Rock

by Kendall Grey

  Try not to think about it, Letty.

  “I love you no matter what.” He strokes my cheek, holding me in a tight visual lockdown. Right where I want to be. “Got it?”

  “I got it.” I lean in and tag his lips. “I love you too.”

  “What the fuck is this shit about?” Rax interrupts from the opposite couch. He’s dicking around on his phone.

  “What?” we all say at once.

  “Some asshole slagging on Killer Buzz Float over an interview. It’s on our fan page.” Rax moves to our side of the bus and sits next to us. Jinx and Toombs scoot closer and peer into the screen too.

  The post says: Wow, Letty. Jealous much? A video is attached. Along with over 200 comments.

  A wave of nausea barrels into me from out of nowhere. I swallow hard. “Hit the play button.”

  It’s the interview with Anna. Apparently “leaked.” And edited to look like it’s not edited.

  The frame is as I remember it: me and Anna sitting on the couch up front on the bus. “What are your thoughts about Banging Betties?” she asks. Except she never spoke those words to me. They’re dubbed. Her face is turned far enough away from the camera that you can’t tell it’s fake.

  My gut drops as my commentary comes back to haunt me. “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.”

  “Lizzie Smith recently bought a house in Hollywood. Are you saying she doesn’t deserve to be rewarded for her hard work as a musician?” the lying, filthy, dirty, overdubbing bitch Anna needles.

  “I’d rather make art than house payments, but maybe I’m in the minority,” I say.

  “Well, since you seem to know so much about art, maybe you’d like to offer Banging Betties some advice …?” Also dubbed.

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

  “They seem to be doing fine on the charts.” Faked.

  Cut to me. “Turn off the camera.” Pause. “Don’t look at her. I said turn it off.” The parting shot is me, red-cheeked, chasing the cameraman. “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!”

  The frame freezes on my face, distorted with an ugly, not-so-funhouse mirror of my stage screams painted in horrible Technicolor highlights.

  I run a shaking hand through my sweaty hair. “Fuck.” I think I’m gonna be sick.

  “I can’t believe you, Letty,” Rax scolds. “What were you thinking?”

  I stand and whirl on him. “You fucking idiot! It was faked! I would never say that kind of shit on camera.”

  Eyes wide, he gets up in my face and shakes his phone at me. “You’re full of shit ’cause I’m looking at you with a bunch of diarrhea running out of your mouth on YouTube. The video has over 5,000 hits, and it only went live a couple hours ago. You done fucked up good, missus.”

  I turn to Jinx, pleading. “Jinx, tell them what Anna did. She attacked you too, didn’t she?”

  Jinx leans against Toombs’s chest, her hands balled together. He tightens his grip around her shoulders and hammers me with a glare.

  Fuck!

  I appeal to Shades. “She started ragging Jinx about her relationship with Toombs. Hounded her to the point she bailed on the interview. Right, Jinx?” God, please back me up, girl!

  She nods and nibbles on a thumbnail.

  “You guys gotta believe me. That bitch knew exactly what she was doing. She baited me by nagging Jinx with questions she didn’t want to answer, and I defended her. I’ll admit, I got pissed off, but it wasn’t like she made it look, I swear to Christ.” I pace back and forth a couple times. “And she dubbed those questions. That’s not what she asked me. She brought Shades and Eliza and Gabrielle into our conversation, and I lost it. I was trying to protect the baby.” I pause my rushed steps. “Find the cameraman and ask him.” Though, the chances of him ratting Anna out are pretty much nil. She totally had him wrapped around her finger.

  “You don’t have any other witnesses?” Shades asks. I can tell from the agonized expression, his heart is warring with his head. He doesn’t know whether I’m a saint or a psycho, and up until recently, my behavior toward Eliza and Gabrielle certainly hasn’t endeared me to the former.

  I squeeze my lids shut and drag my head left, then right. “Just the cameraman.”

  Jinx won’t look at me. Toombs is stroking her hair and gritting his teeth. Rax’s frown screams thoroughly disgusted; his eyes read thoroughly disappointed.

  They don’t believe me. I’ve always been a hothead with an attitude. They all think I hate Eliza and Gabrielle, so why would I bother defending them? In their minds, I showed my true stripes. With no witnesses to back me up, I’ll never prove I’m innocent in this.

  Guilty. No hearing. No trial. No way out.

  Rax resumes his seat with a grunt and scrolls through the comments on the video, reading a few select ones aloud:

  “Jealousy is an ugly color on you, Ms. Dillinger.”

  “Bitch be crazy!”

  “She and her rude mouth can get fucked. Lizzie is a way better singer and bassist.”

  “Maybe if Letty spent more time writing music and less time worrying about everyone else, her band would be in the Top 10 like Banging Betties.”

  “Haters gotta hate.”

  “Look at her face! Like she tryin’ to squirt out a spiked turd! LOL!”

  “She makes her bandmates look bad. It’s a shame because I actually liked them.”

  “It’s sad when a musician I used to respect has to act this way. Unfollowing Killer Buzz Float …”

  “Another one bites the dust. RIP, Killer Buzz Float.”

  “I just bought Banging Betties’ new album. Thanks, Bitchy Dillinger.”

  “Enough,” I mumble, on the verge of tears. “That’s enough.”

  A stampede of feet march up the bus steps and thunder down the aisle toward us. By the sound of it, there’s an army behind me. I turn around.

  An army of one. Jillian.

  And she’s frothing like a bull that got tangled up in a hornet’s nest, jaw set, scowl permanent, eyes bloodshot. The pure hatred rolling off her is a nuclear bomb nearing the end of its countdown. I’ve never been truly scared of Jillian until now. I hold up my hands. “I can explain.”

  She descends on me like a black shadow, and I cower beneath the force of it. When she stops inches from me, she leans in and speaks with a voice so low and full of vitriol, it actually stings. “I don’t want an explanation. I want you to pipe the fuck down and keep a low profile until this tour is over. Don’t say another word to Anna or Lizzie or any-fucking-one unless I tell you to.” She draws away a bit, and I sneak in a tiny breath. Her shoulders heave as she catches hers. “Stay away from the Internet. Make no posts. Answer no questions. Not a word. Do you understand, little girl?” Those last two words bite into me hard. I flinch.

  Clenching my jaw to contain my hurt and anger and astonishment, I nod and stomp toward the front.

  “Letty,” Shades calls. His footsteps follow for a few beats, then stop.

  “Let her go,” Jillian warns. “She needs to reflect on how badly she fucked up this tour for everyone and how she’s gonna make it up to you. If she even can. Maybe she’ll finally learn something about tact. And fucking humility.”

  “Yeah? When I dislodge this knife from my back, I’ll see what I can do, you goddamn traitor,” I
fling over my shoulder and charge off the bus, still stinky, and feeling grimier than ever.

  Sinking lower than dirt does that to a person.

  Stages of Grief

  They say when you lose someone, you go through stages of grief. Well, I say, when you have your heart ripped out and stomped on by people you thought you could trust, it’s pretty fucking griefy too. Break out the Prozac and the life preservers. Letty Dillinger’s riding this anchor all the way to the bottom.

  Denial, anger, bargaining, depression—I think I hit all four of those pretty much off the bat. However, the last stage, acceptance, eludes me. Maybe because I’m a fighter and I can’t let sleeping dogs lie. Especially when I know I’m right despite the entire world ganging up on me.

  Over the last four days, I’ve been knocked to the ground and kicked so many times, I can’t see straight. The “scandal” has been the running headline on Megamusic TV’s website. Must be a slow news week because damn, if it’s not the only thing anyone’s talking about there. I haven’t looked at the actual network. Shades advised me not to.

  People have come out of the woodwork to share their not-so-nice opinions about my “shocking” and “elitist” comments. I’ve been called “an unfortunate example of the frivolity and selfishness of the iGeneration” by old-timers in the biz, “a thoughtless, opinionated, jealous child” by newer artists, and “a spoiled brat who hasn’t learned that people in the spotlight aren’t allowed to have opinions” by former fans. Even a late-night TV talk show host made a joke about me.

  It’s taking everything I have to follow Jillian’s gag order. Yet, the longer I remain silent, the bloodthirstier the savages become. They demand an explanation. An apology. A making of amends to those I “hurt.” I refuse to apologize for something I didn’t do. I was framed, and there’s no way I’m accepting responsibility for shit someone else took out of context. Fuck that.

  Sad thing is, even if I gave them a goddamn human sacrifice as an apology, it wouldn’t be enough. This ordeal has moved beyond a witch-hunt. With oodles of keyboard courage tucked under the safe blanket of Internet anonymity, the bullies and trolls are engaged in an all-out bloodbath, weaving even more elaborate rumors based on flat-out lies. And no one questions them. The loudest voices are heard, and it’s much easier to be a sheep than to think for yourself.

  About three-quarters of our usual crowd came to the gig last night. The rest were outside the venue boycotting Killer Buzz Float until we left the stage. They wanted to show their support for Banging Betties. During the break between the last song on our regular set and the encore, I ran to the bathroom to puke.

  Well done, mates. You proved your fucking point. Can I please get back to my regularly scheduled life now? PLEASE?

  I gave up trying to convince my bandmates and Jillian that I’m innocent in this drama. Shades is the only one who believes me, and I’m not even sure he’s totally with me. He pretends to be. I guess that’s something.

  Never in my life have I been dragged this low. Never have I been beaten down to the point of quitting. But I’m seriously thinking about it now.

  Acceptance. Maybe the final stage of grief is closer than I realized.

  As I lie alone in my bunk, staring at the ceiling, wishing I could clear my head of the racing thoughts, the worries, the what-ifs, I notice the bus is quieter than usual. Shades left about thirty minutes ago to see Gabrielle. He promised to feel Eliza out about the drama—thought maybe she had some insights that could help us clear up this mess. I slide the curtain aside and peer down the aisle. The other bunks are empty, stray articles of clothing hanging out here and there from the trundles, but no actual bodies.

  I should probably eat, but every time I do, it comes back up. Pretty sure I’ve lost a couple of pounds I needed to keep. All the nervous energy has taken a toll on my body. I climb out of my bunk. Yeah, I’m gonna try to refuel. Maybe some crackers or bread will do.

  As I rummage through the kitchen cupboard, the sounds of light footsteps tap up the stairs. I lean backward to see who it is and nearly swallow my tongue.

  Eliza.

  The stunning woman stalks toward me like a panther. Lithe, graceful, classically beautiful. In short, everything I’m not. A pang of jealousy hits me square in the chest, and I drop the box of cereal I was holding. The top opens, scattering O-shaped processed grains all over the floor. Cheeks heating, I drop to my knees and try to scoop up the mess. Out of nowhere, tears well. I press my lips together, but the levee breaks.

  Eliza appears next to me and peers into my face. “Let me help you.” She pretends not to notice I’m crying as we contain the miniature disaster together. I turn my head and let my hair fall around me, wiping my nose on my T-shirt with a lifted shoulder.

  I want to say I’m sorry for the way I blew her off. I want to demand she explain how Anna and Lizzie get off ruining my career by perpetuating a blatant lie. I want to tell her her baby is as beautiful as she is and how jealous I am of what she and Shades had. All these things I want to eject in a rush of verbal projectile vomit.

  But Jillian’s right. I’ve said too much already. I need to grow a filter and shut the fuck up.

  I gather the last few Os and dump them into the box. “Thanks,” I mumble as we both stand up.

  She’s taller than I am, a perfect work of human art. Everything about her is elegant, from her lightly curled hair to her long, slender neck, dark supple skin, all the way down to the gold paint on her toenails. I wish she weren’t my enemy. I could actually see us becoming friends if she weren’t in league with Lizzie.

  “Can I talk to you?” she says.

  I startle out of my wistful thoughts and drag an arm across my cheek, smearing away a newly sprouted tear. “Sure.”

  She follows me to the couch in the back of the bus and seems to gather her thoughts for a moment before speaking. “I’m not sure what prompted the things you said in the interview, but I don’t hold it against you.”

  The laugh escaping me holds no humor, only bitterness. “So, you believe Anna? And Lizzie? Because you know Lizzie put her up to it.”

  “I wasn’t there, just saw the interview.”

  I exhale over a sarcastic nod. “Well, thanks for not holding a grudge. Is that it?”

  “Wait. What do you mean, ‘Lizzie put her up to it’?”

  “The interview was taken completely out of context. Anna dubbed in questions she never actually asked me and spliced the video together to paint me in a shitty light. She and Lizzie were whispering and laughing right after I chased the cameraman off the bus because Anna asked a totally out-of-line question about what I thought of you and Shades and Gabrielle.”

  Her brows pull together. “I told her no talking about Todd or Gabrielle.”

  I snort. “So did I. After she badgered Jinx about personal stuff, I warned her not to try it with me. If you could get your hands on the raw feed, you’d see she went there regardless.” And I took the fall for it.

  “I can’t believe Lizzie would intentionally undermine you.”

  I bite off the retort inching within a quarter of a breath from flying out my mouth. Instead, I say, “She did. She made it clear she hates my fucking guts. I believe she and Anna colluded to set me up and make me look bad to get rid of Killer Buzz Float.”

  Recognition passes over her face and settles into her eyes with quiet acceptance. “I see.” She doesn’t elaborate, but it’s clear she knows something I don’t.

  Or maybe I do. “She’s jealous, isn’t she?” I venture.

  Her silence confirms it.

  “Guess my comments struck a chord with her. That’s a shitty way for a person in the spotlight to deal with her feelings of inadequacy.” I stand up and rub my forehead. “We done now?”

  She angles her head up at me. “One more thing.”

  I stare, waiting for her to continue.

  “I didn’t come back to Todd just because my baby needs her father. I came back because I still love him.”

&
nbsp; Oh, shit. Are we fixin’ to throw down in a catfight? Because I’m so goddamned tired of fighting …

  “But after spending time with you both on this tour, it’s clear you love him more. And that he loves you.”

  I meet her gaze, and respect do-si-dos between us.

  “Todd and I weren’t married for long. When he said he didn’t feel the same anymore, I tried to honor his wishes and let him go. But … well, you know how he is. Something about him.” She smiles as if remembering some secret they once shared. “He’s so easygoing and nonchalant about everything, yet he’ll jump up in two seconds flat to defend you without question. He’s solid. Strong. Quietly rebellious. But always there to support you.”

  I nod slowly. “Yeah.” Shades is beta enough to let my alpha shine, yet alpha enough to keep me in line when I need it. Yin and yang. The Rock and The Roll. I totally get what Eliza means.

  “So, I guess I was a little selfish. I thought maybe I could use our daughter to lure him back to me. Wrong, I know. And it didn’t work anyway.” She smiles again. “He never stops talking about you. Always finds a way to make the conversation about Letty.”

  “Really?” A pang of hope knocks a chink into the wall of desperation and sadness the last few days have built in my chest.

  “Really,” she assures me with a soft pat on the arm.

  “I—” Shit. I don’t know what to say.

  “He’s all yours. I couldn’t win him back if I kidnapped and chained him to my bed for a year.”

  Yeah, he’s all mine. Has been since our first crazy night together when I pegged him in his daddy’s hotel with a strap-on. Shades is mine, and I’m his, and that’s all there is to say about that.

  It’s obvious why Shades married Eliza, and I’m not talking about the way she looks on the outside. She has a good heart, even if she is friends with Lizzie the Cunt.

  “Thank you,” I say.

  “Thank you for being so understanding about Gabrielle. Todd’s a great dad. He really adores her. I know it may be … awkward for a while. Readjusting to life with an unexpected baby has been a challenge for me. I can only imagine what it’s like for him, learning out of the blue he’s a father. But he’s committed to being here for her.” Sounds like she’s trying to gauge my stance on the paternity thing.