I launch myself into a sitting position on the bed, covered in a sweat, attempting to catch my breath. It’s always the same dream. He’s always gone at the end, and I can never find him. I sit on the edge of the bed and take a drink of water from the table beside where I lie. My cell starts ringing.
“Yeah?”
“Hey, gorgeous!” Jagger says.
“Hey, you,” I croak out.
“You okay?”
“Yeah. Bad dream.”
“You want me to come down?” He asks, and it sends all kinds of naughty thoughts through my head. Yes, I want you to go down.
“Nah. I’m good. I will see you tonight.”
“Good. I’m calling to make sure I’m still going to see your gorgeous face tonight,” He says with that raspy voice that pours sex. I can always sit on your gorgeous face, I think.
“I wouldn’t miss it.” Sitting on his face, or seeing his face.
***
The last four years of my life are scarred by the tragedy that took my best friend. I left music. I was rock-n-roll’s favorite child, and I left it all behind because I refused to fall apart in front of the entire world. It isn’t any of their fucking business. They don’t know him, and they didn’t lose him. I also can’t muster the courage to play music again without him. It took me a year to decide suicide isn’t an option because I’m too much of a coward to go through with it. It took me another year to find something to scratch my itch. My itch is needing to find something to do every day that doesn’t require me to be the guitar prodigy anymore. I went through every hobby known to man. I couldn’t find fulfillment no matter what I tried.
My dad suggested I pick my camera up and find something to do with it. I photographed my entire life before Caleb died. I managed to maintain control of most of the photographs that were released of our band and even our private lives. I love photography as much as I loved music. It is a big deal to maintain control of our pictures, and it further showed the deep artistic qualities of our band. When I finally picked my camera back up, I went backpacking through Europe for six months. I saw everything I ever wanted to see from the Irish Countryside, medieval castles, Rome, and I even ran with the bulls in Spain. I slowly began to feel alive again, but the numb isn’t completely gone.
My travels taught me how to embrace how others live. When I was in Italy, I learned to let go of the American picture of beautiful. Italians eat and drink with indulgence. They enjoy every bit of food and drink that touches their taste buds. I didn’t really learn to enjoy food until my time in Italy. The French taught me that it is acceptable to have a filthy mouth. I appreciate their country for that. This beautiful country can teach anyone how to live passionately. If you leave with nothing else, you will use filthy words passionately, and you will do so in style. You won’t ever catch the French slumming it. The British taught me to embrace my sarcasm. They aren’t easily offended, and after living most of my life in the Deep South, it was refreshing. They also expand your vocabulary; simple requests become a fucking poem by the end. The Irish taught me to love whiskey, and that every occasion is worth drinking for. I also learned if you can’t beat them, fuck it; beat the shit out of them… most likely you will be friends tomorrow. The Germans taught me to be proud of my own country. Germany is a country full of people with feelings of nationalism. They also know how to drink like sailors, and they do it with such fervor. The ideals of socially acceptable alcohol use in the States fall to the wayside in Germany. Live and let live.
While I was in Germany in my sixth month of travel, I was approached by a Buddhist Monk. Jagaro approached me at a coffee shop as I was considering going back to Georgia.
“Life is full of suffering,” he said with an Asian accent.
He then motioned for the chair on the other side of my table. I nodded to let him know he could sit. Life is full of suffering. Why yes it is my new, enlightened friend. I didn’t need a monk to tell me; I live it every day.
“The death of a loved one, reminds of us of our own impermanence. It is alright to be sad about your friend, but he will not find peace until you do,” I stared at this man as my mouth dropped to the floor. If he had been anyone else, I may have decked him and been thrown out of the country, but somehow I knew he meant well. He was concerned for me, a perfect stranger.
“Caleb is not at peace?” I asked.
“He is not suffering, but his soul will not find total peace until you do,” he replied.
I pondered that for a beat. “I don’t know how. It hurts so much.”
“Tell me, what did you leave behind? I see you live a different life now,” he asked.
I smiled a nervous smile. “I don’t really live at all anymore.”
It was the first time I realized this for myself. What was I doing with my life? Caleb would be so pissed at my choices.
He stood and offered his hand. Now I was raised with the same rules as you were, don’t talk to strangers, don’t take candy from strangers, and don’t take drinks from strangers. But I gave him my hand anyways, and I followed him back to the Muttodaya Forest Monastery. There, I lived for three months adapting to the Buddhist lifestyle. I worked, I meditated, I studied, and I worked some more. Anyone who has ever thought that being a monk was easy work has no clue what the calling is about. At the end of month three, I felt more peaceful and calm. I smiled and laughed, and I felt like I really understood why Caleb had to go. I approached Jagaro and told him I would be departing back to the States the next week. He hugged me and we smiled at each other, a knowing smile full of genuine love.
“You have found so much peace. Continue your studies and meditation, and as life throws you more suffering, you will be strong. You are strong Chiko.” This is what Jagaro calls me.
“Why Chiko?” I asked for the first time in three months.
“It means small tiger. Some believe a tiger represents strength. Some also believe this animal represents changing one’s anger into wisdom and insight. This is you Chiko.”
He smiled at me again with love. He is very observant. I slowly but surely found a way to transform my anger at Caleb’s death to an understanding I never thought I would find.
My departure from the monastery was a tearful one. I said my goodbyes to each of the monks. They all gave me a gift. I had prayer flags, malas, and amulets for protection and happiness. It is Buddhist custom to give a donation when you are given a gift, so I handed Jagaro a three million dollar check. Three million dollars is not nearly enough for what he helped me find… peace. I spent most of my teenage years and adult life as a rock star, so three million wasn’t going to set me back.
I returned to the states having done the Eat, Pray, Love thing, and spent some time with family and friends in Georgia. I was only home three weeks when my itch needed to be scratched again. I decided to travel to Africa to volunteer helping out a local village. I helped build a school, a clinic, and helped teach the children. I educated the villagers on HIV and AIDS and how to prevent the virus from spreading. I used my contacts back in the States to provide condoms, and medications to manage those who already have the virus. I remained in South Africa for almost a year before I returned home. I stayed in contact with my friends, but especially my brother Koi and Kip.
Koi has his own majorly successful rock-n-roll story. Our grandfather is Red Newman. He is a fucking legend. We were given instruments when we were toddlers. Our grandfather wrote some of the most notorious songs in music dating back to the 50’s. He was a highly respected musician, songwriter, and eventually a producer. Koi is 18 months older than me and is the front man for Broken Access. He plays rhythm guitar and writes half the songs for the band.
Jagger is the epitome of a rock star. Every man wants to be him, and every woman wants to fuck him. He can’t be tamed. He is known for his love of women, lots of women. Google his name. Did you do it yet? You won’t see him in a picture with the same woman more than once. He loves to party hard and has b
een thrown out of his fair share of hotels for being loud and destructive. He is covered in tattoos and is a guitar god. There isn’t one ingredient in the bad boy recipe that Jagger isn’t made of, and last year he showed off most of those ingredients in his cover of People’s Sexiest Man Alive cover issue. Jesus, those hipbones. It should be a crime to be that damn fine. Those hipbones, abs, and tattoos did things to me all the way on another continent. He is six foot three, tan, lean, with tattoos in all the right places, and crystal blues eyes that sparkle. He has a panty-dropping smile. I mean it. If you were at a party standing in the corner talking to a friend and minding your own damn business; you could make eye contact with him and as soon as he smiles… BOOM! You’re standing in a room full of people with your drawers around your feet.
When my girly bits started to come alive in eighth grade, Jagger was the boy who starred in my fantasies most nights. I only deviated to Johnny Depp or Jared Leto when I saw Jagger with another girl. I suppose it was my way of punishing him in my teenage mind and heart even if he didn’t know it. Jagger never saw me the way I saw him, but there is always a place in your heart reserved for your first crush.
Jagger happened upon the scene of the accident that claimed Caleb’s life. He left the venue our bands played shortly after we did, and when he hit traffic he began calling our phones. Apparently, when neither Caleb nor I answered our phones, his intuition told him to park his car on the shoulder, and he ran until he found the accident. I have no idea what Jagger thought or what he went through that night, I only know I couldn’t have made it without him. That night forever solidified our friendship.
***
Broken Access is playing Verizon Wireless Amphitheater in North Atlanta tonight, and I promised Koi I would photograph the show. I might as well get my ass in gear. I have a two-hour drive to Koi’s hotel. I’m wearing a dress that could probably be longer, but I’m 26, and I have a nice body. This shit won’t last forever, so I might as well flaunt it while I can. I’m also sporting my knee high black leather boots with a four-inch heel.
I make the drive to Atlanta from Macon, turning my iPod all the way up and rock out to Sevendust, Chevelle, and Jimi Hendrix. I finally arrive at his hotel, but not before he and his band mates send heaps of texts requesting my ETA. I meet Koi in his room and throw my arms around my brother. Women love him. He has darker features than I do. His dirty blonde hair and chiseled jaw encase his dimples and dark blue eyes.
“Jagger says you had a bad dream,” Koi says.
“He has a big fucking mouth.”
“You okay?” He frowns.
“Yeah. I don’t have them as much as I used to. Everything is fine,” I lie.
There is a loud knock on his suite door suddenly. Koi opens the door, and Jagger bursts through all smiles.
“Henley!” He rushes to me and lifts me off the ground. He hugs me tight and doesn’t let go for a beat. God I love the smell of him. He smells the same as he always has since we were teenagers. A touch of patchouli, a hint of cigarettes, a dab of leather, and spicy like saffron…. yes that describes Jagger.
“Stop mauling my sister,” Koi says.
“Your sister is hot. I can’t help myself. She is all powerful and classy and it just makes me all touchy-feely.”
He winks at me. He loves taking jabs at my brother. I guess they are really more like brothers than friends since they have been friends for fifteen years.
I look at two of my favorite men in the world and give them the biggest smile I can muster. I really miss these guys, and my eyes get all fucking misty. Damn allergies. I avert my eyes down at my shoes to hide my emotion. Jagger lifts my chin to force eye contact. He never misses a damn thing.
“What’s wrong gorgeous?”
I smile again. “I just realized how much I miss you two. It has been a long time since we’ve hung out. It feels like old times, well sort of.” Sort of, without Caleb.
Jag really is gorgeous. His crystal blue eyes shine back at me.
“I’m only ever a phone call away, Hen.” He strokes his thumb up my cheek. How does he do that to me? I think I need to change my panties.
He keeps rubbing his thumb down my jaw line, and oh dear Lord Jesus, Buddha, and Allah, I think my vagina is on fire. I quickly assess how I can get my brother out of the room, disrobe Jag, have amazingly hot and dirty sex, and then get myself in order so my brother never knows. I muster the best smile I can and hope Jag and my brother can’t read my thoughts. He probably shouldn’t touch me again. It is highly likely that I will start humping him like a damn dog. Down girl.
Koi interrupts my reverie with tirades about the girl he recently split from. We start discussing issues with his current flame. He just broke up with a makeup artist, Reagan, who is the spawn of Satan. Seriously, the bitch is certifiably psychotic. He speaks to Jagger in an attempt to finish telling a story, but Jagger doesn’t respond. Koi launches a pillow from the nearby couch at his best friend, and Jag finally seems to snap out of it.
“Sorry…shit... what?” Jag asks irritated.
“Dude! You are so checking out my sister’s ass,” Koi is disgusted.
“No. I’m checking out your sister’s ass, legs, feet, back, shoulders, hair, and all the places I can only imagine in between,” he retorts.
Oh daddy.
Koi’s jaw tenses, and I can see his aggravation.
“I’m going to find the rest of the guys. I will call when it is time to load up on the bus and head over to the venue. Try not to rape my sister while I’m gone.” he smirks.
I look back to Jagger, and he is staring again. “I’m going to have to kill any motherfucker who looks at you tonight. Maybe we should cover your shoulder up. Jesus! While I’m redressing you, we should just buy you a jibab and hijab. We can even buy you the Moroccan version so it has all that pretty stuff on it.” He looks serious.
“Jag, I’m going downstairs for a smoke. If I see you with a jibab or a hijab, I’m going to put my cigarette out in your eye.” I give him my serious face, hands on hip and the whole shebang.
Jagger takes a few steps towards me with his long legs and pulls me into a tight hug. He holds me for a long time and strokes my hair with his free hand. Just as I think I’m about to spontaneously combust from the sexual frustration coursing through my body, he draws back and places the sweetest kiss on my forehead. Like I said, he sees me in a platonic way, while I see him in a very naked way. Yup, right between my legs. Hell, I couldn't care less what part of him is between my legs, as long as he is there. He offers me his arm with a smile, and I take it.
He shakes his head and mumbles, “I’m going to jail tonight.”
We wait for the elevator and then enter the car when it arrives. Jag leans into the back corner of the car and when I look up, he has an intense look on his face. He holds my gaze. I would normally break the ice by saying something witty, but I can’t seem to muster up the words. His crystal blue eyes are making my vagina pull out her Sunday church fan to fan the flames. If he continues looking at me so intensely, I’m going to rape him. The scene plays out in my head…. Mmm. Before I know it, Jag crosses the car and puts his hands on either side of my head, and he leans down into my personal space. I mean up close and in my face. I really love the way he smells. Have I mentioned that before now? If not, I should have. He smells like sex on a stick. Speaking of sticks…. I wonder how big his is. I do a mental headshake, focus grasshopper.
I look down at his chest because his proximity is making me all light-headed. Am I in high school again? He lifts my chin again, and I look into those crystal blues. I really can get lost in them.
“I’m so glad to see you. I don’t mean your presence, I mean the Henley who threatens violence, like putting a cigarette out in my eye. You are so fucking gorgeous.” He leans down to my neck and sniffs.
“You even smell amazing. I love the scent.” Goosebumps spread down my arms.
Oh, daddy I have a scent for you. I
f I speak now, I will stutter like a damn fool, though. He leans back up and makes eye contact. He is really close to my face. He looks at my lips and back to my eyes. Oh, in the name of everything holy, please jack me against this wall and have your way with me. Is he going to kiss me?
The elevator car pings, and it stops on the tenth floor. He pulls away slightly and then tucks into the corner behind me as the elevator quickly fills with roadies. They instantly notice me, and I’m enclosed into hugs and greeted with endless smiles. The elevator quickly makes its way down to the lobby, and I follow the masses of men out to the smoking section, all the while wondering what just fucking happened in that elevator. I should have worn extra thick panties tonight, to soak up all the hot mess Jagger causes between my legs.
Once I enter the smoking section, I light up a menthol and enjoy the first drag. Camden and Kip emerge around the corner of the smoking section with Koi, and their faces light up when they lay eyes on me. Camden is the bass player, and Kip is the drummer in Broken Access. Camden is more on the quiet side, and Kip is a fucking riot. Camden pushes Kip back as though they are still kids and gets a head start on me. He picks me up, swings me around, and hugs me tightly. Kip yanks me from Camden’s embrace and throws my petite body over his shoulder.
He walks away from the guys with me yelling. “I’m wearing a fucking dress you ass hat!”
“Bring her back Kip!” Camden growls in mock irritation.
“Go get your own!” Kip yells back.
“There isn’t another one asshole!” Camden replies while I’m being manhandled by Kip. He finally sets me down when we turn another corner, and I quickly pull my short dress down. He steps back, looks me over, and smiles.
“Looking good girl. Miss you so much,” He says, and then he embraces me in another hug. In this moment, I feel a major rush of guilt for barely being around for the past four years.
Guitar Face Series Box Set: Books 1-4 Page 4
