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I take a long drag and let the tobacco fill my lungs. I think about all the tomorrows I want to have with Landry. The cigarette doesn’t taste as good as I thought it would, so I drop it to the ground and grind my heel on it. “Actually, let’s start today.”
She gives me a brilliant smile. Quitting smoking is a bitch, but it’ll be worth it if I can keep making her smile like that.
“My old man’s band got to tour with a bigger band, Hell Magic.”
Sheepishly, she shrugs. “I’ve never heard of them.”
“Most people our age haven’t, but back in the eighties they were playing small auditoriums and booking major summer festivals. They had a gimmick, though. They would dress up in Grim Reaper costumes, then halfway through they’d rip off their robes and play the rest of the gig in their underwear and boots.”
Her jaw drops. “They were popular for that?”
“It was the eighties. There was a lot of booze and drugs going on. Anyway, my dad’s band was struggling. As do most bands. Hell Magic’s manager convinced my dad to wear headpieces for a show.”
“Oh, I saw those on your dad’s wiki page. He had a crow’s head.”
I nod. “Basil, the bassist, wore a hawk. Moet, the drummer, wore the vulture. It was a huge hit.”
“The wiki entry said that Moet never took his headpiece off, even during sex. Is that true?” Her eyes are wide.
“Sadly, yes. There were feathers everywhere.” I remember one time a
“I think that would scare the shit out of me.”
I give her a hard look. “You don’t think some girls were into that? What kind of groupies do you think hang around bands called Hell Magic and Death to Dusk?”
“So you’re saying there isn’t a big crossover between your dad’s band and, say, the My Little Pony faction.”
I shout out a laugh. “That’s one way to put it.” I chuckle for another moment before continuing, “After that one awesome response, Dad donned the costume again. Soon they were wearing them all the time. It fit for the tour with Hell Magic. That’s what the fans were coming to see, anyway—a spectacle.”
“So they never did another concert without them?”
“No. They did. The following year, Death to Dusk cut a rock album, less heavy on the steel guitar, more melody. They went on tour right away to promote the album and it was a big fucking flop. They got heckled nonstop. Every gig they did, the fans wanted to hear the headbanging metal stuff and they wanted to see the damn bird heads.”
“Oh shit.” Understanding starts to dawn in her eyes, her mouth forming a little circle. “That was their commercial. Or, at least in your head, that was their commercial.”
“It’s not in my head, babe. You become famous for one thing and that’s all you’re known for. You can see it happening to TA. My dad was miserable. He wanted to make different music. Sing a ballad or two. Do some harmonies. But all the fans wanted were bird heads and death music. So that’s what he did for two decades. Now, he doesn’t even like listening to his own music.”
“Oh, Adam, that’s so sad.”
Thinking about Dad and his near hate for the music industry makes me wish I hadn’t crushed out the cigarette. “He was so angry when I skipped out on Juilliard. He wanted me to be a concert pianist or some shit. Said my music talent was wasted on a band.”
“Does he hate your band?”
“No. He’s proud of me, but worried. He doesn’t want what happened to him to happen to me. Just like any parent.”
“What about your mom?”
Now I really need that cigarette. “Too busy chasing the dream of being famous herself. I suppose if I get big, she’ll come around and drag a camera with her.”
Landry winces. “That sucks.”
I shrug. “It is what it is. I don’t let that ruin my life.” I sweep a hand over the top of her head, enjoying the silky feel of her long hair against my palm. “I’ve never judged other women by my mom.”
Landry catches my arm and presses a kiss to the side of it. “For the record, I think TA sucks, too. That’s why they’ve only got the one hit.”
“Maybe so. Keith’s a good front man, but the other guys don’t carry their own weight.”
“Like Albie?”
