Double Time
Page 84“You don’t want me to watch?”
She shook her head. Accompanied by a mechanical whir, Eric’s drum kit was moved offstage in one piece on a platform so Steve’s could rise from the floor at the initiation of the first song. The sound of the stage realigning kicked Reagan’s heart rate up another notch. This was really happening.
Trey brushed his fingers over her jaw. “If that’s what you want.”
“Thanks for understanding,” she whispered. “I love you.”
“I love you too. Now break a leg.” He hesitated. “Not literally.”
“No guarantees in these damned boots.”
“Reagan, take your place,” Exodus End’s soundboard engineer, Mad Dog, said in her ear.
She pecked Trey on the cheek and entered the little door beneath the stage. It was dark under the stage, but someone in the stage crew was standing next to her platform with a flashlight. She was careful not to hit the strings of her guitar as she carefully stepped onto the flat piece of metal. She could just make out the forms of Dare at the opposite end of the stage and Logan who was between them, but farther back. She heard a mechanical whir and then the hard heavy thump of a bass drum as Steve and his entire drum kit were lifted up from behind the stage. The crowd was going insane. This was an entirely new and innovative stage design. If it worked properly it was sure to wow everyone. If not, well, Reagan would be trapped under a dark stage for the rest of her short life.
Dare entered the song and his platform didn’t lift slowly like Logan’s and Reagan’s; it propelled him upward at a faster velocity and he used the momentum to jump out of the floor onto the main stage, wailing out his intro in true rock star fashion. The crowd went insane. Dare Mills was a star. Reagan was an imposter. She did her part though. Playing the rhythm guitar sections so close to Max’s style that his own mother probably wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. Assuming her mother listened to metal.
There was a sudden explosion of fire and smoke—part of the show, but it still made Reagan start—and Max appeared center stage, singing the first long note of the song like a metal angel who had descended from the heavens.
The entire crowd was one huge mosh pit. No one seemed to care that Reagan was playing guitar instead of Max. They were all too enthralled with music to pay her any mind. She watched Dare work the crowd. Logan work the crowd. Max make the people in the crowd ricochet off each other like bowling pins. Even Steve stood up behind the drum kit at one point and tossed a cracked drumstick into the audience. Reagan stuck to the song. When it ended, Max spoke to the crowd. “How are we feeling tonight, Los Angeles?”
The crowd roared its enthusiasm. Steve played a drum line to get them to settle down. “Did Sinners rock your world?” Max said/screamed/sang.
The crowd cheered again. Sinners rocked Reagan’s world, too. Especially the naughty one. She peeked over to the side of the stage, hoping that Trey had gone against her wishes and was standing in her corner. She didn’t see him.
“Carpal-fucking-tunnel is a very serious malady for a guitarist,” Max said, sounding incredibly grave.
“Who’s a pu**y?” Logan said in a deep, announcer’s voice. “Max is a pu**y.”
Heart racing, Reagan forced her feet to move forward, concentrating hard on not tripping over anything in her spike-heeled ankle boots. “Hi,” she said into the microphone on her end of the stage.
She saw her own face on the giant screens all over the stadium and she froze.
“She’s covering rhythm guitar for us,” Max said. “Doing an excellent job.”
Reagan felt her cheeks flame. She nodded and then took a step away from the mic.
“I love you, Reagan,” some guy screamed in the audience and pulled up his shirt to flash his thin chest at her.
“That only works when chicks flash their tits at stage hands,” Dare said to the guy, pointing at him with his guitar pick. “No backstage pass for you.”
“‘Bite,’” Reagan heard Mad Dog announce the next song in her ear. “One. Two. Three.” The band followed his cue to start the abrupt beginning of the song. Logan apparently thought Reagan needed to get closer to the front of the stage. He leaned his back against hers and hopped backward, pushing her forward several steps. He repeated the motion and she almost missed a note.
“Relax, Reagan,” he said. “Have some fun.”
When she scowled at him, he shrugged and went to play his bass on the opposite end of the stage.
By the end of third song, Reagan was really feeling the pressure. And her feet were freaking killing her. She glanced over at the side of the stage and caught sight of Trey standing in the shadows. Feeling stronger and somehow relieved, she took a deep breath and trotted up to the front of the stage. The guys in the front row of the audience all surged against the barrier fence as if they wanted to grab her. She glanced at Dare who grinned at her. She lifted the neck of her guitar and gyrated against her instrument slightly. Nothing too extreme. Just a little sexy. One guy launched himself clean over the barrier fence and was promptly escorted to the end of the barrier and forced back into the crowd. Reagan went down on one knee to play the next stanza and her little cluster of fanboys cheered her on. This was kind of fun. She had to be careful not to lose Max’s sound though. She couldn’t get too carried away.
The song ended and Max made a low growling sound in his microphone. “I see Reagan has broken out of her shell for you. Do you like it?”
The crowd cheered and Reagan found herself displayed on all the screens in the stadium again.
Reagan walked over to the nearest microphone and asked, “Would anyone be horribly offended if I took off these f**king boots? They’re killing my feet.”
The crowd started chanting. “Take it off. Take it off.”