Rock My Heart (Luminescent Juliet #4)

by Jean Haus

  The server practically runs over to our table as soon as the movie star’s butt hits the chair. Thomas orders a water with lemon and lime slices.

  After Romeo introduces everyone—me as a close friend—Thomas leans back in his chair. “I listened to the track you sent me. Though a bit old fashioned”—apparently rock is old school to this guy—“I liked it. So about this video…”

  Though Romeo looks to Gabe, he stays silent. Romeo reluctantly turns back to Thomas. “Well, nothing is, ah,”—he crosses his arms so that the silver rings on his fingers shine in the bright sun—“totally figured out yet…we’re”—his side glance at Gabe is murderous—“just trying to line up everything at this point. We were thinking of something like…well, one of Aerosmith’s nineties videos with shots between a band and the story of a wild couple.”

  Huh, Romeo’s improvising isn’t too bad. No wonder Gabe wanted him to come.

  The server brings the water and sliced fruit then we all order different variations of their fancy sandwiches, except for the movie star. He gets a fancy salad. Romeo only has to BS a bit more because Thomas shares his proposals while we eat. He suggests several directors and actresses that star in major motion pictures regularly. I almost snort and spit out a fry, at one of his suggestions, being that the actress won an academy award last year. He also suggests ridiculous locations like an expensive hotel in Beverly Hills and a swanky nightclub known to cater to high rolling rappers. He even wants a posse of guys to follow him into a club in one of his imaginative scenes.

  This guy is a douche.

  The idea of fifteen-year-old Rachel meeting and having her dreams dashed by this guy sours my stomach.

  After he finishes half his salad, he pops his glasses back on, then announces that he might be interested, but they need to go through his agent when they’re ready. And then, thankfully, he’s gone.

  “Holy fuck, my head is pounding with all his bullshit,” Gabe groans, pointedly looking at me. “Any remorse on using that guy?”

  I drop my napkin on my half-finished sandwich. “None,” I say, then smile extra sweet.

  “Four to go then.”

  It takes me a few seconds, while Gabe finishes off the last bite of his prosciutto BLT, to realize he is talking about the bucket list.

  My mouth makes a thin line as I imagine getting a tattoo or going on a stage.

  Romeo pushes his empty plate away. “The day I let that asshole in one of our videos hell will have frozen over.”

  I wince. “Thanks for coming and leading him on.”

  “No problem,” Romeo says then lets out a laugh. “I kind of got a kick out of his ego.”

  I look to Gabe. “And thanks for setting this lunch up. I appreciate it.”

  He shrugs, then frowns. “I wanted to kick his ego, like in the face.”

  A laugh escapes me. “Well, you two can get back to work. I can get the check. It’s the least I can do after breaking up your recording time to listen to all that.”

  Gabe’s lovely lips twist. “I invited you. I’m paying the bill.” His tone is like steel.

  I push my plate to the edge of the table instead of arguing with him like I want to. “Then let me get the tip.”

  He shakes his head.

  This time Romeo wiggles his brows at me as the server sets the check down.

  I restrain an irritated sigh as Gabe puts money in the little folder. “If the band does have a big enough break tomorrow, my dad’s cooking a full meal. We should be eating around four. He never minds extra company.”

  Romeo’s eyes light up. “Man, I’d love to meet your dad…”

  Gabe taps his thumbs on the table. “Like you’re going to take a break.”

  Romeo shakes his head. “Yeah, it’s probably not going to happen. However, we might be doing a short set at the Whiskey a Go Go Saturday night. You want to come if that happens?”

  Gabe frowns at Romeo, then takes the sunglasses from the edge of his T-shirt and slips them on.

  Romeo leans toward him to catch my attention. Dang, I was staring at Gabe, speculating if the invitation upset him. “Sure, I always wanted to go there,” I absently say, mentally kicking myself in the butt for being absorbed with Gabe. “How’d you get a gig there?”

  Romeo leans back in his chair. “Our manager—”

  “You have a manager?”

  “Kind of. We’re letting him do some promotion and stuff. Since the band that night isn’t going on until eleven, we might go on at ten. Get some more exposure. I can send a car to pick you up if it’s a go.”

  I shake my head. “My dad lives in Malibu. I can just meet you.”

  “All right, let’s hope it’s a go,” Romeo shoves off from the table.

  Gabe is already standing.

  I stand too. “Good luck with the album.”

  “Yeah, we might need some luck,” Romeo says with a laugh.

  Gabe shakes his head. “We don’t need luck. We have Romeo.” He gives me a forced smile, bending to pick up a bag that I hadn’t noticed next to his chair. He sets the shopping bag on the table in front of me. “Here. You’ll know what to do with it.”

  Then they’re gone.

  Confused, I open the bag and find a white paper floating lantern.

  First the lunch, and now the lantern. Though Gabe’s actions continue to tell me he cares about me, when we’re together, the easy camaraderie that grew between us seems almost non-existent. And I can’t imagine ever getting it back.

  Staring at the lantern, I’m more confused than ever.

  Chapter 25

  ~April~

  The Whiskey a Go Go is old, musty, dirty, and quite awesome. Everything is dark, except for the red vinyl on the booths, and the black and white photos on the walls. The place drips with rock history. Among others, The Doors, Guns N Roses, and Led Zepplin have played here. I should have come early to wander around and check out all the memorabilia hanging on the walls. But I almost didn’t come, contemplating making up some lame excuse.

  The last few days, visiting with my dad, walking along the beach, staring at the ocean, even releasing the paper lantern, have given me too much time to think. Everything goes by in a whirlwind at home. Here time almost stands still for me. All I’ve been able to think about is the tangled mess between Gabe and me. He cares about me. Obviously, since he set up that ridiculous lunch. We’re attracted to one another—if only booty call was an option for us. But that one night has thrown us several steps back and we can’t seem to find a way back to being friends. And whenever I’m with him, I’m stuck in a state of confusion.

  Yet here I am.

  Mostly because most Saturday nights at my father’s house turn into an impromptu jam session. He cooks a huge dinner in the outside kitchen by the pool, and everyone in his circle is always welcome. A variety of musicians with an assortment of instruments and styles show up. I loved Saturday nights at my dad’s since the age of eight when I first experienced it, and even joined in around the age of twelve, then loved it more while participating with my guitar. Now, it would be pure torture to sit there among such talent and not play. Thus I picked the lesser of two evils. Or I’m hoping I picked the lesser of two evils.

  Right now, the band is waiting to go on stage. Romeo met me out front and after we did a quick tour of the place through a packed house, so it wasn’t much of a tour. Then we met the rest of the band in the back room. Unexpectedly, Justin and Sam appeared happy to see me. Guess a familiar face in a strange place is always good. Gabe just gave me a nod.

  Standing on the side of the stage, the guys are reviewing the set and talking over the change ups. I’m excited for them to go on, especially since one of the new songs is in the set. I hang back and listen while they argue about a transition from song to song.

  Having been to many of their shows before they went on the summer tour, I’m a bit surprised to see that Romeo isn’t making all of the decisions. He always did in the past. But it’s evident that the band is making deci
sions as a whole, instead of letting Romeo lead them. The realization has me more excited to hear their new song. I’m expecting it to be a mix of all of them.

  The music beyond the stage lowers and someone announces, “We have a bonus band tonight!” A murmur, a few yells, and a slight ripple of applause follows.

  The guys stop talking and all seem to take a deep breath. Gabe suddenly appears pale.

  The announcer continues, “An up and coming band who toured with Brookfield this last summer. Luminescent Juliet!”

  Justin leads the way while a few more shouts and another flat ripple of applause sounds.

  Gabe is the last to leave the dark hallway. He takes a deep breath and rolls his shoulders, then glances back at me.

  I smile. “Go blow their minds.”

  He studies me for a long second, his gaze almost wistful before his lips form a quick grin and he goes out on the stage.

  I step closer to the small stage, close enough to see half of the skeptical crowd out in front. Once Gabe sits and is situated behind his drum kit, Romeo breaks into a loud riff.

  The first song is “Midnight.” I’ve heard it countless times and could probably grab a guitar and strum the melody out, even though I haven’t played the instrument in years. Luckily, I know this song. If it were the new one, I wouldn’t have paid much attention.

  Because as they play, I’m only aware of only Gabe.

  I’ve seen Luminescent Juliet play lots of times, but being fearful of wanting to play music, I never zone in on them individually playing instruments. As I stand on the side of the stage, Gabe is too close for me to ignore.

  My hands curl around the edge of the wall as I watch him.

  He moves around the kit, hair flying in his face, brows low, lips twisted in absorption.

  It’s obvious when he plays he is in his own world, delivering every ounce of his energy and focus. On one hand, I’m jealous, knowing how it feels to be caught in the music. On the other hand, the concentration on his face, the intensity of his expression, adds to his allure.

  He is sexy and powerful and graceful all at once. My insides warm and melt and vibrate to the beat he sets.

  They practically roll right into “Gone Baby” next.

  My want for him increases exponentially as I watch Gabe pound out the rhythm. I swallow tightly. If I had observed him this close last year, I would have been infatuated with him since he joined the band. The universal picture for musical elegance tends to be either a violin on a shoulder or a person gracefully reaching for the strings on a harp. But Gabe pounding from drum to cymbal—his hair swaying, his jaw hard, his elbows raised—so fast the picture is almost gone before you can see it, becomes my image for musical elegance.

  The song ends and seconds later Gabe sets the beat with his sticks and they roll into “Blood on Snow,” a faster song, edging on the line of punk. I know this one too. Not only is it good, but it heavily features the drums. My nails dig into the wooden edge of the wall as Gabe transitions into a spastic drum fill.

  I draw in several long breaths, trying to control the want, both physical and emotional, rolling through me. I need to get a grip. Like now. I look over the other band members then the crowd, who seemed bored at the start but now press closer to the stage, watching with a rapt attention while head bobbing.

  Shutting my longing down, I focus on the crowd’s attentiveness. I’m guessing most of them are seasoned rockers who can spot talent when they see it, and from the look on their faces, opened mouth awe, they are seeing it. Even I, who swore music off, can’t stay far from Luminescent Juliet. I’ve always known they had enough talent to make it big. Yet there are so many factors to the business end of this industry. Things have to line up to make it, and they look to be lining up perfectly for the band.

  At the end of the song, the crowd goes nuts, whistling, clapping, shouting, and raising drinks.

  Justin grins widely, then he shouts out a, “Thank you! This next one is going to be on our new album. We hope you like it.”

  A rush of excitement hits me as Justin steps back and Gabe hits his sticks together. Romeo, Justin, and Gabe break into the music hard and fast.… Da-ta-ta-dum follows a hard riff three times over, then the heavy drums fade into a pulsing beat and Justin steps up to the microphone.

  “And so it starts again...”

  The song is a definite mix of all four band members. I can hear Romeo in the melody. Sam’s influence in the bluesy under beat. Justin in the wide-open chorus of the vocals. And Gabe’s influence with the almost thrash metal sounding drums at each transition. It’s good. It’s eclectic. It’s different in a twisted way, and from the look of the crowd, it’s going to be a big hit.

  They finish the song and the crowd goes absolutely nuts. They end the short set with “Inked My Heart.” It’s their most popular song thus far. A few people in the crowd wear expressions of surprise, probably recognizing the song.

  I lean on the wall and try to keep my eyes—and longing—from Gabe. It’s a huge challenge.

  After the set, amid huge shouts and thunderous applause, Sam lifts his base over his head. Romeo gives a big wave. Justin fist bumps or shakes hands with people in the front of the crowd. Gabe pushes his sticks in his back pocket and walks of the stage.

  I shuffle back as he comes toward me. His face is still tense, his body rigid. He stops feet from me and I blurt, “You guys were awesome. You played awesome. It was the best I’ve seen you play.”

  He stares at me with an intensity that is similar to the look he had as he played. The expression has me nearly melting into the wall. Gaze becoming more intense, he comes closer and air bubbles inside my chest from the want he always inspires.

  The rest of the guys come off the stage, piling behind him.

  Gabe’s mouth tightens to a thin line. He murmurs a “Thanks,” and moves past me.

  Romeo bumps shoulders with me. “You going to come celebrate with us?”

  “Sure,” I squeak as we proceed down the hall toward the tiny room we waited in before their short set.

  Fist bumps, high-fives, and the plethora of excited cussing fills the room from their exhilaration at how the crowd reacted. A bucket filled with ice-cold beer waits and they’re soon passing bottles around. Justin tries to hand me one, but I shake my head at the brown bottle. As the stagehands pack their instruments and load them into a rented van, Romeo calls Riley, Justin calls Allie, and Sam calls Peyton.

  Gabe and I are left smirking at one another.

  “Sure you don’t want a beer?” he asks.

  I shake my head.

  “Something else?”

  “Nope, I’m driving.”

  He nods as if understanding, but takes a sip of beer and glances away.

  We stand there in uncomfortable silence, listening to the half conversations around us as stage hands trudge through the room with the band’s gear. Once the van is loaded behind the venue, Justin waves their Town car off, telling the driver they will call when they’re ready for a ride. Exiting across a hotel parking lot, we walk down a couple blocks, then cross the street to the Viper Room. The band’s new manager, an older bald man, waits up front so that the bouncers let us in. Instead of going to the main floor, he leads us into the basement bar and a table in the back corner. He’s all congratulations and back slaps until the waitress brings amber colored shots of what looks like whiskey.

  The manager raises his glass. “Expensive stuff, probably should be sipped, not shot, but I’ve learned there is a time for everything.” He downs the amber liquid. Following suit, the guys drain their glasses too.

  Luckily, old Baldy—managers leave a bad taste in my mouth after all of the stories from my dad and his friends—didn’t get me one. Another round of drinks is ordered. I order a ginger ale.

  There is lots of talk of the upcoming album, how it is over half finished, and possible bands they could tour with come spring. I sip my ginger ale and mostly listen—next to each other Romeo and I talk about the per
formance in intervals between everything else—while I try not to let Gabe draw my attention. But he does, even in my peripheral vision, which leaves me feeling desperate and morose. I can’t handle my father playing piano or looking at my guitar case or being real with people. Dealing with whatever—lust? friendship? something more?—is between Gabe and I is way beyond what I can manage. And at this moment, I’m more aware of it than ever.

  After about an hour of listening, I turn to Romeo and softly tell him, “I think I should get going. Don’t want to worry my father.” My father trusts my judgment, but it sounds like a good excuse.

  Romeo nods thoughtfully. “I can walk you out.”

  We stand and Mr. Manager looks at us with surprise. “Where are you two off to?”

  “Be back in a few,” Romeo says in a tone that says, screw you, you don’t get to ask me where I’m going.

  All eyes are on us. Gabe’s are narrowed to slits.

  Baldy puts a palm up. “Didn’t mean to offend. It’s just that Lennings should be stopping by any second. It was a surprise, man. I knew you wanted to meet him.”

  I almost laugh. I know Lennings. He is one of my dad’s pals and a renowned—at least to people who pay attention to that kind of music—jazz and blues guitarist. I smile at the new manager, then Romeo. “It’s okay. You don’t have to walk me out. My car isn’t that far from here.” Since all the parking lots were full by the time I got here, I parked on a street about two blocks over and one block back from the Whiskey, and paid the ridiculous meter fee.

  Romeo looks indecisive until Gabe pushes from the table. “Dude, just sit down. I’ll walk her out so you can meet the big, badass guitar player of your dreams.”

  Great. Exactly what I need. Being alone with Gabe. But I’m not about to argue in front of everyone. “Have a good night. You guys did an awesome job. It was amazing,” I ramble while Sam and Justin grin. Then I take off ahead of Gabe.