Jump Read online

  Jump

  Big Bands, Big Hearts Series

  Sandra Alex

  Keep in touch with the author by Subscribing.

  ISBN 978-1-989427-81-1

  ISBN 978-1-989427-82-8

  Copyright © 2022 Sandra Alex

  All rights reserved.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Secrets

  Keep in Touch

  Did You Enjoy This Book?

  Author’s Note

  I get up and nothin' gets me down

  You got it tough, I've seen the toughest around

  And I know, baby, just how you feel

  You got to roll with the punches and get to what's real

  Ah, can't you see me standin' here

  I got my back against the record machine

  I ain't the worst that you've seen

  Ah, can't you see what I mean?

  Ah, might as well jump (jump)

  Might as well jump

  Go ahead and jump (jump)

  Go ahead and jump

  Ow, oh, hey, you

  Who said that?

  Baby, how you been?

  You say you don't know

  You won't know until you begin

  So can't ya see me standing here

  I got my back against the record machine

  I ain't the worst that you've seen

  Ah, can't you see what I mean?

  Ah, might as well jump (jump)

  Go ahead and jump

  Might as well jump (jump)

  Go ahead and jump

  Jump

  Might as well jump (jump)

  Go ahead and jump

  Get it in, jump (jump)

  Go ahead and jump

  Jump

  Jump

  Jump

  Jump

  -Jump by Van Halen

  Source: LyricFind

  Songwriters: Alex Van Halen / Edward Van Halen / David Roth

  Jump lyrics © Warner Chappell Music, Inc

  Chapter 1

  Jett

  “What the fuck does that mean?” I mouth to Slick over the din. “Who fucking gave that to you, man?”

  I don’t wait for an answer. I look over my shoulder, at my guitar tech, Trey, and motion to him. He trots over quickly as the drum solo comes to a close and I see Zane catching on that he needs to fill in a gap. We’re such a team it sometimes makes my head spin. “Yo, go grab Chris, man. Fast.” I instruct, telling him to go get the attention of our head of security.

  Crush picks up on the pause and hits it with a smoking solo, building on the one that he started as a natural pause in the song. Chris is not far from the pit, and he trots over, with this look that says he’s ready to tackle anything, like always. That’s why we pay him the big bucks. “Which chick gave this to you, man?” I ask Slick, as the spotlights remain at the front of the stage, so that nobody can tell what’s going on back here.

  “Front row, I think. Third-ish in from the mid-section.” Slick says, wiggling his hand from side to side, as a sign that he’s not exactly sure, to Chris, handing him the bra with the odd yet eerie message written in black marker inside. “White shirt. Blonde.” Slick adds, pushing his hands out in front of him, indicating that she’s got huge tits. Chris nods and we go back into concert mode, ripping into the rest of the song, seemingly not skipping a beat, because fans were just going wild over the little interlude, unbeknownst to the drama unfolding backstage.

  Just so I get a visual, I walk to the front of the stage with Slick, as he sings, and observe through the corner of my eye, Chris removing this chick from the audience. She puts up a fight, causing a string of struggles in that whole section, and suddenly the place is swarmed with security guards coming from all directions. By the time we finish the song, the whole middle section is being removed from the mosh pit, and it’s created such a raucous, that we decide to go to one of our contingency plans.

  Slick and I exchange a look and he whistles to our stage manager, giving him the signal, and we watch the stage lights dim, while just a small light remains at the front of the stage, where they’re clearing the people in the mosh pit out. The hissing in the silence gives me a shiver up my spine, as I watch from the side, our security crew clearing the area, escorting most of the people who are causing the fuss, out. It’s a shame, really, because all these people must have paid big bucks for the seats they have. Thank God it’s not front row center, above the mosh pit, where only celebrities and the media are.

  This sucks because we’re only about halfway through our set, and that doesn’t include an encore, which we always do. And just when we think things couldn’t get any worse, an alarm goes off, deep in the bowels of the arena, only loud enough for our security crew and people on the floor to hear, but it causes mayhem, nonetheless. We can hear people screaming, freaking out, and I feel a sudden panic as I look over at Slick. “What the fuck is that, man?”

  “I don’t know.” He says, looking around next to me. Roxy doesn’t dare come over to me in the darkness, even though I know she’s probably as flipped out about this as I am. Then I see Frank, our road manager, come out from the tunnel under the stage. He sees the looks on our faces and lifts a hand.

  “Don’t sweat it. It’s the emergency exit.”

  “Fuck…me.” I say, relieved.

  Frank claps me on the back. “You worry too much, bro. Give these dudes another three minutes and we’ll get back on track. These cats won’t even know what’s going on, man.”

  Crush is still at his drums. He hasn’t moved an inch, but Zane is over next to him. They look as aloof as two kids waiting for a sundae at the Dairy Queen. “Yo, can you tell Roxy that everything is cool, man?” I ask Frank

  “Sure. She’s fine, but I’ll tell her.” He says, walking away from us.

  The security guys have removed most of the people that caused the fight, and we watch them pull away the rest of the hooligans, leaving just fans with expectant faces behind. “Alright, are you ready to rock?” I ask Slick.

  “Aren’t I always?” he says, giving me a knowing look. We gesture at Zane and Crush that we’re ready to roll again, and Slick snaps his fingers in the air at our stage manager, who is off to the side, waiting for the signal. “Yo, you wanna start the last tune again, man?”

  “Yeah.” I nod, walking over to my side of the stage, noodling on my guitar. The crowd hears me and immediately starts going wild.

  “Sorry for the disruption, man.” Slick says in between my licks. “But we’re back and ready to kick some ass on stage here! Are you guys ready to rock?!” he shouts into the mic as I kick it up a notch, and Crush starts hitting the cymbals, giving me a beat. The audience is going nuts with anticipation, and we don’t disappoint. Before we hit the chorus, the fans seem to have forgotten about the interruption, and so have we, as we rip through the song and the next one, and then Slick stops for a two-minute rap break, while I switch guitars.

  Trey hands me the guitar I’ll use for the more mellow tune, and I give Roxy a little kiss on the lips as I poke my head over her way. She’s as calm as a cucumber, making me feel better. “You’re doing great, baby.” She says.

  “Thanks, babe.” I say, giving her another kiss. I’d love to bring her out for a duet, but after the escapade, I’d rather keep her safe. It’s making me nervous that our security team has been whittled down to less than half, as they take care of whatever is going on with the threat. I’m not
even sure what kind of threat that was, but it was a threat, nonetheless. In the back of my mind, I’m wondering what’s happening. If this is going to be an evacuation kind of deal, or what. But we keep motoring on, hoping that whatever happens will at least occur after the show, and I know that that’s what our security guys strive for. They always take things outside and make sure everyone stays calm until it’s time to not be calm.

  When I get back to the front of the stage, it looks like some other fans have filled the vacant seats, smartly. They just went from five hundred dollar seats to fifteen hundred dollars or more. I would have done the exact same thing if I were in their shoes. Slick is at the apron of the stage, touching the hands of the migrated fans, and their faces are something to behold. The look of sheer happiness, unexpected glory, and one chick decides to do the most expected; she climbs up onto the shoulders of her friend, and reaches as far as she can, to touch Slick.

  We rip into our fan favorite, ‘Fuss’, and the crowd goes ballistic. Hands are clapping overhead, mouths are moving to the lyrics, and Slick is gyrating to the beat, locking his hips one way and then the opposite way, just close enough to the female fan riding the shoulders, and making sure that he’s just a hair too far from her reach, but close enough that she can almost touch him. He’s very strategic in his movements and proximity. The guy is brave but he’s also a genius. It’s as if our little interruption never happened. The alarm is silenced. Either that or our music is so loud it drowns it out. Right now, I don’t care. I’m in the zone, playing like my life depends on it.

  I walk over to the side, playing for the fans by my guitars, and I catch another glimpse of Roxy. She’s smiling at me while I play, so I throw her a bone, lifting my leg onto the riser, jutting my axe out slightly, and I get the desired reaction. Not only are the fans going nuts, but I can see that Roxy has that look in her eyes again, the same one that I fell in love with. It’s almost like a battle between who is more popular; me playing my axe, standing like a god, or Slick belting out lyrics, wagging his body around like he should be in a cage. Based on the way the crowd is making noise, I’d say that we’re at a stalemate.

  From the corner of my eye, I can see Roxy depart, because it’s time for her and Buying Time to get ready for their set, as we’re about halfway through. My girl makes it a point to sit and watch me for as long as she can, and I return the favor when we’re done our set, too. We watch a little footage afterwards, but otherwise, my butt is just where hers was, so I can cheer her on, just as she does me. I can’t help but feel a little anxious, but with Roxy here with us, on tour, I know that our team combined is unbeatable. She’ll be safe.

  We flip-flop, sharing the tour together, with some nights us opening, and other nights Buying Time opening, keeping our stage time pretty much equal, and we give a signal if we want to do an encore. And as the show comes to a close, I feel like we should do something really special at the end of Buying Time’s set, especially to make up for the interruption. As we reach our last song, I feel the adrenaline pumping through my veins, the excitement of being on stage still not satiated, and the anxiety from tonight still evident. Slick is on fire tonight, I must admit. The chicks are drooling over him as we head into the apron of the stage, grasping hands together overhead, and taking our bows.

  “Thank you!” Slick shouts into the mic, creating a flurry of screams and whistles, as fans bid us adieu and we leave the stage, for a brief interlude while our stage crew prepares for Buying Time to do their set. I follow Slick, with Crush and Zane behind me, and we head down the tunnel backstage, where Roxy and her gang are doing their warmup routine, which we steer clear of, so we don’t break whatever vibe they have been working up to.

  Surprising me, Roxy calls us over, and we join them, topping our hands together in a circle, sharing the positive energy that we brought from being onstage. I’m a ball of sweat, matching the other guys, but none of them care. “Alright, are we ready to rock?!” Roxy calls out in her sexy scratchy voice that sounds wild on record and even better live.

  “Hell yeah!” Stix, her drummer, calls out.

  “Fuckin’ aye!” Cruz, her bassist mirrors.

  “Let’s tear them up!” Blaze, her guitarist yells, raising his hands into the air.

  It’s weird. There are no security guys in here, and I worry about whether or not they cleared the mess up from earlier. As I give Roxy a kiss, before they’re called on stage, she has this look in her eye. It’s a combination of fear, adrenaline, desire, and love. I love that look. It proves that she’s real, and not the figment of imagination that I keep convincing myself that she’s not. But how we came this far together, it would seem unreal. This woman is everything to me and more, and I never knew I wanted her so much until I did. Now I can’t live without her, and it seems like she feels the same, as she almost has to pull herself away from me to go onstage, when we hear the call.

  As they walk out the door and down the hallway, I have to pull myself back, so I don’t follow her. We’ll go listen to them shortly, but it’s itching me what’s happening behind the scenes, and if they found the chick that wrote the chilling message, and if it’s just a hoax. It happens so fucking often, you know, these shitty pranks that fans and non-fans alike, pull. And nine times out of ten it’s just some weak way to try and sabotage the tour, or some sick way to get attention from the media. I could run down a whole laundry list of shitty people that pull shitty things that happen to bands, but I won’t bore you, because this is our story.

  I see Frank, our road manager, trotting down the hallway, towards the stage, and I grab his attention. “Hey, Frank!”

  He raises a hand. “Not now, man.” His face is like stone, giving me a chill up my spine.

  “What the fuck is his problem?” I ask the room. Slick overhears.

  “Dude, I told you, you worry too fucking much, man. Everything is fine. I’m sure that the chick with the bra is just fucked up in the head and was looking for attention.”

  Zane is chugging down a beer from the small bar fridge off to the side, as Crush speaks to one of our guys from the stage crew. He’s got a tape with some audio footage from the show, so we can listen to a snippet, and pick up on any nuances or mistakes in audio. This is a practice that we do after every show, so we can capitalize on the show being fresh, and correct anything that we might have missed. It’s an indicator of a seasoned band that wants to give one-hundred and ten percent each time.

  “Yeah, well, I’m getting a fucked up vibe, man. And I can’t ignore that.” I argue kindly, scratching my head with a towel from the pile on top of the bar fridge.

  “Man, you’re like an old man with the worrying.” Zane comments, chuckling, as he wipes the beer off his lips with the back of his hand. “What are you going to do when you’re in a wheelchair. You’ll have wasted all your years worrying about this kind of shit. That’s what we pay our security guys the big bucks for, man. Did you not see them hard at work, getting all those people out of there in the blink of an eye?”

  I nod. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right, man. I just…I don’t know. My fucking heart’s been pumping a mile a minute all night, and it isn’t letting up.”

  Slick walks over to me and drapes an arm over my shoulder. “You okay, man? You want me to go get you a medic or something?”

  I wave a hand. “No, no. It’s nothing like that. It’s just a…gut feeling, you know?”

  “Yeah.” He nods. “I get it. Just…don’t have a heart attack on me anything, okay?” he chuckles kindly, clapping me on the back.

  “I won’t.” I give him a tight grin.

  We have a listen to the tape, sitting in a circle, with the tape recorder playing back on the table, off to the side. There aren’t any issues in the first five minutes of the recording, and then we pick up on a small echo on the opposite end, where Zane was playing. “I think the speaker is a little off.” Zane comments. “I wasn’t sure, but now that I hear it on the tape, I think it needs to be adjusted.”

&n
bsp; “I’ll let the stage crew know.” Crush says, walking out of the room.

  Frank races past, looking like he’s on a mission, and I get up and tear off after him. “Yo, Frank!” I shout. He’s heading down the hall, opposite the stage, towards the corridors deep in the bowels of the building. He barely turns around to talk to me. “What the fuck!”

  “Jett, chill out, man!” he shouts back. “Go back to the green room. I’ll see you in a minute!”

  “I want you to tell me what the fuck is going on, man!” I volley back, pissed off.

  He keeps walking faster and faster, so I can’t keep up with him. If I ran, he’d be tackled to the floor, as I hate it when I don’t know what’s going on. It bothers me even more now, since, well, it’s not all about me anymore. I worry about Roxy, too.

  “We’re still figuring it out, Jett. Just…hang tight.” He says in his wake.

  I stop, deflated and defeated, and still pissed off. “I’ll fire your fucking ass if you don’t come back in five minutes, asshole.” I mutter under my breath, so nobody can hear me. The corridor is desolate. I can hear the rumble of Buying Time like I’m standing in a tunnel, under an amusement park ride. It’s like being in a cave, complete with the smell of mildew, the darkness of yellow-lensed lights, the kind that you’d find in an old trailer park, only lit enough to find your keys in the dark.

  Raking a hand through my hair, I decide to go back to the green room, resigning myself to try to focus on other things, until Frank comes back, so I can punch him out. When I get back, one of our sound guys has joined us, as they kept playing the tape while I was gone and found another flaw. We’re just running through another snippet when Frank appears again. The look on his face is all I need to see to know that something is wrong.

  “Hey, Slick.” He says, gesturing with his chin.

  “Yo.” Slick says, looking up from the tape.

  “Come with me for a moment.” Frank says.