Page 1 of The Fire Walker
Dee
“Iswear to God,Dee, if you don’t hurry the hellup...”
“Take a chill pill, Zoe,” I said, tuning the last string on my guitar. “Don’t worry your pretty little head overit.”
“I wanna get this done today if you don’t mind.” She rolled her eyes at me, flipping her long brown hair over hershoulder.
Zoe Granger, aka hot legs, was my best friend. She was my family, unrelated by blood, but we may as well have been listed on our birth certificates as siblings with the amount of time we spent together. She was also the lead vocalist and guitarist in our band, The Devil’s Tattoo, which was the band I started forher.
I knew what people thought when they saw us hanging out. We were so close it looked like we weretogether, but it couldn’t be further from the truth. Zoe was my sister from another mister. She’d go to hell and back for me, and I’d do the same. In fact, I’d already done justthat.
When her life fell to pieces, I was there for her. Start to finish. I didn’t regret it, not for one second. When I said I started this band for her, I did, but it became more than that. We added another three people to our extended family. Frank was on drums while Chris played bass, and Simone was our manager. They were as much a part of this as Zoe andme.
“The album will get done,” I said with a chuckle. It had become a running joke with the guys about how long it took me to tune my guitar. What could I say? I was aperfectionist.
We were recording the last song of our full-length debut album. Well, technically, it wasn’t our debut, but it would be our American one, complete with four new songs and rerecording and mastering of our original ten. Much to our surprise, we’d been asked to do it in Los Angeles. A whole world away from our base in Melbourne, Australia, and todaywasgoing to be the last day. That was if we could get these last guitar parts down before the clock ticked over to midnight. That was when the powers that be would kick us out of the studio, finished ornot.
“Will is coming in tomorrow, and I don’t want to make him sit in here to watch you tune your guitar,” Zoe said with ahuff.
Will Strickland was the bass player in The Stabs, the band we toured with last year, and Zoe’s boyfriend. They were so in love it made me sick, but I’d never seen her happier. I only wished I’d be that lucky someday. Will had told me that when he saw her, he knew she was the one. It was a nice notion, but I reckon it didn’t work that way foreveryone.
Catching Zoe’s eye, I gave her a wink and slid my fingers across the strings. “See?Perfect.”
Slapping me on the arm with a grin, she pushed out of the booth and joined Chris, Frank, and the sound tech by the board. Sliding the oversized headphones over my ears, I shut out all the outside noise and held a thumb up to signal I was ready. As the intro of the song we were finishing up started, I closed my eyes and just felt it out. I knew this stuff back to front. I lived it, and I breathed it. I didn’t need a score to follow. It just came tome.
Zoe had tried to teach me how to read music, but it just wasn’t in me. The structure of lines and notes and time signatures just took out the magic and spontaneity. I liked to live on theedge.
The Devil’s Tattoo was all about straight up rock ’n’ roll. Catchy riffs, complicated solos, moody lyrics, distortion, rawness. Playing guitar was the best thing in the world and to do it with such an awesome group of people and with such a challenging lineup of songs? It was the bee’s knees. For once in my life, I was content to leave things just as theywere.
The song I was currently playing was called ‘Red Heart.’ It was one of my finer moments as a songwriter, and I hoped this one would be the first single. It had a slow, moody start, but then the guitars cranked, and it was off the charts. Zoe did the vocals, anddamn…she had lungs all right. I couldn’t wait to play itlive.
We’d rehearsed this song so many times I knew it back to front, so I glanced up and caught Zoe’s gaze and winked. At that moment, the outside door opened, and two women walked in like they owned the joint. That could only mean they were record company types, and I wondered why they were here at this hour. Either we were special snowflakes or they wanted to pull theplug.
The women started talking with Simone and shook hands all around, and then everyone turned to look at me. I couldn’t hear what they were saying of course, but I hoped it was nice. I was awesome, so naturally, it wouldbe.
The taller woman looked like a rocker with shaggy black hair and maybe in her early thirties. I was a terrible judge of age. Rule one when trying to determine the age of the opposite sex,always aim low. The other woman was staring down at a tablet she had in her hands, frowning at the screen. Her face was angled away, and she was the only one who hadn’t looked over at me. She was pretty. Mousy blonde hair, slim, and a tattoo down her arm. Well, pretty wasn’t a good word. Beautiful? That was a bitbetter.
The other woman elbowed her with a knowing smile, and she glanced up from her work. They knew I was checking her out. What was new? I was a free man who could look at any pair of legs hewanted.
Her gaze crossed mine, and my fingers fumbled over the strings, making a horrible scratching sound. She had big brown eyes like fucking Bambi, and I almost choked. Through the glass, I saw Zoe fuming, but the others were laughing their headsoff.
Hitting the intercom, I said, “Start itagain.”
My gaze fell onto the blonde woman as I straightened up, and she was standing there with her hand over her mouth, stifling a laugh. There was something abouther…
I was always a bit of a clown, but right then, I kinda felt embarrassed. As the track started again, I gave Zoe a shrug and turned my back so I didn’t have to look at them. And God, I had to know who that woman was. My gaze had locked onto her like a magnet, and I’d never felt anything like it.Bam.Connection.
It was then I realized everything Will had said about him and Zoe was right. Seeing him so pussy-whipped on tour was bloody amusing, to say the least, but now I was beginning to understand.When I saw her, I justknew.
Will Strickland youmotherfucker.
By the timeI came out of the booth—three takes later—the woman and her friend weregone.
“Who were they?” I asked Frank, who was sitting on a couch at the back of the room. Everyone else had disappearedsomewhere.
He shrugged. “Labeltypes.”
I rolled my eyes. “Be morespecific.”
