Warlord Metal (24 page)

She nodded confirmation and was out the door, as well. The buses pulled away as she followed in the wake of the band.

Inside, the store was cramped, the crowd of people making it feel smaller than it really was. It looked like the band had been placed at a table all the way in the back. Even as Sonny eased her way through the throng, she could hear someone over a loud speaker.

"Hey, Des Moines, look who we've got visiting us!"

There was a smattering of applause and whistles.

"It's Warlord, folks! Straight from their last gig in Kansas city!" After the next round of cheering died down, the announcer continued, "And they're here in town to put on two shows for us at Super Toad! Let's give them a big welcome!"

More applause and Sonny finally reached the table. She scooted behind it, the female security guard stepping back into place to thwart a hopeful fan. With quick precision, the teenager opened the boxes of photos as the announcer asked people to organize themselves for the signing.

The speakers began playing the band's CD and there was a steady hum of activity as fans approached, said a few things, received either a signed photo or CD or both, and moved on. While the band was busy, Sonny poured them each a glass of water from the pitchers provided. Once everything was settled, she pulled the camera out of her bag and set up to take a few pictures.

So far, the Warlord publicist had been averaging two rolls of thirty-six exposures per city. A pen and notepad was slipped into her hip pocket, her notes regarding each exposure - where it was shot, what kind of light was used, whether or not she'd done anything unusual with the exposure. Lately, Sonny'd been playing around with different types of filters. Her favorite to date was the color filter that caused everything to appear in sepia tones, like an old fashioned photograph.

Today, let's try the soft focus one, she decided as she dug into her camera bag. The filter was quickly attached, as was the flash. Sonny checked the film and stepped out from behind the table, scanning for angles.

"Man, how long you been playin' drums?" a teenaged boy asked Middlestead, handing over his newly purchased CD for an autograph.

The dark man grinned and shrugged. "All my life." He raised an eyebrow as he paused, pen to cover.

"Oh! Ummm... Make it out to Matt."

"Sure thing, Matt." He scribbled some sort of platitude as he continued, "I was banging on pots and pans in the kitchen at a fairly early age. It was just a matter of safety for the cookware..."

The youth snorted as a fourteen year old girl at the other end of the table shyly asked Jordan for a picture. Smiling, the redhead pulled one from the top of the box sitting nearby, a shot of the four of them doing a 'pin-up' pose for Sonny.

"Can you put it, 'To Marcia, love, Jordan'?" the girl asked.

The guitarist nodded and began writing. "You bet, Marcia."

"Oh, I'm not Marcia! It's for my best friend." The teenager leaned forward with a conspiratorial air. "Her mother wouldn't even let her come down here today."

A red gold eyebrow raised. "She wouldn't, huh? How come?" Finished signing, she handed the photograph to the girl. When the kid rolled her eyes in parental exasperation, Jordan could remember the same expression from her lover at about that age. A strange nostalgia crept over her.

"She thinks you're evil or something." A pert nose wrinkled and the youth shook her head. "She says that your songs are bad and won't let Marcia even listen to your CD!"

"Really?" A spark of anger burned in emerald eyes. What a fucking bitch!

The girl nodded. "Uh huh. Pretty mangled, huh?"

"Yeah. Pretty mangled." Jordan glanced next to her to see if Hampton had heard the story.

The bald man pursed his lips and shrugged slightly. "Well, they did put a warning label on the CD," he murmured as he signed an autograph for a fan. "Some parents just don't let their kids listen to that stuff. Nothing personal."

"Whatever," she grumbled. Good thing you didn't have that problem growing up, huh, Jordie? A dry wind blew in her soul. Oh, yeah, damned good thing.

"Thanks!" the teenager grinned as she turned to get the next Warlord's signature.

As Sonny got more experience with photography, she planned her shots more often, taking less film to get decent pictures. By the time the signing was over and the owner was locking the door, she'd only used about a dozen exposures, catching three or four of the crowd and the remainder of the band as they interacted with their fans. Her expertise had increased by this point that she was confident that most of the shots would come out well. Besides, the less film she used, the lower her overhead.

"Well, that was a blast!" Atkins exclaimed, rising to his feet and stretching kinks out of his back. He picked up several pieces of scrap paper and proceeded to file them in his wallet. "I think I've got at least nine phone numbers here."

The security guard, Ignacio, clapped him on the shoulder with a wry grin. "A woman in every port, eh, Lando?"

The tall man snorted. "Only one? I don't think that'd be enough, Iggy!"

The dark teenager snickered as she moved around the table to put her camera gear away. A strong arm reached out and grabbed her by the waist, pulling her backwards. She spun around as Jordan rose to plant a long, wet kiss on her mouth.

"Hey there, sexy," she murmured.

Sonny smiled and snuggled close, holding her camera to one side. "Hey there, yourself. Have a good time?"

The shorter woman shrugged slightly. "Alright, I guess, for being an exhibit in a zoo." She pulled back and looked into pale blue eyes. Jordan seemed to be... searching for something and there was a long silence between them. As her lover's brow furrowed in puzzlement, a voice in her head screamed, What the fuck are you doing!?

Sonny frowned. There was something elusive in her lover's eyes and she couldn't quite catch it. And then the mask was in place and the redhead stepped out of the embrace. The teenager watched her swagger over to one of the counter people, asking for a restroom. As Jordan left to take a break, Sonny returned to putting her camera away, mulling over the strangeness that had just transpired.

Closing the bathroom door firmly behind her, Jordan leaned against it and closed her eyes. You're getting too close, she warned herself. You're looking for something that's not there. A whispered, But, what is it? And what if it is there? She thumped the back of her head against the door. "I don't know," was the plaintive response to an empty room.

Several minutes passed before the redhead stepped over to the sink and vigorously washed her face with cold water. Peering into the mirror, bloodshot eyes stared back. Jordan frowned and reached for the paper towels, drying her face off. Then she dug into her pocket and pulled out the baggy of pills. She dry swallowed two of them before stashing the rest away. With a sigh, she squared her shoulders and left the bathroom.

Out in the store, she found Middlestead on a ladder behind the counter, signing a section of wall. The store owner was holding the ladder for him and talking excitedly with Sonny and Hampton.

"What's going on?" Jordan asked as she sidled forward.

Sonny grinned and waved her arm at the wall behind the counter, a long expanse of white peppered with signatures in varying colors. "Mr. Thanapolis asks everyone who's popular and visits to autograph the wall here." She excitedly took her lover by the arm and urged her down a few feet. "Look! See!? He's even got Steven Tyler's signature!"

The redhead nodded solemnly, noting the autographs of the other members of Aerosmith, as well. "Not bad." Yeah? Big fuckin' deal, a voice grumbled. Who really gives a shit anyway? Jordan mentally shook the voice off. She heard her name and turned, seeing the bassist waving her over to the ladder. "Guess I'd better add my name to the wall, too, huh?" she smirked at her lover. Oh, yeah.... Horny Jordie the Superstar.

The dark teenager grinned in encouragement and nodded. The two women walked over to the ladder.

A surprise was in store for the band. Rather than the usual rental car or van that would pick them up from their publicity spots, a limousine awaited them at the back door, the driver standing attentively nearby. They were sufficiently impressed, circling the sleek, white vehicle before piling in with excitement. On the road, Middlestead and Atkins spent most of the trip standing in the sunroof, whooping and hollering at passing vehicles and pedestrians. Sonny wondered how long they would have the car and whether or not she would be able to get a few shots of the band in it.

The limo pulled smoothly into the parking area of the large nightclub, passing through a chain link fence that had four security guards. There were several fans hanging out there, hoping to catch a glimpse of their favorite band, calling out to Atkins who waved back. Additionally, there were three older people to one side, holding themselves away from the groupies. These were holding placards that read 'Warlord is Evil!' and 'Just Say NO to Violence Against Women!'

Once everyone was checked in with security and received their backstage passes, the group moved to the main stage area. Manowar was just finishing up their own sound check, the various speakers and equipment set to their specifications and dutifully marked. The foursome, all in long dark hair and black leather, clambered from the stage to head towards the dressing room where they were scheduled for an interview with 'Metal Edge' magazine.

The two guards with Warlord moved away, looking for the chief of security, Doug Pillsbury. Still excited from their unexpected set of wheels, the band fairly bounced onto the stage and began their own sound check. Middlestead's drum kit was rolled onto the stage as the other band's drums were lifted by a hoist to the ceiling.

Sonny settled down in a seat about four aisles back. She decided to forego any photographs during the sound check, preferring to hang onto the film for the potential limo shots. Instead, she pulled out her journal and pen.

A good half hour passed before the tour manager slumped down in a seat to one side and just beneath the teenager. Tramuto sighed deeply and rubbed at his face. "How'd it go at the record store?" he asked, peering up at the dark woman.

"Pretty good," Sonny reported, setting her pen inside the notebook to hold her place. "They were all quite nice. No riots or anything."

"Good, good." The stocky man idly watched the band go through the motions onstage. "What'd they think of the limo?"

The dark woman chuckled. "Loved it! Jordan perused the wet bar while Tom and Lando hung out the top and heckled people." Sonny leaned forward, elbows on her knees. "Why'd we get it?"

Tramuto grinned, a glint in his eye. "You'll find out after the concert tonight," was the cryptic response. "Oh!" He removed a packet of papers from his vest pocket. "Here are yer hotel room keys."

"Thanks." Sonny stuffed their tickets into the side of her camera bag and zipped it up.

"Craig?" an older man interrupted with an apologetic grin. He poked a thumb behind him, indicating a group of newly arrived security. "The locals are here. Doug wants you to go over the war plan with him and the new meat."

Tramuto sighed and forced himself to his feet with a groan. "I'm off.... In more ways than one." A chocolate brown eyes winked at the teenager. "Have a good night, honey."

"I will. You, too, Craig."

For the millionth time, Sonny considered investing in a video camera as Warlord played for the crowded stadium. Or maybe four or five of them, she considered. She seemed to recall a video on MTV that had been shot strictly from the band's point of view as they played a concert. From publicist to video director! she chuckled, shaking her head.

The dark woman was standing to one side of the stage, in an area blocked off from the crowd on the floor. There was a wide mass of people in front of the stage 'moshing' to their hearts' content. Looking to the audience, she could see that the nightclub was almost completely sold out, with no available seating except for the nosebleed sections.

It had been an uphill roller coaster up to this point. It seemed that as time went on the venues they were asked to play were getting larger and larger, the crowds more and more excited at hearing Warlord than the band they opened for. There had been a week stopover in Burbank as the group taped a video of 'Face,' the song which had been gaining the most airplay on the radios. Their popularity had risen exponentially ever since.

Sonny's attention was brought back to the stage. Of course, that also meant the various fan interactions had also increased. Even as the teenager watched, a young woman was boosted onto the stage from the left and made a mad dash for Hampton. A burly security guard in a yellow t-shirt neatly scooped her up before impact and rushed her offstage.

The band finished up their song, the last of the set, with a flourish. The bassist thanked the crowd and Warlord trotted offstage. The houselights came up, though not as bright as they'd been before the concert had begun.

Sonny watched in amusement as the crowd went ballistic, stomping and clapping and screaming for more. As expected, her brother and his band mates came back out, the cheering rising to a crescendo at their appearance. The dim lights went back down and a spotlight hit Atkins who had moved to stage front.

"I guess y'all wanna little more....?" he asked with a seductive grin.

A collective yell of agreement came from the audience.

The guitarist tossed his head, long brown hair moving over his shoulder as he glanced around at his mates. Once everyone appeared ready, he turned and nodded to Middlestead.

The sound of ripping cloth filled the stadium as the audience quieted down. And then the drummer began the beat, followed by Hampton's accompaniment with his bass. The guitars kicked in and Atkins stepped closer to the microphone. His smoky voice spoke out the lyrics to their hit, 'Face'.

The spectators were jumping up and down in time with the music. Sonny watched in a mixture of amazement and humor at their reactions. She frowned when she saw the banner raised from the furthest seating - 'Just Say NO to Violence Against Women!' Looking around on her level, she waved her arms and got the attention of the security chief. The teenager pointed at the banner and she saw Pillsbury nod and start pushing through the crowd, speaking seriously into his radio.