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Jordan tried to pride himself with the fact that he didn’t get starstruck. Three tours in, and he was still going strong. Admittedly, the bands he had been working with (not for! He was officially their peer, now) heretofore hadn’t been particularly big names, but that wasn’t important. What was important, was that Jordan had something he could hold over his friends’ heads: he had yet to be truly starstruck, even after working with veritable stars for 18 months.
This newest tour, though, may be where the line was drawn. Somehow, Jordan had bagged a spot as a bandboy for none other than Corroded actual mother-fucking Coffin. Don’t ask him how, he didn’t know. He was also paranoid – completely reasonably, in his mind – that asking any questions would somehow rescind the position he’d been graced with, and he’d spend the rest of his life regretting asking the question. So, he just wouldn’t ask it.
He had serious doubts he’d be able to ask Corroded Coffin anything, actually. Within five minutes of their first meeting, Jordan’s brain slowly had slowly dribbled out of his ears, leaving him watching from afar in awe. That didn’t stop him from soaking up as much information as possible.
Freak, the bassist, was the quietist. Well, least-loud, more accurately. The entire quartet were constantly making noise of some sort, but Freak appeared to do so less. That said, his voice was the one that could shut a room down easily; something about him commanded the room efficiently.
Gareth, the drummer, appeared to be the most organized of the lot. Always with notes on his arms somewhere, always checking his watch. He had more of an air of a harried parent than he did drummer for world famous metal band, but that just charmed Jordan all the more.
Jeff, who was the esteemed frontman and rhythm guitarist, always had a joke on hand. Genuinely, always. The other three men seemed used to the jokes, and their warmest reaction to them was an eyeroll and a gentle shove, but to everyone else – Jordan included – Jeff was unexpectedly hilarious. He supposed that came with the job of being frontman, but it was still exhilarating to be in his presence, to have a joke aimed his way, to not be the butt of the joke for once.
And then Eddie, the guitarist. Jordan wasn’t exactly sure how to describe the man. He was an imposing figure when he wanted to be; even if he was of only slightly above average height, his scars certainly set him apart from the crowd. His laughter often echoed around the room, and you heard him before you saw him. He moved with an odd mixture of effortless grace and engrained rascal-ness, fluidly jumping onto boxes and tables and chairs, before flinging himself off them with reckless abandon.
Eddie Munson was also, undeniably, whipped.
Don’t get Jordan wrong, Eddie was unbelievably cool and interesting and suave and charismatic, but he was… also a bit of a loser. In a good way! Jordan thought it was admirable that Eddie seemed like such a good guy – not many rockstars seemed interested in fidelity whilst on the road – but Eddie’s girlfriend had him wrapped around her finger.
This sentiment only became more apparent with the tour actually starting.
It was the first actual soundcheck for the first show, and Jordan was quickly learning what his main job would be for the rest of the tour: the resident small guy who was lumped with jobs in hard to reach areas. Color him enthused.
He had been sent into the depths of the support structure to thread a few wires through, and found himself in direct earshot of Eddie. Granted, anyone within 100 meters of Eddie was within earshot of the man, but this was still an exciting situation for Jordan. He didn’t feel too guilty about eavesdropping, either, since the topic of conversation was Eddie’s girlfriend, as per usual.
“-not sure what I’m going to do with myself for 5 months without Stevie.”
Jordan couldn’t help but roll his eyes. It’s not like Eddie was the only one who had left their partner at home for this.
“Eddie, the tour’s longer than that – you know this, right?” one of the more senior techies laughed. On a tour this large, Jordan had no chance of keeping track of all the names.
“Yeah,” Eddie whined back, “but Stevie’s gonna be here for the Indianapolis show.”
This was news to Jordan, and the tech guy, apparently.
“Oh shit, nice!” there was no hiding the excitement in the man’s voice, something that Jordan felt reflected in himself. “At least you have something to look forward to, man.”
“How am I meant to spend five months without Stevie, though? Every moment away from them is like a moment spent with my heart outside my body!”
Jordan’s snort of amusement was covered by the techie’s laughter. “I’m sure you’ll survive.”
With that, Jordan started the slow process of extracting himself from the underbelly of the equipment. It was slow going, given the mass of wires threatening to tangle him up. However, it gave Jordan time to ruminate over this Stevie .
He had an image in his head of a Joan Jett alike. Tall, with long, dark hair that rivaled Eddie’s own. Maybe some artful tattoos running down toned arms. Ripped jeans, dark lipstick, a constant sneer on her lips. Combat boots that were ready to stamp out any hopes of communication with people not in the band.
Once he had finally left the structure, he meandered back towards his manager, still thinking.
Their relationship was probably dysfunctional, as most were. Maybe she always had a drink in her hand, and they constantly argued. But they still loved each other, and-
“Jordan, man, hurry up. There’s still shit to do!”
Later, whilst having drinks with some other young techies, Jordan was reminded of his thoughts. Him and a couple others were sitting on any surface they could find, nursing lukewarm beers a light tech had slipped them.
Mark, who was only a couple years older than him, cleared his throat, and everyone turned to him. “What’s y’all’s opinion on Corroded Coffin, then?”
There were overlapping noises of approval from the others, Jordan included.
“I thought Eddie would be scarier, given the whole, you know, scars thing,” Zach started, gaining more confidence as he spoke. “I didn’t realize he would be whipped for his girl.”
Laughter rang out from them all. Tony had taken a poorly timed sip of his beer and choked over it momentarily, causing further laughter.
“His girl’s called Stevie, right?” Mark asked.
Jordan hummed his agreement. “Apparently she’s coming to watch the Indianapolis show.”
Mark whistled appreciatively. “I’m surprise the whole crew doesn’t know this, given… everything about Eddie.”
More laughter.
“I feel like I’m dating her at this point, too,” Zach quipped.
“Five dollars says she’s nearly underage.”
Jordan turned to face Brian, outraged at the suggestion. “What?! No way, man. Eddie’s a good guy.”
“Five dollars she’s old enough to be his mom,” Mark said back. Brian leant over to shake Mark’s hand.
“Guys, c’mon.”
“Five dollars Jordan wants her to be his mom.”
Struggling to keep his face straight, Jordan threw his bottle cap at Brian. “Five dollars says she’s a normal age and you’re weirdos.”
“Are those two separate bets? Do you have that sort of money to be wasting?”
“You’re all assholes,” he seethed good-naturedly.
Finding work as a woman in the gig industry was as difficult as it sounded. Alongside the usual drudgery of sexism, belittlement, and general assholery, Kim also had the privilege of dealing with the thinly veiled transphobia of those who didn’t partake in the rest of the misogyny.
Corroded Coffin, therefore, were something of a light in the darkness.
Not only was their guitarist the victim of a town-spanning witch-hunt, which certainly must have put some things into perspective, their front man black, no doubt opening avenues for solidarity between her and him, their lyrics ambiguously gendered, or even male-pronouned, but they also appeared to generally be decent guys.
It also maybe helped that Kim was 89% sure that, hidden amongst some other pretty gnarly scars across his torso, Eddie Munson was also hiding some top surgery scars.
She wasn’t one to poke the bear, though, so she gladly accepted their positivity at face value.
In her previous work as guitar tech, she had never really broached the professional distance between her and the guitarist she worked with. Sure, they had chatted amicably, but there was nothing really connecting the two that made Kim want to be actual friends.
Eddie Munson was different. He made it nigh on impossible to not want to be his friend. His energy was infectious, and he also made the effort to chat with her – something that didn’t appear to be the norm amongst guitarists and their techs. Kim wouldn’t really know, though, given this was only her second job as a guitar tech. She intended to stay on for a third tour with Corroded Coffin anyway, maybe even as long as they’d have her.
Because of this, Kim knew a lot about Eddie’s partner, Stevie. Like, a lot.
So far this tour, Eddie had brought her up at least once a day – most commonly a mention that she would be visiting for their Indy show – and often times more. Mostly as he was whining about her absence.
It had only been a month and Kim was ready to throttle him.
Kim and Eddie were sitting together, restringing his guitars – Eddie with the Warlock, Kim with the acoustic. One string had snapped unexpectedly, so they were replacing the strings for both just to be on the safe side.
Kim should also probably warn Eddie not to play with his teeth much more.
“By the way,” Eddie began, pausing momentarily to let the tension out of a string, “Stevie managed to drop off some cookies over the weekend.”
Kim had noticed the cookies on the table, but had shied away from eating any in case someone went ballistic on her.
“They’re basically an orgasm in food form, as per usual.” He sighed dreamily. “Wayne dropped them off for me, Stevie’s still in Indiana.”
Handing one over to Eddie, Kim allowed herself to try it. She was sure she could act well enough if they were terrible, but she wouldn’t deny Eddie his enjoyment of them, and the bragging about his girlfriend.
It didn’t matter, though. Eddie was right, the cookies were like little angels dancing on her tongue. “Jesus Christ, these are good.”
“I know,” Eddie said almost smugly, biting into his own. He moaned indecently, and Kim cackled.
They worked on the guitars for a little while longer. The silence was broken by a slight hiss from Eddie.
“You OK?” Kim asked, only half interested.
“Yeah, just sore from my injection.”
“Hmm.”
“Stevie normally helps me with the T injections, but they’re not here and I had to do it all alone.” Eddie was being unbelievably casual about this, to such an extent that Kim almost completely missed what was being said.
Her brain finally caught up, and her eyebrows raised of their own accord. “Oh, shit, fair enough. I guess I’m lucky enough to just need to take pills.”
Eddie blew a raspberry. “I think I’d forget to take them if I had pills. At least this gives me an excuse to get Stevie to be my own regular little nurse. One day I’m gonna get them to wear a uniform and all.”
Kim couldn’t stop the soft smile she gave Eddie. It was nice that at least someone in the industry wasn’t a complete ass, and it was an added bonus that they could bond over this, too. She couldn’t exactly say she was surprised, if she was being honest; Eddie gave off similar vibes to one of her housemates. But that didn’t mean she had expected the opportunity to bond over it, by any means.
“Stevie also has these sick Garfield bandaids that I usually use, but I’ve had to use a normal one this time.”
“Poor thing, however will you cope?”
Eddie sniffed theatrically. “Bravely.” A pause. “And with a lot of complaining.”
“No different from usual then.”
Crumpling onto the floor, Eddie cried out indignantly. “Abuse! This is abuse and I’ll have you fired. Bring me my Stevie; I wish for the warm and loving embrace from the light of my life before I pass away!”
*
It was Kim’s turn to supply the younger techies with drinks. It was within moderation, of course, both because none of the adults were willing to spend too much money on them, and because they collectively reckoned that, by supplying them with alcohol, they could stop any overindulgence at the root.
God, when had they all become such old farts?
“I come bearing gifts,” she called, raising the pack of beer in greeting.
The kids cheered, taking their drinks as they were handed to them with appreciative nods. Kim settled herself on an amp, opening her own beer (as a tax). All of the kids quickly began whispering among themselves, with Jordan hunched over some paper and a pencil.
“What’re y’all cooking up here, then?”
Five pairs of eyes all swiveled towards her.
“What’s it to you?” Mark said in a way that made her glad she’d never had kids.
She laughed, raising her hands in a defensive manner. “I’m just curious! Is that a crime?”
They all considered this, before Jordan spoke up. “We’re officializing our bets on who Stevie is.”
That was. Not what she had expected. It made sense, though. The vast majority of the crew had only heard about her, not seen her; and with the amount and frequency they’d heard about her, it was only logical that people would make assumptions about her. Kim certainly had.
“What, other than Eddie’s girlfriend?” None of them were amused by this. Kim sighed theatrically. “Can I have in?”
More consideration from them. It was brief, though, and they quickly approved of her involvement.
“Some ground rules first, though,” Mark said, checking the paper Jordan had written on. “First: once you’ve made your bet, you can’t change it. Second: if you overlap with someone else’s bet and you win, you have to share the money. Third: if you don’t pay up, there will be capital C Consequences.”
These all sounded fair to Kim, although admittedly she hadn’t taken part in many betting pools this official before.
“What’s been bet already?”
Jordan spoke this time. “Brian says she’s nearly underage.” Kim pulled a face at that. “Yeah, I disagree too, but it’s his money he’s wasting.” Brian swatted at Jordan, who dodged with a grin. “Mark says she’s old enough to be his mom.” At this, she tried her best to hide the amusement on her face. “Jordan, me, says she’s a normal age and, like, a metalhead like Eddie and wears mainly black.”
Kim had started shaking her head. “No way, kid. I say – put me down as this – I say, she’s this, like, cute little girl- Eddie’s age, though, since you’re focusing so much on age- who loves pink and probably, I dunno, always has a butterfly clip or bow in her hair.”
Jordan was dutifully writing this down, scoffing as he went.
“You got an issue with that, pipsqueak?”
“Well, it’s your money to lose.”
Kim scoffed. “Yeah, but what if I tell you that she makes the most gorgeous cookies I’ve ever tasted-” the beginning of a protest from Jordan “- and she acts as Eddie’s nurse sometimes.”
She could see something in Jordan die slightly, although he still acted sure of himself. “I’m still gonna win.”
“Keep telling yourself that!”
“I will! There’s no way Eddie would go for someone who’s not a metalhead. She needs to at least be familiar with Ozzy and Metallica. I’m pretty sure he’d rather die than date a normie.”
“If you continue like this I’m taking back my beers,” Kim retorted with a wide grin, sure to relay the fact that she was still completely joking.
“Whatever, don’t you have to go tell Eddie to stop using his acoustic as a back scratcher?”
“He what ?!”
Leon wouldn’t say that doing the lighting for big shows for a living was always exciting, but it paid the bills. For the majority of his jobs, he would be in communication with the other crew, the managers, and the venue staff, and that was it. It made sense. His job was fairly boring – he wasn’t even the one doing any of the pyrotechnics – and people generally assumed it started with houselights and ended with a singular spotlight.
OK, admittedly, a few shows were actually like that.
Corroded Coffin loved to break the mold, it seemed.
Upon meeting them, and signing onto the tour, he had had a meeting scheduled with the band to discuss the technicalities of their vision for this tour. Was this thing possible? Was he comfortable doing this lighting trick? How many spotlights had he used at once before? Could he put a cutout of a bat over one to make a reverse Bat-Symbol?
That last one had been the guitarist, Munson.
(The answer was probably not; it might be possible technically, but he wasn’t sure of the legality.)
At almost every stage of the tour, the actual band had kept up with him, both professionally and casually. Conversations checking in on how he was handling a new venue would easily slide into an opportunity for him to brag about his nieces and nephews. On more than one occasion he’d been promised increasingly more obscure merch for one of his nieces who was, in Leon’s eyes, the Biggest Fan Ever.
It took two months for Leon to run into an Actual Problem.
On the upside, he had noticed the issue upon arriving at the venue, a good 3 days before the show. On the downside, it would take at least a week to fix the issue.
As soon as he had spotted it, he had radioed the channel for the more senior team in the hopes of finding a quick workaround. Munson had responded almost immediately. He usually did; the man was almost supernaturally quick at responding, but only to the radio. He normally let his cell ring madly at itself without noticing, and took at least three calls of his name to get his attention at the best of times.
Nonetheless, Munson had come all but sprinting to answer his radio, and so was the one Leon was discussing the issue with.
“I’ve been speaking with the house lights guy, and this rig just doesn’t have any way to do your red lightning,” Leon said, verging on apologetic, but also fully aware that he couldn’t really do much.
Munson seemed unexpectedly put out by this. He was still gentle as he spoke to Leon, though, which was always a good sign. “Damn, is there really nothing to be done?”
Leon began to shake his head, before considering it briefly. “I could potentially do some multi-colored strobes instead? Or just red strobes?”
The headshake Munson gave him shut down any possibility of this. “No, no, no, that’s fine. We’ll just make do without.”
Normally, Leon wasn’t one to pry, but this situation suddenly had him eager to know more. “I mean, if you’re OK with that I’m happy to leave it like that. Any reason why?”
“Stevie, uh-”
“Your girl Stevie, right?”
“Sure. Stevie is, uh, sensitive to lights like that.”
“Is she epileptic? One of my nephews is like that. Makes him seize all funny.”
Eddie shifted his head in a so-so manner. “Sorta. It also just puts Stevie out of it for a while. Their head already has difficulty with that sorta thing – from, uh, working in low lighting? I don’t wanna ruin my princess’ eyes any more, even if they’re unlikely to, I dunno, surprise me at this gig.”
Princess . Geez, Munson really was gone on this girl. He’d heard a bit about this Stevie before and, like the rest of the crew, was aware Munson was whipped, but he hadn’t realized it was this bad.
Obviously, Leon also admired that Munson seemed to love this girl so much. Maybe the next generation of metal weren’t completely doomed to be assholes.
Leon nodded in understanding before taking his leave – someone should probably let the rest of the crew know about the lighting change.
*
On his way back to his lighting hole (as dubbed by the rest of the crew), Leon couldn’t help but notice the usual gaggle of young techies harassing Kim. It was difficult not to take notice of them: they seemed pretty heated.
“You’ve never been more wrong in your life!” one of the runts all but yelled as Leon walked up to them.
Leon crossed his arms over his, admittedly not very large, chest, puffing it out to make a somewhat more imposing figure. “These kids giving you trouble, Kimmy?” he ground out, staring the kids down.
Kim turned to look at him, surprise clear on her face. “Oh! Yeah, we’re just chatting about the bet.” She had a smattering of blush across her cheeks, looking surprised to have someone looking out for her.
This gave Leon pause. “Bet? What bet?”
“About Eddie’s Stevie. We’re betting on what type of girl she actually is,” one of the kids informed him, very matter-of-fact.
Leon dropped his arms. “Is it not obvious?”
Kim and the kids narrowed their eyes at him. “What’ve you heard, Leon?” Kim needled, resting a casual arm on his shoulder.
He carefully shrugged, making sure not to dislodge Kim’s arm. “She seems like the studious type. Probably on her way to a third degree in English. Lives off of late nighters and coffee.”
There was a moment’s silence, before Kim leant to mutter into his ear, smiling widely, “I feel you have some info that we’re missing.”
“Can I put that down as your official bet?” one of the kids asked, producing a pencil and a well-folded piece of paper seemingly out of thin air.
Leon shrugged again. “Go ahead. What do I get if I win?”
“If you’re the only one who bets Stevie is like that in particular, you’ll get five dollars from each participant, but you can’t change your bet from now on.”
Well, it was only $5 if he lost. “Who else has bet?”
“Me, Mark, Brian, Kim. Zach and Tony are still working on it. A couple of the other crew, too. I think we’re up to 8, 9 including you now.”
Leon whistled appreciatively. $40, maybe $50 if he was correct wasn’t all too bad. And based off of everyone else’s reaction to his bet, he had some pretty valuable information after his discussion with Eddie about Stevie’s eyes.
“Well, I’ll be expecting each and every one of you to personally hand your money over to me at the Indy show,” he said in lieu of a farewell, patting Kim cockily on the hip.
“Get outta here,” Kim responded, shoving him playfully.
Back to the lighting hole.
Everyone always forgot about the sound engineers. They always forgot they were miked up and would happily chat away to their friends about private things, unaware that people like Elaine were listening in, getting all the juicy gossip.
X was sleeping with Y, Z broke up with A, band B is five minutes away from breaking up at any given moment: on and on it went, and Elaine never tired of it.
Elaine realized Corroded Coffin were different upon overhearing their conversations. Their version of super secret gossip was either playfully arguing about leaving the band (Elaine assumed it was all playful; the band hadn’t broken up yet at least), or talking about D&D.
In short, Corroded Coffin were a surprisingly dull band in her books.
Admittedly, she and the other techs quite enjoyed listening to Jeff’s one liners, and she had a soft spot for Eddie’s peculiar brand of ramblings.
It was for this reason, then, that she perked up when she heard Eddie mention Stevie. Again. New tidbits about Eddie’s girl were always an exciting occasion; even if she was all Eddie talked about, nobody really knew many specifics about her. Stevie was the juiciest gossip Elaine was going to get on this tour, so she listened attentively.
“Only six more shows til Stevie!” Eddie sang, following the beat and tune of the riff he was picking out.
The groans from Jeff, Freak and Gareth were synchronized with impressive skill.
“We know,” Gareth said, punctuating it by lobbing a drumstick at Eddie’s head.
Eddie stumbled exaggeratedly upon being hit by it, and then picked it back up. He faked out of throwing it back, before walking closer to Gareth. He stopped a little way from the drumkit, paused for a moment, then chucked the drumstick straight back at Gareth, who almost fell off the stool in an attempt to defend himself.
Notably, Jeff and Freak looked more than happy to watch as the two attacked one another. Gareth rose from the stool, seemingly ready to charge at Eddie, but was interrupted by the arrival of another tech.
“Hey, uh, considering the hometown show’s in a month, management were wondering if there were plans for the afterparty?”
Thankfully, the tech’s voice was being picked up by one of their mics.
The four members of Corroded Coffin looked at each other with similar unbothered expressions.
Jeff shrugged and turned to the tech, “Does it have to be different from usual?”
The tech shrugged back. “I mean, it’s completely up to you guys, for sure. But especially since Stevie’s going to be there-” Eddie’s head perked up from where he was fiddling with his guitar “-I think some people assumed something bigger than usual would be going on.”
“I mean, there probably will be more people there, definitely. A lot of our friends will be there for the afterparty.”
Fidgeting, the tech looked resolved to get the conversation over with. “What management are actually asking is if you want anything… supplied at the party.”
“No way, man,” Eddie cut in, barely even letting the tech finish his sentence. “Nothing stronger than weed and alcohol.” A nod from Jeff and Gareth. The tech must have looked confused or something because Eddie elaborated. “Stevie, uh, had a really, really bad trip once, so I don’t even want the possibility of something like that happening again. But unless something’s changed since we started the tour, weed is A-OK.”
With the departure of the techie, Elaine was given time to mull this over, and so was only half listening to Eddie’s following comment to his bandmates: “I wonder what the dealing scene in Hawkins is like now I’m gone.”
This was said in a offhand, flippant manner. So much so that she brushed it off at first. Then it clicked. She was aware of the bet currently going on about Stevie, it felt like everyone was; but this tidbit of information could give her an in. She wasn’t yet aware of other people’s bets, but she knew this would be the knockout.
It was an easy bit of reasoning, if she was being honest. Eddie and Stevie had experience with drugs. Eddie used to be a dealer in Hawkins – where Eddie and Stevie met. Eddie and Stevie had done a sufficiently intense set of drugs to give Stevie a ‘really, really bad’ trip. Despite this, Stevie still smoked weed.
But – and here was the sticker – Stevie had enough knowledge of herself, influence over Eddie and self control, to never go near something stronger than weed.
Eddie Munson had bagged himself a spiritual girlfriend.
Even more dots started to connect within Elaine’s mind. Stevie’s spiritualism and health nuttery was why Eddie’s hair always looked so good before tours, more so than his bandmates’, and why it slowly became more and more frizzy as the tour progressed: Stevie wasn’t here to fix it for him.
The various ointments and pots and creams dotted around Eddie’s dressing room – claiming to be ‘scar soothers’ and ‘ache relievers’ – were undoubtedly forced upon him by Stevie.
Eddie’s vigilant monogamy, whilst not too unusual for a rockstar, but still notable, was probably under threat of Stevie being able to read his horoscope and work out he’d been cheating. Or something. Elaine certainly knew she was tempted to fling herself at Eddie, nevermind his groupies, but the man had remained firm.
That pot of money was going to be hers.
*
Apparently it was one of the teens who was running the bet. This wasn’t the best sign to Elaine, admittedly, but no one had yet complained about it, and she supposed a group of angry adults you work with was as good as any deterrent to not steal the money.
Thankfully there weren’t that many teens, so she could confidently walk up to one of them and presume they knew who exactly she was looking for among them.
“Oh, yeah,” one of them told her distractedly, “you’re looking for Jordan. Gimme a second and I’ll come find him with you.”
As they set off, the kid explained the rules to her. Yadda yadda no changing your bet, sharing money, capital C Consequences.
If Elaine were being honest, she was surprised the kids had thought the bet through this much, although she supposed she should be grateful. It at least seemed less likely that she would be scammed out of her winnings.
Jordan seemed to be even more of a scamp than the teen she was already with. At least he knew what he was doing with the bet, Elaine supposed as he took a pencil from behind his ear and a sheet of paper from his pocket.
“Whatcha betting?” he asked brightly, and Elaine couldn’t help but smile.
“Hippies,” was all she said, reveling in the surprised looks she got from the others.
The teen she had walked with scanned over the paper in Jordan’s hand, frowning slightly. “Well, points for originality, I guess.” He shrugged, most likely assuming it would be her loss. Ah, the arrogance of youth.
“What else is on there,” Elaine couldn’t help but ask, peering around Jordan’s shoulder.
There were a surprisingly substantial amount of bets on the paper. The ones at the top were clearly from the conception of the bet – betting she was underage or old enough to be Eddie’s mom. Out of the 20 bets written above Elaine’s, she saw that, as the kid said, no one else had connected the dots to lead to Stevie being a hippy.
Good. That would be $100 all to herself. She would probably spend at least some of it commiserating the losers, admittedly, but it was a matter of pride, too, that she had managed to get the true inside scoop.
Only six more shows til Stevie indeed.
It was the night before they arrived in Indiana and Eddie Munson was practically bouncing off the walls. Normally Eddie was a hyper man, but Tamira was yet to have seen it reach this level before.
She wasn’t stupid, though. She knew exactly why: Stevie Munson was going to be at the next gig. Any time Eddie was near anyone , he’d bring it up, and Tamira knew that a good portion of the crew were ready to shove his signature bandana down his throat to shut him up.
Today, Eddie was laying it on, and thicker than usual. She usually met with the band the night before each show to do any special checks, and tonight was no different. They’d be arriving in Indy in the wee hours of the morning, and then setting up throughout the day for the first show of two. This was, therefore, her very last chance to get to Eddie before he went truly batshit over his Stevie.
Tamira found Eddie lying waifish across one of the couches on the bus. Presumably the rest of the band had grown tired of his constant lovesick sighs.
“Eddie,” she began, sitting on the opposite couch.
“Tamira,” Eddie copied back to her, shifting slightly to see her better.
“I want to talk to you about tomorrow.”
“Ah,” he nodded sagely. “The fated arrival of my most darling princess Stevie.”
Tamira nodded back. “Yeah, exactly.”
Eddie sat up in interest, giving her his full attention. Lovesick asshole. “Go on?”
She didn’t beat around the bush. “I just wanted to know who to look out for at the actual show. I wouldn’t want Stevie to be hurt or worse in the crowd.” Eddie, the absolute bastard, was failing to hide his laughter. Normally, Tamira would be trying to find the joke with him, but this was a serious situation. “Don’t be a dick, Munson; I’ve worked too hard in this industry not to be taken seriously.”
At least Eddie had the decency to look slightly admonished. “Stevie will be fine. My baby’s a smart one.”
“I accept that, but being smart doesn’t mean you’re invincible.”
“Yeah, alright. Stevie’s around my height, short brown hair, buff, uh, hairy? Looks like he wrestles bats for fun?”
Tamira was not best pleased. “Munson,” she grit out, “I thought I said to not dick me about.”
With a forced laugh, Eddie raised his hands in surrender. “You got me!” Tamira’s glare finally softened somewhat. “Uh, Stevie’s, like, 5’1, bleach blonde, long, long hair,” Eddie seemed to finally hit his stride, no longer self conscious about his girlfriend. “Will probably be wearing mostly pink with a bow in her hair, and probably a cardigan. Nice makeup, great tit-”
“OK, I get the point.”
Eddie didn’t even seem embarrassed by being lost in the description, and definitely not that ending. Tamira decided she wouldn’t bother being embarrassed for him, in that case.
She quickly departed, glad to have got the most tedious conversation out of the way first. The rest of Corroded Coffin were all going to be far easier to talk to about this.
*
It was getting late and, like the unrepentant losers they were, Corroded Coffin had largely already retreated to bed. They were undoubtedly the weirdest metal band Tamira had ever worked for, and that was saying something. At least it gave her some time to herself, she supposed.
She sat at the front of the bus, watching over the body of it. Her radio had been mumbling at a low volume to her hip for the past 20 minutes; she should probably check out what the issue was.
“What’s going on with y’all?” she said in a lull.
“ We’re just discussing the finer details of the bet ,” someone said back.
Ah, the bet. Tamira had pretended that she didn’t know what it was, but she wasn’t an idiot. She had feigned impartiality to it, too; turning a blind eye when someone discussed it too loudly, warning them if one of Corroded Coffin were likely to overhear. Whilst she had previously thought it was something of a breach of Eddie’s trust, Eddie himself seemed happy to mess about with Stevie’s identity too.
The bet was fair game to Tamira now – it also helped that this would be an easy win for her, now that Eddie had actually described her in detail.
A crackle. “ Please don’t be mad at us, Tamira ,” a young voice said, probably one of the kids running it.
She kissed her teeth dramatically. “I dunno, kid, it’s gonna cost you something.”
“ Oh, god. Um, what can I do for you? ” It was difficult not to find their fear amusing. She wouldn’t abuse it, that would be too far, she felt, but it made for a good laugh.
“Gimme all the winnings.”
A pause, in which Tamira luxuriated.
“ Can we- I don’t know if that’s possible…”
“It will be when I win the bet,” she broke, smile audible in her voice.
“ You’re… you’re putting down a bet?”
“Sure am, kid.”
“ Oh! ” She could feel the relief through the radio. “ Do you know the rules? It’s uh-”
“I know ‘em. Put me down for Stevie being a pink, pastel girl. Blonde, cute, the whole deal.”
The kid took a moment, no doubt writing it down. “ Sure, but uh, you’ll be sharing the money with like 10 other people if you win. ”
Goddammit, maybe she wasn’t the only one Eddie had told. Well, there wasn’t anything she could do at this point, so she told them as much.
A new voice crackled into life. “ What’s got you changing your mind so suddenly, Tamira? ” It was one of the drivers, maybe even the one driving this tour bus.
No one could see her smirk, but she did so nonetheless. “Munson told me personally.”
“ Dang it ,” the driver said, “ I knew I shoulda just done that myself .”
Tamira made sure her cackle went over the radio.
Kim had been put on crowd control, for some reason. Well, not actual crowd control, just escorting the various visitors to their friends.
A glorified babysitter. After all she’d done for Eddie and the band.
She wasn’t actually upset; this gave her the best opportunity to see who Stevie was, and Eddie was mostly competent at setting up his own guitars. There were a couple of amps laying about that she was loathe to take up, too, so waiting for Stevie felt like a reward, in reality.
A gorgeous burgundy Beemer came rolling up, and it took Kim a moment to remember her role. The two people in the car definitely weren’t crew, not arriving this late and with such a fancy car, so it was high time to start babysitting.
She called out a greeting to the pair as they exited the car. The guy, the driver, was an attractive man, Kim couldn’t deny. She mostly didn’t swing that way but she wasn’t blind, and this guy wouldn’t look out of place in Bruce Weber’s portfolio. He wore a striped polo and some light wash jeans that, Jesus Christ, hugged an extremely nice ass. His hair was something else, too. It looked effortless enough to definitely be very difficult to do, and it glowed healthily in the sun. The guy looked pampered .
All that to say, he was something of an interesting choice for a friend of one of Corroded Coffin; definitely not their type of person. Well, maybe he was someone’s sibling?
The girl, however, was far more up the band’s avenue. Her hair was cut choppily enough to be obviously home-done, but done well enough to suit her, even flatter her. Under a bomber jacket covered in patches – her own version of a battle jacket, no doubt – she wore a bright button up and some jeans. Far more normal for a metal band’s friend.
As they walked up to Kim, she was physically incapable of blurting out, “Is one of you Stevie?”
The girl grinned brightly at Kim, glancing smugly at the guy. “Yep!”
Shit. Kim had been way off. So had most other people, for that matter. Stevie seemed to just… be a girl. Not a plain Jane, though, but not of any specific subculture that could be bet on.
“Nice,” Kim said brightly back, enjoying the slight blush that came across Stevie’s face.
The guy cleared his throat, more awkward than rude. “Do you need help carrying those amps?” He gestured to the pair Kim was by.
She appraised him slightly; OK, not an absolute asshole. “I’d really appreciate that, actually.”
As the guy arranged himself to carry them, Kim took the opportunity to find her radio. “ Stevie’s here ,” she hissed into it. There was a brief barrage of noise before she shut the volume off.
The guy was just… carrying the amps. One in each hand. Kim was aware she was staring, but couldn’t bring herself to stop. Sure, there were definitely other guys on the crew who could do this as well, but they were on the crew . This was just someone’s brother who could also apparently carry as much as the crew.
“Where are these going to?”
“Oh, uh, to Eddie, I think. I assume you’re here for him, too, so that’s a plus.”
Stevie nudged the boy teasingly and waggled her eyebrows. Maybe the guy was Stevie’s brother?
Kim was used to feeling eyes on her as she walked around anywhere. A mixture of being a pretty girl, but also undoubtedly the transsexuality. This time, though, it was definitely because of Stevie.
They basically had an escort, a parade of people stepping by to let them through, watching the trio go. It felt kind of powerful, actually. Kim also took the opportunity to watch the pair, too. They seemed very close – Kim knew she had nailed it with them being siblings – and the guy seemed to be getting excited. Maybe he was here as a fan, a favor from Stevie?
Kim studied Stevie, too. There was something about her… A glance at her shoes, a pair of red converse, revealed doodles. Including, she noted, of boobs.
Now, Kim was well aware that people could like both. More than both. Whatever. But, come to think of it, Stevie seemed to lean more on the lesbian side than anything. She’d say she wasn’t paid enough to care, but there was bet money on the line, so maybe she was.
They arrived just before the stage, and Kim stopped them. Eddie was probably dicking about somewhere, but this was where he was meant to be at this point. He could just find them, she guessed.
The guy let go of the amps and looked around, almost nervously. Kim was quite a fan of people becoming star struck, so wasn’t looking to warn Jordan that he was about to drop an amp on the guy’s foot.
Thankfully, the guy noticed for her. “Jesus fucking Christ, kid, watch where you’re putting that fucking thing!” he yelped, putting exasperated hands on his hips.
Jordan looked admonished, apologizing instantly.
“Shit, kid, sorry, that was harsh of me,” the guy reassured him. Jordan looked slightly less like he was about to burst into tears.
“God, Steve, you’re such a mother hen,” Stevie teased.
Wait, the guy’s name was Steve? Having a Stevie and a Steve was… certainly a choice, she couldn’t deny their parents that.
At her voice, Eddie’s ears must have perked up. “Stevie?!” he yelled from… somewhere. The siblings also perked up noticeably, and Steve stepped clear of Stevie, no doubt to let Eddie come flying at her.
Eddie was indeed coming flying. Kim had never seen the man move so fast in his life; his hair was streaming behind him and he had his arms out wide like he was in a corny movie.
Almost the entire crew watched as Eddie cleared the crowd and-
Leapt directly into Steve’s arms?
“Hey, baby,” Steve said, once Eddie had stopped shrieking, giving him a loving kiss that he was almost smiling too hard around to execute properly.
You could have heard a pin drop. And then the questions started.
Had anyone guessed Stevie was a guy named Steve ? How much were they winning? Who was getting the prize money if no one guessed correctly? Was it too soon to grab Jordan?
The girl – was she actually called Stevie? – was watching in exasperation, no doubt used to Eddie and Steve being all over each other. The pair were gazing at one another, oblivious to the noise around them.
“So, uh, what’s your name?” Kim asked under her breath to the girl.
“Robin! Steve’s my platonic soulmate. Eddie’s also there.”
She grinned. “I’m Kim, I’m Eddie’s guitar tech. Are, uh, Eddie and… Steve normally like this?”
“Oh, absolutely. Steve’s been unbearable these past few months without Eddie.”
“Same here.”
They laughed together, catching the attention of Eddie and Steve.
“What’s going on?” Steve asked, Eddie still hanging off him like a pathetic wet dog.
“Nothing!” Robin sang.
Eddie kissed Steve on the cheek, snaking an unsubtle hand to grab Steve’s ass, which- fair.
“Eddie, my man,” Kim couldn’t help but ask, “ this is your darling sweet little baby princess?”
Robin’s laugh was as much reward as Steve going completely red. “You have not been calling me that.”
“I… may have,” Eddie said, looking only slightly guilty. “In my defense, I love you!”
“Not good enough, Munson. I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”
“You know,” Kim said, desperate to stir the shit even more, “we all thought you were a pink-pastel-princess this entire tour. Hell,” she just about got out, “we thought you were Robin up until now.”
Eddie looked ready to bolt in the opposite direction as Steve turned on him, hands back on his hips. It looked like a practiced motion, almost subconscious.
“Munson,” Steve said around gritted teeth. “You are so lucky I love you. And that my bat is in the trunk,” he added as an after-thought.
“Ugh,” Robin groaned. “Go do your foreplay somewhere else. You both disgust me.”
Steve, having only just returned to a normal color, went bright red again. Eddie, as usual, was shameless, and just grinned wickedly at Robin. “Don’t be jealous of our loving, devoted, physical relationship, Buckley. It’s healthy.”
Kim barely heard him over Robin’s noises of complaint and she wasn’t sure she was glad she did hear.
“You’re gross, I hate you, I’m going to sit in the car,” she proclaimed.
“Bring the nailbat with you, will you?”
Robin glared at Eddie, but didn’t stalk off. “Steven, don’t think I’m not disappointed in you, too.”
“I’ve saved your life-!”
“-Well, maybe you shouldn’t have-”
“-Twice! Show some gratitude!”
“Sweetheart, you know, I’m grateful you saved my life,” Eddie needled.
Steve rolled his eyes fondly. “Oh, yeah?” He took on a put-out tone. “Well, maybe I wouldn’t have if I knew you would constantly be embarrassing me like this.”
“Harsh, Stevie,” Eddie said, in no way hurt. “Maybe you could give me CPR again…”
Steve raised an expectant eyebrow as Eddie trailed off coyly.
“But this time on my dick.”
“Ew!” Robin yelled.
“OK, I’m off,” Kim agreed, making her exit.
As she glanced back, having put a safe distance between her and Eddie, she watched as Eddie dragged Steve off – no doubt to a private area – with matching, lovesick grins on their faces.
Gross.