Crime Plus Music by Jim Fusilli Read Free Book Online Page A

not one of us questions that he can deliver on the advertised promise of fame and fortune.
    I T TAKES ANOTHER HOUR AND he selects the bassist, dismisses a bunch more. Now there are only four left. That I’m among them is a total shock to me. The other three go first, and they’re all much better guitarists than I am. They can all carry a tune as well. When it’s my turn I’m so nervous, I literally bang my lips against the mic. “Sweetheart, please, it’s not your boyfriend up there, it’s a mic.”
    I blush. Extensively.
    The song he picks for me to sing is the Stones, “Sympathy for the Devil.”
    First stroke of luck, I know it by heart.
    When Patti first showed up, all they could do was compare her to Mick, which I find insulting. She was herself, wasn’t that enough? I strum the first chord a few times and then the drummer hits the beat and we start in.
    I don’t know what happens, because I’m nervous as hell but somewhere along the way the music takes over and by the time I’m in St. Petersburg I’ve forgotten where I am.
    Then, just like that, it’s over.
    â€œAll right,” Johnny O says and he turns around and dismisses the other girls.
    O UTSIDE , THE THREE OF US stand in the parking lot. We are The Misfits.
    Tara, the bassist, is spark-plug short with dark hair, cut just at her shoulders. She looks kind of boyish. Eileen, our drummer, is really tall. I’m five eight and she looms over me but like a lot of tall girls she hunches her shoulders to try and hide. She’s got this mop of curly red hair and a lot of freckles spanning the bridge of her nose. It turns out Eileen’s from Woodland Hills and Tara is from right nearby; she lives in an apartment complex two blocks from Griffith Park. They’re both living with their moms, as in children of divorce. I come from a happily married family, so I’m the odd girl out. Also Tara’s already been in two other bands and Eileen learned how to play because her older brother is a drummer.
    â€œHow about you?” Eileen asks.
    I admit that I’ve basically only played alone in my room.
    â€œReally?” I can’t tell whether they’re impressed or horrified. Changing the subject, Eileen says, “That guy Johnny O is pretty weird, right?”
    â€œNo kidding,” I say.
    â€œDo you think he can really do something for us?” Tara asks.
    â€œI hope so,” Eileen says.
    I nod. We all have the same dream glittering in our eyes.
    Eileen stubs out her cigarette and then she turns to me and says, “You really killed that song by the way.”
    â€œYeah, you totally did!” Tara agrees.
    They both seem to mean it. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this happy.
    T HUS , I BEGIN TO LIE big time. I invent a new job, a new friend, tutoring after school, anything that sounds even halfway real. We have to rehearse every day.
    I get away with being the queen of deception for seventeen days. On the eighteenth, Johnny O introduces us to Trish who he says is going to perfect our look. When she’s done with me, my hair is cut short and dyed jet black. Not to mention the makeup. “You’ll have to stop sitting out in the sun so much,” Trish tells me as she works to accentuate my eyes, dark slashes of eyeliner and coral pink eye shadow.
    â€œWhat on earth?” My mother’s jaw could not fall further south and the horror is etched on her face. “Oh my god, your beautiful hair.” She is almost crying as she grabs my hair in a last-ditch attempt to believe that somehow I’m playing dress up.
    â€œI’m in a band,” I tell her.
    â€œWhat?”
    I explain, a little. My father comes home. They’re both aghast. They announce I’m officially grounded.
    â€œYou can’t do that,” I say.
    â€œYes, we can. We’re your parents.”
    Wrong. That night I sneak out with a backpack full of a few essentials