So Close (a James Hetfield story)

Chapter 36

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July 29, 1992

The next day we were back at Giants Stadium in Jersey playing for a huge crowd, but our set was going south fast. Axl had started experiencing throat pain a few days earlier at our show in Pittsburgh, but even with a few days' rest, he hadn't improved. Despite that, surprisingly he'd gone on with the show anyway, though we could all tell he was struggling. Towards the big ending of Knockin' on Heaven's Door, something came flying out of the audience and hit him hard in the crotch. He left the stage without a word, leaving us to finish the song as best we could.

Slash motioned for Roberta and me, from our spot elevated above and behind the band, down to the main stage to confer. Duff and Gilby joined us, and we all looked at each other, wondering what to do without showing the audience we were panicking.

"Duff, can you do Axl's vocals on Don't Cry?" Slash asked, taking charge. "We can make that our last song and I think it'll be enough to satisfy this mob."

Duff was shaking his head. "Dude, I wanna give this crowd the show they paid for, but I just don't have the chops to pull off that song. I might make them more pissed off."

I couldn't blame him, it was a powerhouse song and needed a big voice. Axl was the only guy in the group who could pull it off.

"What about Leila?" Roberta piped up.

My head jerked sharply to the right and I glared at her for even suggesting such a thing. "No, no, that's a ba—"

"That's a fuckin' fantastic idea!" Slash cut me off as he nodded his head enthusiastically.

I tried again to protest. "See no, it's a ter—"

"Hell yeah, it's an awesome idea!" Both Duff and Gilby were grinning wide, warming up to the idea immediately.

"But, I don't th—"

"Leila come on." Roberta was smiling encouragingly at me. "Tracey and I are too R&B, but you have that whole smoky voiced rocker thing going which is perfect for the song, and you have an insane range. You can totally do this hon, you've been waiting your whole life to do this."

She had me there.

I looked around the circle and saw them all looking at me with encouragement and support.

"Ok," I finally agreed. "But if someone throws a bottle at my head, I'm blaming each and every one of you."

The entire band breathed a sigh of relief, and then Slash went to a live mic to announce the change while Roberta, Duff, and I did a quick huddle about the vocals.

"Alright fuckers settle down." Slash smirked into the mic. "We have something special for you tonight since our fearless leader is off gettin' medical attention—so again, fuck you to the asshole who was throwin' shit—anyway, our own Leila McKinnon is gonna come up here and sing something for ya. Be nice...or I'll start throwin' shit back." He turned towards me and stretched his arms out to present me. "Leila."

The crowd gave a warm reception, but I think that had more to do with the shortness of my shorts and the amount of cleavage I was showing, and less to do with their interest in hearing me sing. Stepping up to the mic, I tried not to show how terrified I was as I looked out to the tens of thousands of faces staring back at me. I felt myself freeze up, fear running rampant through every part of my body. Then I sensed something, something familiar and safe. Looking towards my left, I saw James standing at the edge of the wings, his eyes glued on me. How had he known that I needed him; had he been there all along?