Fall Of The Rock Girl: A Lesbian Romance (Revolving Record Book 2)

by Nicolette Dane

  “I love you, too,” I said. “I’ll try.”

  We cuddled for a while, nestled against one another, until I noticed that Daisy had fallen asleep. It was a lazy early summer afternoon, post-sex, the perfect time to take a nap. She even let out a little snore, a cute sound coming from her beautiful face. I watched her sleep for a few, until I heard my phone start to vibrate on my bedside table.

  Picking up the phone and checking who it was, I quickly leapt out of bed, grabbed a cigarette and a lighter, and scurried out to the bedroom balcony, eager to answer.

  “Hey!” I said into the phone, swiftly lighting up my smoke and tossing the lighter onto a chair. “I’m so pumped you’re here.” I leaned up against the railing, naked from head to toe.

  “Oh, me too,” said James. “Love this town. I think me and the boys have been hitting it a little too hard since we got in.” He laughed.

  “I miss those days,” I said, mimicking his happy laugh. “I’m kind of tame now. I don’t really live the rock and roll lifestyle anymore.”

  “Well, with the kids,” admitted James. “I’m a lot more tame now, too. I guess that’s what happens when you get old.”

  “We’re definitely not old,” I corrected. “Just in a different stage of life.”

  “Right,” he agreed.

  “So, do you think we need to practice or anything?” I asked, switching ears with my phone.

  “Nah,” he said with a bit of caginess in his voice. “I mean, you know our song, right? The Funhauser song.”

  “Yeah, I’ve got it down,” I said.

  “And of course you know the Cast Party song,” he continued. “You wrote the lyrics.”

  “Yep!” I said happily.

  “Then we should be fine,” he said. I don’t know what it was, but something in James’ voice made me think he was up to something. I had known him a long time, and he was never very good at hiding things from me. But since our friendship was only recently renewed, I didn’t want to accuse him of anything weird when all I had was a gut feeling to go by.

  “Hmm,” I buzzed, taking a drag from my cigarette.

  “We should hang out,” said James. “The band isn’t out here very long.”

  “Yeah, we should,” I agreed. “Why don’t we do something after the show? I’m pretty booked up the next couple of days, but we could host something at my house post-gig. How does that sound?”

  “Like a party?” asked James, his voice brighting up. “Yeah. Dude, great idea.”

  “I’ll talk to Daisy,” I said. “Just a small thing. Or, you know. The bands can come, some of your label people.”

  “Yeah,” said James. “An after-party at Layla Bean’s house,” he mused with a laugh. “That doesn’t have the potential to be nuts.”

  “No crazies,” I said, grinning, ashing my cigarette off the balcony. “I’ll definitely hire security if this goes down.”

  “That’s a good idea,” said James. “Are you outside right now?” he asked suddenly. “You in the city someplace?”

  “I’m at home,” I said, looking down at myself. “I’m standing naked on my balcony and having a smoke.”

  “Wow,” he said. “That’s ballsy.”

  “It’s secluded up here.”

  ‘I’m glad we’re talking again, Layla,” James said authentically. “Like, for real. This is nice. I missed it.”

  “Me too,” I said. “It’s been a weird few years.”

  “Definitely,” he said. “All right, then. Let me know about the party, and I guess I’ll catch you at the Roxy.”

  “Deal,” I said. “Take it easy, James.”

  “Make it sleazy, Layla.”

  I laughed, and I let him hang up first. I took another puff of my smoke, exhaled, and dropped the butt into an ashtray. I was feeling pretty damn happy with myself.

  As I reentered the bedroom, I caught Daisy looking at me, lying on her side with her hand supporting her head, the sheet barely covering her, breasts exposed, her sultry body calling to me. She made a kissy face at me.

  “Another round?” she asked. “I think it’s your turn.”

  “Yes,” I said, tossing my phone over to a plush chair near the corner of the room and walking toward the bed. “Will you do my thing?”

  When I said this, Daisy’s eyes lit up.

  “Your ass?” she said. “My tongue?” Daisy stuck her tongue out and flicked it.

  “Mm hmm,” I said nodding enthusiastically.

  “I think that can be arranged.”

  We pulled into a spot, and Jack put his SUV into park. It was dusk, and he and I were sneaking out to a quiet bar he liked off the beaten path for a drink to catch up.

  “We’ll be left alone here,” he said, unfastening his seatbelt. “The bartender working tonight is cool. He’ll have our backs.”

  “And the people?” I said, following Jack and opening my door.

  “They might gawk, but they won’t say anything,” he said.

  “Hope so.”

  I threaded my arm around Jack’s as we walked together toward the front door of the bar. I felt like his doting little sister, in a way. It was a similar relationship as what I had with James, but still different. I don’t know how I attracted dudes like them. But I was learning not to question. Jack was good for me, and all the feelings I had for him when I was younger — you know, the boy band thing — were completely absent from my mind. He was a friend.

  Entering the bar, you’d think a record skipped. Everyone looked our way, dumbstruck that the two of us were someplace together. It would have been an event to just see one of us. But both of us? Perhaps it was difficult to comprehend.

  It was definitely a hipster bar, dark and wooden and faux-shitty. There weren’t too many patrons, but you knew it was the kind of place that probably filled up around midnight and got crazy with people posturing. Jack and I walked up to the bar, and he gave the bartender a nod.

  “Pike,” said Jack. “What’s up?”

  “Yo,” said Pike the bartender. He was a burly guy with a beard. We climbed up onto the barstools right in front of him.

  “This is Layla,” said Jack.

  “Hey Layla,” said Pike. He didn’t reach out to shake my hand or anything.

  “Hey Pike,” I said. “Is that your real name?”

  “Just a nick,” he said. “I grew up pike fishing and when I moved out here, I mentioned that to some friends and the name stuck.”

  “Nice,” I said.

  “You named after the Clapton song?” said Pike.

  “How’d you know?” I grinned.

  “Layla’s in music, too,” said Jack. When he said this, he almost caused Pike to break the straight-faced, cool bartender facade he had put up. Almost.

  “I know who she is, man,” said Pike. This gave me a laugh.

  “Oh, right,” said Jack.

  “Not many people would talk to Jack like that,” I said to Pike. “I like you.” Then he broke, giving me a smile and nodding his head.

  “Don’t encourage him,” said Jack.

  “I’ve always wondered what pop stars drink,” said Pike. “Care to enlighten me?”

  “Bourbon,” I said with a smile. “Neat. For both of us.”

  “Girl can drink,” said Pike. “Coming right up.”

  Once we got our drinks and Pike wandered off, I smiled at Jack happily and took a sip from my glass. Some indie rock music played on the jukebox, and by that time most of the people in the bar had stopped staring and went back to their own conversations.

  “Are you coming?” I asked Jack. “To the show at the Roxy?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “If you want me to.”

  “We’re doing a thing at my place afterwards,” I said. “You and your girl can come.”

  “An afterparty?” he said. “I might be able to swing it, but no way Jenny will. She’s filming something right now and she’ll be in bed by eight.”

  “Her loss,” I grinned.

  “Everything coo
l at home?” said Jack, lifting a brow and doing a little digging.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Things are better. We’re rebuilding.”

  “Glad to hear it,” he said.

  “I feel like I’m finally getting my shit together,” I said. “I’m coming to terms with all this, I’m accepting it. Isn’t that the first step in the stages of grief?” Jack laughed.

  “Yeah, you’re grieving?” he said. “C’mon.”

  “No, really,” I said. “I’ve been so angsty. And it just doesn’t make any sense anymore. I want to just grow up and be cool.”

  “You are cool, Layla,” said Jack with an accepting smile.

  “No, I mean… cool,” I repeated. “Unflappable. Easy going. More like you.”

  “Me?” he said, offering up a laugh. “That’s sweet of you, but I’ve got my issues.”

  “I’m trying to give you a compliment, Jack,” I said, smacking him on the arm. He smiled and sipped from his glass.

  “You know, I wrestle with things,” he said. “I’ve got an ego. You try to ignore it sometimes, but when people know you — like they know us — you get into your own shit, believe the hype, whatever. I’m not perfect.”

  “This is about me,” I demanded in mock-anger.

  “Okay, okay,” he said, putting up his hands. “Always about Layla Bean.”

  “Grammy Award winning artist, Lay—“

  “Grammy Award winning artist, Layla Bean,” Jack interrupted, correcting himself.

  I then felt a presence move up behind us, and I quickly spun around to see who was creeping up on me and Jack. I almost dropped my glass when I saw her.

  “Audrey,” I said. “What are you doing here?”

  “What?” she said, confused. “You know. I live around here.”

  “I mean, here in this bar?” I said. Jack furrowed his brow as he watched our exchange.

  “Having a drink with friends,” said Audrey brightly, lifting her cocktail glass up to show us.

  “Who is this?” said Jack skeptically.

  “This is… Audrey,” I said. Audrey smiled at Jack and stuck out her hand.

  “It’s nice to meet you,” she said. Jack shook her hand. “I know who you are,” Audrey continued on. “But I’m not a crazy or anything.”

  “Oh!” said Jack as it finally hit him. “This is Audrey.”

  “Right,” I said.

  “I guess my reputation precedes me,” Audrey said with a short laugh. She pushed her black glasses up her nose. “Layla, when I saw you here at the bar, I just had to come apologize for… everything. I know it got weird there for a minute.”

  “Yeah,” I said cautiously.

  “I got carried away at the wedding,” she continued on. “And that all only happened because, well, I liked you. I wasn’t trying to mess anything up.”

  “Well, I guess you got what you wanted out of it,” I said. “Trish is representing her now,” I told Jack.

  “I know that’s how it looks,” said Audrey, averting her eyes, a shroud of sadness moving over her face. “But none of that was my intention. I thought we were having fun, that’s all.”

  “You almost ruined my relationship,” I said to Audrey. I could feel a bit of anger rising within me.

  “I had no idea,” said Audrey. “You never told me anything about your relationship. I was under the impression you were single. I wouldn’t have done any of that if I knew.”

  “Audrey,” said Jack. “I think you should give Layla a little space. She’s still dealing with the fallout from all this.”

  “Okay,” she said, nodding slowly. “I get it. I just came over to apologize. I’m sorry, Layla,” Audrey said to me. “And, nice to meet you,” she said to Jack.

  “You too,” said Jack.

  “I like the red,” said Audrey, pointing to my head and giving me a gentle smile. “Bye.”

  I watched as Audrey turned and walked away from us, back toward her table of friends across the bar, unsure what to think about the encounter. Somehow it had escaped me that I could possibly see her around town. Even when Trish told me she was going to be representing Audrey, it didn’t even cross my mind that she lived in LA. I took a long drink of my bourbon.

  “She seemed nice about it,” said Jack, smiling lightly and shrugging, trying to make me feel better. “Cute girl. Seems like a straight shooter.”

  “Stop,” I said.

  “What?” said Jack.

  “She is those things,” I said. “But you referencing them doesn’t make this moment any easier for me.”

  “Just forget it,” said Jack, taking the final sip of his drink and setting the empty glass on the bar.

  “She’s probably over there telling her friends about how she fingered me in the back of her Dad’s SUV,” I grumbled, the emotions stewing and beginning to boil. It’s definitely a practice to maintain control, to maintain your cool, and I was far from a master yet.

  “That’s a little too much information for me,” said Jack. “But… it’s… interesting.” As he said this, Jack looked back and forth from me over to where Audrey had walked. I smacked his arm.

  “C’mon, Jack,” I whined.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “Inappropriate.”

  “Can we just get out of here?”

  “Totally,” said Jack. He stood up and puffed himself out, looking down the bar. When Pike caught eyes with Jack, the two waved at one another. I just shoved my hands in my pockets and quickly made my way toward the door. Jack diligently followed.

  I tried to put the run-in with Audrey behind me, tried to forget about it, tried to accept the fact that even though we lived in a big city, there was always going to be a chance that I could run into her. Especially with her signing on with Trish. I did lament Trish’s decision in doing that, but I could understand why she did it. She felt like she was protecting me. I had to accept that.

  Things were getting better. There would always be hiccups. That’s just how it worked.

  So when the night of the show with Funhauser at the Roxy came, I was nothing but pumped. It reminded me of old times. It allowed me to feel like I could shed the pop star skin I’d been wearing for so long and return, if only for that night, to the way things used to be.

  And I dressed the part. I wore my black combat boots, black tights, and a black little girl frock. My red hair done in braided pigtails. Before the doors opened for the show, the venue completely empty but for employees, musicians, some people from the Technovinyl label, and a couple members of the media, I ordered a beer from the bar and took a moment to myself to absorb the night.

  I knew my people would be there soon enough. Daisy would come, Jack and some of his crew. Trish gave me a laugh when I invited her, a sort of ‘that’s sweet,” kind of patronizing vibe. She was something else. For that moment, though, hanging around the club before the show, sipping from my beer bottle, I felt like I was a time-traveller. I felt almost as though I were still 25 year old Layla Bean, front woman for Cast Party, excitedly looking forward to climbing up on stage to belt my heart out.

  But no pre-show jitters. No anxiety. I didn’t have much to prove. I had a pretty good idea who I was.

  A guy ambled up near me, ordered a beer from the bartender, and then started to give me a look. He smiled at me, trying to catch my attention. The dude looked youngish, maybe mid 20s, and definitely had the rock musician vibe. He had long dark hair with a baseball cap on, cocked to the side, tight jeans and a tight t-shirt. I knew he was trying to get me to notice him, and I knew he must have been somehow affiliated with James or the label or something, so I acknowledged him.

  “Hi,” I said.

  “Hey,” he said, reaching his hand out for a shake. “I’m Chris.”

  “Layla,” I said. I shook.

  “I totally know who you are,” he said. “I know James a little bit. I’m with the opening band, Reuther. We’re on Technovinyl.”

  “Yeah?” I said. “Like the Walter P. Reuther freeway? 696?”

&nbs
p; “Right,” said Chris sheepishly. “Busted. We’re from Michigan, too.”

  “That’s cool,” I said. “Well, it’s good to meet you. I’ll look forward to seeing you play tonight.”

  “I just wanted to let you know,” he said, in the kind of tone that made me feel like he was covering embarrassment with the front that he wasn’t. “I always really dug Cast Party. I saw you guys at the Mystic when I was, like, 16 or 17 and I was blown away.”

  “That’s nice of you to say,” I smiled.

  “And now I’m, like, playing,” he went on. “And I’ve met James a couple of times. It’s just, you know, really cool.”

  “Yeah,” I said, still smiling. I was just letting him get out whatever he had to say.

  “Some people say that chicks can’t rock,” he went on.

  “Hold up,” I said. “Who says that?”

  “People,” Chris replied. “I don’t know. It’s stupid. But you must know,” he said, motioning toward me with his hand. “I don’t think that. And that’s because of you. You always really fuckin’ rocked, and yeah… I mean, that’s all.”

  “Thanks,” I said. I just grinned. This guy obviously was embarrassed and digging himself into a bit of a hole. But I enjoyed it.

  “Yeah, that’s it,” he said. Chris took a drink of his beer.

  “What about what I do now?” I asked. Curiosity always got the better of me. “What do you think of that?”

  “Well, you still rock,” he said. “But in a different way. It’s more mainstream. That’s okay.”

  “Do you listen to my records?”

  “If I’m being honest… not really,” he said. “I still listen to the old Cast Party records, though. And I love Funhauser. Super cool dudes.”

  “What do you think I should do, Chris?” I asked. “With my career? My records?”

  “What do I think?” he replied. “That’s above my pay grade.”

  “What would you do in my spot?”

  “Probably just keep trying to make money,” he said. “This industry changes all the time. Just because you’re super popular one day, doesn’t mean it won’t all be pulled away the next.” Chris stopped himself and thought about what he was saying. “I don’t mean to imply that’ll happen to you. It’s just my own worry, you know?”