by Autumn Avery
After my dad died, my mom worked hard to take care of me, even if that meant working double shifts at the diner so she could help put me through school. Art school at that. I owe it to her to make something of myself, and if that means working for nothing and working my way up then that’s what I’ll do. If I work hard enough, I can prove myself and start making some money to pay her back. I know she doesn’t care or want me to feel guilty, but I want to be able to take care of her, and that’s one of the reasons I’m working so hard.
So I took the “job,” and now, here, on my first day, we’re hosting a photo shoot for the one man on the planet I never wanted to see again.
* * *
TOMMY KING!
* * *
The sign above the dressing room screams in regal red lettering. That’s right. Tommy King, the world’s most famous, chart topping, girl slaying rock star.
And also my high school crush.
I doubt he’ll even remember me. We were in band class together. Two band geeks. I played the flute, badly, and he was percussion before he got into guitar and dropped out of school. We’d traded glances across the room during rehearsal, and played that little game you play in high school of pretending to run into each other so you can have a “conversation.” Dropping little bits of gossip to your friends, knowing they would spread it around and it would eventually get back to them.
I’d let it slip that I had a crush on Tommy King, or Tommy McPherson as he was known then, and after that information had successfully done its rounds through the rumor mill, it had come back that Tommy indeed had a crush on me too.
It was a rainy day after school, and I was waiting for my mom to come pick me up when Tommy approached me.
* * *
“Hey, Alex,” he said. I turned around, pretending not to know he was there.
“Oh hey, Tommy.”
I played it cool, but my stomach was in knots. I had pretty bad anxiety back then, and I was praying that I wouldn’t throw up. That would really ruin the moment.
“Waiting for your mom?”
“Mmmhmmm, yeah,” I said, nodding my head. We both stood there in silence for a moment, every second killing me. I was just waiting for him to ask. I was ready to say yes to whatever came out of his mouth. The rain blew in under the overhang and I shivered.
“So you play guitar?” I asked him.
“Well sorta,” he replied, somewhat embarrassed. “I’m not very good.”
“You gonna start a band?” I joked.
“Yeah, right! I wish!”
We both laughed, then the silence took over again. I looked down at my feet. Finally, after what felt like a thousand years, he spoke.
“So, I was wondering if you wanted to go to the dance with me on Friday.”
“Yes,” I said quickly. “I’d love to.”
His whole face lit up. Tommy was so sweet back then. He tried hard not to look too excited, as boys do, but I could tell he was just as nervous as I was.
“Great!” He said. And then … silence again. Neither one of us knew what to say. Thankfully my mom pulled up and rescued me from the awkwardness.
“That’s my mom. I should go. I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Yeah, for sure,” he said, tossing up a sort of wave-high five thing as I took the steps down to the parking lot, leaving him hanging.
I thought I heard him mutter something to himself about being an idiot, as I got into my mom’s car, and when I turned back to wave at him he was already gone.
“What was that?” my mom asked me.
“Oh, nothing,” I said back. I figured I’d tell her after the dance —after I knew whether there was going to be anything to tell. And it turned out that was a good idea, because we never got our dance.
The next day Tommy didn’t show up to school. Or the day after, or the day after. He didn’t really have any friends, so no one knew where he was. After a few weeks the rumor was he’d dropped out of school and moved to California. Then that was replaced by the one about him being in jail for theft, and then having been quietly expelled. But no one knew.
I didn’t cry. I wasn’t that upset, but part of me just felt cheated. I’d had a pretty serious crush on him, and we never even got a chance to see if it went anywhere. I never even got my first dance with him.
* * *
Then a few years later, there Tommy was on T.V. Now he was Tommy King, lead singer and guitarist of the band Hot Planet, and when I saw his first interview I knew that he was no longer the guy I once knew.
There were rumors about his rock star status. He was covered in tattoos now, with a rock star haircut and every time he was on T.V. he had a girl under his arm that looked like she’d just stepped out of either a modeling campaign or a porno film. It seemed to shift from week to week.
I’d watched him interviewed once by some female host who couldn’t stop dropping sexual innuendos and clearly wanted to sleep with him. There were rumors that they had all over the internet, but neither one of them ever confirmed or denied it. It’s all part of that rock star image you have to maintain. I’m sure underneath he’s still the good guy I remember. But I wonder, if with all his time on the road, he still remembers me. And maybe that’s why I’m so goddamn nervous today.
As I make my way down the hallway, I have to step over a bra lying on the concrete floor. Yes, a bra. An expensive one too, on the floor just a few feet away is a pair of panties. Well panties is being generous—more like a piece of butt floss. I never understood how girls could wear those and still be comfortable.
As I step up to the dressing room door, I’m greeted by the pumping sound of bass. It sounds like there’s a real party going on in there. With a deep sigh, I pound my fist on the door. I wait, but there’s no answer. I pound again, harder this time. Then I hear an annoyed male voice answer.
“Yah? Who is it?”
“Uhm, it’s Alex? We’re ready for you now!”
The voice calls out again, louder and more annoyed. “Who is it?!”
“Alex, we’re—!”
“Who the hell is Alex?”
The door opens quickly and I find myself face to face with Brian, the bands bassist. He’s shirtless, showing off his pale, tattooed body. He has shoulder length black hair and reminds me of the lead singer from the Chili Peppers. That’s probably the look he’s going for.
“Hey, baby,” he says seductively. “What’s happening?”
Before I know it, he’s sliding an arm around my waist and pulling our crotches together. I don’t even know what to do, so I just put my arms up in front of me and push.
“I’m looking for Tommy!” I sputter, feeling more uncomfortable than I’ve ever felt in my life. He obviously thinks I’m some sort of groupie. I feel my anxiety twisting into anger as his grip tightens around my waist.
“Yeah? You wanna see Tommy? I know where we can find him. But how’s about you and me head to one of these spare rooms for a few minutes first?” he says with a smirk, grinding his hips against me. I feel his bulge press against my thigh, and I lose it.
“No, thank you!” I say, pushing him back off me. “I’m not some silly groupie! I’m the photographer’s assistant!”
I’m trying to be as assertive as I can, but I’m flustered, and I blow hair out of my face and smooth the wrinkles in my shirt out.
“And? Don’t you know who I am, baby?”
“Don’t know. Don’t care,” I say. The truth is, I do know who he is, but nothing pisses off a guy like Brian than someone oblivious of his rock star status. I push past him into the first room of the dressing room, a somewhat living room that’s been taken over by the band and their groupies.
Girls prance around in next to nothing, waving red plastic cups, bottles of beer and I don’t even want to know what else. One girl, who I realize must be the owner of the bra and panties out in the hall, brushes by me, completely naked, dragging her mess of blonde hair all over my face.
I feel like a black swan standing here
in my ripped jeans, oversized black t-shirt and thick black glasses. I try to smooth down the absolute mess that is my hair. I didn’t have time to do anything with it this morning, and I really didn’t think it would matter. That was before I knew the hottest rock band on the planet would be in our studio.
“You want a drink?” I hear another male voice behind me and turn to see Clark, the bands second guitarist, lounging on a chair with an acoustic in his hand, cigarette in his lips, and a topless girl on his lap. He raises his eyebrows to me. “It’s a party, baby.”
I am so grossed out right now I don’t even know if I can function. But I have to find Tommy and get him out to Bob. I spot a door across the sea of tits and ass in front of me and thread my way through it. I reach for the handle, but before I can grab it, Brian, the drummer, steps in front of me.
“Sorry. Private, uh … property.”
“Are you kidding?” I say.
“Uh, no trespassing?”
“Get out of my way, Brian,” I say, trying to skirt by him. But he won’t budge. He’s wearing his signature look tank top with holes all over it and runs his hand over his shaved head like he’s trying to re-learn the English language. I wait just a second, looking at him expectedly, but he just raises a finger like he’s thought of something. But I don’t care. I don’t have time for this. I shoulder right past him and grab the handle.
“Tommy’s a little, uh … indisposed,” he stammers as I open the door.
And there he is. Tommy King.
Completely naked. Surrounded by three naked women.
“Holy shit,” I say under my breath. It’s him. The guy I haven’t seen since high school. And he’s wearing nothing but his birthday suit. Well, that’s not true. His pants are down at his knees, right below his ….
I feel myself go red as I realize where my eyes are. I look up and our eyes meet. One of the girls hanging off his arm coos and giggles.
“Oooh, one more? I guess we could make this a … one, two, three,” she counts everyone in the room. “Fivesome!”
The other girls laugh and cheer, and I panic, turning around and rushing out the door, slamming it behind me. I’m overwhelmed by the hot naked bodies as I shove my way out of the dressing room and spill out into the hall, hearing the sounds of the rock star party slowly fade behind me as I come back out into the studio.
I stop and lean against a light stand, trying to get myself together.
That was him. The guy I never thought I’d see again.
And look at him now. The typical man whore, rock star douche. My knuckles go white as my hand clenches the stand.
“Did you get him?” I hear Bob ask. I turn to him with a look of complete panic on my face.
“I don’t think so.”
I hear Bob curse under his breath and storm off in the direction of the dressing rooms. I know I’m screwing up, but images of naked big breasted groupies dance through my mind. The most famous rock star on the planet, naked, in our dressing room, surrounded by bimbos, just makes my heart sink.
Tommy King, once Tommy McPherson, was not the man I thought I knew.
* * *
If you liked the sample, and would like to read more,
CLICK HERE!
Also by Autumn Avery
Vanished
Ten Years Ago
Mia, age 16
* * *
“Oh God, Mia. He’s looking at you again,” I hear Cassidy say from beside me as I grab my Algebra book from my locker. I know who she’s talking about already; I don’t even have to look. But I do. I turn to find Joey Mason eyeing me from across the hall. He’s been doing this for weeks now, but hasn’t said more than two words to me.
“What is his problem?” Merrell chimes in. “Total stalker vibe.”
He doesn’t even try to look away when I catch him staring. Joey isn’t one of the popular kids at Stonehill High, but there’s still something so arrogant about him, like he couldn’t care less about anyone here, like somehow we could all just disappear from the world and his life would keep on going unchanged. I don’t think he even has a single friend.
I, on the other hand, have plenty. I’m one of the “popular girls,” part of the group of highly coveted sophomore girls that all the senior boys want to date. It’s okay. I like having an active social life, but the rest of the girls aren’t really that … deep. I’m always trying hard not to look bored when the conversation turns to celebrity gossip, rumors about boys, and whatever reality T.V. show is hot right now. I’d much rather be at home curled up on the couch with a good book or working on one of my paintings. Or traveling the world, but that’s a dream that seems so far off right now.
“What is his deal?” Cassidy says, sounding more and more annoyed.
“I feel like he’s gonna like … kidnap you, Mia,” Merrell says. I laugh softly.
“That could be fun. He is hot,” Cassidy says.
“Yeah, like serial killer hot.” Merrell just isn’t having it. She doesn’t want to admit he’s cute. I mean, he is cute. He’s thin, tall for his age, with strong features that almost make him look dangerous. His eyes are intense, almost unsettling, but as I look at him, I am wondering why he hasn’t asked me out yet. It’s obvious he likes me. I mean … what else could it be?
I burst into laughter, and just as I’m about to turn away, Joey makes a face like he’s disgusted by something. I stop in my tracks and frown at him. He notices, and grins at me as he turns away.
“What …” I mutter to myself.
Before I even know what I’m doing, I’m striding across the hall toward him.
“Mia, wait!” Merrell snaps at me. But I don’t slow down. I march right up to him and tap him on his shoulder.
“Excuse me?” I say in my bitchiest tone, crossing my arms across my chest as he turns around. I’d expected him to look surprised, or guilty, or caught out, but when I see his face, he looks … amused.
“Yes?” he says, just as casual as ever.
“What was that?”
“What was what?” He’s playing dumb.
“That! That right there! You gave me a look.”
“What look?”
“Don’t be an idiot. You gave me a look!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, turning back to his locker. I stare at his back as he packs his bag with books, all second hand and falling apart. I can’t believe he’s ignoring me like this; after standing there staring at me for five minutes, he’s just going to pretend like nothing’s going on? This has been going on for weeks, and I’ve had enough.
“Look, do you—do you like me?”
He stops and turns, still smiling, that cocky grin on his face. I suddenly feel like the dumbest girl in the world for even asking.
“Do I what?”
“Nothing—” I say, turning to leave. But he calls after me.
“Do I like you?”
I stop in my tracks. That tone. As though it could be impossible. I whirl around and stride back to him, getting right in his face.
“What? Why is that so crazy? All you do is stare at me. I saw you staring at me now, you’ve been doing it for weeks!”
He roars with laughter, and I feel myself blushing. It’s all I can do not to run away, but I know Cassidy and Merrell are watching me, and I don’t want this to turn into any more of a scene than it already is.
“What’s so funny?!” I ask him, fists clenched at my sides.
“You’re a Fleecer,” he says, naming me as one of the popular girls, so named because we like to wear fleece jackets a lot. “I don’t like Fleecers.” And with that, he slams his locker shut and walks away from me, leaving me standing there like an idiot. I’m stunned, and don’t know what to do for a moment, but I finally turn around and walk back to the girls.
“What did he say?!”
“What happened?!”
“Nothing,” I say, rolling my eyes, trying to play it off. “He’s just a jerk.”
“What did
he say, Mia?!” Cassidy says, never able to let something go.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say, turning to look down the hall as he vanishes around the corner.
“But he likes you?” Merrell says, more of a statement than a question.
“Well duh!” I say. The girls giggle and gossip, but I can’t. I can’t believe him! Yeah, so he’s cute and mysterious. But so what?
He’s a jerk.
Two weeks later …
* * *
I’m sitting at my table in art working on my latest painting, a red cardinal atop a golden cage. I’ve been trying to finish it up for the last two weeks, but I just haven’t been able to concentrate, not with him in my class.
Joey sits two tables away from me, just in my eye line when I work. He’s sketching something, and has been acting like I don’t exist since our confrontation in the hall. He hasn’t even been looking at me, and it doesn’t even seem like he’s doing it on purpose. It’s like he’s just completely forgotten about me, and I realize I’ve been missing the attention.
Don’t be stupid, he doesn’t even like you! I find myself thinking as I dip my brush in fresh paint and add some color to the sky. What do you care if he’s looking at you or not?
I look down at my painting and realize I’ve been staring at him while my brush works across my canvas, and I’ve completely ruined the cloud I’ve been working on. I sigh and set my brush aside and run my hands through my hair. I should have finished this piece by now, and the fact that Joey, a guy who doesn’t even like me but I can’t get out of my head, is the reason why, is just driving me crazy.
I want to ball the whole thing up, throw it in the trash and start again. But that would be impulsive and stupid, and I pride myself on not being those things. Just as I’m about to get back to work, I hear the bell ring.
