by Jesse Jordan
“That hasn't changed too much,” Ian rumbles, leaning back and closing his eyes. “I've never heard of any front man outside of some of the Christian rock bands who does less playing around with the groupies than Rocky does. And some of those church boys sure don't act that way backstage.”
“He's not innocent,” Joey contradicts, “I mean he's dated, he's tried to have girlfriends, but for most of the time, he was like you said, focused on the music and being a rock star.”
“Yeah, but he's reaching his limits,” Ian half growls again, and I hear the concern in his voice.
“What do you mean? He's still smiling and joking with me, a lot of ways it feels like five years ago,” I tell them. “I mean, I've read the scandals too, but in the studio, he seems like the same Rocky Blake that I jammed with in the garage back in Simi Valley.”
Joey shakes his head side to side, his hands in his lap. “Nah, chica. Those scandal sheets are nothing but lies. Little things blown up about ten thousand percent. Like that last one. I was there, he didn't even touch the girl at all. If that girl got laid that night, it wasn't by any of us. But it's not that.”
“What is it, then?” I ask, concerned. “I mean, it's been a while since I was over at his house, but Rocky's still my friend.”
“We noticed,” Ian says, his voice still gravelly. “The thing for Rock is that he's getting his dream, but he's realizing that the dream isn't what he really wanted. I mean, he still loves the music, he loves the rock... but he thought that rock was going to bring him things that he hasn't found yet. I've tried to tell him that the industry isn't going to bring it to him, but it's just starting to soak in for him.”
“What's he want?” I ask. “Money? Fame? He always knew there was a downside to it, at least he said he did.”
“Actually, I think what Rocky wants more than anything is acceptance,” Ian says, raising his head up and rolling his right shoulder in a sort of half-shrug. “He needs to be grounded, to have that person who he can be with. He's getting close to the edge, and it worries me. Too many guys get pulled like he's getting pulled. To hide the pain and emptiness, they start turning to groupies, drugs, and bullshit. An easy recipe for dulling the emptiness, but also…”
“Also, an easy recipe to killing your talent,” I finish, and Ian nods. “What about you guys? You three seem to be good friends.”
“You gotta have more than just friends, I think. His Mom and Dad are nice, but I think he needs that right person,” Ian says. “Hell, what Rocky needs is a serious girlfriend and one that doesn't want him just for his fame. Of course, as he gets more and more famous, the harder that gets.”
We talk for another half hour until I need to get going to pick up Bella, the guys and I swapping fist bumps as I take my data and head out. In my car, as I deal with the early rush hour traffic, I think about what Ian said. Someone who doesn't want him because of his fame. Someone who gets Rocky, who cares for him.
Maybe, well... what about me?
Rocky
The sun is pale and the air is still cool as I jog along the dirt trail of the canyon. It’s probably not the smartest idea for a six a.m. workout, with the risk of tripping and busting my ass, but with Martha insisting on another working breakfast, I can't deal with the morning rush crowd at a gym. Here, I've got privacy, a chance to clear my head.
The dirt is soft under my shoes. I’m going downward at a lazy, easy pace that lets my body warm up and stay safe before looping and running back up the same slope hard, getting my sweat going.
The session's going great, I love being in the studio with Joey, Ian... and most of all with Cora. We're laying tracks left and right, and I'm getting the feeling like things are going to be absolutely fantastic. Something that I've dreamed of my entire life.
Every once in a while, an album comes along. An album that just becomes iconic. Like Pink Floyd, Led Zepplin, Michael Jackson, and even Metallica. They made albums that you listened to, not for one song, not for two songs, but for the whole damn list of tracks.
Since the download era began though, artists are more worried about making their name with the next viral video song to fuel their ability to tour than making good albums.
But I think we've got a chance for that next big thing. Starlight was supposed to be some filler light prog-rock, something that Gashouse could show and say that the Fragments have a social conscience. But with Cora's help, a little tweaking from Joey on guitar and me going with the soul that she encouraged me to search for, it became a hell of a lot more. It had me believing in the whole song before we wrapped it.
We haven't even gotten to the guts of the album yet, I don't think. The idea of doing the first of the songs I wrote, Paradise Party, has my fingers tingling, and that's not scheduled until next week. Really getting to do some of our own stuff, things that Ian and Joey and I wrote, has me excited, especially knowing that Cora's not going to fuck any of them up. I one hundred percent believe that she's going to make them into gold, she's that damn good.
I wonder what happened to her? She's still sweet, still the same great girl I hung out with when we were going to high school, but her skills are through the roof. She's more private than she used to be too, and uber-professional. Every day, she bounces by six o'clock, taking work with her. Maybe she just likes her home setup better.
Hitting the bottom of the canyon, I do the quick little half-mile loop that brings me back to the trail up, and I start pushing the pace. The wind quickly starts to burn in my lungs, there are a lot of little switchbacks on this section which turns the run into a series of wind sprints, and by the time I hit the top, the air is sweet fire burning my throat as I gasp, my hands on my knees and a smile on my face. It's been too long since I did that and walking back towards Mom and Dad's house to catch a shower, I'm feeling good again.
“How was your run, sweetie?” Mom asks as I walk in the back door. Mom has always gotten up early, she likes to do sunrise yoga, and I find her sitting at the kitchen table, sipping a mug of herbal tea and reading her devotional. Yoga and the church, not two things that always go together well, but for Mom, it works.
“Good, Mom. Thanks again for letting me sleep over last night. I just needed to find a place closer to the studio to crash. It was great.”
Mom sets her mug down and smiles, looking at me. “You're always going to be my little boy, Robert. And that means you're going to have a room and a bed always available to you. Sit down, have some breakfast with me.”
I shake my head but sit down anyway. “Can't, Mom. I have a breakfast meeting with Martha at seven thirty, she wants to go over… well, something or the other. It's frustrating, really.”
“Why, honey?” Mom asks. “Can't Joey and Ian work their side of things while you take care of that stuff? I mean, they understand, right?”
“They do, but still... the way Martha said it. After that meeting with the guys from Japan went so well, they're trying to push hard to get us over to that festival near Tokyo or something this summer. And she wants to run hard on this too, she thinks that it'll get us a huge paycheck, but I think she wants to keep me out of the studio all day today. That part sucks,” I say, reaching over and grabbing a spare mug from Mom's tea cabinet and pouring myself a cup. “It's not fair to Joey or Ian either. And to be honest, I didn't like the Japanese guys.”
“Why?” Mom asks again. She's great with that question. In fact, growing up I think it was the word I heard most from her.
“They just... they were in it for the money, Mom. Like, the entire meeting and then the business dinner last week, they were all about two things. One, seeing how much beer they could knock back in the course of dinner without getting wasted. Also, they were all about the money, about exploiting us I felt. It was all about what ads we could do, what products they could stick our faces on... or my face, they didn't really seem to care about Joey or Ian. Mom, they were talking about me promoting natto! Do you even know what natto is?”
“No honey, what is it?�
� Mom asks, and I have to laugh.
“Fermented soy beans. Mom, it looks like snot! Smells about the same too, they had a sample for me. But apparently it's considered health food in Japan. When I told them I don't eat natto, they didn't care. They didn't care that I don't drink heavily, or that I don't like all sorts of things that they were talking about. Apparently, they don't care about music at all either, they just thought that the 'cute band' could pack it in with the girls over there in Japan, and that we'd be able to move a lot of merch,” I grumble, sighing. “Larry was even saying that the three of us going over for a two week promotional swing might be doable. Two weeks in Japan, living out of hotels.... selling natto.”
Mom chuckles at my dark humor and pats me on the forearm. “You knew when you said you wanted to be a rock singer that there was a dark side to the business. I'm proud of you for avoiding the worst of it so far. You've never done drugs, despite what those vultures say. I think you've been a good boy in other areas too. Not perfect, but I never expected you to be perfect.”
“Still Mom... this isn't what I wanted.”
“I know, honey. Just remember that you get the good with the bad, and you'll be able to handle it. Just think, you get to work with Cora some more after today. I know you two have to be having fun together.”
I nod, grinning. “She's awesome, Mom. Even more awesome than she was in high school.”
“She is a remarkable young woman, Robert. I'm glad that you're able to see that better now. But, I think you need to get a shower, unless you plan on showing up for your business breakfast smelling like you just ran through the canyon,” Mom says with a mysterious smile. She's always been high on Cora. Maybe Mom just saw how cool Cora was even more than the other friends I had in high school. Or maybe she's just wanted to play matchmaker. I dunno.
I shower and get changed quickly, something casual today. Not jeans, but just a pair of track pants and a t-shirt. Yeah, it's a business meeting, but dammit, if I'm going to be a rock star, then I can at least dress down for work occasionally. I jump in my car and drive to Gashouse, where I beat even Cora it seems. Martha's waiting for me by her Lexus. “Well, glad to see you're relaxing today.”
“You said breakfast, and then talking about stuff. Didn't think that called for a coat and tails,” I protest.
“Very funny,” Martha says, pointing towards the passenger side of her car. “ You look like you're heading over to Gold's Gym for fuck's sake. Glad I chose someplace casual.”
“Lucky for me I wore my fat boy pants then,” I joke, climbing in. “Besides, Cora and the guys wouldn't mind if I showed up today dressed like this. They just want me to sing.”
Martha shakes her head, huffing. “Whatever, business first. Climb in, at least the restaurant won't bitch about what you're wearing too much.”
She's right, the restaurant that she takes me to for breakfast is a pretty casual place, I don't even know why she booked reservations anyway. As we sip coffee, I keep looking at my watch, wishing I was back in the recording booth. Martha sighs after the third look and shakes her head. “You really don't want to be out with me today, do you?”
I turn my attention back to her, shaking my head. “Come on Martha, it's not that. You're cool. I guess I've just gotten spoiled, being back in the studio with the guys and Cora.”
Martha chuckles, giving me a raised eyebrow. “Cora, huh? You know, every time I've been in the studio over the past couple of weeks, you two are cozy as all hell. And her name pops up in every other sentence you've uttered it seems.”
I roll my eyes and take a little bit of milk, stirring it into my coffee to cool it down some. “What is it with everyone asking about me and Cora? Yeah, we were best friends back in high school. I told you, I owe her my career in a lot of ways.”
“Just friends, huh?” Martha asks, sipping her coffee again. “Riiiiight. Is that what you're doing when you've side-hugged her all those times? Being friendly?”
“Martha... come on. She was my best friend. Just... let it drop, okay?”
“Okay,” Martha says, holding her hands up. “Just let me say... you two work well together. Hell, maybe that's just part of it then. Em needed Dre. Janet needed Jimmy Jam. Loaf needed Steinman. Everyone needed Babyface... maybe you need Cora. Think about it.”
About halfway through breakfast, Martha looks up. “You mind if I just ask about Cora? Not saying how you two are.... just tell me about her? I mean, we haven't said shit to each other since the food got here, and you're not that hungry.”
I nod, setting my fork down. “Sure. She moved into my neighborhood during the summer before we started junior high school. Anyway, we met like the day after she moved in and my Mom had decided to be totally old-school and take over a welcome-to-the-neighborhood Tupperware. She can be like that. I was wearing a Chili Peppers t-shirt that my uncle got at a concert they did in Dallas. Cora saw it and said she liked it. But even cooler, she started talking about Californication, totally geeking out about it. That was the beginning.”
“So, music brought you guys together. How'd she end up helping you with the videos? I looked some of them up, there's a few still floating around YouTube. Nice production for a high schooler. You were really baby-faced in some of them,” Martha teases. “I liked the peach fuzz look of your sophomore year.”
“Yeah,” I laugh, thinking back. “Puberty treated me pretty well, except when it came to the facial hair. But it was music that got us together at first. When I told her that I wanted to become a rock singer in eighth grade, she was the only person who didn't laugh at me. She just nodded, told me I could do it, and then we got on her computer and started going over some cool videos. We had a silly...”
Martha gives me a strange look, smiling as my words peter out. “What?”
“We told each other, when she started doing YouTube videos for me, that we were going to make a million dollars together, making records. We promised each other we'd make the next big rock anthem together. Now, looks like we've got our shot.”
Martha's strange smile tightens a little, but she nods. “Yeah, I guess you guys do. You know, regardless of what you want to call it, you two have a bond.”
I think about it, Martha's words, the guys' words, and Mom's words running around in my head. Really, a bond? Cora and I?
You took her to the prom, you fucking retard, my inner voice says. And you were just about ready to beat your meat thinking about her, remember that too?
Yeah, that was weird. I mean, I don't feel guilty about it, guys can pretty much whack off about anything, but Cora... really?
Really. Face it, dumbass. You're lonely, and she's a hot single woman. Well, at least she's not wearing a wedding ring, and she's still going by Clearwater. And you do jive with her in a lot of ways. Why not find out?
Find out what? That we like spending time together? That she's someone that I feel at peace and calm around? That I... shit.
“Martha?”
Martha, who's pulled out her smartphone, looks up. “Yeah, what's up, Stud?”
“Please stop calling me that. But... well, can you score me some dinner reservations for tonight? Maybe... maybe I do need to have dinner with Cora. Just to figure some stuff out. And... well, we can talk about music.”
“Music,” Martha repeats, smirking. “Okay, lover boy. Let me work my magic, I know a few people who owe me some favors. I can't guarantee you Providence, but I might be able to score you a table for two at someplace nice. And I'll even go that extra mile, put all the charges on a Gashouse credit card, that way you don't have to sweat anything. Just save the receipts for me to comp back later. But on one condition?”
“What's that?” I ask, groaning inside when Martha gives me her shark-grin. “Uh-oh.”
“Yeah, exactly uh-oh. First, we're taking you somewhere to get some decent clothes, not only for what I have planned for today but also for tonight. The places I've got dibs with, they don't take Nike track pants and a t-shirt. So, we're going to get you lookin
g like a star,” Martha says, grinning. “So, while you're getting outfitted, I'll make those calls. Deal?”
“As long as you only make me wear them during special occasions,” I sigh, giving in. “And I don't want to look like a douche bag.”
“Don't worry, you can still look rock, but you don't have to look like a bum,” Martha says. “Let's get a move on.”
Martha's already heading to the register, and I grab my bag, wondering just what the hell I've gotten myself into. Guess I'm going to find out.
Cora
“You want me to what?” I ask into my phone during a break in the session. We're getting towards the end of the afternoon, and while Ian, Joey and I have gotten some good work done today, it's been nothing at all like the other days when Rocky's been around. This phone call just makes it all that more surreal.
“I said, you've got a dinner reservation at Zimzala tonight, in Huntington Beach,” Martha says in my ear. I can hear something in her voice, and to be honest, I don't like what I'm hearing. She's hiding something, she's laughing on the inside too much, and that worries me. I don't like having things hidden from me. “You know the place?”
“No, but I can find it,” I sigh. “What time?”
“Don't sweat it, I know you seem to like early nights, so the table's for seven-thirty. I'll even help you out, I got Ian and Joey taking off on you in about thirty minutes. There's a little indie concert that they can hit up tonight to make an appearance at, get some good karma for themselves. Seriously, it's a good restaurant. They have some of the best Californian food in the city, and it's a great view of the ocean,” Martha says.
“Fine, fine. I hope whoever this meeting is with doesn't mind jeans and a t-shirt,” I grumble, looking down at what I'm wearing. “They better be glad I'm not wearing sweats.”
“Nope, that's why I'm pulling the guys away. You gotta get at least semi-dressed, a blouse and nice pants at least,” Martha says. “Since it's four thirty now, you've got time to get something nice from home. You don't have to be catwalk Cora, just not Levi’s and a Stones t-shirt.”
