Chapter Text
As Eddie waited backstage with Jeff and Grant, he fiddled with the skull ring on his pinky finger. The din of the crowd, waiting for the concert to begin, rose behind the curtain. His heart raced in time with the clock above the stage manager’s station on the black cinderblock walls.
“I can’t do this,” Eddie blanched, butterflies dancing in his stomach. “This is the biggest crowd we’ve ever played for.” He crouched on the floor while the backline and lighting crew scurried past him as if nothing was wrong.
“Hey, snap out of it,” Jeff snapped a finger in front of his face.
“But what if I mess everything up?” Eddie wondered, eyes downcast.
“You won’t,” Jeff hauled Eddie to his feet. “You electrify a crowd when you play that guitar. You’ll be fine.”
“I don’t feel fine,” Eddie scoffed, straightening his leather jacket.
“Here,” Grant walked past the sound monitors and tossed him a water bottle. “You’ll feel better.”
“I sure hope so,” Eddie muttered, twisting off the cap to take a sip. The ice-cold water glided down his throat with each gulp.
“Hey,” Gareth mused, “is that Chrissy Cunningham?”
Eddie spewed water all over the floor.
He whipped around toward Gareth, who peeked past the curtain onto the pit.
“I thought she was only coming to the Indianapolis shows?” Jeff interjected.
“She didn’t tell me she was coming!” Eddie set down his half-drunk water and marched to the curtain, peering over Gareth’s shoulder into the crowd.
Chrissy stood at the edge of the stage, looking like a fish out of water in her matching pastel blue miniskirt, sweater, and white Keds. After she checked her watch, she ran a hand through her teased strawberry-blonde hair and fidgeted with one of her many necklaces.
His stomach flipped. Chrissy wore his ring on her hand.
“That’s definitely her,” Eddie mumbled.
“You don’t think she read the interview, do you?” Gareth asked.
Eddie’s heart plummeted.
“When was that supposed to come out?” Eddie questioned through tight lips. “I was supposed to tell her not to read it until she saw me at the Indianapolis show.”
“Last Tuesday,” Jeff replied as he and Grant joined Eddie and Gareth at the curtain. “Maybe she doesn’t read Rolling Stone.”
Chrissy took a poster from the dark-skinned girl in fishnets and combat boots beside her. Eddie waited with bated breath for her to flip it over.
His heart sank once more when he read, “EDDIE MUNSON WE NEED TO TALK” in Chrissy’s perfect handwriting.
“Ouch,” Grant patted him on the back. “Sorry, dude.”
Eddie glanced at the clock above the manager’s podium—still fifteen minutes to curtain.
He could fix this.
He could not fix this.
While he waited for the security guards to bring Chrissy and her friend to their small green room, every tick of the clock reverberated against the white-washed walls. His heartbeat slowed to match; butterflies danced in his chest.
Eddie paced up and down the room, shaking his hands as he dodged the cherry coffee table in front of the couch.
“Dude, sit down,” Gareth called from the couch. “You’re gonna give yourself a headache.”
Eddie bit his lip. “Alright.”
He perched on the brown couch between Jeff and Grant, tapping his fingers on his bouncing leg.
He froze as the green room door creaked open.
Without ceremony, a security guard ushered Chrissy and her friend inside and closed the door behind them.
Chrissy glowed, her strawberry-blonde hair framing her face like a cover girl on a magazine.
The silence hung thick between them, so thick you could cut it with a knife.
Eddie sprang to his feet.
“Chrissy.” Eddie choked out. “Hi.”
“Hi,” she squeaked back.
Jeff broke the tension. “Chrissy, are you going to introduce us to your friend?”
“Right,” Chrissy shook her head as if in a daze. “Guys, this is my roommate, Stacey.”
Stacey waved behind her, her enthusiasm jingling the upwards of ten bracelets she wore on each arm. “Stacey, this is Eddie, Gareth, Jeff, and Grant.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Stacey gushed, twirling one of her braids. “I’m a huge fan.“
“Any friend of Chrissy’s is a friend of ours,” Grant said as he shook her hand.
The room settled back into silence. Eddie studied Chrissy like a starving man at a feast, drinking in every last drop of her before she inevitably told him to go to hell.
Gareth slapped his knees and rose from the couch. “Stacey, how would you like to see the stage?”
“I would be honored,” Stacey tipped her head in a mock bow.
“Fantastic!” Gareth grinned. “Jeff and Grant, let’s give Stacey the full tour.”
Grant put down his water as he got up to leave.
“Shouldn’t you guys stay here so the crew can find us?” Eddie asked, fiddling with the edge of his flannel.
“It’ll be fine,” Jeff said through gritted teeth. “We’ll just let Rodney know what we’re doing.” He mouthed, “Talk to her!” while he filed out of the room, leading Gareth, Grant, and Stacey toward the stage.
As she left, Stacey turned back, gave him two thumbs up and winked.
“Have fun!” Chrissy called out to her without looking away, the foreboding poster still dangling from her fingers. Eddie gulped.
When the door clicked closed and they were alone, Eddie rubbed the back of his head, “Chrissy, I—“
“I read the interview—“ Chrissy interrupted him softly, “—in Rolling Stone.”
“Oh,” the color drained from Eddie’s cheeks. “You saw that. You weren’t supposed to see it until I could tell you myself.”
He crossed the room and grabbed her shoulders.
“Look, pretend I never said anything,” Eddie pleaded as her bright eyes filled with tears. “We can go back to the way it was.”
Chrissy shook her head. “Eddie, I don’t think I can.” Her voice wavered.
“No, no,” Eddie stepped back. “Please don’t, Chrissy. I can’t lose—“
The door to the Green Room slammed open.
“Five minutes to your set, Mr. Munson,” the PA said, not even bothering to glance up from his clipboard.
“Coming,” Eddie called as the PA walked away. He turned back to Chrissy but avoided her tearful gaze. “I’ve got to go.” He shouldered past her, continuing, “If you want, you can watch us from the wings. I’m sure the guys already dropped Stacey off. It’s a really great view and—“
“Edward Munson, would you stop talking for once!” Chrisy seethed.
Eddie whirled around in the cinderblock hallway, already halfway toward the stage. Chrissy stood in the green room door, tightly clenching her poster. An angry flush bloomed across her cheeks and bled down her neck into her blue sweater.
Eddie put his hands in his pockets. “I don’t understand.”
“I can’t forget,” Chrissy’s voice quivered, “because . . . because . . . Oh, gosh darn it!”
Eddie reeled back as Chrissy hurled her poster aside and flung herself into his arms. On instinct, he reached his arms around her waist to steady her as she cradled his head, pulling him closer. She jammed their lips together, and in an instant, every anxiety about the upcoming concert vanished.
The world slowed to a standstill around them.
She tasted like strawberries.
Chrissy pulled back with a lazy grin, holding onto the collar of Eddie’s jacket. “I would have said yes if you asked.” Her skin was warm where his hands crept under her sweater. “So now I’m asking you: will you go out with me?”
“What?” Eddie blinked.
“Mr. Munson, you’re needed on stage,” the PA tapped his shoulder, pulling him out of the daze.
“Right,” he grabbed Chrissy by the wrist and dragged her to where Stacey and the rest of the band waited in the wings just out of sight of the crowd.
Depositing her next to her roommate, Eddie fiddled with the hem of her sweater.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” Chrissy bristled. “Absolutely.”
“Just had to be sure,” Eddie smirked as he leaned in to give her a quick peck on the lips.
Stacey squealed as the rest of the band gasped. Eddied gave them the finger as he pulled back.
“Yes, Chrissy, I will go out with you,” he answered as the lights dimmed over the crowd and their intro music blared through the speaker system. The crowd roared in applause, chanting “Corroded Coffin” in time to the beat.
Chrissy melted, stars in her eyes as she watched him go.
“I’ll even be your man forever if you like,” Eddie shouted back to her as he backed away.
Giddy, Eddie jogged onto the stage behind his bandmates and assumed his position in front of his microphone downstage left as Jeff approached the mike center stage.
Grabbing his beloved red guitar off the stand, Eddie slung it over his back.
Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Chrissy in the wings, who blew him a kiss. Beside her, Stacey looked like she was about to faint.
Eddie tinkered with the frets on his guitar.
The backing music cut out. Gareth counted them in on drums as the spot came up on Grant. With precise fingers, he picked out the opening to “Unworthy”.
Eddie tapped his foot, waiting for his turn. In eight bars, he would come in with his signature riff.
He took one last look at Chrissy. She clasped her hands tight.
Eddie winked at her before ripping into his opening chord. The sound reverberated through the stadium as the spotlight above him blasted on, a blindingly hot beam of white light. Eddie closed his eyes. He glided across the strings, plucking out a melodious cacophony.
When he finished his riff, he opened his eyes and glanced at the crowd. They watched the band with rapt attention. Eddie settled into his element.
Jeff stepped up to the mike as the last spotlight blared on. The crowd was putty in his hands.
“We’re Corroded Coffin!” Jeff shouted. “Let’s get ready to rock!”
“Thanks for being such a great crowd, Pittsburgh!” Jeff yelled into the mike. “We’ve got a couple more songs for you all, but I’m going to pass the mike over to Eddie to introduce this next song.”
Eddie glanced between Jeff and the audience without missing a beat.
Jeff nodded toward Chrissy, waiting for him in the wings.
She gave him two thumbs up and mouthed, “You got this!”
Eddie smiled and turned back to the booming crowd. The stage lights beat down on him—he could barely make out any faces beyond the first row.
“Hey, everyone,” he waved. “ I’m Eddie.”
The crowd roared.
“I love you, Eddie!” one guy screamed.
“Thank you,” Eddie joked, placing a hand over his heart. “I’m touched.” He leaned his bare arm on the neck of his guitar. He’d lost the jacket and the flannel somewhere halfway through their set, when he was singing lead on their cover of "11th Street Kids". “So funny story about this next song . . . And every love song that I’ve ever written. They’re all about my best friend—“ A cheer rose from the crowd as Eddie vamped the opening of the next song. “If you read our interview in Rolling Stone, I admitted I’ve been in love with her for years, and I never told her, even though she’s gotten demos of every song I’ve ever written.” He paused for dramatic effect—the crowd waited with bated breath. A rivulet of sweat darted between his shoulders. “She hasn’t heard this song before.” He winked; the crowd screamed. He plucked the strings with a gentle touch. “Whenever I’m in her presence, I am but a humble court jester devoted to a beautiful, unattainable princess, unworthy of her attention, only desiring to hear that melodious laugh for one more time.” Eddie sighed pathetically. “That’s all I thought I would ever be, her court jester.”
He waited again, the crowd eating out of the palm of his hand. He smirked.
“But apparently, I was wrong. She’s here tonight, and she just asked me out!”
Cheers and whoops rose from the crowd.
“I said yes, of course.” Eddie winked. “Guess I’ll have to come up with some new material for the next album.”
The crowd laughed.
Eddie picked up the tempo, queuing Grant on bass and Gareth on drums. The rhythm coursed through him like lightning as the lights flashed and smoke rose from the floor. It was a good thing they had been practicing to start playing this song after the Indianapolis show next year.
“This song is called ‘The Princess and the Jester’.” He glanced at the wings. Half in shadow and flushed with excitement, Chrissy bounced along to the song.
They locked eyes as time seemed to slow down. Eddie kept the rhythm but couldn’t take his eyes off her.
“Chrissy, this one’s for you.”