“You’re life isn’t a mess,” Tommy said. He was adamant.
“According to them it is. I dropped out of a prestigious college and threw away a chance at becoming a famous designer.”
“Why don’t you go back to FIT then, and get your degree? I know your want to.”
“And who’s going to assist the band?”
“I don’t know. Maybe Alyssa can do it or Marissa can hire someone.”
“Do you hear yourself, Tommy? No one else is taking care of the band. That’s my job.”
“I think you’re getting a little off track here,” Angel said. “You need to talk to your parents. Do you want us to fly down to Florida in a few days? We have another day off coming up.”
She shook her head. She knew she had to deal with her parents, but she had no intention of allowing them to unleash their wrath on Tommy or Angel.
Jessi knew she should have called her parents this morning instead of letting them fester all day long, but she didn’t want to ruin everyone’s day off. Or maybe she was just stalling and putting off the inevitable wretched confrontation.
The bus was parked in a rest stop off a three lane highway. The sun was setting and there was an evening chill in the air. She grabbed her sweatshirt before she left the bus and pulled the hood over her head, so no one spotted her hair. Even if no one recognized her, she wanted to attract as little attention as possible. She stuffed her hands into the pockets of her jeans and walked to the far end of the parking lot. She passed transients filling up their gas tanks, parents bringing their restless children into the food complex and pet owners taking their dogs on a much needed bathroom break. She stopped at the entrance ramp that led back to the highway. The noise of the traffic would provide a buffer in case she ended up in a screaming match with her parents. Every time she talked to them they always reduced her to a 13 year old girl, rebelling for her independence.
The instant she turned her phone on, it rang.
“Don’t say anything, Mom. Let me explain first.”
“Explain? There’s nothing to explain! I saw everything on the television! Tommy kissing that singer in his band, and you were kissing that queer too!”
She clenched her teeth. “Don’t call him that.”
Her father’s voice boomed into the phone. “What the hell are you doing with your life?” Both of them were on the phone, so they could berate her at the same time. Her parents were probably the only people left on the planet who still had land lines.
“Dad, I know it’s not something you’re used to seeing, but—”
“But nothing! Divorce that faggot husband of yours and let him and that queer spend the rest of their lives together. Don’t let them poison you with their filth.”
“Filth?” The blood surged through her veins, but she tried to remain calm. She reminded herself that her parents were old fashioned and out of touch with today’s world. “We love each other. There’s nothing filthy about love. Didn’t you see how much we genuinely care about each other in the interview?”
“What interview?” her mother asked. “We only saw the newsman showing clips of the three of you and he said that you were in a poly, poly-something, relationship.”
“Polyamorous. It means—”
“We know what it means!” Her father’s voice boomed through the phone.
They didn’t see the loving interview on the cable talk show. That’s why they didn’t understand. The news probably painted an ugly picture. “You’ll understand if you watch the interview we did for–”
“We’re not watching anything! We didn’t raise you to be some whore tramping around a tour bus sleeping with the whole band!”
“I’m not sleeping with the band, Dad! I’m only sleeping with my husband! He just happens to be bisexual and—”
“I don’t want to hear any more of this nonsense!”
“Your father’s right. You’re an embarrassment to this family. We’re so ashamed of you!”
Anger unleashed hot tears on her cheeks. “How can you say that to me? How dare you call me a whore? I’m your daughter!”
“You make the wrong decisions. Decisions that affect other people. How can your mother and I walk down the street and face our neighbors when they know that our daughter is sleeping with a bunch of fags?”
“Oh my God! You’re horrible people! I’m embarrassed of you! You’re not my family! Tommy and Angel are my family! And Ella and Maggie! Not you people who only know how to hate and judge things you don’t know anything about! How dare you say such terrible things about Tommy? And about Angel, who you never met! I . . . I don’t ever want to speak to you again!”
She threw her phone onto the ground and collapsed to her knees. She buried her head in her hands and pulled at her hair. She sobbed into her hands until her gut ached from retching. Someone touched her shoulder and she jumped. It was Jimmy.
“Are you alright?”
She shook her head. “No. I’m not. Did Tommy send you out here to look for me?”
“No. I was in the mini-mart. I heard you yelling and then saw you crying. I’m … I’m sorry, Jess.”
Out of everyone on the bus, it had to be Jimmy who witnessed her meltdown. It’s not that he was insensitive. It’s just that he wasn’t someone who had close personal relationships. He was with a different girl every night and never showed an attachment to anything except the band. She didn’t know which one of them felt more uncomfortable. She wondered how much he heard, how much everyone in the parking lot, heard. People were gawking at her as the walked by.
She wiped her face with the sleeves of her sweatshirt, smearing black eyeliner and salted tears across her cheeks. She straightened her back and hacked the last sob from her throat. She scratched her face raw with the cuffs of her sweatshirt, even though she knew she’d never be able to hide that she’d been crying.
She found her phone in the grass. The glass was scratched, but it wasn’t broken, and it missed the pile of dog poop it landed next to. She pulled the hood down over her face a little more and kept her head down as she walked back to the bus, with Jimmy’s arm on her shoulder.
She ignored Tommy and Angel and went straight to their private bathroom. She had streaks down her face and her eyes were blood red. The cool water felt soothing on her swollen eyes, but nothing would ease the emotional abandonment of her parents. She told herself it didn’t matter anymore. She took a deep breath and put her shoulders back. She stood tall and held her head up. She stared at herself in the mirror and projected an air of self confidence.
She knew Tommy and Angel would be waiting for her as soon as she opened the door. Tommy wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly. She almost crumpled at his embrace, but locked her knees before they buckled.
Angel’s arms circled her from behind and his lips touched the back of her head. “Are you OK, sweetheart?”
She loved when they held her like that. She was crushed that her parents couldn’t support her, or at least make an attempt to understand her, but in the arms of Tommy and Angel, her strength and dignity were restored. This wasn’t the life she chose. It was the life that chose her.
One deep swallow digested the unjust humiliation she suffered at her parent’s rant. “I’m fine.”
Tommy looked deep into her eyes. “You’re not fine, hon. What did they say?”
She planted her feet firmly on the floor and looked him straight in the eye. “They want me to divorce you.”
“They really said that?”
She could hear the shock in his voice and didn’t want to imagine his reaction if she told him everything. “They said a lot worse, but I won’t repeat their hateful words. I don’t care what they said about me. I don’t care that they called me a whore and think I’m some kind of deviant. I care about what they said about you. And about Angel. And I will never forgive my parents for that.”
Later that night Ella and Maggie both called and vowed to make their parents understand and apologize, but the damage w
as done. It’s not easy to recover from the despicable insults hurled at the people you love most in the world, especially when they came from people who claimed to care about you.
Tommy sat on the bed next to her and rubbed her shoulder. He didn’t need to say anything. The empathy and understanding written across his face was all the support she needed. She leaned into him and rested her head on his shoulder. He put his lips to the top of her head and smoothed her hair down with his hand. It only took a few minutes before his touch brought her serenity.
Some things were unforgivable. Maybe, in time, when the evil things her parents said to her weren’t so fresh and hurtful, she could think about forgiving them. But first they needed to apologize and it had to be sincere. They made no attempts at an apology, and if that’s how they really felt about Tommy and Angel, she needed to sever ties.
Chapter Forty-Eight
North Carolina, Georgia, Florida, Louisiana.
They hit Bourbon Street after last night’s show. Hand Grenades, served in their comical green plastic containers, proved to live up their reputation as New Orleans’s Most Powerful Drink. Jessi’s head was about to explode. Aspirin and black coffee were an immediate necessity. She glanced over at Tommy and Angel, still in their clothes and unconscious, before crawling out of the cramped bed that was beginning to feel like a prison.
One of the dancers was sitting at the booth in the kitchen. It was Courtney, Angel’s friend. Courtney was beautiful, talented and successful. She followed her dream and made it a reality. Jessi admired her.
As soon as Courtney saw Jessi, she brought her hands from her lap and placed a garment on the table. “I was waiting for you. I split the seam on my top.” She unfolded the material, exposing the frayed stitching at the side of the bodice. “Can you fix it?”
“Sure.” Jessi examined the raw edge of the material. “Is it too tight? I could let the seam out a little if it's restricting your movement.”
“Maybe. Should I try it on?”
“Go ahead.” As she waited for Courtney to change into the black studded top, she grabbed the pin cushion from her sewing kit in the bedroom. When she got back to the kitchen, Alyssa was in the booth drinking a cup of coffee.
“I made coffee. You look like you could use some.”
It was exactly what Jessi needed. The sight of her garment in need of repair, made her forget that her head was about to split open. Jessi made the outfits for the dancers, and the record company paid her for them. They were her first commissioned designs. They were the first garments that ever bore her name on the label.
Jessi slid into the booth next to Alyssa. “What was all that noise out here last night?” Drunken laughter woke her sometime around 5:00 a.m. At first she thought it was the TV, but she recognized Jimmy's slurred speech.
“Jimmy had another groupie on the bus last night. I don't know how anyone gets any sleep around here. We got Jimmy and his groupies who don’t know how to control the volume, you three in the back bedroom rocking the bus so hard I’m surprised it hasn’t tipped over yet, oh, and now the two male dancers are hittin' each other. This place is a fuck fest.”
“You forgot to include you and Damien. I don’t know what the hell you guys are doing behind that curtain – and I don’t want to know.” The noises coming from their bunk were mechanical and crackling, probably some kind of sex toys and by the groans coming from Damien, it sounded like Alyssa was torturing him with them.
“So how's operation ‘Get in Angel's Pants’ going?”
“Shhh! Someone’ll hear you!”
“I didn't know it was a secret.”
Alyssa was a prankster. Don’t let her find out your weakness or your sore spot, because she will tease and harass you mercilessly for her own enjoyment. “I've given up on that fantasy. It’s not going to happen. But I came close a few times.” She almost told Alyssa about the double penetration, but knew it would be like giving her a loaded machine gun.
“Too bad. I thought you were going to be the first woman on the planet who turned a gay man straight. You’d be famous.”
“Must you fuck with me when I have a hangover?”
Alyssa sipped her coffee. “That’s when it’s the most fun.”
A naked pair of tits shuffled past them. It was obviously Jimmy’s groupie who decided clothing was optional today. She didn't look at anyone either. Her face was camouflaged by a tangled mass of red hair and she didn't bother to cover herself as she walked by. She had no shame. She tried the bathroom door, but Courtney was in there trying on the top that needed alterations. The girl waited, without making eye contact, tapping her bare feet on the laminate floor, dancing to abate her bladder.
Courtney stared at the massive fake breasts and pillow hair that brushed past her and into the bathroom, as soon as she opened the door.
“Who the hell was that?”
“Jimmy’s latest conquest. Let’s look at the top. Hold your arms above your head so I can see how much room you need.” Jessi pinched the fabric and secured it with a straight pin.
“You know, Jessi, I've worn clothing made by some of the country's top designers and you're right up there with them. Why don't you have your own line? Why aren't you selling retail?”
She was still making custom guitar straps, but it was hard to keep up with the orders. She tried to teach her sister Ella how to make them, but there wasn't enough time before the tour. “I plan to. I just need a few months to get my degree first.”
“Look at this.” Alyssa called from the booth. “There’s another pair of tits on parade.”
A second silicone-breasted groupie walk passed them. This one was a little more modest. She wore a thong. She mumbled something through the bathroom door and it creaked open and she stepped inside. They came from the living area, not the sleeping quarters. Jimmy must have moved the party to the couch last night instead of trying to cram three people into his bunk.
“You don't need a degree,” Courtney said. “You name is recognizable. People know who you are and you can afford to open your own shop.”
“I know. It’s more a matter of principal. Plus, I always promised Tommy I’d go back and finish college. Education is important to him. He was really upset when I dropped out.”
Jimmy’s two groupies exited the bathroom together, holding hands and looking awfully chummy. They still didn’t bother to cover their perfectly round breasts, or anything else that might catch a breeze.
“Here come the silicone sisters,” Alyssa commented. “Put some clothes on,” she fired at them as they walked by, but they both ignored her.
Jessi went back to adjusting Courtney’s top. She imagined what it would be like to design full time, to create a full line of rock and roll inspired clothing with her name on the label. It was her dream, before she was lured in by the excitement of the stage. She needed people like Courtney around to remind her to go after her dreams. Courtney was right. She didn’t need her degree. She already learned construction. She was skilled at putting together intricate designs and working with a variety of textiles. She just needed the time to open a store so she could finally be able to break into commercial sales with the guitar straps, and design the clothing line that was already making its way down the runway in her head.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Texas, Arizona, Vegas, Los Angeles.
The iconic Sunset Strip, with its legendary rock clubs and oversized billboards, was a place Angel fell in love with. If New York weren’t his home, Hollywood would be his address. Los Angeles – it called him by name.
They would be in Southern California for six days. They had another show later in the week at the Orange County Fair in Costa Mesa, but Angel wasn’t leaving Hollywood. He booked a suite at the landmark Chateau Marmont, infamous for its history of rock star and celebrity residents behaving badly. It was a fortress that sat high above the city, the ultimate in luxuries. They had the rest of the week to explore La-La Land and Tinseltown.
Tonight’s show, a
t the renowned House of Blues on Sunset, was electrified. The crowd wouldn’t let the band leave the stage. A five song encore and they still wanted more. Immortal Angel would have played all night if security didn’t shut them down.
Angel was still waiting in the dressing room for Jessi and Tommy. They were getting some things together from the tour bus and then they would take a taxi down the Strip to Chateau Marmont, where they would make their own shameful memories.
Someone knocked on the dressing room door. It swung open and Kendall stood in the doorway. She had a twisted smile on her face. It was smug and arrogant.
“Kendall? What the hell are you doing in L.A.?” He hoped she wasn’t here at Jimmy’s invitation. It would cause nothing but trouble.
Kendall leisurely walked through the dressing room and inspected everything. She picked up the complimentary bottle of champagne and read at the label. She fingered the champagne flutes and held them up to the light. She ran her hand across the back of the leather couch, as she casually strolled behind it.
“This is very nice, Angel. You finally hit the big time. I always knew you would.” She had a strange self-righteous smile plastered across her face. “We’re not all as lucky as you are.”
“I’m fortunate, yes, but I worked my butt off to get here.” He didn’t need to defend himself. Not to her. He didn’t want her in his dressing room. “I hate to cut you short, but I need to make a few phone calls.”
The Prince of Punk Rock Page 30
