Empire Lizard
A spin-off from the; Love, Lust and Lies Series
The cruise ship, a floating city of relaxation and indulgence, sliced through the turquoise water. Honeymooners smooched by the railings, families-built sandcastles in the miniature pool, and the retirees soaked up the sun like lizards themselves. Among this tapestry of vacationers, the band Empire Lizard was an anomaly, a splash of neon in a pastel painting.
Empire Lizard wasn’t your typical cruise ship entertainment. They dreamt of stadium lights and screaming fans, but for now, they were stuck playing toned-down versions of Roma and Decade to a sea of silver hair and floral shirts. Their logic was simple: the long hair and leather jackets would hint at rebellion, and the music (however diluted) would remind the older passengers of their misspent youth.
Daxon, the charismatic frontman with a voice that could melt glaciers, and Weston, the perpetually grinning guitarist whose fingers danced across the fretboard, were the band’s social butterflies. By day, they’d drape themselves over sunbeds, their tattoos shimmering under the Caribbean sun. Passengers, charmed by their laid-back demeanour and genuine smiles, would wander over for a chat. They’d talk about the music industry, the allure of the open sea, and the surprisingly good buffet.
Saba, the bass player with eyes that held a thousand unspoken stories, and Bessie, the drummer with a thunderous beat locked deep inside her soul, preferred the shadows. You wouldn’t find them basking in the sun or mingling with the crowd. Instead, they gravitated towards the Calypso Bar, a dimly lit oasis tucked away near the ship’s stern.
The Calypso Bar was their sanctuary. While Daxon and Weston basked in the attention, Saba and Bessie nursed rum punches, their conversations a low hum against the rhythm of the maracas and steel drums. They were the engine room of Empire Lizard, the quiet force behind the flash and flair. Saba, with his sharp wit and even sharper bass lines, analysed the crowd, dissecting their reactions to the music. Bessie, a powerhouse of percussion, would observe the dancers, absorbing their energy and translating it into the driving force of their music.
One sweltering afternoon, Mrs. Harris, a sweet, silver-haired woman who had become a regular at the band’s evening performances, approached Weston by the pool. “You boys are very talented,” she said, adjusting her oversized sunglasses. “But” she paused, tapping her walking stick, “you seem to be holding back. I can see it in your eyes. Hear it in the music, just a little flicker.”
Weston chuckled. “Just trying to keep it appropriate for the audience, Mrs. Harris.”
“Appropriate? Nonsense!” Her eyes twinkled. “I remember seeing Alvin Preston back in ’56. The man shook his hips and the world went wild. Don’t be afraid to shake things up a bit, boys.”
Weston shared a knowing look with Daxon, who had been eavesdropping. That night, something shifted. During their rendition of “Whole Lotta Love,” Daxon let loose. He channelled the raw energy of Staffan Templeton, his voice soaring, his body moving with a primal freedom. Weston followed suit, his guitar screaming with a life of its own.
Saba and Bessie, fuelled by several rounds of rum punch, laid down a bedrock of rhythm that pulsed through the entire ship. They fed off Daxon and Weston’s unleashed energy, their playing becoming more primal, more alive. The crowd, initially taken aback, began to respond. The older couples started tapping their feet; a few even dared to dance.
Even Mrs. Harris, aided by her walking stick, managed a respectable shimmy.
Back at the Calypso Bar after their set, Saba and Bessie, usually reserved, were buzzing with excitement. “Did you see Mrs. Harris?” Bessie roared, her voice unusually loud. “She almost threw her back out!”
Saba nodded, a rare smile playing on her lips. “Maybe we should play something a little less ‘appropriate’ tomorrow night.”
The next evening, Empire Lizard took a risk. They started with a bluesy rendition of “Big City,” then slid into a soulful cover of Staffan Templeton’s Heat ” The crowd was captivated. For the first time, they weren’t just hearing a cover band; they were experiencing a band baring its soul.
As the night wore on, the band grew bolder. They concluded with an original song, a raw and emotional ballad called ” Embrace,” written by Saba. The quiet, introspective bass player had poured her heart and soul into the lyrics, and the music resonated with everyone in the room.
The applause was thunderous. Mrs. Harris, beaming, stood and clapped, her walking stick forgotten.
Empire Lizard didn’t become a sensation overnight. But something had changed. They had found their voice, their conviction, their identity. They were still Empire Lizard, the rock band playing for a cruise ship audience, but they were no longer holding back. They were playing their hearts out, one rum-soaked night at a time, and the ocean, it seemed, was finally embracing them back. And as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in fiery hues, Saba and Bessie raised their rum punches to another night of letting their true colours shine.
Thank You for Reading
Deborah C. Langley
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