Categories > Celebrities > Metallica > Lion's Share
Megadeth had started sniffing around for a record company to sign them for quite some time. The songs were ready, the band was ready and at that point Dave was beyond caring that they didn't have a second guitarist. That could be fixed later; right now, he wanted a contract and the possibility to record his first album.
Thanks to the demo and the live concerts, the band had gained a good underground popularity and quite a few labels had taken interest in the band. Dave's intention was to sign with a major, as it would grant him a better budget and promotion. It wasn't easy, as the only companies that seemed to be interested were small, independent labels. One day, though, they received a call from a major label that wanted to meet the band in their headquarters in New York.
Dave and David discussed with Maria about the possibility for the three of them to go to N. Y., but in the end she decided not to come. Maria never had to deal with a label before, so she wouldn't be much help. Furthermore, she wasn't thrilled about going back to her hometown.
“Any advice about the city?” the guys asked.
“Times Square for the porn, Union Square for the drugs.” was her reply.
And with those last words, the Daves left for New York, hoping for the best.
New York seemed, indeed, as grimy and dysfunctional as Maria said, but neither Dave nor David cared to explore the city, as they weren't there for a pleasure trip.
“It has its own filthy charm, you've got to admit that.” said Gary, the record company executive appointed to meet the band. He had brought Dave and David to the Limelight, a very popular club, to talk with them. Dave wanted to make his requests and leave with the promise of a contract, but luck didn't seem to be on his side, as the talent scout seemed to be more interested in befriending David and him.
“Have you been to the Chelsea Hotel? It's a mandatory stop for every musician.”
“That's where Sid Vicious stabbed his girlfriend Nancy, right?” David asked.
“And where many artists rested their tired limbs.”
Dave fidgeted, tired of that never-ending useless chitchat and irritated by what he perceived to be a lack of professionalism on Gary's part; he tried talking business, but his every attempt was repaid with an incomprehensible tirade in legalese that would stun him for a few seconds.
Dave was about to grab the man by the collar and shake him, when Gary stood up and invited the guys to come to the restroom with him. Dave and David hesitated for a moment, then decided to follow him.
“Why do we have to go to the bathroom all together like chicks?” David whispered to Dave.
“Perhaps it's a custom of his people.” Dave joked. “Or maybe he needs help holding it while he pees.”
“Sure, six hands are better than two.” snickered David. Little did they know they weren't far from the truth.
Once in the restroom, Gary took out of his pocket a couple of pills and offered them to the guys.
“Want some?” he asked, “It's ecstasy. Good stuff, and completely legal too. Ever tried it?” Without waiting for an answer, he stuck the pills into Dave and David's mouth. “We're going do to great things together.” He smiled, then kissed the two men on the lips.
And that's my cue to leave. Thought Dave.
He and David flew back home the day after and promised never to talk about that trip to anybody.
~*~
It was early in the night, just a few minutes after eleven, and Dave Mustaine was binge drinking, trying to work his way into drunken stupor. He was with David at some dude's party, brooding alone in a corner, snarling at everyone who dared come close to him; even Junior decided that staying away from his friend was for the best.
Dave had been in a foul mood all day long, since he had seen Metallica's second album displayed in the window of his favourite record store. Of course, it didn't come as a surprise, a new Metallica release had already been announced weeks before. Looking at the physical object, anyway, had upset him more than he thought possible. Dave had bought the album and listened to it; he had spat insults, mockeries and curses at his former bandmates, picked on Gar and David, turning the rehearsal session into an useless suffering and put everybody at work in discomfort.
David decided to take him to a party, thinking it would soothe his anger, but to no avail. Dave drank in the vain hope of dulling his senses, but as usual, as he should have known, alcohol just enhanced his angst.
Dave thought about Metallica's new album and growing fame, about the fact that he couldn't seem to strike a deal with a label or find a steady guitarist. He though about all the chances he had missed and the ones that had been stripped away from him; he cursed his ex friends, his family, his own life.
The more he drank, the more he felt angry and miserable, but he didn't stop, finding some pleasure in wallowing in negativity.
When he felt pretty sure he had hit the bottom of his misery, Dave decided to leave the party, as he couldn't stand the people and the noise anymore. He stumbled and shoved everybody standing on his way, cussing at them. He was out in the open air, with no idea which was the right way home, but quickly walked away from the place.
A hand grabbed his shoulder and made him turn around. He growled, ready to insult whoever dared to bother him, when he realized it was David.
“The fuck you want, Junior?”
“I've been calling you for five minutes, man. Didn't you hear me?”
“Evidently not.” spat Dave. “I'm going home.”
“The car is the other way, and I've got the keys. Why didn't you tell me?”
“I want to walk. Alone.”
“You can't. It's night, we're far away and you're drunk.”
“Well, fuck you, dad. I do as I please.”
David groaned in frustration; he couldn't let his friend walk away alone, but he didn't want to leave without the car. Maybe he could try to reason with him, with some luck.
“Hey, dude!” someone shouted. No, no such thing as luck, tonight. Thought David.
“Who the fuck are you?” Dave asked the unknown man that was walking toward him.
“Are you Dave Mustaine?” the man asked. He was an ugly guy in his early twenties, not very tall,
but sturdy. He had clearly been drinking too, and wasn't on top of his mental abilities.
“Yes, so fucking what?”
The man guffawed, “Dude, you're like, the king of the losers.”
Dave glowered at him. “Say what?!”
“How's Metallica doing?” Sometimes, but thankfully not too often, Dave would meet some hardcore Metallica fan who would mock him for what had happened with the band.
Dave grinned evilly. Finally, someone on which he could vent his anger and frustration. Just the excuse he needed, a good enough excuse to punish somebody for how he was feeling.
He jumped on the man, slamming him against the nearest wall with all the strength he could muster. The guy fought back, punching Dave in the stomach, making him stumble backward. It hurt like a bitch, but Dave didn't care. He wanted a fight, he wanted to beat that guy into submission, he wanted to make him feel all his pain, all his rage, all the hatred and humiliation he felt. He wanted to make him crawl and beg for mercy. He wanted him to suffer like he was, to pay for everything that was wrong in his life.
The guy, the scapegoat, was heavy and could hit hard, but that was no problem for Dave. If anything, it fuelled him more. He hoped the fight would last until he didn't feel anything anymore and the guy was a bloody pulp on the floor.
Their movements were sloppy and graceless, as both parties were drunk; the stranger man was strong, but Dave was raging, so he quickly overcame his opponent. He caught the guy with a good punch on the nose and made him fall down to the ground. As the man wheezed, covering his face with his hands, Dave kicked him in the ribs and in the stomach, laughing at him.
David, who had been watching the scene in horror, snapped out of his shock and grabbed Dave to stop him from hitting the guy.
“Dave! Dave, calm down! Do you want to kill him?! You have won, just leave him alone!”
The guitarist was still angry and would have kept on beating the unlucky stranger, but David managed to placate him. All in all, he didn't want to go to jail for some random fucker.
The guy had stopped moving; David took Dave to the car and drove home as fast as he could.
Once they reached Maria's place, David flopped on the couch, exhausted, while Dave headed to the bedroom. Maria was lying on her bed, fast asleep; the pale moonlight coming through the window lit her silhouette. It was a hot night, so she was wearing a flimsy spaghetti strap nightgown.
And there it was. Another good way to let out his anger, to unleash his lowest instincts, to have the upper hand on someone at last.
Dave crawled on the bed and grabbed Maria's legs, spreading them. The unexpected gesture made the young woman wake up abruptly; she tried to sit up, but Dave pushed her down roughly.
He ripped off a strap of her nightie, so that her right breast was exposed. His movements were rough and harsh. Maria could barely realize what was happening and didn't know what to make out of it; Dave had never acted that way before.
They had jumped each other's bones in a burst of passion before, they were no strangers to wild sex, but they had always checked the other's reactions, made sure he or she was okay with what they were doing. They had never done it with such carelessness, not with that rage, that will to hurt and denigrate that shone through Dave's actions. Maria was shocked and upset, but didn't lose her mind and tried to make the man come to his senses.
She wriggle out of Dave's grasp and grabbed his arms, shaking him and calling his name, telling him to stop. He growled, trying to pin her down again, but she resisted and shouted louder.
“Dave, stop it!” she screamed, looking at him straight in the eyes.
Dave stopped, staring at Maria with wide eyes for a few seconds. Before she could ask him what the hell he thought he was doing, he hastily moved away from her and burst out of the room. She could hear him argue with Junior for a few seconds, then the front door slammed shut.
Maria put on a t-shirt and a pair of shorts and went to the living room. David was standing in there alone, with a concerned expression on his face.
“Are you ok? You seem distraught.” she asked. He looked at her, inhaling sharply.
“I should be asking you. What happened? Did he hurt you?”
Maria shook her head. “No, he just scared me. What's wrong with him?”
Junior didn't know what to say; the whole truth was too compromising, and he didn't think Maria would be too understanding. Oh, Dave beat the hell out of a guy that provoked him and we left him unconscious on the sidewalk.
“He had a very bad day, got hammered, and some dude tried to attack him.” David explained. “He fought him off, but he's still shaken.” He suddenly felt ashamed. Why was he trying to defend Dave, after all? Did he deserve it? What had Dave tried to do with Maria, that she had to yell at him to stop? “But you're not hurt, right?”
Maria shook her head again. “I told you I'm not. But whatever got into him, I don't like it one bit.”
Dave and Maria didn't talk about what happened -or what could have happened- that night, but as an unspoken agreement, they not only stopped having sex but didn't touch each other altogether in any way. They still behaved normally in any other way and Dave still lived at Maria's, sleeping with Junior on the sofa bed, although he immediately started looking for another accommodation.
Thanks to the demo and the live concerts, the band had gained a good underground popularity and quite a few labels had taken interest in the band. Dave's intention was to sign with a major, as it would grant him a better budget and promotion. It wasn't easy, as the only companies that seemed to be interested were small, independent labels. One day, though, they received a call from a major label that wanted to meet the band in their headquarters in New York.
Dave and David discussed with Maria about the possibility for the three of them to go to N. Y., but in the end she decided not to come. Maria never had to deal with a label before, so she wouldn't be much help. Furthermore, she wasn't thrilled about going back to her hometown.
“Any advice about the city?” the guys asked.
“Times Square for the porn, Union Square for the drugs.” was her reply.
And with those last words, the Daves left for New York, hoping for the best.
New York seemed, indeed, as grimy and dysfunctional as Maria said, but neither Dave nor David cared to explore the city, as they weren't there for a pleasure trip.
“It has its own filthy charm, you've got to admit that.” said Gary, the record company executive appointed to meet the band. He had brought Dave and David to the Limelight, a very popular club, to talk with them. Dave wanted to make his requests and leave with the promise of a contract, but luck didn't seem to be on his side, as the talent scout seemed to be more interested in befriending David and him.
“Have you been to the Chelsea Hotel? It's a mandatory stop for every musician.”
“That's where Sid Vicious stabbed his girlfriend Nancy, right?” David asked.
“And where many artists rested their tired limbs.”
Dave fidgeted, tired of that never-ending useless chitchat and irritated by what he perceived to be a lack of professionalism on Gary's part; he tried talking business, but his every attempt was repaid with an incomprehensible tirade in legalese that would stun him for a few seconds.
Dave was about to grab the man by the collar and shake him, when Gary stood up and invited the guys to come to the restroom with him. Dave and David hesitated for a moment, then decided to follow him.
“Why do we have to go to the bathroom all together like chicks?” David whispered to Dave.
“Perhaps it's a custom of his people.” Dave joked. “Or maybe he needs help holding it while he pees.”
“Sure, six hands are better than two.” snickered David. Little did they know they weren't far from the truth.
Once in the restroom, Gary took out of his pocket a couple of pills and offered them to the guys.
“Want some?” he asked, “It's ecstasy. Good stuff, and completely legal too. Ever tried it?” Without waiting for an answer, he stuck the pills into Dave and David's mouth. “We're going do to great things together.” He smiled, then kissed the two men on the lips.
And that's my cue to leave. Thought Dave.
He and David flew back home the day after and promised never to talk about that trip to anybody.
~*~
It was early in the night, just a few minutes after eleven, and Dave Mustaine was binge drinking, trying to work his way into drunken stupor. He was with David at some dude's party, brooding alone in a corner, snarling at everyone who dared come close to him; even Junior decided that staying away from his friend was for the best.
Dave had been in a foul mood all day long, since he had seen Metallica's second album displayed in the window of his favourite record store. Of course, it didn't come as a surprise, a new Metallica release had already been announced weeks before. Looking at the physical object, anyway, had upset him more than he thought possible. Dave had bought the album and listened to it; he had spat insults, mockeries and curses at his former bandmates, picked on Gar and David, turning the rehearsal session into an useless suffering and put everybody at work in discomfort.
David decided to take him to a party, thinking it would soothe his anger, but to no avail. Dave drank in the vain hope of dulling his senses, but as usual, as he should have known, alcohol just enhanced his angst.
Dave thought about Metallica's new album and growing fame, about the fact that he couldn't seem to strike a deal with a label or find a steady guitarist. He though about all the chances he had missed and the ones that had been stripped away from him; he cursed his ex friends, his family, his own life.
The more he drank, the more he felt angry and miserable, but he didn't stop, finding some pleasure in wallowing in negativity.
When he felt pretty sure he had hit the bottom of his misery, Dave decided to leave the party, as he couldn't stand the people and the noise anymore. He stumbled and shoved everybody standing on his way, cussing at them. He was out in the open air, with no idea which was the right way home, but quickly walked away from the place.
A hand grabbed his shoulder and made him turn around. He growled, ready to insult whoever dared to bother him, when he realized it was David.
“The fuck you want, Junior?”
“I've been calling you for five minutes, man. Didn't you hear me?”
“Evidently not.” spat Dave. “I'm going home.”
“The car is the other way, and I've got the keys. Why didn't you tell me?”
“I want to walk. Alone.”
“You can't. It's night, we're far away and you're drunk.”
“Well, fuck you, dad. I do as I please.”
David groaned in frustration; he couldn't let his friend walk away alone, but he didn't want to leave without the car. Maybe he could try to reason with him, with some luck.
“Hey, dude!” someone shouted. No, no such thing as luck, tonight. Thought David.
“Who the fuck are you?” Dave asked the unknown man that was walking toward him.
“Are you Dave Mustaine?” the man asked. He was an ugly guy in his early twenties, not very tall,
but sturdy. He had clearly been drinking too, and wasn't on top of his mental abilities.
“Yes, so fucking what?”
The man guffawed, “Dude, you're like, the king of the losers.”
Dave glowered at him. “Say what?!”
“How's Metallica doing?” Sometimes, but thankfully not too often, Dave would meet some hardcore Metallica fan who would mock him for what had happened with the band.
Dave grinned evilly. Finally, someone on which he could vent his anger and frustration. Just the excuse he needed, a good enough excuse to punish somebody for how he was feeling.
He jumped on the man, slamming him against the nearest wall with all the strength he could muster. The guy fought back, punching Dave in the stomach, making him stumble backward. It hurt like a bitch, but Dave didn't care. He wanted a fight, he wanted to beat that guy into submission, he wanted to make him feel all his pain, all his rage, all the hatred and humiliation he felt. He wanted to make him crawl and beg for mercy. He wanted him to suffer like he was, to pay for everything that was wrong in his life.
The guy, the scapegoat, was heavy and could hit hard, but that was no problem for Dave. If anything, it fuelled him more. He hoped the fight would last until he didn't feel anything anymore and the guy was a bloody pulp on the floor.
Their movements were sloppy and graceless, as both parties were drunk; the stranger man was strong, but Dave was raging, so he quickly overcame his opponent. He caught the guy with a good punch on the nose and made him fall down to the ground. As the man wheezed, covering his face with his hands, Dave kicked him in the ribs and in the stomach, laughing at him.
David, who had been watching the scene in horror, snapped out of his shock and grabbed Dave to stop him from hitting the guy.
“Dave! Dave, calm down! Do you want to kill him?! You have won, just leave him alone!”
The guitarist was still angry and would have kept on beating the unlucky stranger, but David managed to placate him. All in all, he didn't want to go to jail for some random fucker.
The guy had stopped moving; David took Dave to the car and drove home as fast as he could.
Once they reached Maria's place, David flopped on the couch, exhausted, while Dave headed to the bedroom. Maria was lying on her bed, fast asleep; the pale moonlight coming through the window lit her silhouette. It was a hot night, so she was wearing a flimsy spaghetti strap nightgown.
And there it was. Another good way to let out his anger, to unleash his lowest instincts, to have the upper hand on someone at last.
Dave crawled on the bed and grabbed Maria's legs, spreading them. The unexpected gesture made the young woman wake up abruptly; she tried to sit up, but Dave pushed her down roughly.
He ripped off a strap of her nightie, so that her right breast was exposed. His movements were rough and harsh. Maria could barely realize what was happening and didn't know what to make out of it; Dave had never acted that way before.
They had jumped each other's bones in a burst of passion before, they were no strangers to wild sex, but they had always checked the other's reactions, made sure he or she was okay with what they were doing. They had never done it with such carelessness, not with that rage, that will to hurt and denigrate that shone through Dave's actions. Maria was shocked and upset, but didn't lose her mind and tried to make the man come to his senses.
She wriggle out of Dave's grasp and grabbed his arms, shaking him and calling his name, telling him to stop. He growled, trying to pin her down again, but she resisted and shouted louder.
“Dave, stop it!” she screamed, looking at him straight in the eyes.
Dave stopped, staring at Maria with wide eyes for a few seconds. Before she could ask him what the hell he thought he was doing, he hastily moved away from her and burst out of the room. She could hear him argue with Junior for a few seconds, then the front door slammed shut.
Maria put on a t-shirt and a pair of shorts and went to the living room. David was standing in there alone, with a concerned expression on his face.
“Are you ok? You seem distraught.” she asked. He looked at her, inhaling sharply.
“I should be asking you. What happened? Did he hurt you?”
Maria shook her head. “No, he just scared me. What's wrong with him?”
Junior didn't know what to say; the whole truth was too compromising, and he didn't think Maria would be too understanding. Oh, Dave beat the hell out of a guy that provoked him and we left him unconscious on the sidewalk.
“He had a very bad day, got hammered, and some dude tried to attack him.” David explained. “He fought him off, but he's still shaken.” He suddenly felt ashamed. Why was he trying to defend Dave, after all? Did he deserve it? What had Dave tried to do with Maria, that she had to yell at him to stop? “But you're not hurt, right?”
Maria shook her head again. “I told you I'm not. But whatever got into him, I don't like it one bit.”
Dave and Maria didn't talk about what happened -or what could have happened- that night, but as an unspoken agreement, they not only stopped having sex but didn't touch each other altogether in any way. They still behaved normally in any other way and Dave still lived at Maria's, sleeping with Junior on the sofa bed, although he immediately started looking for another accommodation.
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