So Close (a James Hetfield story)

Chapter 11

Multiple times on my drive up to West Hollywood, I almost pulled the car over and turned around. My palms were sweating and I was trembling with nervous energy; I wondered again why I'd let Lars talk me into something so idiotic. The call had started off pleasant enough, though I was surprised to hear from him out of the blue. After some small talk, he finally got to the reason for his call. Turns out Metallica had gotten another booking at The Troubadour, but with one caveat. Since the previous performances had received a lukewarm reaction, the club had suggested that maybe the band spice up their set a little.

"What exactly do they mean by 'spice'?" I had asked Lars, but I already had a sneaking suspicion of what his answer would be.

"Uh...well." Lars was uncharacteristically at a loss for words. "Well they thought it'd be cool if maybe we added...um...a hot chick to the show."

"Are you fuckin' kidding me?"

"I know, I know...it totally fuckin' goes against everything Metallica stands for...but shit Leila, we need the gig. That club pulls in a lot of people and it's great exposure for the band."

"Exposure? Jesus, when did you get so L.A.?"

"Well, we gotta play by their rules, even if we don't like it."

"Maybe," I conceded before an idea popped into my mind. "You know, maybe you guys should consider a change of scenery and come play some shows up in the Bay Area. I've told James, but seriously, you guys would do amazing up there, you'd be gods."

"Well that'd be a nice change from the scene down here."

"I'll give you the names of some clubs in San Francisco and over in the Berkeley area. Couldn't hurt to call and see if you could get some bookings. And, I'd make every person I know up there come see ya."

"Yer the shit Leila! I can see why James thinks so much of you."

"Yeah, well that's debatable."

"Well then," he said slyly, "all the more reason to help us out at The Troubadour. That guy needs a kick in the face, and I can't think of a bigger attention getter than you up in front of a bunch of metal heads lookin' smokin' in a bikini..."

"Wait what?" I interrupted.

"Oh yeah, did I forget to mention that you'd be wearin' a bikini?"

"Lars, I can't get up on stage in a bikini and prance around like a stripper or something!"

"Look...look, I don't wantcha to do something yer not comfortable with, but I'm askin' cuz yer the hottest girl I know and the crowd would go crazy for ya. Besides, you'd be more of a back-up dancer or something, definitely not a stripper."

"Yeah, well I don't think the crowd would make that distinction." I sighed. "I dunno, it's just not something I could see myself doing."

"Maybe that's why you should do it."

I rolled my eyes even though he couldn't see me over the phone. "Ok, don't try Psych 101 on me Ulrich."

"I just meant that sometimes we should do the things that push us out of our comfort zone."

"Comfort zone? We're talkin' an entirely different comfort galaxy."

"Just think about it Lei, you'd be doin' us a huge favor. And I said it before, but I'd imagine if James had any secret feelings for you, he'd have a hard time keepin' his shit together watchin' you strut around with every guy in the place droolin' over ya."

Fuck. He had a point. I hated that he had a point.

So despite my reservations, despite that fact that the whole thing was completely sexist and I wasn't comfortable with flaunting myself as nothing but a sex object, I was driving to the club with a far too revealing get-up in a bag in the backseat.