The Biker's Fate Chapter 482

Melody

Jesus in pajamas, the man could play. He not only knew every note of that solo, but also the subtle sloppy nuances that a lesser player would have missed. Why the fuck this guy wasn't an on-call, A-list player was baffling to me. I looked over to Vick, my mouth agape, and he was grinning from ear to ear. My eyes went to Rod, who was staring intensely at Train as he played. I knew Rod well enough to know he was studying him. Eyeballing him like a scientist with a mouse in a cage.

"So, lock up your hearts 'cuz she's a thief. Put her in jail so I can get relief," I sang, leading us into the final chorus. I looked over at Train and our eyes locked. It was only for a few moments, but it was long enough for a panic-induced lightning bolt to shoot straight through my stomach.

I needed to have a serious sit down talk with myself to figure out what I was going to do about Train. I was obviously attracted to him but could clearly not do anything about that while he was in the band. This was a time to put needs over wants. I most certainly needed Train in the band. I only wanted to sit on his face.

"And throw away the fucking key!" we all sang together before the band came crashing down on the final chord.

"Fank you, Fank you," I said, taking my bows.

"Your British accent is worse than my American accent," Puddin' teased, flinging a guitar pick at me.

"Pud, I love you. But nothing is worse than your American accent."

"Like, come on man. That's totally not true, dude," he replied.

"That sounded like drunken South African," Andy said to laughs all around.

"Is Borat your dialect coach?" I asked.

"That's it you assholes, I'm totally quitting the fooking band, man." Puddin' took off his bass and put in on its stand before turning his back to us. He then dropped trou and shuffled towards the door with his pasty white English ass cheeks hanging out.

Everyone in the room fell apart. I laughed so hard I thought I was gonna bust a blood vessel.

"Well, if Puddin's showed you his ass, that means you're officially in the band," I said to Train.

"Hear, hear!" Vick shouted, raising a toast with his water bottle, followed by the others.

"To Train, the fucking new guy."

Train

I may not have been Melody's type, but she was most definitely mine. The woman looked goddamned perfect to me. Plus, her personality was nothing like I thought it would be. I figured she'd be a total diva, but she was just as down to earth as her sisters.

Melody pointed at me and shouted, "You're hired!"

"I thought the gig was already mine." I chuckled.

"No, I mean for our Orange Salad tribute band," she said.

"Count me out love," Puddin' said, pulling his pants up. "I've already seen the inside of too many courthouses at the behest of my former bandmates. The very last thing I want to do is feed any more bloody lawyers."

"Okay, then. We'll start a new band called… the… the Puddin' cups."

"Point to the stage and I'll be there, doll," Puddin' said.

Just as we were wrapping up the rehearsal, Jerry from Centaur Guitars showed up with an assortment of guitars and amps available to rent for the tour. Since my white Les Paul was forbidden from the stage, I played several guitars that could serve as a suitable replacement and then Jerry showed me a 1961 Gibson SG that had been custom painted in my favorite color, Pelham blue.

"What's the story with this one?" I asked.

"That one's a sexy beast," Jerry replied. "The refinish knocked the value down a bit, but she plays like a dream and screams like a demon."

When I plugged the guitar into my amp and began to play, I felt like King Arthur pulling Excalibur from the stone. I'd never felt anything like it. I've played and owned countless guitars over the years, but this one felt as if it were made just for me.

"How much do you want for this guitar?" I asked.

"We have a standing rental agreement with Melody, so anything here you'd like to take on the tour is covered," Jerry replied.

"No, I mean to buy. I want this guitar."

"Sorry, man. No can do. All this gear is for rental only. If you want to come by the shop, I'll be more than happy to give you a screaming deal on anything you'd like. But this one stays in our stable of rental guitars."

"I guess I'll just have to enjoy her while I can," I replied. "I'll give you my phone number in case you ever decide to sell."

Once we were done, the techs tore down our gear in record time and headed to the arena to set up tonight's show.

Rehearsal couldn't have gone smoother.

Soundcheck, on the other hand, was nerve wracking as hell.

I'd played plenty of shows, but never anything close to this size and scope. The stage was massive, and we spent most of sound check going over exactly where my ass was supposed to be during each song. For the most part, I'd be standing stage right, next to Vic. This was my assigned zone, and I was only to leave it during specific cues. I was also instructed to stay clear of the "hot zones" of the stage, which were marked off with yellow tape. Hot zones were areas designated for pyrotechnics. One step too close and you could lose an eyebrow. Two steps too close and you might lose your life.

After a few hours of sound adjustments, partial song run-throughs, and stage blocking, I was as ready as I'd ever be. Meaning, I was so nervous I felt like I was gonna shit out a pineapple. Looking out into the empty arena, the scope of what I was about to do suddenly became very real.

I was standing in my zone, mentally going over my stage cues while Vick and his tech worked out an issue with his monitoring system, when Melody sauntered over to me.