deadly nightshade | fever in, fever out

chapter 67: adrenaline rush

Careful not to make her head spin any more, Sam sat upright next to Joey on the flat surface. The bottle of water lay on its side right next to her hip and the trail mix rested right under her hand. She still felt unsettled in her stomach, but given the short bit of rest she had had, it had backed off enough to where she could yearn for something to eat for herself. She glanced back at Joey, who was still sound asleep with the bag of chips on his stomach.
She set a hand on his arm and she shook him.
"Hm?"
"Hey—do you know what time it is?" she asked him with a break in her voice; she cleared her throat and she let her tongue hang out of her mouth like that of a dog.
"Dunno..." He, too, cleared his throat, and then he rubbed his eyes, and he raised his wrist for a look down at his watch. "Quarter to five."
"We only slept for two hours?" She was stunned by that.
"Apparently so." She shifted her body about a bit for a better look at him. "How's your stomach feeling, by the way?" he asked her.
"Better," she answered with a bow of her head. "Kinda hungry now, too. And thirsty. And I'm ready for a walk, too, I dunno 'bout you."
Sam shifted her body about the other way and she slung her legs over the edge of the bed. She stood to her feet and stretched her arms over her head. She thought about Rosita and those long acrylic nails, and she realized she was alone with Joey there in that back room there in the venue. She wondered if the Cherry Suicides had already left for the next stop or if they awaited them outside of the building there.
Joey groaned and grunted, and she turned for a look at him, and his arms extended before him. It looked as though he struggled to do a crunch, but his legs were still straight out before him.
"What's wrong? Need help?"
"Nah," he assured her; several locks of his black hair sprawled down his shoulders towards his chest as he finally managed to sit upright. The bag of chips landed right into his lap and then right in between his legs.
"That was lucky, wow," he pointed out.
"I'll say. Wanna just leave our stuff here and then we'll come back to it?"
"I don't see why not," he said with a shrug of his shoulders.
Sam offered to help him off of the bed, but he insisted that he had it under control and yet he still fell off of the side of the bed on the floor. She gasped at him, but he raised an arm over his head.
"I'm okay!" he insisted. He scrambled to his feet and he straightened out his shirt before he joined her there at the doorway. They stepped out to the backstage area, now silent and deserted. A few cables had been strewn about the floor to the left and Sam flashed back to when Stormtroopers of Death toured that summer. Every so often, she swore a pain in her leg came back up again, but that wound had long healed.
That riff that Alex had played the few hours before stayed with her. It swirled and picked up again, almost like that of a spiral, and one that drilled its way into her mind. It was a fine wire to walk upon with these two men, especially since they both had their moments, and their flaws and foibles. Alex had shown her a little nugget outside of the restaurant in Syracuse, and she wished to see more of it. She knew it was there, but the question lingered over her.
Joey ran his fingers through his black curls and gave them a slight toss back over his shoulder. Sam caught a whiff of sweat from under his arm and she hoped he would shower later that day, whenever they reached their next stop and checked into the hotel there; at least he didn't smell of a beer bottle or an ashtray, or something worse.
"Hate when my head sweats," he griped as he lifted his curls off of his back and shoulders, and revealed the back of his slender neck.
"Me, too—because your head itches every few seconds."
He chuckled at that and he led Sam towards the side door in front of them. The sun hadn't risen as of yet, but the deep violet of the night sky began to wane away with the new shade of milky white over the ocean behind them. The crisp sea breeze sent a chill down her spine: even after two years, there were times in which the feeling of living on the West Coast still hadn't shaken off of her yet. Joey lingered close to her as they began down the alleyway towards the street.
Providence was a good sized city, but nothing like New York or even Syracuse: the deserted street greeted them with a series of pale yellow street lamps and a storm drain coated in a morning dew. There had to be a music shop or an art shop near there: it was close to the artistic side of town after all.
"So what's your next stop?" she asked him as they began towards the corner.
"Boston. I think? Two dates in Boston. We'll have to hustle back to the venue before the sun rises so Marla can come and get us 'cause I'm the one with directions."
"Unless Danny's with her," Sam pointed out.
"Unless Danny's with her, of course. But still. I'm the one with the directions."
"She and I also walked here, too, so Danny might be with her for all we know. Also, not to change the subject, but did you happen to see a music shop or an art shop around here or anything like that?"
"Nah, I haven't. I also doubt we'll see anything like that on this walk here, either—it's still early after all."
She nodded at that, and then she thought about what Alex had said to her the night before. She didn't want to think of Joey as lazy, especially after he said that to her. But then she thought of his drumming. He still had yet to show her his drumming, either with Anthrax or one of the bands he played in.
"Joey, I have a question," she started again.
"I'm listenin'." And he ran his fingers through his black curls once more.
"How come I've never seen you play the drums?"
"Well, like I said—I haven't really had the chance to do it lately. I also just haven't had the motivation to do it yet, either. It's almost like a sudden thing with me."
"What do you mean?" she asked him with her eyebrows knitted together.
"I just kind of had to forfeit the drums for a bit in order to sing. Once I started singing more, the doors opened for me and I focused more on that." He then stopped for a second, and Sam stopped right next to him.
"Maybe that's why my father is a little terse with me," he said in a soft voice.
"Did your dad help you out with the drums?"
"He loaned me a bit of money for my kit, but I never got the chance to pay him back, though." His brown eyes gazed down at her and a thoughtful expression appeared on his face.
"And what if you do?" she asked him. "Would that help things with him?"
"It'd definitely help things out, for sure. But I don't really know, though, to be perfectly honest. Like I said earlier before we fell asleep, my parents are ultra conservative with a lot of things. Not really musical in any way, either."
He turned his head a bit and he gazed out to the street behind her.
"I have a question for you now," he started in an absent tone.
"Go ahead."
"Are your parents artistic at all?"
"Somewhat. They both took an art class when they were younger but that's where it starts and ends, though."
He brought his gaze back to her again.
"That's it," he breathed out.
"What's it?"
"That's why I feel so close to you. We both have conservative parents."
She shrugged. "I think that's one reason, anyways," she corrected him.
"I ought to introduce you to Ronnie James Dio at some point," he suggested. "The current singer for Black Sabbath and a good friend of mine. He would like you because he was kind of the same background as me. Of Italian descent and from upstate New York—Cortland, to be exact. Just due south of me."
"I like his name," Sam remarked.
"Like—oh, mios dio! Or something like that."
"Right!" she laughed.
"Well, the band I played in before I joined in Anthrax, Bible Black, consisted of guys from Rainbow and Elf, two bands Ronnie played in before Sabbath picked him up after Ozzy. I sang in Bible Black for a bit and then I went to Anthrax and they split."
"Aw—I was just gonna say, I'd love to see a Bible Black show with Joey Belladonna at the helm."
"It was back when I went strictly by Joey Bellardini, too, so be careful with that deadly nightshade bastardizing." That brought another laugh out of her, and then Joey led her to the street corner up ahead.
They reached the gutter and the pavement, and Sam spotted a tailor shop across the street. Even though the big front windows were both dark with the remnants of nightfall, the mannequins in the front window made her think of those wooden mannequins for poses in drawing. It was a tailor shop, too, as in "Marla Taylor." Joey glanced either way over the street, and then he looked down at her.
"Which you wanna go?" he asked her.
"Let's go down this way," she pointed down the sidewalk to his left. "It's towards the water."
He ran his fingers through his black curls once again and he scratched his head as the two of them walked side by side along the edge of the street. She kept her eye fixed on the tailor shop across the pavement, and she thought about all the possible poses she could do with them. There was that painting she made of him before, and then there was that old idea she had had upon the first day of school: a stained glass piece of Joey himself. She never realized that there was so much that she wanted to do for herself until that very glance into the shop windows.
"I need to draw you again," she confessed to him in a low voice, which took him aback.
"What medium this time around?" he asked her.
"What would you like?"
"Well, what do you charge?"
She stopped right in her tracks.
"What do you mean?" she asked him.
"What do you charge? I wanna pay you."
"What for?"
"'Cause you're a damn well and good artist, Sam. I feel like you should get paid to do this."
"Joey—"
"No, I mean it," he insisted. "I wanna charge you for a drawing of you. It's only fair to you. You're an art student, for god's sake."
"I'm aware of that, y'know," she teased him.
"But I'm serious, though. I don't wanna see a piece of art from you that's about me unless I can give you your money's worth."
And then she realized he was being completely serious.
"You know, I have the very first penny I made taped to my bedroom wall," he continued.
"Do you really?"
"Oh, yeah. I was proud of that penny so I put a piece'a clear tape over it to keep it right in its place. That's my penny and there ain't no one getting it. The other reason why I have it there is 'cause it was minted in 1960, the year I was born. I made a promise to myself that I would keep it up there 'til I was sixty."
"You really think you're going to keep that penny in its place until 2020?"
"I know for sure I will," he promised her. "Things you're personally proud of last forever." He flashed her a wink and then he kept on walking down the sidewalk towards the waters up ahead. Sam shook her head about and she rubbed her eyes. If only she had a little more time to think about things, but that time was all she had.
"You know that song that we—Anthrax—do called 'Medusa'?" he piped up again.
"Vaguely, yeah."
"Another band I played in was called Medusa, and there was another one called Megaforce, and before you ask, it was some time before the label came to be. Those two bands, I drummed in. In fact, I'll tell you what."
"What's that?"
"When we get back to upstate after this tour—whenever that'll be, I'll have to ask Danny if and when we see him later on—I'll show you some drum grooves. But under one condition."
"And what would that be?"
"You give me a price for a piece of art. Some time between now and the last date of the tour, whenever that is."
"I'll do it—" Sam extended her pinky finger, and he turned towards her with his pinky finger extended as well. Not just her friend anymore but her business partner and her first real customer as well. The thought of making a bit of money off of a piece of art made her heart flutter a bit.
Soon they reached the end of the street and they were met with the sight of a stretch of grass before them as well as a dark patch and a slight wall of white noise. The ocean hung right there before them under the milky pink sunrise.
"Red sun at night, sailor's delight," Joey declared. "Red sun at morning, sailors take warning. I think that's how it goes."
"I think you're right," Sam assured him. "Little soon for hurricanes, don't you think?"
"No way," he said. "Wait 'til you experience your first Nor'easter in the winter time. We get hurricanes just like how the South does, except ours are freezing and a lot more merciless."
The two of them stopped at the corner once more and they glanced both ways about the deserted street. Joey then put his arm around her, even though she lingered a bit away from his otherwise sweaty body. She was a little sweaty herself but not as intense as him.
They reached the patch of grass on the other side of the street, and Sam could smell the salt and the seaweed even from there. Joey took a step forward and he peeled off his shirt: his brown skin had a bit of a sheen to it, which the milky light from the sunrise only added to. Sam stood still as he slung his shirt over his shoulder and rubbed his hands together.
"I ought to run like hell right now and really show you what I'm made of," he suggested.
"You sure you want to do that?" She raised an eyebrow and tucked her thumbs into her shorts pockets. He had just woken up from a night full of drinking and thus she was wary of his knees as they quivered a bit in the morning breeze. Add to this, he had barely eaten anything except for a couple of potato chips before he fell asleep there in the dressing room.
"Positive," he told her. "You even said it yourself—you want to protect me from the bad things in life, so I better help out."
He tossed the shirt off to the side, right next to her feet, and he darted towards the other side of the grass. It was just like how things were at the hockey rink, except he had broken into a full rain over the dewy grass towards a line of low trees there on the far side. His black curls sailed behind his head and he kept his body low to the ground. In the dim light, she saw him reach the trees, and then he pirouetted before one and he sprinted right back to her.
He skidded to a stop right in front of her: his chest heaved from the feeling of adrenaline throughout his little body, but he showed her a grin in response.
"Wish I had a stop watch," she said.
"Hang on—here—" He stuck his fingers underneath the band of his watch and he slid it off of his wrist. He handed it to her right as his breathing calmed down.
She held the watch closer to her face so she could better read the second hand. Joey crouched down to the grass next to her with his hands pressed down: he held one knee closer to his chest.
"Hang on a second," he spoke out of the blue.
"What?"
"Sump'n's missin'." He stood up and he gazed on at her.
"What?"
"Seeing as it's just us here..."
She shook her head at the sight of the twinkle in his brown eyes. "No, Joey. Not outside."
"What? I just want you to take your shirt off."
"Why do you want me to take my shirt off?"
"First off, you got to see me without my shirt on—shit, you saw me naked. Twice! So I wanna see you now. Plus it'd make things more sporty here. You bein' down to your bra and whatnot. Yeah, you're not wearin' a sports bra, but we gotta make do with what we've got."
"But you want me to be comfortable, though," she recalled with a wag of her finger.
"Of course. But don't you wanna get out of that shirt, though? Remember the Stormtroopers of Death tour? Remember how miserable you were?"
"How could I forget? And yeah, I am a little hot."
"I want you comfortable, but I also realize how you feel about yourself, too—why I pointed out that it's just us right now."
Sam sighed through her nose, and then with one hand, she peeled off her top and showed off her bare skin and her beige brassiere to him. Joey nodded his head at her as she slung her top over her shoulder. She held the watch closer up to her face once again and she raised a finger. He crouched down onto the grass once again.
"Alright, Joey, you ready?" she announced to him.
"Ready when you are."
"Go!"
He darted towards the trees again: even in the darkness, and with every occasional glance up from the watch's ivory white face, she could make sight of his legs pumping hard. He was indeed a fast runner: all those years of playing hockey and sporadic drumming gave him strong astute legs, even if they were rather thin and sleek in build. His black curls were the only things that made him resemble to a ghost as he ran along the grass. He flashed her a devilish grin as he pirouetted once more in front of her and sprinted back towards the trees.
By the fourth lap, his breathing quickened up and his chest heaved more, but he persisted. He ran four more laps before he finally staggered to a halt right in front of her.
"Okay—" he stammered as he almost lost his balance right next to her. "Okay, that's—that's enough—time?"
"Four and a half minutes exactly!" she proclaimed.
"Shit, that's a record for me!" he panted: his voice broke to where he coughed. He patted his chest and then he rested his hands on his knees. His black curls dangled all about his head, and his chest and his back heaved from the intense amount of running.
"You okay?" she asked him as she stooped down next to him.
"Yeah—it's just—" he choked out in between breaths. "—it's just—like I said—that's a record. The last time I ran like hell like that—it was almost—five minutes."
"Wow! And how long ago was that?"
He stopped, and then he swallowed.
"'Bout five years ago, I think?" he sputtered.
She gaped at him. And he lifted himself upright and let out a loud groan. He then set his hands upon the crown of his head. In the first rays of rosy light from the sunrise, she noticed the slight sheen of sweat about his forehead, his neck, and his shoulders. He barely broke a sweat!
"I have an idea now," he said, still out of breath.
"What's that?" She handed the watch back to him.
"If I ever do get to play drums again, I want to do it for as long as I can. And I mean for as long as I possibly can. I mean like a few hours rather than for thirty minutes like what Anthrax and Testament do. So to play like the length of an orchestra basically."
"I imagine that being kind of tough, to be honest," she confessed.
"Doesn't have to be," he pointed out as he slung the watch onto his fingers but he never put it back onto his wrist. He continued to huff and puff from the sprints. She thought about Alex right then: maybe Joey was lazy with the whole music business, but the Joey she just saw there was anything but lazy. She wanted him to see that Joey for himself.
"Wanna head on back up there?" he offered her as he picked up his shirt from the grass: the dew had left some wet spots on it and thus he slung it over his shoulder.
"Sure."
"It's still early, so I'd keep that top off if I were you."
"I dunno, Joey."
"What? You're a doll and a half, Sam I am. Look at you! All curvy and womanly. I like it, you know."
He patted her on the shoulder and then he walked on to the street.
"You ever work out real hard like that," he started again, "and you get this weird, almost hollow feeling in your chest?"
"Not in a long time, but yeah, like something kicked up in your lungs a bit?" she followed along.
"Yeah—got that feelin' right now." He cleared his throat once they reached the dark pavement. The street lamps began to switch off for the new round of daylight, which meant they in fact needed to hustle along back to the venue to meet up with Marla once again.
"So where's your hotel?" he asked her at one point, and she caught up with him so they walked side by side back up to the corner. She stopped right there so he could see where she pointed up to.
"It's actually right up the block here. Given it's just us, if we see them, we'll know it's them—"
Indeed, once the words left her lips, a small beige car up the block turned out from the hotel driveway. Joey raised his hand and waved at the car, which flashed its lights at them.
"Yeah, that's totally them," he remarked. "Suddenly I'm hungry."
"I am, too. Boston you said?"
"Two dates in Boston, yes!"
The car behind them turned the corner and rolled up to the curb ahead. They walked on a bit more until she recognized that alleyway: she also recognized Marla's head of shiny hair in the passenger seat, still iridescent after a few months. She rolled down the window for a good morning.
"There they are!" she declared.
"Didn't know Rocky Horror was playing this early in the year," Dan called from the driver's seat next to her, and the three of them burst out laughing at that.
"Sam would be in fishnets and Joey would be wearing lace, though," Marla pointed out. She then returned to them.
"Just did a bit of early morning running," Sam gestured to Joey.
"That'll wake you up," Marla declared with a raise of her eyebrows. "You guys wanna grab a cup of coffee, though? What's the next stop again, Boston?"
"Two dates in Boston," Joey corrected her.
"Yeah, two days," Dan chimed in. "It's gonna be just a little bit of a trip, but it's gonna be something, though, so you guys better hold onto your butts."
"Well, at least let Joey and me grab our snacks from last night, though," said Sam.
"Of course," Marla encouraged her. "I have to catch the next bus ride back to the Big Apple in a few minutes, though, so make it quick."
"You're not coming with us, Marla?" Sam inquiringly asked.
"I'll be at the New York City show with Bel and Aurora, but you know—I have to find a place, though. And Bel isn't home, either, and Genie gets lonely, too. Anyways—chop chop."
Sam and Joey retreated back down the alleyway for their things, and then they headed back to the car that awaited them at the curb. The two of them took to the back seat: it was only for a couple of blocks to the bus stop, but Sam and Marla still embraced each other once they got out together.
"I'll call you when we get there," Sam vowed with her chin upon her shoulder.
"I'll be waiting for you, too," Marla whispered to her.
To think it wasn't that long ago in which Sam actually didn't like Marla. She hoped that Joey would have the same change of heart towards Alex at some point, and vice versa.