The Prince of Punk Rock (67 page)

She missed her big house and the plush, over-sized bed that she always
teased Angel about because it was garishly large.
  
She flipped the covers off and crawled down
to the bottom of the bed.
 
It was her
only way out.
 
The bed was wedged in
between the walls of the bus.
 
She moved
slowly, so the bed didn’t shake.
 
She
didn’t want to wake Tommy.
 
Angel needed
to take his sleep medication in order to get any rest on the bumpy bus, and an
earthquake couldn’t disturb him.
 
She
tiptoed past the sleeping quarters for the rest of the band and dancers, and
noticed the curtain was drawn on Alyssa’s bunk and the bed was empty.
 
At least she would have someone to talk to
instead of sitting by herself in the living area.
 
But then she spotted Alyssa, sandwiched in
the bunk with Damien.

Whispers and moans came from behind the closed curtain of Jimmy’s bunk
and a naked leg fell out from underneath the draped fabric.
 
Ahh, the life of an unattached rock star.

Jessi made her way to the front of the bus and sat on the overstuffed
couch.
 
She curled her legs up underneath
her, and looked at the road that glided by.
 
She could see the bus driver’s silhouette through the slit in the
partition.
 
He was a nice man, who missed
his family when he was on the road.
 
When
they started the tour he was a total stranger, and now he was like family.

Family.
 
It brought back the
nagging regret of the family she lost.
 
Jessi’s sisters were pressuring her parents to apologize, but they still
wouldn’t give in.
 
Her parents were set
in their ways and closed minded.
 
Even if
they
did
apologize for the horrible things they said, she still didn’t
know if she could forgive them.
 
But they
were her parents and an apology would be a start to mending the relationship .
. . if they chose to offer one.

Jessi continued to watch the stark night glide by on the
expressway.
 
It was black, lit only by
the occasional lone car or tractor trailer.
 
She couldn’t remember what city they were going to or where the band was
performing next.
 
No matter.
 
They would be gone by nightfall.
 
There was no time to meander around the city
tomorrow.
 
They had another show the
following day.
 
Was this the life she
longed for?
 
Long hours on an overcrowded
bus, all under each other’s feet, going from city to city without enough time
to enjoy or experience its culture?
  
She
thought about it, for a long time, before a smile spread across her face.
 
Those were only the downside.
  
The rest of it was what she strived
for.
 
The fame and the recognition is
what she craved, along with the attention of the people who called her name,
when their only connection was the rock idols they adored.
 
Nothing could replace the thrill of watching Tommy
and Angel perform on stage, in front of a sold out crowd.
 
And, of course, there was the money and everything
that went along with it.

Tommy finally bought her the engagement ring that she secretly yearned
for.
 
It was extravagant and grossly
overstated.
 
He couldn’t afford one when
they first got married.
 
She always said
it didn’t matter, until Tommy gave her that ring.
 
She touched the bottom of the band with her
thumb and looked down at it.
  
Even in
the dimly lit bus, its brilliance sparkled up at her.
 
She never took it off.
 
It meant the world to her, not only because
it was exquisite, everyone complimented her on it, but because after so many
years together it bothered Tommy that he never gave her a ring.
 
She loved him so much.
 
And she loved Angel.
 
They were happy.
 
The three of them.
 
She laughed at how nervous and apprehensive
she was about bringing Angel into their relationship.
 
Now, she couldn’t imagine life without
him.
 
She was secure in their
relationship.
 
Everything was crystal
clear.
 
The three of them were meant to
be together.

Chapter Fifty-Three

Boston
was the last stop on the tour. It was
bittersweet.
 
The experience was
everything Angel ever dreamed of.
 
The
reception of the fans and the rising popularity of the band surpassed his
imagination, but he was looking forward to spending some time at home and
seeing his family.
 
They would only have
a short break before they needed to start on the next album and, hopefully,
there would be a world tour in the not too distant future.

The crowd was amped and supercharged.
 
They knew tonight’s performance was the finale of the tour and it would
out do every other show they performed.
 
Angel wasn’t nervous, but he was anxious as he watched by the curtain for
their cue to take the stage.

Tommy squeezed his shoulder. “Listen to them.
 
Feels good doesn’t it?”

“It feels divine, my prince.
 
I
could stand here all night and listen to their calls.”

The chant that rose from the audience was a deafening roar. It was a
warrior’s call, demanding Immortal Angel to do battle with their instruments on
stage.

Jessi fixed the collar on Angel’s leather jacket. “Does it fit better
now?
 
Is it pulling across the back?”

“It fits like a glove, sweetheart. Your workmanship is impeccable.”

“Thank you.”
 
She smiled at
him.
 
“You may be my only client, but
you’re my favorite client.”

“Please make sure you pick up the jacket once I take it off.
 
It’s very heavy and I don’t know how long
I’ll be able wear it.
  
I don’t want
anyone to accidentally step on it and ruin it.”

“With all that metal?
 
Someone’ll
break an ankle before they hurt this jacket. But, don’t worry.
 
I’ll keep an eye on you.
 
As soon as you take it off, I’ll grab it.”

The house lights dimmed, causing screams and whistles to echo
throughout the venue.

“Ready, A?”

He slowly turned toward Tommy.
 
“Answer their call.”

Tommy curled his fingers around the neck of his Les Paul and picked off
their signature intro.

Screams blocked out the rest of the world as Angel walked to the center
of the stage.
 
The lights were still
down. Only a small spot illuminated him from behind.
 
He stood perfectly still, with his arms at
his side, as he looked into the crowd.

Horned fists pumped wildly in the air.

The light behind him projected an exaggerated shadow into the crowd.
 
It made him appear 20 feet tall, mirroring
the feeling in his heart.
 
The lighting
technician waited for his cue, but he paused to absorb the energy of the crowd.
 
Finally, he cued the lights by raising his
arms in the air and the stage was brought to life.
 
The thin silver chains that adorned his
sleeves from armpit to wrist hung to the floor in a dramatic curtain of
metal.
 
The jacket was a show stopper and
the epitome of modern punk rock.
 
The
audience gasped at its reveal.
 
The
lights reflected off the elaborate rhinestone covered microphone stand and cast
a kaleidoscope of blue, pink and yellow lights onto the audience.

Thunderous applause and foot stomping shook the stage.

Jimmy crossed his sticks four times, and Immortal Angel’s music rumbled
through the sound system.
 
Angel took his
rhinestone embellished microphone from its matching stand and strutted across
the stage.
 
The silver metal chains rang
and reflected the light as they trailed behind him.
 
He jumped between the two raised platforms on
either end of the stage and belted out the lyrics to their latest hit,
Cardiac
Explosion
.

The fashion forward jacket was his favorite piece in his wardrobe.
 
He swung his arms to accelerate the movement
of the heavy chains and they jingled around him. After he gyrated through the
first two songs, he strutted back to the center of the stage and put the mic
back on its stand.
 
He spread his arms
like an iron clad eagle and let the metal chains drop around him.
 
He lowered his arms, and his shoulders, and
the heavy jacket fell to the floor.
 
No
shirt, no jewelry, just bare chest, leather jeans and an invitation to anyone
who wanted to spend the next 90 minutes caught up in the heyday of sex infused
punk rock.

Bras littered the stage.
 
A furry
leopard jock strap practically hit Angel in the chest.
 
Satin panties sailed through the air and
landed on the drum platform.
 
The owner
was hoisted onto someone’s shoulders.
 
She screamed Jimmy’s name and flashed two surgically-enhanced
breasts.
 
The crowd was insane.

Without You
,
was their next song. It was the song Tommy wrote and the song that made them
famous.
 
Right before Tommy’s solo, he
chased Jessi on stage with his Les Paul.
 
Every girl in the audience wanted to be the recipient of a Tommy Blade
guitar solo, but he only offered them to Jessi.
 
She was flustered and covered her mouth with her hands while the twang
of the guitar strings filling the air.
 
When he was done, he kissed her and resumed his jack rabbit bounce
around the stage.

Damien was having a problem with his Ibanez again.
 
He was tightening the tuning key and slapping
the strings, harder than usual.
 
Angel
could read the curses on his lips.
 
All
of a sudden, the D string snapped.
 
The
fan blew it up to Damien’s face.
 
It
hovered in the air like a deadly cobra waiting to strike.
 
He tried to dodge out its way, but its attack
was relentless.
 
It annoyed him and shook
the neck of his bass, but the movement infuriated the wild D string and it
retaliated by striking his mohawk.
 
It
would have been comical if there wasn’t an angry fire in Damien’s eyes.

He pulled his bass over his head, lifted it by the neck with both hands
and smashed it on the floor.
 
An
explosion of feedback screamed through the amp as the bass guitar exploded into
a heap of splintered black metallic-coated wood.