Rise From Rock City: A Lesbian Rock Star Romance (Revolving Record Book 1)

by Nicolette Dane

  The view from the balcony was staggering. I wasn’t quite sure where in the city I was, as I was unfamiliar with all the different neighborhoods of New York, but I could see all the skyscrapers to the north of me. Pushing my cigarette to my lips, I took a long inhale and then exhaled the smoke in a drawn out sigh.

  Spring was really happening and the morning was temperate and nice. I leaned on the railing, gazed out into the city, and tried to figure out what was becoming of me. The chrysalis was tearing.

  After my final exhale, I tossed the butt over the balcony and made my way back inside. The apartment was foreign to me, but I figured that I was there, so I might as well just make myself comfortable. I closed the glass door behind me and, as I turned, I heard the quick stomping of feet down the hallway until she came into view.

  Daisy sauntered into the room, on her way to the kitchen attached to the living room, wearing nothing but a small pair of heather grey panties. She had a slim figure, fit, with a nice, firm chest, her breasts bouncing with each step. My eyes went wide as I saw her and I must have made some sort of noise from the surprise, as she looked my way and squealed.

  “Layla!” she cried, quickly covering her chest with her arm. “Oh God, what are you doing here?”

  “I think I slept over,” I said, rubbing my forehead and trying not to stare at her, but so desperately enthralled by what I could see of her exposed body.

  “Oh shit,” she mourned, still covering up but looking disappointed. “We didn’t… I mean, I didn’t have sex with you, did I?”

  “We didn’t,” I said quietly.

  “I’m… going to get a shirt,” Daisy said swiftly and then bolted back in the direction from which she’d come. I sighed deeply and looked up to the ceiling. The hangover was really beginning to overtake me, but I tried to put on a strong face. I kind of felt like I wanted to throw up.

  A few moments later, Daisy returned wearing a tank top and shorts. She looked a lot more relaxed. She looked sporty. Her blonde hair was back in a ponytail. She smiled at me from across the room.

  “Sorry you had to see that,” she said. “And sorry about the… sex thing. I didn’t mean anything by it. I’ve just had a track record of drinking a little too much and doing things I shouldn’t with people I shouldn’t.”

  “No, that’s okay,” I said, stepping closer to her.

  “You okay, Layla?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Do you have any aspirin?”

  “Yep,” she said. “Come to the kitchen.” I followed as Daisy walked into the open kitchen, deftly filled two glasses of water from the tap, and pulled a pill bottle out from the cupboard.

  “When I drink that much,” I said. “I get awful hangovers.”

  “It’s the smoking,” said Daisy in a motherly tone. “Well, I mean, it’s the drinking,” she corrected. “But the smoking really makes it worse.”

  “Probably,” I said.

  We both took a pill and washed it down with water. Standing there in an awkward silence, I kind of felt naked without my tights, just bare legged with that long shirt hanging. I reached down and scratched my thigh, wondering if I should excuse myself.

  “I don’t normally drink like that,” said Daisy, perhaps trying to save some face. “We were just having fun and you lose track, you know?”

  “I know,” I said. Then, after another moment of silence, I spoke again. “I should probably get moving. The guys are probably wondering where I am.”

  Daisy had a pained look on her face, almost pleading. I didn’t know what it meant.

  “We should hang out again before you head back to Detroit,” she said. “I had fun.”

  “I did, too,” I said. I took another long sip of water, unsure how to continue. I didn’t really want to leave Daisy, but I felt something compelling me to go. Like I shouldn’t be there.

  “We won’t drink as much, though,” said Daisy with a soft smile. She placed her head lightly on my shoulder and I felt my legs go wobbly. I closed my eyes gently and smiled back.

  Sitting on Daisy’s couch, I threaded my legs into my tights while she watched, sipping on her glass of water. Once I got them up my thighs, I stood up and shimmied them up underneath my shirt. I noticed small dark red spots at the tips of my big toes, indicating I’d bled a little bit in my mary janes the night before. Stepping into the shoes, I leaned over and buckled them, then stood upright and gave Daisy one last brave grin.

  She smiled wistfully at me, our eyes locked, the room silent. Daisy reached up and pushed a strand of hair out of her face and positioned it behind her ear.

  “Okay,” she said finally, shrugging her shoulders upward, looking like she was trying to get comfortable again. “We’ll get together soon.”

  “Right,” I said. That moment was strange. It was like we’d had a one night stand or something, like I was supposed to be eager to leave and she was supposed to be eager to get me out of her apartment. But it was also like the opposite of that. I didn’t want to go at all. And we hadn’t even had sex. In fact, as I stood there in that awkward pause, I wished with everything in my soul that we had had sex. Not because it would have made the leaving moment feel legitimate or something, but because I was so hopelessly infatuated with her.

  But the next thing I knew, I was walking down the stairs of her building and toward the front entrance. I fumbled to stick a cigarette in my mouth.

  I sat in a chair with a towel around my neck and my hair wrapped in foil. It was early evening and I was in Nikki’s apartment back home in the Detroit suburbs. Since I’d gone to New York, recorded the album with the band, and come back, Nikki had dyed her hair from bright white to jet black. And now she was touching up my color, black at the roots, blue down to the tips.

  Being in Nikki’s apartment, a place I’d been in a thousand times before, made me feel strange after my New York experience. We’d been put up in a nice hotel for the duration of our stay. We’d been treated to nice meals on occasion. And comparing it to Daisy’s apartment, well, there just was no comparison. Nikki’s place was modest and frugal and, admittedly, kind of shabby, while Daisy was quite obviously living in luxury.

  “I just can’t get over what a change your hair is,” I said to Nikki with a smile. She grinned.

  “White to black,” she said. “It was time for a change.”

  “Thanks for doing mine,” I said. “They tried to get me to a stylist out in New York, but I told them I wanted you to do it.”

  “That’s sweet,” she said.

  “And I’ll pay you, too,” I said.

  “Oh God, Layla,” Nikki said, looking away. “You don’t have to pay me.”

  “I want to,” I said. “I have some money now.”

  “Well,” she said, like she wanted to protest but also wanted to be paid. I knew Nikki could use it.

  “I insist,” I said. “Just charge me whatever you charge at the salon.”

  “Okay,” she said with an appreciative smile. “That’s cool of you.”

  “We’re leaving really soon on this tour,” I said. “We’re gone for, like, three months, all summer really. Then we get a break, and then they’re talking about another tour to support the album.”

  “When does the album come out?”

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. “I know they’re trying to rush it. They fixed some of our mistakes in recording with studio musicians after we were done.”

  “Whoa,” said Nikki. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “That happens?”

  “It does,” I said. “They really want it out before this tour with Air Patrol begins, so they can sell it at the shows. But I don’t know if it’ll happen. It might just come out mid-tour. There are too many pieces involved.”

  “What are they doing with you?” Nikki asked. “I mean, about your image and your style and all that? You said you were consulting with someone about it.”

  “I think they get me,” I said. “Still going to dress in black and punky. But more st
ylized, I guess.”

  “Like how?”

  “I guess, like, goth prom dresses?”

  “Oh!” said Nikki. “That’s pretty sweet. Maybe a little 80s Madonna?”

  “Yeah, maybe,” I said. “I’m just kinda letting it happen, you know? I trust them. They’re really putting a lot behind us.”

  “Is it, like, a team of people?” Nikki asked wryly. “Like, fashion by committee?”

  “I guess, sorta,” I said. “But it’s this one girl. Daisy is her name.”

  “Is she a cool rocker girl?”

  “No,” I said, almost sheepishly so. “She’s a stereotypically pretty bubbly type.”

  “What?” said Nikki incredulously. “Really?”

  “Yeah,” I said. In that moment, I wanted to confide in Nikki my feelings for Daisy but I felt, somewhat strangely so, that she would judge me for it. Something in her expression or her tone, maybe. It was probably the first time I’d ever felt like that around Nikki. I decided I wouldn’t tell her any more about Daisy.

  Just then, a digital chime sounded off in my bag. I quickly stood up from the chair and walked across the room to the table.

  “What is that?” asked Nikki.

  “My cell phone,” I said.

  “Cell phone?” she repeated with great surprise. “You have a cell phone?”

  Reaching into my bag, I pulled out a small candy bar phone, stout with rounded edges, navy blue. I looked into the green screen to see who was calling. It was James.

  “I have to get this,” I said, looking over at Nikki. She just appeared confused.

  Pushing the ‘talk’ button on the phone, I lifted it to my ear.

  “Yo,” I said into it.

  “Layla,” I heard James say through the phone. “What’s up?”

  “I’m at Nikki’s getting my hair dyed,” I said.

  “Just wanted to let you know I talked to Arnie,” he said. “The album won’t be ready for the tour, but they’re putting together a single.”

  “A single?” I repeated. “What song?”

  “Holy Cow,” said James. “They’re making that the single, and then also including Crooked Croupier as a b-side.”

  “Crooked’s not on the album,” I said.

  “Right,” said James. “But we recorded it and they’re using it.”

  “Okay,” I said. “So… what? The single will be out for the tour?”

  “Probably not at the first stop,” he said. “But a couple weeks in. And then we’ll start getting radio play for Holy Cow.”

  “Oh God,” I moaned.

  “It’s exciting, Layla,” James reminded me.

  “I know,” I said flatly. “I’m excited.”

  “You sound like it.”

  “No, I am,” I said, trying to perk up. “This is great.”

  “Okay, get back to your hair,” said James. “Just thought you’d like the news. I’ll see you at practice tomorrow.”

  “See you tomorrow.”

  James hung up.

  Lowering the phone, I felt the familiar sense of anxiety well up within me but I resolved to push it down. James was right. It was exciting. It was what we’d always dreamed about. Other bands would kill to be in our position. I had to just accept it, be grateful for it, and let it wash over me.

  “Um, hello?” said Nikki after a moment of silence. “A cell phone?”

  “Yeah,” I said, looking down to my phone. Then I slipped it back into my bag. “I had to get it,” I said, now looking up and walking back toward her in the living room. “It just helps stay in contact with the band, with the label.”

  “I think you’re officially the first person I know with a cell phone,” said Nikki as she smiled weakly. I could tell she was formulating some thoughts but I couldn’t read them. They were a bit obtuse.

  “And probably the last person you thought it would be.”

  “Exactly.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, sitting once again in the chair. “I know it’s weird.”

  “It’s not,” she said. “I guess I just have to get used to some new things with you.”

  “I’m not gonna change,” I said, “I’ll always be me.” I smiled at her, trying to get her back on my side.

  “Good,” said Nikki, smiling back. “Let’s get that foil off now.”

  There I was standing backstage in Minneapolis. The roar of the crowd was absolutely deafening, greater than anything I’d ever felt. They were there, of course, to see Air Patrol. They hadn’t even heard of Cast Party yet, maybe hearing about us for the first time when they saw our name in small letters on their ticket. But as it had gone at the previous shows we’d played as the tour kicked off, we were well received by these potential fans. After the show, they would flood the merch table in search of our recorded music. This show in Minneapolis was the very first at which the Holy Cow single would be available. Soon, we’d be on their stereos. It was spreading.

  They had really been making me over for these shows. My makeup was severe. Dark eyeliner, darkened eyebrows, my skin looking even more pale. And I was dressed like some doll straight out of a horror movie, little black frocks with ripped tights and black shoes with buckles. I had blue pigtails coming off to either side of my head. I thought I looked awesome. I was in love with what my costume team was doing with me. I had been skeptical when the tour started, a little bit worried, but once I saw the finished product I just threw up my hands and let them have their way with me.

  I was like some gothic rock monster. Elvira’s daughter. It made me feel untouchable. But those pre-show nerves were still there. Those never went away.

  I stood there backstage trying to push down the anxiety, trying to breathe, when Dave from Air Patrol strolled by. He was tall and muscular looking, filling out a tight black t-shirt, his hair long and stringy, a few weeks of beard growth on his face. I had known of him back in the early 90s when he played drums for the grunge band Satori. He was a lot smaller then, more wiry. Now he was lead singer and guitarist for his own band and they were absolutely slaying the rock charts.

  “Whoa!” said Dave as he saw me, stopping in his tracks and smiling at me. He had a kind face. “You good, girl?”

  “I’m good,” I said.

  “You look like you’re having a freak out.”

  “I always do this,” I said. “Always panic a little.”

  “You know they’re gonna love you,” said Dave. “You guys have brought it every show and they’re eating it up.”

  “I know,” I said. “I just do my thing. Once I’m out there, it’s different.”

  “I feel you,” he said. “I’ve got a trick that might help you.”

  “Okay.”

  “Just picture yourself fucking the audience,” said Dave with a devilish smirk. “You’re dominating, you’re in charge, you’re steering the ship. And you’re rocking their world. They love every second of it. You’re just plowing these chicks and— oh!” he said, interrupting himself. “Yeah, that’s kinda fucked up of me to say, isn’t it?”

  “I get it,” I said.

  “It’s sexist, or whatever,” he said. “You being a chick and all. You can dominate the dudes in your version.”

  “No,” I said. “I like chicks.”

  “Yeah?” he said. “Right on!” He held his hand high and, taking his cue, I smacked my palm against his.

  “What’s fucked up,” I said. “Is that I’m standing here next to you. It’s weird that I just highfived Dave Grant.”

  “Nah,” said Dave. “That’s not really fucked up. You guys rock. And you’re going to meet a lot of bands you love very soon. Let me give you some advice about it all.”

  “I’m listening,” I said.

  “You ever heard the saying, ‘don’t meet your heroes?’” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “It’s fucking true,” he said. “You’re going to meet a lot of people you once looked up to but they’re fucking rotten. Just sick, sad people, people who will slit your throat
if it means they win over you. Be careful who you trust in this industry,” said Dave, his face getting serious. “I’ve been all over it now, with both Satori and Air Patrol, and you can be damn sure I know what I’m talking about.”

  “What about you?” I lightly teased. “Are you a rotten hero?”

  “I’m one of the only good ones,” he said with a cheesy grin. I couldn’t help but laugh.

  “Okay,” I said. “We’ll see.”

  “Shred it, Cast Party,” said Dave, giving me an almost too firm pat on the shoulder blade as he started to walk away. I wasn’t sure if he knew my name then or not, but he’d know it one day. I was certain of that.

  “Thanks Dave,” I called after him. He just lifted his fist up in the air as he walked away. I felt a lot better after that quick talk. My stomach had settled. And it was a turning point for me, I could feel that. Dave having such a frank talk with me, treating me not just like a naive newbie — which I most definitely was — but like a mentee, like an almost-peer, it made me feel like I was a part of something bigger. A bigger scene than I was used to. I felt like the club doors were opening early, and I was sliding in fast to order my first drink before anyone else showed up.

  I took another breath and I looked left to right. Then, with a renewed sense of comfortability, I ambled off to find the band.

  With a cozy blanket half over me, I lay back in the little cubby style bed in the oversized tour bus as we glided down the open freeway. I had a book in my hands, trying to read it, but my mind was wandering too much. Just off from the sleep quarters was a small social area, a narrow couch, a table with benches around it, and I could hear the rest of Cast Party laughing and chatting each other up. They were having a blast. We all were. This was a dream come true, which despite being the most cliche of cliches, was absolutely the only way to describe it. We were a touring band and we were all amped up about it.