by A. m Madden
Logan, our guitarist, is also sort of the manager of our little group. He is the oldest and tries to keep his brother Matt and the rest of us in line. They may be brothers and share the same height, shade of brown hair, and smile, but that’s where the similarities end.
Matt has beautiful hazel eyes. Logan has warm brown eyes. Matt is a jerk, dick, and a heart breaker while Logan is sensitive and kind. How the same woman gave birth to these two is beyond me.
There is just something about Matt that is irresistible. I fell for his charms twice, and I’m trying to protect Lori from the Matt Rizzo experience. She has been dying to hook up with him since I dumped him the second time, only after she made sure I was ok with it. She knows our story. I’ve tried to tell her he isn’t worth it, but she won’t listen. She feels she can rehabilitate the dick-ness right out of him.
It doesn’t really matter because Matt is just not interested. Not because Lori isn’t hot. She is very pretty and has a great body. Evan claims Matt was done dating girls who are also friends. I felt that was good news for her.
Evan Miller, our bass player, is also my best friend. He is absolutely adorable with the nicest green eyes and shaggy, golden brown hair. More importantly, he is quiet and sweet and has a heart of pure gold. As a bass player, he is phenomenal. Cliffhangers is lucky to have him. Don’t get me wrong, all the guys are talented. But there is just something about Evan.
I love him dearly but not in a romantic kind of way. He’s the brother I never had. I also feel dad thinks of him as the son he’s never had. He spends a lot of time with us, especially since his parents got divorced. He is an only child, too, and he has a lot in common with my Dad.
Evan is one year older than I am. We lived a block away from each other in Cliffside, but hadn’t met until my first day of sixth grade in public middle school. Until then I had only attended a catholic grammar school, and felt like a fish out of water. Having recently lost my mom, I was very quiet and introverted. I noticed him in the cafeteria and thought he reminded me of someone. Unconsciously, I stared at him from across the room while eating my lunch. He noticed and came over to sit down at my table.
I should have been embarrassed, but I wasn’t. The minute I looked into his eyes, I knew we were going to be good friends. Since that day he took me under his wing, and the rest is history. Evan’s had a few fights for me, broken up with a few girls because of me, and is my biggest fan.
He bursts through the door just as Matt and I are about to walk back out to the bar.
“Matt, give us a minute, please.”
“Sure, Evan, anything for you.” He replies while batting his eyelashes and then turns to walk out the door.
Rolling his eyes, Evan comments, “He can be such a prick.” I can’t help but laugh. The word “prick” coming out of Evan’s mouth is just wrong.
Taking my hand Evan asks, “Lei, what number did you give Devil’s Lair to call you on?”
“Um, my cell…why?”
“Well, they have a wrong number for you and have been trying to call you all day.”
Oh, hell no…
“What did you say? Are you freaking kidding me?” It is probably that damn scary receptionist, Sally! I tell him as much.
“She probably changed my number on purpose. She looked at me like I was a bug.”
“Well fuck her. Jack Lair just called Sal. Patti gave him the bar’s name and he needs you to call him ASAP.” Evan passes me a bar napkin with a phone number scrawled on it.
“OH MY GOD!” I squeeze Evan’s hand so tightly that he winces.
“Go out to your car and call him now.”
“Wait, what about the set?”
“Just go. We will wait Lei.” He kisses me on my forehead and shoves me out the door. As I run to my car I dial the New York number. I force myself to breathe normally and to stop panting like a phone sex operator.
“Hello?” Hot male voice, most definitely Jack.
“Um, hi, this is Leila… Leila Marino. I was told to call this number.”
“Well hello Miss Marino.” He croons through the phone in a voice so sexy I feel a quiver down below. “This is Jack Lair. I’ve been trying to reach you to discuss your future with Devils Lair, if you’re interested.”
“Wait…what!?”
He chuckles and repeats himself, and I go completely silent until he clears his throat.
“Oh, um, yes. I am absolutely interested!” Going from one extreme to the next, I am now practically screaming into the phone. He chuckles again, and it is almost like I could actually feel his breath in my ear. The quiver becomes a clenching.
So now I am apparently clenching from the sound of his voice too?
“Can you come to the studio at eleven am on Monday?” he asks.
“Yes. No problem.”
“Great…and Leila? Try not to break any limbs before you get there.”
I blush into the phone and squeeze out in a tiny voice, “I’ll try.”
He chuckles and hangs up leaving me with a vivid fantasy...sheets, legs, arms, all tangled together, and Jack chuckling into my ear. Unable to move, I sit in my car for a full twenty minutes. It’s a good thing I got this job, because I may lose my current one for being twenty minutes late.
Devils Lair…damn! Thank you universe!
Since I’m already late, I might as well call my dad.
“What’s wrong? Aren’t you supposed to be on stage?” No hello, no greeting, this is so typical of dad.
“Hey, dad. Nothing’s wrong. I just wanted to tell you that they called me back.” There is a two second delay. Most wouldn’t even notice it, but I do.
“That’s great Lei. I’m so happy for you.”
But?
I was waiting for the but and say as much over the phone.
“No but. I truly am happy for you. I just worry about you, you know that.”
“I know dad. I have to go. I just wanted to let you know.” We decide to talk more at Sunday brunch. That’s when and where I would hear the “But” I was sure.
Devils’ Lair…this is crazy!
Chapter 2-Jack
These past few weeks have been fucking crazy. The band is most definitely on its way. As this has been my one and only goal for most of my life, I couldn’t be more prepared. I was destined for this and I risked a lot for it. My name is Jackson Henry Lair and I’m the lead singer of Devil’s Lair.
I knew I was meant to be a rock star, even if my parents weren’t on the same page as me. They knew that I had a great voice, I liked to write songs and constantly hung out in the city to watch bands play, but they thought it was only a hobby.
Denial maybe?
They didn’t listen when I complained about school all the time. I was in the Pre-law program at NYU and hated every minute of it. Many find it hard to believe that I do have an intelligent brain in my head. My parents feel I am totally wasting it. Dad was grooming me to follow in his footsteps to be a lawyer.
I just couldn’t do it.
Even though it terrified me, I had to tell my parents that I was dropping out. I couldn’t keep pretending that a law career was going to be my future. I had visions of living on the streets while homeless and penniless and without either of them speaking to me. Of course, that was just my vivid imagination running wild. I wasn’t raised to think that way. But I was about to drop a bomb on them of catastrophic magnitude. Although, my parents have been nothing but loving and caring to my sister and me, my scenario isn’t that farfetched.
My dad is Peter Henry Lair, Esq. of business law. It’s super boring, but that’s dad. He is very even keeled, level headed, sensible, and smart.
I may be taller than he is, but otherwise we look a lot alike. We have the same dark brown hair - had, rather, as his is now grey at the temples, same deep grey eye color and smile, dimples included. Otherwise, that’s it. I am not even keeled, level headed, or sensible.
My personality is definitely more like my moms, or Renata Cornwell Lair, homemak
er and ex-beauty queen. Mom was, and still is, simply stunning. She is tall and slim and has long blonde hair and green eyes. In her early fifties, she could pass as someone twenty years younger. Growing up, it was a bit embarrassing having a hot mom. I remember her getting looks from men wherever we went. Little league, school functions, the friggin’ supermarket…it didn’t matter where she went. Parent-teacher conferences were always interesting. The same hard-ass, male teachers that would bust my balls on a daily basis would suddenly become babbling idiots after meeting my mom. My female teachers had the same reaction to dad. He can be quite a charmer. Sometimes that worked to my advantage.
Mom is passionate, impulsive, and headstrong and has a great sense of humor. I’ve heard stories of her and her wild past. My parents met in college where they fell madly in love and got married a year later. They were complete opposites when they met and have slowly morphed into one personality type, each equally changing in subtle ways like two chameleons. Where my mom became more practical and prudent, my dad went from bookworm to party animal. Well not really a party animal, but mom said he has most definitely “loosened up” over the thirty-one years that they have been together.
Thirty-one years…that’s a very long time to be with one person. I don’t think I believe in soul mates, but watching my parents is a constant contradiction to my beliefs. They feel that they were meant to be together and fate played a huge role. The whole thing baffles me… love, eternity, forever after? Is there really one person out there you are meant to be with? Or is it all random luck?
Together my parents have built a loving, safe, upper middle class life for us. We had a pretty normal childhood that included a center hall colonial, pool in the back, and a golden retriever. All of it was quite boring. My career choice doesn’t fit into the boring, suburban, cookie-cutter world we grew up in.
I have a younger sister, Elizabeth Ann Lair, or Lizzy. Lizzy and Mom look like sisters, except Lizzy’s hair is not blonde but light brown in color. They also act like sisters and get along very well. Like mom, Lizzy is aware of her beauty, but doesn’t use it to her benefit.
Beauty means nothing to my mom. Mom didn’t encourage Lizzy to model and to fall victim to such a cold, hurtful industry. Like they did for me, my parents insisted that Lizzy go to college and get her degree. Lizzy obeyed without objection. The difference between my sister and I was that she was on the same page as my parents.
Lizzy graduated from Columbia University with a Masters in Psychiatry. She is now working towards her PhD. My sister is the perfect trifecta. She is attractive, intelligent and has a heart of pure gold. The man who wins her heart had better be something special, or he’ll have to deal with my temper and me.
Having a psychiatrist in the family will most definitely help with my many issues. As a teen I was like a bull in a china shop doped up on Viagra. My temper has calmed down quite a bit since then, yet my libido - not so much. I’ve been a walking hard-on since I was twelve. For some stupid reason I ended up having a girlfriend in high school for almost two years. Her name was Jessa Perez. In hindsight, that was fucking dumb. Don’t get me wrong, she was gorgeous, and we had a really good time, until we fought that is. My temper pales in comparison to hers.
Jessa and I were very immature and needed to grow up. We argued, made up, and then argued again. For two straight years, that was our relationship in a nutshell. At the time I thought we were in love.
I was so wrong.
In all fairness, I do suck at relationships. I am a serial flirt. That doesn’t seem to bode well when you have a girlfriend. So her retaliation was to cheat on me. Well, she denied the rumors that she cheated on me. I didn’t have proof, and my gut didn’t believe her. I finally got tired of all the fighting and rumors and so I ended it right after graduation.
Jessa didn’t have a problem replacing me when I dumped her. With her long black hair, chocolate brown eyes and her killer body, she is a complete knockout. She’s dangerous too. She can persuade the pope to run naked through the streets of Rome.
I was determined to get over her. Once at NYU, the girls were the only thing that helped me get through. They were everywhere, and they made the hell I was in more bearable. I more than made up for those two years with Jessa. I guess I was trying to sow all the wild oats I missed in junior and senior year…and I still am.
I have not committed to a relationship since high school, and I don’t see myself doing so any time soon. I just can’t deal with the drama that comes with it. Being with Jessa was nothing but drama that was wrapped in a hot sex burrito.
Dumping her didn’t stop her from wanting to get back together with me. There was no way I was doing that. She claimed she wasn’t looking for a relationship, and only missed our sex life. She had a point. That was the only part we were good at. I caved a few times…twice to be exact. Our reunions have always been the same. There was hot sex, arguing, me screaming at her, her throwing something at me, and then me walking out. Not much had changed since we were together in high school. No one can push my buttons like Jessa can.
The last time we got together was a few days ago. We “ran” into each other at a club and ended up in her bed because I was drunk and horny. I’m not proud of the fact that I tend to think with my cock more than I should. By the end of the night, she had changed her story about only wanting sex. I barely remember what she was ranting about. Something about me being a bastard and needing to grow up. She is convinced we belong together, and after listening to her go on and on, I had a sick feeling that running into her wasn’t an accident. She’s delusional and a bit unstable.
That night was a huge mistake. To say that I regret it is an understatement. Hunter had to pick me up because I was so wasted. He told me to stay away from her. Actually he threw a fit and treated me like a child the entire drive home. Trey told me to get the fuck over it. His exact words were, “Shut the fuck up. So you had to fuck a complete knock-out, poor you.”
Dick-head.
Hunter gets it. Trey doesn’t get it.
It was a stupid move. Especially since I don’t need Jessa to fuck a knockout. I am not lacking in that department. Short of obtaining a restraining order, I’ve done everything I could to cut her out of my life. Like a bad penny, she keeps showing up.
I should have listened to Hunter. Hunter Amatto is our drummer and my best friend. He plays the role of band manager, and keeps our asses in line. About eight years ago, we met at a bar in the city while listening to a band and hit it off immediately. I spilled my guts about wanting to ditch my law career and start a rock band. It took exactly five minutes that night for Hunter to jump into my plan and run with it.
I owe him a lot. He got me through my intimate relationship with tequila after I told my parents that I was dropping out. I thank god that Hunter had the guts to dive head first into my plan, because his push lit a fire under my ass that has gotten us where we are today. He’s been an awesome friend and an even better “manager”. He even came up with the band’s name. It was a lucky day when I met Hunter.
So, for the record I am a firm believer of LUCK. I’m not trying to downplay how good we are as a band, but luck definitely had a part to play in our success.
Hunter’s roommate moved out soon after I dropped my nuclear bomb on my parents. The timing couldn’t have been more perfect, and I moved in. My mom was not happy with me, but I needed to get out of Long Island and away from them. Seeing my dad come home every day from his office was a constant reminder of what I was supposed to be doing and how I disappointed them.
It felt cathartic to move from suburbia to Brooklyn. I love where we live. We are in the Dumbo section, and it is one of the trendiest neighborhoods in the city. Our rent is hefty, but still a fraction of what an apartment of the same size would cost in Manhattan.
Our apartment is nothing special. We have a decent sized living room with a TV that’s way too big, but boys will be boys. Our kitchen is small and a half bath sits off the main hall. Our tiny bedr
ooms each have their own bathroom. That’s the entire apartment.
The best part is the roof. We are on the top floor of a six-floor building, and we have access to the roof. For some reason none of the other tenants ever go up there. We threw around some plastic tables and chairs. We invested in a cheap plastic couch. We put up some Christmas lights. We carry up our portable speakers. Voila’… instant hang out. It’s a great quiet place where we can chill out, or more specifically where I can entertain. Hunter doesn’t entertain as frequently as I do, so it’s a perfect hangout for me. I fucking love it up there.
It’s not like Hunter never has any girls over. I guess he is handsome by most women’s standards. He is tall with spiky hair, a few piercings, and one on his lip. I don’t get the attraction to piercings, or why chicks love them so much. His killer smile and blue eyes makes him a hot commodity, but he is shy as shit. It’s weird how he’s cocky and confident in every other aspect of his, other than trying to pick up a chick. He waits for them to make the first move. What a waste of time.
We put an ad in the Village Voice and advertised for a guitarist and bassist. We found our guitarist first. Scott Malone is a nice Irish boy who is also from Long Island. Hunter and I were a little skeptical when we found him. He just looked too nice. Does he look like a rock star? Not so much. He has a clean-cut look that is more suitable for a cereal commercial. But damn, his talent blew us away. After hearing him play guitar, we hired him immediately.
Scott has a girlfriend named Patti Wells. Actually they are practically married. She is a petite, blond who’s cute but somewhat annoying and a little too enthusiastic for my tastes. Hey, I’m not the one screwing her. It just seems Scott can never get a word in edgewise with her.
Finding our bass guitarist was quite an ordeal. Initially we hired a guy who I grew up with and who I’d rather not name. He was crazy years ago, which should have been a red flag to me. Don’t get me wrong - we all like to think of ourselves as bad boy rockers, with the exception of Scott - but this guy took it to another level. That fucker almost got us arrested one night, and I really don’t want to be some dude’s bitch. We fired “him” and luckily we found Trey.
