by T L Dasha
Lance Gold. He stood in the entrance in sarcastic applause, his half long, half shaved blond hair flowing down the side of his face. The designer leather jacket made him look like the punk rock stereotype that he was. Though I’d be lying if I said he wasn’t extremely talented. Dread Theory was one band who I would have to be legitimately worried about.
“Yeah, your mom found it in a shoebox under your bed and sent it over.” Logan chimed in. “It’s going to be real embarrassing when you lose to your own words, eh?”
Lance scoffed. “On the contrary. It’ll just reinforce the fact that the only person who is good enough to beat me is, well, me.” His grin was almost wide enough to reach the gauges in his ears.
A solid comeback. I wasn’t sure who had the upper hand in their exchange, but I was going to give it to Logan on principal.
“What do you want, Lance?” I interjected in hopes that I wouldn’t have to endure much more of his smug.
Lance just smiled in response. He paced over to the stage and pulled a microphone from a hidden drawer, before hoisting himself onto the platform with an acrobatic fluidity. He took his place in center stage and touched the head of the mic to his lips.
And he sang. A short chorus was all he needed. His voice was perfect, strong, passionate. His words were crafted by poets. It was nothing like his usual grunge rock groans. What the hell…
He threw his arm to the side, pulling the mic away from his mouth with a flourish, then he looked up at me, locking in eye contact. It was as if he had found something that no one else had, and he was just itching to show it off. He was brilliant and he knew it. Neither Logan nor myself seemed to be able to form words in retort.
Lance jumped down from the stage and walked by. As he was one step from the door, he turned and gave us a nod.
“Good luck at the audition next week. But that record deal is going to be for Dread Theory.” Lance made his exit, and I plunked onto the floor to collect my nerves.
“He was just doing that to intimidate us.” I sighed, not wanting to admit how well it had worked. Logan already knew.
“Since when does Dread Theory sing ballads?” Logan shook his head. “I might need to ask you to dig a little deeper into that inspiration fountain if we’re going to beat that…”
Deeper into my inspiration fountain? Deeper into… Jay? I shook my head to throw out the thought. Not the time, Roland.
“We only just started working on this new song. By next month, it’ll be even better. He thinks he just put us in our place, but he really just gave up his ace in the hole.” I spoke with such authority that even I started to believe it. “Let’s take it from the top!”
###
Practice went well, but I couldn’t get Lance’s melody out of my mind. His lyrics had gone from melodramatic at best to artful and moving. I took a walk to the park and whistled along with the birds, hoping my absent mind might come up with something great on accident. I wasn’t surprised when I ran into Jay again. I won’t admit how much I had hoped I would.
“Got any new songs for me?” His tone only had a hint of mockery in it.
I bit my lower lip for an extended second, taking in the taste of my silver snake bites before I answered.
“I might be running a little low on inspiration.”
“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow. “And what do you want to do about that?”
“Maybe we can discuss it over a meal?” I was surprised by my own boldness.
“Are you asking me on a date?”
Was I asking him on a date? No, he’s an industry professional. Who wouldn’t want to have dinner with him? This was a reasonable question. Not loaded at all. I tried to not let him shake me.
“N-no. I just want to pick your brain a bit. Like a friend with… musical benefits.”
“You can’t afford my musical benefits.” A smirk snuck its way onto his lips. “But I’ll let you try to earn them.”
###
I sat across from Jay in a bright pink and white booth, surrounded in fifties stylings. I struggled to make eye contact, but I could see him leaning back on his bench seat, out of place in his fine tailored suit, his arms draped over the backrest, and looking completely and utterly disinterested.
Honestly, I was confused by what he was doing here with me at all. I knew why I was pursuing him, but I don’t know why he was playing along with me. What did he gain by spending time with some college kid? Did he actually like me? Was that kiss part of some weird game? Was he just that bored? I couldn’t find a logical motive for him to say yes, and I imagine now that I’ve brought him to this ridiculous place, he would never want to hang out with me again.
“Do you want some ice cream?” I squeaked. He was probably used to lobster and steak and whatever it is that people with more money than I have eat. But the only place I could afford was Meli’s Diner. And I could only afford it because I got an employee discount. This is so lame. What was I thinking?
“Not quite what I imagined when I said to earn it…” He dragged his eyes from my face to the window. But then he smiled. It was unexpectedly soft. Maybe he wasn’t disappointed? “Pistachio. Extra whipped cream. Chocolate shavings, not syrup.” His voice was authoritative, but I could hear the traces of amusement slipping through. My face lit up and my nerves started to subside.
I signaled to Abby, the waitress, and she scuttled off to start Jay’s sundae.
“So, umm…” This seemed like such a good idea in my head, but I had no idea how to start the conversation.
“What exactly do you want from me?” Jay interrupted, disinterest back in his expression.
Wait, what do I want from him? I forced myself into cool composure. “I guess I just thought you could tell me what to expect from the industry or something. I figured before you were ‘Jay McClintock of ALIVE Records, you were ‘Jay the lame and awkward…’” He cocked an eyebrow. I cleared my throat. “Jay the mega-popular college kid.’ Just like I am, obviously.” My eyes shifted to the right.
Abby placed the sundae in between us and left two long spoons. She gave me a wink before she flitted away, her dark curly pigtails bouncing with her step. Abby was always in my business. She must have noticed that Jay was a big deal.
“I don’t know that any two people get into this business the same way.” Jay leaned forward to meet the sundae. He closed his eyes softly as he slid his tongue up through the whipped cream until it took hold of the cherry on top. He wrapped his tongue around the sweet fruit, and pulled it into his mouth, leaving traces of cream on his lips. He bit down, and licked himself clean. I fidgeted in my seat.
“How did you get into it then?”
“I did as I was told.” Jay spoke matter-of-factly. “I worked hard, I kept my head down, and I wrote a song so perfect, no one could deny my skill.”
“A song so perfect.” Just the words alone were intimidating. “Do you think I could do that, too?”
“No, not really.” Jay was impressively nonchalant as he crushed my dreams. “I think you have talent, but you don’t know how to use it.”
“Even after you read my new lyrics?” I thought I had done a good job the other day, but now I was starting to question whether he had just been humoring me the whole time.
“I already told you it was barely passable.”
“Then why are you here with me right now?” Maybe somewhere in the back of my mind, I had told myself that he had seen some potential in my writing. Like I was about to get scouted. I suppose there probably aren’t a lot of record deals that get signed from snarky comments in the park. He stared at me for a bit longer than a standard pause, but I couldn’t read his expression.
“I was just passing through… It’s not my fault you won’t leave me alone.” Jay spooned some more whipped cream into his mouth, catching a couple chocolate curls along with it.
My heart sank. Why would you kiss someone if you wanted them to leave you alone? That seems counter-intuitive.
He interrupted my thoughts befor
e I could open my mouth to protest. “And I find you interesting.”
“Interesting how?” So I really do stand out to THE Jay McClintock. Maybe this is my lucky day!
“Like one of those capsule toy machines.”
Say what now?
“Like… one of those vending machines with the little plastic figures?”
“Exactly. I put a quarter in, and I never know what kind of prize is going to come out.”
“So am I the common toy or the rare toy?” I couldn’t tell if that was a compliment or an insult.
“I’m not sure yet. I might have to stick another quarter in to find out.” He spoke in a slow, deep tone that seemed to be studying my reaction to every word. My face involuntarily flushed, and my eyes shot down to my lap.
I don’t know what it was about him that shook me so much. My eyes found their way back to his, through those narrow spectacles that rested on his masculine cheek bones. He slid his spoon into the sundae, scooping some ice cream from the bottom of the glass, dragging it upward so he could get all the flavors in a single taste. He reached the spoon across the table.
I can play this game, too. I took it all into my mouth. My tongue wrapped around the cold shaft, cleaning the traces of cream that had coated the handle, pulling the sweet dessert further into my throat.
He cocked his head back, keeping our eyes locked and his expression unreadable. “You might be a rare prize.”
###
I pressed my pen to the page that night, and words seemed to form on their own. It was like Jay had awoken something in me, and every time I saw him, I had a new smash hit in my head.
First draft down. It was so close to perfect. Do they do you like I do? Too much ‘do.’ I tapped the pen on the desk, searching for the right word. How would Jay…
No, don’t think about it.
My hands moved without my permission, sliding down to my waist band, pulling up my shirt until my fingertips were teasing flesh. I bet Jay would be rough. My thumb dislodged the button on my pants and slid the zipper down slowly, trying not to create any noise. My roommate was already asleep in the nearby bunk, and I didn’t want him to hear. I didn’t want him to see me. I want Jay to see me.
I leaned back in my chair as I closed my eyes, feeling my fingers inch under my boxer briefs. I brushed over my erection. I was already so hard. My hand slid up my entire length, pausing for a moment, then wrapping around my shaft and taking myself forcefully. My lips parted, imagining Jay’s hot lips on mine then moving down my neck. Down my body. My other hand pulled the buttons on my shirt free, one at a time. The fabric slid over my chest, a little further with each button, exposing just a little more skin, until my nipples were being engulfed by the open air. The rush of cold made them hard and eager.
I moved up my shaft, and traced a ring around my head, rubbing with the same motion that Jay’s tongue used to pin my protests in my mouth. I released myself only long enough to lick the traces of pre-cum from my fingers, then I returned to coat myself in my own saliva. Is this what he would be like?
I imagined Jay, hovering over me, pinning my hands over my head. He was the type who wouldn’t put up with any kind of a fight. Who would want me as helpless as possible.
“Ah!” I covered my mouth with my other hand, trying to stifle my moans. My roommate rustled in his bunk. Did I wake him up? My mind panicked. My heart stopped. My hand didn’t. Jay wasn’t done with me yet. I gripped the chair, moving in a quickening circular motion on my cock. Fuck. I Can’t-
Releasing tension rippled through my body, my cum coating my palm, and my body quivering. I could still see Jay’s snide grin looking down at me in my mind’s eye. My pen returned to the page and rewrote the chorus.
This is what he wanted. I was putty in his hands even when he wasn’t there to play with me.
FUCK.
Chapter 3
It was 104 degrees in the Valley, and we had been standing in line outside this warehouse for about four hours now, all the way in the back. Fortunately, that just meant I had sweat out any possible water weight, so I was going to look great by the time we got on stage. I knew I had slept through my alarm for a reason...
Logan didn’t seem as amused when he picked me up this morning, but I wasn’t going to let a rough start ruin this. It was finally the day of the audition, and we were going to rock it.
I was dressed to impress, with a pair of black skinny jeans adorned with a riveted belt. Dog tags fell around my neck, my faux hawk was spiked back, and a tight V-neck hugged the contours of my lean body. I wanted a little bit of punk rock and a little bit of sex appeal. Logan walked beside me, every bit as ready, his hair tied back, piercings decorating his brow, fitted jeans, and a low buttoned black dress shirt.
When it was finally our turn, a spindly man in an ill-fitting suit greeted us at the door and lead us inside. We followed him down a poorly lit hallway, with flickering bulbs overhead, casting eerie shadows on our host. It felt more like I was walking into a shady drug deal than a television set. I guess at this stage, we hadn’t earned glamour. That would come later.
We entered a room at the end of the hallway behind a tan door with chipped paint. It was a typical lobby, with sterile white walls and gray carpet. The man in the suit directed us to a sign-in sheet.
There were forty-nine other bands on the sheet. We were lucky to have secured a spot at all considering the amount of competition in LA. I signed my name just a few spots under Lance Gold, Tanner Adams, and Marcus Ringer of Dread Theory. Only four bands would be chosen from the Los Angeles audition to go on to the big show. Then four more from Chicago, four from Seattle, and four from Orlando. Fighting Chance was going to be one of those final sixteen.
“You will be allowed half an hour to warm up in the back room before your set. Until then, please wait in the room to your right. Complimentary snacks and refreshments are provided.” The spindly man said. He gave us a quick bow, then promptly turned on his heel to escort the next set of performers to the warm up area.
“Hear that, Roland- free snacks. It’s like we’ve already won something.” Logan elbowed me with a playful grin as we walked into the waiting room. A table with a spread of cold cuts and condiments rested in the corner with a fresh pot of coffee on the far end.
“My sights are set a bit higher than sandwiches.” I rolled my eyes, while my grumbling stomach seemed to be chuckling along with my band mate.
“Huh. Sounds to me like your sights are powered by sandwiches.”
I grumbled (but still low key grabbed some food), while Logan took a seat against the wall. There were eight other competitors in the room, all that was left of the day’s audition. Everyone’s eyes were transfixed on a television screen mounted high on the wall, watching their competition and silently waiting for their turn. I sat down next to Logan and took a bite of my sandwich as we both focused on the monitor.
There was no fancy camera work. The image was a clean, head on view of the stage, the backs of the three judges visible in the bottom of the shot, and Lance Gold standing front and center.
“Band number forty six. Give me your story.” The middle judge spoke. I immediately recognized his voice as Greg Winters from KRaw Radio. My heart skipped a few beats just thinking about him listening to me sing.
“I’m Lance Gold from Manhattan Beach, California, and these are my long-time friends, Tanner and Marcus. Dread Theory is my life’s work, and this song represents everything I’ve fought for and everything I’ve overcome.” Lance’s smile was as confident as always. “I hope to show you my heart in a song.”
I couldn’t hold in a laugh. “It must have been such a struggle having to wake up in a multi-million dollar beachside condo to go to his private singing lessons every morning.”
“I bet he had it rough.” Logan leaned back in his chair, still staring at the monitor. “No one grows up to be that annoying without a little dysfunction.”
I nodded. I suppose one of us had to be the diplomatic one.
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Lance took a bow, then his set began. His voice filled the room, building from a whisper to an operatic crescendo, even more polished and moving than it had been in the gym. His guitarist and drummer seemed to be dueling for who could lay down a more perfect solo. I wanted to cringe and hate it and rattle off some kind of snarky one liner, but hearing the whole production left me speechless.
Lance belted out the final word in a long, drawn out note, then flicked his hair out of his face, letting a few stray strands linger in the sweat on his brow.
The judges all stood. They clapped for what felt like several minutes. The waiting room was silent. There was no question if they were going through. I hope that wasn’t their last slot.
I shook my head. It couldn’t be. How could I expect to impress Jay if I thought my songs wouldn’t even get me through the first round? It didn’t matter how good the other bands were. One of those spots was still going to be ours.
###
“Band number fifty. Story, please.” Greg Winters’ voice was deadpan, spoken to the tone of ‘do we really have to sit through one more?’ I swallowed hard, butterflies flapping wildly in my stomach.
“Fighting Finley of Roland Chance. I mean, sorry, let me start again-”
“I’m Logan Michaels and this is my very nervous best friend, Roland Finley. We grew up together right here in this beautiful porn capital of the world, and this is our alternative rock band, Fighting Chance.” Logan with the save! The judges shared some smirks between themselves, and Logan gave me a nod that swept my nerves off the stage. This was no time to get tongue tied.
I stood up straight and snatched the microphone from its stand.
Logan started the melody, slow and quiet. The notes filled my body, and the judges fell away. It was just me and my music. Me and my words. His rhythm picked up, faster now. My lips kept with the tempo, rapping slam poetry at the speed of his strums. Faster again- then freeze.
A hard strum lead into the chorus, and I took it from there. My fingers rolled over my keyboard while I sang into the mic. The transitions sounded even more powerful as they reverberated off the stage. I moved from the keyboard and grabbed the mic with both hands as Logan’s guitar solo built to the finale.
