Bad Wolf (3 page)

“Bailey, let’s go!”

I turned my head around, ready to draw blood. There stood Trent, his
arms folded across his chest, a grim expression across his disgruntled
countenance.

“I’m coming,” I seethed, trying to keep my voice from getting too shrill
around Aamir. Trent rolled his eyes, clearly mocking my attempt to exert some
control over the situation.

“The van’s brakes are busted.”

“What?!” I yelped, unable to stop myself from sounding like nails on a
chalkboard. I whipped my head back around to the perfect god I would have to
leave behind. “I’m so sorry Aamir, I have to go—I’ll see you later,
right?”

“As long as you still want to see me,” he joked, the delicate sincerity
returning to his face. “Also, ask for Rick at the house show. He’s a little
eccentric, but he’s a good guy.”

“Thanks again,” I said bashfully, reluctantly pulling my hand away from
his as I turned to grab the pizza box from the table. “I’ll call you,” I
promised, giving him the most earnest look I could before turning around to
join Trent, moody as ever at the door.

“What was all that about?” he growled as I gave Aamir a final wave.

“Don’t be such a jerk,” I snapped, remembering how pissed off he had
made me the night before. It was rare for us to hold grudges with each other
for this long. It was starting to wear on me.

“Whatever. You better go calm Brandon down, he’s losing his mind.”

In the parking lot Brandon was pacing back and forth behind the van,
muttering to himself.

‘
Well, at least Trent isn’t exaggerating
,’ I thought.

“Brandon, what’s the matter? Calm down, take deep breaths,” I said,
jogging over to him and gripping his shoulders in my hands. He looked panicked,
as if someone had just told him he had hours left to live.

“We have to pay four-hundred dollars. Four-hundred dollars or this trip
doesn’t happen!”

“Okay what’s wrong with the brakes?” I said, searching over Martin and
Nick’s faces to see how they were feeling about the situation. They looked
tired, as though Brandon had already worn them down.

“Our brakes are going to break!” he said, near tears.

“Okay, calm down,” I said, taking him into a hug and going into my
“mommy” mode. I hated when Sierra gave me shit for it, because it could come in
handy from time to time. “We can find brakes cheaper than that,” I said calmly
into his ear, even though I really didn’t have any idea. “Besides, money won’t
be an object for long. Fun Aim wants to have Bad Moon record on a promotional
E.P. tonight!”

“Really?” Brandon pulled away from me, scanning my face for any hint of
a lie.

“Really. Are the brakes good enough to get us to the gig? We can deal
with this shitty van stuff early tomorrow morning.”

“Yeah,” he said, finally taking in the deep breath I prescribed. “We
don’t even really have to get them tomorrow. But soon,” he said, his wide eyes
still filled with fear. “Terrible things could happen if we don’t.”

“Okay,” I sighed. “Let’s go to the Arkansas House and pray for some
tips.”

“What are they paying us any way?” Martin asked.

 
“Free beer,” I winced,
pulling up Aamir’s text for the address.

We piled into the van and the guys gobbled down the pizza. We headed
down the winding streets, eventually coming into a kind of rough area of town
where the paint faded from houses, and trash and junk cars littered the front
yards.

“So this is the gig Aamir got us, huh?” Brandon said slowly. I heard a
snort in the back and I knew it was Trent. Hot shame washed over me. Did Aamir
really think this was all Bad Moon was worth?

“Hey, we don’t know yet okay? Maybe the crowd will be totally into your
sound. Getting fans is super important. We just won’t leave any equipment in
the van at night.”

 
I tried to ignore the
nagging feeling that told me something wasn’t right.

“There it is!” I said, pointing to a crummy looking house with a bunch
of young people milling about the lawn and patio. They were wearing torn up
clothing, a lot of them with big, black boots they probably picked up at an
army surplus store, and half shaven heads. It was like they didn’t know that
1977 was over and it turned out God didn’t understand sarcasm, because he had
most definitely saved the queen.

“We’re not a punk band,” Martin said slowly.

“I know that,” I snapped. “But if they like Fun Aim, they’ll like you
guys. Plus it’s just an aesthetic I’m sure. Most music appreciators don’t just
limit themselves to one genre.” I tried to believe myself as Brandon ran over
the nearly dead lawn to park next to a beat-up motorcycle.

We stepped out of the van and were treated with blank stares. Once
again, I became painfully aware of our motley crew, me being the least
“alternative” of the bunch.

“Hey,” I said, putting on a big smile and approaching a bald girl with a
strange tribal tattoo on her face. It took everything I had not to laugh. “Do
you know where Rick is?”

The girl gave me a mean look. I know I stuck out in my cardigan and
beige slacks, but it wasn’t like I was being
rude
or anything.

“Yeah,” she said, before hawking a loogie into the grass.

‘
Oh I see how it is
,’ I thought, not allowing the disgust to show
on my face. If she wanted to test me, she could go right ahead. I wasn’t going
to give in.

“Well, where is he?” I said, the tone of my voice firm as I gave her a
terse smile.

“Out back.” She nodded her head to a chain-link fence on the side of the
house to where the backyard was. “You guys the band for tonight?”


“Yes, they are.” I nodded toward the guys who were unloading their
instruments as they looked around wearily.

“Alright,” she said, giving us a nod of approval. She stumbled away
towards a cooler full of PBR and Steel Reserve. It took everything I had to
keep from raising my middle finger towards her staggering frame.

“Where should we put things?” Martin called out.

“Give me a minute,” I said over my shoulder, “you guys just wait here.”
I walked over to the gate and fiddled with the latch for a few moments before
realizing it was broken.

‘
Of course it is
,’ I thought as I took in the beer cans and
broken bits of furniture. In the backyard things were worse—there was a
mattress with several greasy punks lying on it, giggling, and several sofas
with ripped up stuffing surrounding a pit with charred up coals, wood, and
broken solo cups.

“Great,” I mumbled to myself, looking around for the guy who might be
Rick. As I moved further into the surprisingly spacious yard, I noticed that
there was a high porch that seemed modified to be a stage, with long eaves
covering the wooden deck. There was a blonde guy with waist-long hair wearing
muscle tee that revealed a red dragon tattoo wrapped around his arm on the
deck, tossing some lawn chairs haphazardly onto the dirt below. I had a
sneaking suspicion that that was our man.

“Rick?” I called out to the guy. He turned around and looked at me, as
did the greasy punks on the mattress. I knew I looked like a PTA mom next to
these people, but I didn’t care. The sooner we got this gig over with, the
better.

“That’s me,” he called out in a lazy voice, “who’re you?”

“I’m Bailey, the manager of Bad Moon. It’s nice to meet you,” I chirped,
trying to make my smile as natural as possible as I approached the porch. I
realized with dismay that, like a real stage, there were no stairs leading up
to it. I looked up at him, trying to act like it wasn’t weird or awkward.

“Manager, woaah,” he laughed, and the mattress punks did as well. “Who
sent you here again?”

“Aamir from Fun Aim,” I said, suddenly realizing that I didn’t even know
Aamir’s last name.

“Oh, those dudes,” he said. Someone from the dirty mattress club
snorted. “Hey, don’t mock my boys,” Rick snapped, his laidback voice taking on
a surprisingly harsh quality. They immediately shut up—this guy clearly
had power in this scene.

‘
Oh crap
,’ I thought. ‘
No one here is going to like Bad Moon
if they have to be forced not to snigger at Fun Aim
.’

“Awesome,” Rick said as if nothing out of the ordinary had just
occurred. “Tell them they can set up back here. I just cleared it out for
them.”

I looked at the stage, littered with flyers and bottles and just nodded.
It was already past 6:00 pm. We would play here for an hour or two and I would
find us a hotel. Or we could make our way to Atlanta. Whichever was fine, as
long as we didn’t have to stay in that pigsty any longer than we had to.
 

I walked out of the backyard, avoiding eye contact with the grubby punks
who were high off of God-knows-what. Pushing open the rust-stained, broken
gate, I suddenly wondered what kind of guy Aamir really was. Maybe his roots
were in this scene; maybe everyone here considered him a sell-out. Maybe he
liked to drink shitty beer and shack up with girls he hardly knew on the
regular. But I thought back to his sweet charm at the pizzeria and smiled to
myself—there was just no way he was like that.

“Hey guys!” I called over to them. Martin was chatting with Brandon and
a short, red-haired girl who was undeniably punky, but had a good-natured smile
on her face. Nick was beating his drumsticks on the front of the van, and Trent
was sitting on an amp, looking forlorn as he stared off into the distance.

“Whatever,” I muttered to myself.

“Hey Bailey,” Brandon grinned at me. “Meet Marie. She says she knows
Aamir.” I froze and forced what seemed like the billionth smile on my face that
day.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, he was my ex. He used to live here,” she said with a ridiculously
cute smile. She looked like a curvy imp, with perfect little dimples fixed into
her cheeks.

“Oh yeah? How...neat,” I said, at a loss for words. Neat? I would put my
own foot in my mouth if I were flexible enough.

“Yeah, Bailey knows Aamir pretty well,” Martin said with a chuckle. I
could punch him square in his pretty face, he looked that smug.

“Oh? How so?” she asked with a tone so unassuming I wanted to puke.

“I don’t know him that well,” I laughed, trying to brush it off. I knew
that everyone was having a bad day, but I sensed Brandon and Martin might make
it a habit to cheer themselves up by trying to irritate me, and that...well, it
irritated me. I had to hand it to them, they were good.

“Anyway, you guys can go set up in the back. Hand me a guitar or
something.” I walked over to the pile of black cases and Martin handed me his
guitar.

“I’ll help!” Marie chirped, and I swear it took everything I had not to
roll my eyes.

“Oh you really don’t have to...” I said in a tone that said, ‘but
really, don’t.’

She either didn’t get it, or was really good at acting like she didn’t.
She just smiled and tugged at Brandon’s bass handle and followed behind me to
the backyard. We put the equipment up on the porch, and it didn’t take me long
to realize through her interactions with the burnouts and Rick that she more
than belonged there, but in fact, that The Arkansas House was her house.

Just what I needed—if we didn’t get out of there fast, I was going
to have to talk to this chick and avoid looking guilty of banging her ex. And
I’m a not the best liar. When I was in seventh grade I told my teacher that my
hamster ate my homework. Seriously. I thought it was more original and
believable than the dog thing.

So they set up their equipment and just started playing right away. It’s
not like they needed an intro or anything, and it didn’t seem like anyone cared
much what they were up to. A few punks wandered in, but only one looked vaguely
interested in Bad Moon. The rest hid their laughter behind crumpled beer cans.
It was pretty demoralizing, to say the least.

“Hey, they’re great, aren’t they?” Marie said, coming up to approach me
with that sickly sweet smile. I wanted to claw her eyebrow piercing out so
badly I had to hide my balled up fists behind my back.

“Well, I sure think so. I am their manager after all.”

“Oh wow, that’s a pretty awesome job,” she said, twirling a ginger curl
around her finger. “I’m just a stupid freelance marketer. Totally boring, but
it pays the bills,” she said with an obnoxious pout. “Still, it’s really cool
you don’t have to work for the Man.”

I seriously wanted nothing more than to close my hands around her stupid
throat. “One of the many perks,” I said between gritted teeth.

“So, Aamir. How did you say you knew him again?” she batted her
ridiculously thick lashes.

“I didn’t,” I responded, giving a humorless laugh. She laughed back but
continued to stare. She wasn’t about to let up.

“We met at their last show in Orlando,” I said. “Bad Moon opened for
them.”

“Oh did they now...” a look of understanding dawned over her face.

“Yeah...did you know about it?” I said, sensing a strange energy from
her. Her smile fell slightly, and I felt a shudder shoot down my spine. There
was something really freaky about this girl, but I couldn’t quite place my
finger on it.