Don't I Know You?

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"Oh Jimmy! How's he doing?" I asked hoping maybe we'd get a chance to catch up.

Brian's laughter choked off on what sounded suspiciously like a sob and I suddenly suspected that maybe those weren't tears of laughter streaming down his face.

"Jimmy's the friend I mentioned earlier," he took a long sip of his drink.

Oh shit. I felt a lump in my throat. The friend who'd died. God that stung.

"When?"

"End of 2009."

I wracked my brain trying to remember if Ryan had ever mentioned anything, surprised that he hadn't they'd seemed like such good friends, and then I remembered a subdued and emotional New Year's phone call. "The Rev," I said, "Jimmy was The Rev?"

"Yeah, that was Jimmy."

I leaned forward and grabbed his hands, "I'm so sorry Brian. Really I am. I only met him a couple of times but he seemed like a great guy. I know Ryan was devastated."

"We all were."

We sat without speaking for a while, Fear of the Gods final album acting as our soundtrack. Finally Brian's hand twitched beneath mine and I released him.

He raised his glass and said, "To Jimmy and King. Wherever they are they're surely raising hell."

I lifted mine and said, "To Ryan and Jimmy."

I topped up our glasses deciding that if worst came to worst and he drank too much to drive he could get a taxi. I just hoped that Cathy and Jeff weren't going to be too pissed off by a couple of slackers reeking of French liquor and misery cluttering up their patio.

"So Brian, or should I call you Syn?" I asked tucking my feet up under me.

That got me a half-hearted smirk. "Brian is fine."

"Okay then, Brian, you guys were in a band weren't you?" I somehow remembered that from the party. Ryan had mentioned it I think and the groupie sluts following them for a scrap of attention had seemed to confirm it.

He looked surprised and picked up the bottle examining the label. He narrowed his eyes at the alcohol percentage as if he was trying to work out how much he'd had to drink. Maybe he'd decided that this was all too much of a weird coincidence and was working out if he was good to drive.

"Uh, yeah, we were in a band. Jimmy was our drummer." He shrugged and took another mouthful. The Pastis was going down easier each time he drank.

"Do the rest of you guys still play?" He looked like he still played, all tatted up hotness that he was but then I knew guys from my early twenties who'd been friends of Ryan's back home that had been obsessed with music and making it big and look at them now. Slaves to the nine to five. My financial advisor Travis being one of them.

"You could say that," his expression was utterly inscrutable and I had the weirdest feeling that there was some kind of joke that I wasn't in on.

"That's great," I enthused, those cryptic answers of his weren't helping to move the conversation along. "For fun or professionally?" It was like getting blood out of a stone and I resisted the temptation to bash my head against Cathy's teak patio table.

He looked at me incredulous. "This is fucking ridiculous," he grumbled under his breath. Hey! I heard that! "Give me your phone." He held out a demanding hand.

"What the what?" Why the hell would he need my phone? Did I look like Romy White? I was not offering my phone out for people needing to make calls!

"Just give me your phone. Unlocked." Oooh. He was being kind of dominant and yes, the alcohol had quite possibly made me stupid, I found it more than a little bit hot. I handed over my, unlocked, phone and made a valiant effort at not choking on my drool.

His long fingers moved rapidly over the screen of my phone and I tried not to look too eager as I leaned in to see what he was doing. He opened my Spotify app, typed quickly and then went to throw the phone back to me before obviously thinking better of it and dropping it down on the table. Good idea. Phone throwing and I weren't a good mix, witness my attempt to brain him with said phone the day before.

Fear of the Gods cut off and 'Hail to the King' by Avenged Sevenfold began to play.

"Hey, I love this!" I took another sip and smiled. Maybe the hijacking of my playlist was in aid of smoothing our conversational path from sad topics like Ryan and Jimmy's deaths. I could get on board with that. "I really like this band. The guitar in this song is fucking amazing."

"You think so?" he lifted his drink at me and right before my eyes Brian morphed into that cocky little fuck from years ago.

"You don't?"

"Well far be it for me to say..." he said leaning in toward me, eyebrows raised and a knowing look on his face.

I raised my eyebrows back at him my statement unspoken. Seriously man, if you've got something to say just spit it out. Then it clicked. He'd had a band. He still had a band. The callouses on his fingers.

"This is your fucking band isn't it?" I groaned.

He stifled a snort of laughter, "Yup."

"And you're the fucking guitarist aren't you?" I palmed my face.

This time he didn't hold back the laughter or his smug look of triumph.

"Synyster Gates, lead guitarist of Avenged Sevenfold at your service Ace."




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