Flawed Body Rock

by Nora Flite

“Maybe I should have tipped him.”

  Pulled from my stupor, I found Brenda watching me. “Sorry, what?”

  The red-head shifted in the driver's seat, fingers drumming the wheel anxiously. “The kid who loaded everything into the trunk. He looked exhausted, probably working himself to death.” Turning in place, she squinted out into the parking lot. “Maybe I can still catch him.”

  “I—what?” None of this was making sense to me. Maybe it was my distracted brain, still full of Drez's cryptic words and Johnny's intimidating face on the television. “Brenda, wait! Where are you going?”

  She didn't look back, her body slipping out the door so she could stomp across the pavement. I leaned over to watch, amazed at the sight of her speeding on her heels after the scrawny teenager in the distance. She's that worried about someone she doesn't even know? It was a side of Brenda I hadn't seen before—No, I corrected myself mentally. If I think about it, when I auditioned for Headstones...

  Didn't she show me a similar kindness?

  That day, sweltering in the sun, my now-manager had stared at me under her giant bug-glasses and told me I'd failed the 'test' Drezden had given her. That damn question, I'd forgotten all about it.

  What do you think is the most important thing you need to be a good guitarist?

  And I had said honesty.

  Brenda was speaking to the boy, shoving something into his hands. From where I was in the car, I could see his confused—if pleased—wide eyes. On her ruby lips, Brenda's smile came and went like a blink. By the time she reached me again, she was all business. “Sorry about that,” she said, sliding in and shutting the door gently.

  “It's fine.” I felt my helpless grin taking hold.

  Glancing at me, Brenda froze. “Why are you making that face?”

  “No reason,” I said, covering my mouth in a poor attempt to hide my amusement. “I'm just... I guess I'm happy to see you being so nice.”

  Instead of answering right away, the sound of the engine did it for her. The car jerked forward, slamming me into the seat while Brenda jetted out of the parking lot. It wasn't until we were on the long, empty swatch of the freeway that she shot a look my way. “There's nothing wrong with helping people.”

  “No,” I agreed softly, “there's not.” My heart swelled, driving a glow of warmth to my face. It was a strange revelation, one that I needed. It put a perspective on Brenda's anger, her frustration, with Drez and myself. She's worried about us.

  How could I ever be mad at anyone for that?

  I expected us to drive for sometime, so when she turned the car off at another exit, I wrinkled my forehead. Soon, a sprawling mall appeared in the distance. “I noticed you were running out of outfits,” Brenda said. “Can't have our new star looking so run down.”

  “Do we have the time for this? The next show is tonight.”

  The flat look she gave me said volumes. “Lola, take a second and remember who I am. Do you really think your manager would make a stop like this if there wasn't time?” Narrowing her eyes, she pushed my patience with a long pause. “We're only two hours out from the venue. If we take even an hour to shop, we'd still roll in with time to spare before sound check.”

  Fidgeting in my seat, I nodded. “Guess I'm just anxious.”

  Her smile cut across her face. “Too anxious to let me buy you some new jeans?”

  We shared a pointed look down at my dirty, torn denim. The laugh that bubbled up surprised me, but I was grateful for the relief. “No, not too anxious for that at all.”

  “Good,” she chuckled, pointing at the sunglasses on my head. “Then pop those back into place, and let's do some extremely incognito shopping.”

  ****

  The mall was huge, packed with people in spite of the afternoon hour. Escalators poured the milling shoppers out on every floor, groups of teenagers huddling in clumps. I'd never been much of a mall-girl. It was the place the 'cool' kids gathered.

  That had never been me.

  It's so weird, I thought, squinting at everyone from behind my glasses—my mask. I was always too nervous to come to places like these because I didn't want anyone to see me. Now, I'm hiding for a reason so similar... but so fucking different.

  Way fucking different.

  This was nothing like being a scared kid, wary of the judging looks. With my sunglasses, manager at my side, I wasn't someone being judged for the mistakes of another. That old me, she didn't exist to these people.

  Lola Cooper wasn't weak or ashamed.

  She—I—was a god damn rock god now.

  “In here,” Brenda said, cutting through my swelling, confusing pride. She led the way into a busy store, the sign reading 'Glam Grime' in giant jagged letters.

  Inside, the walls were coated with denim everything. Pants, skirts, even leggings. Colors of ebony and gold dust; the grungy, intentional style of people who made real money and could afford the perks.

  It was the sort of place I'd always ached to shop at.

  Turning in place, I lost sight of Brenda. Glam Grime was big, a second floor climbing above on twisting stairs. When she said we'd go shopping, I imagined just some new jeans and a tank-top or two. Can I afford this? The reminder that, yes, of course I could—I was hiding for a reason—came in the form of an approaching clerk.

  The woman had on giant, dangling earrings and a glittery smile. “Hey there! Need help finding anything?”

  “Oh, uh.” Shit, should I be speaking to people? My brain wrapped around itself. The memory of Drezden, standing in the hotel and smooth talking the receptionist, came forward. He'd worn sunglasses, too, until he wanted to reveal his identity. Talking is fine, she won't know who I am. I'm still too new, right? “I was just... looking for jeans.”

  “Then you want that wall,” she said, gesturing over my head. “If you need anything else, just ask.”

  My hair flopped as I nodded. “Awesome, thanks!” I followed where she pointed, forcing down a wave of nerves. A set of firm fingers closing down on my shoulder just spiraled me back to square one. “Ah! Jesus, Brenda!”

  Scowling tightly, she stared over her glasses at me. “Focus, would you? Don't go making chit-chat with strangers in here. We have a job to do.”

  “Yeah, I know,” I mumbled. Shaking her free, I moved to the wall of pants. “I was trying to do that job. That woman back there was just showing me where to go.”

  “I could have shown you if you'd been following me.” Smoothing her hair behind her ears, Brenda started picking through the clothing. “Incognito, right?”

  Biting the inside of my cheek, I just nodded. I had been incognito. There was no way the employee had recognized me. I don't think so, anyway. Darting a look over my shoulder, imagining eyes burning into me, I frowned.

  The two of us wandered the displays, my fingers drifting over the articles of clothing. Brenda would stop occasionally, forcing something into my arms while pointedly ignoring my dubious stare. Once I was trembling with the weight of it all, I coughed. “This is too much. Let me get a basket to carry it easier.”

  “Don't waste your time.” Leaning over me, she waved at the far wall. “Lug it all back to the changing room. We don't have the luxury of dilly-dallying here. Just try everything on, decide what you want to keep, and then we'll get out of here.”

  She's so business, even when the topic is playing dress-up. Brenda reminded me so much of my brother. “Alright. If I don't come back soon, send help,” I laughed, grimacing while I walked away. “I might be crushed by all of these clothes.”

  In the far corner of the store, the changing room was easy to miss. There was no one standing around running it. Hope they don't think I'm trying to steal any of this. I would have felt more comfortable if someone had been around to see me go in, or to count my items and hand me one of those tiny plastic numbered cards.

  Inside the hall there were four doors, my only companion the pop-music piping in through the speakers. It reminded me of the time of day, how most teen-shoppers
would be just getting out of school. This place will be flooded later. Brenda's right, we shouldn't waste time here, I thought grimly. Even if I'm new to the band, after last night... The memory of being on stage, basking in the glow of the crowd, sent a rush to the base of my brain. There's a good chance people might recognize me.

  But could that really be so bad?

  In the mirror, I studied myself in a new pair of dark denim jeans. They clung to me fantastically. In glossy boots I'd look like a beast from hell, and I thrilled at the idea. I'm getting addicted to the thought of being noticed, of being out there while thrashing music from my guitar.

  Goosebumps lifted with my delight. I'm changing, aren't I? With no one to answer my silent musing but me, I brushed it away and slid the jeans down. The sight of my own bare lower back reminded me of a certain singer, the long scar marring his flesh.

  Drezden. My eyes fixed on the mirror, but I wasn't really seeing myself. I wish I could just pretend I never saw that. He clearly didn't want me to see the scar, but why? Too many questions, too much paranoia, flooded my mind.

  The sound of someone knocking on my door turned my heart into an earthquake. “S—sorry! Someone's in this one,” I said, quickly bending down to pull my old jeans back on. Below the edge of the door, a pair of white flats waited. Whoever was outside my door wasn't moving or speaking.

  Swallowing down a wave of unease, I squinted at those feet. “Hey,” I said briskly, “someone is in here. Didn't you hear me? Do you need something?” Maybe it's the girl who runs the changing rooms. The thought was a flicker of comfort over my rising tide of warning.

  In front of my eyes, the feet shifted until whoever it was stood on the tips of their toes. I knew what I would see even before I tilted back my head. That was, in a way, the worst part of it all.

  Gawking at me over the top of the door was a young woman, maybe my age. Her hair was a mess of blonde ringlets, thick eyeliner piled on to match her dramatic crimson lips. The lines on her forehead spoke a weird mixture of shock and disgust. “It is you!” she gasped, fingers turning ivory where they crushed the top of the door.

  I'd removed my sunglasses in the safety of the room. Now, faced with the seeking stare of a stranger, I wished I hadn't. The girl flicked her accusing look from my pale face, down to my right arm; I knew she was eyeing my tattoo. I'm an idiot. Of course someone would recognize my tattoo—no, I corrected myself. They'd only notice it if they were looking for it.

  I blindly felt around for my sneakers. “What the hell are you doing? Get out of here!”

  “You're really her,” she whispered, eyes boggling like a frog's.

  Focusing on shoving my feet into my shoes, I crouched to hastily tie the strings. I was sure I knew what was coming. I didn't need to watch this strange girl, she was just going to spout my name. Yes, I thought while I tangled my laces. Yes, I'm her. I'm the new guitarist for Four and a Half Headstones, Lola Coop—

  “You're the fucking bitch who's trying to steal our Drezden away!”

  My world slowed down around me. It took a great effort to raise my chin, to gape up at the contorted rage in the blonde's expression. “I don't—what?” Bitch? Stealing?

  I could see the gums in her mouth; bloodless, drained in tight fury. “Yeah! That's you! It's all over the fansites, pictures of you throwing yourself at him after the show last night! How dare you try that, isn't it selfish to take our Drezden away? Isn't it?”

  My brain was struggling to keep up. When I stood, I did so with such wariness, I might as well have been facing a rabid dog. This girl had me cornered. She was unpredictable. “Who are you?”

  Not answering me, the blonde dropped down out of view. I heard the 'beep' of a phone, the tell-tale clicking of someone typing furiously. “I'm letting my friends know I found you.”

  In a surge of panic, I grappled for the lock on my changing room. The door bent outward, then mashed back into place as the girl shoved it closed. Together, we fought for what we both desperately desired. I need to get out of here! I thought wildly. If this crazy girl gets her crazier friends here, I don't want to imagine what they'll do to me!

  Did they honestly think I had stolen Drezden from them?

  “Let me out!” I shouted, unable to keep my fear from taking over. It sank like toxins into my body, demanded I shove and kick and claw at the door. I was trapped, and every part of me felt the impending danger like it was a slow death. I'd been here before, pinned in a bathroom at school, mocked by girls who delighted in torturing me.

  I couldn't do this again.

  I wouldn't.

  Slamming my shoulder on the door, I heard the girl's surprised squeak. But it wasn't me she was scared of. “Get away from there!” Brenda screamed, filling me with relief.

  “Back off, you dumb fucking—hey!”

  Instantly the changing room opened. Stumbling out, chest thrumming for air, I saw why. My manager had the blonde by the arms, pinning her on the wall with effort. Those chocolate eyes shot to me, bursting with worry. “Are you hurt, Lola? What did she do to you?”

  The stranger bent her neck, glaring at me with unbridled hate. I met that look evenly, fighting to keep the waver out of my voice. “Nothing. She didn't do a thing to me.” The blonde struggled until Brenda pushed her back down. “She was calling her friends to tell them I'm here, though. I think we should leave.”

  Understanding flashed across my manager's face. “Right. Fine.” Eyeing the empty area, she gave the blonde a shove so hard it made her stumble to her knees a few feet away. “Don't follow us, or I'll actually bother with pressing stalking charges. I'm feeling strangely generous today.”

  Generous? No, I realized, Brenda knows we don't have the time to get the police involved, we need to leave, and fast. It was hard for me to look away from the girl. She sat up, glaring directly at me over her shoulder. The fact she had no parting words left me tipping on the edge of delusion. I would have preferred if she just said something to me, after everything.

  Gripping my wrist, shoving her own sunglasses onto my face to hide me, Brenda yanked me away from the stalls. “Come on,” she hissed, “if that girl did call her friends, we need to move.”

  Nodding quickly, I sped up to keep pace. In my skull, the hateful words kept blossoming up. You're that bitch. You stole him. My mouth tasted like pennies; I eased my teeth apart, knowing I'd opened the old tongue wound.

  Through the mall we moved at one step slower than a run. Every set of eyes, every face, terrified me. A group of girls by a fountain, a woman standing too near, everyone was a potential danger; a possible enemy out to harm me.

  To be recognized in public was one thing, to be a source of disgust...

  It wasn't something I had imagined while dreaming of becoming a rockstar.

  Outside, the cold air was a taste of freedom. I was pulling Brenda now, forcing her towards the car. I didn't let go until I was inside, the slamming of the door a great comfort. In the bubble of the vehicle, I heard my own heavy panting. “You alright?” she asked, keys jingling in the ignition.

  My gaze roamed to those fingers of hers, her perfect nails. The hard indents from my grip on her flesh was a cold slap. “Oh god, I'm so sorry!”

  “Forget it.” And she meant it, there was no space to argue. Watching me seriously, free of any smiles, Brenda made it clear she didn't want my apology. In that instant I respected her, loved her, in a way I never predicted. “Let's just get out of here.”

  “I'd like that, yeah.” Brushing my hair back, I felt the oily sweat on my forehead. “Shit. I can't believe that even happened.”

  “What exactly happened? I came to check on you, stepped in because that girl was clearly messing with you, but...” Glancing in her mirror, Brenda froze. “Son of a bitch.”

  Rocking in my seat, I spotted the car that had rolled up behind us. It was full of women, I didn't need confirmation that they were the ones the blonde had called. The fact they were climbing out of the car and heading our way said it all. “
Drive, Brenda! Go, just go!”

  “You think?” she scoffed, slamming on the pedal, scattering my spine with the inertia. We tore out of the parking lot at record speeds. The entire time, I kept my attention on the girls. It baffled me that they weren't following. I squinted at them until they became shapes that vanished in the distance.

  Brenda didn't pull onto the freeway, an action that prompted me to gape at her. “Where are we going?”

  She didn't glance at me, she just turned down a side road. “Getting on a path where they could follow us easily would be reckless. We'll make our escape plan a far less easy to stalk route.”

  “Right,” I said numbly. “Yeah. Okay.” In a moment, I felt faced with my naivety. Stalkers, escape plans, what had I been thinking? Glory and fame, that's what being a rockstar should be. Peering into the side-mirror nervously, I expected headlights to appear any second. Not running away from people who want to harm me.

  Brenda didn't slow down for a long time. When she did, it was the sign that we were out of hot water. “You alright over there?”

  I answered without thinking. “Not exactly.”

  “Feels weird, doesn't it?”

  Asking what she meant was pointless. “That girl back there,” I whispered, “she looked at me with such hate. How could that be possible? She doesn't even know me.”

  “She knows the Lola Cooper from last night.” Turning the wheel around the bend of a quiet street surrounded by trees, my manager shot me a look. “Don't be so surprised. Lots of people find it easy to hate a girl who has it all, especially if they think she doesn't deserve it.”

  My mouth was dry, I wished I had a gallon of water to chug. Lots of people find it easy to hate me? I was close to laughing, closer to crying. “It shouldn't feel so new to me, when you say it that way.”

  From the corner of my eye, I saw Brenda flinch. The sudden jolt of the car interrupted everything. “Oh, seriously!?” she cried, slamming on the breaks, leaving the both of us breathless.

  “What, what is it?” I gasped, darting stares all around, expecting hateful teenagers to descend on us.

  Brenda was halfway out of the car. “I think it was—yeah, no, it was. Fucking tire, god dammit!”