by Heidi Lowe
“I don't have much of a choice. I start tomorrow, and I'm dreading it.” That was an understatement. When I looked down I realized that I was tapping my leg, another one of my many nervous twitches. What would I be like when the day came?
“Okay, maybe she isn't as bad as the papers and magazines make out. You know how they love to fabricate everything.”
I wanted to believe that, to believe that every story I'd ever read, every headline I'd ever scanned about her, was invented, but I'd never been good at lying to myself. There was a reason most industry people refused to work with her; that sort of bad press didn't come out of nowhere.
“You don't buy that any more than I do,” I said flatly. “I'm going to be eaten alive.”
If Jessica had any sympathy at all for my plight, she wasn't showing it. I heard her laugh while my face was buried in my hands.
“You'll probably become the best of friends. That's what you do, Elle, you befriend the unfriendable. I mean, look at us. When we met I was a friendless freshman goth who hated everything. It took tutoring you, a seventh-grader, to get me to socialize.”
Our history always made me smile, because it was such a rare start to such a profound friendship. Math tutor turned best friend. She hadn't changed much in twelve years; she still sported the same quiff hairstyle, still had that androgynous look that had made her a target of ridicule in high school, and still had a penchant for black clothing. The gayest straight woman I'd ever met.
“It's not the same. You were a misunderstood teenager. Autumn Anders is...not.”
“I'm sure it won't be as bad as you think.”
No, I thought. It will be worse.
TWO
I thought about turning back. Every couple of minutes, as I made my way to the studio in the Noe Valley area, I considered heading back home, telling Cynthia she could stuff her job where the sun didn't shine. It wasn't the threat of homelessness, going hungry, or even being forced to move back home to live with my parents that kept me going, though. I needed to see this through. Call it pride, or just downright stubbornness, some inner force pushed me toward that building. I knew that whatever happened after this I would be able to look myself in the mirror knowing I'd never backed down.
It was surprisingly easy gaining entrance into the main part of the building, once I'd signed in at the reception desk. For a world-class facility which catered to some of the biggest names in music, they didn't take much care to ensure the privacy of the musicians. I could have been anyone. Already thinking like an assistant, I made a mental note to talk to Autumn about it...if she didn't send me running and screaming before I got the chance.
I rode the elevator to Studio Two, on the second floor. A tug on the door revealed that it was locked, so I rang the buzzer. A minute or two passed before a face appeared at the porthole-like window and nearly made me jump out of my skin.
“Works every time,” the man said, chortling to himself once he'd pulled the door open. My face must have lost all of its color, because when he looked at me, just as he was about to stop laughing, he started again.
I cleared my throat, looking as disgruntled as I could. Only when he stopped cackling did I recognize him. The messy, curly brown hair so common to drummers; it was as if they grew it long just so they had something to toss about when they were jamming. Sam Richie, the A-in-S drummer since the band's creation. The years hadn't been kind to him; no doubt a product of the copious amounts of alcohol and cocaine he'd abused. The oldest member of the group – a man in his early forties – who had never quite grown up. The leather jacket and skintight black jeans were a contrast to his aging face, lines etched deep into his pasty skin. He was what rock and roll looked like when it was no longer cool. And he stood now, leaning against the door, allowing his eyes to roam over my body and drink me in. He snaked a tongue across his dry lips.
“Well, aren't you something. You've got this sort of naughty librarian look about you. I bet those glasses aren't prescription.”
I cleared my throat again, pushed my glasses up my nose, and tried my best not to look like a naughty librarian, or anything else that would turn this wretched man on. I instantly regretted not wearing my contacts.
“I'm here to see Autumn.”
“You are? Sure about that? She's got her hands full already. But I'm free.” He grinned, flashing a gold tooth.
“I'm her new assistant. I'm supposed to be meeting her here.”
“I've got a better idea. Why don't you come work for me, be my assistant? You and I would have a lot of fun. And I'm a better tipper.”
Before I knew it, a bony finger with a nail crammed with grime was stroking my shoulder. Beneath his touch I shuddered.
“Leave the kid alone, you filthy pervert!” Someone shoved him aside, having taken the words right out of my mouth. The lady who appeared was the third member of the group, the keyboard player. Greta Paul, a tall and striking woman with jet black hair and enough piercings to ensure getting through customs was a pain in the ass.
“I'm just having some fun with her.”
“I'm sure she's not interested in your kind of fun.” She turned to me. “What's up, hun?”
“Uh, I'm here to see Autumn. I'm her new assistant.”
I watched the two superstars exchange undecipherable looks. My nerves at starting my new job had the effect of numbing my senses to the fact that I was in the company of rock royalty. I should have been starstruck. Millions of women and young girls the world over would have killed to be in my position. Could I have been the luckiest twenty-four-year-old on the planet? Well I didn't feel lucky, I felt nauseous, and I didn't like the look they were now giving me.
“She's otherwise engaged,” Greta said, causing Sam to let out a filthy laugh.
“Yes, otherwise engaged. Deeply, deeply engaged.”
“You can wait with us until she's finished,” Greta said, hitting her band mate on the arm.
“Thank you, I really appreciate it.” I slipped past them, keeping as far away from Sam as I could, afraid that I would catch something. I knew all about him. The biggest slut of the group, that was what they called him. He wore the title with pride. He had a small army of children dotted around the world he didn't see or acknowledge; the guy was a walking, talking sperm bank. I thought I might get pregnant just breathing the same air as him!
“She might be awhile. How about a drink?” he said as I followed them into the lounge area. The room was packed, overflowing with beer and laughter. On the laps of heavyset, burly men – who I gathered were security – sat some scantily clad women, all beautiful. I'd heard that this was the type of thing that happened at recording studios, that more time was spent partying, drinking and getting high than actual recording.
“No, thank you,” I said, finding my voice again.
“I think you'll need it. Autumn's a handful.”
Some alcohol would have gone down a treat at that point, but it wouldn't have been professional. I declined again and found an empty seat beside a couple of giggling women. A few minutes later, Sam slipped himself between the two, putting slimy arms around them. They giggled tipsily, seemingly unfazed by the fact that this guy was probably old enough to be their father. Groupies. Their presence here, with this guy, set the female race back fifty years, I thought as I stared at them in utter disgust.
“Who's she?” I heard one of the hangers-on ask Sam, practically licking his earlobe when she spoke.
“Oh, that's Autumn's new pet. Cute, isn't she?”
Both women scowled at me, clearly unmoved by my apparent appeal.
“Assistant. I'm her new assistant,” I said tartly.
Sam only chuckled. “My bad, assistant. It's really all the same when it comes to AA.”
One of the girls whispered something to him, which made him laugh. “Hey, what's your name?”
“Elle.”
“Elle, why don't you go see if Autumn's finished up now?” His suggestion made the two women on either side of him laug
h hysterically, and I didn't know why. I thought it was a great idea, seeing as sitting among these people was getting increasingly uncomfortable.
“Sure. Where might I find her?”
“She's in the sound room. Don't worry about knocking, just go right on in.” He pointed in the direction of the room, and could barely contain his laughter.
A wiser woman than I would have found this whole exchange suspicious; but I was so eager to get out of there that I didn't think twice about it. Even as the laughter continued behind me, I didn't realize I was walking into a trap.
When I came to the end of the corridor, I found myself in front of the sound room. The faint hum of moaning and heavy breathing filtered out. This should have been my cue to walk swiftly away, but I was never good at taking cues. I pushed the door open, and then froze, my eyes threatening to pop from their sockets. This wasn't a scene I would forget any time soon. Although all three women were either half or fully naked, from my position I could only see two pairs of breasts. But that was more than enough. It was two pairs more than I'd ever seen in the flesh, and I found I couldn't peel my eyes away.
Each pair belonged to a gorgeous woman with a body to die for. The woman closest to me sat sprawled in a plush leather swivel chair, one hand dipped between her thighs, lost in the darkness. Whatever she was doing to herself brought a smile to her face.
It was the other woman, the one eliciting the loudest moans, that I was more intrigued with. My first thought when I saw her sitting at the edge of the control box, gripping the edges of the desk, was how uncomfortable it must have been. The position, however, didn't seem to bother her. She had more important things on her mind. Like, for example, the blonde who was kneeling between her legs giving her, what I could only imagine from her moans, the best head she'd ever had.
“Oh, God!” I mumbled, trying to sneak out before anyone noticed me.
Too late. The lone-ranger peered up from her chair, her arm slowing its movement. She looked at me and smiled. “I didn't know there would be anyone else joining us,” she said in a squeaky, joky voice.
This made the other women in the room cease, turn around and look up at me. Then I saw her. The woman on her knees, her lips wet with the residue from her “gal pal”. The woman herself, in the flesh – literally. I'd never imagined that on my first encounter with the illustrious Autumn Anders I would also be treated to an all access view of the famous Anders Twins: i.e. her boobs. They were world famous because they were almost too perfect; and she'd insisted that she'd never had any work done on them. No one believed her, and looking at them I wasn't about to change my opinion. At thirty-four, everything should have started heading south a long time ago, but nothing seemed to have. Fresh-faced and youthful were the best words to describe her, and not what I was expecting at all. I'd seen the pictures, the mugshots of her looking the worse for wear. Either this was her younger, hotter sister, or the magazines had been fiddling around with Photoshop again. They did it to beautify celebrities – so why not the other way round?
Seeing her completely threw me, and not just because she was on her knees giving head to some random woman. She was more stunning than I could have ever imagined; a fair-haired beauty, born to a German mother and a Norwegian father. Like a Norse goddess. Perhaps that was why she hadn't aged – she had the blood of the gods in her.
“Neither did I,” she said, licking the residue off her lips. “But the more the merrier.” There was that smoky, croaky voice she was renowned for. It injected a certain type of sexiness into the band's songs that gave them a unique sound. It was like an aphrodisiac. I felt the tremor of her voice all over my body, inside and out. Her eyes drank me in, taking their time to scrutinize every inch of me. I felt as naked as the other people in the room. Beneath her stare I shivered. I knew they expected me to speak, but my ability to produce words was temporarily gone.
“Well don't just stand there, take your clothes off and come over here. My tongue's long but not that long.” She laughed, and the two women laughed with her. I, however, didn't join in. I was too busy trying to will my legs to stay put, not to do as she said. What the hell was wrong with them? Obviously they were malfunctioning. They couldn't possibly want me to take part in this orgy.
I found my voice, fearing that if I didn't I would have been pulled into something I could never get out of.
“I'm, uh, I'm not here for that,” I said in a tiny voice.
“You're cute,” the lone-ranger said, stretching out a hand to me – the hand that had been tucked away between her legs. I fought back the urge to take it.
“If you're not here for that, then what are you here for?” Autumn's voice had taken on a suspicious tone now. “You're not with the press are you?”
“No, no,” I said quickly. “I'm from the Green Pines Agency. I'm your new assistant.”
She narrowed her big blue eyes at me, said nothing, while I tried my best not to let my own eyes linger on her pert breasts, though that was nigh on impossible. Surely they were the work of surgeons. Surgery went against her philosophy, I'd read that once; but I figured she was like every other celebrity who said one thing and did another.
“Well you have two choices. You can either join in – Sara seems to like you.” She pointed to the woman on the swivel chair. “Or you can wait outside while I finish up in here. It shouldn't take long. She's about ready.” She turned back to the naked brunette in front of her, and proceeded to finish off what she'd started, as though I wasn't in the room. At which point I scurried back out the door. Then I tried to come up with an explanation for why I was so tempted to return to the room and join them.
THREE
For twenty minutes I waited outside that room, my hand itching to grab the handle and reenter. And then what? I wouldn't know what to do when I got back in there. Standing in the middle of the room gawking at them while they worked on each other could hardly be classed as participating.
So for twenty minutes I stood on the other side of that door, cursing myself for still being a virgin, and a confused one at that. Maybe that was it, why such a proposition felt so tempting. When you're undersexed, everything looks tempting. Even impolite, promiscuous rock stars.
It was all so surreal. As I paced back and forth I couldn't get the image of her on her knees, half-naked, out of my mind. There was no shame, no hurry to cover herself up.
When the door opened I straightened up quickly, stood back and watched as Autumn kissed the two women goodbye, not holding back on the tongue. When I realized that I was staring, open-mouthed, at this sensual farewell, I quickly turned away. And I was still turned away as they strutted past me, laughing to themselves like schoolkids.
“Are you just going to stand out there like a fool for the rest of the afternoon?” she said.
I hurried inside the control room, which still smelled like sex and perfume – a surprisingly delicious combination.
“So you're my new assistant?”
“Yes, Ma'am...Miss Anders. My name's Elle, Elle–”
“I don't need to know your surname.” She put up a hand to silence me. “Hell, I don't even need to know your first name. I'll call you whatever I want, and you'll answer. That's how it works around here.”
My mouth snapped shut. Wow! I was expecting an asshole, and that was exactly what I got. In that she hadn't disappointed.
“Yes, Ma'am,” I said quietly.
“And quit calling me Ma'am. What do I look like, Hillary Clinton?”
I didn't respond. No, she definitely didn't look like Ms. Clinton; about the only thing they had in common was their hair color. Autumn Anders couldn't have been further from presidential if she'd been a terrorist. With the long, wild hair, the handful of colorful tattoos patterning her skin, her well-documented hunger for the ladies, and her unapologetic love of pot and booze, she was just far too liberal for congress. I also doubted that a member of congress would be standing half-naked in a recording studio with a stranger they'd just met, which was prec
isely what Autumn was doing now. Although the women were long gone and it was just the two of us, she hadn't bothered to put on her top, out of a sign of respect for herself, or for me. She actually had less on than before, now that her jeans were abandoned on the floor. Just a very flimsy thong to hide her modesty.
She must have noticed that I was making a conscious effort not to look directly at her, because she said, “Does nudity bother you?”
“N–no, nudity in general doesn't bother me.”
“Oh, so it's just my nudity that you have a problem with?”
“Yes. I mean, no.” Well this wasn't turning out at all how I'd imagined. When I'd left my apartment that day, I'd been determined to stay focused and not get flustered, like I usually did in moments of extreme pressure. But that had gone right out the window upon walking in on a threesome. That I could form any sentences at all was a miracle.
“Well which is it?”
“Nudity is fine as long as it's in the home.”
She was silent for a beat, and then suddenly she burst into laughter. “They actually still make people like you? Honey, being an assistant to a rock star is the worst job in the world for a prude.”
I didn't know what I was more offended by, her laughing at me or calling me a prude. Okay, so some of my views were a little outdated, but a prude I was not.
“I'm not a prude.” I felt about five years old making that assertion.
“So by your reasoning sex should also only take place in the home, huh?” She was enjoying this, putting me on the spot. I could hear the glee in her voice.
“I think that there are certain things that two, or three, people shouldn't do in public places, where anyone might see them...”
Remember I told you that I had no filter when I became nervous? Yeah, well that was me with no filter. I told you it was bad. It was as if, once I got going, I simply couldn't stop myself. I could see the wreckage before it happened but was powerless to prevent it.
