadn’t seen in years, and some were people I’d never met, people from Ethan’s side of the family.  And as we darted through the flying birdseed our loved ones were showering on us, I was pretty certain I’d spotted Ethan’s dad in the crowd.  I hugged one person after another and planned to talk to him afterwards, but he disappeared before I had the chance.  He looked sick, but I found it heartening to see him there.  If he and Ethan could bond, I knew the relationship would do so much for my new husband.  But he’d never have the chance.

Obviously, Ethan and I didn’t have enough money to get our own place, but my room
in our apartment became
our
room.  We didn’t have much of a honeymoon either, but my mom and dad did spring for a two-day stay at the Broadmoor in Colorado Springs.  They shouldn’t have blown all that money because we hardly left the room.

It wasn’t long, though, before we fell back into a routine.  And about a month later, Brad said we needed to get our asses recording.  He’d heard from Jet
, and things were promising for our band, but we needed to send a CD for Clay to pimp around to the people who mattered.  It was expensive, even finding a cheaper place to do the recording, but we wanted high quality.  Brad was almost ready to sacrifice quality for something,
anything
, but we managed to scrape together enough money.

I was unfamiliar with the process, and maybe the guys were too.  I don’t know.  But Nick was first.  He had to lay down all the drum tracks upon which we’d build the songs.  We chose fourteen songs
—our best and favorites, the ones that showed off our skills, and we picked ones that highlighted our range.  Because we couldn’t afford a ton of time in the studio, Brad insisted we practice, practice, practice.  Yes, we were good simply because we’d been playing live for a long time, but he wanted us to be tight.  And we weren’t used to doing things alone, but we’d have to do it that way when recording…one person at a time, doing his (or her) thing.  And it all started with Nick laying down the drums.

I started practicing a lot.  I had to sound good—I had to sound more metal than ever.  I even called Jet, because he was the one who’d originally encouraged me to refine my sound.  And he gave me rations of shit, asking why a married woman would be calling an ex-lover, but once
he was done giving me grief, we had a great conversation about how to sound on different parts of different songs.  I took notes.

I wanted to ask him why he hadn’t come to my wedding, but I knew why.  Aside from the fact that we
were
ex-lovers, I knew he hated Ethan, and he wasn’t happy that I was marrying him.  It wasn’t because of our previous relationship.  He’d always thought Ethan didn’t deserve me, and that might have been true a long time ago, but not anymore.  Ethan had gotten his shit together, and we were at the beginning of a beautiful journey together.

So I thanked him for his advice and asked him how things were going.  They were, in his words, “fucking fantastic!”  He then said we needed to hurry up with the demo, because he wouldn’t be able to keep his contacts interested forever.

We had four gigs in a row that week—Wednesday through Saturday nights—and it was Saturday morning that I first started noticing problems.  I was sounding hoarse by the end of the show that night, but I just thought maybe I was coming down with a cold or maybe I’d stressed my voice out too much.

But I only practiced for about an hour the next afternoon and noticed the same problem. 
And every day my voice would wear out sooner and sooner, so I did my warm tea with lemon and honey trick, but it wasn’t working anymore.  So I decided to rest my voice and save it for shows, but it wasn’t getting any better.  I could get forty-five minutes out of my voice at the max before it started croaking.

I was starting to worry, but I didn’t say anything to the guys…not yet, although I’m sure they were starting to worry about it too.  After all, they heard me singing too.  The hoarseness worked
okay short term for a song or two, but when I had to carry a melody, it just didn’t cut it.  But I kept resting my voice and quit practicing altogether.  I saved my voice for concerts only.

The time came when all the music was recorded
, and I had to start singing.  I started with “Metal Forever,” and after an hour of recording and re-recording, I broke down in tears.  Well, crying didn’t help either.  Brad and Ethan were there, and I finally had to tell them what was going on.

“It sounds okay, Val,” Brad said.

“Yeah…works for the song.”

“Maybe so,” I said, my voice scratchy, “but it’ll never work for ‘Just Another Stupid Love Song.’  My voice has to be clear for that.”  Brad frowned.  I could tell he agreed.  But I could see Ethan, trying to be the loving, supportive husband, trying to be encouraging.  He started to talk
, but I interrupted him, even though I shouldn’t have said a word.  “No, Ethan, you know it and I know it.  I can’t sound like I took a fucking emery board to my vocal cords for that one.  I have to sound sweet and soft and sexy, or it doesn’t work when I scream at the end.”  I started crying again.  “Goddammit.”

That’s when they knew how upset I was.  Brad said, “So you take it easy tonight.  You drink extra tea and don’t say shit.  Nothing.  If your voice is still fucked up, you go to the doctor.”

“I—we can’t afford the doctor.”

“Bullshit.  You’re
goin’.”  I started protesting when he said, “You’re going, Val.  Don’t piss me off.”  He looked at Ethan.  “Talk some sense into your wife, please.”

“Yeah, because I’m really good at persuading her.”  Ethan rolled his eyes, but then he looked at me.  “Val, he’s right.  If your voice is still
sucky tomorrow, you should go.”

“And then what?  You know how much money it’ll cost just to be seen?  And then what?  What if—”

“Stop it.  We cross that bridge when we come to it.  For now,” Brad said, “you go home and rest.”

But we hadn’t anticipated the worst.  First of all, I wasn’t able to get into the doctor the very next day,
and when I did get there, it wasn’t pretty.  Not only was I suffering from some pretty serious damage which the doctor blamed on crappy vocal techniques (and he asked why I hadn’t ever sought out any vocal training), but I had some pretty nasty scar tissue to boot.  I could have surgery—laser or otherwise—but it would cost.  And, on top of surgery, I’d probably also need vocal therapy.

We didn’t have the money.

Worse, though, we didn’t have the time.  We knew time was of the essence.  If we didn’t get this CD off to Clay, we could kiss our chances at the big time goodbye.

So we had
a huge band meeting, and I tried to put on the bravest face I could.  All I wanted to do was bury my head in my pillow and cry forever.  I wanted to scream, but I didn’t even have the voice for it.  I know I couldn’t keep the tears from wetting my eyes, but I was at least able to keep them from falling down my cheeks.  We all agreed that Brad should take over.  He knew the songs, had been singing most of the backup with me ever since I’d joined, and he had a better voice than he’d ever admitted.

They all wanted to keep my rendition of “Metal Forever,” raspy or not, and that’s when I lost it.  I couldn’t stop crying.  So I went to my bedroom and lay on the bed, just letting the tears flow again and again.

That night, Ethan made love to me and tried to make me feel loved, but I needed time.  Just when we had our shot, the universe decided to flip me the bird, and I wasn’t happy about it.  I needed time to adjust.  Add to that I was still working a shitty waitressing job, and I was miserable.

They finished the recording, and it sounded fantastic.  I tried not to cry, hearing Brad’s voice singing when it should have been m
ine.  But he sounded great.  I remembered that first time I’d met him in his garage all those years ago, how he’d talked like he had the worst voice in the world, but he’d always had a great voice.  And it was metal.  God, I just knew…as soon as the people who made the decisions heard the CD, they’d sign Fully Automatic.

Brad shipped it off to Clay who’d promised great things.  Clay said he was sorry to hear about me.  I’d been one of the selling points, he said, but I called him later and begged him to still give it a fair shot.  I told him what was going on with me.  He said, “Yeah, I know Brad’s a good singer, but…”

“Just fucking
do
it, Clay.”

“I promised you, Val.  You know I will.”

I thanked him before I lost my voice again.

* * *

Before we heard about the powers that be and what they thought of the CD, Ethan learned that Burt Richards had died.  He’d had some kind of cancer and Ethan said, “Like that’s a big surprise.  Motherfucker deserved it.”

But I saw his face.  I saw his pain.  I could sense his guilt.  He didn’t really mean it, and I suspected Ethan was now wishing he’d forgiven his father and developed a relationship with him.

Three nights in a row, he didn’t sleep well.  He was up late, then up early again, and when he
did
sleep, he woke me up continually with his constant motion in the bed and talking in his sleep.  I told Ethan he needed to forgive himself, and he just looked at me.