The Fire Walker (The Devil's Tattoo)

  Copyright © 2013 Nicole R. Taylor

  Kindle Edition

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All song titles, song lyrics, products and band names mentioned in this book are the property of the sole copyright owners.

  Cover Design: © Nicole R. Taylor // Paper and Sage Designs

  Contents

  Chapter One – Dee

  Chapter Two - Jessie

  Chapter Three - Dee

  Chapter Four - Jessie

  Chapter Five - Dee

  Chapter Six - Jessie

  Chapter Seven - Dee

  Chapter Eight - Jessie

  Chapter Nine – Dee

  Chapter Ten - Dee

  Chapter Eleven – Dee

  Chapter Twelve – Jessie

  Chapter Thirteen – Dee

  Chapter Fourteen – Jessie

  Chapter Fifteen – Dee

  Chapter Sixteen – Jessie

  Chapter Seventeen – Dee

  Chapter Eighteen – Jessie

  Chapter Nineteen – Dee

  Chapter Twenty – Jessie

  Chapter Twenty One – Dee

  Chapter Twenty Two - Jessie

  Chapter Twenty Three Dee

  Chapter Twenty Four - Dee

  Chapter Twenty Five – Jessie

  Chapter Twenty Six – Dee

  Chapter Twenty Seven – Jessie

  Chapter Twenty Eight – Dee

  Chapter Twenty Nine – Dee

  Chapter Thirty – Jessie

  Chapter Thirty One – Dee

  Chapter Thirty Two – Dee

  Other Books by Nicole R. Taylor

  About the Author

  Love is a fire. But whether it is going to warm your heart or burn your house down, you can never tell.

  - Joan Crawford

  "I swear to god, Dee if you don't hurry the hell up..."

  "Take a chill pill, Zoe," I said, tuning the last string on my guitar. "Don't worry your pretty little head over it."

  "I wanna get this done today, if you don't mind." She rolled her eyes at me, flipping her long brown hair over her shoulder.

  Zoe Granger, aka Hot Legs, was my best friend. She was my family and the singer and guitarist in our band, The Devil's Tattoo. The band I started for her.

  I know what people think when they see us hang out. We're so close it looks like we're together together, but it couldn't be further from the truth. She's my sister from another mister. She'd go to hell and back for me and I'd do the same. In fact, I'd already done just that.

  When her life fell to pieces I was there for her. Start to finish. I didn't regret it, not for one second. When I said I started this band for her, I did, but it became more than that. We had added another three people to our extended family. Frank was on drums, Chris played bass and Simone was our manager. They were as much a part of this as Zoe and I.

  "It'll get done," I said with a chuckle. It had become a running joke with the guys about how long it took me to tune my guitar. What could I say? I was a perfectionist.

  We were recording the last song of our full length debut album. Well, it wasn't our debut, but it would be our American one, complete with four new songs and re-recording and mastering of our original ten. Much to our surprise, we'd been asked to do it in Los Angeles. A world away from our base in Melbourne, Australia, and today was going to be the last day. That was if we could get these last guitar parts down before the clock ticked over midnight.

  "Will is coming in tomorrow and I don't want to make him sit in here watching you tune your guitar," Zoe huffed.

  Will Strickland was the bass player in The Stabs, the band we toured with last year, and her boyfriend. They were so in love it made me sick, but I'd never seen her happier. I only wished I'd be that lucky someday. Will had told me later on that when he saw her, he knew. It was a nice notion, but I reckon it doesn't work that way for everyone.

  Catching Zoe's eye, I gave her a wink and slid my fingers across the strings. "See? Perfect."

  Slapping me on the arm with a grin, she pushed out of the booth and joined Chris, Frank and the sound tech by the board. Sliding the oversized headphones over my ears, I shut out all the outside noise and held a thumb up to signal I was ready. As the intro of the song that we were finishing up started, I closed my eyes and just felt it out. I knew this stuff back to front. I lived it and I breathed it. I didn't need a score to follow, it just came to me. Zoe had tried to teach me how to read music, but it just wasn't in me. The structure of lines and notes and time signatures just took out the magic and spontaneity. I liked to live on the edge.

  The Devil's Tattoo was all about straight up rock'n'roll. Catchy riffs, complicated solos, moody lyrics, distortion, rawness. Playing guitar was the best thing in the world and to do it with such an awesome group of people and with such a challenging line up of songs, well it took the cake. I was bloody happy to tell you the truth. For once in my life I was content to leave things just as they were.

  The song I was currently playing through was called Red Heart. It was one of my finer moments and I hoped this one would be the single. It had a slow, moody start, but then the guitars cranked and it was off the charts. Zoe did the vocals and damn… she had lungs alright. I couldn't wait to play this one live, it'd go off. I wished I could go off right now, but I was in a tiny sound booth and had to get this right.

  We'd rehearsed this song so many times I knew it back to front, so I looked up and caught Zoe's gaze and winked. At that moment, the outside door opened and two women walked in like they owned the joint. That could only mean they were record company types and I suddenly wondered why they were here. They started talking with Simone and shaking hands all round and everyone turned to look at me. I couldn't hear what they were saying of course, so I hoped it was nice. I was awesome, so naturally it would be.

  The taller woman looked like a rocker with shaggy black hair and maybe in her early thirties. I was a terrible judge of age. Rule one when trying to determine the age of the opposite sex, always aim low. The other woman was looking down at a tablet she had in her hands, frowning at the screen. Her face was angled away and she was the only one who hadn't looked over at me. She was pretty. Mousey blonde hair, slim, a tattoo down her arm. Well, pretty was not a good word. Beautiful? That was a bit better.

  The other woman elbowed her with a knowing smile and she looked up. They knew I was checking her out. What was new? I checked everyone out. Her gaze crossed mine and my fingers fumbled over the strings, making a horrible scratching sound. She had big brown eyes like fucking Bambi and I almost choked. Through the glass I saw Zoe fuming, but the others were laughing their heads off.

  Hitting the intercom, I said, "Start it again."

  My gaze fell onto the blonde woman as I straightened up and she was standing there, her hand over her mouth, stifling a laugh. There was something about her...

  I was always a bit of a clown, but right then, I kinda felt embarrassed. As the track started again, I gave Zoe a shrug and turned my back so I didn't have to look at them. And god, I had to know who that woman was. My eyes had locked onto her like a magnet and I'd never felt anything like it. Bam. Connection.

  It was then I realized everything Wil
l had said about him and Zoe was right. Seeing him so pussy whipped on tour was bloody amusing, but now I was beginning to understand. When I saw her, I just knew.

  Will Strickland you motherfucker.

  By the time I came out of the booth three takes later, the woman and her friend were gone.

  "Who were they?" I asked Frank, who was sitting on a couch at the back of the room. Everyone else had disappeared somewhere.

  "Label types," he shrugged.

  "Be more specific."

  "Marketing manager. Wants to keep us happy. You know the deal."

  The deal would probably be taking us out for dinner, gigs, and clubs. I didn't really care. "Who was the blonde one?"

  Frank rose an eyebrow. "Intern."

  "Her name was intern?" I asked annoyed, knowing full well he had caught on to the fact I'd already made eyes at her.

  "She said her name was Jessie," he said slyly. "They're from New York."

  "New York, huh?"

  "She was a looker."

  "I saw her first."

  "Damn, it," he laughed. "I so knew you were checking her out."

  "Of course I was, mate."

  "I'm going to the shop, do you want anything?" That was his code for, I need to get out of this shoe box, and he started towards the door.

  "Nope."

  "Later, then."

  The door closed behind him and I sat there in silence listening to the muted sounds of the track coming from the sound tech's headphones. He was a nice guy, but he didn't hang with us much. It'd been a stupid amount of weeks and I didn't remember his name.

  Thankfully Zoe came in, saving me from myself with two takeout cups of coffee in her hands and held one out to me. "Never say I don't give you anything."

  "Thanks, Hot Legs." I really fucking needed caffeine right now. And a distraction. Recording was a hard slog and there were times when there was nothing to do but listen to yourself breathe. Those were the times when my mind sunk into depression. I was the kind of guy who needed action to stay afloat.

  Chris was in the booth doing the last bass part for Red Heart and the sound tech had headphones over his ears listening to what was being recorded. Frank wouldn't come back for at least twenty minutes, so we're free to talk dirty if we wanted to. No one was listening.

  "What did those record types want before?" I asked, trying to work up to asking about the woman Frank had said was called Jessie.

  "Schmoozing," she shrugged. "They want to take us out for dinner tomorrow night and do the whole club thing." She didn't sound impressed, but I knew Zoe wasn't into going to clubs. She called them meat markets and when she had a hot piece like Will Strickland, of course she didn't want to go. But, if it meant this Jessie would be there, then I was all over that shit.

  "They're doing this now?"

  "We're pretty much finished recording, so I guess they want to reward us."

  "Like a dog doing a fucking trick," I said sullenly. This was my dream, making it big, but I found myself disliking the facade that the business types threw up in our faces. As long as we were making them a dollar, then they slapped on the fake smiles and were all for showing us a good time. All I wanted to do was stand on a stage and play.

  "Dee, I know. But a record deal is a record deal. Just cos they want to sell out and make cash, doesn't mean we do."

  "I know. Sometimes it just shits me to tears."

  "You're too genuine," she smiled, patting me on the knee. "Good guys get eaten up."

  "Good guys finish last," I scoffed, thinking about my perpetual single status. Girls liked the bad boys and I didn't have a bad bone in my body.

  "Does this have something to do with earlier?" Zoe asked with an accuracy that annoyed the hell out of me.

  I shook my head, but she knew me like the back of her own hand.

  "You were staring at that Jessie chick like she was something to eat."

  "I wasn't," I protested, suddenly flustered.

  She grinned, shaking her head. "If you say so, Dee Dee."

  "Shut up."

  She dumped her empty takeout cup on the table. "You know what you're doing, but be careful there."

  "Why?" I asked with a grimace, poking at my own untouched coffee. What had she heard?

  "You're with the band. She's with the label."

  I never thought about it that way. I'd just locked eyes with the woman and already I had to know her.

  "Zoe?"

  "Yeah?"

  "I think I understand what Will was saying now."

  "About what?" she asked, but I knew she was playing with me.

  "Zoe."

  "Really?" she asked, frowning. "You haven't even spoken with her."

  "Will didn't speak to you until later."

  She shrugged. "It worked out for us in the end, but you saw the shit we went through to get there."

  "Yeah." I knew it just as well as she did. I'd been there the entire time. I'd given Will a black eye he'd never forget when he'd stuffed up.

  Looking up, I realized Zoe was peering at me with a strange expression on her face. Like she was worried about me. Like she knew I was going to fail before I even began and I didn't like it.

  "Why are you looking at me like that?" I asked with a scowl.

  "You know you can be a little arrogant, right?"

  "No way… really?" I slumped back into the couch.

  "In the beginning, I wish Will had of just talked to me. You know about it. You were there. Cut out the dick and go straight to the nice guy."

  "I'm not a dick."

  "Of course you're not. You're my best friend. But Americans see our sense of humor differently. Instead of the loveable fool you are, you might come across like an arrogant wanker."

  "Fuck, Zoe," I sighed, running a hand over my face. "Way to bring a guy down."

  "You wanted my advice."

  "I never asked for it."

  "You didn't need to." She sat back next to me, and I wrapped an arm around her shoulder. "I can see it every time you see me with Will."

  "What do you mean?"

  "You've always been on your own," she said carefully.

  "That's by choice." No it wasn't.

  "Dee," she scolded. "It's me you're talking to."

  "Sorry."

  "I know you want more. I saw it in your eyes this arvo. All I'm saying is don't throw yourself in too fast."

  I felt my insides knot and I groaned. "You really get me with an accuracy that pisses me off."

  "That's why we're besties." She punched me in the shoulder, and then planted a kiss on my cheek. "But before you go out, I want her resume on my desk."

  I sunk my head back against the couch and laughed. When we'd started the band and Will came sniffing around, I'd told her that I wanted to see the resume of every guy she wanted to go out with. Now it was like a running joke and since I was single and she was taken, it was at my expense every time. I knew she didn't mean it in a nasty way, but I couldn't help but feel a little sad.

  As soon as we stopped talking and turned our attention back onto Chris in the sound booth, my thoughts went straight to this Jessie. What did her voice sound like? Where was she from? And most importantly, why had this mystery woman sparked such a reaction in me?

  If I didn't find out, I might as well just quit at life. Forever the nice guy finishing last.

  I'd never been to Los Angeles before.

  There were wide streets, palm trees and it was flat. I mean, there was high rises and all, but nothing like Manhattan. And the traffic was badder than bad. The sky always seemed to be blue and it had this haze, like the desert had kicked up a dust storm and flung it over the city.

  "Jessie?"

  At the sound of my name, I sat up sharply in the back of the town car and flicked on my tablet. I sat next to Georgie, one of the executives at Galaxy Records who often went out sucking up to bands. She's the spitting image of Joan Jett, tall, leggy and tough, while I was this tiny little mousey blonde whatever.

  "Is it to
o late to go to the studio? What was their schedule?"

  I looked down at the tablet. "They'll still be there. They're booked until midnight."

  "Good." Georgie tapped the driver's shoulder and barked the name of the recording studio in his ear and I even I was sorry for his hearing.

  Sinking back into the leather seat, I watched the city go past. It was so different here from where I grew up. So glitzy. I was from Montreal, Canada, but I'd moved to New York the first chance I got. How could I not? Music was my blood and it was the home of everything from Broadway to Punk Rock. People went there to follow their dreams of stardom and it was only natural I went too. Except, I didn't want to be a star. I wanted to help others become them.

  Six days a week I interned at Galaxy Records. Five nights a week I worked at a cafe in Brooklyn. It was an alternative place, attracting artists and musicians. You know the type. We stayed open until ten thirty every night and the atmosphere turned dark and dangerous. The place was crammed full of old couches and armchairs complete with side tables and lamps. I'd made some good friends there, so I didn't mind the minimum wage. Tips were good because we had a lot of regulars and the boss didn't mind my rotating schedule.

  It had taken me a lot to get to where I was. Falling to rock bottom in spectacular fashion and clawing my way back up. I was pretty lucky my life was back on track and going somewhere other than down the toilet. It really had been a close call. Twenty-four and still figuring it out.

  Galaxy Records sounded like a label from the early nineties, but it had been around since the seventies. Despite the name, they were one of the biggest out there for rock, indie and alternative guitar and electro bands. When I was in my teens, I'd been a bit of a rebellious punk rocker, so this kind of music was my life, but I had no skill for singing or playing. I tried with disastrous results and cringed every time I thought about how bad I was.

  Now, I wanted to get my foot in the door anyway I could. If I couldn't play, then I'd manage, or market, or scout, or anything. Somehow I'd got an internship at the label in the marketing team and had been working hard ever since. Mostly, I ran around after Georgie. She's in charge of a bands image, so it's all photo shoots, music videos and album releases. All the juicy stuff. It doesn't matter that I go out to get her lunch, it matters that I make most of the inane phone calls and tag along to meetings and shoots. It matters who I get to meet and the impression I make. I wanted to be better at Georgie's job that Georgie was, so one day they'd offer it to me.