Bad Boy Rock Star

by Starr, Candy J.

  "Not me, buddy."

  Eric shot me a shy grin and I couldn’t help but grin back.

  When we got to the bar, Eric told the owner I was their manager.

  "Not yet, she isn't."

  "She's our manager at the moment and she's on the guest list."

  The owner let me in without paying and got me a glass of wine for free while the band set up. This bar looked so different from the one the other night. The stage was low key with red velvet curtains lining it. The room had tables and chairs, not just standing room, and a mural of a night sky covered the ceiling. Also, the place didn't reek of stale beer and sweat.

  I sat at the bar drinking my wine as people filled the place up. It was a decent-sized crowd for a Tuesday night. I tried to look entertained while I sat there but really it was not that interesting. I got out my phone and played a game of solitaire, wishing they'd hurry up and get started. I'd have ordered another drink if I'd thought I could afford it.

  Eric popped up beside me, ordering a round of beers and told the barman to put another wine on the tab for me too.

  "Thanks."

  "No worries. We'll be on stage in five minutes or so. If you want any more, just let Charlie know. He'll be happy to put it on the tab for you."

  I nodded but to be honest, I didn't really drink that much. Charlie grinned at me.

  "Here, try this. I've been experimenting with cocktails. I reckon you'll like it."

  Since I didn't have much to do but sit there and drink, I figured I might as well give it a try. I took a sip. It was sweet and fruity. I looked around for Angie but couldn't see her in the crowd. I thought she might be here for something like this but the crowd seemed a bit older than the other night.

  Everyone clapped as the guys went on stage. They didn't cheer or get raucous though.

  When Jack Colt began singing, I turned to the stage. He sat on the stool quietly. No posturing or over-the-top moves, just him sitting there singing, with Eric playing along and Spud in the background. A soft spotlight shone on him as he sang about love and hurts and the things he couldn't get over.

  His hair flopped onto his face as he leaned over his guitar but every so often he’d look up at the crowd, his eyes expressing the pain of the song he sang.

  Charlie handed me another cocktail and I felt warm inside. Maybe Jack Colt wasn't so bad after all. When I saw him like this, he seemed vulnerable. Maybe he just needed someone to take care of him, to lie beside him and stroke his hair until that hurt in his eyes went away.

  What was I thinking? I shook my head to clear that thought. It was his on-stage image, acting like that to win across the audience. I knew better. I just had to remind myself what a jerk he'd been.

  After a few songs, Eric left the stage and came to sit by me. Jack continued on alone.

  "It's magic, isn't it?" he said. He looked at Jack.

  "He's not bad." To be honest, the other night the band had struck me as a cacophony of noise. This was different though. They really had something.

  "What are you drinking?"

  I took another sip. "It's some new cocktail. Want to try it?"

  "No thanks. I'll stick to beer."

  "Why are you being nice to me? The other two hate me."

  "They don't hate you. Maybe it's a bit of a shock for them, having some chick show up claiming to be our manager. We've had a lot of disappointments. A few times we've nearly been signed to a label then it fell through. And Jack, well, he has this thing. This kind of 'it's my way or the highway' thing you know. He doesn't like to compromise and that means we might not be as good a deal to take on as some of these younger kids who do as they're told."

  I nodded. I could see what he meant. Jack Colt was going to be tough to deal with.

  "Well, I've got to get back on stage. Take it easy with those fruity drinks. It’d be kinda embarrassing for our manager to get drunk and make a scene."

  As he walked off, I wondered how embarrassing. Embarrassing enough for them to want to get rid of me? Maybe I could get a little tipsy.

  I got up to go to the bathroom. I'd gotten really hot sitting at the bar and needed to cool down. As I touched up my makeup, a girl came out of the cubicle and stood at the sink beside me.

  "Great set tonight, huh."

  I nodded. She had on a fabulous skirt. It looked just like one I used to have the year before. Almost identical in fact.

  "Love your skirt," I said.

  "Thanks," she shouted of the sound of the hand dryer. "I got it from that designer recycle place near the Arts Centre."

  "Designer recycle? What the hell is that?"

  "You know, where rich people go to sell their old clothes."

  I nodded but the idea didn't compute. Rich people don't sell their old clothes. They throw them out or give them away or something. I didn't even know. I just gave them to the maid to deal with.

  Hey, those bloody maids – they'd been selling off my clothes and now this chick wore my skirt. And it was an awesome skirt. I wanted it back. I guess I couldn't tell her that though.

  I returned to the bar in a shitty mood. You couldn't trust anyone nowadays. I ordered another drink. It shouldn't matter. I hadn't wanted the skirt anyway but that didn't mean I wanted someone else wearing it. Especially someone who looked awesome in it. Not more awesome than me, but still awesome. I should've put the idea out of my head. After all, there wasn't much I could do about it. I couldn't even sack the maids since they were already out of jobs. I sipped my cocktail and brooded with Jack Colt singing a blues song to match my mood. At times, his voice had the effect of a cheese grater being run over my heart. So rough, so raw, holding out all those horrible things that people really should hide away deep inside.

  It was his eyes that got people, I decided. Even from the distance of the bar, you could tell that. It felt like he could see into your soul and hunt out the hurts in there and give you comfort. I couldn't reconcile that with the man parading his cock earlier. He was the one putting the hurts in my heart to start with. If I didn't know better, I'd have thought this guy was someone I wanted to get close to. Stupid music. Still, it was magic and, for a moment, I thought it might actually be worth working with this band.

  When the band finished playing, I cheered and screamed until I noticed a few people staring at me. Maybe I’d been a bit loud, but then I’d planned to get tipsy.

  Since I had no idea how to get home, I waited for the guys to pack up their gear. They could at least tell me how to get to the station. A couple of guys stood by me at the bar and offered to buy me drinks. I wouldn't say no. I felt better than I had in days. Those drinks were good. The hard edges of my world melted away in a fuzzy blur. What did I care about money and rock stars and people selling my clothes? Nothing and no one could hurt me.

  How much do you need to drink to get a bit tipsy anyway? I’d not had lunch but I’d only had what 2 or 3 drinks? And the glass of wine when I came in.

  When Jack and Eric came to the bar, I swung around on my stool.

  "Hey, Jack. Hey, Eric."

  "You've had too much to drink," Jack said. "You should get home."

  He moved in and leaned on the bar, waving at the barman to get him a beer.

  "I don't know how to get home."

  "You could get a taxi."

  "Don't have any money to get a taxi."

  He groaned.

  "Don't groan at me." I wagged my finger at him. "I'm fine. You just have to tell me how to get back to the city and I'll find my way from there."

  I stood up and very carefully gathered up my bag. I'd walk straight out the door. I could do that without looking drunk and I could talk very clearly without slurring my words.

  "I'm fine. Fine. Don't worry about me," I said then banged into the man standing behind me.

  I brushed him down.

  "Sorry, sorry. Oops, why are you standing there?" I giggled. It seemed crazy funny that I'd swung around straight into this strange man.

  Jack pulled my arm. "Y
ou need to sober up."

  "I'm fine," I said.

  He snorted like he didn't believe me. But I was fine. I just felt a bit sleepy and everything looked a bit blurry and he looked really fine in those tight leather pants. I really should tell him that. Before I could speak though, he'd grabbed me.

  "You aren't going to kiss me again. I'm not your groupie. You don't need to kiss me."

  I waited with my face turned towards him but he pulled my arm and dragged me across the room. I struggled but couldn’t get free of his grip on my arm.

  "Stop struggling," he hissed. "You are just making a fool of yourself."

  He opened the door to the small room behind the stage and dumped me down in a chair.

  "Just wait there until we are ready to leave then we’ll sort something out about getting you home."

  "Yes, sir," I said giving him a salute.

  He left the room and I looked around. Oh, someone had left some beer behind. I decided to drink it. After all, who was he to tell me not to drink? I could drink if I wanted to. He wasn't the boss of me.

  Making a fool of myself? Hadn’t that been my plan. To make them think I was a dingbat. I should go out there and show them just how dingbat I could be. Except I felt a little sleepy. They'd left their jackets and stuff on the bench in the corner. I could just curl up there and have a little nap until they were ready to tell me how to get home.

  The next thing I knew there were voices. Voices in my dream? No, outside me.

  "What are we going to do with her?"

  "She hasn't thrown up on my coat has she? Because if she has, I'll kill her."

  "No, she's fine. She's just resting. We'll have to take her with us. Unless you want to go through her bag and find her address."

  I wanted to sit up and tell them I was fine and I knew my own address but it seemed like such an effort to move and I could tell them after I finished sleeping.

  "Come on, Hannah. The bar’s closing."

  "Great manager, huh. She flakes after a few drinks." That was Spud’s voice.

  "Like you can talk, Spud. Remember that time you threw up after the gig down the coast. Miserablest bastard alive in the van on the way back. ‘Stop the car, stop the car…’ And those cocktails looked a bit lethal."

  I silently thanked Eric and tried to get myself to sit up. If they let me sleep for little bit longer, I’d be okay.

  "We’ll get some coffee into her when we get home and she’ll sober up."

  "Coffee!" I sat up. "Did someone say coffee?"

  The next thing I knew, strong arms wrapped around me and lifted me.

  "Can you walk?"

  I nodded but I wasn't really sure. I leaned in against his warm, strong chest. In his arms, I felt safe and happy. But they were mean and kept making me move around and then we were outside and it was cold and I felt a coat being wrapped around my shoulders. I slumped against something that I thought was a wall but it moved. And then we were in car and we were going somewhere and the lights of the city looked pretty and blurry as I pressed my face against the cold glass. When we crossed the river, I wanted to tell them we were going the wrong way. I didn't live across the river. Not anymore. I lived in… where did I live?

  Chapter 6

  By the time the taxi pulled up, my head had cleared and I could walk on my own.

  "Whose place is this?" I asked.

  "Mine," said Eric. "Mine and Jack’s."

  If I’d thought about where they lived, I’d have expected something much grungier than this. We walked into a huge, open living area with a pair of massive sofas and a large screen TV. To one side, was an open kitchen area and to the other side French doors opening out to a small courtyard. This definitely was not the type of place you could afford on a struggling rock star’s income. This was some prime industrial chic real estate. And they said they didn’t have the money to buy out the contract.

  "Want a drink?" Eric asked.

  "There was talk of coffee," I replied.

  Then the doorbell rang and people piled into the apartment. Eric disappeared for a while and came back with more promises of coffee.

  I sat on the sofa, still feeling a bit out of it. While I’d sobered up a bit, my head felt groggy and heavy.

  There were about 20 people in the room with more coming in behind them. Lots of noise and laughing. I didn’t want to move from the couch. Even if I wanted to go home, I still had no idea how to get there and now the trains would’ve stopped running.

  I clutched my bag to myself and hoped Eric would return soon with my coffee.

  I did parties. I did parties like nobody’s business. I made chitchat and air kissed and I could be fun. But I didn’t know parties like this. Full of strangers and conversations I had no part of. None of these people knew who I was. None of them cared.

  The shrieking laughter made my head hurt. I looked around and noticed two girls glimpsing at me and laughing.

  People behind me talked about things that meant nothing to me, like they spoke some kind of foreign language. I didn’t have to even attempt conversation to know that this year’s fashion collection would NOT be appropriate.

  I searched through my bag for my phone. Not that I expected anyone to call or message me, but it would give me something to do. Maybe I should message Angie and tell her to get over here. She’d be great at a party like this, for sure. But then maybe she wasn’t here for a reason. I didn’t know her well enough to just casually invite her to someone else’s party and, oh yeah, I didn’t know the address.

  "How are you feeling?"

  Jack Colt put a mug of coffee on the table beside me and sat down on the other side of the couch.

  "Fine. I’m totally fine," I said. I sat up straighter and pulled my dress down around my knees. I noticed I’d spilt something on it and tried to adjust myself to hide it.

  He just raised an eyebrow.

  I hadn’t said anything stupid, had I? I wanted to tell him how great he’d been on stage and how his music made me feel. If only I could get the words together right but, before I could say anything, a guy in ripped jeans sat down on the other couch.

  I picked up my coffee. Ah, coffee. My friend. Just the smell made me feel better. Then I took a sip.

  Oh. My. God.

  That was maybe the grossest thing I’d ever had in my mouth.

  "What the hell is this?"

  Maybe Jack Colt had done it on purpose. As a gag. Make the worst coffee ever then laugh at me when I drank it.

  But he wasn’t laughing. Not at me. He and the other guy kept talking.

  "What about that chick after the gig, mate? She wanted a piece of you."

  "Her and the rest of them. It’s always the same thing. ‘You were so great up there. The way you played touched me deep inside. No one’s made me feel like that’."

  He imitated her in a high-pitched voice.

  Did guys really talk like that about women? Guys like this obviously did. What pigs. I crossed "be nice to Jack Colt" off my mental to-do list. The bad taste in my mouth wasn’t just from that disgusting coffee.

  "The worst thing is, afterwards they think they own you."

  "It’s about the music, right," Ripped Jeans added. "Chicks just hold you back."

  I gave Ripped Jeans a sweeping look. I don’t think many women would be in a hurry to hold him back. Not in that way, anyway.

  "You coming?" Ripped Jeans nodded his head at a door near the kitchen. It looked like it led to the bathroom.

  He got up and Jack followed him.

  Whoa, he’s gay? Poor Angie. She had no chance. It did explain all the misogynist chat though. He hated woman and batted for the other team. Though no gay guy I’d ever met talked about women like that.

  I curled up on the couch, hoping everyone would shut up and let me sleep.

  Then it hit me. They weren’t gay. The bathroom thing plus rock party. I’d seen movies. I knew what went down.

  No matter how badly I needed the money, I had no intention of getting mix
ed up with a bunch of junkie rockers.

  I marched to the bathroom, expecting to see a scene of carnage. People lolling around in a drag crazed stupor with needles hanging out of their arms. Blank eyes and drooling mouths. Razor blades and blood, all thrown together in a gritty black and white montage.

  But Jack couldn’t be a junkie, surely. He was far too buff and meaty-looking. Junkies were pale and pathetic. Kind of like vampires without the fangs. I’m pretty sure they didn’t have ripped six packs.

  I smashed the door open, ignoring the voice screaming in my head for me to stop. Nothing I saw in there would do me any good.

  Someone clutched my wrist and I swung around.

  "Hannah, I don’t think you want to go in there." Eric looked at me with concern.

  I’d seen it though. A chick with long black hair leaning over the sink snorting something; a few others including Jack standing around. There were definitely drugs being done in there but nothing like I’d imagined. No needles. No crazy-eyed stares. No black and white.

  Eric pulled me away.

  "It’s nothing, Hannah. It’s just a bit of party fun. It’s not like we do this every day."

  I hadn’t said anything but I must have had disapproval all over my face.

  "It’s cool. You guys can do what you want."

  I folded my arms and thought about this. Would it hurt me in anyway? Like if they got busted, would it wash off on me? Could I deny all knowledge? I was only their manager. Not even a real manager just a tentative one.

  "It’s just that?" I asked.

  Eric nodded.

  "What about you? Do you…"

  Eric shrugged.

  "Now and then but it’s not really my thing. But surely you’ve tried drugs before? I mean, everybody has."

  Before I could answer, a girl ran over and threw her arms around him. In amongst the hugs and screeching, I’d been forgotten.

  I leaned against the wall, trying to process this. Eric seemed like a pretty nice guy and he wasn’t at all freaked out. As I looked around the room, I realized I was the only normal one here. Someone had put on a DVD and the weird music from the concert pumped through the room. It wasn’t rock like Storm played and it sure as hell wasn’t pop. Just seemed like a constant wailing. A couple of girls in hippy dresses danced to it, writhing like snakes with the bracelets on their arms clattering.