by Jesse Jordan
“Intriguing, but I'll take a pass Joey,” I reply. “I'm gonna hit up the fitness center. You know, the look and all.”
Joey shrugs, he understands. Getting back into good shape and not just depending on my genetics helped pull me out of my bad days. When we get back to Cali, he'll be right there next to me down at Equinox across from the beach, making sure he's looking the part too. But as the guitarist and not the front man, he's not as worried about his image. “All right compadre. Just don't forget to breathe in between gigs, you know?”
Ian's already gone back to the dressing room, he's probably gonna hit the bed back at the hotel even before I get my workout started. Maybe he gets his arms from all the damn drumming, but I do know that Ian Ivory loves his sleep. Soon, it's just me and Martha, and I turn around, looking at the now mostly empty studio. “So, you liked it?”
“I still wish you'd done a re-cap of Slam the Floor instead of that campy exit music, but it came off well,” Martha says, tapping at her tablet. The only thing she's missing from her power executive look is some glasses, but when I asked her about it, she said that glasses don't go with her eye makeup. Whatever. “Hey, did you see what TMZ is saying about you?”
“What is it this time?” I groan, my mood ruined. Two gigs in New York, two great receptions, that's what I want to focus on. Not something that the tabloid vultures want to publish. I don't quite get the press that A-listers do, but I get enough that I don't like them very much. “Did they mix up me buying a Coke at a convenience store with buying coke from a dealer again?”
Martha laughs and shows me her tablet. “Nope... apparently, you were a very bad boy last night.”
I look at the headline, groaning again. Fragments Heart-throb Slamming More Then the Floor! it reads, with a fuzzy picture of me being approached by a groupie outside the club as we were leaving. Martha's got a shark-like grin on her face. To her, the adage 'there is no such thing as bad publicity' is very, very true. “What do you think?”
“I think they misspelled 'than,' and it's total crap,” I say, passing it back. “Come on, Martha, you know exactly what happened. She came up mostly drunk, hit on me, and I blew her off. You were right there beside me, you'd be in the picture if it wasn't such a tight damn crop. It's not like I asked her to pull her top down and show me her tits.”
“They weren't all that impressive a tit job anyway,” Martha deadpans, trying to inject some humor. I'm not that easily swayed, and I turn around, shaking my head. “Come on Rock, I was trying to joke. You know that every single celeb rocker has groupies, and they gotta deal with shit like this. And with that little patch you had a while back, you're easy fodder. So, what are you stressing about?”
I don't answer her and head back to the changing room. Martha follows right behind, she has apparently no problems seeing me strip down to my underwear. I'd protest, except I don't think she'd stop, and she's at least professional the whole time about it, she hasn't hit on me in my skivvies ever. I'm only changing shirts anyway, I performed in jeans today. Although if it'd get her to stop, I'd try going commando under my jeans sometime.
Ian's stretched out on the sofa in the changing room, already chilling out with his eyes closed. I can tell from his body language that he's not asleep, while Joey's pulled on a sweatshirt and leather jacket, trying to look more anonymous. He's got his look down too, you'd never think with long sleeves, some baggier clothes, and the eyeliner off that the nice, normal looking Puerto Rican guy sitting down in front of the makeup mirror is actually Joey Rivera. Ian opens his eyes just as Joey gets up, looking him over. “Just make sure you keep that ID badge on your jacket man. Security's going to mistake you for some geek off the street.”
“Not everyone's six foot six like you, Ian. You sure they don't need someone to play the Predator in the remake they're doing back home?” Joey jokes, making Ian blow a raspberry. “Nah, it's no sweat. I asked. They'll call me a cab to get back to the hotel so it's all good.”
I flop down in a chair, causing Joey to stop. “Yo, what's wrong Rock? Figured you'd still be buzzing from the set.”
“Yeah… not so much the TMZ story,” I sigh. “Show 'em, Martha.”
Martha passes her tablet to Joey, who passes it to Ian before Ian sets it on the table, not bothering to actually sit up enough to pass it back to Martha. The guys say nothing, so Martha speaks up first after a few seconds. “Okay, well, I'll have to give the folks back in LA a call about it either way. And I've got a little bit of paperwork to get taken care of with the Lorne Michaels people, so I'll see you guys back at the hotel. Just remember, we fly back to LA tomorrow, so don't be out all night. I'd prefer to not have to chase you guys down.”
Martha leaves finally, and in the silence, I sit forward, rubbing at my eyes. “Fuck, I don't want this.”
“Want what?” Ian asks, sitting up finally. “It's the price of fame, man. And let’s face it, this is nothing compared to what Jagger or the others go through.”
“Yeah, well, we're not making Jagger money, and I sure as hell am not doing Jagger level bullshit,” I protest. “I just want to make good music, not this celeb scandal shit.”
“Not everyone can get by on just cute looks and a unique sound though,” Ian reminds me. “Hell, we're not BabyMetal.”
I laugh, thinking of the time we met the three Japanese cuties backstage at Rockfest in Seattle. “Those three are a trip, though. But yeah, we're not BabyMetal.”
“Thank Jesus for that,” Joey comments, grinning for a moment before growing serious and patting me on the back. “Hey, don't sweat it. Really, man. If you were actually doing half the shit that these pendejos say that you do, we'd be pissed. But we've been together for five years, you know? You've got your head screwed on right, so chill out. We got your back.”
“Thanks, Joey,” I say sincerely, giving him a grin. “Now, go get your photos or maybe talk to a cute assistant. You know, show her that you're more than just Rivera Dark.”
Joey gives me a smirk about his joke of a moniker and leaves the dressing room. I stand up and peel off my shirt, waiting for Ian to say something. He usually does, but he picks his spots. There's a reason me and Joey sometimes call him Yoda. “Well?”
“Joey said what needed to be said,” Ian says, stretching out again. “From day one that we met, I knew you had your shit together. A week after high school graduation, and you're not out there trying to slay pussy, you're focused on rocking. And since then you've tried to find real people to connect with as well, man. Every girlfriend you've had, you broke it off with her because you're not just looking for an easy fuck. I've tagged more groupies than you have, in fact. I still owe you for that Playboy girl who you turned down. Can I ask you a question, Rock?”
“Shoot, big man,” I reply, pulling out my Batman t-shirt shirt that Joey got me for my birthday and pulling it on. “What's on your mind?”
“This scandal, the others, why are you letting them get to you so much? I mean honestly, man. You know the game in LA, you get press any way you can. And if you don't have something for them to try and tear you down with, they'll make up some shit to try and tear you down with instead. You just happen to be the lead singer of the group, so you get the most press. Nobody gives a damn what I do, I'm just the drummer in the back. As long as I don't actually go out and murder someone, nobody gives a fuck about me.”
“I know, I know. Just... when I started dreaming about being a rock singer, Ian, you know what my dreams were? They weren't of groupies, or of scandals, or of any of the tabloid crap like that. I didn't care about the money. Well, okay, I liked the idea of being rich. But what I wanted to do was make music that made people smile. It was all about the music. I dreamed of playing at Wembley like Queen did, or at some of the big music festivals, not because of the paydays but because I wanted to entertain that many people. For me, the idea of gold and platinum records means we're reaching out and touching people, not that we're getting groupies or any of that extra crap.”
Ian nods before sitting up. He opens his eyes and sees that I've changed my clothes. “I know, Rock. And who knows, maybe we'll get to that point someday. In the meantime though, we gotta deal with the paparazzi.”
I shake my head. “That's the problem, man. Think about it. How many groups got a little bit of fame because of shit like this, and got derailed because of the drama? Where's the Verve now? What about The White Stripes? The Blood Brothers? The Black Crowes? Hell, those are some good fucking bands that got shattered by the stupid fucking scandals! And those are just the ones who really made it big once! What about the ones who never quite made it?”
“Not all that drama was external for them though,” Ian reminds me. “Rocky, the Crowes were killed internally, same with the Stripes. You, me and Joey, we're still copacetic, so you don't have to sweat it.”
“Yeah well, how long is that going to stay?” I worry. “What happens if one day you or Joey gets pissed because of one of these stupid scandals?”
“Then we'll deal with it then,” Ian says, getting up off the couch. “In the meantime, you've got some stress to work off, and I've got a Tempurpedic mattress to crash on. And Martha's going to think the two of us might not be interested in girls as much as the scandal sheets say if we stay in here alone much longer.”
His humor makes me smile, and I grab my bag and jacket. “Okay, okay. Back to the hotel, it is.”
Thankfully for me, the hotel gym is enough for me to get a sweat on and to lose some stress. Sure, it's not Equinox, but it's got a StairMaster and enough stuff that I can get a workout in. I'm about fifteen minutes into my cardio, sweat dripping down my torso and under the loose tank top that I'm wearing when Martha comes in, still in her pantsuit. I pull the bud out of my right ear and give her a once over. “Don't you ever change clothes?”
“Sure,” she says, coming around in front of the machine so I don't have to turn my neck, “I change clothes all the time. But I'm still working, you know. Anyway, I talked with the label, they want to capitalize off this spot on The Tonight Show and the gigs at Rock the Delta and CBGBs. What do you say to some studio time?”
I grin and pop out my left earbud, letting the electro-violin I'm listening to fade. “Studio work? They want another EP?”
“They want a whole LP album,” Martha corrects me. I'm stunned and miss a step on the machine for a second before catching my rhythm again. “Yep, they want to upgrade you guys to a premier act. And maybe a headlining shot on your next tour dates. No more opening for the acts who pack the stadium, but peaked years ago.”
“Whoa. I mean, we've got some material we've been head gaming on, but this is awesome. When do they want to start?” I ask, still pumping away with my legs on the StairMaster. “And where do they want to do it? Oceanside Studios again?”
Martha shakes her head, tapping at her tablet. “No, they're trying to get a hot new producer they want to pair you guys with. Apparently, she's been doing guest spots with various studio acts, to the point that she's getting the attention of the label itself. I listened to some of the stuff they sent of hers. She's got good chops. Nothing famous yet, action movie soundtracks, some padding work on pop albums, but for what she's been given to work with, she turns shit into shinola more often than not. They didn't gimme her name, but they're wanting to bring her in, giving her a shot with you guys, she has apparently been bugging to get work in the rock genre.”
“So, where?” I repeat. “And when?”
“Burbank, by the airport at the main Gashouse studios, and as for when... they said next month. They want the Fragments to finish up your concert dates in San Fran and Oakland; take a couple weeks off to get your heads right, and then hit the studio hard. What do you say?” Martha says, her smirk saying she knows the answer even before I say it.
“I say that it's the best news all day. I could kiss you.”
Martha laughs, walking away. “You know some day, I might just take you up on that offer. For now, get your sweat on, and I'll tell the other guys... if Ian's awake. Hey, have you said anything to him about not sleeping naked?”
I laugh and grab my earbuds, putting them to listen to music that gets my mind off the ache building in my calves as I go into the last five minutes of my StairMaster routine.
Chapter 5
Cora
“B says buh and C says cuh, D says duh and E says eh....” Bella sings with me as we play with her dolls. I'm always shocked at just how intelligent my daughter is, just past three and a half and she's got most of the alphabet memorized both visually and phonetically. Knowing her, she's going to be reading by the time she turns four.
We finish up the song while putting clothes on Missy and Jazzy, Bella's two favorite dolls, and put them to bed in their little house. It's not a lot, the walls of each room are made from shoeboxes and the furniture isn't the right size for the two dolls, but Bella and I built it together, covering the sides with pink contact paper and decorating it with plenty of little stickers that make it unique and totally Bella. I sit back and give it a once over. “What do you think, honey? Think Missy and Jazzy are safe for the night?”
“Uh huh, Mommy,” Bella says, rubbing at her eyes and yawning. She's still got hair that is mostly blond, although I figure that she'll start to go brown soon enough. After all, her father was a brunette, not that I've seen him in four years. Once he found out that I was pregnant with Bella, he bounced pretty quickly. “I'm sleepy too.”
“Okay baby, then how about I read you a book while you get yourself comfortable in bed?” I ask, standing up and taking her by the hand. Our apartment is tiny, only a one bedroom, but that's okay, Bella doesn't mind sleeping with her Mommy still. “What would you like to hear tonight?”
“Elsa!” Bella immediately says, and I have to control the roll of my eyes. She's a little girl, of course she's going to love Frozen.
“Elsa, it is then,” I say, scooping her up and setting her in her spot on the bed. Not that Bella will stay there. It's the main reason I got rid of the box springs and we just have the mattress now, she can't hurt herself falling from eight inches up.
“Mommy?” Bella asks as I tuck the blanket around her, sitting down on the carpet next to the bed and opening the book. “Do you ever miss Daddy?”
“Daddy?” I ask, surprised. While I've never lied to Bella about who her father is, she's never met him. And I've never tried to demonize him, I just ignore him for the most part. “No honey, why?”
“Well, Lemondrop was talking about her Daddy the other day when you were at work,” Bella says, referring to one of her classmates at the daycare that's close to the studio where I'm working right now. Hollywood types, they never cease to amaze me with their ability to screw up names for children. “She says that she misses him while he's in Tanazia.”
“Tanzania, honey. And Lemon's got a different situation than us,” I reply. “Maybe someday we'll find a man who is good enough to be your Daddy, but for now… no, I don't miss your father.”
“Okay,” Bella says sweetly, smiling. “Maybe he can be like Kristoff?”
“Better than Olaf,” I tease, giving Bella a kiss on the forehead. “Now... let's see... Far away, in the kingdom of Arendale...”
Bella's asleep by the time that the snowman even makes an appearance, and I give her another kiss on the forehead. I make sure she's okay before I shut off the lamp next to the bed and go out to the other room of our place. I've lived here since Bella's birth, and while it's small, it's home. Mom and Dad understand, and they're more than happy to have me drop Bella off whenever I need to, but more importantly, they are supportive of me trying to make it on my own too.
The first thing I do when I get to the other room is to go through the mail. Electricity, gas, the Internet... I can pay those online tonight before I go to bed. Junk, junk, junk.... ah, I've been looking for this. “Well, hello again, Duane Phillips,” I mutter to myself, slicing open the envelope and taking out the money order inside. “Still doing it the hard way I see?”
I chuckle and set the money order on top of my backpack, I can drop it off at the bank tomorrow. As much as I love Bella, having sex with Duane Phillips has literally been the most disappointing experience of my life. After leaving high school, and seeing Rocky pretty much get caught up right off the bat with his new band, I was lonely and desperate. A chance meeting at LACU where he brought up the prom dance again, a little bit of drinking at a party, and boom... instant pregnancy.
I remember asking him explicitly to deal with it the time the burning issue of my virginity came up. And we did do it again, so I can't really be sure if it was the night I lost my virginity, or the night a week later when Duane fucked me in the back of his car that got me pregnant. We were trying to be a 'couple,' and that's what couples do, right? They fuck.
Not that Duane wanted to continue as being a couple once I missed a couple of periods and figured out I was pregnant. Duane was a drunken mistake, followed by an immature girl's attempt to try and put a band-aid on that mistake. Thankfully, his parents are high profile enough that all I had to do was threaten to go to the courts and get him labeled as a deadbeat dad before they signed a private child support agreement right away. Okay, so maybe if I'd fought a little harder, I could have gotten quite a bit more than I'm currently getting. But then I'd have had to worry about lawyers, custody agreements, and all that shit. Duane's off the hook, and if he wants to be a little childish himself by sending his thousand a month via certified money order instead of a simple electronic bank payment, I can still use the money.
I glance at the clock and see that it's only nine o'clock, I'm feeling just fine after getting some work done. I go over to my home computer setup and load up my current project. With Bella's birth, my hopes for a four-year degree were cut short, and I used a two-year degree from LACU to start getting unpaid internships with the local music and film studios. I spent a year scraping change out from between the sofa cushions, getting food stamps, and not turning down a single offered free munchie from anyone at any studio before I started making a name for myself. The money's still not great, but I'm starting to get better work.
