Categories > Celebrities > Metallica > Epicene Part 2
Dave Mustaine woke up early, collected the coins he had found the day before, and occupied the phone booth near home. With no job and virtually no money, he absolutely needed to know whether he could count on Faith coming back home or not, and in the latter case, if he could borrow some cash. Not only the fridge was empty, soon there would be the bills and rent to pay (the phone company had already disconnected his landline), and since he couldn’t just walk across the entire city, some money would have to go into bus tickets too.
He called Faith for an update on her actual conditions; big changes had occurred, and they weren’t working in Dave’s favour. Faith had decided to follow her mom’s advice and go to the local community college, which meant she wasn’t coming back to their apartment.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before, it’s kind of a recent decision. But you can have the rest of my last pay check! Mom is willing to pay for college, she says I have to concentrate on my studies.”
“Well, that’s good for you, I’m glad you’re doing fine.” Dave sighed. He really was glad for Faith, but her new resolution didn’t help his situation at all. He invited himself to lunch that afternoon, so he could collect the money he dearly needed and finally grab a bite.
~֍~
Faith was rambling about some random shit, like she always did and, as always, Dave ignored her to concentrate on something else. Food, this time. He filled his plate with another big portion of mixed salad with eggs –hey, Rachel said she was sure he didn’t eat enough veggies, and she was right– and devoured it with pleasure.
“So you say you’re looking for a new job, right?” Asked Antonia.
“Well, I pretty much have to.” He replied, munching on a mouthful of salad. “Gonna start looking today. L.A. is full of nightclubs, I’m sure at least one of them is hiring.”
“I’m sorry we can’t do more for you, Vivien.” She sighed. “You should be in college too, but…”
Dave burst out laughing “Oh, please, going to school is the last thing I want to do. And you don’t need to apologize for anything. You don’t owe me anything, and yet you’ve helped me greatly.”
“Oh, I can still come by sometimes, right?” Faith pleaded, “Even if it’s not my home anymore? I miss not living with you.”
Dave refrained from reminding her that technically the apartment was in her name, and just patted Faith on the back. “You still have the keys, don’t you? Come whenever you want. By the way, can you give me the money you mentioned before?”
~֍~
Dave opened a freshly bought packet of cigarettes and took one to his lips; a stupid way to use the little money he had, but hey, what was life if you couldn’t give in to a little vice? He had a good reason to celebrate, anyway; his feet were killing him for walking up and down all the goddamn Sunset Boulevard (well, not quite, but it still felt like it), but now he had a job. All right, technically he was a generic ‘help’, which meant doing all the menial tasks nobody else wanted to do, but it didn’t matter. It had taken a little cajoling, but he had managed to snatch a job under the table at Club Lingerie, which wasn’t a favourite of hair bands. And since even listening to the sloppiest punk band was more bearable than meddling with the glam metal crowd, he considered it a double victory.
Dave jumped back, startled, when the front door of his condo opened abruptly, almost hitting him in the face.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t notice… oh, it’s you.” Said the person who was coming out of the door. Dave frowned; it was the annoying bassist kid again.
“It seems we can’t start off on the right foot.” the kid chuckled amicably.
Dave rolled his eyes, “Better stop trying, then.” he replied, pushing past Ellefson and sprinting upstairs.
The young bassist sighed. Why does she have to act like I kicked her dog? Is she one of those man-hating lesbians? She could at least make a little effort at being civil; after all, we live in the same condo, we are bound to bump into each other from time to time.
Dave Mustaine closed the door with a slam and dropped down on the couch, kicking off his shoes, thankful that he could finally rest his poor feet. He put out the cigarette on a near ashtray and relaxed, making himself more comfortable. Dave picked up the latest issue of ‘Metal Mania’ he had snitched from one of the clubs he had visited –it had been lying there on a table, all alone and abandoned– and started reading it; he needed to catch up with the news.
~֍~
“Oh, fuck me, I can’t believe this!” Dave growled, his mouth still gummed up from sleep. Loud noise was coming from the apartment below. Again. Lil’shit really doesn’t want to learn. I’m gonna ride his ass into hell this time.
Dave Mustaine rose from the sofa where he had fallen asleep and stormed downstairs, determined to hammer into the obnoxious kid’s head the concepts of peace, quiet and silence. He banged on Ellefson’s door with his fists; the younger boy opened almost immediately, and the second he saw Vivien, his expression changed from worried to exasperated.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Ellefson exclaimed.
“That’s my line, boy, I…” Dave stopped dead in his tracks. The music he had heard from his apartment was still playing, but this time he recognized it. And it sent a chill down his spine.
“It’s mid-morning, I don’t care if you like to wake up late, I have every right to listen to music at this time of the day. Or to play my bass guitar.” David Ellefson pleaded his case, unaware of the young woman’s strange reaction. “Ok, fine, maybe the volume was a bit too loud, but that doesn’t mean you can… where are you going?”
Dave Mustaine moved past Ellefson, into his living room, and reached the turntable, placed on a chest of drawers, and removed the needle.
“Hey, what gives you the right to…”
Then he placed it on the record again. That voice. That song. That fucking name on that fucking vinyl.
“What is this?” asked Mustaine.
“What?”
“Are you deaf? I asked you what this is!”
Ellefson was baffled. Insulted too, but mainly baffled. Also, he was rather worried, since the crazy, belligerent chick who had come storming to his home clearly wasn’t crazy in a metaphorical sense, but in a pretty literal one.
And a mentally unstable, aggressive woman who appeared more than ready to fight him was nothing less than terrifying.
“That’s… that’s a long play.” He answered, but immediately winced. The madwoman wasn’t happy with his answer, but really, what kind of question was that?
“I know what kind of object this is, you fucktard, I’m not brain-damaged!” She barked. He couldn’t agree less. “This shit here, it says Metallica. What does it mean?”
“Uh, oh, it’s the name of the band.” Again, the woman roared. “It… it’s a band from here. Well, they moved to San Francisco, that’s what the man at the record store said.” He babbled, desperately trying to appease her. “He recommended them to me. This is their first album, see? It came out a few months ago.” Ellefson said, retrieving the cover of the album and showing it to Vivien. “It’s called ‘Kill ‘em All.”
Dave Mustaine grabbed the cover and looked at it, then turned it around. There were the faces of his traitors, his brothers in arms who had stabbed him in the back. He would swear he could feel the gash between his shoulders pulsate angrily.
And then… there was a fourth face. Kirk Hammett, the Exodus guitarist. The former Exodus guitarist, apparently. Dave passed his thumb over Kirk’s face, as to erase it. How long had they been in cahoots, those four, he pondered. He had been kicked out of the band right before Metallica were supposed to record their first album in New York. Certainly, they couldn’t have waited too much for his replacement, they didn’t have the means to hang around taking their sweet time.
Dave was shaking in anger, pure rage mounting inside him. He wanted to tear apart that fucking cover, smash the vinyl and the turntable, destroy every single thing in the room, the apartment, punch the walls, make the entire fucking condo crumble down.
He looked up and saw the kid, Ellefson, staring at him in what seemed to be genuine terror, torn by the fearful indecision whether to call the police and have him thrown in jail, or call an ambulance and have him institutionalized.
Calm down, he had to calm down, rein in his overwhelming feelings, kick them into submission, as best as he could.
Dave Mustaine forced a chuckle, trying hard not to look like even more of a lunatic. “You must think I’m totally deranged, don’t you?”
Ellefson swallowed hard, not reassured at all by the ginger’s impromptu change of mood. “Please, get out of my house.” He murmured. “Just… leave.”
Dave winced. Well, I guess I deserve it. “I’m sorry. I came here to bitch because of the music. Like an old hag.” He smiled, but didn’t get a reaction. “And then I freaked out because… this band… let’s just say that I have some issues with this band.”
As the ginger girl dropped the cover and bolted out of the apartment. David Ellefson sighed in relief. Crisis averted, for now. Yup, L.A. sucks. It sucks big donkey balls.
He called Faith for an update on her actual conditions; big changes had occurred, and they weren’t working in Dave’s favour. Faith had decided to follow her mom’s advice and go to the local community college, which meant she wasn’t coming back to their apartment.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before, it’s kind of a recent decision. But you can have the rest of my last pay check! Mom is willing to pay for college, she says I have to concentrate on my studies.”
“Well, that’s good for you, I’m glad you’re doing fine.” Dave sighed. He really was glad for Faith, but her new resolution didn’t help his situation at all. He invited himself to lunch that afternoon, so he could collect the money he dearly needed and finally grab a bite.
~֍~
Faith was rambling about some random shit, like she always did and, as always, Dave ignored her to concentrate on something else. Food, this time. He filled his plate with another big portion of mixed salad with eggs –hey, Rachel said she was sure he didn’t eat enough veggies, and she was right– and devoured it with pleasure.
“So you say you’re looking for a new job, right?” Asked Antonia.
“Well, I pretty much have to.” He replied, munching on a mouthful of salad. “Gonna start looking today. L.A. is full of nightclubs, I’m sure at least one of them is hiring.”
“I’m sorry we can’t do more for you, Vivien.” She sighed. “You should be in college too, but…”
Dave burst out laughing “Oh, please, going to school is the last thing I want to do. And you don’t need to apologize for anything. You don’t owe me anything, and yet you’ve helped me greatly.”
“Oh, I can still come by sometimes, right?” Faith pleaded, “Even if it’s not my home anymore? I miss not living with you.”
Dave refrained from reminding her that technically the apartment was in her name, and just patted Faith on the back. “You still have the keys, don’t you? Come whenever you want. By the way, can you give me the money you mentioned before?”
~֍~
Dave opened a freshly bought packet of cigarettes and took one to his lips; a stupid way to use the little money he had, but hey, what was life if you couldn’t give in to a little vice? He had a good reason to celebrate, anyway; his feet were killing him for walking up and down all the goddamn Sunset Boulevard (well, not quite, but it still felt like it), but now he had a job. All right, technically he was a generic ‘help’, which meant doing all the menial tasks nobody else wanted to do, but it didn’t matter. It had taken a little cajoling, but he had managed to snatch a job under the table at Club Lingerie, which wasn’t a favourite of hair bands. And since even listening to the sloppiest punk band was more bearable than meddling with the glam metal crowd, he considered it a double victory.
Dave jumped back, startled, when the front door of his condo opened abruptly, almost hitting him in the face.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t notice… oh, it’s you.” Said the person who was coming out of the door. Dave frowned; it was the annoying bassist kid again.
“It seems we can’t start off on the right foot.” the kid chuckled amicably.
Dave rolled his eyes, “Better stop trying, then.” he replied, pushing past Ellefson and sprinting upstairs.
The young bassist sighed. Why does she have to act like I kicked her dog? Is she one of those man-hating lesbians? She could at least make a little effort at being civil; after all, we live in the same condo, we are bound to bump into each other from time to time.
Dave Mustaine closed the door with a slam and dropped down on the couch, kicking off his shoes, thankful that he could finally rest his poor feet. He put out the cigarette on a near ashtray and relaxed, making himself more comfortable. Dave picked up the latest issue of ‘Metal Mania’ he had snitched from one of the clubs he had visited –it had been lying there on a table, all alone and abandoned– and started reading it; he needed to catch up with the news.
~֍~
“Oh, fuck me, I can’t believe this!” Dave growled, his mouth still gummed up from sleep. Loud noise was coming from the apartment below. Again. Lil’shit really doesn’t want to learn. I’m gonna ride his ass into hell this time.
Dave Mustaine rose from the sofa where he had fallen asleep and stormed downstairs, determined to hammer into the obnoxious kid’s head the concepts of peace, quiet and silence. He banged on Ellefson’s door with his fists; the younger boy opened almost immediately, and the second he saw Vivien, his expression changed from worried to exasperated.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Ellefson exclaimed.
“That’s my line, boy, I…” Dave stopped dead in his tracks. The music he had heard from his apartment was still playing, but this time he recognized it. And it sent a chill down his spine.
“It’s mid-morning, I don’t care if you like to wake up late, I have every right to listen to music at this time of the day. Or to play my bass guitar.” David Ellefson pleaded his case, unaware of the young woman’s strange reaction. “Ok, fine, maybe the volume was a bit too loud, but that doesn’t mean you can… where are you going?”
Dave Mustaine moved past Ellefson, into his living room, and reached the turntable, placed on a chest of drawers, and removed the needle.
“Hey, what gives you the right to…”
Then he placed it on the record again. That voice. That song. That fucking name on that fucking vinyl.
“What is this?” asked Mustaine.
“What?”
“Are you deaf? I asked you what this is!”
Ellefson was baffled. Insulted too, but mainly baffled. Also, he was rather worried, since the crazy, belligerent chick who had come storming to his home clearly wasn’t crazy in a metaphorical sense, but in a pretty literal one.
And a mentally unstable, aggressive woman who appeared more than ready to fight him was nothing less than terrifying.
“That’s… that’s a long play.” He answered, but immediately winced. The madwoman wasn’t happy with his answer, but really, what kind of question was that?
“I know what kind of object this is, you fucktard, I’m not brain-damaged!” She barked. He couldn’t agree less. “This shit here, it says Metallica. What does it mean?”
“Uh, oh, it’s the name of the band.” Again, the woman roared. “It… it’s a band from here. Well, they moved to San Francisco, that’s what the man at the record store said.” He babbled, desperately trying to appease her. “He recommended them to me. This is their first album, see? It came out a few months ago.” Ellefson said, retrieving the cover of the album and showing it to Vivien. “It’s called ‘Kill ‘em All.”
Dave Mustaine grabbed the cover and looked at it, then turned it around. There were the faces of his traitors, his brothers in arms who had stabbed him in the back. He would swear he could feel the gash between his shoulders pulsate angrily.
And then… there was a fourth face. Kirk Hammett, the Exodus guitarist. The former Exodus guitarist, apparently. Dave passed his thumb over Kirk’s face, as to erase it. How long had they been in cahoots, those four, he pondered. He had been kicked out of the band right before Metallica were supposed to record their first album in New York. Certainly, they couldn’t have waited too much for his replacement, they didn’t have the means to hang around taking their sweet time.
Dave was shaking in anger, pure rage mounting inside him. He wanted to tear apart that fucking cover, smash the vinyl and the turntable, destroy every single thing in the room, the apartment, punch the walls, make the entire fucking condo crumble down.
He looked up and saw the kid, Ellefson, staring at him in what seemed to be genuine terror, torn by the fearful indecision whether to call the police and have him thrown in jail, or call an ambulance and have him institutionalized.
Calm down, he had to calm down, rein in his overwhelming feelings, kick them into submission, as best as he could.
Dave Mustaine forced a chuckle, trying hard not to look like even more of a lunatic. “You must think I’m totally deranged, don’t you?”
Ellefson swallowed hard, not reassured at all by the ginger’s impromptu change of mood. “Please, get out of my house.” He murmured. “Just… leave.”
Dave winced. Well, I guess I deserve it. “I’m sorry. I came here to bitch because of the music. Like an old hag.” He smiled, but didn’t get a reaction. “And then I freaked out because… this band… let’s just say that I have some issues with this band.”
As the ginger girl dropped the cover and bolted out of the apartment. David Ellefson sighed in relief. Crisis averted, for now. Yup, L.A. sucks. It sucks big donkey balls.
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