The Trouble with Rock Stars: Jackson's Story (Access All Areas, #3)

by Starr, Candy J

  They’d even posted photos to back up their theories. Early ones of the whole band clowning around and all laughing. Jackson had a glow in his eyes I’d never seen. Then, the later ones with Jackson standing slightly apart from his bandmates.

  That could mean anything. If you sifted through enough photos, you’d find ones that backed up your theories. I did wonder. If it’d been just an injury, why was he so bitter? Why had he cut off all contact with his bandmates? Surely, he’d still keep in touch or have some contact?

  So many questions and it seemed people on the internet had no more answers than I did.

  Chapter 17 Jackson

  “I’LL GIVE YOU A THOUSAND over what you paid.” Razer had his hands on his hips and looked like he meant business.

  “I told you, she’s not for sale.”

  Alex and Razer stared at each other. I’d walked into the bar in the middle of a heated negotiation. I had no idea what it was about but it looked like it could get interesting. Carlie rolled her eyes at me. I guess it’d been going on for a while.

  Razer must be doing alright out of this tour if he could flash around a grand like that. But he’d have no chance of winning Alex over with money. Alex was loaded and didn’t need the extra thousand dollars. He’d get much more pleasure out of watching Razer grovel.

  “But I love her, mate. You have no idea.”

  “What are you selling? Violet?” I couldn’t help myself.

  “NO!” They both turned to me in shock. I was just being funny.

  “Well, you were both willing to bet on her,” I said. “Selling her isn’t much different when you think about it.”

  “Anyway, why would I be buying her off Alex? She’s mine. And not for sale.”

  Alex walked around the bar and patted Razer on the shoulder. “That’s how I feel about the Les Paul,” Alex said. “She’s mine and she’s not for sale.”

  “But I love her more than you do. I’d go into the shop and look at her at least once a week. She was my dream. The one thing I wanted more than anything else.” Razer sighed. “I’ve never even seen you play her. You bought her with money, not love.”

  “Would you give up Violet for her?”

  “Hell no, but anything else.”

  Violet came out of her office and we all shut up, hoping she hadn’t heard a word of that conversation. There’d be hell to pay if she had. Razer grinned but held up his hand.

  “Come on, Alex. We leave tonight and I really want to take her with me.”

  Alex ignored him and turned to Violet.

  “You finished up?”

  “Sure am. I’ve gone through everything with Sally and left written instructions. She’s pretty much across it now. She’s got my number but everything’s set up for the next few months so she’ll only be doing new bookings from then.”

  Violet had a bag filled with things from her office. She looked pretty choked up.

  “You’ll always have a job here if it doesn’t work out,” Alex said. “Maybe not as band booker but bar work or maybe even busboy if I promote Drew.”

  “You’re going to promote me?” Drew’s face lit up but Alex shook his head.

  Violet bit her lip. Her hands trembled as she held her bag.

  “Last offer, two grand over the price,” Razer said as he was getting up. “You won’t regret it.”

  “No deal.”

  Carlie ran out from behind the bar and threw her arms around Violet. She was so going to cry. I’d told Drew she’d cry. I’d tried to take bets on it but no one would take the odds.

  “You email me every day, okay?” Carlie said, then she turned to Razer. “And you make sure that you look after her. No dramas, no upsets. And look after yourself too. And Bill and Dazza. Oh man, there’ll be no food left in Europe when Dazza gets there.”

  The tears glistened in Carlie’s eyes but she hadn’t cried yet.

  Razer and Violet walked to the door. Before she left, Violet turned to Alex.

  “Oh, by the way, I’m not for sale and if I was, you couldn’t afford me.”

  With that, she was gone.

  Carlie gulped and picked up her cigarettes. “I’ll be out the back if anyone wants me.”

  She made it out without crying. I’m glad no one took my bet. She was tougher than I’d thought.

  “Why wouldn’t you sell Razer the guitar?” I asked Alex.

  “Why should I? He’s got Violet. He can’t have everything he wants.”

  “You bitter bastard.”

  The bar seemed quieter without Violet, even though she was mostly in her office or up in the bar room when she’d been there. The whole time, I’d been thinking about Gina and the surgery.

  I had to have that surgery if I wanted to be with Gina and, I wanted that like hell. Could I actually salvage something from this wretched life?

  I couldn’t even explain why I hadn’t had the surgery before.

  The night it happened, I don’t remember arriving at the hospital. I assume someone had called an ambulance. I woke up in that sterile room, everything white and clean. I knew I sure as hell wasn’t in any band room.

  I’d been taken into the hospital a total mess. Not just my arm but my head too. Those last days with the band had been such fuck-ups. There was so much I couldn’t even remember. I’d burnt out and should’ve taken off, left everything behind for a while but we had commitments and we had shows to play. There was no time for being precious.

  Things had gotten bad, like a poison running through the veins of the band. The fun had long since disappeared and we clung to the things that we thought were the signals of our success – drugs, groupies, money. We could get anything we wanted by snapping our fingers and, just to prove it was possible, we’d snap away, demanding things we didn’t want or need. It was all excess and greed covering up a lonely and meaningless life.

  It’d all spiraled out of control. I’d wanted to make music, I’d never wanted fame or success. A bit of money was nice. Having fans was nice but there was no balance to it. At least, I’d been in the background. Famous enough to go for the ride but not that mobbed in the street kind of fame. I was more likely to be mobbed by guitar nerds wanting me to answer a thousand questions.

  I’d sat up in that bed, confused and angry. It took me a long while to even remember why I was so angry. There were wires going into me and my arm felt dead. I raised my arm, wondering what the fuck was going. I tried flexing my fingers but they wouldn’t flex. I thought it was because of that damn splint they had on it.

  “Please lay back down,” the nurse said.

  It was only when I saw her uniform that my addled brain made the connection. I was in hospital. My arm was injured.

  “What’s wrong with my arm?” I asked.

  “We’re running tests,” she said.

  She did something with the drip on my arm and I collapsed back into a heavy sleep. Or maybe a drugged sleep. I had no idea what they were doing with me.

  The next time I woke up, my head was still groggy but I wanted answers. I tried to move my fingers again but nothing. I figured I’d remove the splint but, as I struggled to get it off one-handed, another nurse rushed over and stopped me. Damn women were too strong, or maybe I was weak.

  “The doctor will be doing his rounds soon, just wait and he’ll explain everything.”

  I grunted at her. She ignored that and handed me some water with a straw.

  “Try to drink.”

  What was the use of the woman? Just handing me water and not answering my questions.

  “What about the show tonight? I need to get out of here so I can play.”

  The look she had on her face when I said that was the first sign that things were not okay. I waited for that doctor. Soon, she’d said but it was a few hours of waiting with nothing to do but study my hand and wonder what the hell was going on. When the doctor finally arrived, I was at breaking point. I thought I’d prepared myself for the worst. I was so wrong.

  The doctor walked in and c
hecked the charts, murmured a bit, then started to walk out.

  “Hey, wait a minute,” I called. “What the hell is going on here?”

  He turned back. “Your nerve has been severed.”

  He went on with a lot of medical talk that I didn’t really follow. How is a man meant to understand all that? I just wanted the bottom line.

  “So, when can I get out of this joint and get back on the road?”

  “The road?”

  “With my band. It’s our first night before we head out on tour. I don’t have time for this hospital malarkey, I need to get working.”

  He didn’t meet my eyes. “You’re a guitarist?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh. Oh.’

  He pulled up a chair and sat down. That was when part of me died. The look on his face, said enough, he didn’t even need to talk. He explained what had happened, that my hand was pretty much useless.

  “But I need that hand. I can’t play without it.” I shifted in bed, trying to intimidate him with my stare. I wanted answers and I wanted the right answers. None of this wishy-washy shit.

  “We can operate. The surgery has a fifty percent chance of working. If it all goes okay and you do the rehabilitation.”

  I didn’t hear the rest of what he said. The anger welled up in me. I got myself up and tried to get off the bed. A couple of orderlies ran in and held me back.

  “I’m not having your fucking surgery,” I screamed at the doctor. “I need to play tonight. And every night for the next six months. I don’t have time for this shit.”

  They sedated me then.

  The next day, a couple of the guys came in. They postponed a few shows, they were getting a new guitarist. Just like that, I was replaced. Washed up and forgotten. They’d leave town and there’d be nothing for me. They couldn’t even look at me.

  “I bet Fred’s happy about that.”

  Blue stared out the window and said nothing. Pig shuffled in his seat. Then they made excuses and left. I never heard from them again. All those years of playing together. All those years of sacrifice and work. All gone in an instant. We’d been friends once but that friendship had been killed dead.

  I’d had a burden of guilt so heavy, no man should carry it. Looking back now, I don’t even know why. Just that I’d always been the one to hold things together. When we swerved too far off the tracks, I was the one to swerve us back. Then the whole house of cards came falling down. The whole she-bang.

  I wanted to kick and scream and punch walls in. I didn’t want to lay around in a hospital bed waiting for things to heal. I didn’t have the patience for that. I was an angry man.

  I’d fucked it up. I’d fucked everything up. No wonder they hated me. One stupid mistake and they’d been screwed over, not as much as I’d screwed myself, though.

  The doctor wanted to keep me in for observation. Not a chance. He tried to talk to me about the alternatives, I didn’t want to listen.

  The next day, when the drugs wore off, I got out of bed and hunted around the room for my clothes. I could barely dress myself, not one-handed. I managed to get my jeans on by hooking my bung thumb through the belt loop. I could zip them up but that button was impossible. It’d do until I got out of there, though.

  The nurse rushed in. She tried to stop me but I was determined. They can’t keep you in there against your will and, since the only thing they could give me was bed rest, I figured I could do that myself.

  She took the splint off my hand and helped me put my t-shirt and jacket on. Without the splint, I could grip with my finger and thumb, it wasn’t as dire as it could be but it was as dire as hell.

  The doctor tried to stop me but I’d fought him off even with one good arm. I guess I had the advantage. He didn’t want to injure me any further. I had no qualms about injuring him.

  They shoved some papers at me and told me to sign them. I scrawled my name, then grabbed a taxi. I didn’t even stop off at home first, I headed straight for Trouble. I never even knew the place that well but it was close to the hospital and it had whiskey. I stopped in for a few drinks and I’d stayed for the next five years.

  I’d carried that burden of guilt for those five years. I’d tried to hide it, to push it down. I’d distanced myself from those memories. They hurt like hell but it wasn’t like the band had been ruined. They’d just shed me like a snake sheds its skin.

  What would happen if I did go through with it? I’d be no worse off than I was now. All it’d cost was money and time, they were things I could spare.

  At the back of my mind was a voice saying I wanted to fight. That instinct that had died within me was coming back to life. If I did this, I might think I was worthy of that woman’s love. Because she believed in me. Not many people did but her eyes shone with belief. I wanted to live up to the man she thought I was.

  Maybe I’d left my run too late. I had no idea. When they’d told me the options at the beginning, I hadn’t listened. I’d go back now though, my tail between my legs, and see what they had to offer. It didn’t even matter if I couldn’t play guitar again. Just to have the functionality back in my hand.

  When I’d walked Gina home, I’d wanted to grab her hand and hold it in mine. Just hold her hand, nothing else. To feel the warmth of her skin. But she walked on my left side. Fuck it all, I couldn’t even grab that beautiful woman’s hand. Of course, she hadn’t realized, and we’d both had a fair bit to drink by then. The thought wouldn’t have even entered her head. But how can you tell someone to move to your other side because you are too dysfunctional to even hold their bloody hand?

  So, I’d walked beside her, cursing myself for my own weakness.

  She brushed against me, a bit unsteady on her feet. Those careless touches were like breadcrumbs to a hungry man. Her warmth and softness, something I’d never expected to experience again. She was amazing.

  We got to the pedestrian lights and I tried to move to the other side of her. It’s hard to do something like that casually and she moved as I moved, then the lights changed and we had to keep walking.

  She chatted away, so bright, not realizing the fight going on inside me.

  That simple thing of reaching out for her hand shouldn’t be such a struggle. I wanted to hold her and to trace that body with my fingers. I wanted to be complete.

  That was the thing that got me. Not the sex, not the being unable to play guitar, but the simple act of holding her hand. I wanted to do that. Walking down the street, holding her hand, showing the world that this beautiful, amazing woman was mine

  If I could fix it then I had to take the chance.

  Finally, Gina came into the bar, with a smile on her face. She’d come straight from work and had on a suit. There was something very sexy about that. Her heels clacked against the tiled floor.

  “Did I miss Violet?” she said. “I hoped I’d get to say one last goodbye.”

  “They left a while back.”

  She sat down beside me and ordered a drink.

  I wanted to do this, for her, for us, but already the floodgates had opened. Memories flooding back made me feel things I didn’t want to process. I set the thoughts aside, ready for another day when I was strong enough to deal with them.

  I wouldn’t say anything to her yet. If she knew I was considering the surgery, she’d be too enthusiastic.

  Chapter 18 Gina

  I TOOK MY EMPTY TEACUP into the lunchroom. I hated going into that place. Margie and Dianne hung out in there more than they did at their own desks and I swear they made it their personal mission to make my life hell.

  “So, Gina, what are you up to today?” Margie said. She’d followed me into the tea room. On purpose, I bet. As I rinsed out my cup in the sink, she stood behind me, uncomfortably close. Usually, that made me blush and stutter. I hated myself for that but, the more I did it, the harder it was to stop.

  Today though, I spun around and looked her in the eye.

  “My job, Margie, which seems to be a lot more than
you’re doing since you’re in the tea room so often.”

  The blood rushed to my head and I waited for the world to stop. My hand trembled as I dried my cup. She’d go nuts and scream at me or retaliate in some way. But no, she gawked at me then turned and went back to her desk. I smiled as I made my tea but then my stomach dropped. She might’ve given up but she’d have some scheme.

  I’d done most of my work for the morning and the normal process was to go around the team to find out if anyone else was behind so you could help them out. Margie and Dianne were always behind and I always helped out. That was the actual process. Then they’d pick holes in my work and I’d stay back and redo it.

  It was bullshit but I’d never once complained out loud. Well, only to Larry in the mailroom. Most people in the building didn’t talk to Larry because he was a bit slow but he was a really sweet guy when you got to know him. You just had to speak softly and not scare him. He always listened to my complaints and he wasn’t the type to say, “Well, this is what you should do...” or “maybe you should be a bit tougher, Gina.” Larry just nodded and gave me a sympathetic ear.

  As I looked up, Margie and Dianne were going out for a cigarette break. Margie would be filling Dianne in on what I’d done. Screw them, their work could go undone. What would they do anyway? They could hardly blame for me not doing it, not without revealing how slack they were.

  Instead, I went on the internet to muck around for a while. I checked my email and some other sites.

  A page loaded with some mind-blowing news.

  Yikes! Was it true?

  As the picture of the boy band loaded on my computer, my hands shook.

  Something I never told many people, and definitely not anyone at Trouble, I loved The Baxters. Most people would think that’s lame and uncool but I really loved them. I mean, I loved rock as well. I loved seeing bands at the club but those catchy pop tunes made me happy. I listened to them on my phone on the way to work and they made my morning brighter. Sometimes, they were the only thing that got me out of bed in the morning. When I needed to shut out the world, they were the ones I turned to.