Rifted Rock: Secrets of a rock star series

by Pace, Paisley

  “Speaking of notes, let’s try this wine.” I poured her a glass, then my own. “Cheers.”

  “Wait. We have to do better than that. This is a really nice wine.”

  “Um.” I didn’t usually make toasts at all. My bandmates were more into seeing who could throw back liquor the fastest. “To rock and roll?” I arranged my left hand into the devil horns symbol.

  “I know!” Andrea brightened and held her glass aloft. “There are good ships and wood ships. Ships that sail to sea. But the best ships are friendships, and may they ever be.”

  “To…friendship?”At this rate, my dick was going to shrivel up and fall off.

  “To friendship!” Andrea said, smiling and clinking her glass against my own. “Mm, delicious!”

  “Yeah, it’s really good.” I sat down on the leather couch and stretched my legs out, patting the cushion next to me. Andrea looked so cute in her leggings and black T-shirt, its neckline doing little to hide the deep line of cleavage. “Almost as good as your song. How did you get the inspiration for that?”

  “Well, I wanted it to sound dreamy and sad and romantic. Like Mazzy Star. I was basically listening to ‘Fade Into You’ on repeat at the time.”

  “The song that launched a thousand movie makeout scenes,” I said. I drained my wine and poured another, then offered the bottle to Andrea. She had barely touched her glass.

  “Exactly. If we can have one-tenth of that success…”

  “We’ll have more.” I slid closer to her on the couch, slowly, so as not to spook her. “Andrea, you’re so incredibly talented. And beautiful.”

  She looked down into her glass and smiled. Why did she seem to flinch every time I complimented her? She must not believe the things I was telling her.

  Maybe someone had taught her not to believe in herself.

  “Hey Andrea. What about the lyrics?”

  “The lyrics?”

  “You said the sound was inspired by Mazzy Star. But the lyrics—about love being painful and all that—where did you get that idea?”

  I had a hunch that it came from her personal life, but she was so tense, so guarded. If we were truly going to be a great songwriting duo, now was the time to start breaking down those walls. Here, alone in the woods, on this couch, with the candles flickering, the fine red wine dancing on our palates. I wanted Andrea to open up to me. Emotionally and in every other way.

  “Oh, just some things…in my past.”

  “Like what?” I asked. If she wanted to talk about traumatic histories, we could swap war stories all night.

  She sipped her wine. I’d almost finished my second glass, and a nice buzz had set in. Stronger than usual, since I’d run and then drank on an empty stomach.

  “Oh, you don’t want to know. Trust me,” she said lightly.

  “I do, though. I want to know everything about you.”

  I held her captive in my gaze, peering deeply into her eyes, letting my glance drift downward to her lips, then back up. Her expression was tentative, hopeful. She bit her full lower lip ever so slightly and closed her eyes halfway. I moved in for the kiss, one hundred and eighty-two pounds of pure libido.

  She smelled like vanilla and tasted like red wine and strawberry lip gloss. Her lips parted and her tongue touched mine softly. I felt her nipples stiffen against my chest as I pulled her close. My manhood sprang to attention. I was ready, so ready I could have bent her over the couch and pounded her hard right then and there. She moaned and stroked my chest—before pushing me away.

  “I’m sorry, Vance. I don’t think this is a good idea.”

  And then she was gone, her glass tipped onto the coffee table, wine pooling on the floor. Before I could process what had happened, I heard her door slam. I was alone with yet another raging hard-on and all of Kent’s liquor.

  Fuck, I thought. I knew this was my fault. I’d moved too fast, freaked her out.

  I wasn’t going to masturbate again. Nor was I going to text one of the high-dollar escorts Kent kept on auto-dial. But I was about to go apeshit on that liquor cabinet. My ego didn’t take rejection lightly.

  I slammed a shot of silver tequila, then another. Then I sparked up a bowl. I didn’t usually smoke inside, but fuck it. Andrea had gotten under my skin, hard. So hard I hadn’t watched her, hadn’t read the clues, hadn’t wanted to accept that she wasn’t ready. I’d jumped on her like a horny fourteen year old.

  And now I couldn’t get her—or her music—out of my mind. Plus, I was wasted.

  Can’t make it stop, don’t want to

  Even though you said we’re through

  It wasn’t until I heard my shitty, off-key rendition of the song that I realized I was singing it out loud, and not just in my head.

  I hope Andrea didn’t hear me.

  That was my last thought before I passed out on the couch.

  Chapter 11

  Andrea

  I immediately regretted pulling myself away from Vance’s embrace. I’d wanted nothing more than to kiss him back, rip that shirt off and rub my lips against his abs, unbuckle his jeans and take that gorgeous shaft into my mouth. Just the thought of him quivering with pleasure made my clit harden and my pussy lips throb. I was so turned on, I could hardly function. And I didn’t know if I’d made the right call or not.

  I needed a cold shower, but I wished I was downstairs by the fire, wrapped in Vance’s arms, his hard, hot length pressed against me. As a compromise, I ran the taps and splashed my face with icy water. The shock brought me back to earth, and I assessed my behavior.

  The truth was, I hadn’t fled from Vance because I was afraid of him seeing me as just another groupie. After he’d heard my music, I knew he recognized me as a musician who had the potential to be on his level. And it wasn’t because I was afraid of messing up our professional relationship. Honestly, those were just excuses, flimsy half-truths I’d told myself so I could sidestep the real problem.

  And the real problem? I was afraid. Afraid to let another man in, afraid of emotional intimacy. The lyrics in “Heart Pain” were totally autobiographical. I’d lifted them straight from my journal, where I penned poems during the lowest points of my five-year, abusive relationship.

  We started dating when I only seventeen years old. I was a junior in high school. He was a twenty-seven-year old security guard who worked the graveyard shift at Amelia Belle Casino. We met at a rave. I was in my teenage rebellion phase, sneaking out and dancing all night with my friends, but it was all pretty innocent until I met Jonathan, also known as DJ Jay. He was spinning some hot psychedelic trance tracks I’d never heard before. I thought he was cute, and I was so flattered when he saw me dancing and invited me into the VIP area.

  My friends kept texting me when I disappeared, and I ignored them. I let Jonathan talk me into coming back with him to his hotel room, let him convince me to try GHB, and then, half-lucid, I let him take my virginity.

  When I told my friends the next day, they said what I was describing sounded like date rape. I didn’t want to admit they were right. That was just the beginning of Jonathan’s abuse and my denial.

  I lied to my parents and said I was with friends that night, but as one missed curfew became another, they wised up. The legal age of consent in Louisiana is seventeen, so they couldn’t prosecute, and Jonathan knew that. He seduced me with free access to all the parties, sweet lies and constant drugs. I kept staying out all night, skipping school and coming home high. Eventually, my parents kicked me out. I told them I hated them, and that I never wanted to talk to them again. They said the feeling was mutual. That was that.

  I dropped out of school and moved in with Jonathan. The problem was, now that he was supporting me, he felt like he owned me. He demanded sex at all hours of the day and night, and if I wasn’t in the mood, he’d remind me that there were plenty of DJ sluts who were. He didn’t care if I lay there motionless, as long as he got off. Sometimes, I’d wake up to him penetrating me.

  Eventually, he got fired
from his security job and became a full-time DJ—at least that’s what he told people. In reality, he was selling meth at the clubs and parties where he DJed, and that’s what paid the rent on our shitty trailer. I stood by him—even though I knew he was fucking other girls. I didn’t dare confront him about it. The one time I did, he beat me black and blue.

  What was I going to do? I was a high school dropout in a dead-end town with no options. Even the strippers in Amelia didn’t make much more than one hundred dollars on a good night. Despite the beatings and rapes, I don’t think I ever would have gotten the courage to leave if there hadn’t been a meth fire in our trailer. I’m the one who found it, and it was small enough that I could have stopped it. Could have hit it with the extinguisher Jonathan kept on hand in case of an emergency like this one. Could have called the fire department.

  Instead, I let it burn. I threw some clothes, toiletries and Jonathan’s laptop into a knapsack and didn’t look back. My name wasn’t on the lease. I didn’t want to get arrested, but this was about more than a get-out-of-jail free card. It was like that fire showed me my freedom—the freedom to start over.

  I ran to US-90 West, stuck out my thumb and grabbed a ride with a trucker, who took me all the way to New Orleans. I told him my story and he gave me a twenty-dollar bill and wished me luck.

  I’d been with Jonathan for five years. I was now twenty-two. The abusive relationship was all I’d ever known, and I hadn’t ever been with anybody else. As much as I wanted to let my guard down with Vance, my body was still in fight-or-flight mode when it came to sexual situations. My body had propelled me away, thinking I was in danger.

  When really I’d never felt safer than I did in this cabin in the woods.

  I splashed my face again and looked at myself in the mirror. I smoothed my hair, re-applied my tinted lip balm and prepared myself to march back down and tell Vance I didn’t mean to run out of the room like that.

  As I stepped out onto the staircase, I wondered whether I should tell Vance about Jonathan. It might kill the mood…and it would definitely make him see me as a victim.

  My inner debate ceased when I saw Vance spread out the couch, half a bottle of tequila in his hands. He was clearly wasted, too wasted to give consent—or even remember anything I’d tell him in such a state.

  And judging by the way he was singing “Heart Pain,” he was too drunk to hit a note. I’d never heard him sound so far off pitch. His rendition of the song was flat-out terrible.

  I tiptoed back to my room and softly closed the door, not wanting to embarrass Vance. At least I knew he liked the song. That had to be a step in the right direction.

  Chapter 12

  Andrea

  I didn’t remember my dreams, but they must have been sexy ones about Vance—because when I woke up to sunshine and birdsong, my panties were soaked. I wasn’t usually in the mood for morning sex, but I guess sharing a house with your teen idol will do that to you.

  I showered, treated myself to a climax with the showerhead, then dressed and went downstairs. Vance was where I’d left him on the couch, but he’d kicked off his boots and pulled off his shirt. I gazed hungrily at the thin rivulet of hair bisecting his six-pack, the gently parted lips.

  “Hey,” he said, stretching his arms. “What’s up?”

  Damn. I guess he could feel my lustful gaze, even in his sleep. “Uh, nothing. I was just about to…um…go for a walk.”

  “Oh yeah?” he said, visibly perking up. “Where’s my shirt? I’ll go with you.”

  “Um, okay,” I said, watching his tiny, round butt poke out of his jeans as he bent over to retrieve his crumped T-shirt.

  “I don’t even remember taking these off,” he said, pulling on his boots.

  “Yeah, well you were pretty wasted last night.”

  He held the door open for me and we stepped out into a beautiful spring morning, a breeze rustling the oak and cypress leaves.

  “About that…” he said as we walked down the granite stepping stones. “I want to apologize if I made you uncomfortable. I know you want to keep things professional, and I was way out of line.”

  “It’s no big deal. You were drunk. Things happen.”

  I didn’t want to say too much, because I very much wanted him to try to kiss me again. So I changed the subject.

  “What’s on your agenda for today? I was thinking we could finish this walk, have some coffee and run through ‘Heart Pains’ a few times. Maybe cut a demo? I know there’s no engineer, but Kent has a pretty sweet studio, and for a demo, it doesn’t have to be perfect.”

  Vance’s face darkened. “Nah, that’s not a good idea.”

  I remembered his drunken, out-of-tune rendition of the song. Could it be that the notes just weren’t in his range? Because I could easily transpose it to a different register.

  “Well, we can always adjust the song to fit your voice,” I said.

  “It’s not that,” he said, his sour expression yielding to anger. “It’s just, there’s no point in recording a demo. It would be a waste of time.”

  “But isn’t that why we’re out here?”

  “Demos are for sending to record labels to land a deal. Brothers Three already has a deal. We have a manager and an agent. There’s no point to recording a demo.”

  “You don’t think Darrel would want to hear it?”

  “No offense, but you’re pretty green in the music industry. You don’t know how this stuff works yet.”

  Vance was walking a few steps ahead of me, refusing to meet my eyes. Watching him, I got the sense that he was hiding something.

  But what? It wasn’t like he and Kent had brought me out here to take advantage of me. If anything, it was the opposite. I’d benefitted the most from their hospitality. After all, they still didn’t know I was technically homeless.

  I guessed me and Vance both had our secrets. I could respect that. And he was right; I didn’t know anything about how the music industry worked. As Jonathan had once said when he was explaining why he had to cook meth in order to make enough money to pay an engineer to mix and master his electronic music tracks.

  I had no choice but to accept Vance’s explanation. More than that, I wanted to give him the space he seemed to need.

  “You’re right, Carl. I don’t know much about the music industry. But I’m trying to learn all I can. So how do you suggest we use our remaining time out here?”

  “Well, I don’t function right without my coffee. So first, let me brew us a pot a medium roast. Then, let’s talk about you. Where you’ve been, where you see your career going and what you want out of this partnership. Sound good?”

  “Sounds great!” I said—and then Vance surprised me by taking my hand and swinging it as he skipped down the path. Something in his sudden boyish delight charmed me.

  * * *

  Over steaming mugs of coffee and leftover biscuits with jelly and homemade strawberry preserves, I told Vance how I learned to sing in the church choir.

  “I was raised Southern Baptist—my parents took me to church Wednesday, Fridays and Sundays.”

  “Wow. Sounds like a tight family,” Vance said with a hint of jealousy.

  “It wasn’t all sunshine and roses. Dancing is forbidden in the church, and so is homosexuality. My parents were pretty strict. When I started to rebel, they thought a demon had possessed me.”

  “Wow. That’s…pretty crazy. No offense.”

  “None taken.”

  “So how did you get from here to there? From over-protective, super-religious parents to brilliant singer-songwriter?”

  I bit my lip. The truth was, I didn’t know. “The same way Jack Benny got to Carnegie Hall,” I joked. “Practice, practice, practice.”

  “Ha ha,” Vance said. “Seriously, Andrea. Where did your talent come from?”

  His gaze was deep and smoldering. I couldn’t fight the urge to brush a tendril of blonde hair out of his eyes. “I don’t know,” I said, my hand lingering on his cheek. “But I
’m glad it brought me here.”

  That was all the permission Vance needed. He took my hand, kissed the inside of my palm, then my wrist. Then his mouth was on mine, hungry, searching. I kissed him back, tracing my tongue against his lips with passion and urgency. I’d wanted to take it slow, make this last. But I was already arching my back and grinding my pelvis into him as he gripped my ass through my leggings.

  “I’ve wanted this since you first stepped into Kent’s office,” he said huskily, his whispers tickling my ear.

  “I’ve wanted it since I saw your first video,” I said as he kissed my neck, his lips grazing the skin with a tickle of electricity, then going in for a nibble, a sudden delicious jolt of pain to temper the endless waves of pleasure wracking my body.

  His hands slid under my T-shirt to brush the planes of my back, and I recoiled.

  “Something wrong?” he asked, holding me still, but moving his hands no further. “We can stop. Just say the word.”

  “It’s not that,” I said. The truth was, I didn’t want Vance seeing my scars. Here in the sunlit living room, there would be no hiding them. “It’s just…would you mind if we went to my bedroom?”

  Vance grinned again, that sweet, little-boy smile that made him seem almost innocent. Then, he stood up with me still in his arms, holding me like a groom carrying his bride across the threshold. I marveled at his strength as he propelled me up the spiral staircase, into the dim, curtained bedroom and laid me ever so gently on the bed.

  Chapter 13

  Vance

  I gently placed Andrea on the bed, fighting the urge to rip her clothes off and ravage her. With groupies, the more I acted like an animal, the more they liked it. But this was different. She lay smiling up at me with total trust, her eyes dilated with arousal, her lips parted and eager. She wanted it just as bad as I did, and not just for the bragging rights. For both of our sakes, I was determined to make this last—even though my raging hard-on felt like steel.