A Rocker's Melody (Dust and Bones)(5)

"Which is why I keep that kind of information to myself," Craig said. "I  clean up enough of your messes, I don't need to be changing your  diapers, too."

"As charming as this banter is," Dylan interrupted in an irritated  voice, "we're no closer to finding a replacement for the tour. Exactly  how bad would it be if we had to cancel?" he added, appalled that he'd  even considered asking.

"Apocalyptic," Craig hissed. Dylan let out a sigh of relief under his  breath; he'd sooner cut off a testicle than quit on the band-but  listening to second-rate, hack bassists all morning had put him in a  foul mood.

"Then what are we going to do?"

"We're sure as hell not canceling, I'll tell you that. I'd toss a chimp  on stage with a guitar that isn't plugged in before I scrap this tour."  Craig held up a hand to forestall any wisecracks. "Fortunately, we don't  have to go there just yet."         

     



 

Rip shrugged. "I think the chimp sounds awesome."

"Blue Eternity is already using a chimp," Jesper informed them. "Though I believe he plays the drums."

"Enough with the goddamn chimp," Craig snapped. "We've still got one more option."

"I'm not going to like this, am I?" Dylan asked.

Craig sighed. "Kid, none of us are going to like this. Hey, Mel," he  said, raising his voice. "You're up. Hit us with something."

For a moment, nothing happened; then from somewhere offstage, music  began to swell, drifting towards them through the small theater. Right  away, Dylan recognized the bass line of the Beatles' I Want You. He  felt, more than saw, the other guys sit up straighter. Rip even put down  his precious technology as he was swept up in the tune. The sound was  bluesy and smooth, exactly the way McCartney had played it, exactly as  Lennon had written it.

Craig had always had a flair for the dramatic, and it was clear that  he'd saved the best for last. Having the bassist hide backstage before  making a grand entrance was all part of his act-not that he needed one.  This mystery bassist was incredible.

"I'm a little hard right now," Tank admitted without shame.

"Way more than a little," Dylan agreed.

"Watch your mouths, unless you want a punch in them," Craig warned. "Mel, come on out, honey."

"Honey?" Rip smirked. "Something you wanna tell us, Craigers? We won't  judge if you're going through a late-life sexual identity crisis."

Craig didn't rise to the bait. He merely crossed his arms and looked  back to the stage, where the bassist was finally emerging from behind  the curtains.

It was strange how Dylan almost wasn't surprised when he saw who it was.  A shiny red bass guitar hung across her chest like it was an extension  of her body, its color matching her long hair. In the stage lights, her  eyes were even brighter than they had been in the bar. She met Dylan's  gaze unflinchingly, and he was suddenly overcome with the desire to  fight with her and kiss her at the same time. It was supremely unfair  that he was affected like this, while she couldn't be bothered to give  him the time of day.

"Now I really am hard," Tank muttered. Dylan resisted the urge to hit him.

"I said shut it," Craig thundered. He was really keyed up this morning;  what was bothering him? "Melody, these are the heathens you're so taken  with. Heathens, this is Melody, a bass player who's way too good for  you."

"Charmed," Melody said.

"I don't know," Rip said. He gestured toward Melody in apology. "We're a  dude band. It's a vibe, you know? I don't know if the estrogen will  mesh."

"You've had problems with everyone who auditioned," Craig snapped. "You  just don't like the idea of someone replacing Snake. Well guess what,  you're all out of options." Rip slouched down further in his seat,  crossing his arms and glaring at Melody.

"I promise I won't go in your club house," she said dryly. "You can keep  your ‘no girls allowed' sign. I just thought I might be able to help,  seeing as I know all your songs."

"You know our songs?" Dylan asked, raising an eyebrow. So, she had known  exactly who he was at the bar. He wasn't sure why that bothered him so  much, but it did.

"Mel's a big fan," Craig said, sounding as if he couldn't quite believe that fact.

"No way," Tank said excitedly.

"Try me," Melody challenged. Dylan watched her fingers twitch over the  guitar strings. Her nails were cut short, painted blue. He noticed the  streak of blue in her hair from the night before, the color matching the  streak of blue across the front of her bass. The matching color scheme  added to the illusion that she and the instrument were fused in some  strange, mystical way.

"Follow the Night," Jesper said, naming one of the more obscure songs off their second album.

"The B-Side or the shortened, all acoustic track?" she asked without blinking. "As you know, the bass line differs."

Jesper allowed himself a small, slow smile. Craig nodded, as if proud of  her aptitude. That was the moment Dylan realized he was screwed.

"Surprise me," Jesper said.

And Melody began.

She closed her emerald eyes and let her fingers fly deftly across the  strings. The way she played, infusing the chords with a heartfelt,  soulful appreciation, brought the bass line to life in a way Dylan had  never heard before. A quick glance at his fellow band mates told him  they felt the same. Though Rip still looked irritated, there was an  unmistakable admiration glinting in his eyes.         

     



 

She was doing more than meeting their superior standards; she was adding  something that had been missing from their sound. Dylan was mesmerized;  the creative side of his brain was already riffing, compiling set lists  that would be better served by the vibrancy Melody brought to the  music.

Then he realized just how sexy she looked when she played-the rhythmic  sway of her hips, the way her eyes fluttered open and closed again as  she lost herself in the song, the pink flush of excitement upon her  cheeks. Dylan remembered why he was screwed.

"That's enough," he said, interrupting her. She stopped abruptly,  looking a bit stunned, as if she'd forgotten where she was and what she  was doing-and damn if that wasn't sexy, too. She could probably play the  whole thing wrong and Dylan would think it was sexy. So completely  screwed.

"Nice!" Tank whisper-yelled, the way he did whenever he got excited.

"Snake has never played it like that," Jesper said, unflinchingly honest as usual. "Well done."

"Snake kills that riff," Rip argued, automatically coming to his oldest friend's defense.

"I'm not saying he doesn't," Jesper said. "Snake's on fire with that  piece; he brings rage and chaos when he plays. But it's supposed to be  an anthem-and she played it like an anthem."

Rip couldn't argue with that.

"I'm not sure about this," Dylan said slowly.

"What exactly are you not sure about?" Craig demanded. "Her proficiency  with the guitar, or her familiarity with your musical catalog?"

"The chemistry, man. I'm not feeling it," Dylan said.

"You guys know I can hear you, right?" Melody said from her place on the stage.

"I want concrete reasons why you think it's not a good fit," Craig insisted, speaking over her.

"Besides the fact that you want to put a hot chick on a bus with the likes of us?" Dylan quipped.

"A hot chick that can hang with you, musically or otherwise," Melody  continued. Dylan tried to tune her out, but every word she spoke was  burrowing under his skin, causing fire to flood through his veins.

"Are you seriously saying that you jackasses are so ruled by your dicks  that you can't sit next to a lady without losing your minds?" Craig  looked disgusted.

"That is exactly what he's saying and he's got a point. This chick is  good, I just don't know if hiring someone is a good idea, Snake is our  brother," Rip said.

"It's going to cause tension," Dylan continued. "You remember what it's like on the road, don't you, Hop?"

"Don't call me Hop," Craig grumbled.

Dylan grinned. Craig had received the nickname ‘Hop' on the first tour  he'd ever done, as a roadie for the Rolling Stones. Jagger himself had  given him the moniker. The only people who were allowed to use the name  were Craig's immediate family members, or a member of the Stones  themselves. Coming from any other living person, it infuriated  him-which, of course, was why Dylan used it as often as he did.

"I'm pretty sure I can handle you fellas," Melody said from the stage.

"Oh, you think that now, honey," Dylan said, turning his attention back to her. "But by the time we're eight cities in-"

"Oh my God, you can hear me," she gasped dramatically. "It's a miracle.  Praise Jesus. I'd get down on my knees, but I wouldn't want to provide  you with any imagery you're not emotionally mature enough to handle."