The Prince of Punk Rock

by Jenna Galicki

  Tommy’s fingers danced over the strings, filling the room with a reckless beat. Angel tapped his foot and dipped his head. He hummed the melody and a few new lyrics rolled off his tongue.

  Tommy abruptly stopped playing. “Did you just make that up? Just now? That was fuckin’ awesome.”

  Angel shrugged. “Yeah. That new tune spoke to me. You’re really good, Tommy. Your music motivates me.”

  “Did we just write our first song together?”

  “I think we did.” Angel was about to combust from enthusiasm. Writing music was hard work, but Tommy made it effortless. “If you keep teasing with me with remarkable riffs like that, I could write music all day.”

  “I’ll work on more tonight.” Tommy put his guitar down in the stand. “What do you do when you're not making music?”

  “I like to go to shows and see other bands. It gives me a little one up on the competition. Plus, I like to support other local artists. I've formed a lot of friendships with musicians in the area. You should come with me one night.”

  “No, I meant what do you do for a living.”

  “Oh.” Angel had to remind himself to slow down. He just asked Tommy on a date! “I'm sorry. I thought,” he waved his hand, “never mind. I'm a chef.”

  “A chef? Did you go to culinary school?”

  “No. I learned from my dad. He's the head chef at Garcia's. My family owns the restaurant. It's in Park Slope.”

  “Really? I thought struggling musicians were . . . struggling. I didn't know your family was rich.”

  “Hardly. You wouldn't believe the overhead. The restaurant does well, but it doesn't trickle down to me. My dad's a hard nose when it comes to business. He pays me a competitive salary, but I have to bust my butt in the kitchen. I can't slack off. If I get home at 4:00 a.m. after a gig, I still have to be at the restaurant bright and early the next morning. What about you? What do you do?”

  Tommy rested his hand on the machine head of his Fender Stratocaster. “This is it. Music. I give private guitar lessons. I don't know how to do anything else.”

  “You have a BA in music with a BS in finance. With your education you could do anything you want.”

  A crease formed between Tommy’s pale brows. “How'd you know that?”

  He was quick to answer. “I did a little research before I called Jessi. Just standard procedure.” Yeah, for a stalker. People Search, Intelius. He dug up every bit of information he could get his hands on about Tommy.

  “So, you never told me what kind of food you make at your restaurant.”

  “Cuban. Authentic Cuban cuisine. But, it's my dad's restaurant. It's not Garcia & Son. I’ve been told that’s a title I have to earn, but I'm leaving it to my brother. I plan on making music my career.” Angel’s lips opened into a smile. “Just like you.”

  “It’s my calling. I want to be on stage. When I was a kid, all I ever fantasized about was making a music video. I used to throw on a Metallica record and jump all over my room, pretending I was in front of the camera. Then I started playing gigs and the thrill of performing hit me. I want to perform. I want to play Madison Square Garden.” Tommy's face brightened with excitement. “I want to travel the world. I want to play the 02 Arena in London. Can you imagine playing the 02 Arena?”

  “We will. We’re going to make hundreds of music videos and sell out every major arena. With your talent, we're going to capture the world. Your enthusiasm and your dreams rival my own. We're going to make it in this business, and it's going to be all because of you.”

  “No.” Tommy was genuinely modest. “It's because of you. You're the front man. You have a voice like no one I've ever heard before. It's powerful and crystal clear. It's beautiful, Angel.”

  The mutual admiration they had for one another was absorbed in a quiet lull in the conversation. Their steadfast gaze turned into a shared smile.

  “Let me make you dinner,” Angel said. “I want to cook for you.”

  “Really? I'd love that.”

  “Come tonight. I can go shopping after practice and have everything ready for 7:30.”

  “Oh, tonight’s not good. Jessi has something to do with her sisters.”

  Jessi. He almost forgot about Jessi. “OK, this weekend then, unless you’d like to come by yourself tonight.” One could hope. But, he felt Tommy’s hesitation.

  “I’d rather wait for Jessi. She’s not gonna want to miss out on a home cooked meal by the famous Chef Garcia.”

  Jessi arrived shortly after practice started. Angel watched her linger by the door, unsure if she was intruding, so he motioned her to step inside. She relaxed and after a minute she started dancing in place, but she never ventured much further into the studio. When the song was over, Tommy slung his guitar around so it rested on his back, and went to her. Angel couldn’t hear what they were saying. Their conversation was intimate and hushed, but it appeared that Jessi was ravishing Tommy with praise, which he was humbly accepting. Their hands, draped around the other’s neck, conveyed their close affection.

  Angel waited for Jessi and Tommy to finish their conversation so he didn’t interrupt them. “Couldn’t stay away?” He gave her a wink and kissed her cheek.

  “Tommy’s been raving about how great you guys sound together, and from what I just heard,” she raised her shoulders, searching for the right words, “I . . . I’m speechless. That was over the top.”

  “Thank you. Wait until you hear some of the other songs.” He put his hand on Tommy’s shoulder. “This man has reinvented my music.”

  “Is OK if I stay? I don’t want to impose.”

  “Join us anytime. I love having an audience to sing to during practice. There are drinks in the little fridge. Help yourself to anything.”

  “Thanks. You’re really sweet, Angel.” She stopped and smiled at him before she took a seat at the far end of the studio.

  They picked up with one of Immortal Angel’s most their popular songs, Cyanide Sensation. Angel thought it was a brilliant piece of music when they first wrote it. Now that Tommy added his flavor to it, mixing up the melody and adding a new riff, the original version seemed lackluster and mediocre. As Angel sang the lyrics, he envisioned the new music they would create together and the journey that lay ahead.

  Jessi watched Tommy play with Immortal Angel for the first time with a sense of pride at his adaptation into a new genre of music. Damien’s wife was sitting beside her. There could have been a thousand people in the room and everyone would know that Alyssa and Damien were a couple. They were the perfect match for one another.

  Alyssa’s straight black hair fell three quarters of the way down her back. Her dramatic eyeliner elongated her dark eyes. A mélange of prolific tattoos covered her arms and crossed the front of her chest. They were a dark mix of skulls and spider webs. Jessi knew the gothic-looking girl with thigh-high leather boots and dark red lipstick was Damien’s wife as soon as she saw her.

  Alyssa admired Jessi’s ink. She was surprised that Alyssa was interested her floral, feminine tattoos, but Alyssa worked in a tattoo shop. Not as an artist, as a piercer.

  Angel’s voice rang through the studio and interrupted their conversation. Jessi got lost in the sound of his voice. It was spotless. He made eye contact with her, and she was almost hypnotized by the power of his voice and his good looks. He was beautiful, and he was sweet and funny. She could see why Tommy was infatuated with him.

  She watched Tommy bounce around, flipping his long blond hair in tune to the music. He circled Angel and then leaned into him with his shoulder. They turned and pressed their backs up against one another. Tommy ripped up his guitar and Angel sang his heart out. Angel writhed against Tommy’s back, turning the lyrics into a provocative vibrato. They turned to face each other, leaning forward, taunting each other with lyrics and riffs. There was a natural chemistry between them. It inflated the song and engaged the listener.

  “Does Angel have a boyfriend?” Jessi whispered to Alyssa.

  “No.
Not for about a year.”

  “How come? He’s so cute.”

  Alyssa shrugged. “He’s living the life, I guess. I’ve known Angel a long time. He’s a really good guy. When he’s with someone, he’s very committed. He’s loyal. He doesn’t stray. But when he’s single, like now,” she chuckled, “he can’t keep it in his pants. And if Angel has his eye on someone, he doesn’t stop. He’s like dog in heat. Relentless.”

  Jessi sighed. That’s exactly what she was afraid of. She’s been in a whirlwind since Tommy’s first audition. She recognized the talent Angel and his band possessed right away. They had the potential to catapult to stardom. An opportunity like that came along once in a lifetime. She would never let Tommy pass it up, not that it was an option. Tommy was committed the second he started playing with the band, probably the second he met Angel. There was only one problem – Angel Garcia. Why did he have to be so damn good looking and so damn charming? Angel was either going to be the best thing that ever happened to them, or the worst thing that ever happened to them.

  Jessi never saw Tommy attracted to anyone the way he was attracted to Angel, and it was clear that Angel felt the same way. There was an obvious flirtation, an allure, almost a fascination, between the two and they’ve only known each other a few weeks.

  She realized that this was only the beginning. Tommy and Angel would be spending long hours together from now on. Her heart dropped into the pit of her stomach. Everything had a price. The higher the prize, the higher the penalty, and the price of fame and notoriety may very well be her marriage.

  Chapter Eight

  Angel couldn’t decide if the candles made it look like he was trying too hard or not. He took them on and off the table a half dozen times and finally left them there as a centerpiece. As long as the lights stayed on, the candles wouldn’t epitomize romance. He wanted to have everything prepared before Tommy and Jessi arrived, but he wasted so much time with the table setting that he was still finishing up the salad when they rang the doorbell.

  Jessi held up two bottles of wine and gave him a peck on the cheek. “Whatever you’re cooking smells delicious!” Her words trailed behind her as her nose lead her into the kitchen.

  Angel tried to tone down the illumination in his face when he greeted Tommy, but the light was too bright to dim. “Welcome to my home.” He embraced Tommy, kissed his cheek and escorted him into the living room.

  Tommy titled his nose up to the air, the same way Jessi did when she first entered the apartment. “What is that, pork?”

  “Yes. I’ve been cooking all day. I can’t wait for you to taste my Cuban Lechon Asado. It’s my family’s signature dish.”

  Jessi reappeared, less one bottle of wine. “It smells heavenly.” She wiggled the bottle in her hand. “Glasses?”

  “Let me get that.” He took the wine from her and both Jessi and Tommy followed him into the kitchen. He dug out a corkscrew from the top drawer and three of his best wine glasses, filling each with the aromatic Pino Grigio. “I think a toast is in order.” He held his glass high. “To our future. May we be rewarded with all the luxuries and opportunities life has to offer.”

  Tommy and Jessi held up their glasses.

  “To our success.”

  “To a lifelong friendship.”

  After they clinked their glasses together and drank, Jessi approached the counter where Angel had abandoned his half-made salad. A bowl of washed lettuce sat in a strainer along side a bowl of vegetables waiting to be chopped. She placed several tomatoes on the cutting board and tied his discarded apron around her waist.

  “No.” Angel stopped her. “I don’t want you to do that. You’re my guest.”

  Jessi stiffened. “I’m sorry. Am I overstepping again? I get too comfortable too quickly sometimes.” She untied the apron and strung it through the handle of the oven door. “You’re a chef. This is your kitchen. I didn’t mean to take over.”

  “Don’t make me feel bad now, sweetheart.” He handed her back the apron. “You can help me with the salad. Everything else is done.”

  “It’s the least I can do, Angel.” Her eyes traveled over the covered dishes and pots on the stove. “Look at the work you put into this meal.” She looped the apron over her head, tied it around her back and snickered under her breath. “Is this your apron?”

  She was teasing him.

  “Yes, chefs wear aprons.”

  Now she flat out laughed. “Plain white aprons, not aprons that say, Kiss the Cock”.

  He had a moment of embarrassment before he joined in her laughter. The spin on the classic Kiss the Cook slogan was so similar that he forgot the play on words.

  As she started slicing tomatoes, Tommy watched her. He walked up behind her, circled his arms around her waist and buried his nose in the back of her hair. “You look hot when you cook in six inch heels. You should do it more often.”

  She smiled and leaned back into him as she cut into a tomato. He kissed the back of her neck and whispered something into her ear that made her giggle. He picked up a cucumber, made an inappropriate gesture to her with it and then pointed it at Angel. “Do you want me peel this thing?”

  “You’re both so sweet, but I’m supposed to be making dinner.”

  Tommy ignored him and picked up the vegetable peeler. “May I?”

  “Of course. But you don’t have to.”

  Angel retrieved the large salad bowl from the cabinet and was about to put it on the counter, but the sight of Tommy and Jessi working in his kitchen brought him to a halt. It was hard to believe they’ve only known each other for a few weeks. They shared a closeness that resembled family, but that’s what happens when you spend most of your time together, enjoying the mutual passion that drives you to play music.

  Angel’s trained eye went to the thick uneven chunks of cucumber on Tommy’s cutting board. “Let me show you.” He took the knife from Tommy’s hand. “Thin, even slices, all the same size.”

  “OK. Let me try.” Tommy shaved off a few perfect slices.

  Jessi was snickering again. “I thought you had more experience with cucumbers, Tommy. I figured you knew how to handle one.”

  He threw a cucumber peel at her, but she dodged out of its way.

  “Stop. You’re messing up Angel’s kitchen!”

  “I’m sorry. I’ll clean it up, A.”

  A? Was that an affectionate little nickname? A charming term of endearment? Perhaps a symbol of Tommy’s deeper feelings? Or was it just an abbreviation of his name, devoid of anything other than a time saving contraction? Oh, what he would give to have the truth laid out for him. He questioned every interaction with Tommy. Was it just for amusement or was their flirtation real? He wished he had the nerve to ask, instead of playing this guessing game. And then there was Jessi, with her spunky witticisms, good-natured disposition and devotion to Tommy. The two were a riddle that he was determined to solve.

  They were teasing each other about who was doing a better job slicing vegetables. Angel should have been helping, but he kept getting distracted watching the playfulness that transpired between them. “I enjoy watching you two together. It’s sweet. But, excuse me, I have to do something. As much as I love your gorgeous hair Tommy, we need to tie it up.” Old habits from working in the kitchen made him fastidious about food preparation. He gathered Tommy’s golden locks in his hand. They were smooth as silk, much softer than he expected. He played with Tommy’s hair, running the long blond threads through his fingers, and shaping it into a pony tail. Tommy leaned his head back, enjoying the stroke on his hair.

  Jessi watched him and he realized that he was probably crossing the line, but he couldn’t extradite his fingers from Tommy’s stunning mane. He was fascinated with its texture and the sweet scent that floated around it.

  “His hair’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Jessi asked, before returning her attention back to the knife in her hand.

  “Very beautiful.”

  Tommy glanced over his shoulder. The clear blue o
f his eyes flashed in the glow of the overhead lights. “That feels nice. I have a hair tie in my jacket if you want to get it. I left it on the couch.”

  Angel found the elastic band in Tommy’s pocket. As he returned to the kitchen, he became aware that Tommy could have easily retrieved the hair tie himself. He wanted Angel to play with hair. Jessi didn’t seem bothered. She seemed encouraging. The two were a tricky pair to figure out. He needed to get a better feel of the dynamic of Tommy and Jessi’s relationship. He needed a clearer picture.

  Tommy and Jessi were whispering when Angel returned to the kitchen. They stopped talking as soon as they saw Angel. The only word he overheard was “trouble”. By the smiles on their faces, he knew they were still teasing each other. But, he wondered what kind of trouble they were referring to.

  Angel held the hair tie out to Tommy, but he didn’t take it. He smiled his sweet, mischievous little smile, tilted his head back and shook his hair over his shoulders so it cascaded down his back. Tommy was flirting with him right in front of Jessi. She wasn’t bothered by it, instead she watched with a curious smile.

  Angel put his hands through Tommy’s blond mane again, repeatedly touching his scalp and letting his fingers glide down the full length of Tommy’s hair. He was obsessed with the sunny color and satin texture and wasn’t making an attempt to put it through the elastic.

  Tommy peeked back over his shoulder. “I like that.

  It was starting to get uncomfortable. How long could he stand there and play with Tommy’s hair? He hastily wrapped Tommy’s ponytail in the elastic band. He smoothed it down Tommy’s back and felt the muscles flex underneath his hand with each chop of the knife. Tommy reacted to his touch by purposely putting more pressure on the knife which accentuated the ripple across his back.

  Jessi glanced up at them. “Are you going to tie my hair up, too?”

  Angel was unsure if she was trying to get him away from Tommy, or making a plea for his attention. Maybe they were into threesomes. Or maybe she just liked to watch. He hoped it was the latter, because he had no interest in experimenting in a bisexual experience. He pulled her hair back, curious about its vivid color. It looked effervescent in the sunlight that trickled in through the window. “This color is gorgeous. What made you dye it?”