Page 8 of Naughty Dreams
Death cannot have you.
DJ took his electric guitar from Shaun, his quick-footed tech, and added a complex harmony to Steve’s, grinning at him as Steve got funky with it, dancing around him while DJ held the guitar straight up and played the fretboard with both hands.
Moss had stopped his phone calls. He leaned toward Roy and shouted in his ear. “When I can be here, I always take the time to enjoy the show. Otherwise, why the fuck do this? This is a good part.”
To Roy’s amusement, the band manager did an enthusiastic air guitar while DJ performed the guitar solo, his instrument crying out to the lightning, making sounds that squealed and shrieked. When the solo was done, the thunderous beats of Tal’s drums and Pete’s bass kept the storm raging, while Steve took his guitar into a new, wailing riff. DJ handed the tech his guitar and went back to vocals.
The band’s energy was adrenaline-fueled. They straight-up loved the music. When one stretched out the notes, the others switched up to make it work, giving the audience the expected core of the songs they loved, but with bonus material they couldn’t get from the recordings. It was one of the things that made their music stand out; the creativity, their constant reinvention of their own work, and the seamless way they matched a fresh, powerful sound with a timeless quality.
DJ jumped off the stage, landing in the space between it and the audience. He went to one knee on the landing, then lifted his head and raised the mic, the big screens catching the dramatic move and expression.
When he rose to his feet, still singing, the camera followed him as he ran along the barrier holding back the fans. He briefly touched hands as he continued singing, even dispensing one chaste kiss on the forehead of a young girl with her mother. Hands grasped his back and shoulders all around the child, but the fans were respectful, letting go as he moved onward.
One female fan further down the line wasn’t, seizing his arm and not letting go, screaming hysterically. The security team member who’d matched pace with DJ at a calculated distance moved in, but before he had to act, DJ closed his hand over hers and gave it a quick kiss before he detached it and was gone. She did a near swoon in the arms of her companions.
Smooth. Still not advisable, but even the most cooperative celebrities would dig in their heels when it came to their fans. Roy fully expected DJ to be one of those. Still, they’d have to have a talk about that shit.
Just not tonight. While understanding the band’s way of performing and their relationship with their fans provided Roy important information, after tonight it would be rare that he’d be able to take in a show like this.
At least until the stalker was caught, and he bought himself a ticket.
After the concert, the band went back to the green room to wait for the arena to clear. Roy slid in behind Moss, who was discussing public relations and marketing considerations for the aftershow party and other details they had to handle during the days they’d be here. Interviews, appearances.
As frontman, DJ paid careful attention, making suggestions and offering input. Tal ignored all of it, lying on his back, a bottle of booze by his elbow, his feet up on the wall as he tapped on his kneecaps with his drumsticks. Pete and Steve half listened, but they knew what parts involved them and what didn’t.
“Did you reserve that studio space I wanted?” DJ asked Moss.
“Sure did. All yours, right up until you leave on the tour bus.” Moss slapped DJ’s knee and produced an energy bar. “Put this in your tank.”
Though they didn’t need a recording studio to practice, Roy had been told DJ preferred to book them on their tour route when they had time between shows to do additional practice and create. He loved the vibe in a studio, and the chance to interact with other musicians there.
Recording studios also offered additional instruments he could “noodle on,” as Steve put it, and a setting secure from fans and other interruptions.
Moss turned his attention to the other band members. “Next stop is the outdoor rock festival in Daytona Beach, then Miami. There’s a sold-out crowd with a waiting list longer than the lineto get into Heaven. Should be a good show. You all were on fire out there tonight.”
“We always are.” Tal twirled his drumstick. “We make your job easy, Moss.”
“Yeah, right.” Moss shot him a mock sneer as he rose. “I’m headed out to do my ‘easy’ job. Be at the first aftershow party in an hour. I want those influencers to be enthusiastic when they release their Survival content.”
“Hey, will that Samoan chick be there?” Pete asked. “The one who does her videos in a pirate outfit and wears the purple contacts?”
“Nobody finds bassists sexy,” Steve informed him. “Give it up.”
“Do we really want to encourage the wordpirateto be associated with our music in any way?” DJ queried.
Pete ignored them, doing a fist pump when Moss sent him a thumbs up. “I’ll put in a good word for you, Pete.”
DJ caught the towel Steve tossed toward him and mopped his damp neck and face. “Want to hit some night spots after the schmoozing?” Steve asked. “You can wear a disguise.”
“Not tonight.” DJ dipped his head toward Roy.
“Yeah, shit, I forgot. You’re on lockdown until they find that nut job. That blows. Hey, we could do one of the private hotel parties instead and take a couple of Henry’s guys.”
“Naw, but I appreciate it. Shoot me some pics.Nota dick pic.” DJ pointed a finger at Tal, who grinned unrepentantly. “I can never unsee that shit.”
“It’s unforgettable, that’s for sure.”
Groans and catered food were thrown toward the drummer. Tal picked a mini quiche up off his chest and popped it into his mouth, chuckling.
