Joe Vampire (23 page)

Rest in peace, dude. Truly sorry that you couldn’t have had an easier life. Hopefully you’ve found some semblance of closure wherever you’ve gone.

Wish me luck with the audition, folks. 

I’ll let you know how it goes.

POST 32

Plays Well With Others

When my ex-band Vomiting Nonsense came together, there was no formality to the process. It just happened, like a horrible, mangling accident involving three dudes, a few electronic musical instruments, and a whole lot of unpleasant noise. 

That’s kind of how it ended, too. 

Much like an accident, it was also filled with carnage and mayhem and a nagging feeling that things hadn’t happened the way they were supposed to. Hube and I were already playing together, and had been for years. Lazer was a friend of a friend of Hube’s who at that point had run off six other sets of players with his shitty attitude and unrealistic demands. I think because Hube and I had each other for support, we were able to tough it out better than some of the others. But looking back, it was never a real partnership among the three of us. There were really only two members overall: Me-and-Hube, and Lazer. I was hoping for a lot more when I met up with the guys from Forever 81. 

I wasn’t sure they’d be what I was looking for, but they had to be more than what I was used to. 

The audition was a rare daytime outing for me, but it worked for them so I went along with it. Wise not to make waves before you’ve even boarded the ship, I thought. I just made sure to keep everything well-covered so I didn’t hit the tryout with my skin all a-bubble. When I showed up at Damage, where the magic was to happen, Lucas met me at the door, thankfully dressed in street clothes instead of his Duran costume. He was much more approachable that way, and friendlier than I had expected. “Thanks for coming out, Joe. Really appreciate it.” He reached to shake my hand, and I completely spaced off that my skin would be less than room temperature even during the day. “You seem kind of chilly… do you need something from the bar to warm up? They pour Grey Goose, and Patron… the bartender makes great margaritas. Or there’s microbrew on tap. Whatever you want, my treat.”

Classy guy, despite the mullet. “I’m good, thanks.” The bar was by no means full for a weekday afternoon, and I didn’t see the other players milling about. “Is the rest of the band in the back somewhere?”   

“They’ll be coming along in a little while. I wanted a chance to chat you up before they came, kind of give you an idea of what F81 is all about and where we’re headed.” I sort of felt like I was about to be asked to buy a vacation property, or a magical blender that turns ordinary cheese into nacho sauce in three seconds or less. He told me all about their individual musical backgrounds, and how they had met up while playing college bars. He explained that they had recently been drawing up plans to expand beyond playing covers, and were putting together some tunes of their own. There was a producer lined up, and studios were being researched, as well as venues for touring and merchandise production. “We’re really working toward taking things a step beyond. I know we’ve built our following playing the Duran Duran catalog, and that’s probably what hooked you into auditioning.” Not really, but okay. “We’ll still do the covers, but would you be interested in joining up if we were to start working on original songs and record those also?”

“You’re not planning on adding any part-time geriatric hooker-rappers, are you?” Not likely, but worth asking before I climbed aboard. 

I didn’t think he got it at first. But he pretty quickly remembered the Hell Gig that took place scant yards from where we sat, and he laughed. “Um, no. Definitely not.” 

“Then I’m good.” 

I had spent a week or so limbering up on
Hungry like the Wolf
and
Rio
, and the truth is there’s not much keyboard magic on those songs; one or two notes with sustain and effects, and a few chords changes at most. That wasn’t going to make me happy for very long. “I would love to get in on something original,” I told him. “Vomiting Nonsense was all originals – not well-done originals, but all our own stuff. And I’ve been writing stuff since seventh grade, up until… yesterday, actually.” 

We discussed my influences a little, and my training – or lack thereof. He didn’t seem concerned at all. “That’s kind of why I targeted you. You have something more than what we’ve seen in the others we’ve spoken to.” Whoa. 

He targeted me?

While I was in a techno-sleaze band?

Because he and his band saw something more in me than just my synth bass gurgling beneath Lazer’s mess? 

I think this may have been exactly what I was looking for.

So I hooked up and played him a few of my melodic sketches. He seemed to watch me as much as he listened, as if he were sizing up the whole image and not just the music. “I really think you could be what we’ve been after, Joe. I hope the other guys agree.” 

Finally, a break; people to make real music with, not the silly clicks and pops that my work with VN amounted to after Lazer breathed his poison all over them. Now I just had to impress the other guys as much as I had Lucas… and that’s when the nerves started kicking in at full tilt. “I think I’ll have a shot of something now, if the offer still stands.” 

The other two showed up minutes later, both without their costumes as well, and I hoped that this was a sign that maybe I could avoid having to buy a puffy shirt and jazz boots.  “Kyle, Jeremy – this is Joe.” I wasn’t clear on which of the two was Kyle and which was Jeremy, but they looked like they were brothers anyway so it probably didn’t matter who was who. Unlike Lucas, there were no handshakes from them, and no discernible warmth or interest in me as a person. They were a little intimidating, to be honest, each a head taller than me and way broader across, sort of built more like athletes than musicians. I suddenly had the impression that, without boots with substantial heels as a New Romantic dress code requirement, there would be no way for me to fit in physically with the rest of the band. I hoped my height wouldn’t be too much of a liability. “Let’s go in the back so we can have some privacy,” Lucas decided. So we headed for the office, and I sat on one side of the table while Kyle and Jeremy sat across from me. Lucas stood in the corner, arms folded, letting the other two run the show for a while. Suddenly the audition felt more like an interrogation, or a job interview. With the mob. I knew after talking with Lucas that there was a lot riding on me, so I didn’t blame them for taking it as seriously as they did. I tried my best to keep my smart mouth in check and not let it blow this for me, as it had done on so many occasions in the past. Where Lucas had been the perfect soft sell, these guys were all business, hard-edged and blunt-nosed, asking pointed questions that seemed designed to confirm my ability to commit to the band. I wanted this to be honest, so as much as I would’ve liked to look into their minds and read what they were thinking, I made myself resist. I just answered their questions as they came: 

•
Are you good with being up at night… like, all night? We tend to practice late.
Yeah… I work nights, so being up until the wee hours is no trouble. Not a big sleeper during the day, either, so I can deal with whatever works for you.

•
We’re big on non-disclosure in this band… it’s a huge issue for us with the big plans we have coming up. How good are you with maintaining privacy and keeping things secret?
 I pride myself on my ability to keep a secret, and I keep to myself about almost everything. No worries there.

•
We’re planning on moving around a bit after things get going, for recording and live shows. Do you have problems with being gone for extended periods… any girlfriend waiting at home for you, or family commitments that might cause complications?
No girlfriends, and family is so not overly concerned that they wouldn’t even notice if I was gone. Plus: I’ve got a ton of vacation saved up, so I’d be good with touring for however long we’d be on the road. 

Then they looked me up and down, trying to picture me as one of them, I’m sure. I could see why. They were sizable – even Lucas was probably six three; I was six inches shorter and far less AnF than everyone else in the room. I smirked a little out of nervousness, and one of them asked point blank, “What’s with the teeth?” 

Damn. The fangs.

They were gonna lose this for me.

“They’ve always been like that… a genetic thing. I’m saving up to get them fixed.” That seemed to satisfy them. 

The other one glared through me. “And what do your ears look like?” 

I froze. 

They must have seen them poking out. 

I resisted the urge to pull my hair down to make sure they were covered.  “Uh… my ears… are… ”

Lucas broke in, shooting them both a look that told them to stop humiliating their guest. “What he means is that he hopes they’ll look good with a mullet.” A mullet? “You’re going to need one if you’re in the band. What do you think, guys? Is Joe who we’re looking for?” I was sweating it. I didn’t want to, but I sort of peeked in their heads. All of them were thinking the same thing:
he’s the one
. So I knew before they said it that it was unanimous. 

One of them piped up. “I think we’ve found our guy.” 

The tension finally broke. 

“Welcome to Forever 81, Joe. You’re in.” They all slapped me on the back, and I let go of the breath I’d been holding from the minute I walked in. “Your friend Lazer was right about you.” 

Lazer? “He had something to do with this?”

Lucas smiled. “Oh yeah. He was the one who put us on to you… said you didn’t seem to be committed to your own band, so maybe we’d be able to take you off his hands.”  

Wow. That almost sounded decent of him. I could only imagine what other things he’d told them about me. “He’s not my biggest fan, so maybe don’t believe everything he said.”

Kyle – I think – waved it off. “Actually, he was pretty helpful. We need to thank him for helping us get to you.” The way we hit the bar and spilled bottles of Dom told me there was some serious money behind these guys. The business cards suddenly made sense – and the producer hunt, and the studio, and the readiness to sharpen their act. In one afternoon, I went from an unappreciated bass synth player who’d been kicked out of his own no-rate electro-garbage band to the keyboardist for an up-and-coming rock band that was actually going to be something.

I’ve wanted to know this for sure since the whole thing dropped on me, but I think I finally see that it’s all going to be okay despite my vampirosity. I had started to doubt it, but not anymore. 

It’s about freaking time.

At last, I could check off something from the
Hell, Yes!
column, the one Louise is always telling me to focus on. It turned out to be worth risking the sunburn.

There was, however, a little complication that arose when I got home, something I hadn’t thought to expect. But I never thought to expect any of this, so I guess it’s just the next step in learning how to deal with being a vampire. Some days, you have to figure out how to nourish yourself by chewing on raw meat rather than people’s necks; other days, you have to change your ‘do to make sure your pointed ears stay covered during your band audition.

And some days, you have to take down a vampire hunter before he beats the fuck out of you and tries to pierce your heart with a railroad spike.

POST 33

Freak Attack

Until recently, I had never been jumped on by a heavyset southern man wearing a John Deere cap and reeking of beer and chewing tobacco. I have officially added it to my list of Things I Hope Never Happen to Me Again, right below being bitten by a vampire, and above accidentally walking in on my parents having vigorous sex… which happened while I was an adult.

And the position they were in wasn’t anywhere close to missionary. 

Even
once
in a lifetime is too much for something like that. 

It was after dark when I got home from celebrating my addition to Forever 81 with my new band mates, and I must say I was mighty buzzed, from the shots as much as from the success I’d had at the audition. I was floating on my own happy cloud at how well it had gone. My life had music in it. My future had something good in it. 

My door had a crowbar stuck in it. 

And the lock had been smashed. And the frame was splintered way more than it should have been.

These all probably coincided with the severely-lifted truck parked across the street from my house. I pushed the door open slowly. Even with the lights off, my night-ready eyes picked up most everything in the dark. I moved in slowly, finding nothing really out of place other than a few things scattered about… and that was most likely a mess I’d made before I left. But the skin-crawling sensation that someone was in the house with me shivered down my back. 

Seems highly unlikely that a vampire would be afraid of something unseen lurking in the dark, but there you have it. 

“Whoever’s in here,” I called out, remarkably composed for some-one so ready to pee his pants, “I don’t want any trouble. So here’s what’s going to happen: I’ll throw my wallet in the middle of the floor – minus my driver’s license – and you can grab it and run out the door. I won’t even call the police… you can just take the wallet and go. Okay? Is it a deal?” My offer received no response. In a stroke of brilliance that I’m happy to take credit for, I sent my mind reading skills out ahead of me, just peeking in the corners of the room and all around. All that came back was a picture of a Budweiser bottle and scenes of trucks with massive tires tearing through a mud bog.