Chapter 3
The guitar player stares at me from across the huge dusty room, eyeing me with a bewildering contempt. Three naked bulbs hang from the high open ceiling. One above the drum kits scattered everywhere and the group of us waiting to audition. One above the instruments in the middle of the room. And one above the band standing at the far end of the room. Boxes covered with dust line the wood slatted walls and tall windows are at each end of the room. Covered with grime, that has probably been accumulating over the past one hundred years, the windows let little of the late afternoon light in. Though he’s more in the shadows, I can feel the guitar player’s gaze through the dimness.
He needs to find something else to look at.
My nerves are already in overdrive. Nerves are usually a good thing. My competitive streak mixed with nervousness takes my drumming to the next level. But that dark stare produces a different kind of nervousness. The kind that has my stomach in knots.
And I can’t decide why he’s staring at me. I’m assuming he doesn’t remember me from last weekend, especially with all the other girls who panted after him. But the contempt in his stare might have to do with the fact I’m the only female in this muggy room above an antique store on the edge of downtown. Or maybe he’s staring because I look like a groupie after Chloe’s makeover. I should have rubbed off more eyeliner. I should have refused to wear the top that makes me even look like I have cleavage. Maybe I shouldn’t have come.
I move closer to Marcus as my gaze finds the nervous tap of my shoe. He puts an arm around me and squeezes my shoulder. I attempt to ignore the stare across the room and go into my competitive zone while Marcus talks with my competition, the other three drummers. It’s kind of hard to get in that zone as Mr. Dark and Sexy stares at me while I don’t feel like myself, rather Chloe’s punk Barbie doll.
Chloe had estimated time perfectly. It took five flipping hours. She cut and dyed my hair. Now I have a thick fringe of bangs highlighted with white-blonde and a layer of blonde underneath my dark brown hair. I’m wearing a tight black top and tight knee length shorts. Chloe’s original choice was far too short, like lift a leg and show my underwear with every beat short. Though I let her go wild on the makeup, I refused the fake eyelashes. Hello? I’m going to be moving a lot, Chloe. For footwear, we met in the middle on a pair of black ballet type looking shoes. I wanted to wear my Vans. She wanted me to wear black high-heeled boots. Um no. Drummers use their feet, Chloe. She also had a beauty school buddy tattoo my arms with henna while the blonde in my hair set since I refused the plethora of bracelets she planned on to complete her rock makeover.
“We’re going to get started.” I look up to find the guitar player standing in front of Marcus. He’s wearing a dark t-shirt and jeans. Nothing that screams hot. But he somehow does with that angle of hair across his face, the muscles noticeable under his shirt, and those full lips. My heart rate matches the jerking rhythm of my nerves. The guitarist nods toward me but his dark eyes stay on Marcus. “Sorry but your girlfriend can’t stay.”
Ah, bingo. He does think I’m a groupie.
Marcus grins and pulls me closer until the side of my face is smashed against the Pinterest across his chest. “She’s trying out, not me.”
An eyebrow arches. Otherwise, the angles of his face remain stoic. “Then I guess you need to leave.”
“Come on,” Marcus says. “I know Justin.”
His placid expression doesn’t change. “I don’t give a shit if you’re his long lost brother.”
Marcus’s lips form a tight line as the guitar player stares him down. Luckily, the singer comes over and gives Marcus a fist pump. “Dude, you trying out?”
“I wish. But no.” He turns to me, smiling wide. “Justin, this is Riley.”
Justin looks me up and down. His gaze pauses two seconds too long on my cleavage. “You play?”
Marcus laughs. “She was supposed to play at—”
I nudge him in the ribs and nod.
“Cool.” Justin grins and dimples groove his cheeks. “We’ve never had anyone so hot audition before.”
The guitar player’s eyes roll. “We’ve never had a girl audition so who exactly are you referring to?”
Justin’s dimples disappear as he scowls at his band mate before looking back to me. “We’re waiting for at least one more guy, but we’re going to start without him.”
The guitar player nails me with a narrowed look and crosses his arms over his plain t-shirt. “Why don’t you go first, Riley?” His tone is smooth but I catch the undertone of sarcasm in his voice. He doesn’t think I can play. Because I’m a girl?
Justin raises a ringed brow at his band mate. “She doesn’t have to go first, Romeo.”
Romeo? What kind of asinine name is that? Anger and confidence straightens my spine as the knots in my stomach untangle. “I can go first,” I say lowly.
Romeo’s hard chin lifts in a nod. “We don’t want to waste time.”
Who is this douchebag? First, he stares. Now he judges based on my sex. “Hopefully I’m not wasting mine.”
Justin looks between Romeo and me before asking, “Do you need to warm up?”
“No,” I answer while my eyes burn into Mr. Dark and Asinine.
Romeo’s eyes and lips thin before he looks above my head. “Listen up.” I hear the conversation behind me instantly die. “We’re going to get started in a few. We’re assuming you’ve practiced. You’ll be playing two songs with us. Two, maybe three, of you will make it to the next round for a longer set. You’ll have five minutes to warm up,” he glances down at me, “if needed.”
“What are the two songs?” I ask from a tight jaw.
Romeo continues to look above my head. “Midnight and Trace.”
Huh. Good choices. Lots of range. From basic to fast to soft. And both songs are one of their originals.
Romeo gestures to me. “Riley here is going to go first. The rest of you can wait in that adjoining room.” He points to an open doorway.
“What the hell, Romeo?” One of the drummers behind me whines. “First this cattle call bullshit, but the competition on the other side of a wall?”
Romeo’s expression stays flat. “We lost a drummer without warning. Bullshit breeds bullshit. If you want to try out, deal with it. But we need to get started so get your kits partially set up and against the wall.”
The pansies behind me grumble as they prep their kits, but from my time in the marching band, I’m used to playing head on with my competition. Who cares if we hear each other playing? Their listening isn’t going to change my skill.
While the late guy brings his kit in, Marcus and I set up the kit I rented this morning. I thought about asking to borrow his, but Marcus is a bit attached—more like a whole hell of a lot—to his set. I could care less. As far as I’m concerned, drums are drums.
After I’m ready to go, Marcus plops down in one of the chairs across from where the instruments are set up. Romeo gives him a level look, strapping on his guitar. Under that irritated gaze, Marcus is up in seconds and following the other drummers into the side cave.
I yank my sticks from my back pocket and Marcus gives me a cuff on the shoulder as he passes. “Go get em’ Rile.”
Ignoring him, I sit on the stool. “Which one are we doing first?”
Justin stops adjusting his microphone and glances over his shoulder. “How about Midnight?”
Since I could care less, I’m about to agree but Romeo says, “No, Trace has the slower transition in the middle. Drummers have a harder time with that.” Though his expression appears smooth, I can detect the hint of a smirk.
Asshole.
Justin and the bass player watch him with bewildered faces as if he usually isn’t a dick, which I find hard to believe.
I choose to ignore his attitude. “Okay. After four?”
With one raised brow, he nods.
I hit my sticks together four times and together we break into Trace. Their flawless entry has me recalling my original impression of their talent. But soon I’m not recalling anything or anyone. Just dialing in as every beat from the kick drum vibrates through me. In my own drumming bubble, I nail the fills—damn I love playing fills—and roll into the bridge effortlessly. I’d been worried about my nervousness screwing me up, but within the song, I’m rhythm to my bone marrow.
After the song is over and I’m out of my zone, I notice the faces around me. Surprise etches expressions. Even Romeo appears a bit shocked. With wide eyes, Justin grins at me.
I hold in a smirk as the base player lets go of his instrument and holds out a hand to me. “Sam.”
“Riley,” I say tightly still holding in that smirk.
His bright blue eyes roam over me. “Yeah, I’m not going to forget anytime soon.”
I let go of his hand while holding in an eye roll.
Romeo clears his throat. The shock is gone from his face. “Why don’t you start us off again, Riley?” His sarcastic tone communicates he still isn’t impressed, which is in complete contrast to the look on his face seconds ago.
I’ve never had a good aim, but he’s only about five feet away. I imagine one of my sticks whacking his forehead with a loud thud. “Midnight then?”
“That would be the other song.”
Hitting my sticks together, I wonder if my sorry ass aim could hit him twice. Midnight is fast and full of energy. As I crank out the beat, I forget about my anger and just enjoy playing the song.
At the end, Justin whistles lowly. “Damn that was some straight playing.”
Sam shakes his head as if to clear it. “Um, after you break down your kit, send the next one out.”
Romeo gives my rented kit a sneer, setting his guitar on a stand before they all move to the far end of the room. While I break the set down, the hushed hisses of an argument hit my ears. That low hush has me partially breaking down the kit in record time, moving it against the wall, and racing into the adjoining room.
The small attic-like room with a low slanted ceiling has chairs around the edges and rough wood, slatted walls. Amid the stunned gazes, I can feel an almost tangible jealousy in the air. It’s more than obvious the other drummers didn’t think I would be much competition and are shocked by my talent.
Piss off boys. I’ll out play you anytime.
Marcus nudges my shoulder as I lean against the wall next to him. Probably feeling the resentment in the air too, he doesn’t say anything. Just grins at me. I have to stop myself from grinning back.
I yank my sticks from my back pocket. “They’re ready for whoever wants to go next.”
The guy sitting closest to the door slowly gets up.
Tapping on my leg with the beat going on in the other room, I stand there listening to the other drummers for the next hour. One is absolutely awful. Two okay. The only one who comes close to me is the guy who showed up late. But he’s not close enough.
After everyone plays the two songs, we wait together in the tiny room. One guy talks on his phone, bitching non-stop about the way the audition is going. Another taps on the chair next to him with his sticks. The last two argue about digital drumming.
Marcus leans closer to me. “I’ll be surprised if they even go on,” he says lowly.
Unless they’re idiots.
About twenty minutes later, Justin pops his head in the room. “We’d like everyone to come out.” When we’re all in the main room, he runs a hand through his dark blonde hair and the glare of the lone light bulb above catches the assortment of ink on his arm. His posture makes it evident he’s having a hard time spitting out his announcement. “Really, it’s great you all came but we’d only like Matt, Gabe, and Riley to stay for the next round.”
A murmur goes through the small crowd in front of me.
Justin didn’t meet my gaze when he spoke and he still doesn’t while the two drummers file out in a huff. My eyes flash to Romeo. His gaze meets mine and his lips twist in a sardonic smile. My eyes narrow. His lips twist more.
I look away in my own huff.
They are idiots.
Even though I’m sure this is Romeo’s doing, they’re letting him. I’m split in two. Part of me wants to follow the other drummers out. The other part wants to prove myself. But I already did. Within my crossed arms, my hands clench around drumsticks until knuckles whiten.
Marcus bends close to me and says under his breath, “Relax, Riley. You’re in the final round. Plus it’s more fair. Right?”
I give him a low-lidded look.
Once the other drummers are gone, Romeo picks up his guitar from its stand. “So who wants to go first?”
We’re all quiet. Whoever goes last will have a major advantage hearing the band perform two sets with the other drummers. My chin goes up a notch. I don’t need an advantage. “I’ll go.”
Romeo’s dark eyes rise from adjusting his guitar to me as the other drummers file into the room. There’s a challenge in them that strengthens my resolve.
After resetting up my set, I slide onto the stool. “What song?”
Justin and Sam look to Romeo. “Gone Baby,” he says as if laying down a gauntlet.
Another of their originals. Of course, he picks the one with the knife-edged timing. I have to be exact. Too fast and they'll fall over themselves, too slow and it'll drag like a funeral march. As Romeo stares at me, I lift a brow. “This one starts with a riff, right?”
His nod is tight before he strums out the loud riff.
Sam and I break in like we’ve been playing together for years. Justin starts the first line of vocals and I enter my bubble. Lost in the energy of playing, I’m almost startled when the song ends.
“Damn that was fucking perfect, Riley!” Justin says as soon as we’re done, bouncing in front of his microphone.
I grin at him.
Romeo’s lip curls before he turns to me. “Okay, you’ve mastered that track, but can you do anything to add your own creativity?”
Does he want me to walk over hot coals too? “Sure,” I say, keeping my tone light even though I’m about to lose it on this guy. “Same one?”
Appearing indifferent while he challenges me, he adjusts the guitar strap on his shoulder. “Let’s try At the End of the Universe.”
He’s trying to trip me up, but I almost let out a snicker. The song may have several changes in dynamics, but this is my favorite of their originals. It’s like he just gave me a present.
I count them in and we break into the slower tune. I keep it light, little things here and there to back up the vocal. I’m all about the melody, letting it stretch the beat and giving it room to breathe. Until I ease into a stronger beat, leading the band into the chorus with a half time fill that complements the change. As we head back into the verse, I double the kick drum at the beginning of every measure, which fits the feel of the song better. Even in my own little world, I notice Romeo’s look of surprise.
Obviously, he thinks so too.
When the final chorus kicks in, I bring my drums down low, pounding out eighth notes on my floor tom and quarter notes on the kick. It drives the band. They follow almost instantly, bringing the sound down low, insistent, yanking the volume down like the cops just showed up at the door. I slowly bring the volume up and again they follow my lead. Guess this is one way to get Romeo to join the Riley club. The contrast in volume ends the song with a powerful bang.
Sam turns to me. His thick eyebrows almost reach his buzzed hairline. “Man Riley, you got it going on.”
“I think that’s enough,” Romeo says tightly. “Move that piece of shit kit out of the way and send the next drummer in.”
I should be angry with his snide remark, but I just conquered this band. I tear down my shitty kit with a smile.
While I lean on the wall next to Marcus, I listen to the other drummers play. But they’re playing doesn’t worry me, rather Romeo. Everyone done, the band leaves us to wait in the cave. But we can hear the low hum of their argument through the thin door. And there’s only one reason they could be arguing.
Sitting next to me, Marcus’s eyes narrow—he might finally understand the issue here. While Marcus’s anger simmers, I wonder if Romeo doesn’t win the argument, if I can work with him. I recall the excitement of being behind the drum set. Is that feeling worth dealing with him?
“This is bullshit,” Marcus says under his breath.
I don’t respond.
The other drummers are quiet and appear shell shocked. Yeah, they’re aware there’s really no competition here.
The words, “Drop it, Romeo,” come through the door before Justin pops his head in. His ever-present grin shines at me. “So Riley, you want the job?”
Listening to Romeo’s grumbling beyond the doorway, I recall the feeling behind the drums. The feel of being in my own bubble away from the world. “Yeah,” I say, returning his grin.