At Loose Ends
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For Allie.
"I think it'd sound better with a capo." Roxy plucked an open E and let the thud reverberate into our headphones.
I tried to read her face to see if she was joking, but she kept her head down, focused on her instrument. "Your strings sound just fine. Besides, the only reason you'd use a capo on a bass is if…well, I can't even think of a good reason!"
Roxy plucked out the most agitated version of "Shave and a Haircut" I'd ever heard. "That's always been the trouble with you, Stormer. Why does there have to be a good reason? Maybe some things are worth trying for the hell of it."
I put my keytar aside and looked down at her, as she sat cross-legged in her flannel nightshirt on the floor of Misfits Studio, her bass resting in her lap. "Well, maybe some other time, but we've already got this song pretty much worked out, don't you think?"
Roxy shrugged. "Fine, whatever." She began playing our still-untitled new melody in double-time. It sounded so good, I briefly considered changing the song's tempo—until she hit several bum notes and ran off the rails into incoherence. "Piece of crap song!" she muttered.
I smiled and fought to keep things positive. "When you played it at the original tempo, it sounded great. Let's go back to that and see if we can nail down a demo."
"You're the boss," she sneered. She began playing, at the right speed this time, before I'd even picked my keytar up. I can normally keep the beat in my head, but her sudden start had me lost, until I noticed her bare foot tapping in time. Her black toenail polish had become so chipped, it looked as if she'd slammed her foot in a door.
"Don't forget," I called out partway through, "there's a key change going into the bridge!"
"I'm not stupid, Stormer! I know what I'm doing!" As she spoke, we both cringed as I changed keys, and she didn't.
Roxy jumped to her feet and tossed her bass to the floor. "Goddammit, this song sucks! What a stupid waste of time!" She kicked over an amp before parking herself in a swivel chair next to the mixing desk.
I trudged across the studio and took a seat next to her. "Maybe you're right. Wanna try something else, instead?"
She shook her head. "Like what?"
"I still haven't figured out the bridge to 'Tightrope.' Maybe you can help me come up with ideas."
Roxy began rotating gently in her chair. "You're the songwriter. I'm no good at that stuff."
I grabbed the side of her chair so she couldn't spin away as I spoke. "That's not true! You write wonderful songs when you actually try." I thought back to the mix of joy and envy I felt when Roxy first played "I'm Gonna Change" to me. I had underestimated her, and not for the last time.
"Yeah, sure." She leaned back in her chair and stared at the ceiling. "Stormer, I'm bored with all these demos. Just a big, stupid, buncha garbage. I don't know what you're thinkin', but it's a really crappy idea! We've got a Misfits album comin' out soon anyway—no one wants to hear somethin' from just you and me!"
I stared at my shoes. "Well, we don't have to work anymore today if you don't want to. What would you rather do instead?"
Roxy stood up with enough force to shove her chair into mine, nearly smashing my fingers. "What I'd rather do is get away from you for a while!" She paced the studio, stopping now and then to knock a tape or a mic stand to the floor. "I'm sick of being cooped up in the mansion, I'm sick of being treated like a baby, and I'm so fucking sick of you!" Finally, she ran out of the studio, back into the never-ending hallways and foyers of the Gabor mansion.
I knew I'd have to chase after her. I couldn't risk her running back out into the city alone. I couldn't take the chance of Roxy scoring a fix; not after all the progress she'd made.
But, God, I needed a rest.
It was 2:30 in the afternoon. I still had several more hours of babysitting my best friend to look forward to.
I found Roxy twenty minutes later, playing Speedy the Porcupine on Pizzazz's big screen. I nearly collapsed with relief. "Hey, Roxy," was all I could think to say as I perched on the armrest of Pizzazz's dad's billowy couch.
"It's a one-player game," she replied, without taking her eyes off the screen.
"Ok. Well, I'm gonna get a late lunch. You want anything?"
She shook her head. "Nah, I'm busy."
"All right." I began the long walk to the kitchen, before adding, "If you want anything, just let me know."
"Yeah, sure."
A few minutes later, I sat alone in the Gabor mansion's cavernous kitchen, munching on a grilled cheese sandwich that didn't taste as comforting as it should have, when I heard Jetta call out, "'Ey, Stormer, where'd you go to?"
"I'm in here!"
I heard Jetta's heels clicking across the tile before I looked up to see her peering around the kitchen, dressed head to toe in orange, which I never thought suited her. "Where's Matilda at? Did you finally stuff ol' Miss Fitch in the fridge?"
"I told her I wanted to cook my lunch for myself," I mumbled through a mouthful of cheddar, "so she's cleaning upstairs."
Jetta snorted at me. "You Americans and your terrible manners! You wouldn't catch me looking like a right prat talking with me mouth full to the Queen Mum!" But I caught the glint in her eye as she spoke.
"If the Queen Mum ever stops by," I replied as I wiped the butter from my lips, "I'll make sure to be on my classiest behavior."
"You'd better. We'd 'ave enough to worry about with Auntie Mac out there!" She then added, "I mean, Roxy," as if I hadn't already heard all her little slang terms by then.
She tore off a corner from my sandwich and popped it in her mouth before I could say anything. "So, 'ow is Rox doing today, anyways?"
I sighed as I ran my finger along the daubs of cheese congealing on my plate. "She's frustrated. I don't blame her, either. She must be so humiliated, cooped up here with us watching over her like a baby."
"It was either that, lock her up in 'ospital, or let her pop 'er clogs." Jetta tapped her finger to my chin. I looked up and caught the glare of her gray eyes. "This is what you pushed for, luv. You're the one 'oo convinced us she'd flip 'er lid if we sent 'er to a clinic."
"I still think that's true. She doesn't trust anyone but us. If we just keep showing her we care, I believe she'll pull through…I just know it."
Jetta winced. "Always the optimist, eh, Stormer?"
I wiped the grease off my hands with a nearby dishtowel. "I have to be. I'm not ready to face…the other possibility."
Jetta gave a quick whistle through her teeth and shook her head. "Blimey," she mumbled. In an instant, she put on a smile and announced, "Well, I'm off! Gotta take advantage of me free evenings, so Andy and I are going to a bash at Michael J. Badger's."
"Tell Andy I said 'Hi.'" I liked Andy, who'd been our manager for over a year. He was far more honest than our old manager, though that wouldn't take much.
Jetta gave a quick bow. "I shall give everyone at the party the Misfits' warmest regards." She then gave a quick demonstration, flipping the bird in every direction.
I chuckled and told her, "Yeah, that looks about right. Have fun."
As she pranced to the kitchen door, Jetta turned and added, "Oh, incidentally, ducky, there's a phone call for you."
I nearly dropped my plate as I carried it to the sink. "What? Who is it?"
Jetta grinned. "Oh, I think it was just some silly ginger tart. Sounded a bit barmy, if you ask me!"
"Why didn't you tell me earlier?"
"Ta-ta!" Jetta waved goodbye and scurried down the hall.
"What happened, Stormer? Jetta said she'd go get you, and then twenty minutes passed!" Kimber's one of my closest friends, but it doesn't take much to work her into a tizzy.
I had already begun twirling the phone cord into a knot. "Oh, you know how Jetta can be."
"Indeed, I do," Kimber groaned. I felt my cheeks burn with embarrassment. Sometimes, it was still hard not to take a poke at one Misfit as a poke at us all. And with Roxy's problems, we'd taken plenty of pokes lately.
"What's on your mind, Kimber?"
"Oh!" Kimber replied, having been pulled back to her train of thought. "I wanted to ask you to come to Starlight Studios tonight. I'm gonna track 'Climbing the Wall' this evening, and I need you here with me."
I sighed. "Kimber, this is such short notice…"
I heard her laugh. "Oh, I know, but I want to get these tracking sessions out of the way while Sean's visiting his mother in England with the baby. I'm just so bored with them gone—I've gotta keep busy, you know?"
"But tonight's really not good for me. I'm sure you can handle it without me."
"But we wrote it together," she pleaded. "I really want you on this song."
I sat in the hallway and tried to think of how to let her down easy. "Why don't I come in next week and add my part? Or maybe tomorrow evening? I think I can do that."
"Nooo," Kimber whined. "Please, Stormer, it's just not the same if you're not here when we track it. I wouldn't feel right about it at all!"
I'm not good at telling people no. Especially someone who'd helped me at one of my lowest points, and had never hesitated to call me her friend ever since.
Not to mention, someone who's not consciously aware of how easily she can take advantage of me.
"All right, Kimber. Let me see what I can do."
I could almost feel her hug me through the phone line. "Thank you, thank you, Stormer!"
I groaned. "Don't mention it, ok? I'll call you back in a bit and let you know."
"This is gonna be outrageous!" she cried out. "Talk to you later!"
"Sure." I hung up the phone and quietly cursed myself.
I heard a voice from down the hall. "You're still such a pushover!"
I looked over to see Roxy, still in her nightshirt, popping grapes in her mouth as she leaned against one of Pizzazz's father's antique marble busts.
"Roxy, do you even know what I was talking about?"
She laughed. "Would it change my point if I did?"
I had no answer for her.
As I stepped into the warmth of the late afternoon sun, I realized what a mistake I'd made spending all day inside. A nice day by the pool would probably have been better for Roxy's attitude. Mine too, for that matter.
There's always my next turn to look after her, I thought.
I saw Rosita, the nanny, sunning herself in one of the deck chairs, but I saw no sign of her little charge until I reached the edge of the pool. In the shallow end, little Stevie splashed in his mother's arms, as she blew raspberries on his roly-poly belly. Their laughter mixed together to form one of the sweetest melodies I'd ever heard.
I felt like such a fool—here was Pizzazz, enjoying a moment of true happiness, and now I was about to wreck it.
I turned to head back to the house, but I froze when I heard Pizzazz shout "ROSITA!" The nanny jumped to her feet and raced past me. Quick as a flash, Pizzazz handed off the sopping wet toddler, and the nanny rushed him into the little pool house.
Pizzazz paddled to the edge of the pool and stared up at me. "Aren't you supposed to be busy today?" she cooed.
"That's what I needed to talk about." I sat down on the concrete and tried not to get too wet. "I, uh, was wondering if you could stay with Roxy this evening."
"What? Are you crazy?"
I can't say I hadn't expected that reaction.
"I've been asked to do a session this evening. It'll just be for a few hours."
I felt the splash hit me before I realized what had happened. I forced myself to look at Pizzazz's scowl. I knew she'd probably win the argument, but I'd be damned if I let her know she intimidated me.
"Look, this came up really suddenly, and Jetta's already left. Just for tonight, I could really use your help."
Pizzazz traced lazy circles in the water with her finger. "Do you know how I spent my day yesterday, Stormer?"
I swallowed hard. "No."
She pulled herself out of the water and right into my face. "I spent eight hours watching Roxy play video games! Then I spent two hours listening to her moan and bitch about how we're so awful to her, and how she doesn't have any real friends in the world, and how we're just such terrible people!"
She hadn't told me anything I hadn't been through myself a dozen times over the last couple months.
Pizzazz poked me in the clavicle. "And I'm willing to endure it every third day, because…" she stopped herself, then yelled, "But NOT TODAY!"
She leapt back into the water and swam away, calling out, "This was your idea, remember?"
How could I forget?
I twiddled the cord as I listened to the ringing. Finally, she picked up. "Hello?"
"Hey, Kimber."
"Stormer! Hey, are you gonna be able to make it tonight?"
I felt myself choke out the words. "Sure, sure. But, um, I've got a big favor to ask you…"
"Stormer, that asshole just cut us off! Blow your horn at 'em!"
I smiled, even though I had no intention of honking at the elderly man in the DeSoto who'd drifted into my Porsche's lane. As the weeks had passed, more and more hints of the old, feisty, butt-kicking Roxy had appeared.
This just might work, after all.
"Don't these idiots know how to drive?" Roxy (finally out of her nightshirt and into a leather jacket and black jeans), stuffed two sticks of Juicy Fruit in her mouth, and then offered the pack to me. I waved it aside. She pushed it back to me, so I took a stick.
"Did you remember to bring extra picks?" I asked.
"Yes, mom!" Roxy rolled down her window and let the breeze muss her hair. "Tell me the truth: did Twerpy McDingbat really ask you bring me to the session?"
I had to admit, that's a nickname I hadn't heard before. I bit my lip. "Kimber said she was short a guitarist, and I convinced her you'd be perfect for the track. I mean, you know my style of music."
"Your style," she grumbled, "not that junk you write with her!"
"Anyway, I think this'll be good for you, to get back into a real studio." As the rush hour traffic slowed to a crawl, I leaned over to look her in the eye. "Won't Kimber and everyone be surprised to see you're still the best?"
She perked up a bit. "Damn right I'm the best."
"Exactly." As traffic began to flow again, I relaxed my grip on the steering wheel. I mumbled a quick prayer for this night to go smoothly.
I've never liked working at Starlight Studios. Too antiseptic and clinical; better suited for performing surgery than making rock and roll.
When Pizzazz was pregnant with Stephen, and we broke away from Eric and Stingers Sound, I convinced her to have mansion's music room converted into a proper, professional-level studio. We all chipped in our ideas for our dream studio, a cozy, comfortable space loaded with our personalities.
A stranger walking in would find an eyesore, I'm sure: a jumbled mess of furniture, equipment, and paint, designed by four very different people. But, like our music, it seemed to work.
In those days, I could guarantee you'd find traces of one or the other of us lying around our studio: dirty clothes; half eaten meals; baby toys.
Needles.
Roxy and I carried our cases as Kimber let us in through the back entrance. She squealed with delight upon seeing me, and gave me a warm hug. "I'm so glad you made it!"
I heard Roxy clear her throat. Kimber pulled back from our embrace and gave Roxy a small smile. "It's good to see you again. I…I hope you're feeling ok."
Roxy shot a quick dagger at me with her eyes as she replied, "Never been better!" My cheeks burned with embarrassment for us both.
Kimber grabbed my hand and began pulling me down the hall. "I'm so excited about this song! I did a little change to the arrangement, so I want to play that for you first and see if you like it. I scheduled these sessions so late that most of my regular crew wasn't available, but I'm sure you guys'll have no trouble fitting in with the players I've got!"
As Kimber pulled me along, with Roxy trudging behind, we spotted a tall, red-haired man in a denim vest coming out of studio C. "Randy!" Kimber called out, "Look who's here!"
Randy James had spent several years drumming in Johnny Deacon's Tenth Avenue Band. He didn't look thrilled to see us, a reaction that had grown all-too familiar to me. "Hello, ladies."
"What are you doin' here?" Roxy snickered, "Johnny finally fire you?" I gave her a quick tap to the shin with my heel.
Kimber seemed to ignore as she explained, "Raya had already signed up for a tour with Pauper, or whatever he calls himself these days, so I gave Randy a call."
"Hey, and I'm always happy to help," he continued, before clarifying, "Help a Hologram."
Kimber motioned to us. "Let's get your equipment set up so we can rehearse." As she led us into the studio, I noticed a man with a shaved head and a pierced lip hunched over a guitar.
"Derek Lukauskas?" I whispered to Kimber.
She grinned. "Oh, yes. He's terrific—I'd never heard him person before tonight, but he's already got the solo nailed down." She waved her arms. "Hey, Derek!"
The guitarist looked up long enough to give us a quick wave, then did a double take. "Roxy? Stormer? For real?" He fumbled around with his guitar before setting it down, then jumped to his feet and extended a hand to Roxy. "This is incredible-I'm a huge fan!"
In Pizzazz's absence, I felt the need to keep up the image: "Hey who isn't?" I'd actually become pretty good at that, over time.
"You the guy from Mama Jalapeño?" Roxy asked as took her hand.
"That'd be me," he grinned.
"Cool. Not bad at all." I gasped at hearing such lavish praise from Roxy.
Derek relieved Roxy of her case. "Are you really gonna be on the session?"
"Absolutely," Kimber chimed in, "I wrote the song with Stormer."
"Great. Why don't we get you girls set up?" Derek motioned to one of Kimber's assistants, who took our cases and began the grunt work of setting up our mics and amps.
"Wait," I asked Kimber, "When I called, you said you already had a bass player. Where is he?"
I heard a husky voice with a trace of an accent behind me, as the studio door closed. "He's a she, Stormer."
"Aja?" I turned to see my sister-in-law (it had been six months since she married my brother, Craig, and I still had trouble wrapping my head around it), her usual blue hair now streaked with black, giving me a smirk.
"Hey, is that all I get?" She opened her arms, and I rushed to give her a hug.
"You didn't tell me you were back in the country!" I gushed. I turned back to Kimber, who wore her most devious smile. "And you didn't tell me she'd be here!"
Kimber held out her arms and pressed her hands together as she nodded. "Now you see why you just had to come tonight!"
I turned back to Aja. "Well, it's a terrific surprise to see you." My heart leapt. "Does this mean Craig's back too?"
"Oh, you know him. He landed some gigs while we were in Saipan. He should be back in a couple weeks."
Kimber giggled. "Get used to it, Aja. Marriage to a musician's never easy. Just ask Sean—or me!"
I don't know if my face drooped, or what, but Aja put a hand and my shoulder and told me, "Hey, Craig is who he is, and that's why I love him so much." I gave her a tiny smile in return.
As Randy helped a roadie take Aja's case and amp, I saw her glare across the studio, as she tapped Kimber on the shoulder. "No one told me she'd be here."
I thought of checking around to see if there were any convenient holes to crawl into.
"Um, Aja, why don't we go talk in private?" Kimber guided her to the little staircase that led to the control room.
I made a split-second decision to speak up. "I'm coming too…if that's all right."
Kimber gave me a wary look. "Sure, sure."
I followed them upstairs, to the privacy of the darkened control room. I perched on the mixing desk and folded my arms. They may be two of my closest friends, I reminded myself, but Roxy's a Misfit, and we take care of our own.
"All right, I'll be blunt," Aja announced, as if she's ever not. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"
Kimber hemmed and hawed. "Well, I don't know. Stormer assured me Roxy can handle the session. I guess I don't really have any reason to doubt her."
Aja looked me up and down. "Is that true?"
I nodded. "She needs this. I know she needs to prove herself to everyone, especially herself."
Aja looked through the glass down to the studio. I followed her gaze. Roxy and Derek continued to chat. I saw her laughing, a big belly laugh, for the first time in months.
"How long's she been clean?" Aja asked.
"About six weeks now," I lied. I didn't tell her about the incident three weeks earlier, when Roxy found a stash we hadn't caught, taped under the lid of the toilet tank in one of the guest rooms. Jetta caught her shooting up; in her panic, Jetta pushed Roxy face down into the bowl, until she wrestled the heroin from her.
I didn't think that story would help my argument.
Aja tapped her fingers as she bent over the mixing desk. "Roxy's trouble enough when she's sober." She turned to me and gave me a quizzical look. "I imagine she must be a nightmare when she's high."
I tried to look defiant. "She's a Misfit, no matter what." I folded my arms for emphasis. "We both are."
Aja gave me an arched eyebrow in return. "Fair enough. I just don't want that Misfit ruining Kimber's session."
I glanced at Kimber, who appeared dumbfounded by the sudden tension. I reached over and took her hand. "It's my song too," I reassured her. "I don't let anyone screw around with my songs—not even a Misfit."
My cheeks were burning. I felt a little dizzy.
Kimber smiled and put a hand on her foster sister's shoulder. "She's got a point there—Stormer can be a real slave driver in the studio!"
Aja posture relaxed again. "Her too, huh? How you'd guys ever manage to work together without killing each other?"
I forced myself to join in with their laughter, but my eye had been drawn back to the studio floor, where Roxy and Derek continued chatting while tuning up.
I pictured her tossing her guitar to the floor in a rage; going into a spasm in the middle of a take; turning to the wall and refusing to say or do anything as I tried reassuring her she'd be ok.
The sort of things I'd come to expect, lately.
"You coming, Stormer?"
I hadn't even heard Aja calling me until then. "Yeah, I'll be right down." I looked through the glass and saw that Kimber had already made her way down to her keyboard rig.
"Hey, you ok?" The softness in Aja's voice surprised me a bit.
"Yeah," I sighed. "It's not Roxy's fault…not really."
She appeared to mull that over for a moment. "No one put a gun to her head."
"You can't understand, Aja. I know you mean well, but you just can't."
She leaned against the door and shook her head. "What, 'cause I'm not a Misfit?"
"Yeah," I managed to squeak out.
Aja put her hands on my shoulders and told me, with quiet firmness, "Stormer, this isn't a game."
"I know that! Aja, don't act like you're the one who's been trying to save her fucking life, day in and day out! I have! Me!" I felt the tears dripping onto my collar, they came so fast.
She pulled me into a hug. I must have left a bruise on her shoulder, when I felt the desperate need to swing a quick punch or two.
"Calm down, kid." She pulled out a tissue and helped me clean off a few wet gobs of mascara. "She doesn't deserve a friend like you."
I pushed her away, and banged my hand on the console. "No, don't say that! Don't you get it? That's exactly the kind of crap she tells herself, and it's just not true!" I slumped into the closest chair. "I've gotta convince her it's not true."
Aja stooped to her knees and faced me. "Ok. You're right, I don't really know her, and you do."
"I do," I repeated. Aja didn't know the Roxy who jumped in to save my life the night we met, or the one who beamed with pride when she told me her reading had improved to the point that she didn't need me to teach her the lyrics anymore, or the one who'd never treated me any differently after I told her I was gay.
The Roxy no one knows but me.
Aja wiped my chin. "Listen, I kind of know what you're going through."
Her comment surprised me, considering her circle of friends.
She continued, "I know how stressed out you must be." She took my hands in hers. "Remember, you're my sister now. If you ever need to talk, or just vent off steam, you've always got my ear. Don't forget that."
I nodded. "All right." I stood and looked to the studio glass. "They're probably missing us."
Aja joined me. "Yeah, we better get downstairs." She turned, then stopped. "Uh oh."
"What?"
"Someone left the talkback on!"
I cringed, and my knees buckled. They'd heard everything we'd said! Roxy heard everything…
Aja grinned. "Relax, I'm just kidding." He smile dropped. "Too soon?"
As the air returned to my lungs, I managed a quick chuckle. "My brother must be insane!"
"Yeah, but I'll keep him!" Having succeeding in making me laugh, she sprinted out the door and down the stairs. I followed, gripping the rail with every step.
I hope I won't disillusion anyone, but the Misfits rarely recorded their songs together in the studio. We tried to, at first, but I soon discovered that Pizzazz and Roxy, for all their talent, have the attention span of hummingbirds. Soon, I realized we'd get more work done if I laid down the basic tracks myself, then brought the others in later to overdub their parts. Some say that technique kills the spontaneity of the music—I don't know, we seemed to do just fine. Better than fine.
Besides, we would've never finished the album we'd just recorded if we'd done it any other way.
Kimber, on the other hand, loved to record with a full band, live in the studio. I admit, her enthusiasm for that "authentic" sound could be infectious when we recorded together.
Our enthusiasm tended to wane whenever we'd hit "Take 30," or so.
The rehearsals went far faster than I was used to. Aja, Randy, and Derek had picked up their parts quickly, and within a half hour, they sounded warmed up and ready to record. Even Roxy, playing a rather simple rhythm guitar part, had soon locked into the groove.
I'm embarrassed to admit I had trouble getting the right sound, and we stopped several times to adjust the settings on my keytar. Kimber and I had written the song over a year and a half earlier, and it simply wasn't coming back to me like I thought it would.
The way I kept glancing over at Roxy, looking for the smallest sign of distress, probably didn't help.
After a little over an hour, Kimber decided we sounded loose enough to begin rolling tape. (I miss working with tape!) I swallowed hard, gave myself a quick cross when I thought no one was looking, and rested my fingers on the keys.
I heard the engineer begin the click track in our headphones. From inside the drum booth, Randy tapped his sticks as he counted off: "One, two, one-two-three-four!"
That first take lasted about two seconds before breaking down. We'd all heard a nasty botched note from one of the guitars. Derek waved to get our attention. "My fault!" he called out.
I knew the bad note sounded nothing like his Epiphone. Over the past few years, I'd grown intimately acquainted with the tone of Roxy's skinny black Steinberger (an instrument Pizzazz, Jetta, and I all hated, which encouraged Roxy to use it more and more). I glanced at Roxy, and saw her turning away from the rest of us, trying to hide her reddened cheeks. I wanted to stop and give her some words of encouragement, but Kimber announced "Take 2!", and we were off again.
To my relief, Roxy made it through the intro just fine on the second try; instead, I screwed up the transition from the intro to the first verse. End of take 2.
None of the next dozen takes were complete. Aja fluffed some notes in the bridge and got lost on take 4; Derek's amp developed ear-splitting feedback during his solo on take 7; Kimber went into the last verse a bar too early on take 11.
In other words, a typical recording session.
It all came together on take 19. Randy tumbled into the take with abandon, as Aja's bass popped and wobbled along with the beat. Kimber, singing a guide vocal off mic, added extra flourishes to her commanding keyboard work. Derek ripped through his solo and left our ears ringing.
Roxy's rhythm work was crisp and precise. Even before her problems, her playing had rarely sounded so clean in the studio. I nearly lost my place, listening to her.
Kimber and Derek traded lines as we headed into the fade-out; I glanced over and smiled at Aja; she gave me a quick wink back, as we came to the end of the best take yet.
As Randy began to slow the tempo and bring us to a stop, I heard an unexpected minor third in my headphones. I watched as, one by one, all our heads perked up at the series of blue notes in our ears.
On the other side of the studio, Roxy sat, hunched over her Steinberger, picking out a wistful blues unlike anything I'd heard her play before.
As the sound of the jam came close to breaking down, I jumped in, adding as much counterpoint to her playing as I could think of. Aja and Randy soon found a slow groove and locked into it, while Derek settled into a shuffling rhythm. Only Kimber seemed lost, as she tried tinkling out a few blue notes of her own, then gave up and simply listened.
My hands went numb at the sound of Roxy's solo. Even her occasional sloppy note possessed a beauty I'd never known her to be capable of producing.
Anger? Yes. Cockiness? Of course. Manic energy? Nearly always.
But sadness? Loneliness? Fear? I never imagined I'd hear her express such feelings in her playing.
I underestimated her, once again.
As Roxy's solo dissipated into faint echoes of a half-forgotten memory, Randy ground the take to a halt. The talkback switched on as the engineer declared, "We might just have a winner there."
I removed my headphones, as Kimber, sounding distracted, called up to the booth "What'd you say?"
As she began discussing the take with the engineer, Aja and I rushed to the other end of the studio, where Derek congratulated Roxy on her solo. "Damn, girl, that was some sweet shit there!"
Aja gave her a wide smile. "That's some awesome playing, Misfit. You'll need to show me how you did that, sometime."
Roxy shrugged as she shifted in her seat. "It's no big deal. Just somethin' I've been messing around with."
I crouched next to her and patted her shoulder. "It was really good, Roxy."
She looked at me, her eyes like questions. "You think so? You think it was ok?"
Derek jumped in, "That shit was killer! You were smokin' it, baby!"
Roxy gave him a grin. "Hmm, I guess I was, wasn't I?"
Aja nudged my elbow. She gave me a wink and began pulling me away from them.
Kimber hugged me like a thick winter coat. "See, doesn't it sound great?"
I had to agree, as we sat in the control room listening to the rough mix of take 19. "I love the punch of the drum sound."
Kimber nodded. "Raya's the best drummer I know, but I think Randy's straight-ahead style's exactly what this song needs. But don't tell Raya I said that!" She paused, then hurried to add, "Oh, and don't tell Randy I said Raya's the best drummer I know!"
I ran my fingers across my lips to show they'd be sealed, and thought of how my friend didn't seem to care that the engineers had also heard everything she'd said.
When the mix faded out to the sound of Kimber and Derek trading licks, I spoke up: "Kimber, can I have a mix made, with the jam at the end?"
"Sure." As she spoke, the engineers had already begun cuing up the tapes for me.
Aja stepped into the control room. "How'd we sound?" Kimber and I each gave her a thumbs up, and we began giggling when we realized what we'd done.
Once the new mix was ready, I stepped out to fetch Roxy and play her work for her. As I headed down the steps, I could see only Randy and a couple technicians on the studio floor. "Randy, have you seen Roxy?"
"Uh, I think she stepped out with Derek a minute ago." He grinned as tapped at his hi-hat. "I think he might like her."
I heard Aja chuckle behind me. "I don't think there's any 'might' about it, Randy! They've been flirting all evening!"
Randy laughed. "Yeah, I guess you can see why I'm still single- I never pick up on stuff like that!"
I leaned against the studio's grand piano and plinked out a jagged melody.
"Ah, you're just single 'cause you enjoy playing the field, right?" Aja unplugged her bass and began packing it up.
"Mmm, that does have its advantages. How'd our take sound?"
Aja motioned to the control room, "Wanna come hear it?"
Randy put his sticks down and began to follow. "How about that Derek, huh? He surprised me, considering what I'd heard."
I perked up, as my fingers slipped across the keys. "What'd you hear?"
Randy gave an embarrassed little cough. "Well, I heard he nearly got kicked out of his band." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Bad drug problem."
I heard him add, "But he seemed all right to me…" as my knees gave out.
I choked out Aja's name.
She rushed to my side.
"Please, help me."
I saw the realization hit her eyes.
"Shit!" she yelled out.
I prayed.
Aja lifted me to my feet.
She became my strength.
She is my sister.
"They can't be far!"
She took my hand.
We ran, into the hallways.
Up and down corridors.
Bursting through doors.
"You can't come in here!"
"Have you seen our friend?"
Studio after studio.
Room after room.
"Roxy!" we screamed.
I wanted to collapse.
Aja held me up.
"We can't give up now, Stormer!"
No, we can't, not ever.
We checked a ladies room.
Locked.
"Stand back."
Aja steadied herself.
I'll never believe what I saw next.
Aja gave the door an almighty kick.
Metal and splintered wood were everywhere.
We looked inside.
My heart broke.
Roxy sat on the floor, next to one of the stalls, with a shoelace tied around her bicep. Derek had jumped to his feet as the door crashed in; before he could say a word, Aja bull rushed him and tackled him to the floor.
I rushed to Roxy's side. I saw the look I'd been dreading: glassy-eyes; flushed face; a tiny, empty smile.
"What's your problem?" she mumbled, as I held her close to me and cried my heart out.
I paid no attention to Derek's whimpers as Aja kicked him in the ribs. I only glanced up for a moment at the sound of shattering glass when she lifted him to his feet and smashed his face into one of the mirrors.
I felt Roxy nudge me. "Hey, quit it!" Her voice slurred as she continued, "Yerrr a Misssfit, rememberrr? Quit yerrr boo-hooin'!"
"I'm so sorry." The tears wouldn't stop.
I looked up to see Aja staring down at me. "Is she ok?"
"No."
Aja bent down to examine Roxy, who seemed baffled by the sudden interest in her face. "I'm so sorry, Stormer. I should have kept an eye on her," Aja whispered.
"You're not to blame." I caught Derek's bloodied, unconscious face from the corner of my eye. "Did you have to hurt him so bad?"
"Yes."
Already, I'd learned not to question Aja's most stern tone of voice.
Roxy seemed to perk up. "God, Hologram, did a truck hit your face or somethin'?"
Aja smirked. "She doesn't seem any different to me."
I didn't find that funny.
"Help me get her up," Aja commanded. I wiped my eyes and wrapped Roxy's arm around my shoulder.
I noticed the shoelace still tied around her arm. I ripped it off in a single, quick motion, eliciting a soft "Ow."
The two of us lifted Roxy to her feet. Her head drooped forward as we dragged her over the bathroom tile to the broken door.
In the hallway, Kimber shook, her face pallid, as Randy tried to calm her. "My God, what's going on?" she whimpered.
Aja stopped and spoke rapidly. "That man" she started, nodding back to Derek, "isn't welcome here any longer. Kimber, you're going to call Jerrica and tell her that tomorrow she's going to contact every studio in the area to tell them they'd better not let Derek Lukauskas on their property either. Understand?"
Kimber nodded with nothing close to understanding-only shock.
Aja nodded to me. "Let's go." We carried Roxy the rest of the way to the car park, as Roxy hummed "The Itsy Bitsy Spider" to herself.
"Hey, Stormer?"
"Yeah?"
Roxy shifted in her seat, as we sat squeezed together in Aja's Mustang. "I think I'm sick, or somethin'."
As we sped down the freeway I noticed a knot in her hair. "I know, Roxy."
She groaned softly. "I don't wanna feel like this anymore."
I reached in and untangled the knot. "You'll be ok. I promise."
She leaned her head against my shoulder, and took my hand in hers. She appeared to look over to see if Aja could hear, then whispered, "Don't hate me."
I hugged her tight. "Never," I told her, before I broke down again.
I woke up late the next morning; I'd rolled off the bed onto the floor, and I'd never noticed.
I stopped by Roxy's room, but there was no sign of her. I flagged down one of the maids, who said she'd seen her with Jetta.
Relieved, I dressed and headed downstairs to the studio, ready to play off some of my stress. Perhaps the night before might inspire a song or two. I needed it to have been worth something.
When I entered the studio, I found Jetta at the mixing desk, resting her head in her hand, her eyelids drooping. She hardly stirred when she saw me. "Bloody 'ell, Yank, not you too? Why's everyone wanna work so early?"
"Huh?" It was then I noticed Roxy bent over her guitar on the other side of the room. She picked out the wistful blues from the night before, humming a soft melody.
"The blighter wakes me up at seven-thir'ty and drags me arse down here! She's been at it for hours now." Jetta took a swig of pulpy orange juice and belched.
I savored the blue notes and smiled. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"
Jetta sighed. "It's fuckin' ace, just a bit early in the morning for me, luv!"
Roxy stopped and shouted to us. "Hey Brit, I'm ready to try another take!"
"Well, la dee da, Roxy!" Jetta fumbled with the tape machine. "'Ow do ya even work this blinkin' thing!"
I joined Roxy on the studio floor. She studied a piece of paper as she fingered the fretboard. She didn't notice me until I tapped her shoulder.
"Hey, you doing ok?" I asked her.
She shrugged. "Woke up with an idea for a song. Thought I'd better try getting a demo down before I forget it." She tapped the piece of paper against her thigh. "I'm not thrilled with the lyrics, though."
She passed the page to me. I could barely decipher her rough, scratchy pen strokes, and her many misspellings, but the lines of the chorus caught my eye:
"When ever you need me
Dont you ever for get
What ever may hapen
Im always in your det."
I wanted to hug her tight and tell her how much she meant to me.
But Misfits didn't do that-sometimes, that was such a hard price to pay.
"Well, are you gonna help me or not?" Roxy snapped her fingers to get my attention.
"Of course," I smiled. I grabbed the thesaurus I kept on top of the piano, and we settled down to work.
(Special thanks to my beta tester, AllieGee, for encouraging me to write this story).