Annoying Pest...

by K. S. Adkins

  “Really?”

  “I was fucking miserable,” I confessed. “I may have wanted better for you, but I never stopped loving you, Pest.”

  She didn’t answer, but I knew she heard me because she sniffled as she pulled away. Sex was a big part of our relationship, as much as music and fighting was. I was counting on sex to help us reconnect, find our footing. Tempest never held back when I was inside of her. This meant I’d need to be inside her as much as possible.

  Leaving the bed, she grabbed her shit and headed to the bathroom. She hasn’t asked for her phone, or if Rick was still outside. Granted, I’d heard him leave halfway through, but I had a feeling he’d be back.

  The plan was to feed her and get her to the opera house for the first practice. The band had been given the material, but this would be the first session with Tempest in attendance. Guy made sure the confidentiality agreements were signed, building security was tight, and that she wasn’t to be overwhelmed in any fashion. But you couldn’t anticipate intent. Especially when some were high school and college kids. Gifted or not, kids had big mouths and her fan base wasn’t exclusive to adults.

  Pulling out her calendar she kept in the drawer, I read the logistics for all three shows. Two were at The Filmore and both had sold out. Prior to the first show she had interviews and photoshoots, which she hates. She’d also be doing all of this sans meds. But she’d also be doing it with me next to her. If someone didn’t like it, tough shit. We were a package deal.

  I did worry about the final show at Lush though. I wasn’t familiar with it, didn’t know shit about it, and time wasn’t on my side. Guy said that’s where the local crowd will go because that’s the show she’s doing for charity. It would be at Lush she’d be faced with an audience with no orchestra pit separating her.

  “Any chance you’re hungry?” she asked while standing there in nothing but a cotton tank that clung to her nipples.

  “Starved,” I said, staring at her rack.

  “For food, pervert.”

  “Finish getting dressed,” I told her. “We’ll take my bike.”

  Immediately she went white, and just as fast I was up and in front of her, yanking her top down exposing her tits. “Hey!”

  “I ride well,” I remind her. “I ride even better with you on the back. I’d never let anything happen to you, Pest. So wear something comfortable because your ass is on the back of my bike where it belongs.”

  “What if—”

  “Lightning strikes, a plane drops from the sky, or you break a nail? Dress, now.”

  “You’re annoying.”

  “You’re nearly buck-assed, Pest. Get dressed or get fucked. Either way, you’re with me. One option gets you fed, the other gets you sore.”

  “Er.”

  “What?”

  “Sorer,” she grinned slyly.

  “It’s a good sore.”

  “That it is, Chevy,” she grinned then whispers. “You didn’t come.”

  “Plenty of time for you to make it up to me,” I promised her. “First, we eat.”

  Smacking her ass, she dressed just like she used to, quickly. Ready to see the world on the back of my bike, it was like riding again for the first time.

  Grabbing takeout, we head over to Campus Martius to watch the city fly by. Tucking her hair into a hat and staying to the side to hide her profile she was like anyone else. Without the heavy makeup and stage clothes you wouldn’t pick up on a celebrity. Yes, she was nervous. It came with the territory. Her eyes darting all over, fidgeting, ringing her hands, and rapid breaths. But after a few minutes of holding her and talking about nothing in particular, I was able to calm her. Before I knew it, she was eating her food with a smile on her face.

  “Twenty-two band members,” I said to break the silence. “Half are young, the other half, very experienced. Ten backup singers. You’ll have the podium for a quick meet and greet before you get started. You good with all that?”

  “Where will you be?” she asked, looking up while my hat engulfs her head. So fucking cute.

  “Right next to you,” I winked.

  “Then I’m good with it.”

  “That was too easy.”

  “When you aren’t annoying me, you’ll find I’m rather easy to deal with.”

  “Gotta annoy you, Pest. Life isn’t worth living if you’re not riled up.”

  “Chevy?” she asked, looking up and leaning into me at the same time.

  “Hmm?” I kissed her forehead.

  “I missed the sound of your voice.”

  “Even when it’s annoying you?”

  Wrapping her arms around my middle, she whispered, “Especially when it’s annoying me.”

  Taking her hand, I pulled her up and walked her back to my bike, noting she never broke her stride. The old Tempest was still in there, all I had to do was coax her back out.

  

  I was sweating like a whore in church. My mascara was burning my eyes, but I ignored it. Even the condensation that made its way down the crack of my ass wasn’t slowing me down. I refused to allow anxiety to get the best of me, but fuck, it wasn't easy. As Chevy so eloquently put it, “You’re a goddamn professional.” And I was trying hard to remember that. Had it not been for him hyping me up and promising to stay within eyeshot, I wouldn’t have made it on stage.

  Rehearsals should be easy for me, but they aren’t. Too many voices, instruments being tuned, complete chaos I’m supposed to control. So many stares. Strangers. Expectation. Fear.

  Standing up here, I realized I must look nuts to these people. They signed up expecting a pro, and all I could focus on was wanting to dig out the wedgie that lodged itself between my cheeks. Little did they know I was mentally picking my ass, and wishing I had a cigarette. Especially odd since I don’t smoke. When Chevy clears his throat, I jolt from my thoughts and address the room. I kept it brief and light.

  At least I think I did. Honestly, I had no clue what I was saying.

  After my intro, everyone was very gracious in giving me space. Possibly because they did think I was nuts, but most likely because the agreements they signed made clear I was to be given a wide berth.

  Grabbing my guitar, Chevy adjusts the mic after testing it out then gives me the all clear. Looking down into the pit, I took a moment to appreciate the kids who lived for music like I do. Out of nowhere I stood. The thought of sitting irritated me. They felt too far away and for some reason I didn’t like it.

  Setting my guitar down, I moved toward them with Chevy hauling ass to my side. I hadn’t directly addressed any of the musicians who backed me in over two years. I wasn’t rude about it, just distant, playing it off as being driven.

  Chevy wasn’t expecting me to wander off course, but I did, and he was there to support me. Hitting the steps, every last one of them stopped tuning to give me their attention. Looking into their curious eyes I felt the knot unravel in my stomach.

  “I used to be right where you are,” I addressed the group for the first time in ages. “If you’re like me, the world makes sense when there’s music playing. So today, I only have two rules. Have fun and play hard. Don’t focus on mistakes or worry about tomorrow. Today, we play.”

  When a girl raised her hand, I called out, “Yes?” which I never do.

  “Is he Chevy James?”

  “He is,” I smiled, looking to my right. Seeing Chevy as this teenager must see him. Another knot unraveled.

  “You sing about him,” another said with wide eyes.

  “I do.”

  “And now he’s back.” A statement of fact.

  “I am,” he said, tucking me into his side and speaking on my behalf, which he’s never done before. When another knot unravels, I almost cried. I hadn’t felt this relaxed in a crowd since… Jesus, I couldn’t even answer that.

  “Cool.” The girl smiled, satisfied with his response or the fact he smiled at her. I’m going with the latter. Chevy had one hell of a smile, and no female could resist it.
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  “You guys ready to rock?” I asked and to answer each one sounded off with their chosen instrument. Laughing, I climb the steps heading back to my spot, but not before I thanked the singers set up behind me.

  The lighting and sound techs had their instructions, and for the next two hours we rocked the fucking house down. I was not anxious, paranoid, or having issues of any sort. I was simply following my own advice by having fun and playing hard. Feeling the music and his presence, I turned to smile at him and the look on his face melts me. Chevy was, and always will be, together or apart, my biggest fan.

  When I began to sing Crowbar, he surprised me by grabbing a guitar and pulling up a stool to join me. Strum for strum, word for word, our eyes never lost contact. When I hit the high note, letting it carry throughout the auditorium, I wouldn’t realize until much later it was the highest note I’ve hit in a year.

  Adjourning until tomorrow, I wasn’t surprised, but disappointed when we were accosted by the paparazzi the second we stepped out of the rear entrance. With Chevy’s arm around my shoulders, the second the first flash hit, my smile died, and my stomach knotted back up. Not that the vultures cared about my discomfort in the slightest. Hell no, they smelled food and I, as usual, was the main course.

  Tempest, are you back with Chevy?

  When did he get out of prison?

  What’s it like having two men?

  Is it a love triangle?

  Did you break Guy’s heart?

  All of the chaos threatened to drop me until he put the helmet on my head and we hauled ass back to my safe haven.

  The second we parked, I jumped off, needing to burn the energy out of my system before I puked. So when he pushed me, I wasn’t prepared for it, but I was grateful. Pushing him back, he asked me, “When did it start getting worse?”

  Dodging his grab, I told him, “When you left, they pounced.”

  Taking a swing at him, he swatted my hand away and asked, “Do they ever stop?”

  “No,” I grunted, going for the tackle and missing by a mile. “And they never will.”

  “Tell ‘em to fuck off, Pest,” he said, tagging me around the waist before pushing me forward again.

  “I tell them anything they go rabid!” I growled, reaching and missing again. “Will you just stay still!”

  “Quit being a pussy and come at me,” he taunted. “You take me down, I’ll let you fondle my balls.”

  I couldn’t not laugh. So I did, and fuck me, it felt good. No, it felt great. Bending over at the waist, I laugh until my breath catches. Tilting my chin up, he kissed my nose and said, “They don’t get this. I do.”

  “I wish they’d leave me alone,” I whispered. “I’m not newsworthy, I just want to make music.”

  “You’re different, Pest, and that makes you news. Go to rehab, sleep with a married man, or get your tits done, and you’re like everyone else. Until you do that shit, you’ll be news because they see a star that has no rival. Not one. You’re a good person. They can’t help but seek it out.”

  “And destroy it.”

  “That, too,” he shrugged. “But you’re tough, Tempest. You learned from the best.”

  “Jillian Michaels is pretty badass.”

  “Me, you little shit. You learned it from me.”

  “In St. Louis, I hit someone,” I admitted proudly. “He pushed Guy and before he could turn around, I nailed him.”

  “I didn’t hear about that.”

  “He was so happy I touched him he didn’t press charges.”

  “You pay a high price for fame.”

  “I don’t see myself as famous,” I assured him. “Like you said, I’m different. Tomorrow someone else will be even more different than I am. Then they can handle the circus. I just want to play for as long as I can.”

  “Can I ask you something?” When I nodded he asked, “How were you going to manage it with a kid?”

  “I was going to quit,” I told him honestly. “I didn’t want to raise a child on the road. I would have been happy singing to an audience of one. All I wanted was to sing him to sleep.”

  “You really chose me,” he said, changing the subject I imagine is tough for him.

  “You know I did, Chevy.”

  “Learned a lot of hard lessons while I was away. I’ll be better this time, Pest. I want to be better.”

  “You just be you,” I smiled in earnest. “Don’t change a thing.”

  This time when he smiled, I didn’t melt, I exploded and tackled him reigning kisses all over his face. Unfortunately, a phone call from Arthur ruined a quickie. I won’t lie, I pouted through the whole thing. While Chevy prepared the grill for us to eat by the picnic table, I couldn’t stop myself from watching him and remembering how much I missed simplicity.

  He dropped out of high school his sophomore year to work full-time and even had his own trailer. Anyone who knew me, knew Chevy. Knew what we were. I had just bought two tickets for junior prom when the principal told me Chevy couldn’t come. So I tore them up and planned to return my dress.

  No Chevy, no prom.

  It was that simple.

  Only when I showed up at his place with tears in my eyes, I saw that with Guy’s help he’d transformed the alley behind his trailer into prom for me. Lights were hung, a table was set, a radio was plugged in, and in the house my dress was laid across his bed. He’d even had it pressed.

  We danced slow, I sang to him, he sang to me, and not once did either of us let go. We’d always loved each other. It was unspoken, but it was there. So when Chevy said the words, I said them right back.

  “I love you, Pest,” he’d whispered in my ear. “You know that, right? That I want to spend my life driving you nuts. You good with a love like that?”

  “It’s the best kind,” I’d whispered back. “I love you too, Chevy.”

  “Feel it here,” he said, tapping his chest. “I always feel it. Best feeling in the world.”

  “You are my world,” I choked out. “Always have been, always will be.”

  I was sixteen years old the night I saw my future in his eyes.

  “I’ll do whatever it takes to make my girl happy.”

  And he did.

  I meant it, I didn’t want him to change. Chevy was amazing just as he was, temper and all. An hour later, as we sat down to eat, any worries that he would change were put to rest when we were approached by fans who had somehow found our location. He was diplomatic, but firm; letting it be known that invading my privacy was a shit thing to do.

  Unfortunately, a few fans turned into a dozen, a dozen into two dozen, and it was clear the cat was out of the bag.

  Fucking social media.

  The good news was, not a single one was pushy or touchy. So I signed autographs, shook hands, and took photos until it went to shit. And went to shit it did when the vultures had found us. Let’s just say they weren’t considerate in the least. To make it a real party, the police showed up to attempt crowd control, and I watched it all while gripping Chevy’s hand. No one protected me like he did, which was how I was able to keep the panic at bay.

  Until one man took it too far.

  

  She wanted kabobs.

  Not the goddamn mob descending.

  Her location was no longer secure, her safety was an issue which took priority over being polite. The cops got it, even the fans who got too carried away understood once they calmed down. But the motherfucking media once again went too far. They cornered us yelling, pushing through, and spewing lies for all to hear. Her fans did not appreciate the tactic, choosing to come to her defense, thus attacking the paparazzi.

  Tempest maintained control, trusting me to protect her. She was holding my hand, stayed curled safely into my side while I backed us out of the chaos. But when one asshole in particular started razzing me, my girl fucking lost it. When I say she lost it, I mean she broke from me, launched herself at him taking a group along with her to the ground.

  Tempest had a rule.
That rule is, no one gets to talk shit about me, or to me, except her. She was a territorial little thing and while she could be timid about many things, when it came to me, she was plain vicious.

  Tearing them off of her with the cops doing the same, when I found her at the bottom of the pile you’d think it was just the two of them based on her tiny hands around his throat.

  Her name, that’s all I said. “Tempest.”

  Stopping mid-punch, she pushes off of him and rushes into my arms. Before the cops can get him up, I kiss her forehead and whisper, “Stay put,” so I could finish him off myself.

  This, they liked to call assault.

  This got me arrested and would be my sixth fucking charge.

  Being cuffed sent Tempest into another rage.

  Which got her arrested for swinging at law enforcement. The cops were gentle with her given the situation. Thank fuck for that because she wasn’t making it easy on either of them. My girl has no plans on giving up. She was pissed, had fire shooting from her eyes, and was worried for me. Because I was the one with the record. I was the one they’d make an example out of, I was the one who just violated my probation by beating a man on her behalf.

  The media would crucify her for this. I may even do time for this.

  With a light show only the DPD could offer, the crowd refused to part to let them take her away. Her fans loved her. Seeing her arrested didn’t make them happy, and it was a sea of phones taking video and people screaming to free her. These days it seemed people needed very little reason to mistrust police. They didn't understand she wouldn't be held. That they were actually protecting her. They only saw police as a threat to her.

  Minutes pass and I started to sweat wondering why we aren’t moving. Is she having an attack? Did she need me? Imagine my fucking shock when through the window, I watched the cop open her door, uncuff her, and stand to her right as she squared her shoulders. In a booming voice she said, “I love each and every one of you. But I need you to step aside and let these men do their job. I couldn’t handle seeing any of you hurt because of me. The faster you move, the faster we’ll get released. I’m not Johnny Cash, kids, I don’t play from prison.”