Road Rash (37 page)

“Well, they sure do now,” someone said. I looked over. It was Jeremy Castille, the lead singer for Neverland. He stuck his hand out. “Great show, guys. You rocked.”

“Wow … thanks!” I took his hand, and he gave me that rock-star-hug thing. I couldn’t help it—I was grinning like a fool. And so was Kyle.

“Hey, do you guys know ‘Long Walk Home’ …?” Jeremy asked.

I almost said,
Are you kidding—I’ve played it every damn night on the road this summer, and we just saw you do it in Vegas last month
. But I didn’t want to come off as more of a fanboy than I already was. “Sure do,” I said.

He nodded. “Awesome …”

There was a spread set out in a big pavilion tent backstage between the motor homes, and I found Glenn and Jamie at a table, deep in conversation. They glanced up as I approached.

“Hey, man,” Glenn said. “From now on I expect to see you with a bare ass, wings on your back, and a little bow and arrow in your hands.”

I winked at Jamie. “I learned from the best. But actually, I’m here with some bad news. For both of you.”

They looked up, serious. “What’s the matter?” Jamie said.

“We’re not done yet.…”

Watching a big concert from backstage is way different from being out front. For one thing, you see that there’s a lot more than just the band involved. Man, people are
everywhere
, tuning guitars, mixing monitors, even diving low across the stage behind the drummer to rescue a fallen floor-tom microphone right in the middle of a song. And every one of them is wearing a black T-shirt.

And the sound backstage is better than you might think, too. These guys had huge side-fill monitors that were basically a PA just for the stage and the wings.

By the time their set was over, all fifteen thousand people in the audience were on their feet, singing along, with their hands in the air—just like in Vegas. As the band came offstage, the crowd noise only got louder, if that was possible. Underneath the general roar a chant was building.
Ne—ver—land! … Ne—ver—land! …

After he’d grabbed a water bottle from a nearby cooler, Jeremy turned around and looked at us. “You guys ready?”

We nodded.

“Cool. No need to get fancy—just sing the melody on the choruses.”

Kyle raised his hand, like a kid in class who has to use the restroom. “Uh, I don’t really sing.…”

“No sweat,” said Zeke, their drummer. He tossed him a tambourine. “Just stand back from the mic and mouth the words and hit this on the backbeat.” He laughed. “If something sucks, our sound guy’ll pull you out of the mix. No harm, no foul. But don’t worry—you guys’ll sound great.”

They kinda hung for another minute while the crowd roar got even louder. I was trying to figure out how they could be so relaxed when this skinny dude with a headset came up to us and said, “Time.”

“Thanks, Nigel,” Jeremy said.

The band took off for the stage with us close behind, but Nigel grabbed us and said, “Not yet. You four wait here until I give the word.”

We just nodded, and I guess he could tell we were pretty nervous. “There’s one critical thing you absolutely
must
do onstage for this to work.”

“What’s that?” Jamie asked.

“Smile, dammit.” He demonstrated with a big toothy grin. “How often do you get to sing onstage with Neverland …?”

That loosened us up. The roar from out front hit a peak, then stopped. Jeremy’s voice came booming over the PA. “We’ve only got time for one more … Zeke’s been smelling that meat all night, and if he doesn’t get some soon, he’s going to hunt something down and kill it!”

The crowd roared at that—this was like the barbecue capital of the free world, and the smell of wood smoke was thick in the air.

“You guys have been awesome,” he continued. “Awesome! So thanks for giving it back. We’re going to get a little help on this one from our new friends, Killer Jones.” There was a little applause at that, then he went on. “Here’s one I think you might know.…”

As the slow opening chords to “Long Walk Home” rang out, the crowd recognized it and went crazy, and Nigel gave us a push toward the stage. “Now get out there … and smile!”

He didn’t have to tell us twice.

“Venti half-caf three-pump white mocha. Nonfat, no whip, extra-hot. And a venti Americano, with room …”

I’d gone half of June and all of July without saying that once. (Well, unless you count my Freudian slip back at that little indie coffee joint in Butte …) And there were times in there when I thought I’d never be ordering that again. Ever. So yeah, it still felt good to be giving that goofy order. Especially tonight.

I got our drinks and headed back to the table.

“Thanks,” Kimber said. “So, have you come down yet?”

I laughed at that. “Honestly? No. Give me a few more hours. Or maybe a few days.”

She took a sip of her drink. “Mmm …” Then she swapped to this gossip-girl-from-hell voice and leaned forward. I swear, I could almost see her ears flare out. “
So
 … what did GT think about Jamie coming onstage? Are they, like, an
item
now? Is she, like,
in
the band now? Are you guys going to make a
record
? What was it like, meeting the guys in
Neverland
? And how about—”

I held up my fingers in a cross like you’d do to drive off a werewolf. Or is it a vampire? Either way … “Stop. Stop-stop-stop. Oh God,
please
make it stop!”

When she smiles, she has this little dimple on her left cheek that’s just about cuter than anything. I’ll have to tell her about it sometime. “Sorry,” she said. “I just had to get that out.”

“I understand.” And even though she’d never admit it, there was probably a little truth behind the act. So why make her beg? “Let’s see … Glenn was really stoked that Jamie was up there, and if anything, she was even happier about it. So who knows what’s going to happen with them?” I shrugged. “But anyway, being onstage with Neverland was freakin’ awesome … those guys are so cool. I hope someone got video, because that whole thing almost didn’t seem real. And yeah, we’re definitely going to do some more recording, and—”

I stopped. She was looking at me. Her eyes were bigger and deeper than ever. Whoa. All that stuff I’d just mentioned was great. And it would all still be there tomorrow. But right now, it was tonight.…

I reached across the table and snagged her drink out of her hands and took a sip. I swished it around in my mouth, like I’d seen her do a hundred times. “You know, this tastes like I’m at Starbucks, hanging with Kimber Milhouse. Right here. Right now. And nothing tastes better than that.”

There are three women in my writing life without whom this book would not exist as such:

Nancy Siscoe, a gifted editor who possesses that rare combination of a great work ethic, a wonderful intuition for getting at the heart of what a writer is attempting to say, and the creative and technical skills necessary to bring it out in the best way possible. (All this, and she’s a wonderful person, too. How lucky can one author get?)

Ginger Knowlton, literary agent
par excellence
. She has an amazing way of being a strong advocate for her writers while remaining warm and gracious to all parties at all times. Thanks so much for your wisdom, support, and understanding.

Wendelin … Best friend. Wife. First reader. Trusted confidante.
Partenaire dans le crime
. And lest we forget, Chief Harvester of Corn. You’re the absolute best!

Special thanks to Ed, Rosalyn, Leslie, and Eric. I’m beginning to realize how rare it is for one to grow up and not only still love but
really like
all the members of their original family. Thanks for all the support, feedback, and validation.

Colton and Connor (our boys … our monkeys … our band!) read early drafts and provided valuable insight and support. I love you!

There’s nothing like enthusiastic, insightful early readers to help you believe you’re on the right track, and two of the best have been Caradith Craven and Tricia Owen. Hugs!

Here’s a toast to all the musicians (yes, even lead singers) I’ve shared the stage, studio, and road with over the years, from those first school dances to last week’s gig. Also, I’d like to acknowledge the killer crew at
Modern Drummer
magazine, which has been carrying the torch for drummers everywhere for nearly four decades. Rock on!