The Beat of His Drum

The Beat of His Drum By J.D. Walker “Caesar’s Flame will be performing here on New Year’s Day!” I froze, completely losing count of the number of guitar cables we had in stock. No. f*****g. Way. I gaped at my business partner, Evan Harper, who’d just rushed into the stockroom where I was doing inventory. It couldn’t be, not after so many years. “Are you shittin’ me?” “I know, right?” He continued to babble, completely unaware of my inner turmoil. “I couldn’t believe it myself, but I was trying to decide what to do about music and bookings that weekend, then lo and behold, they drop into my lap—figuratively, of course! They’re back in town and wanted to do their last gig at our place, before taking a long break. You know, a ‘local boys made good’ kinda thing.” “I see.” I cleared my throat, trying to buy some time and regain my equilibrium. As much as I was pleased to have such a big name group performing in The Music Room—the venue that was attached to our store and set up for musical acts—Evan couldn’t have known how the path to fame for the act he’d just booked had impacted my erstwhile relationship with its drummer and band leader, Laramie Treble. We’d met while the band was still doing the club circuit. Laramie had needed a new bass drum kick pedal, and he’d stopped by my store—Best Bargain Music—the business I’d just opened with Evan. The attraction had been instant on my part, and he wasn’t picky about who he slept with, which worked in my favor. We f****d around for a few years—the tall, sexy, dark-haired drummer, and me, the skinny, average-looking, and unpresuming music store co-owner. I’d never expected him to notice me, someone so ordinary in every way, with no pretentions to anything except a well-run business. But he’d seemed to be okay with that. We never made anything official, but in my mind, this was it for me. I was blown away and head over heels. Laramie was the one, and I thought he must have felt the same way, too. Why else would he hang around with me all the time, yeah? I’d been so naïve. Then the band was discovered, and fame changed the nature of our relationship, such as it was. Laramie’s already sizeable ego grew bigger, and he developed a wandering eye. Soon, it was apparent that he’d been merely biding his time with me, the music geek, until something better came along. I’d been easy pickings and available, ready to drop into the hand of the first guy to notice me. I wasn’t enough anymore for the ‘bad boy of alternative rock,’ as he was dubbed by everyone. He had to f**k everything that moved, since it was being handed to him on a platter anyway. When I would complain, his response was, “So what? It’s not like we’re married or anything.” And there it was. We weren’t married, we weren’t in a committed relationship, and I was a fool. So, finally getting a clue, I broke it off and left him to all the better-looking and easy-to-get male and female wannabes that wandered in and out of his bedroom, searching for their ten-minute f**k with an up and coming rock star. I certainly didn’t need that kind of pain, and I was monogamous at heart. He was…not. I swallowed the bitter pill and moved on. Or so I’d thought. Evan’s voice brought me back to the present. “You know how huge a draw they are, Dorian. Fuckin’ famous! And they called us. No way was I turning that down.” Did I mention that he was a total fanboy? And he had a huge crush on the lead singer, Chuck Whistler. Something struck me as curious, though. “Wait. They called us?” “Weren’t you listening? Yes! Laramie Treble himself asked for the gig. Oh, God, this is going to be awesome! I’ve got so much to do.” He gave me a quick hug and then left the room, practically floating on air. It didn’t mean anything. Laramie was way out of my league and no longer a part of my life. Hell, I’d never even been in his league. He’d been slumming it, and I’d been convenient. It was simply a coincidence that Caesar’s Flame was back in town and chose our place out of a myriad of others to perform. It had to be. I decided not to waste my brainpower on something that had been over and done with years ago, no matter how my heart raced at the thought of seeing Laramie again. I finished the inventory, exited the stockroom, and walked by the sheet music display to the front of the store. I re-checked that the front door was locked, since it was after hours, and then wandered over to the cash register and sat on the stool behind the counter. I closed out the till and secured the money in the safe underneath. I made a note on my laptop to order fifteen-foot guitar cables, banjo strings, and a condenser microphone. After carrying the computer back to my office and locking it up, I grabbed my backpack and headed out the side door that led to the Music Room. I glimpsed the light coming from the small office that belonged to Evan. Through the glass door, I saw him working away on his computer. Once I made my way across the empty space—since there were no shows tonight—I went out the back door. It was cold outside, but at least the wind wasn’t blowing like it had been earlier. I wrapped a warm gray scarf around my neck, tucked my hands into the pockets of my jacket, and headed home. * * * * I was too tired to shower, but I cleaned up a bit in the bathroom of my condo. Unwillingly, I stared at my reflection in the mirror above the sink as I brushed my teeth. I looked average and sighed at my receding hairline. I kept my hair buzzed short, and I had permanent frown lines between my eyebrows and parentheses framing my mouth. Tiny crow’s feet were starting to appear. Jesus, I was only thirty-three. I turned off the light and walked slowly to the old dresser near the bed and dug out sleepwear. Moonlight came through the window by my bed, providing enough light for me to put on an old pair of shorts and a T-shirt. With a grunt, I collapsed on the bed. Why was Laramie back in town—truly? Other than to show all the naysayers over the years that he’d made it—and how. He was up to something, I was sure of it. But…what? Officially, I had shunned anything to do with that side of the music business and left it to Evan. I preferred helping people find the right instrument or accessory. Unofficially, I had a strong compulsion when it came to Caesar’s Flame. I tried to resist, but eventually I would give in and check to see what cities they’d played lately. It had been a while since I’d prowled the band’s f*******: page. The last time I’d taken a peek, Laramie had a new boy toy. Nothing new there. It would be a zoo on New Year’s Day. Lines would be so long, they’d ring the block probably. I’d have to make sure the bar in the room was well-stocked for the night and check with Evan about security. I typically closed the store early on those occasions and worked in my back office so I wouldn’t have to deal with the crowd wandering in and out, trashing the place or stealing anything. Evan never bothered me on nights like those unless he desperately needed a favor. My business partner was right about one thing. Everybody loved the band. And to give them their due, they were kickass. Great songs, awesome musicians. They had wonderful chemistry, and, as a unit, nothing could top them. They were a successful group that many up-and-comers strove to emulate. And who was I to begrudge them the success they’d had? That Laramie had? I made a decent living, and the fact that I was lonely was something I hadn’t let bother me until I heard that Laramie Treble was coming back to town.