Rock

by Kendall Grey

“I overheard her talking to their manager Richard last night. He told her to shut me up and warned us to stay out of Banging Betties’ way. We’re making them look bad with our awesomeness.” I pause to let the words sink in. “So, they can’t play, and I guess they’re pissed at us because we can …?”

  Jinx’s forehead wrinkles. “I’ve been talking to Eliza and Beth, and I don’t think they feel that way. They both seem like genuinely good people.”

  “It’s not them. It’s Lizzie. She hates me. And she’s fucking Jillian, which means Jillian hates me now too.”

  Shock pops Jinx’s eyes wide. “Are you kidding? Lizzie and Jillian?”

  “I haven’t actually seen the two of them … doing what you and I did yesterday, but Jillian left her cigarettes in Lizzie’s bed, and the bunk reeked of the perfume she wears. Pretty sure they’re fucking.”

  Jinx settles into the couch cushion and pulls up a knee. “I don’t believe Jillian would sell us out.”

  “I do.”

  “Why? She’s done nothing but support us. Sure, she’s a little rough around the edges sometimes, but it’s because she believes in us. She pushes us because she wants us to be better than we are. To live up to The Rock’s expectations.” Jinx smiles a little.

  Nobody on this bus thinks of The Rock in spiritual terms the way I do, but Jinx gets me. She may not agree 100 percent, but she understands.

  “I want to believe Jillian’s intentions are good, but it really bugs me how stupid she gets when Lizzie’s around. I don’t want to lose her as our manager, but if it comes down to Lizzie or us, I’m pretty sure she won’t be picking us. Just saying you might want to brace yourself for the possibility.”

  “It’ll work itself out. I’m certain.” Jinx pats my hand. “In the meantime, I say we keep doing what we’ve always done. Screw anybody who doesn’t like it.”

  Or maybe be screwed by anybody who doesn’t like it.

  “Jinx? Letty? Can you come here, please? Anna has some questions for you,” Jillian calls in her sweet, Mommie Dearest voice.

  Here we go.

  Break out the wire hangers. At least one of us is going down—not in the good way—and the fight’s gonna leave some nasty, lasting marks.

  Make Art, Not House Payments

  “Anna wants to get your perspective on the tour and other stuff for the documentary. She’s especially interested in women’s roles in rock music. Jinx, you wanna go first?” The cigarette dangling between Jillian’s lips bounces on the hot air of her words like a postcoitus floppy dick.

  Now, there’s a picture: Jillian, Queen of Lesbos, sucking off Gay Richard, the Floppy Dick, King of Betty Bangdom. Both of them are so full of themselves, yet neither gets what they really want. Yep, I’d sure as fuck frame that shit and hang it over the toilet in the bathicle.

  “Uh, okay.” Jinx settles into the couch and rests her elbows on the table. Her hand shakes as she thumbs a gouge in the faux wood. Anna scoots in beside her while the cameraman maneuvers into place. I move out of the frame, leaning against the wall between the common area and the bunks.

  “I’ll leave you to it. Back in about an hour.” Jillian pauses at the top of the stairs, brandishing her lighter. We lock gazes for a second before she disappears, presumably to bang one of King Floppy Dick’s Betties.

  “Are you nervous?” Anna asks.

  Jinx nods a little. “I’m not good with interviews.” Despite her wildness last night at the hotel, she’s a mouse in public most of the time. She prefers hiding, surrounded by her drums, distracting people with a smoke screen of magical banging. Her kit is her shield from the real world.

  “Try to relax,” Anna soothes. “I don’t bite.”

  I cover my snort. I’ll bet she has razor fangs like a vampire bat. You know, the kind that are so sharp, you don’t even feel them slicing you open until half your blood’s gone.

  The cameraman nods at Anna, and she holds up the microphone. “I’m Anna DeVille, here with Jinx Hardwick, the drummer for Killer Buzz Float. Jinx, you’re an outlier in rock music. We don’t see a lot of female drummers in this business. What’s it like to be the backbone of the band … in pigtails?”

  What the fuck kind of sexist question is this?

  Jinx’s head quirks to the side, but she recovers quickly. “I don’t really see it as a male-female thing. I’m a drummer who happens to be a woman. My beats are the same as a guy’s. Give me a pair of sticks and something to hit, and I’m happy. There’s nothing in my DNA that makes me less of a musician than a man.” She shrugs.

  I make slow clap motions at her and nod my appreciation. Perfect answer.

  “Then, why do you think there are so few women sitting behind kits? Or, more broadly speaking, why do men dominate the music scene in general?” Anna asks.

  “I wish I knew,” Jinx replies. “Maybe it’s a confidence thing. While I don’t think men are necessarily better musicians than we are, I do think they can be intimidating. A lot of outdated, preconceived notions about how a woman should look, dress, and act still dominate our society. As long as parents continue to instill ideas of inferiority and shame in their girls, nothing will change.”

  Wow, look at Jinx being all Progressive Polly. I’m totally impressed. She’s rarely this chatty about anything.

  “So, your parents were supportive of your choice to be a drummer?”

  Jinx tenses. Crosses her legs under the table and wrings her hands in her lap, out of the camera’s view. “My parents support me.” She doesn’t elaborate. Probably because her dad is one of those aforementioned parents who think girls should be girls and not beating things—especially not tattooed, pierced men—with sticks. How she escaped the clutches of his sexist regime is beyond me, but I’m glad she did.

  “Toombs Badcock was the drummer for Killer Dixon before he and his bandmates joined you and Letty Dillinger, two of the founding members of Cherry Buzz Float, to merge the two bands into one: Killer Buzz Float. What was the transition like?”

  Jinx’s shoulders loosen a bit, and she smiles. “It was a little … difficult at first. Toombs is an awesome drummer. About a year ago, Cherry Buzz Float was touring with Killer Dixon. One night, both bands were missing guitarists due to some … unfortunate incidents. We were going to have to cancel the show, but Letty and I ended up jamming with Toombs and Shades on the bus. I had no idea Toombs could play guitar. When we realized we could combine our efforts and fill in the gaps, everything came together.

  “Toombs and I collaborate when we’re writing music, but we still have our problems from time to time. We argue over beats. He wants one time signature when I think a different one would be better. In the end, we work it out, though.”

  Anna raises a lascivious brow. “I’ll bet you do. It’s no secret you and Toombs are an item. What’s it like playing with your boyfriend onstage?”

  Jinx’s cheeks pink, and she shifts in her seat. “I’d rather not talk about that.”

  “Oh, come on! Your fans are dying to know more about your relationship,” Anna presses, nudging Jinx’s shoulder.

  Jinx tips forward a bit, hair covering her face, and shakes her head. The aura of openness closes around her as she curls into herself. She’s entering shutdown mode.

  I wave at Anna and vehemently wag my head back and forth, nearly snapping my neck.

  She ignores me. “Toombs said you two share a bunk. Care to show us which one?”

  Okay, game over. “She said she doesn’t want to discuss this. Ask another question, or be done with the interview.” I won’t have this bitch badgering my best friend.

  “I—I think I’d better go,” Jinx says quietly. She stands and thunders down the steps before I can catch her.

  “Jinx!” I yell from the door after her.

  She keeps walking and shakes her head.

  Fuck.

  I turn and fix Anna in my sights. “That was beyond shitty.”

  She shrugs. “Touchy-touchy.”

  “You pull that crap wit
h me, and I’ll get a lot more than touchy-touchy. Jinx politely said she didn’t want to talk about her relationship, yet you pushed it anyway. Don’t you have any boundaries? There’s a thing called ethics, you know.”

  She rolls her eyes, holds up her hand, and studies her perfectly manicured pink nails. “She should grow a tougher skin.”

  Man, this cunt is a piece of work. “Maybe, as a journalist, you should use a lighter touch when interviewing someone who’s obviously shy and nervous.” I force Anna’s hand down and pin it to the table so she’ll look at me. “Just so we’re clear. Ask me any intimately personal questions, and I will end this. The relationships in this band are nobody else’s business.”

  Crossing my fingers behind my back, I hope she’ll exit the bus in a storm of fury so I don’t have to do the stupid interview at all. She doesn’t.

  No, the bitch assumes the knowing gloat of a pig in shit and smiles at me, nose glistening brown, reeking of septic tank soup. “Are you ready for your interview, Ms. Dillinger?” She pronounces my name with an extra shot of zest in the snark.

  “Absolutely.” I splat my ass to the cushion beside her, exuding attitude like testosterone in an unventilated men’s locker room. Let the twat do her worst.

  After a moment of primping in a compact mirror, she faces the camera and nods. The red light flickers on. “Anna DeVille with Letty Dillinger, the lead singer of Killer Buzz Float.” She turns to me. “Letty, you recently joined the Get Your Rock Off Tour. What’s it like on the road with all these kickass bands?”

  Well, that was a softball starter question. Okay … “We’ve only been on for a few dates so far, so we haven’t gotten to mix and mingle with the other bands much. We’ve spent a little time with Banging Betties. They seem pretty cool.” At least two-thirds of them are. “The DomMob show last night was sick. I hope to catch up with them now that we’re settling into our routine. Maybe play some hoops if we can find a court.”

  “You any good at basketball?”

  “I do all right. Never played on a team or anything, but I had a few friends at home in the projects I used to shoot the rock with. I can still hit a shot from downtown. Might be short, but I got good arms for that shit.” I lift a hand and lob an invisible ball into the hole.

  Anna laughs. “Well, now you’re playing with a different kind of rock. What have your experiences with your fans been like?”

  “By far, the best part of this gig for me is being onstage, playing for our fans. Seeing all those faces—right there in front of us, screaming and singing along and moshing in the pit—appreciating our music? They make it so worth the effort. We bitch sometimes about our ruthless tour schedule, but the truth is, I wouldn’t have my life any other way. The fans are what matter. It’s all about The Rock.”

  “And you do have some pretty rabid fans,” Anna says. “What are some struggles you’ve encountered as a band?”

  “Writing new music is challenging. It rarely comes easy. You really gotta work at it and finesse the hell out of it. Lots of blood, sweat, and tears go into producing new material, and you never know what the payoff will be until the album drops.”

  She nods. “It’s hard to stand out in the world of rock music. Do you ever have to compromise your principles to reach your goals?”

  I inhale deeply and take a moment to frame my thoughts. “Look, everybody in this business has to get down on their knees and suck the dick of the Almighty Dollar at some point or another. You got bills to pay. You gotta make a name for yourself. You gotta whore yourself out to get attention. We’ve all been there.

  “Question is, how long before your jaw clamps shut and knees lock, and you can’t get back on your feet? Learn how to play an instrument instead of taking the easy way out. You can only fake it for so long before people see through the act. You wanna make music? Quit trying to suck the money teat dry, and make some fucking music. If you’re just in it for the money, then at least be honest with yourself about it.”

  “Wise words,” Anna declares. Man, she’s being a lot nicer about this than I expected. “So, you’re in it for the music and not the money.”

  “Absolutely. I’d rather make art than house payments, but maybe I’m in the minority. Like the song says, it’s all about The Rock.” Then I sing the lyrics, “‘The Rock will always make you strong.’”

  Anna smiles politely. “And what a great anthem for our generation.”

  “Thank you,” I reply, covering my shock by sipping from the cup of water someone left behind on the edge of the table.

  “Got any advice for kids who want to make a career out of playing in a band?”

  “Yeah. Stop making noise. Start making music.”

  Grinning, Anna consults her notes, and kablams me with, “How is it, touring with your boyfriend’s ex-wife, Eliza Guns, and their baby?”

  And … crash!

  Heat burning up my neck, I face the cameraman. “Turn off the camera.”

  He tilts his head to Anna, as if awaiting instructions.

  “Don’t look at her. I said turn it off.” I shuffle out of my seat toward him. He backs up. I grab for the lens. He spins out of my reach, then points his gear at me as he retreats down a step. I swing my disgust around to Anna. “Shades’s and Eliza’s relationship is off limits for this discussion, and you damn well better keep the baby out of it. She’s an innocent, and I seriously doubt her parents would want her dunked in the shit pot you seem so fond of stirring.” I turn to camera dude who’s fixin’ to get his ass beat. Red light’s still on. The video’s still rolling. “Get that fucking thing off me, or I’ll shove it so far up your ass, you’ll be hocking up LCD loogies and sneezing digital pictures for a year!”

  I curl my lip, ball my fists, and prepare to do battle. The guy stumbles down the rest of the steps and gallops across the parking lot. I whirl on Anna and thrust my finger in her face. “Jinx asked you nicely, and so did I. You blatantly refused to respect our privacy, and dragged a minor into the fray. I’ll be in touch with your boss about this bullshit. If I have to go to the president of your network, I will. You crossed the wrong bitch.”

  Her knowing smile reflects a nonchalance that makes me even madder. She shrugs, grabs her purse, and skips down the steps without another word.

  “You better hope you never meet me in a dark alley, you cunt!” I yell after her and finish off my tirade with a double-barreled bird.

  Anna swings her hips, shaking off my anger like water over a duck’s head. A few seconds later, Lizzie appears from behind the Banging Betties bus. She intercepts Anna and glances to me, standing guard at the gates of Killer Buzz Float’s ride, hands on hips, legs akimbo, seething with such hatred, my heart feels like it’s gonna bust wide open. Anna tells her something, and a big, ruthless shit-eating grin spreads across Lizzie’s face like she just won the motherfucking Powerball jackpot.

  Sticks and Stones and Broken Homes

  After our show tonight, the members of Killer Buzz Float lay sprawled in pairs over the couches in the back of the bus, waiting for turns in the shower. Eve’s in now. She always goes first. Can’t stand the thought of body odor—gasp!—clinging to her skin. I like her a lot, but this perfect body image thing she stresses over is lame. Sometimes you gotta stink and be okay with it.

  Speaking of … I lower my arm. “Phew,” I mutter to myself, waving the stench at Shades beside me. He shakes his head, smiles, and kisses my bare shoulder despite the smell. That’s true love. Gotta hold on to a guy who accepts you for who you are, BO and all.

  As usual, our post-performance high strokes my libido. Playing onstage before thousands of fans is a lot like awesome sex. Sometimes you ease into it and let it out nice and slow with teasing promises of pleasures to come, and sometimes you come out swinging, full-on, bashing everything in sight with your mighty womancock, screwing subtlety all together. Tonight’s show fell into the former category. The slow build. The sexual tension. The rising heat. And the big climax at the end. Nice to mix things u
p every now and then.

  And the lingering heat from the stage bodes well for Shades and me.

  Admiring his shirtless form, I trace the hollows behind his collarbones, the faint scar across his chest from when he fell off his bike as a kid. Despite all his “flaws,” he’s a truly beautiful specimen. I toss a leg across his lap and straddle him for a closer look.

  His hands grasp my hips and squeeze gently as we stare at each other. I flick the gauge in his left ear, remembering how funny the jiggly flesh looked when he took the plugs out for me the first time. His quick, appreciative white smile throws a match on the gasoline in my guts and devours my doubts about our relationship in a short-lived blaze. I’m still amazed by how easily he can disarm me with a simple flash of teeth. It’s the suggestive promise behind the silent message, I think.

  He presses his forehead to mine and closes his lids for a few seconds. Maybe I do the same things to his body as he does to mine.

  Settling deeper into his growing erection, I thumb the little nicked cutout above his eyebrow, next to the ring piercing. He said he got the scar in a bar fight, but he never elaborated. Was he in the wrong place at the wrong time? Drunk and mouthy? Defending Eliza’s honor? The way he’s looking at me now assures me he’d do the same—and more—for me.

  I’m gonna fuck him proper later. We’ve had too much drama in our lives lately and not enough intimacy. Time to slow things down, regroup, and rebuild what we had into something even better than before.

  He dips his lips to the exposed mound of my left boob and kisses it. Then the right. The follow-up nuzzle to the ear sends a shiver through me. “Eliza and I did the paternity test today while you were being interviewed. Should have the results in about a week,” he whispers.

  I pull away, resting my arms on his wiry shoulders. “Really?”

  He nods. “It was super easy. Just an at-home swab thing in the mouth.”

  “Oh. That’s good. Really good.” A mixture of relief and worry swirls through my brain. If he’s Gabrielle’s dad, we’re gonna have to make some changes in our lives to accommodate her. If not, Shades will be devastated. He’s grown so attached to her.