Page 87 of Dirty Like Us

Last thing I wanted to do was get Jude in any kind ofshit.

When I first found out about the auditions for Dirty’s new rhythm guitarist, I’d planned to head straight up to Vancouver to try out. But then I changed my mind. The auditions were only starting in Vancouver, but ending in L.A. the following week. And the more I thought about it, the more it made sense towait.

Then I’d called Jude and found out he wasn’t even in Vancouver. He was already in L.A.. And that sealed it forme.

I told him I wascoming.

Helaughed.

Truth was, I didn’t think he really believedme.

But here Iwas.

All week, I’d hung out at the taco dive across the street. Each morning, I watched the lineup of hopefuls grow, winding down the sidewalk behind the velvet rope and around the block. Each afternoon, I watched the crowd dwindle until the last guitarist left the building. Most of the time I’d sat on the sidewalk, playing my acoustic, and even though I wasn’t intentionally busking, people had tossed mecash.

That wasweird.

I once had a number-one album. Now I had crumpled bills in my guitarcase.

The end of each day, I’d bought three tacos and a juice. I’d given them to the old guy who lived out behind the taco place, along with all the leftover cash. Maybe that was just sponsoring an addiction, and maybe after all I’d been through with my own addiction I should’ve been wary of that. But the dude was seventy-six years old and living in an alley; if he wanted whiskey for breakfast, you asked me, that was hisprerogative.

It was several days before I even glimpsed any members of theband.

On Thursday, just as the sun was starting to set, Dylan Cope strode out onto the sidewalk from the gated lot behind the bar—his bar—with a few other guys. The dude was crazy tall, plus his unruly auburn hair was aflame in the evening sun, so there was no mistaking him. He was smiling.Laughing.

Dirty’s drummer was definitely the most easygoing of all the band members, and it’s not like it had never occurred to me to appeal to his chill nature for forgiveness. Problem was, it would never be that easy. Dylan was a team player almost to a fault; the guy wouldn’t change his socks without the approval of the other band membersfirst.

EspeciallyElle’s.

I’d seen her, too, that same evening. Elle Delacroix, Dirty’s bassist. Also unmistakable with her long, platinum-blonde hair smoothed back in a high ponytail, her slim, tanned figure poured into a skimpy white dress and tall boots. She’d come outside with a small entourage—her assistant, Joanie, a stiff-looking dude in black who was probably security, and a couple of other women. I didn’t even get a look at her face. She’d spoken with the guys, mainly Dylan, and after giving him a hug and a kiss on the cheek, she disappeared behind thebuilding.

Were they dating now? I had noidea.

I wasn’t exactly in theloop.

I knew Elle had dated Jesse Mayes, Dirty’s lead guitarist, a while back; everyone knew that. So maybe anything was possible. But Dylan remained on the sidewalk with a bunch of guys, talking, some of them smoking, long after the SUV with tinted windows rolled away withElle.

Today, the very last day of auditions, I’d waited across the street until the end of the day. Until every last one of the hopefuls had been dismissed and wandered away, guitar in hand. I could remember that feeling, vividly. Playing your ass off in hopes of getting noticed, of getting invited back, no idea if that was gonna happen ornot.

I’d been in that position several times in my life. None more nerve-racking than when I’d first met Dirty at age nineteen. When their lead singer, Zane Traynor, took me home with him, to his grandma’s garage, to meet the band. Once I met them and heard them play, I knew I had to do whatever it took so they’d let me stick around. I’d played with garage bands before. But these guys were something else. And they already had a killer guitarist inJesse.

So I knew I had to bring something different to themix.

I spent the next three years of my life hellbent on doing justthat.

From that first informal audition, to the last show I ever played as a member of Dirty—the night they fired me from the band—I knew I had to kill it. To work my ass off to earn the chance they’d given me. I had to give them something back that they’d never seen before, never heard… something they couldn’t stand to bewithout.

Just like I had to donow.

And to that end, I’d decided I had to be the very last person they saw today. The last person theyheard. The very last guitarist to audition for the spot.Myoldspot.

So that no matter what came before, there was no way they could forget my performance in the onslaught ofothers.

Save the best forlast.

That’s what I was thinking, what I kept telling myself, as I sat here on the outside, looking in. Just waiting for Jude to come outside andletmein.

But I was no stranger towaiting.