Guitar Freak
Rock Stars on Tour, Volume 1
Candy J Starr
Published by Candy J Starr, 2018.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
GUITAR FREAK
First edition. February 1, 2018.
Copyright © 2018 Candy J Starr.
ISBN: 978-1386941422
Written by Candy J Starr.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter 1: Damo
Chapter 2: Polly
Chapter 3: Damo
Chapter 4: Polly
Chapter 5: Damo
Chapter 6: Polly
Chapter 7: Polly
Chapter 8: Damo
Chapter 9: Damo
Chapter 10: Polly
Chapter 11: Damo
Chapter 12: Polly
Chapter 13: Damo
Chapter 14: Polly
Chapter 15: Damo
Chapter 16: Polly
Chapter 17: Damo
Chapter 18: Polly
Chapter 19: Damo
Chapter 20: Polly
Chapter 21: Damo
Chapter 22: Polly
Chapter 23: Polly
Chapter 24: Damo
Chapter 25: Polly
Chapter 26: Damo
Chapter 27: Polly
Chapter 28: Damo
Chapter 29: Polly
Chapter 30: Damo
Chapter 31: Polly
Chapter 32: Polly
Chapter 33: Damo
Chapter 34: Damo
Chapter 35: Polly
Chapter 36: Damo
Chapter 37: Damo
Chapter 38: Polly
Chapter 39: Damo
About me:
Chapter 1: Damo
She walked into the sound check like she owned the place. Typical groupie in heat: leopard-print fake fur coat, fishnet-covered legs that went on for miles, sunglasses covering her eyes, glossed-up lips and that “fuck me” attitude.
She had to be here for Elijah. Everything about her screamed his type. Elijah shrugged without missing a beat on his bass. Then he shook his head at my unspoken question.
Not his? Well, she sure as hell wasn’t Crow’s type. I wasn’t even sure if Crow had a type but if he did, it wouldn’t be her. And the new guy, Matt—he had no interest in groupies. Not when he had that hot model girlfriend.
She might’ve been my type once. Before I grew up and got serious about my music. It hadn’t taken long to learn that girls like her were bad news.
Hell, we’d only been in Berlin a few hours before we headed to the arena to set up. It wasn’t like any of the guys had had time to pick up. She had to just be a general band hound, looking for what she could get.
And what she could get would be gone. I had zero tolerance for groupies in sound check.
I kept singing and playing but searched the empty arena until I caught the eye of the head of security. I gave a nod toward the groupie. We’d talk later about how the hell she’d been allowed in. For now, I just wanted her to hightail it out of here instead of leaning on the barrier in front of me, all tits and legs and eyes blazing with sex.
Ever since the fans had found out I didn’t do groupies, I’d become a challenge for a certain type of woman. The type who thought they were the exception. I’d been promised the best head of my life, threesomes, foursomes, and much, much more. If the human mind could conceive of it, I’d had a groupie offer it. But I had zero fucks to give. Literally. There was me and my music. I wasn’t a saint, but I didn’t screw around on tour. I had bigger plans. Plans that involved no dramas and no distractions.
Hell, she sucked on a lollipop. Way too obvious and way too immature. But, Jesus, that was hot. She took it out of her mouth and ran her tongue around it. The way her tongue flicked over that sweet orb made my cock twitch. I wouldn’t let my cock control me, though. It was just a visual stimulation.
I tried not to look at her. We were already running about half an hour late with this sound check, but the sound guy just couldn’t get the mix right. For the first night of the European leg of the tour, this wasn’t looking good. I inhaled. I wouldn’t lose my temper with him. That wouldn’t help at all. And I wouldn’t look at that groupie, either.
Instead of staring straight ahead, I checked out the arena. It wasn’t much different from a thousand other places we’d played. Three levels. Cleaner and newer than a lot of places we’d played. A few massive screens around the place. I bet Elijah had sussed out every screen and every camera. He loved nothing better than seeing his ugly mug up there, larger than life. Loved it even more when he got a crotch shot on camera. So did the fans, to be honest. We had to have one showman in the band.
The arena wasn’t that huge. Only around 17,000 capacity. I’d wanted to play somewhere bigger, but management said sold-out shows in a smaller venue would create a bigger buzz. I couldn’t argue with that. He’d also said that the acoustics in this place were phenomenal, but I wasn’t feeling that, not with this sound check.
“Still too much bass,” I said over the mic when we’d finished the song.
That damn groupie hadn’t moved. The security guard approached her. I watched them out of the corner of my eye but went back to the beginning of the song. We’d get this sound right, no matter how long it took. We wouldn’t be going onstage tonight sounding anything less than perfect.
I waited until the security guy was throwing her out to start playing again. He stood beside her, letting her know she wasn’t welcome. Instead of leaving, though, she put her hands on her hips, all sass and attitude. Standing like that, with her coat open, I couldn’t miss the perkiness of her breasts. That dress she wore couldn’t be any tighter.
I don’t know what she said to the security guy, but he let her stay.
I’d made myself clear. No matter what they promised, no groupies in sound check. Ever.
That security guard could say goodbye to his job. I didn’t tolerate shit from the staff.
I kept my focus on the sound desk so she wouldn’t get the satisfaction of eye contact. Still, I was aware of every move she made. She sat down in the front row, legs crossed and that lollipop still in her mouth. She was way, way too much.
A few songs later, I decided we could call it quits. The sound guy had finally gotten it right, and we needed to clear out so the opener could get their sound check done.
“About bloody time,” the groupie yelled out. She’d stood up, hands on hips.
“Huh? Who the hell let you in here, anyway?”
God, she was ballsy. I had to give her that. The way she sneered at me suggested that she was the one with every right to be here, not me.
“The same person who let you in. Now, get your gear offstage so we can do our thing.”
She slowly removed her sunglasses. I ignored her and handed my guitar to the guitar tech. The other guys stopped packing up their gear to watch.
“I have no idea who you are, and I have no idea what you’re talking about. Now, stop being a pest and get out of here,” I said.
She pouted, straightening up to her full height. With her hips thrust forward like that, wildness radiated from her body. I hated that wildness.
“Hey, mister, I’m not getting out and I’m not going anywhere, so pull your head in. I’m here to rock!”
I stared at her, wondering if she was totally sane.
“I’m the support band. Well, part of it,” she added.
A couple of guys came to join her. But... no. There was no chick in the support band. I didn’t know much about them, but I’d listened to their CD. No chick singer. No mention of a chick.
“Is this a joke?�
��
“What? You don’t believe a woman can play bass?”
She had me there. I exhaled slowly. I’d assumed that the support band were all male. And she was right: a woman could play bass. I just hadn’t expected it to be that woman. Why the fuck had no one told me?
I’d fucked up.
I’d been so focused on other things, I hadn’t checked out the openers properly. I couldn’t blame management or the tour manager or anyone else. This was my tour, and everything stopped with me.
This woman would be on tour with us for the next three months. Already, she sent prickles of annoyance up and down my spine. I’d have to share a bus with her. I’d have to share a stage.
Maybe I could get them kicked off the tour. Anything rather than deal with her, because there was no way in hell she’d not be a distraction. I already hated her. I could not put up with that attitude for the entire tour.
I gathered up my stuff and walked offstage. I’d get out of here and clear her out of my mind. She’d be gone before we left Berlin, if I had my way. No dramas, no distractions. That was my mantra for this tour.
Chapter 2: Polly
A bouncer came over and interrupted my thoughts. The bulk of him cast a shadow over me.
I’d turned up early for sound check to see if The Freaks lived up to the hype. I needn’t have bothered rushing, though. Damn them, running way over time. We’d hardly have enough time for our own sound check with them hogging the stage. I’d been hiding on the sidelines, but, as the time crept up and they still didn’t even look like they were finishing, I figured I should make myself more visible. Hopefully, they’d take the hint.
“You’ve got to leave,” the bouncer said.
He gazed at me with that “don’t fuck with me” air. I think they teach them that in security school or something. I couldn’t blame him. Dude was just doing his job.
“I can’t leave. I’m part of the circus, buddy.” I pulled out my laminate and flashed it at him.
“Sorry, miss. I got the sign from Damo and thought you were a groupie. He hates them sneaking into sound check.”
“Do I look like a groupie?” I asked him.
He gave me the once-over. “Well, actually...”
My death stare made him back down. Hells, you’d think in this day and age, people would be a bit more enlightened. Some chicks rock; they don’t just fuck rockers. I was no groupie.
Then I flashed him a smile. That got him off-guard.
“You with us for the entire tour?” I asked.
He nodded.
“Well, just don’t do it again, okay?”
He nodded again. Good. I had him in the palm of my hand. That’d be handy. You never know when you might need security on your side.
The guy onstage didn’t look impressed. Damo. I knew his name. He thought he was hot shit. All the music press sang his praises like he couldn’t do a thing wrong, so I sat and watched him play. “The next big thing” and “the savior of rock”, that’s what they called him, but the rock press talk a lot of shit. They’ll jump on any bandwagon, and jump off it just as fast.
All I knew was, opening for The Freaks would be our big break. This tour meant playing to massive crowds. Hell, you just had to look around this place. Three motherfucking tiers of people. And the whole damn arena had sold out for five shows. Sweet Jesus, that was more people than we’d played to in our entire career to date. And Berlin. I’d thought we had a total of zero fans in Europe, but I’d gotten messages from people saying they’d be here to see us. Hell, did it get sweeter?
Sure, most of this crowd would only be waiting for us to get offstage so The Freaks could get started, but that didn’t mean we couldn’t win them over. We’d rock their asses off so they’d forget they’d ever been here to see anyone else.
Damo was a piece of work, though. He could play, I’d give him that, and the songs weren’t bad. But that guy needed to loosen up a bit. He was so full of his own self-importance. Just because you’re the next big thing in rock doesn’t mean you can treat people like shit. You could hear that tightly wound tension in his music. Maybe the average punter wouldn’t notice it, but I sure as hell could.
I had to admit, he was pretty hot—if you liked that type. The dark, broody, good looks type. The lean and muscular type. The sensitive and skillful-looking mouth type.
Okay, that was exactly my type.
But “over-strung musician”? Totally not my type. Not any more. I’d dealt with enough of that shit in my life.
The bass player—now, he was a bit too loose. I knew his reputation too. When it came to man whores in rock, well, he could practically write the book on it. Not my type at all. He had some smooth bass moves, but they were the only moves of his I was interested in. I’d give him the brush-off early in the tour and he’d leave me alone. Guys like that hated a challenge. Why bother when they had groupies throwing themselves at him? I’d have enough dramas on this tour without adding in a quick rump with the headliners.
The drummer seemed solid. A little bit scary. One of those quiet guys, but he looked like, if he had to, he’d have no worries about knifing a man.
And the rhythm guitarist—well, that had been all over the press, too. Former boy band star Matt Wilde joining The Freaks. He might’ve been known for his boyish good looks once, but he wasn’t here just because of his pretty face. I’d have said he was a better guitarist than Damo. There was pure magic in the way he played. It seemed impossible that he was the same guy who’d sung that bubblegum pop and done those cutesy dance moves.
They changed songs, and Matty moved to the side of the stage. He should have been playing lead on this song, but Damo did it himself. Sure sign of a control freak. Maybe that was what the band should’ve been called: The Control Freaks. The dude had to have an ego as big as the sun. Not my problem, though. I’d stay out of his way. I wasn’t here to make friends. It was a career move.
They had a good sound, but we’d be the ones the crowd remembered. I’d make sure of that. We’d rip that stage up and give the folks a show they’d never forget.
I gazed around the arena. This place would be magic when it was full of people. My body already thrilled with the excitement of being onstage tonight. If only that jerk would get offstage and let us get our sound check done. Typical egotistical rocker, thinking he could hog the space. We’d be left with no time at all before they had to clear the stage.
Finally, The Freaks finished playing.
I stood up, ready to get up there. Miles and Jax were around here somewhere, and there was no way we’d sound like shit just because Damo had been a time hog.
When I told him we were here to play, the look on his face was priceless. Seriously, the dude hadn’t realized I was in the support band? A control freak like that—I’d have thought he’d at least have done some basic research into his opening band. Read our bio, maybe.
He stared at me. Scowling. The dude didn’t like me. Well, that wasn’t my problem. The rest of the band scurried around onstage, packing up their gear, but they kept shooting looks at the two of us. I didn’t think many people stood up to Damo. And I definitely didn’t think many people got the better of him.
But screw it. If he had thing against female musos, that wasn’t my problem. We’d been booked for this tour, and we had a contract. If Damo didn’t like it, he could suffer in his jocks.
Oh, well, this was a big tour. I’d stay out of his way. Stay out of everyone’s way, mind my own business and keep my head down. That was my plan, even if it went totally against everything in me. I’d never been one for keeping my mouth shut, but I could do it for three months if it meant stepping my career up to the next level.
Chapter 3: Damo
I lingered around for a while after sound check. I wanted to hear what these guys sounded like. A CD can only tell you so much, and if they were opening for us, I really wanted to hear what they were like live.
“I’m heading off,” Matt said.
“Sure. Me
et us in the hotel lobby at six,” I told him without looking around.
I wasn’t sure what the other guys had planned.
That chick walked onto the stage. She really did have the attitude, all snarly and tough as nails. What works onstage is often obnoxious in real life, that’s for sure. The other two guys set up. Miles, the front man, was the only one I’d spoken to. He barely looked at her as he walked onstage. There was some history there, and he made no attempt to hide it.
Then the chick caught my eye again. She stared hard. I had every right to stick around. She’d watched our whole performance without worrying that she might be a distraction after all. She’d taken the fake fur coat off and was wearing a tiny, shimmering dress. I wasn’t sure if that was her onstage outfit or if she dressed like that all the time. It’d take more than long legs and a great set of tits to win over our crowd, though.
Finally, they started playing.
“She’s hot.” Elijah had moved up beside me.
I shrugged. “I just wanted to hear how they sound. It was risky getting an opener that we haven’t seen perform.”
“Yeah, right. Keep telling yourself that, buddy.” Elijah slapped me on the back and laughed. “Crow and I are doing a tour of the city with one of the local roadies. After all, no point traveling the world and only seeing hotel rooms and arenas. Wanna come with us?”
“A tour-tour, or a ‘drinking and picking up groupies’ tour?” I asked him. I knew Elijah’s tastes far too well.
“A real tour. What are you saying? That I do nothing but drink and screw?”
I turned to him with a laugh. “You called it, not me.”
Then the band started playing. They ran through a few riffs, then got into a song.
“She’s good,” Elijah said. “Not just hot, but she’s setting that stage alight, and it’s only a run-through.”
I watched her. Too much posturing. She could play, but she was so undisciplined.
“You think? Or are you just thinking with your cock?” I asked Elijah.
Guitar Freak Page 1
