Drummer Girl (11 page)

16 |
matched grip

Monday passed with no call from Brad. That was a minus. But on the plus side, Heather was no longer escorting her to school and Taylor had actually sat at the same table at lunch without bolting for the door. He hadn't, however, done more than send unreadable looks her way every minute or so. Also on the plus side, she had asked Mr. Franklin if she could switch to drafting now that she was finished her bridal chest project. He had agreed so now a wall and glass windows separated her from Wes. On the minus side, the windows had no blinds and she could feel him staring at her in a creepy, gonna-get-even kind of way.

Narain had confirmed that
tfd
had let Wes do a gig with them on the weekend. Sid had been totally pissed off for about thirty seconds, when Narain joyfully added that Wes had blown it, getting so drunk he passed out between sets. He was sucking up to the band every time he came near any one of the guys.

So her plan was still going forward. If only she could actually get near any of them. Not Clem. The one time she'd seen him in the morning he had given her a sneer that made her arm hairs prickle.

After school, Sid was halfway home when a vehicle pulled up beside her. Rocklin sat behind the wheel of a black convertible. He crooked his finger for Sid to join him. She did.

“What's your address?” he asked. She told him and he shifted the car into gear. He didn't say anything until he pulled into Sid's driveway. His voice was tight. “You heard about Wes?”

“Yeah. Too bad.”

Rocklin shifted in his seat and gave her a mocking smile. “I'm sure you think so.”

Sid shrugged. She couldn't deny that Wes falling on his face had made her day.

“So here's how it'll play out. You practise with us all week. 7 o'clock. My place. We just got a gig for Saturday. Some carnival day at a community centre on the east side. They had two bands booked and both cancelled. It'll be a brutal long gig. They want dance music for teens and a bit older. No heavy metal shit.”

Sid didn't dare show the grin wanting to break loose. “I can do dance beats.”

He pinned her with a narrowed gaze. “No drugs, no booze, or they kick us out.”

“I'm not Wes. I told you I like to play clean.”

He went on as if she hadn't spoken. “Clem told me you admitted you aren't gay. I don't care. Show off some boob, flirt with the audience, but don't even look at any of us.”

“That'll be easy since none of you interest me.”

Rocklin's sharp gaze was skeptical, as if he couldn't imagine any girl not wanting to fall down and kiss their feet. “You stir things up between us and I'll kick your ass off the stage.” The corner of his mouth lifted. “Or let Clem do it. He's pissed off. Don't prove him right.”

He shifted into reverse. Apparently the conversation was over. Sid got out and said, “Seven o'clock.” She stepped back. The convertible whipped out of the driveway and tires squeeled as Rocklin roared down the street.

“The price of fame,” Sid muttered. “Putting up with jerks.”

Then she smiled. She knew they'd loosen up after that Saturday gig succeeded. And she'd told Rocklin the truth: none of them interested her in the least. The only semi-decent one was Han, but he was so quiet and such a yes-man that he was more shadow than guy. Why should she care about any of them when there was Brad?

If he ever called again after Sunday's fiasco.

As Sid turned toward the house, she noticed Taylor, standing beside his motorcycle and watching her. She raised a hand in greeting. He put on his helmet, started the bike and took off. He was headed to work, she knew. What she didn't know was why he was still not talking to her. Was he really waiting for her to revert to her old self? Narain wouldn't tell her what he knew and the way Taylor avoided her was driving her crazy. But she couldn't worry about that this week. She had band practise.

That sounded so good. Band practise. Sid jogged toward the door, eager to call Devin and tell him what had happened. He'd be happy for her, even if no one else was.

17 |
tension and release

The week rocketed by. Each day after school, Sid had a light drumming session to warm up, made a salad for supper, went to the band's practise, then came home to focus on homework. No time to even think about Taylor's weirdness or Brad's silence.

Friday after
tfd
's practise, Han offered Sid a beer. She refused. “Come on,” he urged quietly. “You've worked hard all week. You deserve a break.”

She begged off. “My dad has a father-daughter bonding thing planned. Popcorn and a movie. The smell of beer wouldn't go over so well. Thanks, anyway.”

As she left, she caught Clem's sneer but ignored it. He hadn't spoken to her all week. Had barely looked at her, actually, and that suited Sid just fine.

James wasn't home but the phone's message light was blinking. She listened to the first message, not surprised to hear James's voice saying he had to work extra late on a report his boss wanted for a morning meeting. Weren't these business types supposed to take Saturday mornings off and golf or something? She erased the recording.

The second message was from Brad. Not that he said so, but Sid recognized his voice instantly. So did her heartbeat as it sped up. He stammered something about having wanted to call sooner, that he had to go with his family to his grandparents' for the weekend, and that he hoped it was Sid who listened to this. The third message was Brad saying that the second message was from him, Brad Dmitri. Sid listened to the two messages from Brad nine times, then finally decided it was safest to erase them as well. She did so with a sigh.

On the off chance Taylor had forgiven her for whatever she had done, she called his house. When voice mail kicked in she hung up without leaving a message and told herself she wanted a quiet evening alone. A sappy romantic movie might be nice, one where she could imagine she and Brad were the main characters. Except...they didn't own any romantic movies and any she had ever tried to watch had bored her senseless.

She skipped through
Fellowship of the Ring,
only pausing at her favourite scenes, then fell asleep downstairs watching James's old
vhs
copy of
Gladiator.

Saturday dragged as Sid waited for three o'clock to roll around. She got caught up on laundry, did the dishes and her homework so James couldn't gripe about anything. Not that he came out of his office to check on her. When a horn honked outside she had been dressed and waiting for forty minutes. She popped into the office and told James she was leaving.

His attention flicked down to Sid's red tank top with its scoop neck. She had agonized over whether to wear a camisole under it so it wasn't quite so revealing, but decided that Rocklin could be serious about wanting her to ‘show off some boob.' It might only be for the gig but James's gaze made her regret the decision.

Finally he said, “Okay, Sid. Ah,...break a leg.”

“That's what you say to actors, Dad.”

He grimaced. “Well just have fun then. What time should I expect you?”

“The dance goes ‘til eleven. Depending how long it takes us to pack up the instruments I should be home before one.” Sid retreated before he could ask more questions. She pulled on her jean jacket, pocketed her house key and left.

Rocklin was waiting in his convertible, its top up in case the clouds got serious. He glanced at Sid's foot pedal box resting on jean-clad thighs and nodded. Was that for the foot pedal or the jeans? He only said, “Clem and Han took the van. We'll probably beat them there.” With that he cranked up the music and took off.

No conversation suited Sid. She was nervous, but a good nervous. Ready to rock.

They had the stage set up by six o'clock. The organizers brought them a plate of burgers for supper along with fries and colas from one of the concession booths outside. Sid avoided the fries, not sure her stomach could handle the grease, and got water when she asked for it.

This was going to be a crazy gig. Play for forty minutes, break for twenty while a guy deejayed with canned music. Repeat three more times. Sid knew she'd be exhausted by the end of the evening. But the pay was good and the chance to prove herself was even better.

The hall had been cool so Sid didn't take off her jacket until she sat down on the throne. Han's eyes widened but he quickly looked away. Clem turned, stared at her neckline for a long time, then said, “Who's that for, Crowley?”

“Since you all play with your backs to me, you should know it isn't for you. I'll be sweating like crazy. I don't want to melt into a puddle.”

Rocklin gave Clem a soft punch on the shoulder. “Play nice, kids. We're all here for the audience. They want a show.”

Clem swore and took his position in front of Sid. Only then did Rocklin give her a knowing look. He remembered telling her to show some boob. He stepped up to the high-hat cymbals and repeated quietly, “For the audience.”

Sid nodded. “I just want to play.”

“Then let's do it. Give me a drum roll to get their attention.”

The first set was low-key. Uncomplicated and easy to dance to. By the end of it the hall had started to fill up and there was always someone on the dance floor. One of the organizers brought them pop and water during their break and told them to keep up the good work.

Part way through the second set, while Clem performed a riff on his guitar, Sid looked around and noticed a few familiar faces. Friends of the band. The jock set. She hoped Wes hadn't come. The organizers looked happy to have extra bodies, no matter where they came from. And they were dancing, which encouraged everyone else to get on the floor.

During their second break, Clem said, “Hey Crowley, is your ass sore yet? I could massage it for you.”

Sid offered him a thin smile. “Only if you want to play the next set with broken fingers.”

Rocklin laughed, a loud guffaw that turned Sid's smile into the real thing. Han winked at her. Before she could bask in the sense of growing acceptance, by Rocklin and Han at least, a few of the jock set joined them. Sid went for a walk because Clem was right: her butt was sore.

After the third set, they took a longer break in order to play the last forty-five minutes uninterrupted. The jock set joined them again, and Sid could tell that there was more in their plastic cups than just pop. She stuck to water and hung on the edges, only half listening to their boisterous banter. A few people complimented her playing and she nodded her thanks.

When they were getting ready for the final set, Rocklin had them gather around the drums like some kind of football huddle. “Okay, team, we've given them a good show so far. I want to take it up a notch. Can you handle it, Crowley?”

“Absolutely.”

Her butt went from sore to numb after two songs. The crowd grew louder with the music, clapping and hollering their approval. Adrenalin kept Sid going as the energy rolled off the dance floor. They only had a few songs left when the chant started up: “So-lo, so-lo!”

Rocklin turned to face Sid, his fingers never missing a beat on the bass strings as he shouted, “They want to see what you can do, Crowley. Take the chorus.”

Clem shot them both a dark look. So much for “we don't do drum solos.” In response, Sid grinned and raised both arms high, sticks pointing toward the ceiling. The bass drum boomed. The crowd cheered and she flung herself into her drum solo with everything she had left. By the end – the double hit on ride and crash cymbals – she was drenched with sweat, but pretty sure no one had noticed the few slips. The crowd screamed their approval. Sid wanted to fall off the throne but managed to hold her sticks up in triumph. The crowd cheered louder.

They closed with two slow songs. Sid moved through them like an automaton, barely able to manage more than some soft brush work. When Rocklin said good night to the dancers, Sid staggered to her feet and sagged against the nearest wall.

Clem followed Rocklin off the stage. As they passed Sid, Clem said, “Don't you ever set us up for that long a gig again. My freaking fingers are almost bleeding.”

“Agreed,” Rocklin said. “But we did it so let's find some girls and celebrate.”

Sid knew she needed to start breaking down the drum set but she couldn't move. Han walked over to her with a towel. “Thought you might need this.”

“Great. I never thought of it.” The stink of her sweat reached her nostrils. Sid grimaced.

Han wrapped the towel around Sid's neck and patted at her face with a corner. “You did a good job. I'll vote for you to stay.”

“Thanks.”

Han still didn't release the towel. Sid looked up to find him staring down at the rivulets of sweat disappearing between her breasts. She tried to slide his hands off the towel. “I've got it from here, Han. Really.”

He blinked and looked up. His cheeks pinked. “Do you...have a boyfriend?”

“Yes,” Sid replied quickly, hoping it would soon be true. “He goes to a different school.”

He didn't look like he quite believed her. “Well, if you get tired of him...”

“I'm flattered but you know what Rocklin thinks about that. Not if we're playing together.” Since he still hadn't released the towel, Sid slipped out of its terry cloth collar and started dismantling the drums.

When they were all packed up, Rocklin took off with one of his cheerleader groupies. A second cheerleader claimed the other front bucket seat of the van. That left Sid on the bench seat in the middle, crunched between Han and the two tom drums wrapped in blankets.

Han had been drinking while they had loaded the van. He draped an arm across Sid's shoulders and held her close, to keep her from bumping the drums he claimed. When he started caressing her bare arm, Sid decided he was a bold drunk, but wasn't sure how to fend him off. She looked at him and whispered, “Don't.” He responded by covering her mouth with his.

Sid easily pulled away, but noticed Clem watching in the rearview mirror. She removed Han's arm and nudged him hard, then spoke loud enough for Clem to hear. “I'm the drummer, Han, not your date. Don't forget it.” She liked him better when he was a shadow.

He snatched her jacket from the floor, pushed it at her, then frowned out the window.

Clem smiled and cranked the music. At her house, Sid was stepping out of the van when Clem called her name. He gave her a solemn nod. “You did a good job tonight.”

Confusion blanked her mind and Sid only managed a nod back. She watched the van roll away, still trying to figure out Clem's change of heart. Finally her mind kicked into gear. They all thought she had done a good job.

She punched the air and gave a victory yell. She was going to be
tfd
's newest drummer.