I nodded again, hoping to sober up more. I was actually excited to meet our fans. They were the ones who would sing to our songs, tell other people how much they loved us, and they were the ones whose asses would fill the seats. But…then I started to think. “Hey, Peter, are these our fans or the other bands’ fans?”
“They are both, but you are the only band doing a meet and greet tonight, so these people want to see you. Bear that in mind.”
Okay. I had this. I grabbed a bottle of water and Peter said Andrew would take us to the meet-and-greet room in ten minutes, so if we wanted to touch up our makeup or something, now was the time to do it.
God. I was nervous. If I hadn’t already been drunk as shit, I would have considered having another drink. I don’t know why it was making me tense, because I liked people and I usually got along with most folks just fine—and, as Peter had said—these people wanted to meet us. There was nothing that should be uncomfortable about it.
It seemed like no time had passed when Andrew said, “Okay, ladies. Ready to go?”
Barbie gave him a sly grin and said, “Always, baby.” He gave her a look as if to tell her what she’d said was inappropriate—like he had any room to judge. But he turned and let us all follow. As we filed out the door, Barbie slapped him on the ass. He turned and glared but still said nothing.
Served the perv right. He was getting exactly what he’d asked for.
We walked down the long hall and then through a set of security doors. We rounded a corner and went into another room and voila! There they were. I don’t know why I’d expected a huge crowd, and maybe that was my naïveté, but it was just a handful of people. Peter had been right about one thing—they were definitely enthusiastic and eager to see us.
Unfortunately, I was so trashed, I barely remembered a thing afterward. I answered a few questions, signed a few autographs, and then, before I knew it, we were being escorted out so we could prepare for the concert.
I stared at myself in the dressing room mirror. I didn’t quite look real to myself, but I told myself I had this. I was, at least, feeling a little bit more sober than earlier, but I still had a long way to go. “Let’s go!” Andrew yelled in the door and Vicki gave me a hug.
“C’mon, Kyle. Let’s go be rock stars!”
“Fight for Rock” ~ Warlock
Chapter Five
WASTED OR NOT, my hands knew what to do with my guitar. After the first song, I quit sweating it as much. Barbie fucked up a line in the next song, but nobody in the audience had a clue. By the third song, we were feeling great. The energy from the crowd was amazing. The place made me think of an old-fashioned opera house, and—even though I couldn’t see the whole audience area because of the bright lights in my eyes—I could tell it was packed with people.
By the fourth song, we were completely in sync, and I felt as though we’d been doing this for years. At the end of the set, we had the audience ablaze, more than warmed up for Fluidity, the next band on stage.
If I’d had any doubts about us as a band, live or otherwise, they were all banished by the end of our set. We left the stage all feeling high. We knew we were a success, and we knew that it was smooth sailing from here on out. We learned that we could not only hold a crowd but wow them. I’d wondered about us as individuals and as a team, but I had no more worries. Barbie was an amazing front woman. Her normally obnoxious personality oozed infectious charisma onstage, and the audience had been eating out of her hand. Liz and I completely gelled, and that was probably my most fun part—playing with and against her. We could sense what the other was going to do and played off it. And the audience ate it up. Kelly was the perfect accompaniment to our antics and Vicki? Well, hell, the gal was banging away like there was no tomorrow. She was fun to watch, and more than once I turned and played toward her and with her.
We were a full-fledged, honest-to-God rock band.
When we got back to the hotel, all I wanted to do was go to bed to sleep it all off, but my bandmates were having none of it. Hell, Peter and Andrew wanted to celebrate too. “Ladies, you were absolutely amazing,” Andrew said.
Peter had a smug smile on his face. My first thought when I saw him was that he was taking all the credit for our hard work. Granted, he was due some credit, because he’d brought us all together—he’d had a vision and he’d known how to get us to do what he needed, but it was our doing. He hadn’t played the instruments. He hadn’t written the songs. He’d found and managed the talent but he was not the talent itself. Still…I supposed he had a right to be smug and to feel good about what we’d accomplished that evening. “You little shits,” he said, and I was feeling so great, his bullshit tonight didn’t bother me a bit. “I am impressed. Usually, all you’ve done is just enough to make an erection go completely limp but tonight? Tonight, I felt it. Tonight, you were a group, a band, and today I am proud to be your producer. This is what I’ve known could happen all along. Now…enjoy the spoils, you little whores.”
Barbie couldn’t keep her mouth shut. “What spoils, Peter? I see nothin’.”
Andrew grinned. “Champagne’s on the way up.”
Kelly asked, “They’re not gonna card us or anything?”
“You’re stars. Besides, I’m answering the door. No one’s gonna say shit.”
“In the meantime,” Peter continued, “I have work to do, so I’m going back to my room.”
Liz furrowed her brow. “Don’t you want to celebrate with us?”
“I’d love to…but you girls are the ones who earned it. Remember tonight—and I want you to aim for even better performances after this. Tonight, though? Enjoy yourselves. You’ve earned it.”
So the champagne arrived a few minutes later and it flowed like water. I don’t remember walking back to my room, but I do recall when my head hit the pillow. Even through bed spins, I smiled myself to sleep. I was now a bonafide rock star.
* * *
The next morning on the road sucked. Peter gave us each forty dollars and told us to make it last for all three meals of the day. No problem. I didn’t feel like eating. But when we stopped at McDonald’s, I got an Egg McMuffin and a coffee anyway. My head was throbbing and my mouth felt like the Sahara. I puked the first bite of sandwich shortly after I swallowed it, but Andrew ate the rest of my McMuffin.
I didn’t tell him I threw it up.
Instead, while Peter and Andrew ate breakfast with Liz and Kelly, Vicki, Barbie, and I sipped coffee and water outside and smoked cigarettes. God, I felt like I was going to die. I’d had a couple of hangovers before, but not like this. I felt like my stomach was revolting. That had been dumb, and I’d have to remember to not drink as much.
I only had to, once again, pray I could make it through a show, because tonight we’d be playing at a stage in Omaha, Nebraska.
I tried to sleep on the trip and only dozed off here and there. At one point, I got a text from CJ that I glanced at. How was your first show, Rock Star?
I’d reply later. I wasn’t in the mood for flirting, through texts or otherwise. And I was still pissed at him.
We were pulling into Omaha a few hours later, early enough to check into the motel (another cut-rate place) and grab a couple of hours before having to head to the venue. When I woke up, I felt good enough to stand in the shower under a warm stream of water without feeling like I was going to keel over.
I was ready to rock.
I came out of the steamy bathroom and Vicki tried to entice me with a bottle of rum. She and Barbie were sharing a drink. Yeah…Barbie, Vicki, and I had a room together this time. As long as Barbie didn’t hog the mirror or act like her often-bitchy self, we’d get along fine. “C’mon, Kyle. It’ll help you relax.”
“Hell, no. I need to be completely sober so my performance is perfect. And, besides, I still don’t feel one-hundred percent. All that shit last night fucked me up.”
In a sing-songy voice, Barbie said, “Kyle can’t hold her liquor.”
“Fuck off.” I
pulled a comb through my hair, working out the tangles so I could blow dry it.
“Just one sip, Kyle.”
“Dammit, guys. What about the word no isn’t sinking in with you?”
“God,” Barbie spat. “You don’t have to be a bitch about it.”
“Uh, no. Apparently I do because you don’t listen otherwise.”
Vicki moved so that she stood between us. There was no physical altercation on the horizon but she probably wanted to make sure. She looked at me and said, “Would you rather have a joint?”
I couldn’t help being irritated. I breathed in through my nose with such force that I felt my nostrils flare. Maybe that was what she needed to see. “No. I want to be straight on stage.” I forced myself to not add, Is that so hard to understand? Because, even though I didn’t know Barbie’s motives, I knew that Vicki never wanted to party alone—although she would if she had to. Couldn’t let a beer or a joint or some other kind of hit go to waste.
“Why? We kicked ass last night, Kyle. I bet being loose and free and feeling good had a lot to do with it.”
That hit me all kinds of wrong. “No, Vicki. The fact that we’ve rehearsed the shit out of our material—so that we could play it in a coma—is the only reason why I did okay last night. I can’t speak for any of the rest of you and how you managed.” I still let Barbie’s fuck up or two last night ride. I wasn’t in the mood to fight, and Vicki was picking this one anyway. Just so that it was clear, I said, “I will be stone cold sober onstage tonight. Period.”
“Geez. You don’t have to be so damn crabby about it.”
“Yeah, I do, because you asked how many times before shutting up about it?”
She made a face at me but said nothing. Barbie said, “That’s okay. I’ll consume Kyle’s share. I won’t turn down a drink and a puff.”
I shook my head and went back to the bathroom, turning the blow dryer on high to drown out their noise…and maybe send a message. I realized that I might feel more comfortable about being enhanced with drugs or alcohol in the future, but shit. We’d just started. I wanted to play a few shows clean and sober, or how else would I ever be able to say I’d gotten the full experience? Besides, I hadn’t even had a chance to enjoy Black Matter last night. I’d barely enjoyed our own performance. I could hardly remember anything that had happened at all the day before, and I didn’t want that to happen again. How could I relish our performance if I had no memory of it? I had learned a lesson—experience something first sober and then, if I felt the need, I could experience it in an altered state. But my first show, enjoying it as a fresh-faced newbie on the rock scene, I could never get back, could never appreciate for the first time again. And it had been an awesome, enchanted night.
I wouldn’t make that mistake again…if I could help it—but the pull of the magic juice was strong. Still—night two, Omaha, Nebraska, got Kyle as straight as she could ever get.
Chapter Six
A COUPLE OF days later, we were somewhere in Chicago. I’d never been there, so it was a treat for me. It was a bustling city and the weather was moderate and mild compared to the Colorado heat we’d left behind.
We had a day off, our first since we’d started, and Peter wanted to have a big lunch meeting wherein he went over what he called ground rules. After we’d been seated in a quiet area of the restaurant well after the lunch rush was over and ordered our food, Peter began the meeting by asking if any of us had bothered to watch the “Dream World” video and what we’d thought of it.
Oh, hell. I hadn’t even thought about that damn thing—I’d been too wrapped up in the tour. “I suggest you all take a peek. You’re stars, bitches. You need to enjoy it and ride high.” God. Would he ever stop calling us names? What an asshole.
“But we’re not going to talk about your fame. No. We’re going to discuss what I expect from you while we’re on tour. I expect a lot, but you will reap the rewards. You do what I say and when I say it and you’ll be huge.” There were those promises again, the words that locked me in and sold me. The fame, the promise of being a star, kept me roped in.
“Rule number one. If I tell you to be somewhere, you’d better be there. Lateness is not an option.” His eyes slid to the side until Barbie was in his sights. “Do we understand, Ms. Bennett?”
“Yes, sir,” she said, a giggle tittering on the edge of her lips, but the cold, calculating look in his eyes kept her from actually laughing out loud.
He blinked once and then continued. “You do not have a curfew, okay? You can do what you want during your down hours, but do not get arrested and keep your nose clean. No matter what’s going on, be ready to report at eleven AM—or earlier if the itinerary calls for it. I don’t care what you do or who you do it with, so long as you’re ready for whatever I have planned by eleven the next day.”
He took a deep breath before continuing. “Rule number two. You will get forty dollars each day. I don’t care what you do with it, but do not ask me for more money than that. You can use it to eat or…do whatever else you see fit, but it had better last you throughout the day. That amount will decrease on days when I purchase a group meal—like today.
“Rule number three. If you damage something, such as a hotel room or something in the car or a piece of equipment, it will come out of your pay. Yes, you will have more money coming when we return from tour and are able to calculate actual earnings based on sales, but any damages you incur will be deducted from that pay.
“Rule number four.” Jesus. Talk about feeling self-important. How long was this going to go on? I sensed that my bandmates were growing impatient as well, but we were a captive audience. “If we have an interview, you will attend it. You will not say anything negative about the band or anyone associated with it. You will remain positive.
“Rule number five. Until I am able to secure education for you, you will make time to study online. I don’t care what you do or how you do it, but find math problems, science studies, literature to read, and current events, and study your little hearts out.”
Liz had the balls to ask, “So when do we start studying formally?”
Peter cocked an eyebrow. “I’m waiting on books and some other supplies. I hope to get them soon.” I wasn’t going to interrupt and grill him although my common sense alarm bells were blaring. How the hell could books be delivered to him when we were on the road with no permanent address? He was so full of shit. I could almost smell the crap fumes across the table—they were thick and deep.
“Rule number six. Take good care of your instruments and equipment. Rule number seven. Remember that your job isn’t just to play well. It is to intrigue your audience’s imagination. It is to entice other young girls to want to be you. Play up on your strengths and remember that sexiness is one of those attributes.
“Rule number eight. If you feel the need to indulge your appetites—no matter what those appetites might be—make sure that they don’t interfere with our goals here. You are all connected to each other. If Ms. Summers fucks up, for example,” he said, giving me a glare, and I wasn’t quite sure why, “you all fuck up. If one of you screws up a song on stage, you all screw it up. If Ms. Cambridge makes a fan feel like a million bucks, you’ve all done it.
“Rule number nine. If I text, you answer. If I call, you answer. If I knock, you open the damn door.
“Oh, last but not least. Rule number ten. In my absence, Mr. Curtis is the boss and what he says goes. Capisce?”
We all responded by repeating the phrase he so loved. But then Barbie had to push it. “That enough rules, chief? There gonna be a test later?”
“Don’t get smart, Ms. Bennett, or I will test your memory.”
She rolled her eyes and I could tell she wanted to say something else smart assy…but I started to realize that Barbie, just like the other girls, just like me—she too sensed something a little intimidating about Peter. We might have smarted off to him back in Colorado Springs and gotten away with it, but he made it very clear in
subtle ways that we were now at his mercy. If we wanted to eat, if we wanted to get home, if we wanted to be sheltered and cared for and then, of course, if we wanted the fame and fortune he continually waved under our noses, then we would do as he said. Yes, we would do what he said, when he said—and that really was his unwritten rule, the one we all subconsciously obeyed, because we feared what would happen if we didn’t.
The food was delivered then and there was light banter as most of us mulled over in the back of our minds what Peter’s words truly meant. Liz, though, had pulled up our video and was watching it on her phone. I’d watch it later by myself, and while I could hardly wait, I was putting up a little act of defiance. Peter wanted us to watch the video, so I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of watching me watch it. No vicarious thrills for him today.
And Barbie. What the fuck was that girl thinking? She and Andrew were sitting close to one another. They weren’t kissing or holding hands, but I was pretty sure he was fingering her under the table. She was making little noises but her eyes were looking down on her plate. What made me all the more sure was that Peter seemed fascinated.
Oh, gross. A voyeur. Why the hell didn’t that surprise me?
I could barely wait to get away from them all, but Peter was having none of it. No—he wanted us to all take a ride on the L. “There’s nothing like the trains in Chicago,” he said, but I was unimpressed. Give me Denver’s light rail any day of the week. As much as I’d fallen in love with Chicago earlier that day, the L almost changed my mind.
But we got out and walked around the city for a while. I wanted to ditch them all and explore on my own, but after Peter’s lecture earlier that day, I could see him stranding me in Chicago with nowhere to go. No. I had to stick with my group, stay with my girls. We were united and I needed to stay that way.
On the Road: (Vagabonds Book 2) (New Adult Rock Star Romance) Page 4
