Rock & Roll Girls

by CL Rowell

  “Why are you so determined to lose weight for this wedding?”

  “Forgot already?” I reached out to take James, kissing his chubby cheeks, “That little hussy’s marrying my soulmate. I want to remind him of what he lost.”

  “Are you talking about Ray? Didn’t you dump him because he had anger issues?”

  Of course, she just had to bring that up. “So? He was gonna come crawling back, eventually—begging for forgiveness, promising to change, realizing how wonderful I am and how lucky he was to have me.”

  “And how long would it last? How long until the next time he got mad over nothing—and ended up killing you instead of merely blacking your eye or putting you in the hospital? I need you here, not waiting at the pearly gates.”

  “I know.” I do so hate when she has a valid point about him. Sniffling, I blotted my eyes. “You’re right. I’m looking back with rose colored glasses. Maybe I will have the damn fudge—maybe I’ll have the whole bowl.” My stomach roared its agreement. “Come on—time to change the subject. Let me show you what I found. You’re not gonna believe it.”

  Once inside, James ran straight for the train set I’d neglected to mention buying, and I bit my lip. I cut my eyes to the side, hoping she wouldn’t see me peeking at her before I sussed out her reaction to the new toy.

  “More toys?” She crossed her arms. “Really?”

  “It’s your fault.” I pointed out, batting my eyes, smiling—as my Nana always said—like butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth. “You made me his godmother—if his godmother can’t buy him toys, who can?”

  She laughed, shaking her head, and I relaxed. “Lucy, godmother isn’t short for fairy godmother—you realize that, don’t you? You spoil him rotten. If he even looks at a toy sideways, you run out and buy it for him. What are you going to do when he’s sixteen, with his driver’s license, drooling over expensive sports cars? You gonna buy one for him, and pay the insurance on it, too? Cuz I’m not.”

  Yes, I’d probably buy him the damn car, but I wasn’t going to admit it to her. Instead, I sidestepped the issue. “Party pooper—look at him. He’s having a blast…and now we can sit down on the couch without interruptions. Come over here.” I woke my laptop and turned it toward her, patting the couch cushion. “Sit. Read.”

  “Fine.” She plopped down with a huff of annoyance and reached for the little computer, trying to hide her curiosity…but I could see it. “What am I looking at?”

  “It’s a website that interviews hot new artists. I’ve had feelers out for a while, searching for any information on a Jessie Robertson, and—“

  “I didn’t ask you to do that.” She scowled at me.

  “I know. I took it upon myself after I saw how hurt you were.”

  “You should have asked me, Lucy! I knew what I was getting into.”

  “Fine! Next time, I’ll ask permission first.” I fought not to show her how hurt I felt, fought to keep my face emotionless. Gritting my teeth, I continued, “But, since I already found something, are you gonna read the goddamn article, or am I gonna have to sit on your stomach and read it to you myself?”

  She reached out and squeezed my fingers. “Lucy, I didn’t mean to hurt—“

  “I’m not hurt…I’m irritated—annoyed, but not hurt. Are you going to read the damn thing or did I blow five hundred big ones for nothing?”

  Her jaw dropped, and I bit my lip, waiting for the explosion. It didn’t take long. “You paid someone five hundred—“

  “Yes. Yes—and it was worth it,” I interrupted her, “Or it will be, if you ever read the fu—“

  “Language!” She nodded toward James and lifted the computer into her lap.

  “Sorry.” I cringed, my eyes locked on her face as she skimmed the interview, struggling to keep my mouth shut as she read, but practically vibrating with excitement as she got closer to the end. After she sat up, I leaned in closer, unable to wait. “Well?”

  “Well, what?” She lifted one shoulder, avoiding my eyes, “He’s single, by choice, because his heart was taken by an innocent girl in a small town early in his career—doesn’t mean it was me.”

  “Well, what about this—“ I clicked on a different tab and read, “Who is the mysterious Callie, in Louisiana, who stole Jessie’s heart, much to the irritation of thousands of willing women across our fine country? Ten thousand dollars to the first person who can give us the four one one on this mystery lady we’ve dubbed Jessie’s Girl.”

  She stared at me, horror creeping across her face. “Did you—?”

  My feelings singed, I snapped, “Hell no, I didn’t sell you out, silly girl. What kind of person do you think I am?”

  I didn’t think you would, but…” She shrugged.

  “Doesn’t hurt to ask for reassurance.” I sighed and forced a smile, knowing she meant no offense. “Want to hear his first single?”

  “He has a single?” I nodded, and she shrugged, striving for a casual mien. “Sure. Why not—I know you’re probably dying to share it with me.”

  Annoyed with her show of pretense, I snipped, “Look at you—Miss Bitch, her royal highness, the Ice Queen, trying to act like you don’t care, and shit, when you know you dying to hear it.”

  “Language!”

  Feeling terrible, I covered my mouth with both hands and whispered, “Sorry.”

  “It’s fine. He wasn’t paying attention—this time.”

  “I’ll try to do better. But here, you gotta listen to this.” Placing my iPod in its dock on my most prized possession—my Bose speaker—I hit play. Moments later, as the music and lyrics surrounded us, weaving their spell, I could tell she recognized the tune.

  “A-a-are you sure? I love this song. I’ve been listening on my radio, trying to catch a name and song title. How did you—?”

  I preened. “I have my sources.” Then I dropped another bomb on her. “He’s playing at The Blue Orchid in New Orleans, two weeks from tomorrow. I bought tickets, planning to go with you…but it’s looking like I’ll have to work that night.”

  I knew she’d understand what I meant. I don’t actually have to work. Nana and Daddy left me more money than I can spend in two lifetimes—but I do volunteer work at the local senior citizen’s home, and they requested my presence on that night. It was someone’s birthday—Salma, I think. The reason didn’t matter, though. When they call, I always answer, because most of them don’t have families to depend on. I am their family now.

  4

  *

  Around the time I figured Callie would be arriving in New Orleans, my phone rang. Seeing her name pop up, I stepped out into the relative quiet of the nursing home hallway, outside the communal room.

  “Hey, sweetie, you arrive safe and sound?”

  “Oh, my god, he’s here!” Her voice shook with suppressed emotions.

  “Of course he is, silly girl—he has a show tonight.” I made a face at my reflection in the mirror on the wall across from me.

  “No, I mean he’s here—at the hotel. I just saw him.”

  “OMG!” I hissed, excited for her. “Did he see you, too? Did your eyes meet across a crowded lobby?”

  “Haha! No, he was walking away from the elevators as my door was closing.”

  “You didn’t even try to get his attention?” I couldn’t quite filter out my disapproval and knew it echoed loud and clear through the speaker and into her ear.

  “I froze. What if he doesn’t want to see me?”

  “You won’t know if you don’t have the balls to try, will you?”

  “You don’t understand.”

  I rolled my eyes at the whimper in her voice. Inside, I felt something snap, and I let her have it. “You’re right, I don’t understand. Instead of getting knocked up by an up and coming rock star, I got knocked around by a high school dropout with a prison record and a short fuse. How could I possibly understand?”

  “Lucy—“

  “No, shut up and listen for once.” I rolled over her, really p
issed at her for the first time in our entire friendship. “You are so fucking lucky. You just don’t know. Jessie seems like a nice guy. If it was me, I’d do everything in my power to reach out and make contact—take that leap of faith and at least try. You only live once, and life is too fucking short to hesitate. You grab it by the short hairs and hang on for dear life, so that, at the end, when you’re staring the Reaper in the face, you can look back and say, I squeezed out every fucking drop, motherfucker, so let’s see what’s next.”

  “Wow, I—“ She hesitated, “I’ll try.”

  “Try isn’t good enough. You have to succeed.”

  “Fine, I’ll try until I succeed.”

  “That’s my girl. Exactly the words I wanted to hear.” I grinned, hoping she could hear it in my voice.

  “Psycho.”

  I laughed, the fury I’d felt moments earlier evaporating. “You say it like it’s a bad thing. Go get ready. The show starts soon.” Hanging up, I slipped back into the party just in time to see the birthday girl blow out her candles. “Don’t forget to make a wish!”

  The next morning, I turned on the forty inch television mounted on the wall in between the dining room and kitchen as I stumbled to the coffee pot.

  In other news, Melody Rains, the entertainment reporter for Fox News New Orleans, was at The Blue Orchid, last night, where rising star Jessie Robertson was playing, and got quite the unexpected story. A mysterious young woman in the audience took off running up the aisle, with Jessie in hot pursuit, after being highlighted beneath the venue’s spotlights. Was it a planned publicity stunt? Opinions are divided. We have a copy of the video in question—Mark?“ Before my disbelieving eyes, Callie ran up the center aisle in full color, followed by a slender girl with hair every shade of the rainbow. Startled and choking, I sprayed a mouthful of coffee across the tile floor.

  “What the—who the fuck is Rainbow Barbie?” I studied the girl, noting the mascara smears on her cheeks. “Callie, did you give her my damn ticket? I bet you did, didn’t you. You and your marshmallow heart. You picked up another fucking stray, didn’t you? I’ma kick your foolish ass when you get home, if you didn’t make her pay for that seat.” Before my disbelieving eyes, after a brief, unheard conversation with Callie, Rainbow Barbie turned and deliberately stepped into Jessie’s path, ricocheting off his chest and stopping him cold as blood fountained from her nose, allowing Callie to slip out the front doors, unchallenged. Hopping mad, I yelled at the screen, “Get back in there, you little chicken shit! Those tickets weren’t free!”

  The video minimized into the background as Jessie and employees of the venue led the bloody tissue festooned young woman off camera, and the news crew took over again.

  A bit of digging gave us the name of the young woman in question. It was none other than Callie Rhodes, the mysterious object of Jessie’s apparent affections, and the muse behind his first number one hit, Cajun Angel. No one has been able to tell us why she was at the concert, nor why she ran away, or even if she and Jessie are together or not. If any of our listeners know anything about the young woman dubbed as Jessie’s girl, give us a call. Mark, back to you…

  I scanned through the channels, catching the same story on each one. Everyone was talking about the show in New Orleans. Snatching my phone from the counter and using my finger like a dagger, I stabbed Callie’s name and put the phone to my ear. Hearing her voicemail pick up, I hung up and hit redial. Cursing, moments later, I hit redial again. “Answer the fucking phone!”

  “Hello?” Finally!

  “Took you long enough to answer the damn phone. Only had to call you three times,” I groused.

  “Three—I was in the shower. What happened? Is James okay? Is Mom?”

  “They’re fine, I’m sure. Worried about you.” It wasn’t technically a lie. If her mom turned on the TV and saw the news, she’d be worried.

  “About me? Why?”

  She sounded curious so I took a stab in the dark, “Haven’t turned on the television yet?”

  “I just got up. Haven’t even had coffee. Why? What did I miss?”

  “Just your face, plastered all over a shit ton of channels. Hell, I bet the story even made CNN.” It was a guess. I don’t get CNN. I took a deep, fortifying breath, topped off my coffee cup and sat on one of the stools in the breakfast nook.

  “My face? I don’t understand.”

  “A local reporter was at The Blue Orchid, last night, filming the show for a human-interest story, and got more than she bargained for. She caught the whole thing on camera. Now the entire world knows who Jessie’s girl is.”

  “No!”

  “Oh, yes, sweet cheeks—like it or not, you’re famous.”

  “But, I don’t want to be famous.” I heard her collapse against the mattress. Just as I was about to give up, thinking she’d fallen back asleep or something, she sighed and added, “See you soon.” And the phone died.

  After calculating how long it’d take her to drive back, I was lurking in her driveway, and was at her car door as soon as she pulled in. “How was your trip?”

  “Geez, let me get out of the car and stretch my legs. I didn’t stop once, all the way back, and I need to take a leak before I pop.” Heading for her Mom’s house, she added, “If it can’t wait five whole minutes, you’ll just have to follow me into the bathroom.”

  “I can do that. You think I won’t?” I stayed glued to her heels, yelling at her surprised mother and son, “We’ll be right back. She has to go potty.”

  She glared at me. “Can you shout a little louder? Mrs. Lee, three doors down, is hard of hearing. I don’t think she heard you.”

  “Haha.” I leaned on the edge of the bathtub. “Seriously, tell me everything. Don’t leave anything out.”

  “What do you want to know that you didn’t see on TV? According to you, they showed the whole debacle on the news.”

  “They did, and I guess I can understand why you don’t want to talk about it, but there’s one thing I have to know.”

  “What is it?” Sighing, she dropped her head forward, resting her chin on her chest.

  “Where’d you find Rainbow Barbie?”

  She raised her head and squinted at me. “Where did I—? Rainbow—oh, you mean Julie. She drove down from Arkansas, hoping to find a scalper selling tickets. When I bumped into her, I felt so bad for her, cuz she’d been crying her eyes out, and her mascara was everywhere.”

  “Couldn’t find any tickets?”

  “Nope, or scalpers either.”

  “Let me guess…you gave her my extra ticket, didn’t you?”

  She hunched her shoulders protectively around her ears. “I tried to, but she insisted on paying me what she could afford for it.”

  “What? Ten whole dollars?”

  “You’re such a bitch.” She laughed. “Actually, she gave me eighty bucks.”

  “Not bad. I only paid a hundred each for them.” I nodded, impressed.

  “Yeah, well I hope her trip home was uneventful, because that was all she had other than what she set aside for a room and gas.”

  “That what she told you?”

  “Yes.”

  I snickered. “And you believed her?”

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Good point. Why wouldn’t you?” I sighed and shook my head. “It’s one of the things I love about you, but your Achilles heel, as well. You’re so gullible. You trust everyone. I’m surprised you kept the money. What happened?”

  She looked away, “Why are you so sure something happened?”

  “Callie…”

  “Fine.” She spoke over the faucet, as she washed her hands, “The concert started before I could try to give it back; then he saw me, and I ran and hid in my room. Satisfied?”

  “No. I’d be a pretty fucked up friend if I was, since I know you’re probably kicking yourself in the ass for running away.”

  “I am.” Her eyes fill with tears. “Because I ran, not just once, but twice.”r />
  I pulled her close, rocking her. “He was still there this morning, wasn’t he? Aw, Callie…honey, don’t beat yourself up over it. If he was there, news crews probably were, too, hoping for a reunion story to boost their ratings.”

  “They were.” Her voice was muffled and her tears soaked through my shirt, scalding hot against my skin. “Julie was, too. Her yelling my name as I pulled onto the street was what caught my attention.”

  I dropped my arms and stepped away, pissed, “Let me get this straight—little Miss Rainbow Barbie wannabe, who drove from somewhere up in Arkansas, hoping to get a ticket, not only distracted him while you got away, but was still there, outside the Blue Orchid with him when you left the inn? Uh uh, girl, something don’t smell right. I bet you anything that that little opportunist is after your man.”

  “She’s the one who yelled—did you miss that part? Besides, he’s not mine.”

  “His actions say different—that interview said different—and a bunch of his songs do, too. That man cares for you.” I tapped her collarbone with my finger for emphasis.

  “Then how come he never tried to find me?”

  I shrugged. “That’s something you’ll have to ask him…but, in order to do that, you gonna have to face him and talk to him.”

  “I know.” She opened the bathroom door and James nearly bowled her over.

  “Mommy! You came back!”

  “I did, didn’t I?” Lifting him high for a hug, she added—to me, “I’m working on it.”

  “Well, don’t take too long. There are opportunists at every concert, just dying to wiggle in close to your man. Don’t wait until it’s too late.”

  “I won’t.”

  “See that you don’t.” I smiled at her mom. “Nice seeing you, Mrs. Rhodes. I gotta get home. I think I left my door unlocked. I’ll let myself out.”