The Devil's Metal (4 page)

He had a crush on this girl in his class,
Sheena, for the longest time. She was pretty but not too popular
and kind of bookish, and they were friends as far as I knew. But
growing up in a small town and having a noticeable affliction made
Eric a target for mean girls and bullies alike. At least once a
month he was coming home with a black eye, or he’d lock himself in
his room close to tears. I personally wanted to go down to the high
school and beat up every punk that looked at him funny, but I would
only make things worse. Having my brother in my life was a constant
heartbreaker.

“Oh?” I said. I knew from the way he kept
clearing his throat and the way his eyes were focused on the banana
and not me that this wasn’t going to have a happy ending.

“She said no,” he said softly.

I gave him a pained smile. “Maybe she just
wants to be friends.”

His eyes flew to mine. They were watering
from frustration. “She doesn’t want to be friends. She said I
attract too much bad attention and I’ll distract her from her
scholarship.”

“What a fucking nerd,” I spat out then put
my hand to my mouth. “Sorry Eric, I didn’t mean it. I just mean…you
don’t need someone like that in your life. Friends are your friends
no matter what attention you get.”

“But I need someone in my life!” he wailed.
“I don’t care who.”

His shoulder jerked up and he screamed at it
in agony, as if it were another being.

I got to my feet and tried to embrace him to
let him know things were okay, but he pushed his way out of my
grasp. Sometimes I forgot that even though I was more like a mother
to him than a sister, sometimes boys didn’t want their mothers
either.

“Eric, I’m sorry,” I called after him.

“Leave me alone,” he mumbled and ran
upstairs to his room. I heard the door slam, which made the spoon
in the cereal bowl clatter.

When Eric was younger, we were told that
he’d most likely grow out of the syndrome by the time he was
eighteen. I know we were all holding our breath for that, but it
seemed that he was getting worse over the years, not better.

Life
, I thought.
You can be a real
bitch
.

I threw the banana peel in the garbage and
looked back at the message that was scrawled on the pad. It had
somehow lost all the excitement I felt earlier, and I doubted it
was actually Creem Magazine, the best rock and roll publication out
there with all my favorite writers, because that was the stuff made
of dreams, not the cards I’d normally been dealt. Still, I had to
wonder. My dad was out at work, so I couldn’t ask him about it and
I wasn’t about to bug Eric. It didn’t matter anyway, all I had to
do was call and I’d find out. I just hoped it wasn’t a crank call
or someone selling something because we couldn’t afford to call
long distance very often.

I took a deep breath and dialed the number.
After a few clicks and crackles in the silence, the other end
started ringing.

“Hello, Creem Magazine, Maureen speaking,” a
woman’s crisp voice answered.

Holy Toledo
.

I swallowed hard.

The woman repeated herself. “Hello? Is
anyone there?”

I heard some clattering in the background
and a few people laughing. If I didn’t say something soon, she was
going to hang up.

“Yes,” I said quickly. “Um, yes, hi.
Hi…Maureen? This is Dawn Emerson. I got a message from you last
night, I think?”

There was a pause then she laughed. “Oh,
sorry could you repeat yourself again? Dawn, you said?”

“Yes, Dawn Emerson.”

“Of course! Dawn. Sorry, I’m dealing with a
few hacks here blowing smoke in my face.” She gave a little cough.
I had to wonder what the hell was going on at Creem Magazine. Maybe
they really were a bunch of hooligans like they painted
themselves.

A bunch of hooligans who called
me
.

“Anyhow, Dawn do you mind holding? I’m just
going to patch you through to Barry, mmkay?”

Before I could say otherwise, the line went
silent
. Barry
. Barry Kramer, the pusher of rock and roll on
America’s impressionable minds. The founder of hooligan central.
The man I’d always hoped would be my future boss, who’d have me
sharing a house with the likes of Lester Bangs and Lisa Robinson.
See, that’s why I dug Barry. He put women like Lisa, Jann U, and
Patti Smith to work for him. He didn’t subscribe to the Big Ears
bullshit that women didn’t know rock from Adam.

The wait was agonizing. I started to fear it
was a prank after all. Maybe Todd or some jerk got Creem to call me
for kicks. Maybe Maureen had actually hung up on me. Maybe they
were all laughing at me while I waited, sweating in the kitchen,
reeking like stale cigarettes and yesterday’s ride.

Before I chewed off all of my split ends,
there was a crackle on the other line and I straightened up, heart
thumping.

“Hello, is this Dawn Emerson?”

“Yes,” I said pathetically, in a voice
barely above a whisper. “This is she.”

“Dawn, this is Barry Kramer. I’m the editor
at Creem Magazine.”

“I know.”

“Good,” he said. His voice was smooth and
youthful, not as intimidating as I had imagined. “I figured you
would. Listen, Dawn, we’ve had something rather unusual fall into
our lap and it involves you personally.”

“I’m listening,” I told him, wondering what
the hell he was talking about. How could anything involve me? The
mystery was warping my brain.

He cleared his throat. “First of all, I
wanted to say I’ve read your work and I really dig it. You show
great potential and all that kind of stuff. Your live review of Bad
Company was engaging to say the least. I got some copies of your
school’s paper and the interviews are far-out. How did you manage
to get Moe from Khaki Toast?”

“I ambushed him after a show,” I told him. I
didn’t add the part where I bribed a roadie with ten bucks to let
me backstage. I may not flash my boobs at rock stars, but I’m not
above a little bribery. I had always thought it was too bad that
the interview was wasted on such a small paper, but if Barry had
seen it…well, this changed everything. My heart swirled at the
thought of my idols actually reading my writing all this time.

“Well done,” he said. “I like a woman with
balls. And I hope you have big enough ones for what I’m about to
ask of you.”

He paused. My mind reeled.

“The reason I’ve read your pieces is because
you were brought to my attention by Jacob Edwards. Have you heard
of him?”

The name was familiar but I couldn’t place
it.

“It doesn’t matter. He’s the manager of
Hybrid and I know you’ve heard of
them
. I read your glowing
review of Molten Universe and your little ditty on the evolution of
their sound. Pretty insightful stuff, especially for a band that’s
just coming into their own. We think they’re ahead of their time
and so do you. And so does Edwards. He wants you to write for us,
joining Hybrid on the road for a few weeks next month.”

“Come again?” He didn’t,
couldn’t
,
have just said what I thought he said.

He laughed appreciatively. “Hey, it was a
surprise to us too. From what I understand, Edwards caught wind of
your work, loved what you said about the band, and he thinks a
female voice would help win over the female fans. Hybrid is too
aggressive for a lot of rock chicks, even though they have Noelle
in the band, and that whole Graham and devil worshiping rumor
definitely hasn’t helped. I mean, it works for Led Zeppelin, but as
hard as these guys try, they aren’t Led Zeppelin.”

That was actually a line from my review:
People keep trying to make comparisons between Hybrid and Led
Zeppelin. I say, let the comparisons stop with their third album,
Molten Universe. They aren’t Led Zeppelin. This album showcases a
unique brand of metal, more grinding, thunderous and—gasp—sexual
than the English rockers. In this case, Hybrid is heavier than
lead.

It wasn’t groundbreaking writing but it
obviously struck a chord with someone. I just didn’t think it would
be with the actual band themselves.

And suddenly this was all too good to be
true.

“Dawn? Are you there?”

“Yeah,” I said warily. “I’m here. I’m
just…are you sure you have the right Dawn?”

“Do
you
think I have the right
Dawn?”

Good question. If I could eventually get
over what was actually being asked of me, if I could pretend this
was all real, I had to wonder if I was strong enough—good enough—to
actually take this on. Writing for Creem Magazine? Going on the
road with an actual fucking rock band? And a band I actually loved,
a band who was slowly joining the ranks of Black Sabbath, Led
Zeppelin, and Hendrix in the shrine of my heart?

I couldn’t afford to doubt myself.

I had to be made for this.

I pushed uptight, worrywart Dawn somewhere
in the back of my mind and said to Barry, “Yes. You definitely have
the right Dawn.”

“That’s what I thought.” He didn’t sound as
relieved as I would have thought. I guess this was a story he could
either take or leave. “Obviously, we’ll be paying you too for the
story, if that helps. But the expenses for the hotels on the road
and your food and all that stuff, that will be taken care of by
Elektra, their record label. We’d probably want to run this story
in the October issue, you know to take on a spooky slant or
something like that, which means you’ll have to turn over your copy
at the end of August, beginning of September at the latest. You’re
green, so I expect we’re going to have a lot of editing and
fact-checking to do over here. Also, this is just a one-off thing.
We don’t know if you’re the next Cameron Crowe or not, and we’re
not about to make any commitments beyond this story.”

He yammered on about this and that for the
next bit but I struggled to pay attention. Suddenly I was no longer
in my kitchen, I was somewhere else. It was taking all of my brain
power to get me focused on the fact that this was reality.

Oh lord, please don’t let this be a dream.
This was everything I had ever wished and asked for, and I had made
that plea many a time while growing up. I always thought it went
unheard.

“All right, Dawn. I’ve got to go handle
something. Are you going to need a few days to think about this? I
can give you one. They want you on their bus by August 2nd in
Colorado, start of the tour.”

“Can I let you know tomorrow?” I asked. As
much as I wanted to do this, needed to do this, I did have my
family to think about. And even though Barry said Creem would pay
me, I’d be up and leaving my brother and father, and I’d be cutting
into some crucial practice time with Moonglow. If I had to be there
on August 2nd, that left me five days.

“Absolutely,” he said. “Talk to you
then.”

The line went dead. I stared at the phone in
my hand, unable to process what had just happened. I slowly hung it
up on the receiver and was met with the biggest urge to break down
and cry.

CHAPTER THREE

“So what rock star are you going to sleep
with first?” Mel asked. “Robbie? Sage? Or Mr. Black Magic?”

I rolled over on my side and gave her the
dirtiest look I could muster. It was the next day and we were lying
side by side up in the hayloft, the only cool place around when the
temperatures were climbing. The hay made a comfortable place to
chill and sip cold beers, and today we had out every magazine I had
that featured Hybrid in some way, including Creem.

“None of them. And I haven’t decided if I’m
going to or not,” I pointed out.

She snorted and took a chug of her beer,
finishing it off before tossing it over the side of the loft. It
landed on the ground below with a clank and I could hear Moonglow
startle in her stall. I shot her another dirty look, which she
ignored.

“You totally know you’re going, Dawn. Eric
knows you’re going. Your pa knows you’re going. Your horse knows
you’re going. I know you’re going. The only one who doesn’t know is
this Kramer dude, and you’re going to have to call him pretty soon
before he decides to give your assignment to someone else.”

“Except there isn’t anyone else,” I reminded
her. “Edwards asked for me specifically.”

“I know,” she said thoughtfully. She pulled
a beer out of the cooler beside us and took a sip. “Don’t you think
that’s a little odd though? I mean, it’s totally bitchin’, don’t
get me wrong, but it’s kind of weird that this guy wants you,
right?”

I nodded and blew a piece of hair away from
my sweaty face.

“It
is
weird,” I admitted. “I’ve been
thinking about it over and over. It’s just too good to be true. The
only thing that makes any sense is the fact that they need to win
over a female audience, and maybe they didn’t like the other female
writers’ voice as much as mine. Or maybe they asked, like, Patti
Smith first and she said no. I don’t know. It’s far-out but it’s
happening. I think.”

“Stop pretending you have to think about
it,” she said. She smacked me lightly on my arm. “I’ll come by and
make sure little Eric is doing all right. He can even come over for
dinner when Mom makes her famous wings. And you know I’ll have a
few drinks with your dad.”

“Don’t you dare!”

“Whatever, your dad’s cool. We ain’t any
better than he is.” She took a sip to emphasize her point. “So what
else is stopping you?”

I looked down at the dirt floor way below
us. “Moonglow. She’s not turning as fast as she used to be. I don’t
think I’ll be able to just show up at the rodeo and win anything. I
have to practice.”

“Oh shut up about practicing. Give the damn
horse a break! You’ve been doing the rodeo for long enough.”

“I know. That’s why this was supposed to be
our last year.”