On the Rocks Page 4

  I couldn’t help the tone in my voice. “Barbie? Why the hell would you want to represent Barbie?”

  She chuckled. “Why wouldn’t I? The girl gets free publicity more than the homeless guy down the street gets free meals and change. You don’t have to pay for advertising when you’re constantly generating publicity, and the media follow her like a magnet. She’s a train wreck, Kyle.”

  “Yeah, exactly why I would think you’d avoid her like the plague.”

  “Sure, there’s clean up to be done, but she generates enough cash to make that part easy.”

  I had to know. “So why’d you leave?”

  Mollie was more honest than I ever would have given her credit for, but maybe it was because she already thought I had great “intel.” “After being fired five times, there was no way I was going to beg for my job back. Enough’s enough and life’s too short.”

  “Prima donna.”

  “Yes, and I know we could have done that dance thirty times a year for the next ten and I could have laughed my way to the bank…but really…” She took a long pull on her Chai before continuing. “I know Barbie’s going to stay in the public eye. She’s a celebrity and they love watching her, waiting for her next fuck up. I don’t want to manage a train wreck. I want to manage a professional, someone who’s serious about her career, someone who cares, not someone who’s going to refuse to go on the talk show at the last second just because they failed to provide her with a masseuse as her contract dictated.”

  “Really? She has that shit in her contracts?”

  “Yes, and they all do what she asks, only the one talk show I’m speaking of got her a masseuse, but he wasn’t under thirty with blonde hair, which were the specific qualities she’d asked for.”

  This information shouldn’t have surprised me, but Barbie never failed to make me roll my eyes. Enough about her, though. We were talking about my career. I’d never considered Mollie a friend and hardly even an ally, but she knew her stuff. She was familiar with the rock music biz and she could help me and my band. Hiring her would alleviate one less headache—and the fact that she’d been up front let me know I could trust her.

  I wasn’t going to be quite so forthcoming with her, though. Inside, I was a seething green monster. Liz’s single was going to drop soon, and I was frothing with envy. Liz, the silver spoon child, could get it done and quickly because she had money, resources, and contacts at the tip of her fingers. I, on the other hand, had been loyal to my junkie friend and let the grass grow under my feet. Now I was starting late. Liz, the girl who had, yes, matured and was writing better lyrics (albeit depressing ones) and shitty music, was going to release her solo debut long before I was—and that made me jealous and angry and if I had to hear reviewers fawning over her mega talent, I was going to puke.

  But I wasn’t going to tell Mollie that. No way.

  Instead, I was going to make her an offer. I told her that the band and I were going to start recording our demo the following week and we needed a label ASAP. We wanted a good contract and I wanted to go on tour in the spring, summer at the latest. “Can you make that happen?”

  Mollie extended her hand to shake mine. “Piece of cake.” She smoothed her black hair with her manicured hand then and smiled. Now I just had to convince my band that bringing her on board was a good thing

  But then I remembered something—my band members were along for the ride. Of course, they’d go for it. They trusted me, even when I shouldn’t have trusted myself.

  Chapter Six

  WE WERE LISTENING to a rough mix of four tracks Guidry had put together for a demo, but at that point, it was moot. Mollie already had two labels competing with each other to give us the best deal.

  That made me feel good. After getting panned by critics and fans alike, my last album with the Vagabonds had left me feeling a little hopeless and ready to quit on occasion. I knew now, though, that I could make even better music, especially when I and my band were on the same page. And, speaking of my band, I could see the pride the guys felt as we listened to song after song. I often questioned it. I wrote that? That’s my voice? I was blown away by what we’d created.

  When they were over, Jake asked, “Hey. What if we added a piano track to the beginning of ‘Slut’?”

  Teddy started laughing. “No fuckin’ way, man. Lame.”

  “No, that could be good,” I said.

  Guidry stepped in. “Yeah, it could be really good, but do you guys see a piano here? Sure, you could record it somewhere else, but my equipment’s not as high tech as the big boys. I can’t guarantee it’d sound right.”

  Mollie put her phone away. “Then we skip it. The music sounds good enough and we need to get a move on.”

  Teddy turned out to be almost as vocal as I was, and he replied before I could agree. “Man, why you gotta be such a ball buster, Mollie?”

  She clenched her jaw. “It’s my job.” He raised an eyebrow but didn’t say a word—and that was when I thought I might see a little spark between the two of them. Interesting. Again, before I could reply, Mollie said, “I’ll be getting final offers in today that I’d like to review with you in the morning, but here’s what we’re looking at. After we sign with your label, we need to start working on your first video, and I’ve chosen three songs I think should be your first single. We’re also looking at touring starting in April, so make any arrangements you need to now. It will come faster than you think.” She turned to me. “And we’re going to change your image, Kyle.”

  That had seemed to come out of nowhere. “What the hell’s wrong with my image, Mollie?”

  She let out a breath, realizing that she might have come across as insulting. “Nothing. I didn’t mean it that way. Your image right now is bad ass, okay, but with the Vagabonds, we had Barbie capitalizing on the sex appeal. Since your band members are guys, you’ll need to be the one in this band to do it.”

  “What? Are you kidding me? I’m not doing that. I will not be like Barbie Bennett, okay? My music will speak for itself.”

  “Yes, it will, but you need to get them to listen to you in the first place. And sex sells.”

  Teddy nodded. “She’s right…and I don’t look good in a bra.”

  I laughed. “That’s not gonna happen.”

  Mollie waited until the guys stopped laughing. “Just hear me out. I have some ideas. I’d like to see you go blonde—not because Barbie did it, but because I think you would look really good as a blonde—hot. And you’d get all kinds of attention.”

  I saw Jake and Brandon nod. What the hell? Teddy was the one who talked, though. “Yeah, you should do it, Kyle.” I shook my head. “It’s only hair. It’s not like you’re cutting it.”

  “He’s right. You can recolor it anytime you want to.”

  Jesus. I couldn’t win. “Fine. And I suppose you want me doing a nude spread in a men’s magazine too?”

  I was being a smart ass, but I saw Mollie processing the thought and immediately regretted suggesting it. But then she said, “No. You want them wondering, not licking pages. Leave a little mystery.” She inhaled deeply. “But you need to start wearing sexier clothes…like curve-hugging leotards with fishnet hose and—”

  I felt like Liz when I said, “It’s about the music, not the look, Mollie. You know that.”

  “Yes, and we’ve had this conversation before, Kyle. I know you talked about this with your old managers too. It’s also about the look, whether you like it or not, because you’re a woman in a man’s world. And you’re in the age of video. Back in the sixties, maybe you could get away with not giving a shit, but not today. They see you, and it doesn’t matter if you think it’s all just about the music.” She paused as I felt my frown pull down more. “So do you want me shopping for your clothes or do you want to do it?”

  “Fuck.” I ran my hand through my hair. My brown hair…that was going to change soon. I saw a smirk on Jake’s face. “Not a word.”

  Then he smiled. “What?” I shook my
head. “I can’t help it if I want to see you wearing a—” He looked at Mollie. “What did you call it? A curve-hugging leotard? Yes, I think I speak for all of America—hell, the world—when I say we would all like to see that.”

  I felt my frown grow heavier and I crossed my arms. Teddy grinned and shrugged and Brandon was looking down at the drumsticks in his hands.

  I huffed but knew on some level that she was right. And I had confidence that I had a nice enough body to pull off the sexy look. I just didn’t know how comfortable I felt about it. But then I remembered I’d still have my guitar to hide behind. “Fine. I’ll buy my own shit.”

  “Good. Now that that’s settled, let’s discuss the order we’d like the songs to appear in.”

  Yeah…like I could concentrate now. But at least we were going to talk music, a language I spoke well.

  * * *

  Three nights later, I was sitting at home in CJ’s apartment, looking at my reflection in his bathroom mirror. I’d had my hair colored at the salon that afternoon, and I was trying to adjust to how it looked.

  I liked it. It was really different…but I did like it. Maybe blondes did have more fun. I certainly felt a little sassier. I grabbed my phone and took a selfie, then texted the picture to my would-be boyfriend. I knew he probably wouldn’t see it until later that evening or maybe even the next day, depending on if he had a show that night. But he called less than a minute later. “Is that a picture of you?”

  “Yeah. Who else would it be?”

  “When did you do that?”

  “Earlier today.”

  “Why?”

  I smirked. “Why not?”

  “I dunno. All I know is it makes you look fucking hot. It’s killing me—you there and I can’t touch you.”

  “You’re saying my hair makes you hot?”

  “Fuck, yeah. I want to bury myself in you right now.”

  Hmm. I could get used to that. And then I thought maybe we could enjoy a little long-distance love. Not the same, but I’d take what I could get. “What are you wearing, stud?”

  “Oh, no way, Kyle. Don’t do that shit to me.”

  I laughed. “Why not? You don’t want to picture me running my tongue—”

  “Dammit!” His voice softened when he said, “Oh, I would love nothing more, but me and the guys are getting ready to head out.”

  I sighed. Fucking Death Crunch. I couldn’t complain, though, because they made my man look hot all the damn time. “What’re you doin’?”

  “Well…we’ve got this thing in the can and have started mixing, and we were going out to celebrate.”

  I nodded. I knew I shouldn’t ask, but I couldn’t help myself. “Yeah? What’ll you be doing?”

  He paused, confirming I shouldn’t have asked. He cleared his throat before replying, “Gentlemen’s club.”

  In spite of the fact that it probably meant CJ would get a lap dance followed by a backstage hummer, I laughed. There was no humor in it, but I said, “Gentlemen? You sure they’ll let you guys in?”

  “Yeah. Glock owns the fucker.” Glock was the stage name of Death Crunch’s lead singer, a guy whose real name (Gus) was a little less glamorous.

  “He owns it? Why does he own something down there? Why not something closer to home?”

  “Long story…but let’s just say he was interested in one of the girls and she wouldn’t give him the time of day.” He paused. “She does now.”

  “Yeah, I can imagine.”

  “Look, babe, I gotta go. These guys are giving me crusties.” His voice grew low again before he said, “But why don’t you send me a more intimate picture so I can see if the curtains match the carpet?”

  Yeah. Fat chance. Like I wanted him getting all hard to my picture while he was fucking some slutty stripper bimbo. No way in hell. Maybe he’d get pissed when I started showing more skin to my audience and then he’d know how I felt. I couldn’t help that thought crossing my mind when I said, “We’ll see, stud. Now go.” I wanted to tell him to behave himself, but instead I said, “Have fun.”

  And I spent the rest of the night online spending way too much money shopping for my new stage wardrobe.

  I didn’t text a nude picture to CJ. He’d have to come see my carpet himself.

  “My Medicine” ~ The Pretty Reckless

  Chapter Seven

  BY THE TIME my new band hit the road, Vicki was back in rehab. Apparently, she had OD’ed again. I called and talked to her mom for a while, sending my best wishes. I also sent an anonymous donation to the rehab facility for Vicki’s treatment, because I didn’t know if her mom could afford the cost.

  CJ and company had already been on the road for a month. Our album sales had started slow, but our label—and Mollie—were convinced that touring would help with that.

  Our schedule was grueling. Most of the time, we were performing five to six nights a week, and we were in venues both big and small—big when we were opening for a huge band or two and small when we were the headliners. Apparently, I and my band weren’t “big enough” to fill the seats.

  Unfortunately, that seemed true. And yet I was doing everything Mollie and the label had asked and told me to do. For our first video, for instance, I’d worn exactly what Mollie had asked—a snug leotard with fishnet hose, and I’d even added sexy black boots to the ensemble. I felt awkward at first until we were on our seventh or eighth take and I was already tired of playing the damn song. And my bandmates were respectful. Not one word about my legs or my cleavage or anything like that.

  They looked pretty damn good too—eye candy for my female fans.

  We sounded amazing, but no one was buying…and it pissed me off, because Liz’s band was getting all kinds of attention. It was as though the press had forgotten that she wasn’t the only fucking Vagabond.

  But I tried to remain positive and didn’t say a damn word to my band about it. This was their first tour in a band with a label. They didn’t know that some of the venues were dives. They didn’t know that the houses should have been packed wall to wall. They didn’t know that our sales, while good, were nothing like what they should have been.

  What the fuck had I done wrong? I kicked myself over and over—but I had no fucking clue. All I knew was to keep playing. If I played, they’d eventually listen, right?

  * * *

  Two months on the road and CJ didn’t—not once—say anything about my sexy new image. In fact, no one said a word about it. It made me want to tell Mollie, “I told you so.” The album itself got a few decent reviews, but more often I heard that my music sounded just like more of the Vagabonds.

  So, yeah…I started drinking a lot on the road again. This time, though, I was going to be more careful about drugs. Watching Vicki had put the fear of God into me. I was older and supposedly wiser, so I was going to act like it.

  Yeah, that didn’t last long.

  It was cool, though, because I was bonding with my band members. Jake, Teddy, and I agreed to keep Brandon safe. He was still a kid, after all, and I’d felt like I’d gone way too wild as a kid myself on the road. We wanted to protect him, so we had our security people keep an eye on him while the three of us partied.

  Fortunately, he loved playing games online during his downtime.

  Man, did the rest of us party. I was depressed as hell, between the reviews and hearing from all our fans that this album was just like my old Vagabonds music. And CJ. I thought a lot about CJ and how it seemed as though we would never work. So I was depressed, but I was also pissed, so I chugged that fucking vodka like water one night.

  I don’t remember whose idea it was—but I think it was Jake. Yes, I’m sure it was Jake, because earlier in the evening, at just about the point I started blacking out, he started us down a path by saying, “I don’t know which one of you is hotter.”

  Teddy just kind of gulped, but I started laughing before asking, “What?”

  Jake licked his bottom lip and said, “Actually, I think you’re both hot a
s hell.” Then he lifted his glass to his lips.

  And then it dawned on me: Jake swung both ways. Why I hadn’t realized it before was beyond me, and I’d seen him checking me out on occasion, sure, but I’d also heard him make the occasional comment about Brandon being way too young but being—what was the word he’d used?—supple? Something that just didn’t quite fit. And I had no issues with his sexual orientation—I just thought it was funny that I hadn’t made the connection.

  Teddy looked uncomfortable and downed another shot. I started giggling—that was the alcohol talking. Jake said, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you guys feel weird.”

  “Nah. I’m good.”

  Teddy nodded, although I wasn’t sure if he meant it. “Yeah, me too.”

  Jake grinned and sat back down on the couch in the hotel room. This place was larger than most of the places where we stayed. There was an actual “living room,” albeit small, and connected to the rest of the room, but it was larger than a lot of places we were used to. There was a lot more room to party.

  Jake grabbed the bottle of vodka and poured the three of us new shots. “Why don’t we play a little strip poker?”

  Teddy looked at me and winked. “I will if she will.”

  I knew I’d had way too much to drink, because I didn’t even hesitate. “Yeah, sure. But don’t we need cards to play?”

  Jake got up and walked over to the folding luggage rack that was holding his open suitcase. He rummaged around and pulled out a deck of cards. He grinned, sauntering back over to the couch and said, “You never know when boredom will strike.”

  I was sitting on the floor in front of the tiny coffee table and Jake and Teddy sat on opposite ends of the couch. I was sure Teddy would have felt a little more relaxed had I been the one on the couch, but he seemed to be easing into the idea of the three of us just fine. I suspected I knew how everything would end up, but it was just a guess. As much as I was drinking, I could just as likely wind up in Jake’s bathtub, puking my guts out.