guess," he said with a chuckle.
"So thanks for this," I said. "Really, it was
nice of you to help me."
"It's nothing," he said, not meeting my eyes.
"Just glad you can play. I'm looking forward to your show." He helped
me up to my feet. "My name is Brian, by the way."
"I'm Nikki," I said.
"I know," he replied, then seeing the shock on my
face, added. "I read an interview with Dion, in Stereogum I think."
"You mean the one where he complained about the step
monsters? Yeah, I recall that."
Brian nodded. "They ran a photo of you and your
sisters. I thought you looked familiar."
"Did they?" I asked.
I heard about the interview but I'd never bothered to read
it. Dion spouted off at the mouth often enough for me to lose interest in
whatever pissed him off. Usually, what pissed him off were the evil
stepsisters.
"Rogue Nation won't bust up like Oasis now, will
it?" Brian asked, referencing the infamous feud between the Gallagher
brothers that broke up one of the most influential bands of the post-grunge
era. I couldn't tell if he was teasing, so I ignored it.
"Well, thanks again, Brian," I said, edging away
and feeling awkward. "If I see you from the stage, I'll toss you my
sticks."
I limped towards the tent as fast as my injured leg would
take me. By the time I met up with my stepbrothers, Dion was whispering in
jailbait's ear, sending her into a fit of giggles.
"What the hell happened to you?" Rafe asked,
nodding at my bandaged leg. My calf was covered in sticky dry blood and dirt.
"Don't worry about me, I'm fine," I muttered,
pushing past the two of them to get to my dressing area. I surveyed the damage
in the full length mirror. A smear of dirt and dried sat on my forehead, and my
cut off shorts and tank top were covered with it as well.
Dion stood in the doorway, smirking at me in the mirror.
"Want to quit the tour yet?"
"Nope," I said
"Then get your ass in gear and get out on stage,"
he barked. "You're holding up the show."
"But what happened to sound check?" I asked.
Before I could protest, he grabbed me by the arm and pulled
me out of the tent.
"Get your paws off of me, Dion," I said, yanking
my arm from his grip.
"Your pussy wanted my paws on it last night," he
whispered in my ear, flicking his tongue at my earlobe.
"So no sound check?" I squeaked out. I didn't want
to respond to his light panting in my ear but my libido had other ideas. The
blood left in my body rushed downward, leaving me woozy.
"No time," he said.
"You mean; I have to play like this?" I stared
down at my now filthy cut offs and blood streaked tank top.
"You look kind of hot in a filthy sort of way,"
Dion said. "But here, fix this."
He ripped the center of my tank top, turning the scoop
neckline into a low cut V one. My breasts, ensconced in a demi-bra, exploded
out of the fabric.
"Much better," he said, ogling his work before he
turned and climbed the scaffold stairs onto the stage. There was nothing I
could do but follow.
I pulled at my awkward top to reposition it before following
Dion and Rafe onto the stage. The crowd exploded in screams when the guys
strapped their guitars around their bodies. My heart felt like it was going to
burst out of my chest and butterflies dropped straight into my stomach. My
hands shook so bad; I could barely get the cotton sweat bands around my wrists.
I chalked my hands and settled onto my stool. Back in familiar territory behind
my drum kit, I breathed deep, feeling my nerves ease up.
Dion worked the crowd, priming them for the show. Rafe gave
me a nod and I picked up my sticks and gave the four count. Then we launched
into the first song. But when Dion hit the first chord progression, Rafe
flashed me a nasty look.
"Speed up," he mouthed at me, but I shook my head.
Rafe was about half a beat too fast for the song.
Rafe stalked across the stage towards me, exaggerating his
plucks on the stings of his bass. His rhythm was still off but I held my beat
steady.
Abandoning the microphone, Dion
Learning to Kill: Stories