Official Debut

Author's note: You know how I love to write performance chapters! With all these various rockstars together at Christmas-time, I couldn't resist. Above is the song that Trace, Row, and Matt perform. At the end of the chapter I'll insert a cover that I think comes somewhat close to Row and Riley's performance, but really it's better if you imagine what The Civil Wars would sound like if they performed the song....

Riley, Christmas Afternoon

I take the three steps up onto the small beach stage and knock my cane on the elevated floor to call this motley crew of Skidmarcs, Soundcrush and families to attention. I switch on my MC's microphone.

"Attention! All the satisfied ladies—" a mix of women hoot and holler but I hear Marley and Marianne loudest among them, "...all the single Rockstars..."

"Represent!" a shirtless and perpetually divorced Jax rises, covered in tats with sunburn peaking through. I tip my cane to the toughest, hardest rocking bastard I know and continue,

"...Hippies..."

"Peace!" Leed yells from where he's unashamedly atop an unconcerned Ashlynn despite all their kids running around their beach blanket as if their parents making out in their midst is totally normal. "And love," Ashlynn giggles, thrusting a peace sign up as Leed rolls her over on top of him.

"...Hell-raisers..." Dom, Artie, and Mac leap up, yelling with arms raised. Dom snatches up a pregnant Mac and looks like he's going to toss her a good twelve feet to Artie, so I quickly say, "Best put that one down Dom, she's up the duff—" He grins, kisses her in congratulations while I continue,

"... Saints and Angels!"

Adam puts up a fist in self-proclamation as rises to reclaim his Hell-raiser from Dom's drunken, overly friendly grasp.  Dev hoists Alley onto his shoulders and shouts "This one!" while Bridge rolls her eyes and says "Not.Hardly." Trace holds a Frisbee disk over Kat's head and quickly tosses it away as she catches him at his proclamation of her halo, while Matt drags Marianne to her feet and pretends to bow down to her.

"Brawlers, Current and Reformed-" Dev and Bodie roar and feign a fistfight, with Alley still on Dev's shoulders until Street rises and shoves them apart, claiming the title, and his baby sister, for himself.

"...Bad-asses..." Trace rises and give the crowd his best chin tip. Row rolls her eyes and  leaps on his back. He catches her effortlessly and she taps her chest and  gives the crowd double birds. "We got ya bad-ass, squared!" as Trace yells, "That's right, Dee-Dee!" He used to call her Demon del Marco; over the years he's modified it to the less offensive (to me) Dee-Dee.

"...and Titans!" Matt rises with a solid head nod of acknowledgment and joins me on the stage and paces in board shorts with a Poseidon trident, a Santa hat, and his sharkwatch binoculars hanging from his neck. He claps me on the shoulder and steals my thunder, "Welcome to the First Annual Lanai Christmas Day Dueling Open Mic Challenge, sponsored by the best band in the wuuuuuuurrrrrrrlllllld! SKiiiiiidMaaaaaaarcs!"

Jax, Dom, and Artie all leap to the stage, hoot, holler SkidMarcs, and display their horns signs and their freakishly long tongues while all the Soundcrush guys rise up with down-turned thumbs and boos.

"Settle down, settle down, or we'll be here all night, and I haven't unwrapped my best Christmas present yet," I yell into the mic as I give Row an over-exaggerated leer. She shakes her head with an unusually demure smile, giving me hope that I might actually get some for Christmas, but that remains to be seen, as she's kept things chaste since I've been here.

But she's slowly getting used to the new lightness in my being. Last night, we went for a walk on the beach that ended in shared sleep for the night. This morning when I woke, she was propped up with head on hand, watching me sleep. "What you said, about being unburdened...I see it. There's peace in you, now."

I pulled her to me, kissed her, and promised, "Everything you loved about me is still here, darling. I'll be your shelter, but I'll no longer try to be your keeper."

She's still watching me with those eyes all day. Eyes filled with the kind of hope I feel.

I wink at her now, and turn my attention back to her father and brother's rowdy bands.

"Settle the fuck down, goddammit!" I yell again into the mic as Soundcrush proceeds to try to claim the stage from Skidmarcs and a completely fake scuffle ensues.

I bang my the knob of my cane against the old tarnished upturned diver's helmet we're using as a hat from which to draw names. "Alright, this is a first, so let's review the rules. Everyone who wants to perform has placed their name in the diving helmet. I call a name, they call a challenger's name, I choose the song for competition, then each opponent can choose two backing musicians to accompany them."

"Why do you get to choose the bloody songs?" Dev yells.

"Because I'm impartial," I say.

"Like fuck you are. You're related to half these people, and you manage the other half," Artie yells.

"Not to mention you put your name into the hat to perform!" Trace yells.

"Fine, I'll choose the songs!" Matt yells as he snatches the diving bell from me.

"Hell no!" All of Soundcrush says in unison. Matt won't choose anything that wasn't written when he still sported a perm and acid-wash.

"I'm choosing the bloody songs—this was all my idea!" I retort, grabbing back the diving bell. "Winner of each round is determined by audience applause. First up, we have...Bodie! Bodie name your challenger!"

"Dev," he says automatically winking at the rapper.

Inspiration for these two, who have spent more time in lock-up than anyone else on the beach, strikes at once.

"Alright, your song is Locked Away performed in the style of R. City. Choose your backing musicians."

"Mac and Dom!" Dev yells immediately, claiming the synthesizer queen and the SkidMarcs drummer.

"Goddammit!" Bodie yells, because Mac is so versatile on the keys. "Adam and Ashlynn!"

Ashlynn tosses her long hair and looks up from Leed whom she's still straddling. "What? No! I didn't sign up to perform!"

Bodie hauls her off Leed and slaps a hand over his chest. "Save me, Sunny! Yuu're the only other keyboardist, and I need you."

They get five minutes to prepare, but Mac, Dom and Dev need all of ninety seconds. Mac plays a jaunty reggae approximation of the song and sings Levine's part. To his credit, Dev could have gone for performance points and excessive applause by playing the bad boy and grinding behind Mac at her keys, but he doesn't. His attention is for Bridget, off-stage. Despite his nonverbal pleading, she doesn't join him onstage. Still, he does an excellent job with the song.

They get resounding departing applause while Bodie and Adam and Ashlynn rush the stage and huddle around the keyboard. Bodie quickly chooses some synthesizer sounds for Ashlynn, and he and Adam school her on the rhythms. After a two minute jam session to allow Ashlynn to find her groove, they begin in earnest. Adam takes Levine's part and sounds awesome. Bodie steals the show, though. He draws Marley up on the stage as he plays bongos before her and pleads.

Tell would you really ride with me?

Baby tell me would you die for me?

Would you spend your whole life with me?

Would you be there to always hold me down?

Bodie wins based on their love alone. Dev tips his gin gracefully to the lovers as they embrace amidst wild screams and yells, none louder than their son's.

Next up is Darius who makes a rather rash decision to challenge Leed.

The whole crowd "ooooh's" in dismay as the Lion rises to the challenge, dusting sand off himself and showboating by rolling toward the stage with a couple of lazy cartwheels.

"Your song is American Woman in the style of Lenny Kravitz! Backing musicians?" I supply.

"Row and my dad!" Darius yells.

Leed nods, completely unconcerned that Darius has assembled an excellent crew of three for the hard rockin' song. "Good choices, Grasshopper."

"Leed, your backing musicians?"

He shrugs. "I just need a hot chic for inspiration, but she doesn't have to play anything," he says, winking at Ashlynn.

Bodie rolls up to the stage and slaps his son's sunburn overly hard. "This is a perfect song for Darius. He really needs to leave his American Woman, just like the song says."

Darius rolls his eyes. "Man, are we playing are what?"

"Oh we're playing. And your mom's gonna record it and send it to Araballa," Bodie points at Marley.

Marley flaps her beach hat, "I would, but I can't, because she blocked me."

"That's funny because I blocked her. From Adam's phone!" Mac yells.

Everybody laughs.

Darius, Row and Bodie put on a fine performance. Row dirties the guitar to perfection. Darius has really come into his own as a performer. He channels Kravitz and his shit-cool vocals. They get mad applause.

"Hard to beat," Matt warns as Leed takes the stage, escorting Ashlynn, hopping her up on the piano.

Leed grins arrogantly and straps on a guitar, barechested. He says nothing at first, just rakes his long red hair from his face and starts an audience participation clap for his backbeat.

Row played better, of course, but Leed can't ever be counted out for sheer stage style as he struts like he was born to guitar and spews the vitriolic lyrics at his sexy woman like he actually means to quit her.

When he becomes the obvious winner by applause, he flicks off the guitar, drags Ashlynn off the piano, lays one on her, then, while she's still turned upside down in his arms, he lifts his head and winks at Darius. "That's how it's done, kid."

Darius concedes the round with a courtly bow to the King of Soundcrush.

I pull Trace's name from the hat next. He challenges Row.

This should be fun. I know just what song could adequately pitch these family's best two guitarists against each other.

"Your song is Devil Went Down to Georgia, but in the style of hard rock."

"What the hell, Riley!?!?" Bridge yells indignantly. Everyone laughs as one because this song is the most iconic fiddle song, ever and she thinks I should have saved it for her if she's called to perform. But I think the beach's two best guitarists can make this an interesting challenge.

"Your accompanying musicians?" I query the siblings.

"Dad!" Row and Trace yell at the exact same time.

"I called him first!" Row says.

Trace shakes his head "He's been yours your whole life; he's mine tonight!"

"Kids, kids, let's not fight, it's Christmas," Matt swaggers up on the stage, still in his santa hat, binoculars swinging. "Here's what will do," he huddles with them, pulls his phone to look at the lyrics and speaks a few low words. Trace grins. "Up for this Dee-Dee?" Row laughs. "Any day of your life, TG."

Matt turns to the crowd. "Okay, I'm gonna do the drums and narrate a little. Let's get Heartley up here to back Trace's guitar solo and Artie on his bass for Row. This is a battle to see who shreds better... the devil's son..." he point to Trace, "Or the girl not quite from Georgia," he points to Row. "Trace takes the opener."

"Daddy..." Row whines.

Matt says, "Naw, let him go first, then you know what you're up against..."

Row beams, "That's true!"

Matt first bumps her. "You got this, Doodle."

"Awww, come on, why you gotta play favorites, man? This is serious!" Trace complains.

"What are you talking about? What favorites? You each get two solos." He holds up to fingers to each of them. "Two and two. Perfectly fair." Everyone chuckles at how he's treating them like the children they are behaving like.

Matt puts on a headset and counts them off. Trace's loses his grumpy face and drops into a perfect shred of the iconic fiddle that opens the Charlie Daniels version of the song, like he's been practicing it for days. Matt does a killer job at the basic backbeat and a rough rock version of the narrative lyrics, though he improvs a few changes to the story.

The Devil and Son went to Georgia, looking for a soul to steal

They were way behind and in a bind and willin' to make a deal

When they came across this bad-ass chic shreddin' a guitar and playin' it hot,

The devil jumped up on a hickory stump said—Girl let me tell you what.

I guess you didn't know but my boy's a guitar player too

And if you care to take this dare I'll make a bet with you.

You're a pretty damn good strummer, girl,

But give the devil his due,

(Matt cocked his head toward Trace)_

I'll bet a guitar of gold against your soul

That my son's better 'n you.

Row stepped up to the mic and said

My name's Row del Marco, and it might be a sin,

But I'll take your bet and you're gonna regret

Cause I'm the best that's ever been.

Row's solo is frantic and lyrical at the same time before dropping down into the same iconic riff Trace has mimicked. She's brilliant. I give a great rebel yell for her, and she gives me a chin tip, never missing a note.

Matt again:

The Devil's Son opened up his case and said

Trace grabs the mic and growls like a demon:

Hell yeah I'll start this show

Matt again:

And fire flew from his fingertips as he tuned his axe down low

And he pulled his pick across those strings and it made an evil hiss

Trace complies, winding out an unearthly sound from his Martin

And his band of demons all joined in and it sounded just like this.

Trace plows his guitar and swings to Adam who delivers the dirtiest licks I've ever heard him play. These Georgia boys love this old-school country shit, and the truth is they are giving Row a complete run for her money. Adam does things that should be impossible with four strings, and Trace rides his shred all the way into hell and back. When they finish, the entire crowd is on their feet, screaming. Row is standing on the stage fiddling with a capo on her fret, grinning and nodding at the floor, while Matt keeps the backbeat.

Finally, Row motions for Bodie to toss her up a chair. She drags it across to center stage, but doesn't sit. She bats at the crowd for us to stop cheering. When we quiet down, Matt picks up the narrative again.

When the devil's son finished, Row said—

Row grabs the mic and stabs at Trace as she sings to him.

Well you're pretty good old son

But sit your old ass in that chair right there

And let me show you how the fuck it's done!

We cheer, Matt laughs. Trace sits. Row rocks.

Trace went low and demonic, but Row aims high, pitching over thanks to her capo, to the point that her guitar rings just like a fiddle. She's Apollo in his chariot, raising the day. She's as bloody brilliant as the sun. Bridge goes lunatic, hollering for her twin's innovative performance. Everyone else's screams and cheers follow.

Eventually, we quiet down, and Trace lays down his guitar at Row's feet while Matt sings,

The devil's son bowed his head because he knew that he'd been beat

And layed that golden guitar down on the ground at Rowan's feet.

And Rowan said

Row at the mic, winks at Trace

TG, you just come on back if you ever want to try again

I done told you once you son of Ole Scratch, I'm the best that's ever been!

She launches into her final shred as the crowd jumps around and dances. When she finishes, I cross the stage, kiss her senseless, grab her mic and say, "By obvious decision, Rowan wins the round!"

"I don't think it was so obvious!" shouts Trace, but he's grinning. "The song was rigged to let her win, man. How you gonna do me like this, Riley?"

"Leave a bloke alone, he's trying to get laid tonight," Dev shouts at Trace.

"Hey, watch your mouth!" Matt gives Dev the warning finger.

"For Chrissakes, they're married!" Dev pops back.

"Not anymore!" Matt yells. The entire crowd groans at his hypocrisy.

"Not currently," I murmur the correction into the mic, my fingers brushing the ring finger of her left hand. Her breath catches, as everyone aww's.

There's so much I want to say to her right now. I want to tell her everything feels new—what I hear when she plays, what I taste when I take her mouth, what I feel when she looks at me the way she's looking at me now—there's a new indefinable something that flavors everything between us.

I loved her before. I absolutely vibrate for her now. My sound seeks her sound.

Like it's inevitable, Row dips into the diving helmet near her feet and pronounces. "Riley's turn!"

"I choose you," I say at once gathering her to me.

She smiles at me. "You're supposed to choose a challenger first. Your game, your rules."

"You choose for us," I tell her. I smile, my lips trying to get her lips to move closer. I need her mouth again already.

She swings her head heavily toward the crowd, like it doesn't want to obey her command, like her lips are loathe to distance from mine. "Bridge."

"What's the song?"

I choose one that lends itself to violin as easily as it lends itself to what I'm feeling as I drink Row in. "I See Fire."

"Mmmm. Good Choice," Row murmurs.

Dev throws his arm around Bridge. "Shall I be your partner then?"

"This song requires soul, Devlin," she says coldly. She's still angry with him for what really isn't his fault-his recent disappearance in London. He can't explain it adequately, and I just can't bring myself to tell anyone the truth of what happened. Even if they would believe me, I won't raise the specter of Priscilla's ghost between Row and I ever again.

"I have a soul, and you wound it, my dearest," he says quietly. "But I will suffer much more, to prove to you that I'm quite serious this time. I might be a fuck-up, but I love you. I won't stop until I perfect loving you."

Those are tender words, pronounced before such a raunchy crowd, and they do the job. Even as the SkidMarcs crowd and Street and Trace mock him, Bridget softens. She pats him on the chest and kisses him on the cheek. "Alright, Dev. We'll talk about it later, okay? If you show anymore vulnerability now, this crowd will tear you apart."

"They can try, but I'm hard to kill. Even with bullets." He sneers at Matt reminding him of how he once jumped in front of a bullet that nearly struck Matt. Matt looks to the heavens in aggravation, as he always does when this comes up while Leed, Bodie and Adam laugh at him.

Bridget chooses Mac and Kat as her vocalists. The three of them turn Ed Sheeran's movie soundtrack song into a sweet Irish tune. The girls spin gorgeous harmony together, and Bridget by turns uses her violin as a backing instrument and a third vocalist. They get seriously enthusiastic cheers.

Row straps on her guitar, but I hold up a hand. "I've never played this song. I need our five minutes to prepare."

At the back of the stage, I say to Row. "Bridget chose well. They were brilliant. We can't beat them, playing an Ed Sheeran cover. "

"I know," she smiles. "So let's do what we do, and make it our own."

We decide to keep the guitar's simple, Row supplying the rhythmic lick and me only coming in with a backing strum at the bridge. We use our prep time to work on our harmonies.

"Okay, we're ready." Row gives me a brilliant smile and turns toward the crowd but I pull her back by the arm, and whisper in her ear. "I'm wide awake and burning for you, darlin'.  Let's make them all see our fire."

The song isn't a love song, but it is the way we perform it.  We sing as if were lovers caught in the lethal flames, and our only regret is the loss of one last time together. Our longing is haunting, as haunting as the lyrics. Our voices slide in sultry, frustrated harmony mimicking the ancient undulation of love that our burning bodies will never experience again.

It's not even untrue. Good Christ, I'm burning alive for the love of this woman. It's been so long—too fucking long—since she was completely naked and completely mine.

The whole song is fucking hot. Hot up here between us, radiating heat out into the crowd.

When we finish the last note, our lips our inches apart, on the same mic. We stay that way, mesmerized by our own spell. The crowd is silent. Shocked.

I hear Adam murmur, "Holy--" Mac finishes it his sentiment with "Fuck."

Bodie gives a disbelieving half-laugh that he quickly turns into a solid yell. "Hell, yeah! Riley! I knew my girl could bring it, but goddamn, man!"

Row smiles at me. "So fucking good, Ems."

"All you, darlin'." I take her hand and kiss it, as I draw her forward for a bow. She bends to thunderous applause and a chant of R-and-R.

I see that Row is watching her father's face. He gives her a shit-eating grin and a head-shake that seems to say, "Here we go again."

There's one face I'm searching for in the crowd. Leed's. He's clapping solidly, but when I meet his gaze, he touches his third eye and then his heart, with a gentle smile.

He feels it. It's not just me and Row. Our presence translates into emotion. Into something visceral that will move people.

My eyes slide to Trace. He's looking around at the crowd reaction. He closes his eyes. He cracks his neck. When he opens them and realizes that I'm watching him, he gives me a smile as he hoots and raises a clap above his head, but his grey eyes are ice. He's knows what's coming, what I have to do. I unconsciously reach for Row, pulling her to me, and his eyes soften into resignation. He reaches forward and places a casual arm over Marley's shoulder as she hollers for us.

He tips his head toward Marley and mouthes. "Is she ready?"

"Yes," I mouth back and mean it.

"Okay."

He gives me the chin tip, which I return.

Marley reads the exchange and her eyes go wide, shifting to Trace. He shakes her gently by the shoulder as he speaks words in her ear, words meant for his manager, but no longer meant for me.

It happens that easily. There will be paperwork and signatures later, but I resign as Soundcrush's manager with a few gestures amid the applause.

Row squeezes my waist and rises on her tip-toes to my ear. "What just happened between you and Trace?"

"I made R&R a do-or-die endeavor, because I just quit my job for this."

She steps in front of me, searching my face. "Are you sure? Absolutely sure?"

I take her face in my hands. "Of course, I'm sure. There is nothing better than this—" I gesture between us, "causing that." I turn my hand toward the applause.

Her lips curl into a devilish grin, and her eyes sparkle. She kisses me. I push her away, peel off our guitars and grab her again, crushing her mouth, and mussing her hair and causing us both to stumble in my passion.

"Ah. Are you sure there's nothing better?" she teases me as we descend from the stage arm in arm while most of the crowd cat-calls and says suggestive things about us that they really shouldn't say in front of Lash and Madam's impressionable kids.

"Nothing that I can actually remember. It's been a bloody fucking lifetime since I made love to you." I kiss her temple.

"Well, our new life as musical partners starts today, right? So let's start our new lovelife tonight," she winks mischievously as she lets the crowd's congratulation separate us.

I watch her disappear from my view, and all I can see is fire.