ROCK F*CK CLUB (Girls Ranking the Rock Stars Book 5)

by Michelle Mankin

  “Suzanne Smith?”

  “Yeah. She’s bad news. Once you sign on the dotted line, she owns your ass. But then you didn’t ask me, right?”

  “Where are you? Is Marsha around?”

  I didn’t have her cell number, and we were almost to the exit for Old Town Santa Fe. Since I was meeting the exec in the lobby of the La Fonda, a historic hotel on the plaza, I could probably use some pointers from the former RFC star before I became the next one.

  “She’s around.”

  “Around at the house, right? Can I talk to her?”

  “She’s still in bed with Ivan.”

  “Could you—”

  “I ain’t waking them up. They only just went silent about an hour ago after going at it most of the night.”

  “But I have a meeting with Suzanne Smith soon.”

  “So you’re hell-bent on doing this RFC gig, no matter what I say?”

  “I’m doing it, Tyler.”

  “Then you’re on your own.”

  “You saying we’re done?”

  “That’s what I’m saying.”

  “Okay,” I whispered, registering a painful twist inside my chest.

  But he didn’t hear me. He’d already ended the call.

  “You all right?” Dolly covered my hand with hers after I placed my cell in the center console.

  “I think my hookup buddy just broke up with me.”

  “I don’t think Tyler Vaughn is that easy to get rid of. Trust me. He’ll come sniffing around again.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  My stomach hurt. I was more nervous about this meeting and being the next RFC star than I let on. Not because of the fucking part, really. Who the hell cared? None of that meant anything. A lot of the physical stuff was surely faked.

  But being on film? I wasn’t so sure about that.

  Raven looked like a Navajo goddess on her season. Marsha was a rock chick badass. Me? I was a pretender, reeling from my last counseling session and my brief but potent run with the lead singer of Anthem.

  I’d entertained the idea that Tyler might be my first fuck on the show. I’d thought the familiarity between us would make my first time being on film easier, a transition of sorts before I embarked into the complete unknown.

  Apparently, I was wrong about that . . . and so many other things.

  • • •

  “Miss Poet?” Suzanne Smith, a middle-aged redhead with a severe hairstyle, beckoned me closer with the crooked fingers of her manicured right hand.

  “I’m Josephine.” The buckles on my boots jangled like a prisoner chain as I shuffled toward her in the lobby of the historic hotel. I was in a morose, Folsom Prison Blues kind of mood after my conversations with Tyler and Gale.

  “Have a seat.” Sweeping her shrewd gaze over me, she gestured to the leather armchair across from hers.

  “Okay.” I lowered myself into the seat, trying to ignore the stares I received from the well-to-do patrons milling around the Western-themed lobby of the luxury hotel.

  Scanning me, she said abruptly, “Your wardrobe needs an overhaul.”

  I lifted my chin. “I like my clothes.”

  “The style isn’t what I object to. It’s the faded and worn condition of them.” She clucked her tongue disapprovingly as she peered down her nose at me. “Do you not wear any makeup?”

  “Not usually. I’m a drum tech. No one cares what I look like. Plus, I just got in from driving all day.”

  Four hours on Google Maps was a loose estimate when you had four girls traveling together who got hungry and had to go to the bathroom at different times. Looking my best for this meeting hadn’t been a consideration, given a day that had begun way too early with a demanding front man giving me only seconds to get dressed.

  “That will have to change.” She pursed her blood-red lips. “Your features are very pretty as a whole, but those will get washed out on film without enhancement.”

  “That’s fine.”

  Suzanne raised a brow. “I was stating facts, not phrasing a question.”

  Gulp. “I’m not doing anything I don’t want to do.” I sat up straighter, wishing my bandmates weren’t waiting for me in the van, and that I’d been able to reach Marsha before this.

  “I like your spirit.” Suzanne’s mouth curved while her hazel eyes narrowed further. “And that you came to meet with me on your own without an entourage.”

  I shrugged. “There’s not going to be anyone but me getting naked in the next season.”

  “Attitude. Looks.” She nodded approvingly. “You remind me of someone else. It’ll come to me eventually. But the important thing is I believe you’ll do well on the show.”

  “Thank you, I think.”

  “But it is my show. I’m the boss. You’re the employee. Raven and Marsha had some difficulty with that concept and the mandate of ten rockers. You understand that the number is nonnegotiable, correct?”

  “Yes, but I’m not clear on all the parameters.”

  “You dress like a street person, but your vocabulary is noticeably advanced.” Suzanne leaned forward, flipping open a manila folder that lay on the coffee table in front of her. “My team did a quick background check.”

  My eyes widened and my muscles tensed, but she didn’t notice. She was looking down, running a finger over lines of typed text.

  “You have an online degree. Majored in English. Is that right?”

  “English with a concentration in literature.” I nodded. “I like books and music.”

  “You have a GED. You didn’t finish high school the usual way either. Do you want to explain about that?”

  I shrugged again. “I moved around a lot.”

  “No employment history prior, nothing really until after you obtained your degree. What about your parents and family?”

  I froze. It took me a moment to force out the words. “They’re gone.”

  “All of them?”

  “Does it really matter?”

  “Everything matters that could affect my show.”

  “Then maybe I’m not the right woman for the job.”

  “You’re a loner? Except for your bandmates?”

  I nodded.

  “A private person, from what your coworkers at the hair salon told my researchers.” She flipped to another page. There wasn’t much on it.

  “Is all that stuff really important for me to fuck rock stars?”

  “We’re looking for an interesting candidate, not someone who might have something to hide.” She gave me a long, searching look that made me want to squirm. “You do realize you can’t be a private person and be the next star of the Rock Fuck Club?”

  “I’m okay with that.”

  “Hmm. The drum tech and the all-girl-band aspect will be different from the prior seasons.” She cocked her head to the side, then flipped the page to glossy photos of Dolly and the twins. “A fan of music who wants to be a rock star herself is certainly an ambition that will resonate with our target demographic.”

  “I’m a drummer. I want to become a respected musician,” I said sharply. Those were my brother’s priorities. “Beyond that, I just hope to make enough of a living to take care of my band family.”

  “Do you not expect to have fans?” Her perfectly shaped brows rose. “A chance for a potential record deal? Your songs to be heard by WMO’s worldwide audience?” Her expression was incredulous.

  “Of course I want those things.” For my brother. To fulfill his dream. “It’s just that I want them for my bandmates too. They’re my family. They’re important to me.”

  “We’ll be cognizant of that going forward.” She closed the current folder, set it aside, and opened another one, this one thicker. “I have your contract right here.”

  My eyes grew wide and wider still as she slid page after page toward me.

  “Standard stuff. You have a lot of autonomy. You can choose who you want. How you want them. After all, the main theme of the show is a woman’s right to
explore and identify her own individual sexual preferences without judgment. But we do like there to be a more personal subtheme for each star in her season.”

  “Such as?” My throat was so dry, I had trouble swallowing.

  “Don’t worry about that.” She handed me a pen. “One usually comes as you go forward. And, of course, we’ll start right away.”

  “Today?” I gripped her fancy pen so hard, I was surprised it didn’t break.

  “Yes. The film crew is here. Marsha’s season is done. A little underhandedly with a video from Rocky Walsh that happened prior to the launch of her season, but it’s done, nonetheless. The crew will just switch over to you as their focus. Is there a problem?”

  “No.” I shook my head.

  I was tired of rock stars, of two in particular who thought they could act like dictators over me. As I unscrewed the cap on the pen, my lips curved at the irony.

  I liked the idea of finally having some control for a change. How bad could it really be? It had worked out okay for Raven and Marsha in the end. Taking a deep breath, I started scrawling my name and initialing where Suzanne pointed.

  I was ready to fuck rock stars instead of being fucked over by them.

  “WHAT HAPPENED?” DOLLY ASKED as soon as I stepped out of the hotel into the parking garage. She pushed away from the passenger side door of the van where she’d been leaning and moved toward me.

  “Did they take you as the next RFC star?” Lark straightened from her perch on the van’s floorboard.

  Her sister had been seated beside her. Linnet stood too. As they walked closer, they searched my features for clues like Dolly was doing.

  “She got it,” Linnet said decisively.

  “I got it.” I nodded to confirm.

  “Ahhh!” Screams reverberated throughout the cramped concrete quarters of the parking garage.

  “How’d you know?” I asked Linnet after receiving congratulatory hugs from everyone.

  “Your eyes.”

  “What about them?”

  “They get really round when you’re afraid or excited.”

  “Are you scared?” Watching me closely, Dolly captured my hands and threaded her fingers through mine.

  “Of course she is. But excited too. Right?” Lark stepped closer, and Linnet did too. My band family was closing ranks to show their support.

  My heart swelled. I loved them so much. I would do anything for them. I’d never experienced the love and support they gave me, except from my brother.

  “Yes, I’m excited.” I cast my brightened gaze around to each of them. “Just nervous. But that’s already better now that I’m with you.”

  “Always.” Linnet nodded.

  “For as long as you need us to be,” Lark said, her expression serious.

  “I’m sticking to you like gum on your shoe.” Dolly arched a blond brow. “You’ll have to get a new pair of Doc Martens if you ever want to get rid of me.”

  “I never want to get rid of you.” I squeezed her fingers, and we exchanged smiles. “Speaking of new, WMO has a stylist with the film crew who also does makeup. Her name is Carla Middleton. She’s going to get us all outfitted in new things.”

  “What?” Lark’s eyes went wide.

  “I must’ve heard you wrong.” Linnet shook her head, satiny ribbons of red hair cascading over her slim shoulders.

  “You said us.” Dolly gestured to herself and the twins.

  “I meant to say us. Suzanne really likes the all-girl-band angle. She wants you guys to be an integral part of my season. You’re traveling with me on the tour bus, the WMO tour bus. You each get your own bunk, storage space, a travel budget, and a new wardrobe.”

  “Whoa,” Lark said, her tone as awestruck as her expression.

  “And when we’re stopped for the night,” I said as I held up a La Fonda cardboard key holder, “we stay in a hotel. Tonight, we get this really swanky one.”

  Dolly’s expression turned dreamy. “Our own private bathroom with hot running water.”

  “Does a new wardrobe include makeup, new shoes, and lotion?” Lark folded her hands together and shook them at me in a pleading motion.

  “Yes to all the above. We have a budget for all of that, and it’s insanely generous.”

  “When’s the stylist coming over?” Linnet asked.

  “Later this evening. Why?”

  Linnet grinned. “We have a gig.”

  “Where?” I asked.

  “Here in the hotel bar,” she replied.

  “You arranged it?” Dolly asked her, and Linnet shrugged.

  “Yeah, I know the manager.”

  “She means we fucked him once,” Lark said.

  Linnet’s grin widened. “It wasn’t something he forgot.”

  “He’s hoping for a do-over,” I said, guessing.

  “Yeah, for sure.” Lark smiled. “It’s a paying gig that we pay for.”

  “Suzanne says they’ll put our music on the show.” This had been an addition to the contract. I had that in writing, with her initials on it. “Plus that I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to do beyond the ten-rocker criterion.”

  Dolly nodded. “That’s awesome, Jo.”

  “That goes for our gigs for the band too.” I put on a stern expression and directed it at Linnet and Lark. “We do performances as a band because they want our music. They pay us and that’s it, or we don’t do them.”

  “It’s okay. The manager’s cute. We want to do him.” Linnet wiggled her digits and stuck out her tongue. “He’s talented with his fingers and his tongue.”

  “Does that make him ambidextrous?” Lark asked.

  “Um, no.” I laughed.

  Everyone turned and stared at me.

  “What?” I asked. “What’d I do?”

  Lark shook her head. “I haven’t heard you laugh in forever.”

  “It hasn’t been that long,” I said, but honestly, I couldn’t remember the last time.

  “It’s been a while.” Dolly’s fingers tightened around mine. “It’s not an accusation. Don’t get defensive. We know you’ve been worrying a lot about us since you’re the only one with a steady salary.”

  “She’s still the only one with a reliable income,” Linnet said.

  “Not for long.” I injected confidence into my voice. “We’re going one way only. To bigger and better things. And we’re on that road to success together.”

  • • •

  “They’re trying to make us into a girl band,” I grumbled in the hotel bar later that evening, trying to loosen the black velvet ribbon the stylist had tied around my neck.

  “We are a girl band, Jo.” Dolly shook her head at me. Her new beach-wave curls tumbled around her freshly made-up face.

  “You know what I mean. I don’t like all this sugar-and-spice pop-band bullshit.”

  On my stool behind my drum kit, I wore new clothes that were like my old ones. I gestured to the twins, who looked like they were modeling for a high fashion designer in Vogue. Their red hair was kinked out to massive volume. Their makeup was overdone, not subtle and becoming like Dolly’s, and they each wore matching black velvet shorts-length cat suits with sky-high platform heels.

  “I like their new look. It suits them.” Dolly giggled at her own pun. She loved all the fussing that Carla, the stylist/makeup guru, had done. The new glitter hair product Dolly was wearing made her golden hair shimmer beneath the stage lights. “We can look hot and still be taken seriously.”

  “Doubtful.” I so disagreed. “Not by anyone who has a dick.”

  “You look pretty.” Dolly framed my face in her hands.

  I could almost hear Carla gasp from where she sat at a small round cocktail table beside the only slightly bigger stage that we were on.

  “You’re freaking Carla out.” I tilted my head toward the stunning black woman with the violet eyes who was receiving nearly as much male attention in the crowded hotel bar as we were. “It took her an hour to make me look like this.
Don’t smudge her masterpiece.”

  “I won’t.” Dolly studied me a long moment. “Your makeup looks fantastic. The heavy mascara and smoky eyeliner draws attention to your incredible eyes, and I like your hair in French braids. You should do them like that more often. They won’t get in the way when you’re twirling your sticks and flailing your long limbs around.”

  “I don’t flail. I drum artistically.” I frowned. “And my limbs aren’t long. They’re perfectly proportioned to my body.”

  “You’re a giantess, Jo.”

  “Everyone’s tall compared to you, Tinker Bell.”

  “You’re all arms and legs. Every guy in here tonight is imagining getting you naked, and having those lanky limbs of yours wrapped tightly around him.” She winked. “And add one blond best friend to the list.”

  “I love you.”

  “Love you bunches.” She pressed my cheeks together, forcing my cherry-red lips to pucker, and she smacked a good one on me.

  It seemed as though everyone in the packed bar collectively gasped along with Carla. I was certain that Ignacio Katzman, the curly-headed Rock Fuck Club director, got my first kiss of the season on film. I wondered if he was surprised it was a same-sex one, but I couldn’t find him to confirm.

  I’d seen Ignacio with Les Turner, the flower-power gaffer/grip, and Ernie College, the dedicated ball-cap-wearing audio tech, as they arrived. The crowded bar had filled up earlier, but I hadn’t been able to locate them since. It was probably for the best, since Ignacio said he preferred it if I didn’t look directly into his camera lens.

  But I did see someone I wasn’t expecting in the bar when my best friend pulled back with my red lipstick on her mouth.

  My eyes went wide and my heart raced as both fear and excitement rushed through me.

  ENTERING THE HOTEL BAR, Gale was flanked by two men nearly as tall as he was, but not nearly as compelling.

  Noah Pearl was a handsome man with a brooding look and more copper to his shorter brown hair than Gale. But more notable than Noah’s appearance was his upper-echelon ranking as a musician. He drummed at a stratospheric level that the rest of us could never hope to reach.

  Arthur Levine was no slouch either. The super-sexy cynical blond kicked ass on lead guitar.