I flush my face with three golden spiced Cuervos to remember the
Bleeding Jewel on the day when every friend failed her. I should
not have been there to see it happen or to be part of this failure.
I was not supposed to be there, but Fate forced Chance's hand and
allowed me to fail, too.
In light
of Laura's recent incarceration, it is only appropriate that my story
starts with Laura's lie to The Bleeders. Perhaps I should
clarify first. Laura's lies were in such supply that they force
further simplification.
It was
October 30, 1999 when it happened. I was scanning the booking
schedule for The Bleeders meeting and I realized that there were no open
positions. Laura always kept a space vacant for them. Since
signing with Terror Trax, Kyle and Raychel had continued attacking The
Bleeders with their "hit and run" performances. Songs shuffled in
and out of their weekly three-song rotation, with at least one new song
included. It kept The Bleeders packed to the walls. I asked
Laura, "You didn't leave a spot for Raychel?"
Laura had
been talking to another artist when she let her lie slip up, "God, no.
They've got to rest for tomorrow."
Dumbfounded, I asked, "And what is tomorrow?"
This is
where she works worst. When she holds all of the cards, she shows
her comfort, doling out droplets of information at whim. But this
was her flipside. This is Laura lost and looking into the oncoming
headlights of truth. I did not know what I was asking for, but she
had not planned to tell me anything until she made this blunder. I
was going to get my answer. She is not creative enough to lie on
the fly.
"They're
going into the studio, Lance. You know that."
I did,
but better than she might have hoped at the time, "That's on Monday,
Laura. What's going on tomorrow?"
She
waited a beat too long before launching into a faint, "Isn't tomorrow
Monday?"
Sitting
in a meeting of The Bleeders while she said that seemed to make my point
for me, so I merely stared at her, growing angrier.
She gave
up almost instantly, "All right, but you can't tell anyone. I've
been sworn to secrecy."
"By who?"
"None of
your business. I shouldn't even be telling you this much," she
looked around to ensure no one was paying attention to us.
"Raychel and Kyle have a concert tomorrow. That's why they aren't
going to be here today."
"Where
are they playing?"
"No,
Lance. I can't tell you any more. None of The Bleeders are
supposed to go to the show."
|
"Laura
won because she set her trap at Terror Trax: She believed Ken
Kincaid would quickly tire of Kyle's constant demands and remove him
from the musical equation." |
"Why?"
"Lance!
I can't tell you any more."
"You're
going, aren't you?"
"I'm not
allowed."
"That
wasn't a no, Laura."
"Stop
it!" she shouted. We both looked around and noted the amount of
attention we had drawn to ourselves. The musician onstage had
stopped his song to stare rudely at us. I drank my beer and
dropped the subject momentarily. Laura had taken that momentary
pause to get up, walk back to the bar, talk to the bartender, and escape
out the back exit, not to be seen for the rest of the night. As
second-in-command, I took over for her as ringmaster for the evening.
I knew she escaped so she could not be forced to tell me more about the
next night, and I considered it a form of respect.
As the
meeting unfolded, I tried to complete the puzzle of Laura's lengthy lie.
I believe her lie truly began on June 26 when she pulled her chains
against Kyle McAllister and convinced Ken Kincaid to come to a meeting
of The Bleeders. It was hard for me to initially decide who won
that battle. Kyle won because he got everything he ever wanted: he
had Raychel and a chance to earn real money as a musician. Laura
won because she set her trap at Terror Trax: She believed Ken
Kincaid would quickly tire of Kyle's constant demands and remove him
from the musical equation. However, Ken Kincaid apparently fell so
over himself with Raychel that he gave in to Kyle's constant demands to
numb him to his own affair with Raychel. So maybe Laura really
lost her end by losing Ken to Raychel, but if Sharon is still to be
believed maybe she never did lose him (see
"Always Watching..."). Regardless, between June 26th and
October 30th, Raychel and Kyle prepared to enter Terror Trax to record
their first album. As demanded in Kyle's "no outsiders" policy,
the sessions were scheduled to be limited to Kyle and Raychel.
There was only one demand placed on them by Ken Kincaid, and if he had
not been sleeping with Laura, I doubt that even she would have known
about it. Now I needed to find out where they were playing.
* * * * *
How many
clubs are there in Los Angeles? Certainly more than you can call
in an afternoon. On top of that it was Sunday. A perfect
needle in a haystack? How could I possibly find out where Raychel
was performing that night?
I called
Terror Trax. They were most helpful, especially when I told the
helpful secretary that I was interested in hiring Raychel Taurus for a
week at my bar, Safehaven. My hiring her was conditional on my
ability to see her perform prior to my signing any contracts. The
secretary snapped into action and told me that Raychel was playing that
night at The Bone Yard. I thanked her. Who wouldn't?
Think of all the phone calls she saved me.
* * * * *
I arrived
an hour before the show to get a feel for The Bone Yard. At least
that was what I told myself at the time. The truth is I was
nervous about the night for Raychel. I could not imagine Raychel
performing without a single friend in the audience. She deserved
at least one. I decided I would be that one. So while she
waited backstage for her grand entrance, I waited in front of the stage
for her grand entrance. In the meantime I had the opportunity to
acclimate myself to the club.
|
"It
looked like a tattoo convention held in Hell. If it was not
tattooed, it was pierced. If it was not pierced, it was
covered in leather. But the most unsettling feature of the
crowd were the skulls. The painted skulls." |
It may be
only a few blocks from Safehaven, but The Bone Yard is a world away
spiritually. Where Safehaven had the warmth of a basement, The
Bone Yard was an abandoned and converted factory. An acoustic
nightmare, the ceiling was at least thirty feet high and lined with
sheet metal. No matter how loud Kyle's amps would be, I knew that
most of the sound would travel up to that ceiling and never be heard
from again. I wondered how a hole like this club could stay open.
As the opening of the show approached, I began to understand.
Arriving an hour before the show and proceeding directly to the front of
the stage did not afford me the opportunity to see the bulk of the
club's patrons. It looked like a tattoo convention held in Hell.
If it was not tattooed, it was pierced. If it was not pierced, it
was covered in leather. But the most unsettling feature of the
crowd were the skulls. The painted skulls.
At least
two of every three faces were made up to look like a skull: with blacked
out eyes and cheekbones while wearing glowing white makeup. Others
were more extravagant. Grinning skulls. Screaming skulls.
Skulls on fire. This was a hardcore crowd. I understood what
this meant. This was not a concert for Raychel. It was a hit
on Raychel. A pang of terror gripped my stomach as the lights went
out and the crowd grew eerily silent.
I prayed
in the darkness. Please, please, please, God, let there be more
people on stage. Don't let it just be Raychel and Kyle. Give
them a full band. Make them loud. Make them overpower the
crowd. Keep their minds open to her work. Please please
please.
A single,
razor-thin bulb high above the stage began to grow stronger, cutting
through the black to light on Raychel standing alone on stage in
skin-tight white leather. Head bowed, her hair flowed down the
right side of her face, pulling that side into shadow. The white
light continued to build, radiating off her leather. The light was
so strong it began to hurt to look at her, but I could not turn away.
I did not want to turn away. She was beautiful. A single
shadow hiding a sliver of this angelic apparition. It was
fascinating.
An
acoustic guitar glided into the hall, almost lost, as I anticipated.
Then Kyle appeared in the afterglow of Raychel's light. The low
line of the guitar spiraled and turned on itself, wrapping around and
repeating a mantra everyone in The Bleeders had grown familiar with.
It was "No More Dreams No More." Raychel lifted her head as she
sang the haunting opening line.
"I
know a girl
who feels the world
is but a toy
that's why she cries"
It was
then that Raychel finally opened her eyes and looked at the crowd.
One thousand painted skulls looked back. They locked into one
another and the guitar passed them by, wandered forward for a few bars,
and came to an abrupt end as Kyle realized he had lost his singer.
Raychel was transfixed on the crowd and the silence continued.
Kyle
broke into Raychel's light and tried to whisper in her ear, "Come on,
honey. Do something."
Unfortunately for them, the microphone was there and the silence was
finally broken.
Someone
in the back shouted out, "Yeah, honey, take it off!"
The first
response from the rest of the crowd was scattered laughter. Then
the copycats came out to play. Finally, the whoops and jeers
completed the cacophony. Fully assembled, the noise built on its
momentum and grew exponentially. They had lost the room entirely.
Kyle
grabbed the microphone to quell the crowd as only he could, "Shut the
f**k up!"
Fire met
fire, "Make me, a**hole!"
|
"A
flood of monsters in orange security jerseys came
running from the stage area to separate the combatants. Three of
them grabbed Kyle and pulled him away from the rest of the audience." |
Kyle
threw off his guitar and leapt into the crowd in the general direction
of the taunt. As soon as he landed, someone threw a punch at Kyle
and caught him over the eye, spraying blood. Kyle obliterated that
person and moved on to anyone else who stood in front of him.
Raychel
watched him do it -- frozen and horrorstruck.
People
collided into one another. Most away from the fight. Some
towards it. A flood of monsters in orange security jerseys came
running from the stage area to separate the combatants. Three of
them grabbed Kyle and pulled him away from the rest of the audience.
Raychel
stayed onstage as the harsh club lights were suddenly switched on.
It was
over.
It was
all over.
* * * * *
There are
those who say that getting backstage at a concert is an art form.
I disagree. Or rather, I recommend that if you truly want to get
backstage, wait for the lead guitarist to start a riot. Then,
while all of the security guards are busy restraining the ruffians, walk
straight backstage and wait for an opportunity to talk to whoever you
want. I was not as cavalier then as I am now in describing it.
I knew that I would be unwelcome backstage by anyone I knew who was
already backstage.
The
backstage area was a corridor created by the back wall of the building
and a row of glorified rest rooms which the management must have
considered dressing rooms. Thankfully, the corridor was strewn
with enough of the bar's remaining inventory and leftover club equipment
to provide me with ample cover.
I needed
that cover almost immediately, as I noticed Laura and Ken Kincaid
arguing with one another. The two of them were standing in front
of one of the dressing room doors, but showed little inclination of
going in. I made the simple assumption that Raychel was inside.
I had no choice but to wait for my own opportunity to enter. I
tried to make myself inconspicuous, but a corridor is a very difficult
place not to be noticed.
"Hey,
buddy, you wanna give me a hand?"
The voice
came from behind me. I wheeled around to see a 6' 7" monster
staring down at me. "Me?"
"No, the
stiff next to you, dumba**! Grab those amps and put 'em in the
loading zone."
He
thought I was a roadie. Why wouldn't he? I was backstage.
I was wearing black. I wasn't doing anything. Therefore, I
must be a roadie. I grabbed the amplifiers and looked at him, "And
the loading zone is...?"
Exasperated, he thrust his hand just past my eyes, "Down the hall.
On the right. Big door." He huffed and walked away.
He wanted
me to go down the hall. Great. Walk right past Laura and
Ken. Then, I was supposed to come back. I saw my opportunity
closing fast. Thinking just as fast, I put one of the amps on my
shoulder and walked down the corridor. The amplifier shielded my
face from Laura and Ken. Perfect. I just hoped they would
fail to recognize my shoes. I walked right past them with no one
the wiser. In fact, I would love to see Ken's face as he reads
this.
Just as I
made it past them, the door to the dressing room flew open. I
could feel the breeze from the door whiff across the exposed side of my
face. I heard Kyle roar, "Ken! Talk! Now!"
I was
most of the way down the hall, but I could hear Ken's underwhelming
monotone, "Laura, you'll excuse me?"
"No, I'm
coming with you."
I thanked
whatever lucky stars might be left in the sky.
|
"Raychel
was sitting in front of a mirror with her face buried in her hands.
Tissues were strewn about the counter in front of her." |
Their
footsteps came upon me from behind. As he walked past me, Kyle
gave me an obligatory shove into the wall followed by his almost
apologetic, "Get out of my f**king way!"
I did.
I stopped walking and waited for theirs to die away. When they
did, I put down my amplifier and walked back down the hallway to
Raychel's dressing room. I knocked on the door. No answer.
I knocked again.
The
sarcasm bled through the door, "If you have to knock, you're not
important enough!" Typical Raychel. That was heartening.
I opened the door and went inside.
Raychel
was sitting in front of a mirror with her face buried in her hands.
Tissues were strewn about the counter in front of her. She was
still wearing her white leather, but her hair was a mess. Her
breathing was in low, staccato rushes followed by calming breezes.
I
suddenly felt that this was wrong. I was not meant to see
this. I was not important enough to make it through the door, and
I was invading her privacy. I turned to leave, but got stopped by
her weakened voice, "Lance?"
I turned
back to face her, "Yeah, honey."
Her face
fell further, "No!"
I stepped
toward her but she stood up and retreated, "No! Not that!
You didn't see that out there! NO!" Her face cracked and
began bleeding new tears. She collapsed onto the floor in a heap,
repeating, "Not that!"
Now I was
the frozen one. I couldn't leave her like that but she had
retreated before. I didn't know what to do. Worse than that,
words were failing me. I didn't know what to say. I just
stood there, watching her at the broken point of her life. Raychel
would never be the same after this. No matter what happened
between us, I would never get the vision of this night out of my mind.
I love Raychel, and not a day goes by when I don't think of at least one
new thing I could have done that would have made that day better for
her. My actions failed Raychel. My words failed Raychel.
I failed Raychel.
Everyone
failed Raychel.
* * * * *
|
"...the
heaviest price paid that night was Raychel's." |
Someone
told me that success comes with a price, but failure adds a 20%
gratuity. Each person who failed Raychel that night received their
20% charge.
Ken
Kincaid, who booked the concert, lost Terror Trax to Cain International.
Kyle
McAllister, who created the disturbance that killed the concert, lost
Raychel to Geoffrey MacIntyre.
Laura
Douglass, who barred The Bleeders from Raychel's concert, lost Raychel's
intimate friendship to a parade of others.
I can
almost sympathize with all of them. Almost. I cannot,
though, because I paid the second heaviest price that night.
I, who
could not comfort Raychel in her hour of need, lost my wife that night.
But the
heaviest price paid that night was Raychel's.
She lost
confidence in everyone she felt was important to her.
