Categories > Celebrities > Metallica > Lion's Share
Maria crawled on top of Dave and lied on him, her body pressed against his back. He was sprawled naked on her bed, not asleep, but not too willing to completely wake up either.
“Your hair is so red.” she said. “Like when we first met. Then it switched to strawberry blond for a while. What's the matter with it?”
“Dunno.” Dave murmured. “T's always been like this.”
“I'm almost envious; it's so beautiful.” Maria said, ruffling Dave's mane.
He turned around, forcing the woman to sit up, and looked at her. “You know, you don't have to throw lines at me. I'm already in your bed.” He joked, grinning at her as she snorted.
A couple of weeks before, Dave had managed to win over Diana, who dumped her boyfriend to be with him. Dave loved Diana, he genuinely thought she was the perfect match for him, but the young woman still lived with her parents, which meant that Dave couldn't crush at her house. Not that Maria wouldn't host him if he hadn't sex with her, but since they lived together, Dave didn't see why he couldn't take advantage of the situation.
It was a Saturday and Dave and Maria were spending the morning in bed; he had to go rehearsing that afternoon, but they still had a couple of hours to enjoy themselves. Dave pulled Maria on top of him and lied down on the mattress. To Maria, one of the reasons that made Dave a great lover was that he considered the buildup as important as the real act itself. He liked foreplay, skin on skin contact and the feeling of lips and hands exploring every curve and muscle.
The couple barely had the time to get started when a loud crash came from the kitchen, startling them.
“I'm okay!” They heard Junior yelling. “I need... some help?”
Maria slapped Dave's arm, rolling to her side of the bed. “Well, the kid's your responsibility.” she said. “Go check on him.”
“He's hardly a kid.” Dave groaned, getting up to put on some clothes.
“Technically, he cannot even buy all the alcohol he ingests.”
When Dave went to the living room, he saw a pool of beer and shattered glasses on the floor and Junior standing in the cooking corner, looking like a puppy who knew he had done something bad. The younger man opened his mouth to explain, but Dave stopped him.
“Spare me. Just fetch the mop, I'll pick up the glasses.”
Before heading to the studio, Dave and David went to meet their new trusted dealer, an hardcore junkie named Jay Jones. They would always go to him for their dose of marijuana and cocaine, because he didn't price them too much.
“Only pot this time?”
“Yeah, we don't have enough money.” Dave replied.
“Wait until you're rockstars, dude, then you'll be able to buy the entire supply of Colombia.” Jay laughed.
“Wishful thinking.” chuckled Dave. “We don't even have a real band, right now; it's only the two of us.”
“Maybe old Jay can help you with that. What do you need? A drummer, a keyboardist?”
“God, no! I mean, we need a drummer, but keyboards are certainly not our thing. We play real metal.”
“Give me your phone number, dude, I think I can find you a good one. Lots of musicians come to Jay to get their kick.”
Dave decided to accept Jay's help. He didn't hold high hopes, but it wouldn't hurt to try.
Surprisingly enough, a pair of days later Maria received a call from a guy who said he had been informed by Jay Jones that there was a metal band called Megadeth looking for a drummer and he wanted to try for it.
“His name is Gar Samuelson. I gave him the studio address and told him to show up this Thursday at 2 pm. I hope he wrote it down, he sounded a bit spaced out.”
After the débâcle at Joe's party, the guys had decided to find a new space to rehearse; Maria found the Mars Studios, street number 665 (jokes abounded). The place was quite a dump, but it was cheap enough and for some reason the guys enjoyed rehearsing in it.
When they reached the studios, Dave and David were told that a guy called Gar was waiting for them in their room. Gar was slouched in a chair, half asleep, with a lit cigarette between his fingers; the smoke was down to the filter, burning his skin, but the man didn't seem to notice.
“Is this our man? He doesn't look all right.” David said.
“Mmm... We've met him through Jay, after all. This is gonna be interesting.” Dave looked the drummer up and down, and wasn't totally pleased with what he saw. He didn't like his clothes, or the fact that he had arrived clearly strung out at his audition, but decided to give him a try anyway. All in all, if he could play and didn't have a volatile temper, Dave didn't care about his drug habits. Hell, he was a dope enthusiast too, and as far as clothes where concerned, he could always give him a good makeover.
“Hey man, wake up.” said Dave, gently shaking Gar's arm. “We're here for your audition.”
Gar turned his face toward Dave, and looked at him with a dull expression. “Oh, okay.” he said, moving to the drum kit he had previously set up.
Whatever doubts Dave might have had before, they were all gone the moment Gar started playing. The guy had the chops, he was technically skilled, fast, effective, and had a unique and particular style, very different from the usual heavy metal drumming. Gar could give Megadeth an original touch that would set the band apart from the other thrash metal acts of the time.
They talked a bit about Gar's background -he had played in a jazz fusion band called The New Yorkers- and Megadeth's music; Gar was given a copy of the demo and asked to come back next Monday at same hour to rehearse with the group.
After Gar left, the Daves shared their impressions about him. Turned out that Junior was less convinced than Dave, as he had pictured a more traditional drummer for the band, but the guitarist really liked the guy, so David would have to come to terms with it.
“I'm worried about his reliability, though. He's either a total druggie or a chronic insomniac.” David said.
As Dave and David soon discovered, Gar was deep down into drugs. Heroin, to be more precise, and he lived the life of a real drug addict, always chasing for some smack to stay high and avoid the withdrawal symptoms. He and Jay would spend quite a lot of time together looking for and doing drugs. The stuff they put their hands on wasn't always first quality; actually, more often than not, it was cut with really bad shit like shoe polish or something like that, but they weren't high on money, so they were forced to make do with what they had. In any case, they were both sufficiently high functioning not to create problems, and that was enough for Dave.
~*~
“It's actually pretty common in the jazz world.” Gar explained. He and his brother were preparing two shots of heroin and Dave watched the process with attention. He had never thought about shooting heroin; he didn't like the idea of sticking needles into his veins, but the ritual involved looked somewhat fascinating.
“And for a very good reason. If you think you're a creative musician, do heroin and you'll see how limited you actually were before. It's like going back to the womb, really.”
That interested Dave a lot. After all, people like Jimi Hendrix and Keith Richards did heroin, and they had gone down in musical history. If that was what famous rockstars used to get their inspiration, he wanted to try it. But not at any cost. “I don't want to shoot it.”
“You can snort it. It's not the same, but it'll give you the idea.”
And so Dave did it. And understood it. He understood everything.
The following weeks, Dave had the opportunity to witness the downturns of heroin addiction. When Gar wasn't high, he whined and moped around; once he even came to rehearsal without drumsticks because he needed to buy a dose but didn't have the money.
“You sold all of your drumsticks for drugs? Really?”
“Sorry Dave, but I felt so down. I had to get well, can you understand?” Gar replied.
Dave didn't feel too forgiving, but knew that scolding Gar would be useless; he was glad to be always on money shortage, since it meant he couldn't afford smack too often and thus be tempted to become a regular user. The odds to develop an addiction like Gar's were definitely lower. If I use it recreationally only once in a while, he thought, I can enjoy the benefits without getting hooked.
Junior, as far as he was concerned, was satisfied with alcohol, pot and the occasional line of cocaine. He tried smoking crack, which he liked, but kept away from heroin, as curiosity didn't trump fear. He looked at Gar's emaciated face and the perpetual circles under his eyes; he looked at him as he sulked miserably when the effects of withdrawal showed up, and his constant obsession to find another dose that would make him feel better.
“It's the other side of the coin.” Gar explained. “But it's worth it, man.”
Still, David looked at the whole experience with suspiciousness.
“Your hair is so red.” she said. “Like when we first met. Then it switched to strawberry blond for a while. What's the matter with it?”
“Dunno.” Dave murmured. “T's always been like this.”
“I'm almost envious; it's so beautiful.” Maria said, ruffling Dave's mane.
He turned around, forcing the woman to sit up, and looked at her. “You know, you don't have to throw lines at me. I'm already in your bed.” He joked, grinning at her as she snorted.
A couple of weeks before, Dave had managed to win over Diana, who dumped her boyfriend to be with him. Dave loved Diana, he genuinely thought she was the perfect match for him, but the young woman still lived with her parents, which meant that Dave couldn't crush at her house. Not that Maria wouldn't host him if he hadn't sex with her, but since they lived together, Dave didn't see why he couldn't take advantage of the situation.
It was a Saturday and Dave and Maria were spending the morning in bed; he had to go rehearsing that afternoon, but they still had a couple of hours to enjoy themselves. Dave pulled Maria on top of him and lied down on the mattress. To Maria, one of the reasons that made Dave a great lover was that he considered the buildup as important as the real act itself. He liked foreplay, skin on skin contact and the feeling of lips and hands exploring every curve and muscle.
The couple barely had the time to get started when a loud crash came from the kitchen, startling them.
“I'm okay!” They heard Junior yelling. “I need... some help?”
Maria slapped Dave's arm, rolling to her side of the bed. “Well, the kid's your responsibility.” she said. “Go check on him.”
“He's hardly a kid.” Dave groaned, getting up to put on some clothes.
“Technically, he cannot even buy all the alcohol he ingests.”
When Dave went to the living room, he saw a pool of beer and shattered glasses on the floor and Junior standing in the cooking corner, looking like a puppy who knew he had done something bad. The younger man opened his mouth to explain, but Dave stopped him.
“Spare me. Just fetch the mop, I'll pick up the glasses.”
Before heading to the studio, Dave and David went to meet their new trusted dealer, an hardcore junkie named Jay Jones. They would always go to him for their dose of marijuana and cocaine, because he didn't price them too much.
“Only pot this time?”
“Yeah, we don't have enough money.” Dave replied.
“Wait until you're rockstars, dude, then you'll be able to buy the entire supply of Colombia.” Jay laughed.
“Wishful thinking.” chuckled Dave. “We don't even have a real band, right now; it's only the two of us.”
“Maybe old Jay can help you with that. What do you need? A drummer, a keyboardist?”
“God, no! I mean, we need a drummer, but keyboards are certainly not our thing. We play real metal.”
“Give me your phone number, dude, I think I can find you a good one. Lots of musicians come to Jay to get their kick.”
Dave decided to accept Jay's help. He didn't hold high hopes, but it wouldn't hurt to try.
Surprisingly enough, a pair of days later Maria received a call from a guy who said he had been informed by Jay Jones that there was a metal band called Megadeth looking for a drummer and he wanted to try for it.
“His name is Gar Samuelson. I gave him the studio address and told him to show up this Thursday at 2 pm. I hope he wrote it down, he sounded a bit spaced out.”
After the débâcle at Joe's party, the guys had decided to find a new space to rehearse; Maria found the Mars Studios, street number 665 (jokes abounded). The place was quite a dump, but it was cheap enough and for some reason the guys enjoyed rehearsing in it.
When they reached the studios, Dave and David were told that a guy called Gar was waiting for them in their room. Gar was slouched in a chair, half asleep, with a lit cigarette between his fingers; the smoke was down to the filter, burning his skin, but the man didn't seem to notice.
“Is this our man? He doesn't look all right.” David said.
“Mmm... We've met him through Jay, after all. This is gonna be interesting.” Dave looked the drummer up and down, and wasn't totally pleased with what he saw. He didn't like his clothes, or the fact that he had arrived clearly strung out at his audition, but decided to give him a try anyway. All in all, if he could play and didn't have a volatile temper, Dave didn't care about his drug habits. Hell, he was a dope enthusiast too, and as far as clothes where concerned, he could always give him a good makeover.
“Hey man, wake up.” said Dave, gently shaking Gar's arm. “We're here for your audition.”
Gar turned his face toward Dave, and looked at him with a dull expression. “Oh, okay.” he said, moving to the drum kit he had previously set up.
Whatever doubts Dave might have had before, they were all gone the moment Gar started playing. The guy had the chops, he was technically skilled, fast, effective, and had a unique and particular style, very different from the usual heavy metal drumming. Gar could give Megadeth an original touch that would set the band apart from the other thrash metal acts of the time.
They talked a bit about Gar's background -he had played in a jazz fusion band called The New Yorkers- and Megadeth's music; Gar was given a copy of the demo and asked to come back next Monday at same hour to rehearse with the group.
After Gar left, the Daves shared their impressions about him. Turned out that Junior was less convinced than Dave, as he had pictured a more traditional drummer for the band, but the guitarist really liked the guy, so David would have to come to terms with it.
“I'm worried about his reliability, though. He's either a total druggie or a chronic insomniac.” David said.
As Dave and David soon discovered, Gar was deep down into drugs. Heroin, to be more precise, and he lived the life of a real drug addict, always chasing for some smack to stay high and avoid the withdrawal symptoms. He and Jay would spend quite a lot of time together looking for and doing drugs. The stuff they put their hands on wasn't always first quality; actually, more often than not, it was cut with really bad shit like shoe polish or something like that, but they weren't high on money, so they were forced to make do with what they had. In any case, they were both sufficiently high functioning not to create problems, and that was enough for Dave.
~*~
“It's actually pretty common in the jazz world.” Gar explained. He and his brother were preparing two shots of heroin and Dave watched the process with attention. He had never thought about shooting heroin; he didn't like the idea of sticking needles into his veins, but the ritual involved looked somewhat fascinating.
“And for a very good reason. If you think you're a creative musician, do heroin and you'll see how limited you actually were before. It's like going back to the womb, really.”
That interested Dave a lot. After all, people like Jimi Hendrix and Keith Richards did heroin, and they had gone down in musical history. If that was what famous rockstars used to get their inspiration, he wanted to try it. But not at any cost. “I don't want to shoot it.”
“You can snort it. It's not the same, but it'll give you the idea.”
And so Dave did it. And understood it. He understood everything.
The following weeks, Dave had the opportunity to witness the downturns of heroin addiction. When Gar wasn't high, he whined and moped around; once he even came to rehearsal without drumsticks because he needed to buy a dose but didn't have the money.
“You sold all of your drumsticks for drugs? Really?”
“Sorry Dave, but I felt so down. I had to get well, can you understand?” Gar replied.
Dave didn't feel too forgiving, but knew that scolding Gar would be useless; he was glad to be always on money shortage, since it meant he couldn't afford smack too often and thus be tempted to become a regular user. The odds to develop an addiction like Gar's were definitely lower. If I use it recreationally only once in a while, he thought, I can enjoy the benefits without getting hooked.
Junior, as far as he was concerned, was satisfied with alcohol, pot and the occasional line of cocaine. He tried smoking crack, which he liked, but kept away from heroin, as curiosity didn't trump fear. He looked at Gar's emaciated face and the perpetual circles under his eyes; he looked at him as he sulked miserably when the effects of withdrawal showed up, and his constant obsession to find another dose that would make him feel better.
“It's the other side of the coin.” Gar explained. “But it's worth it, man.”
Still, David looked at the whole experience with suspiciousness.
Sign up to rate and review this story