by Mj Fields
We all laugh except Xavier, of course.
“You sober?” she asks River. We all know that’s her deal with him. He’s sober, or its hands off the kid. As much as River adores older women, he adores kids even more.
I can’t help noticing the way River looks at her, like she’s the damn Mona Lisa. I expect him to bullshit her, but he doesn’t. He has mad respect for her.
He shakes his head, looking guilty, and shrugs. “Maybe next time.”
Taelyn gives him a sad look. “Okay.”
She goes over to Xavier and hands their son over. She kisses the baby’s cheek, then his.
“So, STD, huh?” After seeing the T-shirt, her eyes immediately go to me.
Xavier laughs at my shocked expression. “Seriously, Memphis, you’re like one of our kids.”
“Except for the fact that you would have been, like, two when you had him,” River interjects. “Hot, toddler loving.”
“You’d better watch it, drummer boy,” Xavier hisses while Taelyn nudges him with her elbow.
“I guess it could work.” She holds the shirt up to her chest, smirking. “If anyone can make a venereal disease sound cool, it’s the three of you.”
“Four,” I remind her. “Billy boy could rock an STD shirt like nobody’s business.”
“He could, right?” She laughs. “He’ll be back in a week, very excited.”
“Wait, about what?” I ask.
“You’re opening up for the Brody Hines band’s Burning Souls reunion show, you stupid shit.” Xavier speaks in a stern, yet soft I-don’t-want-to-wake-the-baby, voice.
River looks like someone just slapped him. “You’re fucking joking, right?”
“Nope.” Xavier smiles. “So, let me ask you a question.”
“Shoot, man.” I try to look calm, but shit. Fuck, fuckity, fucking shit!
“You ready to spread ‘your kind of rock’ around like an infectious disease?” The look on his face tells me everything I need to know—X is finally on board.
My laugh is evil and deep. “Hell yes, we are. Hell. Fucking. Yes.”
I feel tingly all over. What a fucking rush this business is. What a motherfucking rush.
I sit at the kitchen table with my head hung low, waiting for the shiz storm to commence. I know I have crossed some lines—well, not just crossed, more like pirouetted across, moonwalked across while flipping the double bird. Then, when no one was looking, I ran back like the dog I was, tail between my legs, in the middle of the night.
I used the proverbial line like a jump rope, hopping back and forth between who I am and who I never dreamed I could become. Never in a million years did I think I would be called to audition. Never in a billion years did I think I would have the guts to spend an entire day, while my parents thought I was on a trip to the city with Madison’s family, actually auditioning in front of the most talented and highest esteemed judges at The Julliard School of Performing Arts.
But I did. I crossed that line. I crossed it good. And now I have to pay the price.
After another fifteen minutes, my parents—also known as Pastor Theodore and Andrea Cruise—finally come out of my father’s office, and I don’t dare look up.
“Thou shalt not covet. Thou shalt honor your father and mother and remember the Sabbath and keep it holy.” My father’s fist strikes the table in front of me, and I jump. “You said dance was a hobby! You lied to your mother and me. And on a Sunday, Tally!”
“Theodore,” my mother scolds him weakly.
“Andrea, if you cannot stand beside me in this, then see your way into the next room.”
My mom and I both gasp at his retort. My father never speaks to her that way, ever.
As he looks at her, his face softens, but only for a moment. “Love is not always sweet, Andrea. This occasion calls for tough love.”
“We should at least hear her out.” My mom’s voice gets a little stronger as she dares to argue. His outburst must have made her mad. “She is nearly eighteen.”
I’m so ashamed, I want to hide underneath the table. I can’t believe I made them fight. I can practically hear the shredding of my acceptance letter already. My father has always believed the man rules the house while the wife keeps it pretty, and children are better seen than heard and always obedient. He’s a good man, of course, but he can be seriously judgmental.
“I never thought I would get in,” I whisper, looking down at my hands. “I just wanted to—I don’t know—try.”
“Try?” My father shakes his head, raising his voice again. “You’ve already applied to Stanford and NYU. You have already spent more than enough time and money trying—”
“But I haven’t been accepted yet.” I look up at him, wiping my tears away in frustration.
His eyes widen, like that fact doesn’t matter in the slightest. I can see his face getting redder, probably because his circulatory system is working overtime. He’s never had to deal with a daughter who talks back before. It can’t be good for his blood pressure.
After a few seconds of heavy breathing, he points to the stairway. “Go. Go now before I say something I cannot take back!”
I leave the little church parish kitchen as quickly as I can without running. Once I’m alone in my room, I grab the door to slam it, but then I don’t. I merely shut it gently and then dramatically throw myself on my bed where I cry, also dramatically.
When a sudden vibration in my pocket makes me jump, I pull out my phone, staring dejectedly at the screen. It’s Madison.
“Hey,” I whisper into the receiver.
“Hey,” she says just as quietly. “Why are we whispering?”
“Madison.” I sigh, sniffling. “I have a joy and a concern to share with you.”
“Wow. Okay, both in the same conversation? I don’t know if I can handle it.”
The sound of her laughter makes me want to cry all over again.
“It’s not funny, Mad. It’s not something to—”
“Ugh, just spill it!”
“Well”—I lick my lips—“my dad got the mail today.”
“Wait, which news is this? The joyous or the concerning?”
“Both,” I say. “I told you they were both—”
“Right, right. Go ahead.”
“My dad got the mail today,” I continue, “and there was a letter from Julliard.”
“No fucking way!”
I cover my mouth out of habit. Curse words always tickle my ears, no matter the content or occasion. “Yes, fluffing way.”
“Oooo, is he, like, really pissed?”
“Of course.” I stifle a giggle, not because of how mad he is, but because of the ‘P-word.’ “There’s no way he’d ever let me go.”
“I don’t think he has the right to tell you what to do, Tally.” Madison sounds angry on my behalf. “You’re gonna be eighteen in three days.”
Of course she doesn’t understand. Her parents are nothing like mine. “I don’t want to disappoint them, though. I don’t—”
“Well, I don’t want you to disappoint you, Tally.” As usual, she bowls right over me. “This is a dream come true. An opportunity of a lifetime, a fucking…”
Suddenly, I hear a soft knock on my door.
“Gotta go.”
I hang up the phone and try to act natural just as Mom walks in.
“You okay?”
I sit up, trying to remember Madison’s words of encouragement. Maybe I just need to try harder.
“I feel awful, Mom, but I don’t want to lie to you. That letter, that acceptance … it makes me happy. So, so happy.”
She sits down on the bed and pulls me into her shoulder. “Give him a couple of days, sweetheart. Just let him think, stew, and vent to me for a while. Then, I think he’ll get over the betrayal.”
Only my mom could make the word ‘betrayal’ sound so biblical.
“Mom, that’s not what I was trying to do. I never dreamed I would get a letter telling me my audition tape was accepted, th
at they wanted me to come to the auditions, or that I would be chosen to move from ballet to modern dance to …” I trail off when she starts to cry. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. I’m being selfish. My baby girl is growing up. I always knew you had talent. You shine up there on stage. Year after year, I have watched you at recitals—”
“That Dad hates.” I look down, already dreading where this is going.
“No, Tally, he loved watching you dance. He just didn’t like the team uniform,” she says, pushing my hair away from my face. “Every recital, he sat and watched you, and he was in awe of you. He said you looked like he imagined an angel would.”
“I never thought this would happen, but now that it has … I’m so afraid he’ll say no.”
She smiles faintly. “I know you are nervous, but it’s going to be all right.” She kisses my forehead. “Get some rest, baby girl. Things always look brighter in the morning light.”
I nod, feeling better for the first time, hopeful even. “Okay, but first I’m gonna shower. I haven’t had a chance since I got home from the studio.”
“Of course.”
After my shower, I towel off my hair and throw on my favorite pink pajamas. It’s been unusually warm lately, so I open the window and lean out to breathe in the fresh spring air. Then I hear a noise on the street and lean out farther to see what it is.
“Oh, my word!” I freeze when I see him standing under the streetlight.
My breath catches in my throat, but I’m not afraid. I would know him anywhere. Not just because he stands a perfect six-feet-three, but also because of the way he walks—with his head held high, broad shoulders squared—and because of his messy black hair, so effortless and cool. If I could see his eyes in the dark, I would see they are a brilliant blue, like the ocean on a hot day. His jeans hang almost obscenely low. Of course, he’s also wearing his signature white tank top, black boots, and that worn, leather jacket.
I must have leaned a little too far, though, because my phone slips out of my hand to clatter loudly across the porch roof and then over the edge to thud dully on the ground below.
Oh, no! I cringe. Please let that indestructible black case truly be indestructible.
After a few seconds of standing frozen, waiting for all chaos to break loose, I open the window wider, quietly lowering myself onto the roof. I’m not afraid of getting hurt, because I have done it before. We have practiced fire safety drills twice a year in my house for as long as I can remember.
Keeping my center of gravity low, I slide down on my bottom and roll onto my stomach, scooting down until my body is hanging over the edge, my feet blindly searching for the railing. It takes a few tries, but I figure it out. A few seconds later, I’m bent over, rummaging through the bushes, praying I don’t get sprayed by a skunk or bitten by some other inhabitant of the underbrush world. I reach in blindly, poking around until my hand makes contact with something hard and plastic. Then I get out of there as soon as the phone is in my hand.
Once up off the ground, I frisk myself, hoping to remove any dirt or bugs that may have hitched a ride on my pajamas. Confident that I’m not a carrier, I turn around … and scream as a huge hand comes up to cover my mouth.
“If I let go, do you promise not to scream?” The voice is deep and slurred, though undoubtedly Memphis Black’s.
I relax a little, nodding against his hand.
“That’s a good girl.”
He lets go and steps back, eyeballing me suspiciously.
“You don’t have a gun, do you?”
“No,” I whisper, smiling stupidly.
He crosses his muscled arms and leans back against the corner of the porch. After a few seconds, he starts to slide.
“Memphis.” I grab for his arm, trying to keep him upright.
“Shh.” He holds his finger to my lips. “If we wake my parents up, I won’t have any time to spend with you. Not that engaging in a midnight surprise meet and greet with a fan is normal or deserving of my time, but I will say I am intrigued by your choice of attire. Were you going for the ‘little virgin’ look? Because ‘naughty school girl’ is more up my alley.”
I frown up at him. “What are you talking about?”
He smirks and his dimple deepens. “Oh, I see.” He takes a step closer to me.
“You do?” I honestly have no idea what he’s talking about.
“Are you lost, little girl?” His tone is campy and a little creepy as he moves into my personal space.
I take a step back.
“Oh, and she is shy.” He groans in a sexy way, and I immediately feel my face burst into flames.
“Memphis, I don’t understand. Why are you here?”
“Oh, I’m sure you just stumbled across my address on the Internet.” He doesn’t seem to understand what I’m asking.
“Memphis,” I try again. “You know me. I’m—”
“Shhh. No names tonight.” His arm snakes around my waist, then pulls me hard against his body. “No names, you sexy, lost, little thing. I’m going to make this little game worth your effort, though. I promise you that.”
His right hand slides up the back of my pajama top, and then he gently takes the back of my head in his other hand, leaning in close.
I should step away; I know that. I should, but I don’t. And when I try to speak up, my voice just isn’t there.
As his lips finally make contact, he slides them across mine without pressing too hard; instead, it’s soft and gentle, the way I always imagined my first kiss, and I feel my body begin to tingle. My eyes close on their own as he kisses my cheek, running his nose along my jaw and down my neck, taking a deep breath as he goes.
“Damn, lost, little one, you smell so sweet.”
I find myself moving my head to the side, giving him more room to take in my fragrance.
I have never felt anything so amazing. I have never felt more special, never thought in my wildest, most secret dreams that Memphis Black would be my first kiss. I can’t believe my childhood dream actually came true.
“Fuck,” he says right before turning his head to throw up not once, but three times. The third time, he manages to get vomit all over my bare feet. When he’s finally done, he straightens up shakily. “I need to go in and lie down.”
I can’t think of anything else to do but help him. Somehow, I manage to get him across the road and prop him against his house. Then I dig around the flowerpot for the Black family’s hidden key before I unlock the door and push it open.
“Memphis.” I shake him awake because he’s sliding again. “Memphis, you’re home.”
He slurs something at me then, some inaudible gibberish. I grab his arm and throw it over my shoulder as I half walk, half drag him inside. We make our way to the couch, and I try to help him sit on it.
His eyes roll back in his head when he tries to look up at me. “You’ll sleep here?”
“I really have to go.”
“I like the way you smell,” he mumbles. “I want you to sleep …” His eyes close, and he starts falling to one side.
I help him lie down, then pull his boots off, lifting his feet and placing them on the couch. I watch him for longer than I should, but he is just so beautiful I can’t help myself.
Finally, regretfully, I turn and walk out the door, making sure it locks behind me. Then I put the key back and run across the street, hoping my parents never noticed I was gone.
I look in the mirror one last time. I have on a black hat, white tank, black jeans, and boots. With no time for a fucking haircut as the crazy-ass opening act for the Burning Souls tour, the hat is a must.
It’s been like this for a year. Roll out of bed and over whatever piece of ass I snatched to bring back to the bus or hotel room the night before. Roll my ass to the gym because—let’s face it—I need to look good naked. Even though there is a no cell phone or camera rule after one of the bitches posted my morning wood on social media, shit could still happen. Thank the stars my
dick is impressive, and that mighty oak held that sheet up like a boss. Next, we roll to wherever we’re rehearsing, roll to sound checks, roll to an interview or two, roll back to the stage and rock and roll for an hour. There’s not nearly enough time to play everything we have.
“Hello, New Jersey!” I hold the mic out for the crowd’s roar, and hell yes, they give me exactly what I want. “I am Memphis Black, lead singer and guitarist extraordinaire for Steel Total Destruction!”
Still can’t explain the buzz I catch off the roar from the crowd. It’s like a spiritual erection, a transcendent orgy to my soul, a divine intervention within every cell of my body.
“You ready for some STD? You ready to get rocked so hard you can’t walk straight for a week?”
There’s that noise again: the screams, the shouts, the lust for our music … and for us.
“I like the way you sound.” I look off stage to see Xavier pointing and scowling. Aw, for fuck’s sake, I growl inside. “Get ready, ladies—”
“Prepare yourselves,” Finn interrupts, and then the fucking condom cannons jizz all over the crowd.
As they scramble around, screaming and grabbing the fucking condoms like little crack whores, River spanks the drums. The crack and pop of the snare proceeds Finn’s finger banging the G and L Tribute, and I begin singing our first hit song, “Going Down.”
The crowd screams, and the girls in the front row dance, trying to gain my attention. I see a blonde with a nice rack, and I wink. She freaks and points to herself, so I wink again as I continue singing. Then I turn my attention elsewhere; she needs to work for it, and by work for it, I mean show me some damn titties or I’m gonna look elsewhere.
An hour later, I am sweating balls, quarter chubbed, and we are heading off stage.
“No shit.” I hear a smile in Finn’s voice, must be Christmas. I look up as he says, “Maddox fucking Hines.”
“No shit,” I say, just as shocked.
“Which one? Big tits at two o’clock or tiny titties, big ass at four, or the others? ” our road manager asks, nodding to the group of girls lined up like a dessert buffet.
“Thanks, Sleazy D, but I think I’m gonna hang out and watch the show. Maddox never plays with his Dad’s band anymore. I wanna see if he’s as good as his old man.”
