Page 50 of Born Into Trouble (Occupy Yourself)
Twenty-Five
“Fucking shit, Slate.” Benny cursed as he stumbled, again. This time cracking his shin on what felt like a low table his brother didn’t even attempt to steer him around. His hands jerked up and he was about to pull the blindfold off when he caught a whiff of perfume.Lucia. A second later, he felt her hands on his wrists. “Luce?” She giggled, and he smiled at the sound.Gorgeous. “Gimme a kiss, beautiful.”
Since the first night together, they’d spent only hours apart, today being one of the longest times. She’d left early this morning, scratching out a note and putting it beside the coffeepot, telling him she had things to do, would see him soon, that she loved him. He never got tired of it, how free she was with her affection, with telling him.
And how she spent her time showing him.
Her lips brushed his; gentle, slow, questing across his mouth with her tongue before pulling back. He groaned and pulled a face, pouting, hearing muffled laughter from both sides. People.If she doesn’t care who sees, then I surely don't.
Luce giggled again and tugged on his wrists. Once she got him moving, her grip loosened and slipped until she held his hands. She was backing in front of him, making sure he didn’t run into anything else on this fucking ridiculous trip with his brother.
Benny had woken this morning to a handful of frozen marbles in his bed; the frigid balls of torture rolling around, puddling everywhere he tried to brace himself. Hands. Elbows. Hips. Ass. Those little frozen bastards were everywhere.
This had been one of Slate’s favorite ways to wake him when he was a kid, and once it stopped happening, he’d never missed it. Not once. Hadn’t been pleased the frozen marbles were back today, but after tossing them one-by-one at his brother, he'd laughed hard at Slate pretending to shield his eyes when Benny jumped out of bed shouting…and naked.
That little treat was followed by a real one as Slate fixed him a hugely elaborate breakfast. One complete with a purchased blueberry muffin sporting a single candle. He’d looked a question at Slate, who laughed as he started singing, shocking Benny into realizing he hadn’t even remembered his own birthday. Since things had settled so well with OY, and then with Lucia, he’d been busy, spending nearly every waking hour working or with Luce, and his birthday hadn’t rated an ounce of consideration.
After breakfast, Slate loaded him into a truck and threw a bandana at Benny, telling him to blindfold himself. After making a show out of checking the fabric for obvious usage, he complied; the grin on Slate’s face as he did so worth making a fool out of himself if that was what it all came down to.Anything, he’d thought.
That brought him here, walking blindfolded across an open space with the oddly-muffled noise of a large group of people all around, Lucia in front of him, knowing his brother was somewhere in the room. “Shhhh.” The loud hiss came from an unidentifiable someone in front of him, right past where Luce was. He halted, and she stopped with him, her grip steady and strong.
“Can I take off the whisker-wiper, yet, bro?” His fingers curled and tightened, anxiety taking hold in the darkness. Luce would never steer him wrong, but this was starting to edge into weird. “I’m getting kinda freaked,” he admitted and hated the emotion would be clear in his shaking voice.
“One sec, honey.” This was Ruby, and he swung his head her direction, hearing a loud metallic sound followed by a muttered, “Fuck me.” Butterflies eased by his brother’s voice, knowing Ruby paired with Luce would have his back against any stupid birthday party tricks, he forced in a deep breath, waiting.
“Okay, shrimp.” Slate’s voice was full of pride. “Take off the blinders.”
Luce’s fingers got there before his and she pushed the tightly-tied fabric up and off his head, dangling it from her hand as he blinked in the bright light.What the fuck?His hand shot out, fingers wrapping around Luce’s hand as he turned in a half circle, looking around in shock. There were amps, guitars, microphone stands, and a drum kit. The wall of glass in front of him revealed what looked like a sound room. Everything, down to the overlapping rugs on the floor pointed to one thing. The space had all the trappings of, “A recording studio?”
He faced Slate, taking in his brother’s self-pleased stance, hands shoved in his pockets, rocking back on the heels of his black biker boots, a broad smile on his face. “You built a recording studio.” Not a question, but he slowly felt his way through the words, his tone disbelieving. “A recording studio. I’m standing in a live room. In your house.” Slate and Ruby had moved into a house a couple of months ago, not long after he moved out into his apartment. There was a huge outbuilding attached to their house via the garage and Slate had been cagey about what he intended for the space. Now Benny knew. He pointed to the walls of glass. “You built a recording studio in your house.”
Stunned, he looked around again to see all the guys there, standing slightly apart from the bikers gathered around. As often as the band had played Marie’s, and for all Mitty and Vic lived with Bear for a while, only Vic had gotten comfortable around the rough and ready men who made up the Rebel Wayfarers. Seeing the band there, he couldn’t wait, words boiling out of him. “Sticks and strings? Wanna go? Try it out? See how she flies?” Bonnie was the first to move, and he mentally adjusted how he thought about the band. No longer all guys, she’d blended with them so well, it was as if she’d always played with them.
He told them what they already knew, the impossible thing Slate had handed him. “My brother built a recording studio in his house.” No more scrimping and saving to get put on a list for studio time, no more stressing about the hours spent behind the mixing boards pushing faders, dollar signs ringing up with every sweep of the minute hand.
A thought hit him, and he turned to Slate. “I can use it, right?” A disbelieving headshake and grin were Slate’s response, and Benny gave Luce’s hand a squeeze before releasing his hold and striding over to Slate. Gripping the back of his neck, he stared into his brother’s eyes, thrilled that the same love he felt was shining back at him. “Love you, brother.”
“Love you, shrimp. Happy twenty-eighth. Promise to hang around a while, yeah?” His voice roughened near the end, and Benny barely heard his repeated, “Love you, shrimp.” Pulling him in for a hard, back-pounding hug, Slate muttered, “More than you know, baby bro.” Shared sentiments.
“Back atcha,” Benny whispered, opening his eyes to find Mercedes staring at them, her gaze evaluating and after a moment, the corner of her mouth twitched and Benny relaxed. It was all good. Every bit of it.
It was hours later and they were still at it. Long after all the Rebel members had wandered away, going outside where a family barbecue was set up complete with kids running wild in the yard, jumping in and out of the pool, and babies napping in the nursery, music continued to feed out of the speakers. Slate was lounging in a chair behind the boards, while the OY members were scattered around the sound room, tuning and playing softly. They were trying to be patient as Vic messed with his kit for what seemed like the hundredth time that night already.
Staring through the windows at him, Benny waited until Slate cocked his head to one side, until he was certain his brother’s focus was firmly on him, when he mouthed his thanks. Then, he strummed louder and began to sing, fingers flicking through an old advertising tune. “Oh my brother has a first name, it’s A-N-D-R-E-W. My brother has a last name, it’s D-I-C-K-H-E-A-D.” Laughing, he watched as Slate lifted both hands, flying the bird on both of them, grinning widely at him.
***
Benny could hear Bethany’s frustration when she spoke; over the phone, it even colored her laughter. She hadn’t counted on dealing with this much of a challenge when Iron Indian took on OY, and found to her dismay the band’s history dogged nearly every engagement she attempted. “Gonna crack this nut, Benny. Don’t worry, babe. I have a hundred options in my bag of tricks yet.”
As always, he was surprised she wasn’t more pissed at how poorly he’d handled things last year, and the year before. Instead, she came off angry at the poor management they’d gotten from Benita, and furious at the venue owners and radio stations who called the band a has-been, pointing her towards booking the kind of dives they were already playing around the Fort.
Fortunately, those bars had turned into a groundswell of fan activity, and he loved seeing how they were packed, crowds standing shoulder-to-shoulder when OY was on the bill. The people enjoyed listening to the band, and since their last song in a set was guaranteed to always be as well delivered as their first, those folks hung around all night, which the bars loved. The real fans enjoyed their easy access to the band, crowding around between sets to ask questions and take selfies. The regulars at the bars had learned about Benny’s path to sobriety, and now were as big a defender as Mercedes when it came time to deflect innocent offers from newbies.
Bethy had a broad knowledge of direct-to-fan promotions, and was a wizard at managing social media, so in addition to being their representative at the label, had basically become their general manager, too. Ten places in the Fort vied for eight shows a month. They could have played another eight, but Benny knew what he needed now, and for once, he wasn’t afraid to ask for it, defend it if needed. Lucia helped, reminding Bethy of the three days reserved for group, and then the band needed practice time, so that filled the other two, leaving them Friday and Saturday for shows.
Every gig got them decent cash, and every performance brought Benny closer to where he needed to be in his own head. Looking out at the crowded floor in front of the slightly elevated stages, heaving with bodies moving to the music OY made, he would watch in fascination as mouths echoed the words back to him, learning every new song, feeding energy back to the band in a way they all needed.
But larger venues in the area were booked months in advance, and venues in other regions were understandably reluctant to take a chance on what was considered a relaunch band. Especially one that currently had limited airtime on syndicate, Internet, or public stations. They needed an in, and like Bethany, Benny knew all it took was one chink in the dam to pull the whole thing down. They hadn’t found theirinyet.
