In His Place: Sonic Idols Book #2 Read online

  Not long after I joined the band, Blue Demon Records sent us off on a small UK tour. It wasn’t said in so many words, but I got the impression the tour was intended as a test for me. I was younger than the other guys and I had just ditched my studies to become the drummer in a newly broken out rock band. You could say I was living every kid’s dream, but I’m guessing the label had to make sure that a grieving, nerdy, nineteen-year-old lad was cut out for whatever the hell fame was about to throw at him.

  Being on the tour bus was a little weird. I hadn’t known what to expect, but being surrounded by four other burping and farting males—including Den—in a confined space was probably the worst aspect. Most of the time we sat around jamming and writing new tracks. When we weren’t doing that, we retired to our respective shelves—aka bunks—to listen to music or sleep. Almost every day, Chris had a new drummer joke to tease me with. Apparently, he was the same with Joe, so at least I knew I wasn’t getting special treatment.

  The first night was in my home city of Leeds, and I think every person I had ever encountered showed up at the Academy to see us play. The venue wasn’t the biggest in the city, but none of the planned dates were in huge places—another reason I presumed it was a test.

  The stage was in darkness and covered in dry ice when we walked out and took our places. My heart was beating to a rhythm all of its own when I smacked my sticks together to the intro of the band’s first single, “Hot ‘n’ Heavyâ€�. Next, the stage lights illuminated the place, filtering through the clouds of smoke, and a sudden rush of adrenaline coursed through my veins as I played the beat. Nick paced the stage like a pro and the piercing screams of hundreds of females could be heard over the music—I was pretty sure one of them was my mum—so the sound tech took this as his cue and bumped the volume higher still. My heart pounded and a feeling of euphoria gripped me. Joe was right all along. This was me. This was what I was meant to do. It was just gut-wrenching that it took Joe to die for me to realise.

  Now, I’ve never been one to believe in ghosts or spirits or whatever, but that night—and every gig since—I’ve felt Joe’s presence, spurring me on, pushing me to play harder. To put everything I have into my playing. That first night was like an out of body experience. I closed my eyes and let my breathing and heart rate calm as we took the tempo down for the band’s ballad, “Don’t Leave Me Aloneâ€�. This was the one song I was dreading as Joe had written the lyrics for Allie. He wasn’t known for song writing but this one had come from his heart and the other guys had loved it. As I played, I could imagine watching the band from somewhere above the stage, like I was watching with Joe, and for the first time since he died, I felt peace. Like everything was going to be okay. And I knew that was because I had made the right decision.

  I was fulfilling my destiny.

  The tour got better and better. Each night was a natural high that exceeded the night before. I didn’t need drugs. I didn’t need chemicals of any sort to get me there. Playing was enough. And as the tour continued, I slowly began to change my thinking. The songs stopped being ‘the band’s songs’ and became ‘our songs’. I was one of them. We were a unit. And strangely, the guilt I thought I would feel in taking Joe’s place became a sense of pride. I was being accepted, and I knew deep in my heart that Joe would love them all for that, and he would love me for continuing in his footsteps.

  It was on that tour—admittedly spurred on by Chris the guitarist—that I underwent the needle gun and had my first tattoo. A set of angel wings on my back with Joe’s name in the centre. A fitting tribute to the man responsible for my place in the band. And every night, Stig the bassist, Chris or Nick would make eye contact with me and grin like the Cheshire Cat, and I’d feel this thrill rise from my boots and emanate right to my fingertips. There was no other feeling like it. Not even sex.

  Therein lies another story. The guys were hell bent on getting me laid. Believe me, it got old very fast. I was by no means a virgin, but I didn’t sleep around. I’d always wanted what my folks had. What Joe and Allie’d had. But I’m a hot-blooded male after all, and the buzz of playing took a while to leave my system. The guys convinced me that sex was a great stress release. They also insisted the no strings attached relationships of the road made the guilt less.

  So, the final night of our tour arrived and I hadn’t plucked up the courage to sleep with anyone up to that point—to the utter disappointment of the other guys who bedded a different girl every night. I considered myself a bit of a geek with my floppy hair and beard, but the guys insisted that I was getting plenty of looks from the opposite sex, even though I was evidently oblivious. The last gig was at a venue in Nottingham. The crowd was awesome, and just under the glare of the lights, I could see a petite blonde wearing a low-cut top right at the front near the stage. Nick and Chris had both played up to her and she’d been lapping it up. But every chance she got, she stared in my direction, playing with her hair. From what I could see of her—and that was only from the waist up—she was cute, with a sexy figure and a nice smile. Although, I was at the back of the stage, so what did I know? At the end of the show, the other guys were signing stuff and posing for photos with the band’s first groupies, and I was packing my gear away.

  “Hi,â€� came a voice from behind me.

  I looked up to see the petite blonde smiling down at me. I nodded once. “Hiya.â€�

  “So… you’re the new drummer, eh?â€�

  I stood and discovered that I towered over her. She wore a black flared mini skirt and black combat style boots. Her arms were tattooed with skulls and roses and her blonde hair was around shoulder length. Quite pretty close-up. Just as I had suspected.

  Remembering she had asked me a question, I shook my head. “Oh… drummer. Yeah. New drummer.â€� I sounded like a total muppet. Fucking hell, Si, you tit. Me man. Me hit things with pointy sticks.

  She giggled. “I suppose the sticks are a bit of a giveaway.â€� She nodded towards my hand, and sure enough, I was gripping a pair of sticks I had yet to pack.

  Heat flared up in my cheeks and I cringed. “Erm, yeah. Sticks.â€� Jeez, just stop talking, you dick.

  “Me and my friends have just invited the band back to our place. We’re having a few drinks and they’ve all agreed to come, but the singer said I should ask you along as you’re apparently shy. Do you fancy it?â€� the girl asked, playing with her hair again.

  Great. Thanks, Nick. Thanks a lot. I scratched my back with the sticks. “Erm… yeah. Sure, why not?â€�

  The girl smiled. “Great. We’ll be waiting at the bar. I’m Tiff, by the way.â€�

  I held out my hand like she was about to interview me. Again, dick. “I’m… erm… Sim, I mean Si. My name’s Simeon, but that’s a bit of a mouthful, so people call me Si.â€�

  She licked her lips suggestively. “Oh, don’t worry, Si. I quite like a mouthful.â€� And with that, she turned, flicked her hair, and sashayed back towards her group of friends who were fawning over the rest of the band.

  Fuck me. That was forward.

  Against the better judgment of the guy who had apparently been assigned as our manager—an orange-faced camp bloke called Den—we all followed the girls and their friends to a house just on the outskirts of the city centre. It was a large detached building that had been sectioned into one-bed flats, rather like student digs, but the shared kitchen was the hub of the party. Tiff found me and handed me a can of cheap-looking beer. I cracked it open and took a long pull.

  She dragged me by my free hand to the main staircase, up to the first floor, and in through a door which displayed a hand-painted, artsy sign that read, ‘If
the t-shirt’s a-hanging, I’m probably a-banging.’ Tasteful. And before I could speak, she whipped off the top she wore and stuck it on the outer door knob. Well, at least I know where I stand.

  She dragged me inside and shoved me up against the wall. The next thing I knew, she had her legs wrapped around my waist and her tongue in my mouth.

  Now, I know what I said before about wanting that perfect relationship and everything, but I also remember saying I’m a hot-blooded male, and when a sexy blonde girl with perfect tits wants to shag you… well, anyway, I’ll leave it at that.

  I was relieved that Nick had stuck a wad of condoms in my hand as we got out of the cab. The last thing I needed was to be discovering a few months down the line that I was about to be a rock star and a father. It wasn’t something that had featured in my fantasies, that’s for sure.

  Tiff pulled away from me, her chest heaving and her eyes dark with lust. “I want you, Si. Get naked.â€� She lowered her feet to the floor and shimmied out of her short skirt until she stood before me in lacy black underwear.

  There was hardly any blood left north of my waistband, but I managed to strip the clothes from my body. She raked her eyes up and down me, assessing what was on offer, but I was too aroused to care by that point.

  A sexy smile tilted up her mouth and she shook her head. “Boy, are we gonna have fun tonight.â€� She unclasped her bra, slipped her panties down her legs, and crooked her finger at me. I quickly grabbed a condom from my jeans and followed her to the bed. She pulled me down on top of her and gripped my erection firmly, causing me to inhale sharply at the sensations of pleasure she created.

  Suddenly she stopped, pushed me onto my back, and straddled me. “Si, I think there’s something you should know before we carry on.â€�

  I opened my eyes and did my best to focus on her serious expression, rather than the pert breasts with tight pink nipples she had bared before me. What the fuck was she about to tell me?

  I swallowed, trying to ignore the rising panic in my gut. “Oh yeah? What’s that then?â€�

  “I’m not looking for a relationship. As good-looking and nice as you are, I won’t be contacting you again after tonight.â€�

  I laughed in disbelief. It was the opposite of what I expected. “You don’t even know how good I am yet.â€�

  She shook her head and trailed her black painted nails down my torso, making me shiver. Her fingertips traced my abs with featherlight touches. “I’m sure you’ll be good, Si. I have a sense about these things. But the thing is… I sleep with musicians.â€� Wow, okay. That was matter of fact. She shrugged. “It’s just what I do. I get slagged for it all the time, but at least I’m honest. I wouldn’t call myself a slut. I’m always careful, but I like the thrill of it. I just thought you should know.â€�

  I bit the condom packet and tore it open, keeping my eyes locked on hers. “Don’t worry, I promise not to propose marriage. Now, do you want to put this thing on me or should I do it?â€�

  She giddily took the rubber out of my hand and stretched it on as I closed my eyes once more. Who the fuck was I? Where had the bravado come from? It had been a long time since I’d had no strings attached sex, so I let myself go, safe in the knowledge there would be no repercussions.

  Just pure, unadulterated pleasure.

  Chapter 5

  Si

  *

  Time flies when you’re on the road.

  One place blurs into another and the view from the bus becomes one big cityscape. So much so that I’ve been known to ask Den what country we’re in, never mind the city. I don’t wish to sound ungrateful, because I love playing, but sometimes I wish I had a real home to go back to, instead of a crash pad in London—a city I don’t even like.

  The crash pad I bought was a two-bed apartment close to Nick’s place—although mine was a hell of a lot more modest. I’d been saving money whilst simultaneously trying to convince my folks to let me buy them somewhere new, but they kept turning me down. I never gave up hope though. In the basement of the apartment block, in its own private spot, stood a Harley Davidson that I knew I would probably never get the chance to ride, but ever since being a kid, I had dreamed of owning one so it was the first big purchase I made. I was photographed for Rock Hard magazine sitting atop the beautiful beast out in the Cornish countryside, against an azure blue backdrop. It was a stunning little place they had chosen close to Crantock on the coast. I remember it well because I had the best Cornish pasty of my life there. Funny the things that stick out in your mind. Whilst I was straddling my favourite purchase, crowds of fans gathered to watch me pose like some wannabe catalogue model—except I wasn’t quite so natural at the posing thing. The makeup artist had to continually powder my obvious embarrassment away. I cringed when the magazine came out and my mum told me she had framed the centrefold to put it on the wall in their home office.

  So much changed so rapidly. I went from scraping money together from a bar job and my measly student loan to feed myself and buy text books, to having more money than any young adult would know what to do with. It was quite intimidating to begin with, but I loved the fact I could buy my folks gifts and send them on spa breaks together without worrying about the cost.

  Winning a Grammy for best rock album two years after joining the band had to be one of the highlights of my career. We were up against Angel and the Fallen. I felt sure they would win, but hearing our name announced by a glamorous A-list actress almost knocked me from my chair. The occasion was one to add to the memory bank and never let go of. Talk about stories to tell my grandkids. I have to say that I look bloody good in a tux too. The whole band chose to take our dress code up a notch and it caused a media frenzy. The fans were so used to seeing us in denim and leather, that seeing Nick with his hair scraped back in a ponytail, Chris all clean shaven and suave looking, Stig with a shirt on, and me, well, looking like me in a tux, took our fandom to a whole new level. Pictures of us donned every magazine and tabloid. Even some of the broad sheets got in on the action.

  Looking out from the stage at the myriad faces cheering for us, most of the folks on their feet, caused a lump of pure emotion to lodge in my throat. I was relieved not to be the band’s spokesperson, as I’m fairly sure I would have just sobbed instead of delivering the articulate acceptance speech Nick gave. Sometimes being in the background has its good points.

  When we weren’t touring, we were recording. Blue Demon used only the best studios and top-notch producers. Getting to work with such talented people was mind-blowing and I had to remind myself not to gawp at these people in dumbstruck awe. The sessions were long and often repetitive, but I told myself over and over that I was fortunate to be in this position. Joe hadn’t been lucky enough to see the band through to the top of every rock chart in existence, and so I was doing it for him as well as me.

  And on top of that, there were the band photoshoots. I hate having to do the pouty face thing, but apparently, it’s what the female fans—the record buying folks—love to see. So, we obviously obliged and still do. These events weren’t all bad though, don’t get me wrong. On one particular shoot in London, I got quite friendly with the photographer’s assistant. Somehow, we ended up kissing and dry-humping in a broom cupboard at the end of the shoot. I was totally oblivious to the fact that the guys were waiting for me for half an hour until the photographer himself banged on the door and scared us half to death. Turned out the assistant was his twenty-one-year-old daughter and I narrowly missed a severe arse kicking. I apologised profusely and told him I really liked her and wanted to take her out on a proper date. But the girl said she wasn’t interested in a relationship with a slutty rock star—apparently we’re only good for one thing and I’ll leave that to your
imagination. Charming, eh? And there was another lesson learned—know who you’re getting up close and personal with before the shenanigans.

  After recording the next album, we were off again on the post production tour, and my life seemed to be whizzing past at a rate of knots. Another startling thing about being on tour is that something you’d never imagined yourself doing is suddenly second nature. Back at the start of my time with Sonic Idols, when I was a fresh-faced nineteen-year-old, the thought of multiple one night stands really didn’t appeal to me at all. But by the age of twenty-four, I had notched up a fair few on my imaginary bed post, I can tell you. Language barriers didn’t seem to exist. When a woman puts her hands all over you then gets naked and lays back, you kind of understand where you stand. And so long as the women and I were on the same page—i.e. one night stand, no strings attached—then why the fuck not make the most of it?

  The problem is that touring and recording… recording and touring some more wasn’t conducive to meeting my one true love, and so sex was just that. Sex. A way to relieve the stress and get my rocks off—if you’ll excuse my crudeness.

  I never slept with the same woman twice. Although, that was on the advice of Chris, who informed me that—regardless of what they make their mouths say—if a woman has sex with you twice, they see relationship potential there. I think he was kind of belittling the intelligence of his conquests, but in all honesty, there was no real need to shag the same woman twice anyway. We were never in the same place long enough and the buffet was always being replenished, if you get my meaning.

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  The incident with Nick at the airport when we were due to set off for Germany was a huge shock. A wake-up call, if you will. None of us really knew what to do when it happened. Seeing him—a fit bloke in his late twenties—collapse, clutching his chest, was upsetting beyond belief, and we all wondered if he’d make it. After what happened to Joe, we had to face the fact that the band couldn’t take another blow like that, and without Nick fronting us, the band would fold.