deadly nightshade | fever in, fever out

chapter 76: a lick and a promise

"So Scott's leaving," Marla started, out of breath.
The two weeks following the gig in San Antonio and the announcement was in fact official at that point, such that it left everyone in disbelief as to what would happen next. Sam and Marla had taken their seats on the small but trim porch outside of their brand new apartment together right as the summer rain began to fall around them: Belinda had gone down the block for some drinks and a third chair for herself. It had been a two day affair moving Sam down to Hell's Kitchen and out of the Bronx, but they finally managed to have her settle into the cute little place with a view of the harbor.
Sam herself nodded her head and fanned the side of her face with a road map Belinda had lent her. Even though she had tied up her hair and wore a sleeveless top, she still found herself hot and sweaty from it all.
"Yup, he said it just yesterday," she replied, "they got home from Finland real late last night, and the word from the label is that he's going back home to Queens today. No idea what happens after that."
"They get a new guitarist, I assume," Marla followed along.
"Haven't heard anything official yet but there are some rumors going around right now. Add to this, Aurora is knee deep in her own affairs so I can't talk to her right now but I would hope so..." Her voice trailed off. "By the way, have you heard anything from Metallica's neck of the woods? Like how Jason's been doing lately?"
"I haven't, no," Marla confessed. "I think their tour actually wrapped up."
"When?" Sam was stunned.
"It was a while back, I know that much. Wouldn't it be something if Kirk filled in for Scott, though?"
"Who would fill in for Kirk?"
"Lars? I heard they were planning on ridding of him after this tour."
"Yeah, I heard that, too. Does Lars even play guitar, though?"
"No clue. I know James plays drums."
"He does?" Sam laughed.
"Yeah, that's according to Charlie! James can drum, Jason can play guitar, and Lars can sing."
"Who would play bass?" Sam asked her.
"Didn't Greg audition for them after Cliff was killed?"
"Yeah, he did. I can't imagine him being with them, though."
"Why's that?"
"I kinda like Greg. I can't imagine Testament without him, to be completely honest with you, Marla. Greggy, as Zelda calls him."
"Or—ooh, I know!" Marla snapped her fingers.
"What?"
"Scott and Minerva can swap places!"
"Hey, that's a great idea! But that means she would have to leave it behind, though. The Cherry Suicides are on fire at the moment."
"Oh, right, right..." Marla sighed through her nose. "Why doesn't Anthrax just carry on as a quartet?"
"No idea. It sets them apart, I guess—" Sam then stopped in her tracks, and she thought about Joey's sentiments on learning guitar himself. An old wound about to be taken to a new level. She turned to Marla.
"Is the phone hooked up?"
"Yeah, it was one of the first things I did the very second I brought my stuff here, along with make our beds and get Genie situated. Why?"
Sam nibbled on her bottom lip.
"I have an idea."
She ducked into the new apartment, through the small but cozy living room and Genie, who had taken her place atop the little plush couch against the wall close to the front door, and into the kitchen. The phone hung upon the wall over the sink: she took the receiver and dialed Joey's number.
It rang once. Twice.
"C'mon, Joey, pick up—pick up, pick up—"
"Hey, this is Joe Belladonna, I'm either out drummin' or singin', or playing hockey, so leave me a message and I'll get back to ya—"
"Damn it," she muttered. There was a beep.
"Hey, Joey, it's Sam. Give me a call back if and when you can—it's kind of important. I'm living at Marla's new place in Hell's Kitchen."
Without another word, she hung up and returned to the porch with Marla, who looked up at her with a puzzled expression on her face.
"You think Joey might be onboard with it?" she asked her.
"We'll see," Sam answered; she thought back to that night in Syracuse, in which Alex had inadvertently opened that old wound for him. Down below the porch, she recognized Belinda's head of golden blonde hair against the light drops of rain around them.
"Looks like she's got some good stuff for us," Marla saw her as well, and right then she leaned forward so as to better watch her. They hung there for a moment as she crossed the street and rang the buzzer.
"I'll get it," Sam offered, and she doubled back inside to unlock the door downstairs and she left the front door open by about an inch. Genie slunk over to her and rubbed against her ankles, complete with a soft little purr; Sam stooped down and pet the top of her head, and she squinted her golden eyes at the feeling. She thought about Joey and his wishes to learn the guitar: she knew it would be a golden chance for him, and for Anthrax to take things to the next level. Genie's little black tail formed a little hook at the end and she stopped right underneath her knees, and she gazed up at Sam with those squinted eyes. She gave her a soft little meow and she pet her head again.
Belinda pushed open the front door with her hip and she showed Sam a grin, and she handed her the white cup in her right hand.
"Nice fresh limeade from the shop down the street," Belinda said.
"Yummy."
"Also, I just ran into Frankie down the block and he told me to tell you that they're doing auditions later today," Belinda told her, "and I mean later today. Like within a couple of hours."
"Which means we can walk on down to the rest of Manhattan and poke our heads in there if we so damn well please," Sam followed along.
"If we wish, maybe. Although—it's hard to say 'cause we're not part of the band." Belinda stopped right in her tracks. "Why, what's up?"
"She wants Joey to take Scott's place," Marla joked from the porch.
"Why Joey exactly?"
"He's told me about wanting to play guitar at some point." And she left it at that, lest she dig up something more by mentioning the whole thing between Joey and Alex.
Genie slunk over to Belinda and rubbed on her ankles as well; Belinda bent down to her and stroked her head and her back, and that little black tail shot straight up, complete with a slight hook near the end.
"So a couple of hours, you said?" Sam asked her as she took a sip of the limeade.
"Yeah. We can hustle on down there if we'd like. The rain's not so bad right now so we can boogie on down there right now if we'd like."
"Hey, Marla, you wanna come along?" Sam called back out to the porch.
"Nah, it's been a long couple of days. I'll just chill out here and get myself settled in."
"I'll come with ya, though," Belinda offered as she set her limeade down on the box next to the door and scooped up Genie, whose purr grew louder at the feeling.
"So sweet," Sam declared as she pet her head again and she pinched her eyes shut. Belinda then set Genie down on the couch and she picked up her limeade once again.
"It's a little further than you think, though," Belinda pointed out. "So we can take the bus—and we've gotta get moving, too, 'cause I saw it on the way back here."
"We're students, remember?" Belinda said to her as she took her card out from her jeans pocket.
"We are!" Sam turned to her purse, which she had hung up on the wall next to the door, and she took her student card out of her wallet. She spotted the Polaroid of Joey on the inside there, and she was quick to close the top so Marla wouldn't happen to look over and see it. The two of them bowed back out to the hallway and then back to the staircase. The rain had dissipated a little bit by the time they reached the sidewalk outside, and they strolled towards the stoplight up ahead of them.
"So where is it?" Sam asked her as she tilted her head back a bit to better take on the cool breeze around them.
"Right up here."
Belinda hurried forth and Sam followed. Indeed, the latter spotted a sign on the curb in front of them with a bus inscribed on the front. She peered over her shoulder and the bus lumbered up to the curb behind them.
They reached the sign in time; Belinda climbed aboard first, and then Sam followed suit, and they congregated to the rung behind the driver once they showed off their cards.
"You girls are gonna drink down those things, Miss Grimes?" the driver asked them.
"We're not going far anyways, Jim—just a few blocks down towards Sixth Avenue," Belinda assured him as she sipped on the limeade with a bit of haste so he couldn't ask her anything more. Sam turned to her and showed her a little smirk.
"You're good," she remarked in a low voice.
"That's what I get for growing up down this way," Belinda said with a shrug of her shoulders. They lurched forward to the light once it turned green and they lumbered forth; she turned to Sam again. "We're gonna be about two blocks away from Radio City Music Hall."
Sam gaped at her.
"Wow, I had no idea they lived that close to that."
"That, and Times Square, too. But I guess the room they're gonna be literally right there by Radio City. I can imagine life in L.A. being like that, too."
"Kinda. You need a car to get around anywhere in L.A., though. It's not like you can just hop on the subway and go somewhere willy-nilly. Lake Elsinore is also a ways away from somewhere notable like Hollywood or Fontana."
Within time, they reached Sixth Avenue, about two blocks from Radio City Music Hall; Sam pictured Anthrax playing there at some point in the future. The concrete building before them stood behind the curb in nondescript fashion, and Sam recognized Charlie's head of curls right outside of the door.
The bus pulled up to the curb right down the sidewalk from him, and the driver pulled on the parking lever for them. Sam stepped first and she was greeted by the little grin on Charlie's face and the new round of rain over their heads.
"Hey, girlies," he proclaimed over the noise on the street.
"So auditions in an hour or so?" Sam asked him.
"Oh, yeah—got a few guys here already if you girls wanna see what's about to go down here—"
He held the door for them and Sam stepped inside of the small white walled front room first; beyond that was a carpeted space with a pair of large rugs suspended from the ceiling. They had been arranged into a semicircle over one spot on the floor: and right on the spot stood a low dark stool and a couple of amplifiers. One guy stood close to the rugs, and Sam recognized his long disheveled black curls down past his shoulders. The black hair dye had all but vanished, and so his little silvery plume stood high over his brow, despite it being a little bit on the thin side: but it seemed larger that time around, more of a plume rather than a small sliver the size of a silver dollar. His deep eyes stared back at her and his facial expression hardened.
"Oh, hi," she greeted him in a soft voice; Alex flashed her a cold look and then he bowed away into the next room. She sighed through her nose: Zelda's words echoed through her mind right then. If only there was a way she could in fact talk to him about all that had happened between them. Here, she was bestowed a chance, and yet she had no idea if she could at that point.
"What's he even doing here?" Belinda asked her in a low voice.
"No idea. Hope he's not leaving Testament, though."
"Yeah, talk about being on fire. Have you listened to their new album yet?"
"Nah, I probably should."
"Okay, so we have Dave Mustaine coming—" Charlie was saying right behind them. "—he should literally be here like any minute now. Gus Pepa from Death Angel, Alex Skolnick from Testament, Minerva and Rosita both from the Cherry Suicides—and—then that's it. Alex is here, Gus is down the hall right now, and like I said, Dave should be coming like any second now. I think the girls'll be here any second, too."
The front door opened right then and the three of them turned to find out who had just walked in: Sam recognized Dan's crown of hair upon his head, followed by Frank's lush dark hair, and then—
"Joey," she muttered to herself, and she hoped that he wouldn't go off the handle at the sight of Alex being there at the moment. Zelda's words continued to run throughout her mind. Alex had gone off into the next room.
She had to do something right then and there should Alex be a part of Anthrax. She bowed into the next room after him; he stood there before his little black amplifier on the floor with a little red guitar before his little body. He raised his head and he showed her another cold look.
"What're you doing in here?" he demanded, and she moved closer to him.
"I wanna talk to you about something," she started without a moment's hesitation.
"Are you going to give me another halfhearted apology?" he demanded, cold. He looked down at the amp again complete with a scowl on his face.
"No. You deserve better."
He stopped, and then he raised his head and frowned at that.
"What do you mean?" he asked her. Sam sighed through her nose.
"I just—want to get to know you better," she explained, "and I feel like I was way too over the top towards you each time we got together. Like, I want you to know that—" She paused for a moment in search of the right words. "—that I don't mean to upset you or do anything like that. It's just... I'm part of the fan club, and I've seen you guys—I even got to poke my head in on the recording process, too! And you gave Cliff that piece of paper." Alex lowered his gaze to the floor and he stayed still, with his fingers across the fretboard.
"You're still mad at me," she muttered, to which she shook her head. She gave it a shot courtesy of Zelda, but it all came from her in the meantime.
Sam turned away from when he touched her arm: even with the calluses on his fingers, he had a soft touch.
"No," he said in a low voice.
"No?" she stammered. "No what?"
"No, that—that's very kind of you." He showed her a thoughtful look. "Really, that's—nice of you." He glanced past her to find if there was anyone else behind them. Belinda laughed at something Charlie said; another woman's voice floated in right then, but Sam couldn't tell if it was Rosita or Minerva. They had a few minutes for all she knew.
She returned to Alex, who had crouched down to his amp on the floor.
"I feel like—I'm kind of alone here," she confessed to him.
"Why is that?" he asked her as he kept his eye on the dials.
"'Cause—I'm a California girl. I moved cross country a couple of years ago and even though I feel like I'm still an outsider here. So—if I seem a bit too much up to this point, it should be from that."
He stood back up and about a foot from her. He gave his long hair a little toss back with a flick of his head, so it all rested about his head like a full mane from his crown. He was silent as he plucked at the strings a bit, such that hardly any sound came out.
"I mean, if there's anyone who's to blame here, it's me," he told her still with his eyes fixed on the amplifier. "I can be cold and hard, and... if I'm honest, I don't really want to come off unbearable. Kind of like how... you feel."
He turned his attention to her, and then he looked past her again.
"Looks like Dave's here," he declared. Sam turned her head and she spotted that head of reddish orange curls in the next room.
"Looks like he might be going on first," she told him as she returned to him.
"You know, I was a complete outsider growing up," he started.
"You?" She was stunned.
"Oh yeah." He set his left hand over his fretboard and then ran his fingers through his hair: the plume had a little bit of a shine to it. "The grays here are just tip of the iceberg. I think I told you this at Kirk and Rebecca's wedding, but my parents are collegiate professors. And add to this, they're way older than my friends' parents."
"Oh, yeah, I remember you talking about that one time," she recalled with a wag of her finger.
"Well, add to that, they both graduated from Ivy League schools and they're teachers, too. My mother is a professor at Yale and my father is an adjunct professor at UC Berkeley. I mean, that in and of itself is isolating on its own..." His voice trailed off a bit, and then he cleared his throat. "Now take that and combine it with their being close to forty when they have me and my big brother. Also combine that with the fact they're both non traditional Jews, who've moved out to the San Francisco Bay Area. Not completely out of place, but still very strange, especially for me. All of my friends back home are born to hippies, you know, those 'flower children' of the Late Sixties—all the Grateful Dead and music of the Sixties you can possibly imagine. And then you get to my parents and like Sinatra and Dean Martin."
"Wow." She raised her eyebrows at that. "So—you pretty much grew up on a totally intellectual scale."
"Yeah, I really did." He shrugged at that. "I actually had a few people think I'm gay when I was in school, believe it or not."
Sam chuckled. "Why? 'Cause you're smart?"
"Yeah! I'm more interested in expanding my horizons and my mind than my genitals. They were like 'yeah, that Skolnick kid, think he's a little gay boy' and I'm like, 'what, 'cause I like to read?'"
She giggled at that.
"How long have you been playing guitar?" she asked him.
"How long? 'Bout ten years at this point. I started when I was just shy of nine years old—properly taught, too. My teacher was like a children's folk musician. And I'm sure you know by now of my actual teacher, Joe Satriani."
"Yeah, he taught Kirk."
"And how. Him, me, and also another guy named Steve Vai—I dunno if you've heard of him or not, but he's just fantastic. I was one of the youngest ones in that class, too, like fourteen. Kirk was almost twenty at that point and Steve was twenty two. I was just this teenage kid who had just entered high school taking lessons from this mysterious, like godfather type character in the back room of this music store in Berkeley, where I'm from originally."
"How'd your parents take all of it?"
"They did it kinda—I want to say reluctantly. Like they weren't, and still aren't, a little too keen about it."
Sam tilted her head a bit at that. "So—they're not musical?"
He shook his head.
"Nah. They're collegiate professors who teach—social sciences. Not so much music."
"Well, what about your brother?"
"He kinda is musical, like I got my first taste of bass guitar because of him. But he's not so much dedicated to it like I am."
"So—you're bit of a lone wolf. Like the oddball."
"Pretty much, yeah. Especially at this point in my life. I just want to make music and add something to the world, but—" He shrugged his shoulders. "—I'm pretty isolated with it all. You got your friends and the people who follow you when on tour, but I go home knowing my parents aren't sure of it all. I mean, don't me get wrong—they are supportive of it, but they're just—"
"Reluctant," she filled in.
"Reluctant. Very much so."
She pressed her hands to her hips at that: Dave's laughter in the next room caught her ear, but she was more fixed on this boy before her.
"I was wrong about you, Alex," she confessed.
He shrugged again. "I'm just kind of a tough nut to crack us all," he said. "Why do you think my parents called me 'meshuggah' when I was first starting out? They're like 'my kid's meshuggah!'"
"And Lars is right about one other thing," she added.
"What's that?"
"It sounds like a good band name."
"Meshuggah?"
"Yeah."
"I agree." He showed her a friendly little smile. "I was wrong about you, too, Samantha. Although—if I'm being perfectly honest, I'm still a little unsure of you. Just—out of caution and thinking about everything you've said to me so far. It's just—how I am and how I was raised, too. But this was a nice little insight to you, though."
Charlie poked his head into the room right then.
"Oh, there you guys are," he proclaimed. "Joey's got a little treat for us."
"For what?" Alex asked him, baffled. Charlie never answered, but he did gesture for the two of them to follow him back out to the main room. Joey walked up to Dave, who took his white flying V guitar off of his shoulder and handed it right to him.
"There's no way I can leave behind Megadeth, to be perfectly honest," he confessed with a shrug, "but there's something about this boy here."
Sam turned back to Alex, who gaped at her.
"So he pushes me onto grass but he gets honors from Dave, what the hell?" he muttered, to which she shook her head.
"Yeah, I don't get that, either," she confessed.
"I'm gonna try it out here," Joey declared as he slung the guitar over his shoulder and he took the little royal blue pick out from in between the strings. His arched his back a little bit and lowered the guitar down towards his waist. He set his fingers on the strings; Sam looked over at Alex and the curious expression on his face. He slid his fingers up the fretboard a little bit and he strummed at the same time. He went faster and faster and it took her a moment to realize that he was playing that song "I Am the Law."
"Wow," Frank remarked; Joey nodded as he played along, and his long curled black hair sprawled down his chest.
"Could you play 'A Skeleton in the Closet'?" Dan asked him.
Joey moved his hand up towards the head and he strummed faster that time around. He moved up all the while with those bars.
"My god, he's fantastic," Dan declared.
"It's what I get for watching him when I first auditioned," Joey told him over the noise of the guitar.
"Think we found our new guitarist!" Frank said. "Right on, Joey."
"I will also say this, though," Charlie began, "Scott left behind a couple of lyrics for us. One for a song called 'Who Cares Wins' and another called 'Now It's Dark.' I might have to save these for later because we're still focused on Among the Living."