Chapter Nine

Jesse

I always enjoyed coming to Dallas.

The venues were always electric, the crowds always ready to have a good time, the food spectacular, and the beer always flowing. Dallas seemed like a city caught between the cowboy Wild-West image it had sported for a hundred years and a burgeoning artsy metropolis like Denver or Atlanta. Yet, it didn’t feel disjointed, as the two worlds streamed seamlessly into each other, offering cowboy boots and ten-gallon hats chumming along with purple-haired punks and Gucci-wearing preppy kids.

All of them seemed interested in my band, which meant the crowd was huge.

The venue was bigger than my usual ones as a headliner, though I’d played bigger spots as an opener before. It was kind of a test in a way. I knew a few of the record companies were watching our drawing power when it came to mid-to-large venues, and this place was in that category. With us on top, it really weighed on us to bring in the crowd, and it seemed like that hadn’t been a problem.

From behind the curtain, I could see the merch tables along one wall of the outdoor concert hall. We’d brought more merch for this specific show than we had for entire tours before, and it looked like we might not have enough. T-shirts were flying off the tables, and we hadn’t even played a note. These people knew us already. And they were excited.

The last time we were here, we’d opened for a national act on this very stage. It had felt like the place couldn’t possibly get any fuller that night, and we’d rocked the house. Tonight, it seemed like it was every bit as big of a crowd, and the idea that they were there specifically to see us was thrilling in a way not much else in my life ever had been.

This was what making it felt like.

I glanced up, over the bleacher area in the back of the arena and out over the man-made lake behind them. Just a few streets away, the Dallas Bethel Hotel stood in the distance, stuck between two high-rise buildings and across from a restaurant. I’d looked it up online and saw that it was the highest rated hotel in the city, and was booked full almost constantly, meaning Flynn wasn’t going to be able to work his magic and get any of us in.

I wondered if she was there right now. If she was up in one of the top floors, she would be able to see right into the venue. She could watch me from there. Part of me wanted that to be true. I wanted to play for her, to sing the song I wrote for her ten years ago before singing the one I wrote for her a year and a half ago. I wanted her to see me in my element.

Behind me, I could hear a now familiar argument breaking out between Kevin and our bassist Dave. Dave liked to get drunk before a show and thought we didn’t know it. It had led to a few shows where we didn’t sound our best because he was either blowing notes or outright not playing because he was busy holding himself upright or pounding another beer.

Kevin, meanwhile, had quit drinking entirely last year. He wasn’t judgy about it, but he and his young wife were both vegans and teetotalers now. It meant he didn’t have as much patience for drunken antics as he’d had when we first formed The Hitmen . I didn’t mind. I liked being mostly sober when I performed. I could get drunk afterwards if I wanted, and often did. The party life usually demanded it.

“I’m a damned adult, Kevin,” Dave spat. “You can’t tell me not to have a beer!”

“It’s not the beer that’s the problem, Dave,” Kevin said, shaking his head. “It’s the empty bottle of Jack you have in your guitar bag.”

“What bottle?” he said, taking a step back, closer to his bag as if he could hide it with his body.

“We all saw it, Dave,” Zach, our drummer, said. “You’re not good at hiding it. Just admit it.”

“So what?” he thundered back. “Are we or are we not a rock and roll band? What would Lemmy say?”

“Lemmy would kick your ass from beyond the grave for even invoking his name,” I said. “Let’s not get the gods involved, shall we?”

“You can’t be on their side,” Dave said exasperatedly. “Come on, man, not you too.”

“Look,” I said. “If you want to be a drunk, that’s your deal. I get it. It’s rock and roll. But if you want to be in this band, we are going to need you more sober than you’ve been while you are on stage. Get it?”

“I’m not drunk,” he said, though his voice belied a measure of uncertainty.

“Yeah, you kinda are,” Kevin said. “Thank God we have two opening bands. Zach, will you get some coffee in him?”

“Sure,” Zach said, standing and crossing over to Dave. The two of them had known each other for a long time before joining our band. Dave didn’t resist when Zach touched his shoulder and took him away from the backstage area.

“I swear,” Kevin said as they left, “we should just do this the two of us and hire touring guys for each leg.”

“It’s not the worst idea,” I said. “I like Zach, though. And Kirk, wherever he is.”

“He’s in the bathroom. Doing his psych-up routine.”

“Ahh, right,” I said. “He’s weird, but I like him.”

“Me too,” Kevin said. “It ain’t like when we were kids, man. This might be… no, this IS our last shot. Mine anyway.”

“You think so?” I asked.

He nodded.

“I love you, dude. And you know how much I want this to work. But I’m tired of the bullshit. I just want to play music, make a lot of money, and take my wife on exotic vacations.”

“Soon,” I said. “Let’s start with getting through tonight. I have a good feeling about this show.”

Two hours later, we were taking our place on stage to the roar of the darkened crowd. When the lights went on, the swell of their screams and the driving riff of Kevin’s guitar made me feel every bit the rock star I’d always wanted to be. Growling out the vocals, my eyes fell on the crowd, and I found myself going from face to face, searching.

I knew she wouldn’t be there, but I was going to look anyway. I’d probably never stop looking.

As the set went on, I let myself get lost in the performance. I gave everything I had, and when it was time to close it up, I slowly felt my consciousness returning from the place it had gone while I performed. It wasn’t exactly like an out-of-body experience. It was more like I let the music, the character I created in order to perform it, put the majority of me in a locked room in my mind. I could see everything, I could hear everything, but the performer version of me was in control. I was just a witness.

But as the last few notes tumbled out, I found myself coming back again and making a decision immediately. I couldn’t be here and not know. I had to go to the hotel and see if she was there. I had to find out if she was available, and if I still had a chance to shoot my shot. Or if I should just give it up and focus on being the party animal I’d become known as. The one who could easily take multiple girls in this front row back to my hotel room, party for a while, and end up drunk and naked in a pile of flesh and hair.

As soon as the set wrapped, I ran off stage, heading for the band exit and out to the parking lot. I kind of felt like Elvis, escaping his adoring public, of which I was sure there would be some, and they would be disappointed I didn’t stick around for photos and autographs. But I just had to know. I had to know for sure she wasn’t there.

I hopped in the car and took off, heading down the busy Dallas street until I got to the Bethel Hotel, parking haphazardly in the guest parking. I was still covered in sweat and a little bit of spilled beer when I walked through the automatic double doors and the AC blasted me, just like it had in Tulsa that first time. I felt a chill roll over my body and tried to walk it off as I went inside to the gawking glares of what turned out to be a slightly more upscale clientele than in Tulsa.

The check-in area was full of people, so I stalked around it, looking for Charlotte. If she was here, she would likely be out there helping people. But I didn’t see her. Instead, I saw a security guard and an employee with a name badge eyeing me suspiciously. Deciding not to wait for them to make a move, I walked directly up to them.

“Hi, my name is Jesse James Galloway,” I said. “I just performed down the road at the Double Cross Ranch Amphitheater.”

“Oh, of course, of course,” the employee said, and the security guard relaxed a little. “What can I do for you? Do you have a reservation? I’m afraid we are all booked up tonight.”

“No, it’s not that. I don’t need a room. I’m here to see if April is in. April Garafalo?”

“Ms. Garafalo is not in, no,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m afraid you just missed her. I believe she and Mr. Bethel are flying to Paris tonight, if I heard him correctly.”

“Ahh,” I said, trying not to let on that my heart felt like it was being crushed into dust. “I see. Mr. Bethel, that’s the owner, right?”

“Not that Mr. Bethel,” he said. “Graham Bethel, our COO. I know it’s technically not allowed, but I think everyone knows they are a couple. But shh. I didn’t say anything.”

“Right, yeah, of course,” I said. “No problem.”

“Should I leave a message for when she returns?”

“Nope,” I said. “No message. Thank you.”

Turning on my heel, I headed out of the hotel and back to my car. I drove back to the venue and got out, heading back to the stage where the band was still breaking down. I’d been gone all of twenty minutes.

“Where the hell did you go?” Kevin asked when he saw me. “They wanted an encore. We have people lining up to get pictures!”

“Sorry,” I said. “I had something I had to do. I’m back now.”

Kevin seemed to notice my lack of enthusiasm and put down his guitar case to close the space between us.

“You all right, bro?”

“No,” I admitted. “But I will be. You want to stay up tonight and get really fucking drunk and write music?”

“Like the old days?”

“Like the old days,” I said.

“You know I don’t drink anymore.”

“You can drink soda. Get real fucked up on soda.”

He grinned. “I’ll get real fucked up on soda with you, Jesse. But first can we make some people happy? The ones out there?”

“Yo, check out the blonde!” Kirk said. I followed his gaze to see a tall, blond woman with a chest that looked like she inflated it herself with an air pump and a shirt that was hanging on to her nipples with the sheer willpower of damp cloth and prayer.

“Blondes aren’t Jesse’s thing,” Kevin said, laughing.

“Who knows?” I said. “Maybe I should expand my horizons. It’s not like I’m holding out for anything. Anymore.”

Kevin’s eyebrow flickered, but I brushed by him, putting a big, fake smile on my face and walking through the curtain to the roar of the mostly still congregated audience.