Guitar Face Series Box Set: Books 1-4

by Sasha Marshall

  My grandfather kneeled down beside me between songs with a smile, “Sug’, you remember how to play ‘I Can’t Quit You Baby’?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Uncle Buddy would like for you to sing and play the guitar with him. Do you think you can do that?”

  “There is a lot of people out there, Granddaddy.”

  “Did you seem ‘em, baby girl?”

  “Yes, sir.” I say.

  “What are they doing?”

  “Dancing and singing. They really like the music.”

  “They want to hear you too, Henley. You’ve done this a million times at home, in the studio, and even at school plays. You can do this here, you know why?” he asked.

  “Why?”

  “When you get out there, you can’t see those people, and you won’t care anyways. When you start playing your guitar, you won’t see or hear them. You will get lost in your own little world, in here,” he points to my head, “and in here,” he points to my heart. “Want to try it?”

  “Yes, sir. I really do want to try.”

  He hands me a guitar, and points to my Uncle Buddy, who is apparently waiting on me.

  “Now ladies and gentleman, I’ve got a special surprise for you tonight. A little girl is going to come out and play the guitar and sing with me. I was there the day she asked her granddaddy, Red Newman, for a guitar at the age of five. Girl hasn’t stopped playing it since,” he laughs and the crowd cheers.

  “Please welcome Ms. Henley Hendrix to the stage.”

  The crowd cheered and clapped, and I was frightened. My grandfather gave me a little push, and I walked across the stage to stand by my uncle.

  Buddy kneels down to me, “You remember ‘I Can’t Quit You Baby’?”

  “Yes, sir,” I say and look at the crowd nervously.

  “Don’t worry about them, baby girl. You want to know something?”

  “Sure.”

  “They paid their money to see me and you play. You know what that means?”

  “No, sir.”

  “They love music so much, and they want to hear us play so much they paid lots and lots of money to see us. What do you think about that?”

  “That sounds really cool.”

  “Should we give them their money’s worth?” he asks.

  I smile because the notion that someone paid to see me play was both ridiculous and exciting all at the same time.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “The entire band is following your lead, baby girl.”

  At that I strummed my guitar, and Buddy began to sing. The drums and bass came in, and Buddy and I played while he sang the first verse. We played together between verses, and he stepped into my line of sight as the second verse approached. He nodded towards a microphone lowered for me. I took a deep breath and hit my mark. My little voice sounded so loud, and it didn’t sound like what I heard inside my head. The full-bodied soulful voice coming out of my little body made me look over at Buddy, and he smiled and nodded his head, so I continued to sing my little heart out. I played the hell out of that guitar because my brain was wired to play the song in my sleep.

  When the lyrics ended, I just played. I played along to the bass, and drums, and with Buddy. It only seemed like mere seconds had passed since I had taken the stage, but I now know it was up there seven minutes and thirteen seconds when I looked over and saw Buddy’s hands on top of his guitar rather than the fret board. He just stood on the stage and watched me play. I thought I had done something wrong, so I stepped towards him, but he motioned for me to continue playing. The drums stopped playing several minutes later, and I looked to my uncle again for direction. The drummer stepped off stage, and Buddy motioned for me to continue. I rocked with the bass, but eventually it stopped too. Once again, Buddy signaled for me to continue playing, so I did as he walked off stage.

  I felt so small at first, and then as the noise of the crowd filtered up to me, I felt powerful. I felt bigger than life at twelve-years-old. My fingers knew what to do, and they carried me through the fear until I found it. I found that alternate universe musicians go to when they play. I closed my eyes, and I just played. The notes somehow strung together, and they felt great to me. I didn’t hear the crowd, or even remember I was on stage by myself in front of thousands of people for twenty-three minutes and fifteen seconds. Whatever song was in my head, whatever I felt like I needed to get out just ended, and I shook the guitar one last time so the last note would extend through the air, and then I opened my eyes.

  The crowd screamed and jumped, and I stood there soaking it all in for a moment. This was a drug, and I had my first fix. I finally turned towards the side of the stage, and Buddy and my grandfather both had their hands over their hearts, and were overwhelmed with the emotion that poured out of my guitar. I attempted to walk off the stage like it was no big deal, like I did this shit every day of my life. Once I reached the side, I was busting at the seams, and a smile overtook my face. Buddy and Red each picked me up into a hug.

  Buddy stepped back up to the mic, “She played me right off stage!” He laughed.

  My grandfather has told that story so many times I can never forget it. He doesn’t have to though; I remember it like it was yesterday. Over the next few days, my name was all over the country, and I was deemed a guitar prodigy. I played with many more musicians all over the country for the next three years, and my grandfather was always by my side. I even got to rock out with him at most of the concerts, and that made me feel like a legend by proxy.

  Chapter 22

  Henley

  1 week later

  I’ve looked into my grandfather’s face for over an hour now, looking for the man who gave me the world, my world. I’ve retold him the Chicago story once each day over the last week, looking for some sign of the man I know. He just stares in space, a shell of a man. The stroke didn’t kill him, but it might as well have. It’s like he’s gone, and I didn’t get to say goodbye. I just hope my words reach him, and he knows what he did for me.

  The doctors say stroke victims can take months, sometimes even years to recover function. After two weeks, Red can blink his eyes in response, and look around. He seems to recognize us, but he’s unable to speak. After four weeks, he can write. It isn’t very legible, but we can make most of it out. At week five, we requested he is transferred to the Mayo Clinic for rehabilitation. The last thing he wrote to me before he left Georgia, “California… make music… for me… love you.”

  I hugged him and held back my tears the best I could, “I love you too Granddaddy. Please get better.” At which he just nodded.

  Koi and I were on a plane the next morning heading for California. I was in the studio that evening, and Koi was with me. We had a song to write together.

  ***

  Henley

  Two Weeks Later

  I’m lost. Red didn’t die, but I feel so lost. It’s because he isn’t in Georgia, where he belongs. I don’t know how to explain why I feel this way, I just do. I’ve become a night owl, recording at night, sleeping most of the day, and barely functioning. In addition to being lost, I am pissed off at the entire universe. It’s taken so much from me, and I am tired of being forced to give. I’m just tired.

  Tonight, all of Abandoned Shadow and Broken Access are in the studio. They come by to shoot the shit and listen to our songs. Jagger and I have not spoken about the last time we were together. I’ve not opened the email he sent five weeks ago. He comforted me in Georgia as much as he could as much as anyone was able to. I pulled away from them all, because if I gave into the comfort, it meant Red would not be okay, and that’s unacceptable. They’ve all given me my space to work it out, and I’m trying, but the anger keeps building. I need another outlet.

  The guys talk me into going out for drinks at a posh little bar. I’m not in the mood for a club, so we head out to a bar instead. Memphis drives the R8 to the bar, and I blast Little Milton’s version of “I Can’t
Quit You Baby.” I play this song all the damn time now. Sometimes it helps to ease the acrimony, and sometimes it douses gasoline on the fire. Tonight feels like a gasoline kind of night.

  I opt to sit at the bar, since the place is semi-busy, and I don’t feel much like company. Memphis sits with me in silence as I hammer back whiskey and beer. He seems to get me in a way no one else does. He understands my need for silence and sometimes chaos. When the quiet becomes unbearable, chaos prevents me from being engulfed by it. An old timer is playing the blues on stage, and the vibe is jaunty in the establishment. My brother and I drink and sway to the music on our bar stools. The rest of our group is somewhere in this place.

  An hour in, it’s time for a pit stop. Memphis and I head to the back of the bar where the facilities are located. My friends are all shooting pool, and I nod as I walk past. When I emerge, Kip motions for me to join them. Memphis is already with them, so I give in. A tray of shots waits on me, and we each pick up one.

  “To Red,” Kip says and we throw them back.

  Rhys pulls me into a hug and kisses the top of my head. I let him comfort me for a moment because I’ve learned they need to give comfort sometimes more than I need it.

  “Get the fuck off him!” A girl shrieks.

  I whip my head around to see a familiar blonde. I think she is a reality TV star.

  “Excuse me?” I say lifting my eyebrows.

  “You heard me, you fucking bitch!”

  Rhys gets in the girls face, grabs her by the arm and pulls her away from our group. I sit on a bar stool and drink a beer. Rhys approaches minutes later.

  “I’m so fucking sorry. I fucked her two weeks ago, and she won’t stop calling. She’s bat shit crazy.”

  “It’s fine,” I say, and he throws his arm around me again, and the girl comes right back.

  “Oh hell no! Are you fucking deaf? Get off him! That’s my fucking man.”

  I stand, and Rhys attempts to place himself between us.

  “First of all, I’ve known him since he was in grade school. Second, he put his arm around me. Third, we are just friends. Fourth, he fucked you. You are not in a relationship, so if I wanted to fuck him six ways to Sunday, it’s none of your goddamn business!”

  “Who in the fuck are you talking to? Do you know who I am?” she scoffs.

  “No. Am I supposed to?” I ask.

  “Oh, you’re the girl who couldn’t keep Jagger Carlyle,” she laughs.

  “Shut the fuck up, or I will hit you myself,” Jagger steps up with the rest of my friends.

  “Oh, daddy, I might like that shit,” she says with a smile. I want to wipe it right off her face.

  “Did she get a pass out of the psych ward?” Jagger asks Rhys.

  “Yeah. I found out a little too late.” Rhys replies.

  “That’s not what you were saying the other night,” she childishly replies.

  “Bitch the only thing I said to you the other night was, ‘Out!’ after I busted a nut,” Rhys insults.

  “Ouch!” I laugh.

  “What are you laughing at? You are fucking pathetic! You are surrounded by guys, and I bet you fuck every single one of them. I heard you even fucked the dead one, what’s his name? Cal…”

  I hit her in the mouth before she can finish his name. She falls to the ground, and I jump on top of her punching in her in the face repeatedly, and it feels fucking great. Arms go under me pulling me from her, so I kick at her trying to connect with any part of her body I can. I’m hit in the mouth before I can look up. I stumble back into one of my guys and look up to see a big bitch. She lunges for me, but I duck. She plants her fist in Memphis’ face as a result, and I see red. I grab her by the back of her head, spin her around, pop her in the nose, and push her down to the pool table behind us. I beat the shit out of her, and another bitch jumps on my back, but is pulled off quickly. Once Big Bertha is out for the count, I turn to find Rhys holding a skinny brunette back, and I put my hand up with a come hither motion, and he releases her.

  She charges forward like a damn bull, she should’ve kicked her feet and snorted for effect. I step to the side, grab her by the back of her head, and ram it into the pool table several times. She finally drops too. I look around hoping there’s another, but the crowd has backed off.

  “Shit!” Jagger yells.

  I turn to see the boys in blue. Fuck! I just stand and wait knowing I’m in trouble, so there’s no sense in avoiding it.

  A large, young, white cop approaches, “You fighting?”

  “I defended myself,” I say.

  “That’s not what it looks like to me,” he says as he grabs me, spins me around, throws me on the pool table with entirely too much force, and handcuffs me.

  My guys start yelling at the cops, but I can’t stand up to hear the words. The asshole cop is holding me down on the pool table. I don’t fight though because he’ll only add resisting arrest.

  “Fuck you!” I hear Jagger say.

  “What did you say to my partner?” another man says.

  “He didn’t have to handle her like that, she was standing there waiting on him and answering his questions politely. Fuck him and fuck you too, you arrogant little-dicked motherfucker!”

  “Hands behind your back, you are under arrest for disorderly conduct,” the partner says.

  “That’s fucking bullshit!” Kip says.

  “You want to leave here in cuffs too, boy?” another guy asks.

  “Boy? I got your mother fucking boy right here. You want to see it?” Kip asks.

  “Add lewd conduct to your disorderly conduct charge,” a cop says.

  “This is bullshit and you know it. You just want to be the arresting officer on record for some celebrities. Pissed I have enough money to buy every playboy bunny in the house tonight? Let me go talk to Heff for you, and I’ll get you a nice blowjob. You look a little tense, and I’m sure it’s difficult to get laid with a face like yours and a little man complex to follow it,” Rhys says.

  “Put this one in cuffs too for attempting to bribe a law enforcement officer.”

  Jesus Christ.

  “Don’t say another mother fucking word! We’ll all end up in jail,” I yell from the felt on the pool table.

  The cop holding me, pulls my face up slightly from the table, “Shut up, bitch,” he says, and then pushes my face into the felt really fucking hard.

  That did it. All hell breaks loose. My boys start pushing the cops, punches are thrown, and guns are drawn.

  “On your knees, hands behind your backs,” they yell at my brothers and friends and even my producer.

  Fuck, I would’ve paid to see all that shit. Audio was not nearly enough. All nine of us are marched out of the bar in handcuffs and we are loaded into cars. They didn’t bring enough, and Jagger and I end up in the same car.

  I watch them load up my brothers and friends and look at Jagger. We burst into laughter; I mean gut-wrenching laughs. Tears roll down my face, I’m laughing so hard. Holy shit, Samantha and Meghan are going to kill us. This is going to be the best headline ever. Once the car takes off, our laughter subsides. Jagger scoots across the seat and lay my head on his chest.

  “Who was the girl Rhys fucked?” he asks.

  “I have no idea, a reality TV star maybe?”

  “Are they really considered celebrities?” he asks.

  “I guess it depends on how big their ass is, and if they fuck enough guys in one season.”

  He laughs, “I imagined you and me in a lot of different places together in our lives, but the back of police car together was never in my plans.”

  I laugh and rest my head on his chest for the remainder of the ride.

  ***

  It’s a Family Affair

  TMZ

  Rockers from Broken Access and Abandoned Shadow, and producer Kai Scott were all arrested in a bar in Orange County last night. The arrests occurred after a bar brawl broke out between Hend
rix and another female. When officers arrived on the scene, her entourage caused further trouble, and each of the men were charged with disorderly conduct, assault, and resisting arrest. Videos from patrons are all over the internet, getting tons of hits by the second…

  ***

  I sit in jail for four days before I am allowed bail. At first the entire ordeal was funny as hell, but I get angry as each day passes that I have to sit in this shit hole. I didn’t start that fight, and my boys didn’t do shit wrong. They may be a little mouthy, but that’s no reason to arrest them. The cops started the entire disaster that ensued, and now my brothers and friends have more charges than I do.

  Meghan and Samantha visit me on day two, when they’re allowed, and advise they are attempting to procure the surveillance video to prove self-defense, on my behalf. They are also attempting to prove the conduct of the officers was less than becoming. Meghan waits for me at the end of day four, and winces when she sees my mood.

  “What took so fucking long?” I growl.

  “You’re fucking welcome, bitch,” she replies. “I had to move heaven and earth to get the judge to even look at the surveillance videos. He wasn’t going to set bail until your hearing. He was so pissed at a bunch of tattooed rock stars starting trouble with the cops. Shit, what were y’all thinking?”

  I sigh, “I wasn’t thinking. Three women attacked me! I reacted, and the cops got rough when they arrived, and you can’t honestly expect eight men to stand around and let them do that to me without mouthing off. Those cops started that shit with our boys and were overdramatic as hell.”

  “First of all, you hit the first bitch, and the cops will get a bit overdramatic when you insult the size of their dick.”

  “Truth hurts.”

  She finally laughs, “I had to keep a straight face while I watched you beat the shit out of three girls, and then our boys fight with cops. The judge watched it over and over again. Those guys looked so cute on their knees with their hands behind their backs. We should sell a calendar of the bad boys of rock just like that!”