When I Should've Stayed Home (Track Twelve: III) 3, chapter 13

*Billie Joe*

While they waiting for the call for sound check, the band relaxed in their dressing room. Billie Joe allowed himself to drift on the edge of consciousness. Last night had stretched out in this morning, and he was not recovered enough to join the living. Unless he had a guitar in his hands, there was no reason for him to be awake or civil at this hour.

Ronnie's tech had arrived before Billie Joe had closed his eyes and was briefing the musician on the sound qualities of the arena. In one corner, the two Jasons were chatting quietly. The words soon ran together, becoming a low and calming noise.

The relative peace was shattered by an enraged roar from Mike. "For the love of God!"

Billie Joe, from his doze on a chair, cracked his eyes open. Mike stood with his arms crossed, expression sour, beside the drummer. Tré flourished the unplugged cord of a nearby lamp. A sadistic grin covered his face.

"What're you up to?" Billie Joe mumbled.

"He's fuckin'-Arragh!" Mike growled as the cord's end swung around and bopped him on the top of his skull. Furiously, he made a grab for it, but Tré swung it behind his back.

The devilish grin persisted. "N'uhuhaah. No touching."

Angrily, the bassist shook his finger at Tré. "Do it again, and I shove that damn cord up your ass so fast the lamp'll come on."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Really. Friction makes static electricity. And if you smack me again, there's going to be some serious, painful, friction."

Tré craned his neck around and twisted his back in order to better look at his behind. "Yeah, friction cause my ass is so tight! Yeah!"

Mike rolled his eyes. Within the first second they weren't focused on Tré, the drummer flicked his wrist and landed another hit to Mike's head.

"Christ!" Tré struck again as the words left Mike's mouth. "Wha-" Wack. "F-" Smack. "OKAY!" Snarling, Mike leapt at the drummer. There was a loud crash as the tall floor lamp toppled over and shattered its bulb.

Both men went down, grappling wildly. Tré yelped as he landed with his back on the rigid lamp pole. They fought furiously, struggling for control over the cord. Mike twisted Tré's wrist back until he bowed upwards in agony.

"Gimme the cord."

"No!" Tendons swelled in Mike's arm as he applied more pressure. "Aaahaha!"

"Cord or your wrist. Pick."

Almost faster than the eye could follow, Tré writhed off of the lamp pole and picked it up with his free hand. Glass tinkled to the ground as the lamp cover dropped off. Due to his position, Tré managed to grab the light in the middle of its post instead of at one of the ends. With a cry of defiance, he attempted to flatten the bassist with the side of the lamp shaft. Instead of a desperately cunning strike, Tré's attack came out looking more like he was trying to slap Mike on the back.

Still holding Tré's wrist, Mike shifted so he had Tré's knees pinned on their side under his own knees. With every pathetic hit, Mike let out a mocking chuckle. Finally, after several seconds of increasingly weaker struggles, Tré screwed up his face and went limp.

"Aaaah, haaa, haa," he faux-sobbed. "Not fair."

Adding insult to injury, Mike wrenched the cord out of Tré's hand and began swatting him with it. Tré rolled his head back and forth, trying to escape.

Just as Billie Joe was about to doze off again, there was a large thud and the sound of a mad scuffle. Tré and Mike were now rolling on the floor, seeing who could pin the other first. Somehow, Tré had managed to steal the cord back. As they scuffled, the lamp skidded along the floor behind them.

"I told you to quit buggin' me! I. Am. Not. A morning person!"

"I know!" Tré yelled back. "I know!"

Billie Joe closed his eyes slowly, and then reopened them. Sleeping was not an option, at least not in the dressing room. With a sigh, he eased out of his comfortable chair. Avoiding the combatants, Billie Joe headed out of the room.

"I'm goin' for a smoke," he lied. "Back in a bit."

The two Jason's met Billie Joe's eyes and nodded. Ronnie raised a hand in acknowledgement. Tré could not spare any of his concentration as he required all of his concentration to exercise his drumming skills on a moving target. Mike was equally occupied, trying to keep his skull away from Tré's sticks.

There was something to be said about having an extremely friendly drummer. Tré could go basically anywhere and do anything, without anyone questioning his motives. Without the help Tré rounded up from the roadies, Billie Joe would have collapsed from the added stress of stalking Trista. The miniature surveillance network worked beautifully, and the other band members were equally vigilant. Billie Joe enjoyed the fact that he could have a few moments to himself, and not have to worry about the fact that he should be rushing off somewhere to keep an eye on things. Now was a perfect example. With Mike in the dressing room under the supervision of Ronnie, both Jasons, and Tré, Billie Joe had the freedom to make a quick phone call.

As he snuck out of the dressing room, he was taken aback at the multitude of people in the hall. A steady flow of roadies rushed through the hall, some coming and others going. The occasional few did not move, and became rocks in the stream of humanity. Prior to sound check, the majority of roadies in the arena consisted of sound roadies. The others had already finished the larger part of their jobs.

Then why aren't they out doing things? What's going on?

From the edge of his eye, Billie Joe spotted the roadie whom Tré had tagged as an ally. The flow of people began to slow, and it congealed into a crowd. Instantly, it parted for Billie Joe as he headed for the roadie.

A warm smile lifted her lips as he approached. "Hey baby! How's it going?"

"Not bad. Yourself?"

What's her name? Damn it. What was it? She's the Front of House Engineer. C'mon, what's—Keely! Yeah, it's Keely.

The woman threw her arm around Billie Joe's shoulders. Instinctively, Billie Joe stiffened. "Doing alright, I guess." From the twinkle in her eyes, Billie Joe knew that Keely felt his unease. "Don't worry. I know you're taken. No offense, but I don't want none of you. Not my type. Now, what brings you out here?"

"Just going for a smoke, but what the hell's with all the people?"

"Nobody knows, 'cept for Knight. We're supposed to hang around in here. We got some instructions, but I can't tell you 'bout it." She tapped him on the skull. "Gotta keep it secret for now. Anything, you know, else?"

"No. But, I gotta say thanks for helpin' us out."

"Ah, it's nothin'. Between you an' me, I don't wanna see her little heart get smashed. She acts rough, but under all that, she's still vulnerable." Keely released Billie Joe's shoulders. "Go have your smoke. If I were you, I'd be back here before you get called to do soundcheck." She winked and moved into a throng of men.

Quickly, Billie Joe threaded his way though the people and slunk into one of the large halls. Taking out his cell, he flipped it open and hit the speed dial. As he waited for it to pick up, he sauntered to an inconspicuous corner.

Joey answered on the fourth ring "Hello?"

"Hey."

"Hi."

"How's it going?"

"Mmm, alright." There was a pause. "Oh! You should've seen what happened yesterday at recess. Evan got into this huge fight with Terry and there was blood all over the place, 'cause Terry punched Evan in the nose."

"Why'd he do that?"

"Because Evan tried to kick Terry in the crotch. And he did that, 'cause Terry said Evan, 'cause he said that, Evan had no balls."

"And you stayed out of it?"

"Yep. D'you wanna talk to Mom?"

"Yeah sure. Tell Jacob I said hi."

"Okay." The phone clunked as Joey set it down. Distantly, Billie Joe could hear his son hollering. "MOM! Mooooom! Phone for you. It's Dad!"

"I heard you the first time." Adrienne's voice increased in volume as she approached the phone. The phone clicked as she picked it up. "Okay, you can hang up now." The phone clunked as Joey hung up the phone. "So, what's going on?"

Billie Joe sighed. "Nothing really. I just wanted your advice."

"My advice? That's a first."

"Do you remember when we were first together, and me, Mike, an' Tré were all living together?"

"Yes. I can't really forget that," her tone was warm but chiding.

"And Mike's new girlfriend was living with us too?"

"Yeah. And then, all that... "

"-Stuff happened," Billie Joe finished for her.

"I remember."

"What would you say if I told you that we might've found her?"

"Really?" Adrienne's voice rose in excitement. "How?"

"I'll tell you later. What I want is your opinion on this. Should we tell Mike?" Adrienne started to speak but he cut her off. "We're not a hundred percent sure."

"Oh." She hesistated for a long moment. "I don't know. That's a rock and a hard place. Can you find out for sure?"

"That's the problem. I'm worried that if it is her, and we try to expose her, she'll bolt again."

"But if she's in Houston, you're leaving. You've gotta do something."

Billie Joe threw a glance over his shoulder, checking to make sure he was alone. "She's one of the roadies. The backline crew chief."

"And Mike hasn't found out? How?"

"She's like some Zorro wannabe. She wears a bandana and gloves all the time. And contacts. Tré figured her out. We have to find out soon. She's got a girl with her."

"A girl? What do you mean?"

Billie Joe dropped his voice. "I don't know if I told you, but when Mike's girlfriend left, she was—"

"Pregnant?" Adrienne's voice filled with surprise. "And you think the girl is the right age?"

"It's hard to tell. I can't judge ages. But the problem is, Mike's aiming for a one-night stand."

"Mike? No. He doesn't do that kind of thing. I'd expect it from you or maybe Tré—"

"Thanks," he commented dryly.

"You know what I mean. But, that's just not like him."

"He hasn't been himself lately. Not since the whole recording thing. And then when we left... wasn't easy for him either. So, what do we do?"

"I saw the way his heart was fractured when he came back to the house without her. When me and her went to the bar, she couldn't barely keep her eyes off of him. The only time she didn't was when she was making sure I was into you. That kind of thing doesn't just go away. You can call it puppy love, or whatever, but even if something made her stop loving Mike enough to stay, she was still your friend." She laughed. "I sound like some guidance counselor. Just do what you think is right. Try and find out if it's her. Talk to the girl."

"Billie! C'mon! Sound check!" Billie Joe's tech, Woofer, appeared in the hall.

"Okay. I gotta go. Thanks for, you know, listening."

"No problem. Bye."

"Later."

Shutting off the phone, Billie Joe jogged over to Woofer and followed him into the hall in front of the dressing room. The roadies had filled the hall before, but they now had it clogged completely. Upon the arrival Billie Joe, a narrow path in the people opened againg; it lead towards the two Jasons waiting in the doorway to the main arena. As soon as Billie Joe and his tech went through the path, it closed. At the doorway, a hand reached out and caught Billie Joe's shoulder as he tried to follow the Jasons.

"I wouldn't go too far." Keely suggested with a grin.

Mike and Ronnie came out of the dressing room, and then hesitated in surprise. A path through the people swiftly opened for them, hands gestured for them to more forward, and whispers instructed them to keep quiet. Cautiously, they made their way to Billie Joe's side. The Jasons, having noticed Billie Joe not following them to arena, had backtracked to also stand beside the guitarist.

"What's up?" Mike asked.

Billie Joe shook his head. "I don't know."

"Freeeaaaky," Jason Freese commented.

At the far end of the hall, opposite to the band mates, Knight materialized. A wave of silence issued from her and overtook the entire crowd. Immediately, the crowd created a gap in front of the dressing room door. The semi-circle of space was no more than five feet in diameter. An eerie hush descended upon the packed hall. Casting uneasy looks at one another, the band waited for their drummer.

The door opened and Tré barged out, jerking to a halt. "What in the name of fuck is this?"

"C'mon people!" Knight called unnecessarily. "We got sound check to do. Tiny, get your talent going! We got a show to do."

Tré's head whipped around, pinpointing Knight. A wry smile lifted the corner of Tré's mouth as he realized she was the cause. "That's it? That's the best you can come up with?"

"No. It's not. But I wouldn't—to quote a lyric—'knock it until you try it'."

Tré gave his comrades a would-you-get-a-load-of-this look and started to walk into the crowd. It was similar to walking into a thick wall. The roadies would not move. Tré tried again, and it was then that Billie Joe noticed all of the stagehands—the ones with the muscles to move the heaviest of stage equipment—were the ones closest to Tré's little clearing. Rejected once again, Tré backed up and disappeared into the change room. He spoke, and his tech also disappeared. The door opened, remained open, and Tré came rushing out.

"Aaarrgghhh!"

Like a derailed freight train, Tré plowed right for the impassive wall of roadies. Beside Billie Joe, Ronnie flinched in anticipation of the broken bones. At the last possible fraction of a second before impact, the wall of roadies parted. Carried by his massive momentum, Tré hurtled forward and made a direct collision with the corridor's stone wall. He ricocheted sideways, stumbled, tripped, and landed on his side.

The crowd's dam of silence shattered with a flood of laughter. Some of the roadies were doubled over with laughter, leaning on each other for support. Over the merriment drifted the compliments and the insults.

"Nice one Knight!"

"Got 'im good!"

"Watch your footing there Mr. Cool. It's slippery."

"Whadda call that? A triple clutz?"

"Yeah. Ten points for the wonderfully executed triple clutz!"

"Simple and effective. God, who dreams up shit like this?"

Billie Joe felt a grin tugging at his lips, but he fought to keep it from escaping onto his face until the roadies dissipated. Knight glided victoriously past the fallen drummer. Even with the bandanas, her smug expression was visible in her eyes. Without a word, she slipped past the band and into the arena. Only then did Billie Joe relax enough to laugh at Tré's mishap.

Mike crossed his bare arms smugly. "Serves you right for being an ass."

"You're an asshole too, so shut up. Anybody seen my brain? I think I smacked it out," Tré moaned as he climbed off of the floor. Wincing, he massaged his wrists. "Should've just hit it with my shoulder," he muttered.

"You alright?" Tiny called from the dressing room.

"Fine. Just fine."

"Are you sure? Want some ice?" Tiny's heavily tanned face bore lines of concern. "If I'd have known you were going to do that, I wouldn't have held the door."

"Don't worry," Jason White called. "You'll learn. Either that or Tré'll do something really stupid that'll scare the shit out of you. Then, you'll learn for sure."

"Let's get on with this. I need my kit. I'm lonely," Tré grumbled. Knowing he was trying to save face, Billie Joe headed for the arena.

Mike was not so kind. "Ah, what's the matter? Gotta win your macho back by beating the shit out of some drums? Real manly. Attacking something that can't move." Behind Billie Joe, there was a thud of a fist hitting shoulder.

"You move. How about I beat you?"

Billie Joe looked back in time to see Mike sling a sympathetic arm around Tré. "Better yet, meet me in the bus in five minutes and I'll let you choke my chicken."

"No, no, how about the bus in fifteen minutes, you choke my chicken, and then I'll bang you?"

Laughing, Jason asked, "What about the rest of us?"

"We've only got so many hands," Mike replied, "So first come," he winked, "first serve."

"And only one dick each, but they're big enough to do the damn job!" Tré yelled as he sprinted onstage. He executed an exaggerated stumble before launching at his throne. To all appearances, he missed and went soaring into a floor tom.

"Fuck!" he squawked. A second later, he popped up with the seat of his throne in hand. "Who fucked arou—I'm going to kill her!"

Billie Joe sauntered over to his rack of guitars and selected one. On his own rack, Mike looked over and chuckled as the screeches of a throne having its seat forced back on reverberated throughout the arena.

"Screwdriver!" Tré bellowed. "I need a screwdriver." Tiny tossed the tool across the stage. "A screwdriver. Why thank you!" Tré drawled in a thick Texan accent. A moment later, the screwdriver flew back to Tiny. Haughtily, Tré bounced on the seat to test it. When it held, he flashed a huge grin. "C'mon, let's go! What are we gonna test first?" He tapped his snare, flicked the snare on, and began an anticipatory drum roll.

Keely, from her position at the front of the stage, replied, "I think we're going through American Idiot first. I think it's easier to set the tinny effects when the place is cold."

"Alright, American Idiot it is." Billie Joe spoke into his mic, checking to see if it was on and working.

Testing his mic as well, the bassist replied, "Mmmhmm, yep. American Idiot."

First glancing back to make sure his band was ready, Billie Joe put his fingers on the strings. He scratched a few chords before ripping into the main riff. On the second repetition, coinciding with a cymbal hit, Mike and Tré came in. Billie Joe had barely touched down from his and Mike's synchronized leap before he sensed something was wrong. The song crashed to a halt.

"Damn it! Fuckin' Christ!" Despite the anger in his words, Tré guffawed loudly.

Billie Joe turned to inspect the latest prank. Tré's crash ride and one of his crash cymbals had fallen from their stands. Some sort of oily liquid had spattered him all down the front of his shirt. It also oozed down the right side of his face.

"What happened?" Mike demanded incredulously.

"Well, I went to hit the crash, and down it came. I went after the crash ride, and it went down too. When I stomped on the high hat, it spat this shit at me. Like just exploded." He wiped his face and sniffed his fingers. "Cleaning oil."

Billie Joe prodded at the high hat. When it did not blow up, he cautiously stuck his fingers between the cymbals. He withdrew three small, burst, and oily bags.

Genius. I just hope Mike doesn't put two and two together.

"Three pranks, one after another. Well done, and thought out." Mike commented. "Not bad. Professional."

"Four if you count the hallway stunt." Out of the corner of his eye, Billie Joe snuck a glance at Mike. The bassist did not seem on the verge of a revelation. In fact, he seemed more amused than anything. "Not bad at all," Billie Joe mused.

Tré snatched the bags and smeared them over Mike's clean white shirt. Over the bassist's protests, Tré vowed, "But we're going to do better. Lots better. We're going to kick her ass."