The Prince of Punk Rock Read online

  He found the name of the band and clicked on their website. They were a local Brooklyn band. It wasn’t unusual that they never crossed paths, even though they traveled in the same circle. The indie music scene was profuse with diversity. He read the band bio and searched for the lead guitar player. Still no photo, but the guitar player had an impressive background. He had BA in music. That meant he was intelligent, serious about his skill.

  Now for the final piece to the puzzle. Let’s see what this mystery man looks like. Angel wasn’t interested in two dimensional photos. He wanted to see the guitar player, live and in action. He went straight to the band videos. He clicked on the first one and the video opened up to the full width of his computer screen, but the camera was focused on the lead singer.

  The camera went to the guitar player’s fingers. He changed chords with lightning speed. A blur of black fingernails ran up and down the neck of the guitar. Angel’s nose was practically pressed to the computer screen as he waited for the camera to pan out. At the end of the lengthy guitar solo, the guitar player was finally revealed to him.

  Angel slowly sat back in his chair. Fuck. Me. His jaw hung open as he watched the guitar player pounce on the floor, slide on his knees and tear up the guitar. He was a rock star. Angel wouldn’t change a thing about him. Even his name sounded like a rock star – Tommy Blade. He was perfect. Magnificent. Gorgeous.

  Angel’s hand went to his crotch, and he slowly unzipped his jeans.

  Chapter Five

  Jessi burst through the front door, bubbling with excitement. “The lead singer from Immortal Angel called me today. He wants you to play for him.”

  Tommy wasn’t very familiar with the band. He heard one or two of their songs on the local indie radio station. The singer had a powerful voice and an impressive octave range, but Tommy didn’t really like the stuff the band played. He preferred to play harder music, and wasn’t very interested in the offer. “I’m already in a band.”

  “I know, but this is a paying gig, Tommy. Immortal Angel isn’t a bar band. They play venues. They open for well-known signed bands. They have four steady shows a week. Angel Garcia seems serious about the future of his band. He says they’re being scouted. And he wants you. He made no qualms about that. Do you know who he is?”

  “Not really. I have no idea what he looks like, or his band. It doesn’t sound like the right fit for me. I play hardcore rock.” He was vested in Psychobabble and he had no interest in changing the genre of the music he loved to play.

  “Well, let’s take a look.” Jessi pointed to his laptop sitting at the head of the table. “I only recognize the name, that’s it.”

  Tommy opened an internet video, and Angel Garcia jumped through the computer screen and stared him in the face.

  Oh. My. God.

  Angel Garcia was sex personified. He had straight jet black hair that barely touched his shoulders and a gorgeous olive complexion. Two beautiful onyx eyes smoldered through thick dark lashes. He danced and strutted around the stage in tight black leather pants. His bare chest, covered in heavy metal chains and black and gray tattoos, peeked through a cropped, studded leather motorcycle jacket. He thrust his hips at the audience and humped the microphone stand.

  Tommy was lost in the video. He realized he better close his mouth before saliva overflowed onto the keyboard and fried his laptop, ending the glorious performance in front of him. He glanced up at Jessi. She looked off to the side and listened intently to the lyrics. Tommy was pulled back to the computer screen. He didn’t want to miss one second of Angel Garcia.

  “It’s really good.” Jessi bobbed her head to the music. “It’s got a great beat, and his voice is clear and crisp. Beautiful.”

  Tommy couldn’t reply or look in her direction. He was mesmerized.

  She leaned over his shoulder to look at the screen and a small gasp of breath escaped her.

  “Tommy,” she put her hand on his arm, “you can’t mess around with this guy. I don’t care how hot he is, you can’t screw this up.”

  He knew she was right, but he had no idea how he was suppose to concentrate or control his desire, around a man as gorgeous as Angel Garcia.

  They were 15 minutes early, and Angel Garcia was already waiting for them when they got to the studio.

  “Tommy Blade.” Angel’s bright smile lit up his face. “I’ve been counting the seconds until we met.”

  Angel wasn’t wearing the flashy wardrobe he wore on stage. He retained the heavy silver jewelry, but wore modest attire consisting of jeans, a graphic tee and black leather boots. The charismatic personality that projected through the computer screen was twice as strong in person.

  Angel shook Tommy’s hand, and held it longer than necessary. They locked eyes and it was like a match to gasoline. The sexual energy exploded in the air around them, and they were caught in a fireball.

  Tommy had to remind himself to breathe, and to speak. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, too.” He patted the guitar case that housed his precious Les Paul. “I’m ready to play.”

  “Good. It’s really just a formality. I watched every video anybody ever posted of you.” Angel’s smile widened. “Twice. If you can play my music like that, we have a long relationship ahead of us.”

  Angel turned to Jessi. It looked like he just realized she was in the room. He touched her arm and extended his hand. “I’m sorry. I was so excited to meet Tommy, that I forgot my manners. You must be Jessi.”

  “Yes, I’m Tommy’s manager.”

  She always made Tommy proud. She was a complete professional when it came to business. She made it a point to introduce herself as his manager, and not his wife. She said that people didn’t need to know they were married. It compromised her position as his manager. People wouldn’t take her seriously.

  Angel took a moment to look at her. She always screamed rock and roll, with her deep pink hair, tattooed shoulders, black studded clothing and five inch heels. “I hope this isn’t inappropriate, but I love your hair and your boots, your whole outfit. You’re fabulous.”

  “Thank you. You’re pretty fabulous yourself.”

  “Thanks. Now that we’ve determined that we all look fabulous, let’s get business out of the way so that when the rest of my band gets here, we can have some fun.”

  Tommy sat there, smiling and nodding. Jessi wasn’t saying much either. She always believed less was more when it came to talking business. Any other time you couldn’t shut her up, and by the way Angel was rambling on, he could give her serious competition.

  He hoped Jessi was listening to what Angel was saying, because he wasn’t paying attention. He was spellbound by the way Angel’s eyelashes fluttered when he blinked, the glimpse of Angel’s tongue when he spoke, and the little sparkle that was always in his eyes whenever they made eye contact with each other.

  Jessi nudged Tommy with her elbow, and it broke his trance.

  Focus, he told himself. Focus.

  “The band has a big draw. We play fairly large venues like the Bowery Ballroom and the Music Hall of Williamsburg and we have a long standing gig one Saturday a month at The Quadrangle. If you’ve never played The Quadrangle, you’re in for a treat. It feels like you’re playing a major concert hall. We play some dive bars pretty regularly too. I’m not going to pretend we’re too good to play in a rat hole, just because we get top dollar at The Quadrangle. In the summer months, we’re very busy and sometimes do five shows a week. We play the Jones Beach Bandshell in Long Island and The Stone Pony Summerstage in Asbury Park. Several times a year we open for nationally signed bands at local venues.”

  Angel finally paused for a breath. “My lead guitar player means a lot to me. Tommy, we’re going be a team, you and me. You’re going to be my right hand man.”

  Tommy was the most normal looking one in the band. It was his hair and his tattoos that gave him the rock and roll edge. Other than that, a heavy metal T-shirt, jeans and Doc Martens made up his wardrobe.

  Ji
mmy Wilder, the drummer, had his hair slicked back in a fifties-style pompadour and pork chop sideburns. He had a rockabilly flair. Colorful tattoos covered both of his well-muscled arms. They were the arms of a drummer.

  Damien Diamond, the bass player, was tall and skinny and he had the full-on punk rock persona: navy blue mohawk, eyeliner, piercings, leather and studs. And he was tattooed from his knuckles to his neck.

  Tommy tightened the tuning key of his Les Paul and plucked the E string with two sweaty hands. He had no reason to be nervous. He spent the last three days learning two of Angel’s top songs. He played them nonstop until he knew them perfectly. He could play them in his sleep if he had to. He even put a little spin on some of the guitar solos.

  Jimmy counted off four beats on his drum sticks, and then crashed them down on his cymbals. Tommy was taken back the moment Angel started to sing. The clarity of his voice couldn’t be conveyed through technology. The power and pitch that effortlessly flowed out of Angel’s mouth was indescribable. Tommy was so riveted that he almost missed his queue.

  Confidence flew from his fingertips as they glided over the guitar strings with impeccable speed. He bounced around and whipped his hair through the air and across his face. He fell to his knees at Angel’s feet and played one of his elaborate guitar solos. He was on fire.

  Angel swayed his hips and wiggled his body until Tommy finished the solo, then pulled him to his feet by the front of his shirt. Angel held Tommy’s crumpled T-shirt in his hand and sang directly to him, inching closer with each lyric. Tommy answered with a searing guitar riff. The chemistry they shared was incredible, and the energy was electric.

  After the last note of the song left Angel’s lungs, he threw the microphone down on the floor with a dramatic thud. He walked straight up to Tommy and looked deep into his eyes. “I want you to be my lead guitar player.”

  Every hair on the back of Tommy’s neck stood up. He was done with thrash rock. He was a punk rock guitar player now.

  Chapter Six

  The first day of band practice felt like the first day of school. Tommy was the newcomer, joining a group of friends who already found their niche. It didn’t matter that the audition went well. If he didn’t mesh musically, or if they didn’t connect, he might as well pack up his shit and go home.

  Jimmy Wilder was already seated behind his Tama kit, banging on his snare, when Tommy arrived at the studio. He was the band’s musical director and he was serious about his job. Even when they took a break, Jimmy was adjusting his drums or fussing over a beat.

  A few minutes later, Damien Diamond strolled in with his Rickenbacker bass guitar slung over his shoulder, rattling on about the congested Brooklyn traffic and lack of parking, and he never stopped talking. It drove Angel crazy, and they enjoyed a constant exchange of friendly banter. The two shared a history that Tommy wasn’t privy to, but their bond was evident.

  Between songs, when Angel stopped to adjust his microphone stand, Damien scampered over to Tommy. “So, dude, how’d you get this gig?”

  “Angel contacted me. I wasn’t looking to change bands. I was with Psychobabble since college.”

  “Psychobabble. That’s a cool name. Where’d you guys play?”

  “Just local bars. We had a pretty decent following.”

  “What kind of music? Rock? Covers?”

  Damien asked a lot of questions, and he spoke with such enthusiasm that it made the front of his mohawk bob up and down. It was distracting, and Tommy’s kept glancing up at it. “We played originals. Hardcore thrash rock. I love it.”

  “Me too. We should jam together sometime. Get a couple o’ beers and hang out.” Damien slugged Tommy on the arm. “I like you, man. It’s gonna be really cool playing together.”

  Angel was ready to continue and Damien scurried back to his spot. It was time to play. No more small talk until the next break.

  Angel stopped to fix a wire, and Damien was back.

  “So, I hear you have a degree in music.”

  Damien’s mohawk bounced like punctuation at the end of his sentence. Tommy took a quick peek at it before he answered. “Uh huh. It was important to me to get an education. I wanted to prove to my parents that I was serious about music. They thought it was just some kind of whim. My old man still harasses me about getting a real job.”

  Angel was back and Damien was off again. It was comical. Angel turned or stepped away and Damien was at Tommy’s side. Angel came back and Damien was gone. Tommy turned to Jimmy, behind the drums, and they shared a laugh.

  Tommy liked Damien. They had a lot of the same interests, specifically their love of hard rock music. Damien also confided in him that he wanted the position of lead guitar, but Angel didn’t approve.

  “Angel was nice about it. He said I was good, but my guitar playing didn’t knock him on his ass. He wanted the music to kick him in the nuts.” Damien laughed. “I don’t even know what the fuck that means. But he’s a straight shooter. He doesn’t bullshit. He’s honest like that.” Damien slugged him again and laughed some more. “I guess you do that to him – knock him on his ass and kick him in the nuts.”

  Damien was boisterous and entertaining and Tommy envisioned a close friendship in the future.

  When practice was over, Jimmy and Damien plopped down on the couch and thumped their feet on the floor in front of them.

  “Sorry, guys,” Angel pointed his thumb toward the door. “You two gotta scoot. I want to talk to Tommy. Business.”

  It was the first time Tommy was alone with Angel. It made his heart beat a little faster, and he was tongue-tied. He suddenly forgot all the words in the English language. He just sat there and grinned at Angel, like a fool.

  Angel pulled up a chair and sat facing him. “How was it? Did you like playing with Damien and Jimmy?”

  Tommy nodded. “I loved it. I never thought I’d play anything but hard rock or thrash metal, but your music is awesome. It’s really good. Fast and catchy. The songs stick in your head. And the lyrics are profound and exciting. I find myself humming your tunes all the time.” Every word Tommy knew came rushing back, and they wouldn’t stop. They all wanted to be heard. “Damien and Jimmy are great musicians. We all seemed to jive together really well. I was right at home with them. I feel like I’ve been playing this stuff my whole life. I wasn’t sure I’d fit in, but I do.” Finally, he paused for a breath. “Did I sound OK?”

  “OK?” Angel leaned closer. “Tommy Blade, you are more than OK. You, my sweet boy, are a musical genius.”

  Those beautiful, black-rimmed ebony eyes were inches away from Tommy’s face, and his vocabulary disappeared again. He was left with nothing except that silly grin.

  They gazed at each other for several seconds. Then Angel touched Tommy’s knee and stood up. Now, Angel’s crotch was staring Tommy in the face.

  “Oh, Tommy, you and I are going to have a very bright future together.”

  Tommy’s words seemed to be on a temporary sabbatical again, because he couldn’t find them. All he could do was smile up at Angel from the couch. He never had strong feelings for a man before. It was always a simple attraction and when the night was over, he never gave them a second thought. He didn’t know what to make of the feelings he had for Angel, but he didn’t care. The rush of pure adrenaline he got every time they were together was a drug he couldn’t refuse.

  Chapter Seven

  Angel hadn’t crushed on anyone in a long time. Tommy left quite the impression. It was those baby blue eyes that shined with excitement when he picked up the guitar. It was that blond hair that whispered in the air and left an aromatic trail of almond and mint. It was the smile that was always on his lips – lips that Angel couldn’t stop dreaming about.

  As he adjusted his mic stand, and impatiently waited for his new prince, he recalled the last few practice sessions. The infatuation wasn’t one-sided. Angel wasn’t imagining Tommy’s flirtation. Damien spotted it right away.

  “Tommy, really?” Damien questioned.
“I never would’ve guessed that dude went both ways. I don’t care how much he’s coming on to you. Don’t screw this up by hitting on him. We need Tommy. We’ll never find another guitar play as good as he is.”

  Angel denied his intentions and tried to play it off as showmanship, but Damien knew that he screwed every hot guy that crossed his path. Tommy wasn’t just another piece of ass, though. They shared an unspoken connection, but he always needed to remind himself that Tommy was a married man. Married to a woman. He still didn’t figure out that aspect. He had the best gaydar on the planet and Tommy was scoring an eleven on the Richter scale, despite his outwardly heterosexual appearance.

  Tommy’s voice filled his ears like a beautiful sonata. Forget the mic stand. It could wait. Tommy was here.

  He hugged Tommy and kissed him on the cheek. It was probably inappropriate, but Angel always thought with his heart instead of his head.

  Tommy was undisturbed by the physical contact. “I told Jessi she could stop by later. She’s anxious to hear us play. I hope it’s not a problem.”

  “Of course not. Jessi’s always welcome.”

  “Good. She didn’t want to impose.” Tommy slipped his guitar over his head and the strap snared a chuck of his hair. Angel was more concerned about it than Tommy was, who tugged forcefully on his guitar strap.

  “Let me help you.” Angel lifted the strap and gently freed a long lock of blond hair. It was soft and fragrant. He leaned closer to inhale the delicate scent.

  “Did you just sniff my hair?”

  Angel flustered. “I . . . I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it. It smells beautiful.”

  Tommy stared at him for a second before displaying a crooked, playful smile. “Are you done?” He lifted his hair with the back of his hand. “Do you want to take another whiff?”

  Angel tried to suppress his laughter. “Don’t you toy with me Tommy Blade.” A little embarrassed, he turned to walk away, but Tommy stopped him.

  “Wait. Don’t go anywhere. I worked on a new riff last night. Let me know what you think.”