by Jesse Jordan
“You two work together well,” Joey says finally, chewing on a fry. “Seriously, she was making magic all morning.”
“It's just one song guys, come on. I mean yeah, Muse rocks, but you guys didn't look at me that way when we jammed RedPlayer that quick four years ago,” I reply defensively. “Besides, we aren't done yet.”
“Yeah right. Come on man, Gimme Danger is a filler track, maybe a third single if we catch on right, and RedPlayer was nothing but a quick jam that we did on limited studio time,” Ian comments. “She had you going at it like you're laying down a Grammy track. No complaints, no back talk like you did at Oceanside, just a comment, you nod, and you rocked it out. Hell, she practically had you tuned perfectly cold. You two are a good team.”
I take a sip of my tea, I try to limit carbonated or sugared drinks on recording days, and smile, nodding at the long-lost feeling. “We worked together for six years. Even if it was a long time ago, that's all.”
“Uh-huh. Hey, Joey, that's all he says,” Ian quips, turning to look at Joey. “What do you think?”
“Yeah... I'm smelling bullshit,” Joey jokes. “Seriously, man, Cora and you... you two were sparking the whole time, ese. You two ever hook up back in the day?”
“No way! Seriously dude, Cora and I were best friends, she was like a sister. Hell, it hurt like a motherfucker when I realized the two of us had dropped out of touch. But she was just a friend, guys.”
“Right. Well then, lemme tell you... your 'sister' is hot as hell, man. Those eyes of hers? Man, I dream of finding a good woman who'd look at me the way she was lookin' at you. But hey, if she's your sister, she's your sister,” Ian says, finishing off his lunch. “I'm going to grab another burger; you guys want anything?”
“Nah, it'll fuck my vocals if I do,” I reply, sitting back. “We've still got the afternoon session.”
The afternoon session runs a little slower than the morning, but we still make a ton of progress though. Cora excuses herself right at six, saying she can't break the appointment she's got, but that we'll pick everything up in the morning. The guys are good with it, although part of me wishes that we'd had that half hour to talk. Driving home to my apartment, I can't get Cora out of my mind, and when I get inside, I close the door and lock it, sighing as I sit on the couch. My apartment is my space, and looking in on the queen-sized bed, I realize that it’s really nothing more than a place that I sleep.
I've rented this place for two years, ever since I moved out of crashing with Ian, and in the entire two years, I've never had anyone over. No woman has ever been in my bed, I've never even had the guys over to watch a football game. In fact, other than the day that Ian helped me move some stuff in, nobody's been in this apartment. Every girlfriend that I had was over at her place, or in a hotel, or dates in public places. This place... it's been mine alone.
“Face it, man, this place is a fucking monastery cell,” I mutter to the walls, looking around. Hell, I don't even have a rock poster on the wall. White walls, cheap furniture that mostly came with the place, a bed that fits me alone. I think most of the money I've spent has been on the kitchen since I've learned how to cook healthy stuff to maintain my look.
One laptop, one table, and four place settings simply because that was the way they were sold when I picked up the whole damn kit at Target. This is no place for a rock star, that's for sure. But the reality is, being a 'rock star' hasn't been what I wanted it to be. Nobody I can trust, nobody I can really depend on, except for Joey and Ian. And Martha, she's not a friend, but I can depend on her.
But I want more than that. I want a family, a partner, someone I can trust and love. I lean back, just closing my eyes to let my mind play a game I've become too familiar with over the past month. My perfect woman…
Hmmm, while the hair isn't really all that important, for some reason blond is sticking with me tonight, with a sort of heart-shaped face, big ice blue eyes...
I sit up, shocked at where my mind is going. Cora? I mean, like Ian said she is pretty, the five years since we graduated high school has certainly allowed her to mature. She's a bit curvier than she was at eighteen, but still slender, her hips and breasts...
I can't help it, my cock stirs in my pants, and my hand cups my balls, massaging them gently as my mind starts to think of Cora. The way she looked at me, that sparkle in those pretty blue eyes, challenging and supporting and encouraging and amazing all at the same time. The little twist to her lips when we joked together, or the way that she bit her lip when I turned a joke into a little flirt, and the way that she would say my name. So much like when we were in high school, but a woman now, not a girl...
My cock is nearly rock hard and I figure what the hell, why not? She is a woman, and it's not like I'm actually hitting on her. I just need a little relief, that's all. I go to unsnap my pants, and I have my zipper halfway down when my phone rings, and I groan, sitting forward and grabbing it. Martha. “Yeah Martha, what do you want?”
“Hey, Stud, how was the recording today?” she asks, and I can tell she's in 'wheeler and dealer' mode, she never calls me Stud or any pet names unless she's trying to talk me into something.
“Great session, Martha. What do you need?” I ask, my cock wilting in my pants. She may be hot, but she just doesn't do it for me.
“I got you an interview tomorrow with a guy from Kerrang!. They wanted to talk about the new album and some other stuff,” Martha says excitedly. “Kerrang!, Rocky. That's the big time now, baby.”
She's right, Kerrang! is on the cutting edge of rock music. They're the magazine that picks out the new superstars months, if not years, before Rolling Stone or anyone else has the balls to say it.
“You say the new album and 'other stuff.' What other stuff do they want to talk about? The tabloid bullshit?” I ask my cock now totally limp and retreating at full speed up into my body. I really don't need this.
Martha though doesn't seem to get it. “Come on Rock, you know these guys are gonna be pros about it. I even scheduled it for early, eight a.m. You get in, do the interview, and you'll miss at most a half hour of session time. That'll give Joey and Ian a chance to lay their tracks down anyway.”
“I don't know, Martha. I mean, the Fragments is a band. I don't like being singled out like this. Can't we do it as a group?”
Martha sighs, and I can imagine her rubbing her temples on the other side of the line. “Rocky, they don't want to talk to Ian or Joey. You're the front man, you're the guy who gets the glory, you know?”
“Bullshit, Martha. Listen, I'll talk with the guy tomorrow, on one condition. He sits down and does an equal amount of time with Joey and Ian. I can't control what he and his editor publish, but let them know that if they try and twist the story into making me look like some sort of breakout star or other bullshit, I'm blasting them all over Instagram and Twitter and whoever the fuck will listen to me. Make that clear.”
“You're giving me gray hair, Rocky. And I'm only twenty-five. You realize that?” Martha asks, and I know I've won. She always bitches about her looks right before she's going to give in. I think I'm the only person she gives in to at all, so maybe she just bitches that way to me. “Fine, fine. I'll give the guy a call, he might want to make the sit-down time shorter with you because of it though. But he'll give Ian and Joey the same respect. Happy now?”
“Happier. You're the best, Martha,” I tell her, still not happy but I can live with it at least.
“See you in the morning.”
“See you, Rock. Get some rest, they'll probably have a photographer there tomorrow too. Goodnight.”
Martha hangs up, and I shake my head, looking at my phone. This is total bullshit. My mood's ruined, there's no way my cock is feeling frisky now. Well, it's only eight thirty, and Equinox doesn't close for another hour and a half. Joey's probably not up for it, but I could get a quick workout in, make sure I'm looking good for the interview tomorrow. Hell, I might even get to bed by ten o'clock, a record early bedtime for a
rock star.
It's better than sitting around this place.
Cora
After only two days of working with Rocky, Ian, and Joey, I'm finding myself amazed at how awesome all three of the guys are. Two days, and we've got one and a half tracks finished. Not worked on, not practiced through... finished.
“Guys, you sure you aren't just yanking my leg over this, and have been playing these for a couple of years?” I ask as we wrap up the work for the afternoon. “Because you're jamming this like it's a normal set for you three.”
“Tag team us with a super producer, and it goes like that,” Rocky says, his smile making my stomach flutter in a once again familiar way. I've spent nearly every minute of the past two days aware of my femininity, or more accurately Rocky's masculinity, and not in a bad way either. He's not demeaning; he's not trying to dominate me or run me down like a lot of guys in the music industry do. It's just when I'm around him, I notice the little things, like the way he closes his eyes when he's really focusing on putting his heart into a verse, or the casual way his arms flex when he's moving.
And I'm noticing myself more too. This morning, Bella even noticed something, asking why I was putting on makeup for a studio session. “You look pretty today Mommy,” she said when I dropped her off at daycare, smiling. “I like your ponytail.”
“That's why you can have the same ponytail, baby,” I replied, giving her a kiss on the forehead and adjusting the band high on her head. “I'll see you after work. I love you.”
Now, coming towards the end of the afternoon session, I'm having the time of my work life. I mean, I'm confident in my skills. My first job as a producer is not to tweak sounds with my board or computer, but instead, to try and get the musicians to give me their best rendition. With the tools available to me, I can make a three-toed sloth on a keyboard sound like the New York Philharmonic's spotlight piano player. I can make a thirty-year-old recording of Barry White sound like Ellie Goulding.
But it takes away the soul, the real music.
And in this, the Fragments has been the greatest assembly of talent I've ever had the pleasure to work with. With Joey's guitar work, I don't have to go in and start trying to splice any notes or adjust the timing. Ian's the same, his drums are solid, in perfect beat, and real. When he unleashes a drum solo, he takes over the track, but then as soon as I need him to fall back to being the backbone again, he's there. When listening to the mixed tracks I've put together, you barely notice him... until you take his drums away, and you realize that the skeleton that Rocky and Joey's muscle hangs on is missing.
Of course, there's Rocky with a voice that stirs my soul, my heart, and yes, my libido. On Gimme Danger, he left me breathless. Today's track, Starlight, has me nearly crying in sadness and anger at the social message of the song. If there are another ten tracks like this, I'm going to be going through an emotional roller coaster by the time this is over.
That's the hard part though, I don't want it to be over. Last night, and again through today, I've felt that sweet ache between my legs that only Rocky could cause, an ache that isn't just horniness but more.
Yeah, I've got it bad for Rocky again... and again, he's not noticing. Or at least, he's just the same friendly, authentic guy that he's always been. He’s affectionate, but in that brotherly-friend way that says he likes me, but he doesn't lay awake thinking about me the way that I laid awake thinking about him. Nor in the way that I was thinking about him during my morning exercise routine, where I noticed every little flaw of my post-birth body; the few stretch marks, a few wrinkles. I'm not as thin as I used to be.
Still, it's been an amazing two days. “Okay, guys, how are you feeling?”
Rocky gives me a thumbs up, while Joey gives me that bashful grin that is so different from his onstage presence. He's a guy who black eyeliner does a lot for. “I think we can keep getting some stuff laid out.”
There's a knock on my door, and Martha comes in, today in her typical fitted pantsuit. I can't help it, looking at her model-like body and two-hundred-dollar bob haircut, I feel a surge of jealousy. Other than the fact I like being blond instead of her black, she looks like what I want to look like. I hold up my hand to the guys in the studio, and everyone sits back while I turn to Martha. I can still be professional. “Hey, what's up?”
“Larry wants to talk with Rocky. Apparently, there are some people from one of the big festivals in Japan that might be interested in the Fragments doing some stuff over there next summer. Larry's worked with these folks before, they're all about that face-to-face contact. Think you can spare him a little?” Martha says, in that way that says it's not a request.
I roll my eyes, shaking my head in frustration. She pulled the same crap this morning. Doesn't she realize that it's peeling the guys apart like this that leads to bands breaking up? But what do I know, I'm just a producer. “Yeah, we just wrapped his parts on Starlight. You want all the guys?”
“No, Larry said just Rocky. Larry's got a small office, between him, me, the three Japanese guys, and Rocky, we're already going to be rubbing elbows. Also, knowing the Japanese, they'll want to take Larry and Rocky out on a drinking party after this, it's the way they do business. So, you might as well just plan on getting Rocky back tomorrow.”
I nod, biting back a comment, and hit my intercom to the studio. “Hey guys, did you hear that? Rock, seems like you've got a couple of Japanese guys to wine and dine.”
For the first time, I see Rocky look frustrated, and he slams his lyrics sheets down on the table, shaking his head. “Really? Kerrang! wasn't enough?”
“Sorry, Rock, but put it this way, this deal goes through with the Japanese, it's big money. Last year, the band members walked away with a hundred thousand dollars in their pockets each. That was after Gashouse and the promoters took their cut. It's big bucks, Rock.”
Rocky nods in frustration and looks over at Joey and Ian, who wave it off. “Chill, man. We can lay some backing tracks or something. You go try some sushi, suck down sake, and try not to make an idiot of yourself with the chopsticks.”
Rocky grabs his bag and leaves the booth, waiting for Martha. As he does, he gives me another heart-stopping grin. “Sorry, Muse. You're not mad?”
“I'm never mad at you, Rocky. You know that. Go handle your business, I'll be here,” I reply, trying not to pour my heart out again. I'm more mature now, I know that if I get a chance I'll want to tell him how I feel, or at least how I felt in high school, but this is certainly not the time. Instead, I give him a smile and watch as he leaves with Martha, and I turn my attention back to Joey and Ian, who are still in the booth, Joey catching a sip of water. “Okay guys, if you want, Joey, we can get your backing vocal track, but that shouldn't take too long. Anything you guys want to also do?”
Ian jokes, “Hey, let the Butter Pican here lay his track, I'm gonna grab a drink then chill. I'm still getting used to this normal day work hours, I could use a nap.”
“You always need a nap,” Joey shoots back, but I can tell by the way he's saying it, he's just goofing off with his friend. They've been together since Joey was in high school, even before Rocky joined them. “You go do your thing, Yoda. I'll keep Cora busy.”
“Yeah right, Joey,” I tease. “You'll need more than your guitar skills to keep me busy.”
Sure, there's a lot of double entendre in what we're joking back and forth, but that's pretty normal in music. Music's emotional and sensual a lot of the time, people are going to be more in tune with that, and to hell with the politeness. Joey though blushes, and I know he's just a sweet and innocent guy in a lot of ways. I don't know if he has a girlfriend, but I bet he's a great boyfriend for the right girl. As long as she doesn't take advantage of him.
I guess that's what Ian is for, he's the sarcastic, protective mother hen of the group. He laughs softly as he leaves the studio, and Joey takes another sip of water. “Cora, you know that I....”
“Chill, Joey,” I cut him off with a smile. “You'
re turning red, honey. I know you were just joking, and I'm not upset. Now, let's see if we can get some dulcet tones out of that mouth of yours, and we'll call it a day again unless Ian's got something up his non-sleeves.”
Joey's hardly got dulcet tones, he's a serviceable backup voice that I can tweak for the album, and leave some notes for any live performance soundboard guys on what to do. But he's got his stuff down cold, he's been singing the backing to himself all day, so that when it's his time to lay down vocals, he gets it in three takes, giving me a huge grin when I give him a thumb’s up. “Really?”
“Really, Joey. You guys are making magic the past few days. You wanna give it a listen? I don't have the mix yet, but I can let you listen to your part with the basic instrumental,” I tell him, cueing up the right tracks. “Come on in, you can listen on my set.”
The speakers in my booth are more like what it would sound like in an arena, and Joey sits down in one of the other booth chairs, nodding along as he listens. Ian comes back in just as it wraps up, and I replay it for him, Ian's normal sleepy glower smooths out into something more approaching a calm smile. It's pretty rare on Ian, he either scowls or looks sarcastic, not much else. “Not bad, Joey. Not bad at all.”
“You nailed your drums too, Ian,” I comment. The guys relax, and I lean back, stretching. Okay, so Joey looks me over, but he's a guy. It's a rule, if a guy doesn't look over a woman who's stretching overhead with her boobs sticking out, he's gotta be gay. But Joey doesn't ogle, so it's all good. “Hey, can I ask you guys a few questions?”
“Sure,” Joey says, glancing back at Ian who just nods. “As long as you don't mind spilling the beans on what Rocky was like back in high school. Let me guess, total ladies’ man?”
“No, actually the opposite,” I tell them, smiling. “He was so focused on being a rock star, he never had a girlfriend in high school at all. Actually, I was his senior prom date, but it was... well, it was as friends. We joked that it made sure the groupies stayed away from him. Not that he ever worried about them.”
