Chapter 1
Silas
Sweat pours down my back as I belt out the lyrics, and I shoot Noel a sharp glare as he audibly misses a beat. Roughly halfway through our set, Dave disrupts the rhythmic flow when he unexpectedly strums the wrong notes.
“What the fuck are you two doing?” I cover the mic with my hand.
Dave and Noel, normally the group’s wild cards, have lately been off-key and out-of-sync, which really pisses me off. I receive a silent fuck you from Dave, and Noel flings his drumstick in the air, catching it, and continuing the beat as if nothing is wrong.
As the lead singer, I carry on giving the crowd a show, racing across the stage and screaming into the mic, pushing my voice until it’s raw and ragged. Hopefully, they won’t care if the others mess up, as long as I keep the show going. Unlike a previous gig we had, where Noel almost overdosed during the performance. We had to cut the show short, much to the fans’ annoyance.
Tonight’s show is in a smaller, stuffier venue, and I can already feel the intense glare from our band manager Graham at the side.
The last few songs get progressively worse; the feedback squeals, and I’m ready to throw the mic down. Pierce, our instrumentalist, is on keys, filling the earache Dave is doing with the music. He picks up the slack, making it bearable. Pierce, or as we call him, the peacekeeper, manages to cover up some of the disaster.
“Thank you and goodnight!” I scream down the mic when we finish our last song. This time, I put the mic back on the stand aggressively and storme off the stage. “Fucking Dave,” I hiss as I pass Graham. Noel missed some of his beats, but not as badly as Dave on lead guitar.
As a band, we have been through many difficulties, but lately I feel like Noel has been drifting apart. I know drumming is his life, but drugs also complicate things. The rock ‘n’ roll life is not easy when you are away from loved ones, and Noel’s last girlfriend dumped him recently, and I’m sure this is part of his downfall recently. What Dave’s excuse is tonight, I don’t know.
In the greenroom, I grab my towel and wipe my face and neck down before grabbing a cool beer and quenching my thirst. The rest of the band filter in apart from Dave, which pisses me off more, and I don’t hold back my disappointment.
“What the hell was that?” I shove Noel, and he stumbles backwards.
“Fuck you, man.” He grabs a beer and sits on one of the couches.
“Are you fucking tripping out again or something? What did you take this time?” I’m half angry because he lets his emotions get to him, and it sends him spiraling. Then there is the anger because he doesn’t talk to us anymore.
“What do you care?” He looks up at me as I pace the room.
“You are my drummer and friend. How many years have we been doing this, Noel? I can’t stand by and watch you kill yourself—because that is the way you are going.” I calm down my tone and sit next to him. “The band is falling apart. You are one of the best drummers out there.”
The greenroom door opens. “What the fuck was that? You need to take some time out.” Graham, our manager, plonks his greasy ass down on the couch. “Velvet Virtue’s last album crashed, and you need to get your shit together. Take a break since you have been touring on and off for the last ten years. Rock and roll isn’t all about drugs and fucking groupies all the time.”
“So, is this you dumping us?” Noel leans over the table, knocking the drinks over.
“Clean up your act, get the rehab you need, and then we will talk about making new music. No one is going to touch you if you keep crashing mid-gig and letting the fans down.” He yells at Noel and stands. “I’ve stood by you, watched you fucking fuck it up each time. You are lucky you still have fans.” He stands and points a finger at us. “You have one more gig in two nights’ time. I want you to give your fans a night to remember.” He walks out, slamming the door behind him.
“Shit!” I closed my eyes feeling tired of this for the first time in my life. Music is my life, but Graham might be right. We need a break. “Right, let’s forget the shit that happened tonight, and put on the next performance with something they will remember.” I give Noel a slap on his back.
We down a few beers together and end up packing it in for the night. I head back to the hotel for a shower and sleep, fuck knows where Dave disappeared off to. Noel looked like he was ready to continue partying when I left him. One more gig, and I’m going to take the proper break I’ve been needing for years.
I wake up with my phone going off. Grumbling about who it could be, I roll over and pick it off the side. “It is too early,” I mutter.
“You haven’t heard?” My manager’s voice comes on the other end.
I sit up and rub my face, wiping away the tiredness. “Heard what?”
“Turn on the fucking TV.” He snaps and I swing my legs out and grab the remote. “I’m sorry,” he mutters as the screen comes to life.
“We are still waiting to hear the full extent of what happened.” The reporter holds a microphone in one hand and touches her earpiece with the other. “Reports say 48-year-old lead guitarist Dave Falcon from the band Velvet Virtue died during the early hours of the morning. It is yet to be determined if he was the driver in the car crash.”
I sit down on the bed and stare at the TV.
“Silas, are you still there?” Graham’s voice comes through the phone. “I cancelled the gig tomorrow night, and someone will refund everyone.”
“Yeah, thanks.” I mutter and hang up.
The next days go by in a blur. I still find it hard to process everything that has happened. The news wants to invade my privacy. Accusations fly around, and this doesn’t help Noel one bit.
For Dave’s funeral, we kept it as private as we could. The only family that Dave had left, band members and close friends. With the media still harassing us all, we decide to go our separate ways for now.
“Keep in touch.” I hug Noel.
“I’m going to get clean for good this time.” He promised me.
“Good, because I’m not coming to your funeral next.” I grab his shoulders and look him in the eyes. “I’m not burying you as well.” He knows this is hard for us. We have been through so much together. “This isn’t the final chapter for Velvet Virtue. Dave would want us to carry on his dream, like our own.”
We came together thirty years ago as a band and lost an original member as he didn’t think we were going to make it. But then we got Halen in as our bass guitarist and hit it big. Down and Dirty was our breakthrough hit, and I remember the day when we got the phone call.
We all part ways, and I call my best friend Roger; an old school friend, who doesn’t bat an eyelid at my fame. He welcomes me back to stay at his since I am keeping a low profile.
“Man, it is good to see you again.” He pulls me in for a hug. “I’m sorry about Dave.” Anytime we have played here, Roger has come to our gigs.
“Thanks for putting me up. The press was becoming a nightmare.” We went inside his house. He lives in a quiet neighbourhood, and I’ve kept my friendship with Roger out of the limelight for his sake. “How is Rachel?” I ask as he shows me to a bedroom.
“You didn’t hear?” Roger stops and stares at me. “Two years ago we divorced.”
“Ah, shit, man. I’m sorry.” I place my bag down on the bed. “Time must have flown by; I wasn’t paying attention.”
“Her mother lives halfway across the world and fell ill. She wanted me to move there with Kerri, but Kerri’s life is here. I said I would stay here for Kerri until she finished school, but Rachel met someone whilst she was out there, and here I am, a single man.” He slaps my arm. “Let’s go grab a beer and catch up.”
“Sounds good to me.”
Six hours later, and God knows how many beers in, we are out in his garden laughing when a door opens behind us.
“Dad?”
When I turn to see Kerri, she isn’t the little girl I remember anymore. 25 years old and a bombshell.
“Sweetheart,” Roger nearly falls over when he stands. “You remember Frederick, don’t you?” Ugh, I hate him for using my real name.
“Freddie?” Her mouth drops open.
“Damn, when did you grow up?” The words tumble out all husky and, fuck me, if I were twenty years younger, I’d be getting into her pants.
