The Devil's Metal (22 page)

Hybrid’s set was on the second biggest of
the three stages, with the coveted sunset slot. I was going
stir-crazy in the hot trailer, and convinced Chip to explore the
festival with me and catch some lesser known acts (Emeritta and
Robbie disappeared into the back room of the trailer, so there was
no point waiting for her). The rest of the band seemed to want to
stay on the bus with that one measly rotating fan. I’d later figure
out that they were nervous and hiding. Playing to a crowd that’s
not specifically there to see you was always a challenge to them, a
band that too easily judged their talent by the crowd’s
reaction.

Chip was good company and knew a lot more
about some of the bands than I did and loved to flex his “I know
everyone” muscle. We drank beer and enjoyed the sunshine, mingling
with other roadies and sound techs as well as the general public—
scruffy-bearded men and women in flowery dresses. There was an
overall stench of marijuana and body odor in the air, though the
occasional breeze wafted by carrying the smell of hot dogs, dirt,
and river water. The Catawba River was the place to be in between
sets, and we sat by the muddy banks, watching a bunch of stoned
hippies run into the water naked and shrieking.

As fun and carefree as the setting was
however, that didn’t stop me from glancing around every chance I
got. I was looking for Sonja, Terri, or Sparky, my eyes fixating on
every pale blonde or spiky-haired brunette I saw. I wondered if
they were here, hiding and waiting, and if they were, what they
would do to me. Of course, there was a big chance they wouldn’t do
anything—their bark could have been worse than their whorish bite.
But I wasn’t going to take any chances; Jacob didn’t tell me they
weren’t
dangerous, and Sage, in all his vague glory, was
definitely leaning toward that option too. Maybe it would just be
name-calling and hair-pulling (which I would win at), or perhaps
something worse. I shuddered a bit at the thought and Chip mistook
that for a chill and put his arm around me.

“Is my Rusty doing okay?” he asked, steering
me back toward Hybrid’s stage. He was going to have to set up and
check the levels soon. The sun was low in the sky and the air
temperature was dropping to a more tolerable level.

I smiled awkwardly but let him keep his arm
there. Chip was harmless, and I felt like a little extra protection
couldn’t hurt.

Hybrid went on to an electric and moody
atmosphere. The sky was darkening, a mixture of bright reds and
purples as the glowing sun began its descent toward the horizon.
Bats appeared, flittering above the crowd’s head, followed by the
flowery, cooling smell that comes with dusk after a hot day. I
spent the first few songs at the side stage, gawking at the members
of REO Speedwagon before Emeritta dragged me down into the crowd
where we could experience the show as it was supposed to be
seen.

I didn’t know why Hybrid was nervous at all,
or if perhaps that tension made them play that much better, but it
was the best show of the tour. Absolutely. Determined to knock the
socks off of the crowd, they gave it all they had. Robbie strutted
around like a peacock, wailing into the mic like his life depended
on it, his tight pants, open fringed vest, and winning smile
causing the women to shriek and fan themselves. Sage and Mickey
worked with each other, walking right up to one other during the
harder parts, like a riff-off, only they were smiling for once and
enjoying it. From my viewpoint I couldn’t see Graham and for that I
was glad, but I could hear his monstrous sound and that was enough
for me. The only one who seemed off-kilter was Noelle. She held her
own with a nervous, hunched over stance, and a few times I was
certain she was going to mess up, but she pulled through and so did
the band.

It really was a prime example of the band’s
energy and musicianship. They introduced a never-played before
cover of “Purple Haze” which made the crowd go bonkers, and they
ended with “Wet Lips” which they extended from three minutes to
fifteen, jamming without a care in the world. I looked at the dude
next to me, and he had his eyes closed, moving to the unpredictable
beat, his face lit up with a spacey smile. I heard murmurs spread
through the audience, things like “far-out,” “cool city,”
“awesome,” and “best set of the festival.” Hybrid wowed their fans
and earned new ones in the making. Troubles aside, I was honored to
be a part of it. The band really had me on a roller coaster
ride.

Finally, Hybrid was pretty much forced off
the stage and REO Speedwagon took over, probably wondering how they
were going to top that. Emeritta and I made our way through the
clustered, intoxicated crowd toward the backstage gates when Sage
came out of them, heading toward us.

“Robbie’s looking for you,” Sage said to
Emeritta. Beads of sweat rolled down the sides of his head, his
black curls sticking damply to his skin. His coal-colored shirt was
soaked through and it clung to every well-formed muscle. I had to
wonder how on earth Sage managed to keep up a body like that when
he was playing music all the time. Did he do sit-ups and bench
presses in his sleep?

Emeritta grinned like a girl in love and
gave me a sly (almost
too
sly) wave before skipping off
toward the gate, her giant boobs swinging from side to side.

“She’s great, isn’t she?” I commented. I
looked up at Sage who was watching her go with amusement.

“As far as groupies go, yes, she’s
great.”

“I thought bands loved groupies.”

He gave me a funny look. “When you deal with
the psychopaths, you get burned out on groupies as a whole. Want to
go listen to some good music and get a hot dog?”

I was startled by the invitation. “What,
now? Don’t you want to shower?”

He lifted up his arm and sniffed. “I think I
smell better than most people here. Don’t tell me Miss Emerson is
afraid of a little sweat.”

Was there an innuendo in those words? I
couldn’t tell. So I did what I normally do in these situations: I
laughed nervously.

“Besides there’s an act here I don’t want to
miss. Ever heard of Tom Waits?”

I thought about it and we slowly made our
way back into the crowd, toward the food vendors. People stared at
Sage as we walked past, not believing their eyes.

“Yeah, I’ve heard of him. Haven’t listened
though. Doesn’t seem like my kind of music, and I don’t know, debut
albums aren’t always the best.”

He scratched at his sideburns, green eyes
glowing incredulously. “That’s where you’re wrong. To really
understand music, to love it for what it is, you have to be
open-minded and go into everything thinking you might find a new
part of yourself. It can only make your heart bigger.”

Now it was my time to give him an
incredulous look. He was being borderline corny again and yet…I was
eating it up.

We stopped to get our hot dogs, people in
the line moving aside for him like he was an ice-breaking ship. A
few of them told him how wicked the show was, others gawked, a few
looked at me with interest, and others shot me dirty looks. I threw
back my shoulders and stood proudly beside him. I was the
journalist and he was the subject and this was his kingdom. When we
got our dogs, mine piled with extra relish, he took my hand in his
and led me through the mob toward a smaller stage. My skin vibrated
at his touch, like static or musical waves.

He didn’t let go of me until we found a
place at the back of the crowd, everyone hushed together in front
of us, strangers in the dark. The stage was small and dimly lit
with red and yellow lights. Despite my height, I could barely see
Tom Waits and his ragtag band, but I heard them. Not at first, I
was too wrapped up in having the hulking Sage standing right next
to me, his hand by his side, so close to my hand that now felt cold
without his touch. But after a few choruses of “I Hope That I Don’t
Fall In Love With You” I really
heard
him. His raw voice was
subtle, the composition simple, but it grabbed me. I looked up at
Sage and he was already staring at me with a knowing smile in his
eyes. I held them for a few seconds, lost in the specks of
gray-green that shone through the darkening sky.

He was the first to look away. He eyed the
stage. “Can you see?”

I shook my head and tried to step up on my
tip-toes. We were too far behind the crowd and the stage was too
low and small. “It’s okay though.”

He glanced beside him then patted at his
round shoulders. “Want to come up here?”

“What, on your shoulders?”

He grinned and shrugged. “Yeah, why not?
Everyone else is doing it.”

The idea of a 5’9” girl sitting on a 6’4”
guy made me want to laugh. We’d be the brontosaurus of the
festival. The acid trippers would see us and freak the hell
out.

But Sage was asking me to sit on him. There
was no way I would turn that down.

“Okay…sold,” I said, trying to fight the
grin that threatened my face.

He crouched down on the grass, ready for me
to climb on top. I bit my lip and went for it. I put both legs on
either side of his head, totally conscious of him being engulfed by
my bare skin and hot pants. He wobbled a bit and grabbed my legs
with his arms.

“Are you ready?” he asked. By now the people
in front of us were turning around and watching us with drunken
interest.

“Go for it,” I told him, grabbing onto his
head. His hair was so unbelievably soft, and I let my hands get
lost in it, thankful that it was thick and I had lots to hold
onto.

When I was eleven, my father took me to the
Ellensburg Fair. They had camel rides and I begged him to let me go
on one. You get on the camel when it’s lying on all fours on the
ground and you hold onto the hump for dear life while the handler
gets the camel to rise awkwardly to its feet. There’s a few
terrifying moments where you’re certain you’re going to go flying
head over beast, but then you’re rising up into the sky like a
queen.

That’s what it was like when Sage
straightened up. I yelped and held onto his head and hair for dear
life, yanking it back more than he would have liked, certain I was
going to come crashing down on the crowd around us, who were
watching us in a daze. But I managed to stay on and when Sage was
steady, I felt like James Cagney—“Made it! Top of the world, ma!”
There were a few polite claps from around us and one guy said,
“Right on!” so I wasn’t the only one impressed.

“Areymdojffhh,” Sage mumbled.

“What?” I asked, leaning down. I then
realized my thighs were gripping the sides of his face so tight
that he wasn’t able to speak properly. I loosened them and
apologized.

“No problem,” he said, taking in a deep
breath and tightening his hold on my calves. His hands were
deliciously firm. “I asked if you were okay.”

“I’m great,” I said. For once, how could I
not be? I was high in the air on the shoulders of Sage Knightly,
watching over a hushed and attentive crowd while Tom Waits sung to
the crowd. He was sitting down by his piano, an acoustic guitar in
his arms, an interesting looking man that packed the same kind of
beast-like heat as the man under me. His voice was emotive and
raw.

“
So goodbye, so long, the road calls me
dear

And your tears cannot bind me anymore,

And farewell to the girl with the sun in her
eyes

Can I kiss you, and then I'll be gone.”

I closed my eyes and let the words and music
wash over me, feeling the taught shoulders beneath my legs and his
soft hair that tickled my thighs. The night air was thick and
humid, everything slowed down and sensual, yet my heart was ramming
against my ribcage a million miles a minute.

“
Though I held in my hand, the key to all
joy

Honey my heart was not meant to be
tamed.”

Sage shifted beneath me. I put one of my
hands back into his thick hair and left it there, pretending I
needed to hold him. It took all my willpower not to start playing
with it.

“I guess you don’t do this very often,” I
told him, my voice cracking slightly.

I couldn’t see his face but I could feel him
smile. “No. Usually my head’s turned the other way around.”

My body flushed from the top of my cheeks
right down to my loins. I was suddenly very aware of the pressure
on my clit as the blood started to pool there and throb against his
head. Sage had just put some incredibly erotic images in my head,
and within seconds I was transformed into a hormonal mess. This
wasn’t good at all. But my body had other ideas and it made my mind
conjure up a fantasy of Sage lying me down in the tall grass,
amongst the concertgoers, ripping off my shorts, and licking me
from the inside out.

As if he sensed the lust permeating from me,
he began to run one hand up and down my calf, very softly, very
slowly, while still keeping me aloft.

We stood like that for the remainder of the
show, his strong fingers stroking my skin, still hot from the sun,
while I squirmed uncomfortably, fighting the urges that were
building up inside me. Having a man’s head between your legs wasn’t
the best time to start wondering what he looked like naked, if his
cock was as large as it seemed to be when he was wearing tighter
pants, if his ass and legs were just as sculpted as his upper body.
I was never like this when I was with Ryan, but Ryan had never been
a man and with him I’d never really been a woman. I wanted to feel
like a woman now, and with the one man who could do it for me.

This was getting ridiculous. I attempted to
bring up a neutral subject.

“So how did you learn of this Tom Waits
fella?”

He tried to shrug. It was hard with me up
there.

“He’s on the same label as us. They gave me
a copy of the album, and after one listen I was hooked. Fucking
hooked. I just…I wish I could do something like he does, you know?
He doesn’t care. I’ve seen him so many times and he just doesn’t
care what mold he fits into. He’s as honest and authentic as they
get.”