The Rock 'N' the Roll. 'N That

by Steven J. Gill

  “That’s lovely. But they always saw me getting married in our village church. It’s so pretty, Dom. You should see it,” Eleanor said, in her most beseeching tone.

  “I don’t really see me in some church,” Dom replied with a slow shake of his head. “And this way it’ll be more private. We can always have a massive party here when we get back.”

  “I suppose,” Eleanor said.

  “And it’ll be proper rock ’n’ roll and that in Vegas,” Dom said. “I’ll sort it then?”

  “Of course,” Eleanor said softly, already dreading the conversation with her somewhat staid parents.

  Chapter 58

  “I really can’t be fucked with these things. Load of fakes just here to be seen,” Johnny said as he finished off his umpteenth beer of the evening.

  “You British do like to moan and bitch. And so sarcastic,” Lara said as she rubbed at her nose. Again.

  “It’s a Mancunian trait. Unique to us rather than the English in general. I like to see it as grounded pragmatism,” Johnny replied, as he beckoned the bartender for another bottle.

  “These meet and greets are all part and parcel of the music business though. You can’t bite the hand that feeds,” Lara said.

  Dressed in a short black multi-tiered ballet skirt and a black gravity defying silk strapless bodice, Lara was in full siren mode – with both men and women unable to stop themselves from staring to take in her beauty. Her thick kohl eye make-up gave her a seductive smoulder that she utilised to maximum effect.

  “Bit fucking pointless if the band aren’t even here though,” Johnny grumbled as he sank yet another beer. Frowning at the bottle, he said, “What is it with you Americans and piss weak beer?”

  “Charming,” Lara said. “You have got one on you tonight.”

  “Yeah. I’m just gutted that the lads are the other side of the country because of this storm. Sorry, hurricane. You always have to do things bigger and better over here, don’t you,” replied Johnny as he tugged irritably at the collar of his Fred Perry polo shirt.

  “Can you please chill the fuck out! They’ll be fine. The airlines aren’t flying in to New York, so they’ll be in Vegas still. Quiet night in and that.”

  Johnny chuckled to himself. “And that. We’ll make a Manc of you yet.”

  A five-day stag-do for Dominic taking in the musical hotspots of New Orleans, Tennessee and Vegas had now been extended by at least forty-eight hours whilst the hurricane over the Eastern seaboard subsided. Johnny had cut the occasion short by a day to attend a record label management meeting in New York. Quartile projections, territories and units saved him from a fourth day of relentless drinking.

  Followed by the small matter of the ’happy day’ itself. Eleanor flying out to join the party – under some duress as her parents were blissfully unaware of their daughter’s pending Sin City-based nuptials.

  One blushing bride.

  One wasted groom.

  And three very trashed best men…

  The record company had laid on a celebration party for the band as a reward for 250,00 sales in the last quarter. Not a massive number in terms of the US market but solid enough to garner the label’s thanks and for them to exercise their ‘option’ on the band.

  As the band had separate US management, Johnny’s job was quite easy Stateside, operating in more of a tour manager capacity, merely relaying information to the band that their American paymasters had decided upon.

  Lara reached into her clutch bag and, grabbing Johnny’s hand, palmed him a small glass phial.

  “This is my decent stuff. I don’t hand it out to just anyone. But given that I’m stuck with you, I may as well have you in a good mood. We might do piss weak beer, but great coke is something we can get.”

  “Ta for that. I’ll go and give it the Pepsi challenge then,” Johnny said as he headed off in the direction of the restroom.

  A full-blown hurricane – sweetly named Trudy – had decimated the Eastern seaboard and had rendered pretty much all modes of transport impossible. The band were grounded in Vegas and all that she had to offer for at least another 48 hours. The hotel bill would be astronomical without Johnny’s intervention and he’d asked them to busk on the main strip to fund their inevitable excesses.

  Returning from his nose-powdering, Johnny – heartrate now a few BPMs faster – felt narcotically invigorated.

  Handing the glass phial back, he said, “You weren’t fuckin’ kidding.”

  “I don’t bullshit about my coke,” Lara said as she popped the phial back into her clutch bag.

  “How long until your apartment’s sorted?” Johnny asked, before gulping down a beer in a vain attempt to smooth out the coke’s bitter aftertaste.

  “The architect says three weeks. But it’ll be longer. For sure.”

  “Not just a coat of paint and a new front door then,” Johnny deadpanned.

  “No. I was bored of the old place and this was a cheaper option than moving. Prices in the city are still not value for money,” Lara said.

  “Never had you down as the property tycoon.”

  “No. You probably thought I was just some dumb model with all my talents down here,” Lara said jutting her chin down in the direction of her sumptuous and irrefutably impressive breasts.

  “I’d say brains and beauty. But that’d be such a fuckin’ cliché,” Johnny said, before catching a drop in the back of his throat. “Fuck me! That coke is extraordinary.”

  “Don’t be going all lightweight on me, Johnny Harrison,” Lara said, her smile revealing the finest dentistry that the dollar could buy.

  “Don’t you worry about me. I’ll be right,” Johnny said, as he stifled yet another gag reflex at the frozen lump that was lodged in the back of his throat. “You’re racking up some bill at your hotel then?”

  “What is it you guys say? Slum it?” Assuming a passable Northern accent, she said, “You don’t expect me to slum it d’yer?”

  “Haha! Very good. You’re learning,” Johnny said.

  “Look. This party is dying. And I have a gift for Jamie. Why don’t we go back to my suite and you can ring him from there? Check on your boys. Kick the ass out of the room service and that,” Lara said.

  “I dunno. My hotel is right across town. But I won’t be sleeping in a while after that hooter. Fuck it. Yeah, and we can call Jamie and see if Vegas is still standing.”

  “I’ll call my driver to collect us. I’m sure you can knock back another couple of beers in the time it’ll take him to get here.”

  “Knock back. Like it. You really are picking up the lingo. I’m not arsed about a car. We can get a cab. I still buzz off a proper yellow New York taxi.”

  “Hmm. And get papped with you? I have standards!” Lara said.

  “Yeah. Fair comment. Supermodel seen with saucer eyed middle aged greying man doesn’t quite cut it.”

  “You’re not wearing too bad. But no,” Lara said with a schoolgirl-like giggle he had not previously witnessed.

  Lara’s driver arrived ten minutes later, and they slipped through a side entrance and made the short six-block ride across town to her hotel.

  As they pulled up, Johnny let out a low whistle. “Fuck. This place is amazing. It’ll be costing you a mint!” he said in a whisper.

  “Did I forget to tell you? My father owns the place. I’m comped whenever I want to stay.”

  Taking the elevator up to the top floor suite, Johnny felt like Charlie in The Great Glass Elevator with his Willy Wonka possessing some seriously strong cocaine rather than outlandish confectionery.

  Swiping the door open, Lara threw her clutch bag on to a plush looking leather couch and gestured around the vast suite. “Welcome to my humble hotel room.”

  Johnny stood literally open-mouthed as he took in the surroundings. The room was glass on three sides, offering the most spectacular views of Manhattan.

  “Fuck me! This place is amazing. You could see the whites of King Kong’s eyes the Empire State i
s that close.”

  “I took an injunction out against him. To stop him peering in!” Lara said. Again, with the little giggle in her voice. “Help yourself to a piss weak beer. I’ll rack out a couple of lines.”

  As Johnny opened the jet-black fridge and helped himself to a Michelob, he pressed call and rang Jamie.

  Voicemail.

  “Jamie. It’s Johnny. I’m in New York. Sorry you lot are all stuck over there. Party was pretty crap without you all. Just having a drink with Lara. She wanted a chat so bell me back, yeah. Cheers J. Love yer man.”

  “Oh, that’s so sweet!” Lara said as she looked up from the glass table. A thick rail of coke and a hundred-dollar bill sat there invitingly. Calling out to Johnny like a drug-addled Bisto Kid.

  “Jeez. That one’ll finish me off!”

  “Pussy,” Lara goaded.

  “Yeah right,” Johnny said as he took in a deep breath and polished off the girder like line in one satisfying snort. “You could knock a buffalo out with that!”

  The next hour passed by quickly, with Johnny repeatedly checking his phone for Jamie’s return call.

  Conversation centred mainly around the band and inevitably, Jamie.

  With the pure cocaine emboldening Johnny by the minute, he leant back in his armchair and fixed Lara’s stare.

  “I know what you did in London.”

  “Do tell. What did I do in that London?” Lara replied, clearly intrigued.

  “I know,” Johnny said as he idly tapped the rolled-up note on the heel of his desert boot.

  “Go on then, Mr Smartass. What did I do?”

  “You tipped the press off. You told ’em where you and Jamie would be. When you went for that picnic.”

  “That? Well, aren’t I the Wicked Witch of the East then.”

  “Not really. But it’s a shitty trick. Especially when you were with someone you care about.”

  “Johnny. Johnny. I knew you knew. Don’t play the innocent with me. You know, and I know it’s all a game. All a fucking game that we play. The music business. Show-fucking-business. It’s all one big motherfucking game and don’t pretend for one second that you don’t know that,” Lara said. Her voice mixed with frustration and sadness.

  “Course it is. And obviously I fuckin’ know it’s a game. But come on. It was Jamie you were using to flog your brand!”

  “Right,” Lara said, annoyance creeping into her tone. “So poor defenceless Jamie didn’t use me to raise the profile of his little band. Fuck you!”

  Lara’s demeanour had changed as quick as the flip of a switch.

  “Bollocks he did!” Johnny snapped back.

  Pausing, Lara glared at Johnny and then burst out laughing. “Bollocks. What does that even mean?”

  Leaning over the table, Lara chopped out two more sturdy looking lines.

  “Look I know you love Jamie. And you want to protect him and the rest of the band, but they are big boys. They know the rules. You’d be surprised.”

  “I know, but you can see my point?” mumbled Johnny.

  “I do know that Jamie would walk through Hell for you. Barefoot. That’s some control. Especially as he’s the talent. No offence.”

  “None taken.” Johnny met Lara’s stare. “It’s not control. Nothing like it.”

  “Level with me. Yes or no answer. Don’t fucking bullshit me,” said Lara, leaning forward in her plush armchair. “Did you tell Jamie that you knew it was a set-up for the press?”

  Johnny pursed his lips, letting out a low whistle. Meeting Lara’s stare, he replied. “Yes. Yes, I did.”

  “Son of a bitch! I fucking knew it. Control. All about control. Motherfucker!”

  “It’s got nothing to do with control. I have Jamie’s back. Nothing more than that,” replied Johnny coldly.

  “BULLSHIT! It’s control. You telling Jamie so he thinks you’re the good guy. CONTROL!” Lara said, slapping the flat of her hand on her thigh for emphasis.

  “If that’s what you want to think,” Johnny countered.

  “Because I’m right! Do I want to be in control of my life? Fuck yes! And if that means playing the game then I want it on my terms. MY RULES,” said Lara, her voice rising as she became more animated.

  “If that’s your mantra, who am I to argue.”

  “Admit that it’s a control thing,” Lara challenged.

  “It’s not! I love him. Fuck, I love them all!” said Johnny, wiping a rouge dribble from his nose.

  “Been your meal ticket, haven’t they? You could say your salvation from the rat race…”

  “Very good,” replied Johnny, adding a sarcastic slow-clap. “

  “I’m now seen as a businesswoman. Not just some model blessed with great genes. You know how hard it is to achieve that? As a woman. As a Native-American woman?” said Lara as she paced the room, silhouetted elegantly against the Manhattan skyline. “I truly care for Jamie, but I have never promised him anything. Ever!” Lara was rattling out her impassioned cocaine fuelled speech, jabbing a French polished nail in Johnny’s direction.

  “Point taken,” said Johnny with a slug of his beer, feeling his pulse racing with the coke that was pinballing around his bloodstream.

  “Finally! Thank you. Do I get an apology?”

  Don’t push it thought Johnny but decided it prudent to take the sting out of the situation.

  “Okay. Sorry. Apology accepted?” said Johnny.

  “Apology accepted. You over-protective dick!”

  “Thank you,” Johnny said as he accepted the proffered 100-dollar bill from Lara and swooped over the line which disappeared in one brisk flourish.

  “Okay. After you upset me with your rude smartass routine, I’ve another question for you.”

  “Shoot,” Johnny replied. “The least I can do given your fine hospitality.”

  “What is it with you English guys and the whole not eating pussy thing?”

  “Excuse me?” Johnny said as he almost choked on both his words and the ice cube of coke in his throat.

  “I’ve dated two English guys and neither of them would go down on me.”

  “What can I say? It’s always been something I’ve had in my locker. As you Americans are fond of saying. Give and take. That’s always been my motto.”

  “Pity Jamie never felt like that. Obviously not his thing.”

  “I remember telling him once that it was rude not to. He clearly doesn’t listen to everything I tell him.”

  “Shame,” Lara replied. “He’ll learn. Hopefully.”

  “And after that little bombshell. I’m off to the toilet and then I’ll call a cab.”

  “I’ll call my driver for you.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll walk for a bit and then grab a cab. Don’t think I’ll sleep for a week after that bugle. Walk will do me good,” Johnny said as he dragged himself out of the armchair and headed for the bathroom.

  Relieving himself with a muted sigh, Johnny looked at his reflection and saw how wide his eyes were. His pupils were penny-sized ink blots, and his nostrils an angry red - speckled white with the heavy duty ching.

  Okay. Coke in a luxury hotel suite with the supermodel on/off girlfriend of the lead singer of your band. Time to go, Harrison, he said to himself.

  When he returned to the suites living room area, Lara was nowhere to be seen.

  Good time to make my excuses, Johnny thought to himself.

  “Lara. I’m off now. Shame we couldn’t get hold of Jamie.”

  No reply.

  “Lara?” Johnny said enquiringly.

  “In here,” came the reply from behind the black ash bedroom door.

  Johnny stepped tentatively towards the door and popped his head round.

  And stopped dead in his tracks.

  Lara was sat astride the bed, naked from the waist down. Having discarded the black lace tutu, she was now sliding two fingers slowly in and out of her perfectly clean-shaven pussy.

  “Hey Johnny. Coke always makes me feel so God damn h
orny.”

  Speechless didn’t touch the sides.

  Johnny stood transfixed.

  Away from the liberal anything goes world of online porn, he had never seen a woman like this in the flesh. And certainly not one sat masturbating a matter of feet from him. Everything about her seemed high-class glossy magazine perfect. Fuck. She is, he remembered.

  “Cat got your tongue?” Lara said coyly, before gasping at her rhythmic exertions.

  “Err. Yeah,” Johnny stammered. His mind screaming at him to get the fuck out of the hotel suite.

  Immediately.

  “You going to prove my little theory wrong then?”

  “What?” His vocabulary was now limited to grunts and one-word exclamations.

  “You going to show me that English men can eat pussy?”

  Johnny closed his eyes and felt his stomach and scrotum tighten simultaneously.

  “Well. Least you can do for me after all my hospitality. Ooh, that’s so good,” Lara said as she again emitted a satisfied moan.

  Shaking his head slightly, Johnny was rooted to the spot. He glanced down at her cunt. If Disney went adult and did vaginas this was it. A perfectly symmetrical designer vagina.

  “Get on your knees, Johnny. Taste me.” Her hand moved quicker as she slid another finger into herself.

  Stepping towards the bed, his head spinning with conflicting messages, Johnny sank slowly to his knees and ran a hand up her right leg, pushing it to the side.

  “Good boy. I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist.”

  Johnny went to slip his polo T-shirt over his head.

  “NO!” Lara snapped. “Fully dressed. You eat my pussy and that’s it.”

  The surreal nature of the whole scenario slammed home to him.

  “And don’t even think of touching your cock. That can wait until you’re back in your little hotel room.”

  Leaning his head into her and feeling the warmth of her slick pussy, Johnny was processing the sexual orders that were being barked at him.

  Removing her wet fingers to allow Johnny to lick at her, Lara lay back on the king-sized bed and let out a low sigh.

  The coke had shattered Johnny’s thought process. His tounge darted at Lara’s pussy, her slickness forming on his chin.