Metal Urge (8 page)

Swallowing hard she tried to speak but there was a painful knot in her throat threatening to choke the life out of her, and she almost wished that it would.

“I don’t love you,” Nigel said flatly, and she felt like he had just punched her hard in the stomach.  “I’m sorry,” he offered.  “I never wanted to hurt you.  I like you a lot but you'll never be satisfied with that.  It’s time we ended this.”

“That's not true!” Deanna cried.  “I'm happy with our...with what we have.  I just wanted to tell you how I feel.  I thought maybe you felt…well, that you…  It doesn’t matter, Nigel,” she stammered, her hands shaking so badly she could barely hold the receiver to her ear.  “I’m sorry.  I never meant to ruin anything.  Honestly I didn't.”  She knew she sounded desperate but she couldn't lose him now---he was her life.  “I won't say it again.  I promise I won’t.  Please, Nigel,” she whimpered.

He rubbed his face, debating whether to hang up the phone or allow this hopeless exchange to drag on.

“I’m sorry, Deanna but it’s over.  I don't want to see you anymore.”

She heard a soft click followed by the steady whine of dial tone and stared at the receiver as though it were a strange, alien object before placing it in its cradle.  She gazed at nothing for a long time, unmoving and numb, not bothering to wipe away the tears that rolled steadily down her cheeks.

****

Nigel paced the bedroom floor aggravated that he felt like such a rotten, heartless shit for blowing Deanna off after revealing her feelings for him.  He could still hear her saying those three damnable words and wanted nothing more than to stick his fingers in his ears and dig them out so they would stop mocking him.  The strains of some sappy love song emanated from the radio on his dresser.  Angrily, he crossed the room and knocked the radio to the floor where it shattered with a metallic, cat-like screech.  “Fuck!” he shouted, and tried to gather up the pieces.  He had just destroyed Wild Bill’s property in a fit of rage over an impossible situation that he should be happy was resolved.  Why was he still picturing her beautiful face smiling so radiantly at him or remembering in painful detail the wonderful feel of her body pressed close against his as they lay entwined in her cozy bed after hours of incredibly satisfying sex?

She was just a girl---she was nothing bloody special.

Grabbing his keys he stormed out of the house.  He would find a club or a pub somewhere nearby, pick up a tasty little tart who was nothing bloody special either and sort out whatever the hell was eating painfully at his guts with the help of her tight little body.  He’d be right as rain in no time at all.

He had to be.

Chapter 10

The car honked its horn twice so Maggi picked up her heavy suitcase and looked at Deanna’s red, swollen eyes.  “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?”

Deanna nodded and pressed a facial tissue to her nose.  “It’s just a summer cold.  I’ll be fine in a couple of days.”  She walked over and patted Maggi’s shoulder.  “Go and have fun.  I know you miss Trevor.  He’s going to be so glad to see you too.”

Maggi smiled and grasped her unwieldy suitcase with both hands as she moved toward the front door.  “Trevor’s going to put me to work so it won’t be all fun and games.”

“Well at least you'll put some of your schooling to good use, right?”  Deanna sniffed, wiping her nose with the soggy tissue.

Maggi set the suitcase down and hugged her.  “It’s too bad you stopped seeing Nigel.  I would have loved for you to come along.”

“Yeah, well it’s really no big deal, Maggi.  Besides, I have a ton of schoolwork now that I’m taking a couple of summer classes.  I’m so busy I don’t have time to breathe much less waste time hanging around some conceited rock star wannabe.”

Maggi laughed and hugged Deanna one last time.  “I never thought he was the right guy for you, D.  He always seemed a bit arrogant and self-centered.”

Deanna wrinkled her nose and nodded, praying she wouldn’t burst into tears.  She didn't want Maggi to know the truth about her feelings for Nigel.  She had played down their relationship so that it appeared to be just a casual summer diversion.  Now it seemed that's exactly what it was---for Nigel anyway.  Deanna stood by the window and waved as the cab pulled away from the curb.  When the vehicle was safely out of sight she leaned against the window frame and began to cry, her heart shattering into an infinite number of agony-filled pieces which throbbed with every heartbeat.  “Why Nigel?” she sobbed.  “What did I do wrong?”  She staggered to the couch and lay down, wrapping a crocheted throw that her grandmother made for her when she was just a small child around her shivering body.  She would hate for Nigel to see her now; weak and fragile, almost willing herself to die because of his treachery.  She rubbed her slightly swollen belly, wondering when the nausea would subside.  It had plagued her for the last week or so, and she figured it must be some kind of stomach virus.  She had thrown up the last two mornings but it hadn’t really helped to relieve the nausea.  If she didn’t start feeling better soon she would be forced to see her doctor.  She didn’t want any more distractions to interfere with her summer school classes.  It was almost mid-July, but she still had weeks of book reports and tests before the summer classes came to an end.  She needed those classes to help keep her mind off of Nigel---not that they had done much good.

She pushed herself off of the couch and went to the kitchen to make some toast, and a cup of tea.  When her stomach lurched in protest after the second slice, she ran to the tiny bathroom and retched over the toilet.  “Oh God,” she moaned, the nausea rolling over her in sickening waves, forcing her to lean into the toilet bowl while her stomach heaved and roiled.  When she was finally able to get to the phone, she called and made an appointment with her physician for the following morning.  She hoped there was something the doctor could do to help alleviate her symptoms because she had a really important test next week that she could not afford to fail.  Not only that, her supervisor at the hotel had asked her to work more hours as well.  Deanna lay down on the bed and started to cry again.  Her life was in shambles and try as she might, she could not hate the man who would soon be entertaining a multitude of nubile groupies groveling at his feet.  Nigel Guilford, the beautiful, arrogant vocalist decked out in leather and studs, still able to command her undying love and devotion as he looked down his fine English nose at her groveling right along with the other tramps.

She might have laughed at the sheer absurdity of her situation if she didn’t love the egotistical bastard so much.  He had allowed her a glimpse of the real Nigel, but only a glimpse, and that was the man she loved so deeply, so completely that there was nothing left of her to give to another man, and God help her, there never would be.

Chapter 11

The photographer directed Metal Urge to turn this way and that, flash bulbs creating a powerful white glare that all but blinded the band.  The result of all of this ridiculous posing would grace the cover of their debut album, the aptly titled “Metal Urge,” designed to lure the growing number of fans of the hit song to purchase the soon to be released masterpiece.

Trevor had spent a fortune on outfitting the band in expensive, over-the-top leather outfits, so completely covered in spiky studs, and clanking chains, the band members couldn’t sit down comfortably.  They moved about slowly and carefully, afraid they might put out someone’s eye with a simple gesture.  Nigel told Trevor that he refused to wear such outrageous gear onstage, and the other band members quickly backed him up with protests of their own.  He threw a fit but the band refused to give in so he flounced away in indignant rage with Maggi trailing close behind.  He was sick and tired of the bastards blocking him at every turn.  He was their manager, he knew what was best for them but still they remained obstinate with their lead singer earning Trevor’s all-consuming hatred.  Both men seemed to take extreme pleasure in goading each other into frequent bouts of frustration ending in nitroglycerine blasts of white hot fury.

Maggi suffered through nightly tirades as Trevor vowed to send Nigel Guilford straight to hell in increasingly creative and vicious ways.  Now he was turning his madness on her after Nigel had dared to give her the “once over” before leering at her with lustful intent---at least that was how Trevor interpreted it.  She had handed out drinks to the band as they took a breather from some last minute changes to a couple of songs.  Nigel had simply smiled and thanked her just as the others had done.  Trevor had gone off like a Fourth of July fireworks display, dragging Maggi into the recording studio where Wild Bill and a couple of engineers sat staring at the disturbing spectacle.  The producer asked Maggi if she was alright and she laughed it off insisting that she was fine. Wild Bill gave Trevor a warning look before he and the band got back to work.  After a few hours they were all satisfied with the changes they had made to the songs in question and headed to their rooms to relax and unwind.

Nigel stayed behind, working on a couple of tricky lyrics he wasn’t really happy with.  He had the headphones on in the recording booth, humming along with “Bone Crusher,” listening closely to the phrase he was still unsure about when he looked up and noticed Trevor leaning over Maggi in an extremely threatening manner.  He pulled the headphones off and switched on the intercom, listening as Trevor cursed and threatened Maggi for some imagined transgression.  When he grasped Maggi’s jaw and twisted her face towards him, raising his fist as if he meant to strike her, Nigel rushed out of the booth and into the recording studio.  He grabbed Trevor and pulled him away from Maggi, demanding to know just what the hell he was doing.  Trevor lunged toward Nigel hatred blazing in his eyes but stopped himself, his breath coming in gasps of impotent wrath.

“Go ahead,” Nigel said, daring Trevor to attack him.  Maggi was crying and begging him to stay out of it but he ignored her pleas. When Trevor did nothing, Nigel turned to Maggi.  “C’mon,” he said, pulling her gently out of her chair.

Trevor was so enraged there were tears filling his crazed and seething eyes as he glared at Nigel pushing a sobbing Maggi out of the recording studio door.

“You’re fired, you bloody lunatic,” Nigel said to Trevor as he followed Maggi into the hallway.

Sinking into a chair, he opened his mouth wide in a silent scream, and pressed his fists against his temples, snot and tears running over his lips and into his gaping mouth as he realized he'd finally plummeted over the edge into the black abyss of raging madness.

****

Maggi begged Nigel to let her go to Trevor but he refused.  He was afraid the bloody psycho would really hurt her, especially after his interference.  He insisted she get some clothes together so he could take her somewhere safe, at least for the night.  She knew Nigel was right; she had never seen Trevor so out of control and dangerous.  She packed a few essentials and followed Nigel, who was walking ahead, making sure the coast was clear.  He felt a stab of fear when he realized that the madman might be capable of anything while he was in such a frenzied state.  They made it out of the house without incident, and Maggi reluctantly climbed on Nigel’s Harley, crying forlornly against his back as they drove away from Glaston Hall.  He spotted a sign about 10 miles from the estate advertising a bed and breakfast so he turned onto the dirt road the sign indicated which cut through a thick forest of trees.  They finally reached a quaint, thatched roof cottage bearing a “vacancy” sign of the front door.  After knocking a few times, the door opened and he asked about a room.  The proprietor, an elderly gentleman, invited them inside, taking Maggi’s bag and leading them upstairs.  He showed them to a room with a large, lofty bed, a lumpy looking chair, a small bureau, and one tiny closet.  Nigel paid him and took Maggi’s bag, setting it on the bureau.  She lay down on the bed after taking her shoes off while Nigel settled into the surprisingly comfortable old chair.  Maggi looked at him and he smiled, hoping to ease her fears a little, but his smile wasn’t retuned as she rolled over to face the wall, pulling the covers tightly around her.  After a short while he heard her soft, rhythmic breathing indicating she had fallen asleep.  He closed his eyes and tried to put the insane events of the night out of his mind, wanting nothing more than to get some sleep before the inevitable showdown at Glaston Hall.

When Nigel walked through the heavy wood and glass doors of Wild Bill’s stately home the following morning, everyone, including an oddly composed and contrite Trevor Hampton, was waiting for him with confused, questioning looks.  Nigel frowned at Trevor, bracing himself for a nuclear meltdown when Trevor saw that Maggi had not returned to Glaston Hall with him.  Surprisingly, Trevor offered a sincere sounding apology, never even mentioning Maggi’s obvious absence.  He felt forced to accept Trevor’s clammy handshake, and it made his stomach clench with revulsion.

Looking each band member in the eyes, Trevor squared his shoulders and said he was prepared to resign as Metal Urge’s manager if that was what they all wanted.

The lads looked at Nigel, silently admonishing him to reconsider.

He understood that it was probably the worst time to lose Trevor’s invaluable resources and connections, yet he couldn’t help but struggle with the memories of the man’s crazy and frightening behavior the night before.  He wondered how much of last night’s debacle Trevor had shared with Metal Urge and Wild Bill.  It couldn’t have been much or surely none of them would want the lunatic to retain his position as their manager.  Nigel looked at his band mate's pleading eyes and bit his lip.  He swallowed hard, turned to Trevor, and said he was willing to let bygones be bygones.  Relief flooded everyone in the room except him.  He imagined Trevor ambushing him in some dark hallway, shoving a knife through his heart because the raving nutter believed he had slept with Maggi after the two of them left the estate together.  It couldn’t be helped; Nigel didn’t want to risk losing everything they had worked so long and hard for.  Against his better judgment the unstable Trevor Hampton would remain Metal Urge’s manager but only for the time being.  When things had settled down for the band, he would tell his mates what had happened and beg them to hire another manager.  The decision would be up to them.