The Devil's Metal Read Online Free PDF Page A

selling something because we couldn’t afford to call
long distance very often.
    I took a deep breath and dialed the number.
After a few clicks and crackles in the silence, the other end
started ringing.
    “Hello, Creem Magazine, Maureen speaking,” a
woman’s crisp voice answered.
    Holy Toledo .
    I swallowed hard.
    The woman repeated herself. “Hello? Is
anyone there?”
    I heard some clattering in the background
and a few people laughing. If I didn’t say something soon, she was
going to hang up.
    “Yes,” I said quickly. “Um, yes, hi.
Hi…Maureen? This is Dawn Emerson. I got a message from you last
night, I think?”
    There was a pause then she laughed. “Oh,
sorry could you repeat yourself again? Dawn, you said?”
    “Yes, Dawn Emerson.”
    “Of course! Dawn. Sorry, I’m dealing with a
few hacks here blowing smoke in my face.” She gave a little cough.
I had to wonder what the hell was going on at Creem Magazine. Maybe
they really were a bunch of hooligans like they painted
themselves.
    A bunch of hooligans who called me .
    “Anyhow, Dawn do you mind holding? I’m just
going to patch you through to Barry, mmkay?”
    Before I could say otherwise, the line went
silent . Barry . Barry Kramer, the pusher of rock and roll on
America’s impressionable minds. The founder of hooligan central.
The man I’d always hoped would be my future boss, who’d have me
sharing a house with the likes of Lester Bangs and Lisa Robinson.
See, that’s why I dug Barry. He put women like Lisa, Jann U, and
Patti Smith to work for him. He didn’t subscribe to the Big Ears
bullshit that women didn’t know rock from Adam.
    The wait was agonizing. I started to fear it
was a prank after all. Maybe Todd or some jerk got Creem to call me
for kicks. Maybe Maureen had actually hung up on me. Maybe they
were all laughing at me while I waited, sweating in the kitchen,
reeking like stale cigarettes and yesterday’s ride.
    Before I chewed off all of my split ends,
there was a crackle on the other line and I straightened up, heart
thumping.
    “Hello, is this Dawn Emerson?”
    “Yes,” I said pathetically, in a voice
barely above a whisper. “This is she.”
    “Dawn, this is Barry Kramer. I’m the editor
at Creem Magazine.”
    “I know.”
    “Good,” he said. His voice was smooth and
youthful, not as intimidating as I had imagined. “I figured you
would. Listen, Dawn, we’ve had something rather unusual fall into
our lap and it involves you personally.”
    “I’m listening,” I told him, wondering what
the hell he was talking about. How could anything involve me? The
mystery was warping my brain.
    He cleared his throat. “First of all, I
wanted to say I’ve read your work and I really dig it. You show
great potential and all that kind of stuff. Your live review of Bad
Company was engaging to say the least. I got some copies of your
school’s paper and the interviews are far-out. How did you manage
to get Moe from Khaki Toast?”
    “I ambushed him after a show,” I told him. I
didn’t add the part where I bribed a roadie with ten bucks to let
me backstage. I may not flash my boobs at rock stars, but I’m not
above a little bribery. I had always thought it was too bad that
the interview was wasted on such a small paper, but if Barry had
seen it…well, this changed everything. My heart swirled at the
thought of my idols actually reading my writing all this time.
    “Well done,” he said. “I like a woman with
balls. And I hope you have big enough ones for what I’m about to
ask of you.”
    He paused. My mind reeled.
    “The reason I’ve read your pieces is because
you were brought to my attention by Jacob Edwards. Have you heard
of him?”
    The name was familiar but I couldn’t place
it.
    “It doesn’t matter. He’s the manager of
Hybrid and I know you’ve heard of them . I read your glowing
review of Molten Universe and your little ditty on the evolution of
their sound. Pretty insightful stuff, especially for a