False Starts || Dave Grohl

Chapter 32

"Looking For A Dime, I Found A Quarter"

December 27, 1991

Los Angeles, CA

"Hey Shell," I slosh my mixed drink around, drunkenly smiling at the satisfying sound of ice clinking against the nice glass we stole from Pearl Jam's dressing room. "If things don't end up working out with Dave would you get divorced so we can run off together? I wouldn't mind marrying you if it became legal."

The older woman couldn't help but chuckle at my slurred proclamation, patting my knee lightly before taking another sip of her vodka and sprite. "Ask me again when you're sober babe."

The day has been mostly uneventful; Shelli and I were left unsupervised in the boys' dressing room within the first ten minutes of arriving. Being their first show together since France, with hardly any practice between, the three found it to be in their best interest to do a quick run through before doors open.

We didn't mind their absence, in fact, we were grateful that they were busy. It gave us the chance to demolish the venues complimentary liquor before they had the chance to take the good stuff. "Does this make us alcoholics?"

"Rosemary, we've been alcoholics. Where have you been?" I couldn't help but giggle at her honesty. Whenever we're on tour, she and I never fail to find the booze. Having gone as far as rummaging through crew members cabinets when we got desperate. "I wonder what the boys are up to. They've been gone for a while."

I struggle to get up off the couch, planning to drown myself in the last of the Grey Goose on the counter. "Who knows... Maybe they forgot about us." My eyes widen as the glass bottle slips through my fingers, shattering across the floor with a loud crash. "Shit..."

"That's probably the universes way of telling you, you've had enough." The dark-haired woman throws back the rest of her drink before placing the glass on the table beside her. "Poor Dave doesn't need to suffer through you vomiting on him tonight."

I shoot her a glare, slightly offended that she thinks I can't hold down my liquor. "I think I've cleaned up his vomit enough times during Scream tours that I deserve a pass." Shelli opened her mouth to respond but was cut off when the dressing room door was suddenly thrown open.

Krist and Dave stood in the doorway, wicked smirks on their war painted faces as grape vines dangle from their hands. It didn't take a rocket scientist to know that this was a planned ambush. "Hello ladies."

"David," I nod while slowly placing my stolen glass down on the table, hoping to keep it out of the line of fire. "Whatcha got there buddy?"

Starting a food fight with the two bandmates didn't seem like the smartest idea now that I am starting to feel the after effects of my alcohol consumption. "Oh these?" He pulls one of the grapes free from the vine, effortlessly throwing it into his mouth. "A little birdy told us you ladies were in need of some wine for your liquor feast, so we came by to supply it."

"Liquor?" Shelli questions, shooting the boys a confused look. "I haven't seen any liquor, have you Rose?"

My foot slowly pushes the glass shards that remain of the final bottle under the table. "Nope, nothing... We've just been in here having girl talk." There is no doubt in my mind that Dave already knows I'm well on my way to being shitfaced, patiently waiting for the kick to finally hit me.

"Angel eyes," Dave shakes his head, "You are a terrible liar."

Tell that to the hole I've dug myself into Grohl...

"I say we take over this fort lieutenant," Krist says while altering his voice, "These two will be enslaved and used as an example for others who dare cross us."