by Kendall Grey
“I’ve already told him I support him. If he’s Gabrielle’s father, he’ll be there for her. And you. So will I.” Was that neutral enough?
“We should get the results any day,” she says. “Then we’ll figure out how to proceed.”
“Okay.”
She stands. “I feel bad about the documentary blowing up the way it did. If I find out anything, I’ll let you know.”
“I appreciate it.” Not like it’ll help. My reputation is already ruined. I walk her to the door.
As she slips gracefully down the steps, I call her name. When she hits the pavement, she turns.
“Congratulations on hitting the Top Ten,” I say. “I think you’re a damn good guitarist.”
Her cheeks plump with a grin. “Thanks. And you’re a damn good singer.” She continues toward her bus, and then faces me one more time. “For the record, I’d rather make art than house payments too, but I got a baby to take care of, so …” She rubs her thumb and fingers together, making a “moolah” gesture. Pretty sure she winked.
Tastes Like America
An hour later, the band members board the bus in pairs. Jillian brings up the rear, her grimace even more dour than usual. Shades flashes me a do-not-fuck-with-her warning. Guess I’ve got another time-out session coming. I head to my bunk, but Jillian stops me.
“Band meeting first. Then you can go back to your corner.”
I manage to pass her without flinging the curse poised at the tip of my tongue. Ten points to Leprosy Letty, Bringer of Gloom and Doom to the Killer Buzz Float team.
Shades sits beside me on the couch and winds his fingers between mine, then brings the ball of our hands to his lips for a kiss. At least I still have him. Even if I’ve lost everything else, Shades is mine. For the first time in a while, I’m comforted. I lay my head on his shoulder.
Jillian puffs on her electronic cigarette and blows out a heavy breath. She focuses on me as Rax, Eve, Jinx, and Toombs settle around us. “You weren’t lucky enough to witness my … discussion with Richard, so I’ll fill you in.”
Judging by the sad sack faces, none of which will turn my way, somebody lit the methane frosting on top of the shit cake. God, can it get any worse?
Of course it can. Brace yourself.
“Rumor has it that Socket, the energy drink sponsor, is considering pulling their endorsement if Killer Buzz Float sticks around.”
KA-POWEE!
I glance to my band members. No one will look at me. Except Shades. I’m not completely alone in the storm, but neither of us has an umbrella. The last thing I want to do is drag him and our bandmates down with me. I hate feeling like an anchor.
Jillian continues. “I don’t make business decisions based on rumors, so we’re gonna pretend like everything’s hunky-fucking-dory and put on the best goddamn show we can tonight. Agreed?” She looks at each of us in turn.
A few grudging nods break up the monotony of stillness.
“This is bullshit,” Jinx says.
I whip my head her way.
“You know what? I’m sick of this crap. Letty’s right. Anna did badger me during her interview. I didn’t witness what happened afterward between her and Letty, but I’ve been thinking long and hard about it. That woman was pushy. She intended to stir up trouble.” She turns to me. “I believe you. I don’t know how to prove you innocent, but I believe you.”
My heart stutters. I squeeze Shades’s hand as I sit up straighter. “Thanks,” I say.
“I believe you too, pussycat.” Shades kisses my fingers again. “Never had any doubts.” My hero.
“So what can we do?” Jinx asks.
“I’ve already petitioned Megamusic to turn over the raw video, but they claim the file was corrupted and it’s unreadable,” Jillian says.
“Wait, what? You went to bat for me?” No way. No fucking way she did that.
She clobbers me with a “Duh!” scowl. “Of course I did, you idiot. It was the first thing I did when you told me your side of the story. I’m your manager. This is the kind of shit you pay me for.”
Oh, right. Because me being the butt of jokes and the pariah of rock music wouldn’t be conducive to Jillian getting paid. Still, I’m shocked she even bothered. She seemed so convinced of my guilt.
“I call more bullshit,” Jinx interjects. Damn, she’s full of fire today. Maybe Letty’s Lepers team has expanded to three members. “You asked to see the only known piece of evidence, and they conveniently claim ‘corrupted files’? No.” She shakes her head. “Not buying it for a second.”
Jinx stands and looks thoughtfully out the window before continuing. “The media has gotten out of control over this. Bloggers are eating Letty alive. And it doesn’t affect just her. It affects the whole band. We’re all under scrutiny. We have no privacy. Our words can be taken out of context at any time for any reason. They can make us look like angels or demons, depending on their moods, and the fans hang on their every word.
“Something’s gotta be done to stop the abuse of power. Members of the media are supposed to conform to a code of ethics, and Anna blatantly defied the code. She intentionally ruined Letty’s reputation—and our reputations. And now we may be forced to leave the tour we just joined because of someone else’s jealousy? Fuck that.” Jinx falls to the cushions beside Toombs.
Nobody moves for a few seconds. I think that was the fourth time I’ve ever heard Jinx drop an F-bomb. Whoa.
“Jinx is right,” Toombs adds. “I don’t know what Letty really said, but this seems a little too convenient.”
Rax leans forward. “Regardless of whether she’s right or wrong, shit has gotten crazy. I’ve been following the drama on social media. One group of haters started the hash tag #DeathToDillinger. They’re encouraging people to bring rotten tomatoes to tonight’s show. Even if they were joking, it’s gotten fucking serious. One of the guys from WitchSMUT told me they had to up security because of the threat, and they’re checking everyone’s bags before they let ’em inside the doors. We need damage control, and we need it fast.”
“Seriously? Because I said some shit that made their truth-allergic ears break out in hives?” I shake my head. How do comments made by a relative nobody incite so much hatred? What the fuck is wrong with people?
Rax looks away and shrugs.
I don’t want to admit it, but he has a point. Our careers are on the line. If sponsors start pulling funding, we’ll be forced to leave. I will not walk away from this tour shamed.
“What do the sponsors want, Jillian?” I ask. “What the fuck can I say or do now that will change their minds?”
“You can apologize.” Her stern expression reeks of judgment.
I cross my arms. “Apologize? For what? Answering a goddamn interview question and having my words turned against me? If anyone deserves an apology, it’s me.
“You may not want to believe your precious Lizzie would ever do anything to hurt you, Jillian, but you know as well as I do how much she hates me. Anna’s been sucking her dick since the documentary crew showed up. Hell, maybe Anna’s competition for you. Maybe she’s screwing you too, and not in the good way.”
Jillian’s face doesn’t move a millimeter.
I grit my teeth to keep from screaming. “I got news for you. I will not apologize for shit someone else took out of context. Not now. Not ever.”
“Then you may want to consider a statement,” Jillian replies calmly. “You’ve remained quiet for days as I told you to, but the situation has escalated instead of slacking off. It’s time to take some kind of action.”
My blood boils at the thought of giving in to these fuckers. “What kind of statement?”
“An explanation. Tell your side of the story. Without anger or finger-pointing. Something neutral.”
“So, it’s okay for her to make me look like a fool, but I’m the one who has to play it cool?” Fuck this. Fuck it a million times.
“Have you watched the video, Letty? You don’t look like a fool
. You look like an animal going after the cameraman.” She pauses a moment to let the words sink in. “Yes, you need to play it cool. Show your fans you’re reasonable and intelligent rather than a rabid wolverine flying off the handle with jealousy over another band’s success.”
“This is so much bullshit, Jillian, and you know it.”
“It may be. Doesn’t change the fact that you need to respond. And your response needs to get your fans—and your haters—to believe, and hopefully, forgive you.”
What pisses me off the most in all of this is Jillian’s never once fessed up to believing me. The members of the band seem a little more willing to take my side, but Jillian is blinded by lust or love or whatever the fuck she has with Lizzie. Her cold shoulder routine smarts like a bitch.
“Only in America—the land of the free—can an innocent person be forced to plead the Fifth for exercising their First Amendment rights. Say what you want, but you better shut your fucking pie hole if it offends someone’s delicate sensibilities. These idiots are robotic sheep, and there’s not a goddamn thing we can do to make them see how faulty their programming is.”
My audience stares up at me, silent, acknowledging, not trying to change my mind.
I stand. “Looks like I have no choice. Sure, I’ll ‘make a statement.’ I’ll be my own scapegoat. Ain’t nobody else gonna do it for me.” Drawing my fingers from the center of my lips to the corners, I pull an exaggerated and obviously fake grin over them. “I’ll put on a pretty smile and try to make nice with the fucking trolls. Maybe you could write my speech for me, Jillian. I mean, to make sure I don’t go off topic or put my foot in my mouth again. We certainly don’t want any more misinterpretations, do we?”
I wait for her answer.
She stares at the floor.
Fuck her.
I bolt off the bus into the cool night, inhale a deep breath, and shout at the top of my lungs, “Yeah, it smells like America, all right!” And off I wander into the darkness, wishing I had a bottle of tequila to keep me warm.
Until I met Banging Betties, I was a strong-willed, take-charge kind of girl. In the days since the “scandal” broke, I’ve been a pathetic worm, lower than dirt. Wriggling on the ground, rubbery, soft, and defenseless, I desperately tried to get out of the rain and avoid foot stompings amid a crowd of thousands wearing steel-toed shitkickers and waving pitchforks. But I couldn’t escape either. It’s a good thing worms have five hearts; otherwise, I’d be long dead.
I glance toward the Banging Betties bus, and my gut quavers as it has every day for the better part of a week. Lizzie and Anna stole a part of me from myself. They took my spunk and left me vulnerable—naked, and not in the good way. I’m ready to take back what’s mine. I might have to do it knocked twelve rungs down the ladder, one erect womancock shy of a third-class badass, and nursing a stomach perpetually on the verge of an eruption, but at least I’ll be alive.
And alive is a hell of a lot better than what I am now.
The familiar cadence of Shades’s footsteps hits my ears. He curls himself around me from behind, strong arms crossing my chest, head on my shoulder, breath tickling my ear, cock pressed to my ass. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t need to.
My Rock believes in me. He’s the only one who matters.
“I may be down, but I’m not beaten,” I say. “They can take a lot of things away from me, but they’ll never have my soul.” I thump my chest. “They’ll never have The Rock. They don’t know the meaning.”
His arms tighten, and he kisses my cheek. “There’s my girl. The physical embodiment of The Rock. A goddess among soulless, jealous fucks who don’t matter.” He turns me to face him and runs a thumb over my bottom lip. “And she’s all mine.”
Those four words set me free. Because they ring perfectly true. I am his. And he’s mine, and nobody can beg, borrow, or steal what we have. It’s between us.
Despite all the troubles we’ve struggled through as a couple this last month, we’ve lived through it and come out stronger. That says something.
My Rock. My heart. My soul.
“I love you, Todd Armstrong.” I tug his lips to mine and hold him there through a couple of tears and a fuckload of raw emotion.
“I love you too, Letty Dillinger.” He wipes the streaks away, and I feel a little lighter. “I know you’re in a bad place, but there’s some shit I’ve been wanting to say.”
“Okay.” Great. Is he mad? Gonna lecture me? Please don’t lecture me, Shades.
“You’re the one who’s been pushing to make it big ever since we hopped this train together a year ago. I get it. You want to be recognized for the work you put in. We all do. You’re also very vocal about not selling out.
“This past year has proven that in this business, we can’t have both our art and the money. So, I’m gonna offer a suggestion. Let it go and be happy you have the ability to make amazing music that touches people’s hearts and leads them out of dark places into happy ones.
“I think I speak for the whole band when I say if we never hit the Top 40 or win a Grammy, we’re okay with it because we know we have talent and drive and a fuckload of moxie. Our fans know it too. We don’t have to prove ourselves to anyone, least of all, ourselves.
“We may not be millionaires, but we make enough money to get by. We got fans who love us. And we’ve got each other. If you’re gonna settle for anything, then settle for me, pussycat. Let me love you and take care of you—as much as your stubborn ass will—and treat you like the queen you are. Forget about all the bullshit, and let’s focus on what you said: making art, not house payments.”
How does he read my mind so completely? He can finish my sentences, jump into a half-hour jam session with only two notes of prompting on my end, and incite my heart to race with little more than a look. And we make a hell of a Pictionary team too. Sharing a brain does that to people.
I flatten my tits against his chest. “You saying you never want to settle down with me and exist like real people in the suburbs? No retirement home? Just live life on the road like a couple of sex-starved vagabonds?”
A cunning look consumes his face. “Actually, aside from the not-settling-down part, it sounds pretty fucking awesome.”
After a moment’s thought, I agree. “It does, doesn’t it?”
“I’ll convince you to marry me one day. Maybe even to squirt out a kid or two—”
I interrupt the line of bullshit with a frown backed up by a growl.
“Or maybe no kids.” He laughs. “But for now, I’ve got a dick that’s been out of commission way too long, and the rest of me is craving some undivided Letty attention. I’m pretty sure I can make you forget your troubles for the rest of the night if you give yourself over to my trusty hands. Whaddaya say, pussycat? You in the mood for a little banging of our own?”
My heart swells. “I’ll bang you till my love gun’s outta bullets, officer. Then I’ll bang you some more.”
Shades’s eyes light up. “I’ll grab the billy club.”
Ass Panache
Shades and I snuggle up in my bunk and stare at each other for a few moments under the weak illumination from my genius phone’s flashlight. The bus is quiet aside from a few soft words volleying behind curtains. Pretty sure Jillian’s returned to her new den on the Banging Betties bus. Freddie’s snoring in the top front bunk. Jinx and Toombs are settled in the space in front of mine. Rax and Eve are across from us. All is right in our traveling home. At least for the moment.
I can’t remember the last time Shades and I just hung out together. No words, no fights, no crazy sex acts. Only him, me, and our battles, which have ironically brought us closer over the last couple of days.
“Know what I love most about you?” he asks.
“My uncanny ability to squirt. Possibly on command. Say the word,” I reply. Yeah, I’ll bet I could do it on command.
“Nope.”
“My all-natural tits.”
“Nope.”
I pout. “What’s wrong with my tits?”
“Nothing. They’re just not my favorite part.”
“My ass, then. You gotta admit, I take it up the ass like a pro. And when you hit me just right …” I wriggle out of my jeans and kick them to the floor outside the curtain. “You make magic happen between these cheeks.” I slap my bare butt.
He grabs a handful and squeezes. “You do have an amazing ass, but it’s still not my favorite.” After a couple seconds of struggling, he gets his jeans off too and slides a hand up my shirt to rest between my tits. “It’s your soul that speaks to me, Letty. Your take-no-prisoners drive to be the best you can. Your stubbornness and willingness to fight to the death for what you believe in.
“Jillian and the rest of the band might be pissed you won’t give in and make a damn apology, but I’m not. I’m fucking proud. If you’d gone down easy, I’d have been really disappointed.”
My heart swells, and my face warms. I think Shades made me blush. First time for everything.
“Well, there are some people I’m willing to go down easy for.” I puff out my chest a little and stroke his soft cock to attention.
He stops me. “I mean it. I’m proud of you, pussycat. And I don’t think I’ve ever loved you more than I do right now.”
My breath catches, and I smile. “Ditto.” Uncharacteristic self-consciousness overcomes me. “Turn over on your side,” I say.
He does. I tug his shirt over his head and follow suit with my own. I rub his shoulders hard. He complains sometimes about the right one hurting after we play a bunch of gigs in a row. The shoulder strap supporting the weight of a bass can dig in and throw your back out of whack. I know from experience. I knead the muscles to the tune of his relieved sighs while I trace the skeleton pattern covering his backside. He has lots of tattoos, but this is my favorite. It depicts every bone from his heels to his neck. And it’s anatomically accurate too. He said it took several daylong sessions to finish the whole thing. I’ll bet it hurt like a bitch.
