Damien was right. Tommy would be just as pissed off if he was living the dream and Damien or Jimmy, or even Angel, said they wanted off the joyride. He didn’t know if he’d understand any better than the guys did. But he still resented the cold shoulder. “So, now what?”
Damien shrugged. “That’s on you.”
“Nothing’s changed.”
“I didn’t think it did. That’s why I’m fucking pissed.”
“Are you going to get over it?”
“I don’t know. Like I told you the other day. I’m tryin’.”
After another few minutes of awkward small talk, Tommy returned upstairs to the kitchen, since the guys obviously wanted privacy. He sat at the center island and stared at the back of the door that led to the studio, boring a hole in it with his stare. He wished he knew what they were saying. He could ask Angel later, but he didn’t want to put his husband in that predicament. If Angel wanted to relay the conversation to him, that would be at his initiative.
As Tommy continued to stare at the back of the door, he remembered the day he auditioned for Immortal Angel—the first day he met Angel, Jimmy, and Damien . . .
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.”
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 to be a team, you and me. You’re going to be my right-hand man.”
They moved to the next room, where the drummer and bassist were all ready and waiting to play. 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.
Jimmy 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 drumsticks, and then crashed them down on his cymbals. Tommy was taken aback 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 . . .
Tommy didn’t know it back then, but it was a day that would change his life. It spurred a romance that would last a lifetime and gave him two friends that were like brothers to him. So, the current wedge between them broke his heart.
When another week went by with only minimal text messages between Tommy and Jimmy and Damien, Tommy’s worry deepened. Jimmy was better, but Damien was still standoffish. His replies were curt and short, even for him.
The girls had been over again, and the tension had disappeared, which relieved some of the burden on Tommy’s shoulders. But he needed to clear things up with Jimmy and Damien.
“Can you host one of your famous dinners?” Tommy asked Angel, one evening in bed. “I want things back to normal.”
Angel clicked off the TV. When he turned to face Tommy, there was tension in his brow, and his gorgeous dark eyes contained a heaviness that had never been there before. “You must be reading my mind. We need to do something, and I was literally just thinking that a dinner party might be in order to bring everyone together again.”
