Live Wire--The Dirt

09. An Occasional Vice

Adrenaline coursed through Nikki's veins as he and Mick strummed the final chords of their set and gazed out into the audience. As the crowd roared their applause for the four misfits on stage, Wren turned to the man beside her with a slightly arrogant smirk resting on her face.

"They're good," he stated. The salt and pepper of the man's hair was different from how Wren remembered her grandfather's brother from years ago, but his eyes were just as piercing and weary as she could recall. "Your mother would hate that you're here. You know that, right?" Wren folded her arms over her chest and held her breath at the mere mention of her parents.

"They hate a lot of the things I like and much of what I've done, but I'm not here to talk about my mother, Uncle Elmer. Grandpa taught me everything I know about the industry, and the one thing he said more than anything else was—"

"Talent is important, but knowing someone important will allow the world to experience that talent," the tall, rather puffy faced man said as he recalled the nugget of wisdom his brother frequently spouted to anyone who was listening, but most frequently to young Wren in particular.

"You don't have to vouch for them if you don't think they have what it takes to make it. I can find dive bars, sleazy clubs, anything it takes to get them the face time with audiences they need before booking the bigger venues, but you're someone important, and me knowing you could allow the world to see all that these guys have to offer." Wren didn't smile or smirk; her face was firm and confident in her assessment of Mötley Crüe, and she only hoped her great-uncle would see what she saw in them. Again, the man's eyes surveyed the crowd as they jumped up and down, fists thrown in the air as they chanted the band's name in hopes they'd perform one last song before stepping off stage.

"They're certainly something you don't see every day," he commented as he trailed over each of the men standing on stage. "And they've brought in a lot more business to my club over the past three nights." With a sigh, Elmer Valentine shoved his hands into his pockets and pulled out a pen. "Call this number and I'll make sure your band gets a back-to-back, two-night performance at The Roxy," he said as he scribbled down a telephone number under the words 'Roxy Theatre'. "I'll also put a few calls in to some colleagues and friends about having them perform at other venues."

"Other venues?" Wren asked as she took the napkin her great-uncle had written on and slid it into her back pocket.

"The Troubadour, The Starwood, maybe even Gazzarri's and the Santa Monica Civic Center," he said nonchalantly with a smirk on his face as he watched Wren's face beam with excitement.

"You're the best, Uncle Elmer," Wren said with a wide smile as she peered up at the first person in her family, aside from her grandfather, to believe in her. "Thank you so much!"

"Don't mention it, kiddo," he said before reaching out to envelope Wren in a quick hug. "Just keep us being relatives under wraps. Connections are one thing, but nepotism is another." With a quick nod of understanding between the pair, Wren shook her great-uncle's hand one more time before she began to push her way through the audience and towards the green room as she heard Vince call into the microphone, "Once again, we are Mötley Crüe. Don't forget you can buy t-shirts and shit at the bar! Good night Los Angeles!"

Backstage, a few employees of The Whisky began to pack up Tommy's drums and carry the instruments and amplifiers to the beat-up van the band had been using to transport their belongings between the house and shows. The guys were hurrying to scrub the makeup they had on their faces off with wet washcloths, and buzzed from the electricity in their bones from the performance they just gave. Wren couldn't help the smile that came over her face as she held onto the news she'd received and watched the band remove their stardom to become normal people again.