THE SOUND OF SETTLING

Here we go! I'll be sharing excerpts of my book inspired by Dave Grohl. Paid subscribers will get to read larger segments. Here's the intro & I hope you're hooked by it enough to want to keep reading!

THE SOUND OF SETTLING

A Rock and Roll Love Story

by

TARA DUBLIN

Standing side of stage at Madison Square Garden, she gazes past the security barriers to get a better look at the sold-out crowd. The lights haven’t gone down yet; the pre-show music is thumping, the anticipation is still growing. She remembers that feeling, that yearning for the show to start, for the lights to suddenly go out as the music swelled and filled her emptiness like nothing else ever could. Would they play her favorite, the deep track from the second album? There were times that song brought her to tears, like he was singing it just for her. That song had helped her through her darkest moments, and having him mere feet from her, his eyes closed as he passionately sang those lyrics, was still among her happiest memories.

The old adage pops into her head: If I had only known then what I know now. You can’t go back. You can only take what you have now and move forward with it. She had wanted this life, instead of her old one. Now she had it, but it wasn’t really hers, was it?

Man plans and God laughs, whispers her mother’s voice inside her head, just as the lights begin to dim. The noise from the crowd grows from a loud hum to a deafening roar. They’re so hungry. They all want him. She’d wanted him, too. How could she not? But having him meant sharing him with the entire world, something she’d never really considered. It was one thing to have your conversation interrupted backstage after a show; it was another thing entirely to have your daily life interrupted, the intrusions from the outside world always breaking in, no matter how hard you try to keep them at bay.

From behind her, the roadies begin to move quickly. His guitar tech, the drum tech, the bass tech; they all have to be at the ready in case something goes wrong. The drummer enters the stage first and the crowd surges towards the stage. The roar now becomes an almost living thing; it feels heavy, solid, a weight pressing in on her. She is grateful to be standing here by the guitar rack, far away from the mosh pit down front, where it would be as hot and humid as a summer day in the 1 tropics. Instead of seeing him after the show with her makeup melted off of her face and her hair wild from sweat, she could be pristine, perfect, clean.

Not that he’d mind if she was dirty. He actually liked her better that way. He’d wanted her the first time they met, after a secret show in a tiny club. “Dirty” didn’t begin to describe how she’d felt after that sweaty experience, but the look in his eye told her he didn’t care about that. And he’d proven it.

She felt a twinge, thinking of that night. Things were still there between them, even if other things had changed. Someone brushed against her arm: the guitar player, who gave her a little smile as he passed. He liked her, maybe a little too much, but she pushed that thought away for now. No one messes with the boss’s lady, an unspoken rule amongst the band and crew. She knew the drummer didn’t much care for her, but the guitarist and bass player made up for that in spades. She was often left with the others, because it’s always the lead singer who gets the attention from the press. They were good guys, friendly and welcoming, and the crew didn’t seem to mind having her around, either. When the boss is happy, everyone’s happy. And the boss was happy with her, everyone saw it. People often said they could even feel the connection between them, it was so obvious. She’d felt it from before she’d ever met him. The fact that he felt it too was astonishing to her at first. Now she wonders if it was more like two drowning people trying to keep each other afloat without ever actually going under.

The band is assembled, and they begin the intro to the opening song, their latest hit to top the charts. The crowd is frenzied, a sea of arms raised above their heads, clapping along to the beat, chanting her man’s name. He once told her that coming off stage from that is like parachuting out of a plane and never hitting the ground. It’s why so many rock stars partied the way they did: they only want to fly, they never want to land.

The band is revving up. It’s time for his entrance. Suddenly, he’s there next to her. She feels him before she even sees him; his skin is giving off waves of heat and adrenaline. He smells amazing, his smile is enormous and radiant, and she can only smile back in return. She is still so in love with him. She always will be. Always.

He kisses her, gives her a little bye-bye wave, and lopes across the stage to take his place front and center. The crowd roars even louder once he’s in his rightful place before them. It’s where he belongs, standing in front of an adoring crowd. In this moment, he no longer belongs to her. He is theirs for the next two and a half hours. He will give them everything he has, and they will take it all and still want more from him. And he’ll be more than happy to give it to them.

She won’t have him to herself until well after the show has ended, when the radio station winners and record label people and various old friends and assorted groupie types have finally left him alone. Drained, he’ll then cling to her as she slowly helps him float back down to Earth. She’d promised him she’d never let him crash, and he promised her he’d always keep her with him.

Promises are always made with the best of intentions, but they aren’t always as easy to keep.

Maybe she’ll tell him that after the show tonight. Maybe he’ll use it in a song, like he’d done with some of the other things she’d said to him. Whenever she’d hear her words coming out of his mouth, it always made her smile. He admitted it to a journalist once, but obliquely: “My lady inspires my lyrics.” It had made her laugh at the time, but it had also made her feel more special than she’d ever felt before. He saw the best of her, even when she had only been able to see the worst. It was one of the many reasons she’d fallen for him in the first place.

He’s at the microphone now, and before he opens his mouth to sing a note, he turns and gives her a smile. He mouths “I fucking love you” and looks at her in a way that no one else ever has. Then he faces his audience, his followers, his minions. He fucking loves them, too, because they fucking love him.

Everyone loves him. But he tells everyone he only loves her.

She knows he loves her. She knows.

But sometimes someone loving you just isn’t enough.