Page 57 of Enjoying the Band in Lockdown

The clatter of another empty bottle wasn’t the reply I wanted, but at least he didn’t open a fresh one. Not yet.

“Ready?” Devon asked, finger on the button.

“Get back in place, I’ll press record.”

At my nod, Trent started the argument, three cameras capturing the main players. Jax didn’t break type, baiting Chase and Xavier until I couldn’t believe furniture wasn’t flying around the room.

“Come on, Sydney,” Jax talked to me but looked straight down the camera. Oh, he was the sexiest thing alive. Until Xavier started to perform. “Who are you going to pick? Your man’s version of the song, or Chase who wrote the fucking thing?”

“Firstly, get your facts right.” I zoomed in on Chase, “Chase started writing the song.” Swinging around to Xavier, viewers would get the full impact of my broken man. I challenged any woman alive not to want to reach out and make him whole again. “Xavier finished it.”

“So they both wrote it,” Jax sounded forced.

“Keep going, I’ll edit out the crap and by the time I’m finished, it will flow. Start again.”

So we did.

“Play it for me, Chase.” I asked.

“Why?” Xavier challenged.

“Because, as Jax said, Chase started writing it. What was it called?”

“Beautiful brunette, for the most beautiful brunette in the world.”

“Who was she to you?” I took over the role of reporter, keeping my voice soft and welcoming, needing Chase to open up.

“The woman I loved and lost, before I met you.”

“You say the sweetest things,” my voice choked. Damn it, “Sing it to me. Sing it to her. Sing it so her friends track her down and remind her what a fool she was to lose you. Play it for me, Chase.”

Led by Devon on keyboard, The Flying Monkeys started at the second verse leading into the solo, with Chase shining in his spotlight. The band backed him one hundred percent.

“Chase,” I said with complete honesty, “If I was your beautiful brunette, I’d be picking up my car keys and making sure by the time you got off stage, I’d be in your bed.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not beautiful brunette anymore. It’s dirty blonde,” Xavier was in full stage persona. Strutting to the middle of the room, owning his microphone. “My turn,” he slurred.

I made sure the video captured all of the dirty bottles. All of the mess that was a band living in a pub. I wanted fans to get the full impact of life in lockdown. By the time I’d finished with editing, the most Australian image about lockdown would be this band stuck together, writing an album.

“Tell me, Xav, what am I to you?” I pretended it was just the two of us, naked in the bus. My voice throaty and full of lust, for him. For this to work, he had to feel it, too.

“My dirty fucking blonde.”

“What am I to you?”

“My nightmare.”

“What am I to you?”

“My dirty blonde.” There. Xavier had that raw look of pain every woman would want to fuck away. This would be gold. My gift to him.

“Then prove it.”

Almost as if they’d rehearsed it a thousand times, Devon started, the rest of the band joined in but when Xavier got to the solo, he blew it out of the park. I’d never heard such raw anger and desperation, darkness and a strength in vulnerability. When he finished, there was stunned silence in the pub. The guys who were his brothers, stood back in awe. We’d witnessed something great, even better, we’d recorded it for the world.

“Okay, ladies out there.” I struggled for composure. “Jax wanted me to choose, but I can’t. So, we’re throwing it open to you. Whose Dirty Blonde do you want to be? Chase’s or Xavier’s? I know who my money’s on, but you need to make it happen. Vote now. Get your friends to vote. Hell, get that bitch who tried to steal your man to vote. The winning version of the song will be released for the first time at the March Online concert. So vote now, and organize your online party for March Online.”

We played back the raw footage. Jax re-recorded his baiting, and I recorded another few versions of the social media challenge before Devon approved.

---