Sound Bites: A Rock & Roll Love Story (10 page)

Dylan thought my attitude was quite amusing. “Yeah, I got a little drunk last night,” he admitted, looking up at the ceiling with that guilty look that I secretly adored. “I ran into her at a bar.” He shrugged like it was no big deal.

I elected to change the subject. “Listen, Dylan, I came by because I wanted to apologize. I’m sorry I was so pushy the other day. I know I shouldn’t force you into something you’re not comfortable with, but I just…”

“Renee,” he interrupted. ‘Can I say something?”

I nodded.

“The reason I didn’t come here sooner was because I needed a few days to think about everything. Yes, you did piss me off, but that’s not why you didn’t
hear from me. I know I can be stubborn
sometimes – okay, most of the time – but I really was trying to see things from your perspective. I know you’re right. I should be playing music, despite the fact that I want to puke every time I think about it. So that’s why…” He paused and took a deep breath. “That’s why I’m going to try it.” He winced as though it hurt him to say it.

“Wait, what you mean?” I asked, suspiciously. “You’re going to sing with the band?”

Dylan threw his hands up in defense. “Hold on. I said I’m going to
try
, meaning I’ll practice with them and see if I feel comfortable. I’m not making any guarantees, but I’m willing to give it a go.”

I cupped my hands over my mouth and muffled my scream. The plan had worked! I couldn’t wait to tell Eddie.

“You won’t regret it,” I assured him. “I promise.”

He leaned his head back and shot me a skeptical look. “I seriously doubt that.”

***

When the day came that the first band practice was scheduled to take place, I felt similar to the way you feel right before you have to take a final exam or deliver a public speech. It was like an invisible energy force had taken over and sent my nerves completely out of whack. The first day was crucial because if Dylan could get through this practice, he could most likely get through the rest of them, which would only leave one more challenge: the initial stage performance.

Baby steps, I told myself. First things first.

I wanted to go with him to the practice, but he insisted that I would make him even more nervous than he already was if I was there stalking his every move. I understood completely, and instead paced around my living room for the entire two hours that the band was practicing. I fantasized about breaking into the practice space so I could spy on Dylan and see his reactions to singing in front of the other guys. And more importantly, see their reactions to him.

Shortly after the two-hour torture had passed, I glanced at my watch. It was quarter past ten, which meant the rehearsal had been over for fifteen minutes and I still hadn’t heard from him. Giving in to the evil depths of temptation, I reached for my cell and was just about to call him when it started ringing.

“It’s ten fifteen!” I yelled into the phone. “I’m dying over here! How did it go?”

“It went.” His voice was dismal, discouraging. Not a good sign.

“Stop being so vague. I want details.”

Dylan sighed. “I… I can’t do it, Renee. I was a nervous wreck tonight.”

My heart sank. I dug to find some words of encouragement but came up empty. I was too disappointed.

“Are you okay?” Dylan asked.

“Yeah,” I replied. “Just frustrated. I was really hoping you guys would make some progress tonight.”

“So was I. But as soon as I got up to sing, I folded. I’m really sorry.”

“It’s okay. But, if it didn’t go well, then why were you there for two hours?”

I heard Dylan chuckling on the other end of the phone. “I’m just kidding. It went great, actually. Better than I thought it would.”

My brief sense of relief quickly faded to anger when I thought about how insensitive he was to my feelings. “You’re such an ass.”

He was still laughing when I hung the phone up on him. I stared at my cell for the next five minutes, waiting for it to ring. I was hoping Dylan would be one of those guys that called back after you hung up on him, but no such luck. I knew deep down he didn’t fall for that shit. He was too damn cocky. He was used to insecure girls that wouldn’t dare hang up on him, for fear he might never call again.

Ten minutes later, I heard a knock at my door. When I opened it, Dylan was grinning. I wanted to smack the smug look right off his face.

“So this is all a big joke to you, huh?” I glared at him, trying to stay mad even though his swaggering smile was contagious.

“Oh come on, I was only kidding.” He punched my arm and I backed away from him.

“Funny,” I retorted.

He shut my door and sat down on my living room chair, even though I hadn’t invited him in. I noticed that he was in an unusually good mood.

“So, don’t you want to know how it went?” he asked.

My anger quickly subsided as I studied how cute his left dimple was when he smirked. His hair looked more messy than usual and he hadn’t shaved in days, but it was sexy on him. I always liked
guys with
facial hair. It made them look more like men. I wondered what it would feel like brushed up against my face.

“Of course I want to know how it went,” I said, withholding an eye roll. “Spill.”

His eyes glowed with excitement as he dished the details about the evening: how nervous he was, how cool his band mates were, the compliments they gave him throughout the practice. His confidence was definitely headed in the right direction.

I wasted no time driving the nail home. “So, what happens now?”

“Well, we have to practice for a few more weeks. Then they want me to play a gig with them at Chaos Lounge at the end of the month.”

Chaos was a well-known rock club on the north side of Boston. It contained a front room and a back room. The front was smaller and dedicated to the local, non-mainstream scene, while the back was much more spacious and usually only famous bands played there. I actually preferred the front room simply because I liked smaller shows. They always felt more intimate to me. I liked to pretend that the singer was singing directly to me. I couldn’t do that in the back room because often times I could barely even see the stage.

“Front room or back room?” I asked.

Dylan rolled his eyes. “Come on, now. Obviously the front. I think I’d have a mental breakdown playing in the back room in front of all those people.”

My heart started to race. “So you’re really going to do it? You’re going to play the show?”

Dylan fidgeted with my throw pillow, pulling off all the loose threads and tossing them onto the floor. “Renee, like I said before, I’m going to
try
. Which means I will continue rehearsing with them over the next couple of weeks and pray that it gets easier every time. But I can’t predict how I’m going to feel once the night of the show arrives.”

I rolled my eyes, annoyed at the fact that he acted as though it was no big deal if he chickened out. “So, let’s say that the rehearsals go well, and then the night of the show comes and you want out. What then? Are you going to cancel the show?”

Dylan threw his head back and rested it on the back of the couch. “We’ve already worked it out. If I can’t do it, Justin will fill in. He actually has a pretty good voice.” Dylan squinted and threw his shoulders back, doing his best macho-man impression. “Just not as good as mine.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, even though I had a sneaking suspicion that Dylan was going to wuss out once it came down to the wire, especially if he knew he had a backup plan.

“Once you guys have practiced a few times and you feel more comfortable, would you mind if I went to a rehearsal sometime?” I couldn’t help it. I was dying to see Dylan in action with a full band.

Dylan shot me a look that looked like a cross between admiration and annoyance. “You just don’t give up do you?”

Chapter
11

The rehearsal studio smelled like mildew and had the scariest elevator I’d ever seen in my life. It was transparent and resembled a giant cage, so I could actually see the floors as we ascended. The hallway leading up to their rehearsal room was even more frightening than the elevator. The walls were covered in gang graffiti and the rugs smelled like someone had marinated them in stale beer.

“Hey, you.” I recognized Dylan’s sultry rasp instantly. He was hovering in the doorway to their rehearsal room, giving me that devilish look that made my insides feel like melted ice cream.

“Hey,” I said. “How’s it going?”

“Good. We’re just getting ready to start playing.” He took a long swig of his beer and then peered down the hallway. “You like the digs?”

“Yeah. This place is a gem, huh?”

Dylan nodded, keeping a straight face. “Yeah. I can’t even believe they rent it out so cheap. What a steal.”

He turned around and led me into the rehearsal room to meet the crew. I waved to Justin. “Hey, guys, this is Renee. Renee, you already know Justin. This is Christian and Jeff. Christian plays drums, Jeff plays bass.” He reached into a dorm-sized fridge in the corner of the room and handed me a beer without asking.

I surveyed the room as the guy sucked back their brews, tallying up my first impressions. Christian’s spiky hair and high cheekbones made him look more like a poster boy for Abercrombie than a guy who was supposed to be the next John Bonham, and Jeff reminded me of the surfer stoners who always hit on Justine and me every time we shopped on Venice Beach. His wavy hair hung limp around his shoulders, and the only words his vocabulary consisted of were “whatever” and “right on.”

Justin filled me in on the fact that Dylan was “quite the song writer” as he put it, something I had zero knowledge of, and told me they were going to start off with one of the songs he’d written. As the first verse kicked in, I couldn’t believe how much more confident Dylan had become compared to the first time I watched him sing. They had only been practicing for a few weeks, but I could already sense a huge improvement. His voice had smoothed out and he wasn’t fidgeting with his hands like he normally did when he was nervous. I felt like a proud mom.

Once the boys were about halfway through their set, I decided to head home so I could give them some privacy. Dylan offered to walk me out, so I waved goodbye to the boys and followed him down the graffiti infested hallway towards the elevator from hell. 

“Um, do you know if there is a set of stairs in here?” I had to ask. I didn’t want him to think I was a chickenshit, but there was no way in
hell that I was going to set
foot in that death trap again. I’d rather tie sheets together and fling myself out the window like Rapunzel.

“Stairs?” Dylan cocked an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because that elevator is the scariest thing I’ve ever seen.”

He nodded as though he completely understood and led me to a back hallway that contained a big metal door, and behind it was – low and behold – a staircase.

Dylan held the door open for a minute, looking at me in that steady, unwavering way that made my stomach hurt. “Thanks for coming tonight. Did you have fun?”

“I did. That song you wrote was incredible.”

“Thanks. We’re actually practicing a few that I wrote, too. I just hope I man up and get through this first show so you can hear them.”