On the Road: (Vagabonds Book 2) (New Adult Rock Star Romance)

by Jamison, Jade C.

  Whatever the case, there was soft classical piano music playing in the background and I couldn’t even hear a loud murmur among diners—not that there were many. I had gotten there before what I figured was the lunch rush, but I really had no idea. Maybe the place never got busy or was only crowded in the summer when the hotel was filled to capacity. It was nice and quiet, though, and I was able to begin reading the book while sipping my sweet, white cup of coffee as I felt my body relax into the comfort of the booth.

  All that was wrecked when I heard Barbie’s loud, raucous laugh. “Over there’s fine,” she said, and she was so loud that I at first thought she must have been pointing at my booth, demanding to be seated with me. My sluggish brain worked as quickly as it could, planning to head back to my room as soon as I’d finished the cup. But I looked to my side and saw nothing and no one. I leaned over some and saw a waitress standing beside the booth behind me, getting ready to hand off a couple of menus. Internally, I felt a wave of relief that I wasn’t going to have to entertain or tolerate that woman for more time than it took to tune her out.

  She was fucking loud, though, and it was hard to get back into my book. Still, I wasn’t annoyed. I was glad she was there and I was here.

  In fact, what got my attention was that Barbie’s voice was low and I couldn’t help the way my ears strained to hear. I should have been enjoying that damned John Grisham novel and, instead, I was worried about fucking drama queen Barbie. “I am so sick of her bullshit. She thinks she’s perfect and better than the rest of us.”

  Oh, that old complaint again? I’d heard Barbie bitch and moan and complain about Liz constantly when we’d been recording our first album. She’d mentioned Liz sucking on a silver spoon more times than I could remember, and Liz had, as usual, impressed me with her cool and calm composure. She’d just ignored Barbie’s jabs until the blonde had gotten bored and moved onto greener pastures. I’d marveled more than once at how well Liz could bite her tongue.

  I couldn’t, especially where dumb ass Barbie was concerned. Half the time, the woman didn’t even know what she was talking about, and I was growing convinced that she was just flat out a bad person. She didn’t care about anyone or anything but herself—and, when you have a band, at least three other people to consider, that was an awful thing, and I had grown weary dealing with her shit. I couldn’t hold my tongue any longer than I could hold my bladder after a night of drinking more than a six pack chased by water and whiskey.

  Someone on the other side of the booth said something, to which Barbie replied, “She thinks she’s perfect. That’s the problem.”

  The other voice muttered again and then the waitress interrupted them, pouring coffee and asking if they needed more time.

  I knew already that Barbie was talking about either me or Liz. Fine, let her vent. As long as she turned up to shows and did her job competently, I’d deal with it. Let her bitch. I started reading my book again, doing my damnedest to focus on those words rather than Barbie’s high-pitched voice.

  When the waitress walked away, though, Barbie started in again. “I swear to God, if she tells me one more time to be serious or to get my ass somewhere on time—which I do, by the way—I’m gonna deck her in the chops.”

  Oh. Even though Liz had politely requested that Barbie be more punctual, it was I who had asked, on more than one occasion, for Barbie to get serious. A lot of times I would tell her it would be nice if she’d “join us for the party.” That one usually pissed her off, which was why I like to say it. Yes, the evil truth that must be told is that I often enjoyed poking Barbie. She’d get so angry and she’d fly off the handle so easily—besides the fact that I was growing to despise her intensely—that I couldn’t resist.

  The other person with her was quiet again, but I could feel the insides of my ear straining to hear—which I finally did. “She thinks she’s doing us all a favor.”

  I felt my stomach clench. It was Vicki. The traitor.

  “Yeah. That’s the whole problem. Bitch needs to learn to mind her own business.” Vicki said something that I again missed. “She thinks this whole damn band couldn’t function without her…and like she’s the star or something. Fuck, no, bitch, I’m the damn star. I’m the one the guys drool over. I’m the voice of the Vagabonds, the glue, man. Can’t she see that?” Another small sentence from Vicki that was unintelligible. “This band could go on without cunty Kyle…but baby Barbie runs the show. I don’t know what the hell it’s gonna take for her to see that.”

  “Well, she is good.” I could almost see Vicki’s glazed-over eyes as she made a half-hearted argument that almost defended my honor.

  “Bitch, please. Guitarists are a dime a dozen. I bet I could put out a call on Twitter or even Facebook, requesting audition videos—hell, asking people to demo one of our songs—and I bet I’d have at least a hundred within an hour.” Okay, now I knew she was more delusional than I’d at first thought.

  “You think that many women—especially our age?”

  “Well, maybe in two hours then.”

  I don’t know why that had angered me so much, but it did. I threw a ten-dollar bill on the table and gathered up my stuff. I stood and took the two steps to the booth behind me until they both noticed me standing there. Vicki looked like she wanted to slink down the seat and hide under the table, but Barbie practically jutted out her chin in defiance. Yeah, she might have been talking about me behind my back and might not have wanted to have been overheard, but she was gonna own that shit no matter what. She’d wear it as armor until her dying day—because that was how Barbie was. I said, “Do it.” She raised an eyebrow, her lip curled in half a snarl. “Do it. Post it on fucking Facebook and Twitter right now. Guitarist wanted for rock band the Vagabonds. Hashtag—needed tomorrow night. Can you be in Tinley Park tonight for practice?”

  I sneered and started to walk away when I heard Vicki say, “Oh, Kyle. She didn’t mean any of that.”

  I turned on my heel. My fucking head still hurt, but I wasn’t going to let that show. “Like hell she didn’t. She meant every word of it. But what sucks for her and for you guys is that she actually fucking believes it. She thinks she’s the only thing this band has going for it. So let’s find out. Let’s see how well a show goes over without me.” I lowered my voice and leaned over—but not close enough for her to punch or scratch me, because I wouldn’t put that shit past her. “Good luck with that.”

  Chapter Forty-one

  I WENT BACK to my room and lay on my bed for the longest time. I was debating if I really wanted to have my band flail without me or not. If I didn’t play the show, we would look bad. Chances were that I’d look like the prima donna. If I ruined show for someone, they wouldn’t stop and think, “Well, bitchy Barbie Bennett deserved it. It was all her fault.” So, in less than two hours, I’d talked myself out of following through.

  But that didn’t mean I was going to tell those two bitches.

  Nope. I wouldn’t let them call my bluff, especially immediately, and I was going to get even angrier if they didn’t even bother.

  I got up off the bed so I could get my phone and grabbed it off the dresser where I’d thrown it after I’d stomped in my room. I was going to check out Barbie’s Facebook and Twitter pages—as well as the Vagabonds ones—to see if she’d started scouting.

  It wouldn’t have surprised me a bit. Because, the longer I’d sat there and thought about it, I realized something—Barbie hated me as much as I hated her. I tried to figure out why. Aside from expecting her to act like any of the rest of us and asking her to pull her weight and show up on time, I didn’t ask anything else of her (and no more than I would ask any other band member), so I couldn’t understand why she hated me so much. I mean, yeah, it seemed like she disliked most people in general and looked down on them, but she seemed to have a special hatred for yours truly.

  It had to be because she was insecure…and I often called her bluff on it. I didn’t pander to her or pretend like she was b
etter than the rest of the band. I usually said it like it was without caring if it pissed her off (and sometimes relishing when it did). Maybe that was why.

  When I picked up my phone, I saw that I had several notifications on the screen. The most recent two were from Liz and our manager, asking what was going on. Earlier ones were from Vicki and they were semi-coherent. The three I was able to understand, though, were probably guided by Barbie the bitch. The first was telling me that Barbie was just joking (mmm-hmm, yeah, I thought so), while the second was simply You can’t be serious. You’re going to bail on our fans? Then, seconds later, as an afterthought (because it was something I would have said): How unprofessional.

  I imagined they saw I wasn’t responding (mainly because I was nowhere near my phone, but I might not have anyway) and so they approached our other band member—and, if I knew how Liz’s mind operated (and I sometimes did), she was the one who got our manager involved. Liz said, Kyle, don’t let Barbie get to you. You are an important, valuable, and vital member of this band and I can’t do it without you. Okay, so that one got to me. Liz was the one person in this band that I didn’t want to let down—that I couldn’t let down, no matter how pissed or hurt I was.

  Our manager? Her text was fucking lame. She had no idea how to make any kind of appeal that would mean anything to me—maybe because she was used to babying Barbie. Kyle, it would be a breach of contract for you to fail to appear on stage for any reason other than severe illness. If you are sick, then we need to take you to a doctor immediately. Please respond ASAP.

  I wanted to text Liz to let her know I wasn’t going to go through with it, but I didn’t know if they were all together and all panicking. Besides, the one from our manager pissed me off. I almost texted her back to tell her to fuck off but then I decided I would just be silent for a while. Nothing wrong with cooling off first.

  But later that afternoon, there was a knock on my door. When I looked in the peephole, it was Liz. I didn’t see anyone else beside her.

  I opened the door and let her in. I could see she was torn. I asked, “Did they tell you everything?”

  Liz shrugged. “I doubt it. But I know Barbie. Both she and Vicki said that they pissed you off. I know Barbie gets to you, but for you to decide not to do a show—wow. What the hell did she say?”

  I told Liz what I could remember and then said, “I’m sorry, Liz, but there are thousands of singers out there. Would they be exactly like Barbie? No. I know that. I even doubt most of them would be good, but I’d bet you that, out of all our fans, we could find someone close to her age who knew most of the songs—and who’d always get the words right—who was good. But a female guitar player, our age, who could play all the songs? She seems to think she could find hundreds…and at the drop of a hat.”

  Liz shook her head, a slight smile curving her lips. “Kyle, you are one of the most talented guitarists I know, and your age has nothing to do with it. Barbie just said that to get your goat—and it worked.”

  I nodded. “Yeah, she did. And now I want to make her sweat it.”

  Liz raised her eyebrows. “Yeah? You mean you’re planning to play tomorrow night?”

  “Of course. Don’t get me wrong—I considered being a bitch and not doing it, but that would make us all look bad. I can’t do that.”

  “It’s gonna be hard for me to not tell them.”

  I grinned. “Maybe you won’t have to.” I grabbed my phone off the dresser. “Have a seat.” That was one cool thing about being on our second tour—we had our own rooms. And that was good, because I would likely have killed someone if I had to share a room with any of them. Maybe not Liz, but any of the others—no way.

  I pulled up the text from Manager Bitch. Lame move sending Liz. Nothing doing unless Barbie apologizes. I slid the phone across the coffee table to let Liz look at it. She cocked an eyebrow and I said, “She’s lucky I didn’t tell her to shove her fucking breach of contract up her ass.” Liz nodded, conceding I’d gone easy on her. “Sorry, but Barbie is not the Vagabonds. We all are. If any one person represents us, it would be you—not Barbie or me. I’m so sick of her bullshit.”

  “Try not to let it get to you.”

  My phone lit up and buzzed and I picked it up. I read it out loud so Liz knew what it said too. “I’ll be in touch. What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

  “That means Mollie”—Manager Bitch—“is going to make Barbie apologize. But don’t be surprised if it’s not a real apology.”

  I laughed. “Yeah, I know. This is Barbie we’re talkin’ about. But it would sure as hell be fun watching her squirm.” Liz grinned. “Just so you know, if she doesn’t apologize, I’m not coming onstage until after you guys do. I don’t want her or Mollie thinking I’ll just do stuff because it’s expected.”

  “Damn, Kyle. You’re not a rebel if you don’t actually follow through.”

  I raised an eyebrow. That made me want to do it anyway…and if it had revolved around anything but music and my reputation as a musician, I probably would have done it. If it was a group interview or a party or anything like that, it would be no problem to virtually flip Barbie and Mollie off, and my fans, for the most part, wouldn’t suffer. A concert, though, where they’d paid their good money to see the entire band, expecting to hear some bad ass guitar…I just couldn’t do it, no matter how much Barbie deserved punishment. “Don’t tempt me.”

  And the girl’s apology the next morning before breakfast was anticlimactic…not to mention phony as hell. Mollie pulled us aside from the big group gathering and said, “Barbie has something to say to you.”

  Just seeing how much it killed her to say it—genuine or not—brought me satisfaction. I tried not to look smug, because that would just give her all the more reason to talk shit about me behind my back. She was chewing the inside of her cheek until she spoke, and when she did, it was evident that she’d rehearsed what she had to say. “Sorry about what I said yesterday, Kyle. You are a valuable member of this band.”

  Oh, God, all the things I wanted to say—but they wouldn’t have been professional or mature…and my words wouldn’t change the way Barbie felt anyway. She had some delusions about her part in the band. I had no qualms admitting that she was important, but that didn’t mean I wanted to tell that to her egotistical face. When I said, “Apology accepted,” I decided that Barbie was no longer my friend—if she ever had been—and, much as I loved Vicki, I felt like I couldn’t trust her anymore either.

  That was the first time I entertained the notion of going it alone as a musician…but it certainly wasn’t the last.

  Chapter Forty-two

  AFTER STARTING OUT strong in terms of resolve but still weak in spirit, Vicki managed to become an even bigger druggie during our second tour. I had tried ignoring it, but I couldn’t, and I wondered if talking to Mollie about it would even do any good. I remembered my previous conversation with Peter during our first tour and how he’d made it sound like that would be the end of the Vagabonds if we took care of her.

  But I couldn’t keep my mouth shut anymore. I finally talked to Mollie and told her I was concerned about Vicki’s drug problem. She promised to take care of it.

  The next day, Mollie reported to me that Vicki denied having a problem and so we would go forward as planned. Never mind the fact that, of course, she wouldn’t admit to having a problem. Mollie didn’t see it that way…and, in retrospect, I suppose she was right. Until Vicki admitted that she had a problem, there was no help for her.

  Like most hardcore addicts, though, an overdose was overdue. It was mid-July, and we were in Detroit. Vicki was late for our call and Mollie finally had management unlock the door to her hotel room when she failed to respond to texts and calls. Even the front desk gal tried calling the phone in her room and didn’t get an answer. So she sent someone up with us and they first knocked on her door several times, calling to her at the same time, and still no answer. I wasn’t at the room—it was just Mollie and the hotel employee—bu
t it sounded like Vicki was found on her bed, surrounded by paraphernalia, drool oozing out of her mouth, and she was nearly comatose. They called an ambulance and Vicki was rushed to the hospital.

  I wanted to follow. I wanted to be there, but Mollie said we had a show to do. Liz countered, “We can’t do it without drums.”

  Mollie said, “You’re covered. I called Benny and—”

  I interrupted. “Who the hell’s Benny?”

  “Benny is the manager of The End of Us”—the band who was headlining with us for the summer months—“and he said Vaughn would be happy to fill in for Vicki.”

  That…would be interesting. Vaughn’s drumming was metalcore, and we were rock and punk. I loved metalcore, loved The End of Us, but I had my doubts about his drumming style meshing with our music, and Mollie saw it written all over my face.

  “Vaughn is a consummate professional. He won’t ruin your music, Kyle.”

  I shrugged. “I never said that.”

  Liz said, “Damn. The guy’s gonna be exhausted.”

  “Yeah, so you girls owe him. Big time. Get your asses to the show. I’m going to stay at the hospital until she’s out of critical condition, and I’m going to see how fast I can get you a replacement drummer until she can return.” I raised my eyebrows, but before I could even say another word, she added, “Her mom’s on the way, and we’re putting her in rehab, okay? So it might be a while before she comes back.”

  “Just let her know she’s still part of the band, okay?” Liz, ever thinking. The woman amazed me.

  “Of course.”

  And that night onstage was weird but cool. I hadn’t thought Vaughn would work, but he challenged us. First, that he’d learned our songs just from being on tour with us (or maybe he even owned our albums?) was impressive, but then he’d made the beats his own. He was amazing. It felt like we were playing brand-new songs. All three of us adapted and by mid-set were in a groove, but that didn’t mean we didn’t miss Vicki. Barbie had announced to the audience that our drummer had some “health issues” she was taking care of and that Vaughn was covering for her, so “please give him a huge round of applause—and say some prayers for Vicki.”