Rock Me Baby

by Jesse Jordan

  Martha's voice is like cold water on my good mood when she replies. “You two fucked in the studio.”

  I gulp, going back upstairs and back into the apartment, where Bella is still contentedly coloring her sheets, and for some strange reason I notice that she's using green. I go into the kitchen area, trying to keep my voice level. “Martha, I know that's probably not in the rule book, but we didn't mean to break any rules it just kind of wait... how did you know about that?”

  “You're on the front page of the news!” Martha yells, making my blood run cold. “You mean you really don't know? Haven't you checked online today? Watched TV? Done anything?”

  “I... I've been doing laundry,” I lamely reply, too shocked to say anything else. “But... how did this happen?”

  “That's what I'd like to know,” Martha yells, then taking a deep breath. “Okay, okay. Listen, just tell me you had nothing to do with leaking this?”

  “No! Of course not! I mean... there's no reason for me to do something like that!” I exclaim. “Martha, my daughter's in the room, so I gotta edit myself, but… well, what's been leaked?”

  “Try about fifteen minutes of action that is already on the front search page of PornHub,” Martha replies. “It's edited, but you see plenty. You didn't know the studios had cameras?”

  “They what?” I ask, again shocked. “Why would they be?”

  “A punk band walked off with about ten grand in equipment one time about eight years ago,” Martha said. “Larry had every studio get security cameras in three corners. Whoever leaked it had access to all the feeds, it's... well, let's just say I now know about that little birthmark on the inside of your left thigh.”

  “No, no, no, no...” I moan, and Bella looks up, worried. “Martha, I don't need this. I have a date with Rocky tomorrow night.”

  “Yeah, about that,” Martha says, her voice unapologetic. “Listen, when Rocky found out, he told me about your date. While I understand why, I didn't tell him the reason I suspect it's at your house, there's no way I can advise you two getting together tomorrow. I talked with Rocky, and he said that maybe after the concert, but for now he can't take another scandal. I'm really sorry, Cora.”

  “No... I guess I understand,” I reply, depression washing over me. “Listen, is Rocky available?”

  “Sorry, but he's got an MTV interview, and then we've got to jump on a flight back to Los Angeles,” Martha says. “I can ask him to call you when he gets a chance though if that's okay?”

  “Yeah... I guess. Thanks for the phone call, Martha. Goodbye.”

  “Goodbye,” Martha says, and there's something in her voice that sounds almost vicious as she hangs up. I look at my phone for a moment, worry crossing my face, but before I can do anything Bella's tugging on my sleeve.

  “Mommy, what's wrong?” she asks, and I look into her precious face, making up my mind.

  “Nothing, honey. That was Rocky's manager, something's come up for tomorrow and he won't be able to make it. Maybe after his concert on Saturday or something though. How's that sound?” I ask, trying to be cheerful. Bella doesn't need to know that her mother is getting slut-shamed all over the Internet. Oh God, what am I going to do when she gets old enough to actually use the Internet? And... oh God, Mom and Dad.... oh hell...

  “Mommy? Mommy?” Bella asks, and I shake my head, looking at her. “I said okay.”

  “Okay, honey. In the meantime, tomorrow you and I can still go out and get something special for dinner. How's fried chicken sound?” I ask. “Or even better, how about that for tonight?”

  “Can we get Krispy Bites?” Bella asks, referring to her favorite dish off the menu at the local fried chicken take-out place, a boneless chunk that isn't quite a nugget but can't be called a real piece either. They're just the right size for a three-year-old's hand though, and they're easy to chew.

  “Sure, sweetie. As soon as the laundry's done, we'll go get some chicken,” I tell her. “In the meantime, show me what you've been coloring.”

  The restaurant isn't one of the big chains, but it is popular in the neighborhood. Started back in the sixties by the father of the current owner, the look hasn't changed much since the nineties, and a lot of it is retro, looking more like it was put together in the fifties and sixties. It doesn't have a drive-through, but does do take out, which was our original plan. When we park though, I change my mind, and instead of doing take out I look inside, seeing an empty table. “What do you say we stay, honey? We can watch a movie on Mommy's computer when we get home.”

  “Yay!” Bella cheers, smiling. The restaurant has little paper place mats that have coloring and other kids’ activities on them, and I'll admit to snatching one or two to bring home to Bella when I've stopped by and done take out before. It helps me smile too, and we get out of the car, heading for the front door. Inside, I see a few glances, but I'm pretty inconspicuous, I mean you can't throw a rock in Los Angeles without hitting a blond, and I took a moment to at least look at highlights of the scandal video, it's not so hi-def that I look unique.

  Bella and I place our orders, and she's tracing her finger through the maze on the placemat when one of the men who's been glancing at me comes over, a leer on his face. “It's you, isn't it?”

  “I'm sorry? I don't know you,” I reply, trying to get him to back off. Still, I'm a horrible liar, and I must be blushing because the man laughs.

  “Yeah, I thought so. Phew, he rode you like a horse. Hey kid, your mom's famous, you know that?” he asks, and I smell the wave of alcohol off him. Sadly, there's a liquor shop in the strip mall next to the chicken restaurant, he must have gotten himself a forty before filling his gut.

  “That's enough!” I growl, standing up. Sure, I'm barely over a buck twenty, but nobody talks that sort of trash in front of my daughter. “Back off, and leave us alone!”

  Bella's getting scared, this guy is drunk and not backing down, but instead shoves me, grabbing his crotch. “Bet if I pulled this out you'd be on your knees in an instant,” he growls before turning to walk away. Looking back over his shoulder, he winks at Bella. “You should ask your Mom about how good Rocky Blake's cock was.”

  I lunge at him, but he scampers out the door, and I lose my balance on something, maybe just my own shoelaces, sending me tumbling to my knees, shame flooding me even as pain lances up my right leg. I get up, looking around at the other patrons, all of whom are looking at us like we're in the zoo or something. “What the fuck are you looking at?”

  “Mommy,” Bella says with a tiny voice, and I see that she's crying, afraid and upset about what just happened. She doesn't even know what a lot of the words the man used are, but she understands that I'm angry and that someone was being mean to me and to her. I take her by the hand and pull her into a hug as she starts to sob. The manager, who's finally reacting to the crap in the dining room, comes out, an apologetic look on his face.

  “Miss... I'm so sorry. Are you hurt?”

  I shake my head, anger still flashing through my blood. “No... just our feelings.”

  “I understand,” the manager says, he does look sympathetic. “Uhm, I know I can't do much about that guy, but I'd like to comp you your order. Here or take out, however you'd like it.”

  I nod and give him a grateful nod. Not everyone's a fucking jerk in this world yet, it seems. “Thanks. I think... maybe it'd be best to try and do take out. Thank you.”

  “I'll bring it to your car, which one is yours?” he asks, going to the back after I give him the plate number. I take the still crying Bella out to the car, where she sobs in my arms while I comfort her. As I do, I feel my anger subside and the pain that's been threatening to break through all day start to come to the forefront. I try to blink back the tears, but it's no good, they burn my cheeks as they tumble down my cheeks and into Bella's hair.

  “I'm sorry baby, Mommy's so sorry,” I whisper, kissing her forehead. “Mommy made such a big mistake, and I'm so sorry.”

  “Mommy... why were they m
ean?” Bella asks.

  “They... some people are just mean, I guess. It's not like your books, is it?” I ask, sniffling back my tears and regaining control for a little while. I can cry later, I must take care of my daughter right now. “It's a lot harder in real life.”

  “I wish it was like Kitty's book, where people could just talk and make things better,” Bella says, sniffing. “That's better than crying.”

  “I agree,” I whisper, kissing Bella's forehead again. “I agree.”

  The manager brings the food and we go home, and while Bella tries to cheer back up, I can tell she's just as down about the whole thing as I am. After she goes to sleep, I finally have my cry. It's not fair, and I feel like shit. I know what they say, that only I can give other people permission to make me feel bad, but that doesn't take away the pain.

  I must make this up with Rocky. I should explain to him, to explain that I didn't do it, and about Bella. I need to have a heart to heart with him, to let him know that I do love him and that I don't care about the scandals, I care about him. I want him to understand that while I hid Bella from him, it's not because I don't love him, I was just being overly cautious. I want him to know that for the past few nights, I've dreamed of him being more than the man of my life, but I can see him being the father that Bella so desperately needs. I see the ticket on the table, and I pick it up… okay. I can do this. I can try and talk to him Saturday night.

  It still doesn't help with the tears when I go to sleep, but at least it's better than nothing.

  Chapter 18

  Rocky

  “So, Rocky, with the Fragments releasing your first full-length CD, what plans do you and the guys have?” the host asks, grinning with an empty smile that I'm sure comes across well on TV. In the pre-interview chat, I could see that he wasn’t into music... but we're able to fit the interview in right after getting done with the taping for Late Night. I'm looking forward to the flight back, getting some sleep... and my date tomorrow with Cora.

  For now, though, it's time to work. “Well, Saturday night we're doing a premiere concert for our newest single, we're calling it Four Letters. That's going to be a ton of fun.”

  The host looks interested, grinning like he had tickets or something. “Really? And when can we see a full CD?”

  “Gashouse is working overtime on it,” Joey says, taking the lead on those sorts of questions just like the three of us had worked out before the interview. I knew that if we let them, the host would just look at me the whole time, with Joey and Ian being ignored. To hell with that. So, unless they ask us by name, we sort of worked out a rotation. I get to talk about concerts and band activities, Joey's the CD, and Ian is fans or just general things. So far, that's helped, Joey and Ian have both gotten to talk. “It's going to be... well, I'm not trying to get over excited, but we're hoping for something that people will appreciate.”

  “The buzz on the web is big for the Fragments,” the interviewer says, smiling still. Jesus, is that smile Botoxed on that way? “A lot of people are still sharing and downloading the little bar blurb you guys did of Gimme Danger. But that's not going to be the lead single, why is that?”

  “We were working on the CD, and Gimme Danger is a great track, but Four Letters just spoke to our hearts,” Joey says, causing me to nod. The three of us talked about it on the plane ride over from Los Angeles, and he's right. Cora's words touched Joey and Ian too. “It's that sort of song that just clicked, right to our hearts. The preview video's up already, for anyone who wants to check it out, and the whole thing is going to drop right after the concert finishes streaming.”

  The interview wraps up, Ian being his normal public self and answering with one and two word answers most of the time, and we shake hands with the interviewer before we leave the studio. As we do, Martha's waiting for us in the wings, a concerned look on her face. “Rocky? Got a minute?”

  I'm groaning inwardly even before Joey and Ian give me commiserating looks and head towards the snack table. I'll give it to the network, they have good snack tables, stocked with stuff from the cafeteria downstairs. “What is it this time?”

  Martha sighs, showing me her tablet. “I just got off the phone with Cora about this.”

  I look, going white as I see the headline and the video clip. The website's edited at least, they blurred out my cock, but.... but you can see almost everything else. “What? What the fuck, Martha?”

  “I know, I know,” Martha says, taking the tablet back. “Like I said, I just got off the phone with Cora about this.”

  “And?” I ask, pissed off that I'm facing another personal scandal, but still worried about Cora. “Is she okay?”

  “She's happy about it,” Martha says, nearly whispering sadly. “She said… she said that she's glad about it, that she's already going to talk to some of the reality producers about trying to spin this into a spot on a show.”

  I wince, my heart aching in my chest. “She what?”

  Martha nods, reaching up and patting my shoulder. “I'm sorry Rocky. I think... I think she used you. I know what she said in the parking lot, I heard it myself with my own ears, but maybe... I don't know, Rock. Maybe she's been gaming you the whole time, maybe she thinks that it's not an issue, maybe... I don't know, Rocky.”

  I'm crushed, and I turn around, walking off without saying anything, leaving the sound studio and looking for an escape. There's a stairwell off to my left and I take it, heading up the stairs, climbing higher and higher. The interview was done nearly at the top of the Astor Plaza building, so it's only about six floors until I reach the door to the roof, and I open it, gasping half in the exertion and half in emotion. The frigid New York wind smacks me in the face, and I slip and slide as I half-run from the door, looking for quiet and something that I'm not sure even exists. I reach the railing to the fake grass space that's on the roof and lean against it, trying to calm down.

  The first tears are hot, burning as they drip down my cheeks, and I try to fight them back, but I can't. They roll out of me, my chest hitching as I start to sob, not caring. Hey, the tabloid media wants to see? Fine, go ahead, take all the fucking photos you want. I don't give a fuck anymore. Watch as 'Rock's Fallen Angel' cries his fucking heart out and sobs like a bitch over a woman who used him, who played him for a fool. Take a look, you fucking vampires. Take a look, make your money, I don't give a damn anymore.

  I don't know how long I'm leaning against the railing, I do know that I'm shivering when I hear someone crunching on the snow and turn my head, seeing Ian crossing the roof, his arms wrapped around himself, his face full of concern. “You gonna jump?”

  “No,” I rasp, blowing my nose. “Besides, there's another landing like this one floor down, I'd just break my fucking legs.”

  Ian comes over and looks, seeing the narrow strip of fake grass below, and off to the corner of the building what looks like it might be a restaurant. “Huh, I didn't know that. We've been looking for you.”

  “I figured. You hate the cold,” I rasp again, clearing my throat. “Guess you're glad for the hat right now.”

  Ian tugs on the knit cap that he's wearing, he wore it for the interview as well, and half-shrugs. “It helps, I'd rather have a heavy jacket though. Hey, Martha clued Joey and me in on what happened. Jesus man, I'm sorry.”

  I shrug, leaning back against the railing again, staring out at the lights of New York. “I love her, Ian. That's what makes this hurt so much.”

  “I know,” Ian says quietly, leaning against the railing next to me. “You know what's been bugging me? How's this keep happening to you, anyway? You've got to have the worst luck of any guy I know in terms of tabloid scandals.”

  I shake my head, anger and hurt and sadness still boiling inside me. “I don't know, Ian. I'm tired of this shit though. I wanted to be a rock singer, not a tabloid prince. I... I can't take much more of this.”

  Ian nods. “I know.”

  I look over, surprised at the answer. “What, no comments about bu
cking up, about learning to deal with it and to focus on the fact that I'm on the verge of becoming a huge rock star?”

  Ian shakes his head and shifts around, sitting down on the grass, his legs dangling over the edge of the landing before he leans against the lower railing before looking to his left and right, snorting derisively. “Can't believe the city safety inspectors let this still go on, someone could fall through this and hurt themselves any day. Anyway, Rock, you know that millions of kids every year dream of being rock stars. And for 99.9 percent of them, they don't have what it takes. Whether it's a lack of talent, a lack of look, a lack of work ethic. Whatever it is, they don't have it. So, let's say that you're that one in a thousand kids who has that right combination of talent, look and isn't afraid to work. You've still got thousands of others to compete with. So, what happens to most of that thousand? You ever think about it?”

  I shake my head, sitting down next to him. I don't know what it is about Ian, he's just got this way of speaking that calms us, that reaches through the emotions no matter what it is, and while it doesn't cheer us up, it at least gets us from going nuts. Maybe it's just that because he doesn't talk a lot when he does, it's fascinating. “No, what happens to them?”

  “There's a few who make it, of course, if even for just a minute. A lot of them turn out sad cases though, especially the one-hit wonders. A lot get burned out, some burn out all the way. Drugs, partying... jumping from fifty-seven story buildings or putting shotguns to their heads. But a lot of them just quit the biz for the very same reason you're hurting right now. Not the sex tape, but the stress and realizing that music... it's both a calling and it's a job, man. We're happy when we play, but it's not forever. We put the guitars and drums up, we have to look ourselves in the mirror. We have to go to the store, we have the same dreams and needs of everyone else. Like love.”

  “Like love,” I whisper, putting my head against the railing. “Jesus, Ian, this hurts.”