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

by Nicolette Dane

  “Come for me,” cooed Daisy against my breast. I could feel her warm breath on my flesh, and a coolness from the spittle she left on my nipple.

  “I’m almost there,” I sighed back.

  “Come for me,” she repeated, again in a tone that dripped with seduction.

  “Oh, I’m going to,” I replied. “Oh fuck!”

  My thighs clenched against her wrist and I began squirming under the blankets, my body going into orgasmic seizure. But Daisy held on tightly to me, comforting me as I came, pressing her mouth against my ear and offering a gentle hum and sporadic soft, wet kisses. My eyes were shut and I could feel tears, as my ass grinded down into the bed. Then, I was breathing heavily, my heart thumping, my mind empty.

  Daisy pushed her fingers through my hair and kissed the side of my head as I came down from the clouds. My eyes opened and everything was clear for a moment. No anxiety, no stress, no worry. Just satisfaction. Just a feeling that everything in my world was absolutely perfect.

  “I could do that all day,” I said, once my words returned.

  Daisy just laughed.

  “I’ll be right back,” she said with a smile, nimbly hopping out of bed and bounding across the room toward the bathroom. I couldn’t look away from her round white rump as she went. She was beautiful.

  There was something new working itself through me, a foreign feeling that was certainly becoming more familiar. It was confidence. I couldn’t deny it. It felt almost as though I could do no wrong. It was like the way I’d been operating in my life was correct, and while it hadn’t felt appreciated initially, I was now being rewarded for whatever it was I was doing. It put a satisfied smile on my face. There I was at some fancy hotel in Denver, a sold out concert to play that evening, and a sexy woman eager to please me. I felt on top of the world, yet I knew there were much higher heights to which I could climb. Things were all right.

  “Sorry about that,” grinned Daisy as she strolled back in. She was standing fully naked in front of me. Her body was lissome and tight, her breasts voluminous, the light hair on her mound matching that of her head. Daisy wasn’t self-conscious at all in her nudity. She looked proud of it. “I really had to pee but I wanted to finish you off first.”

  “That’s okay,” I said, trying not to stare at her. “Do you want to come back to bed?”

  “I think we should get going,” she said. “My flight is in, like, three hours.”

  “Your flight?”

  “Back to New York,” she said. “I was only here for a day. I’ve got to get back home.”

  “You can’t stay longer?” I said, almost whining. Even though she was still standing there in front of me, I felt a sense of loss at the idea that she would soon be going.

  “Oh Layla,” said Daisy, walking back to the bed and sitting down on it. Her hand dropped down and held lightly on to my arm. “I’ve got work to do. I don’t have the same lifestyle as you have.”

  “Right,” I said, beginning to feel defeated. “Is there anything I can do, like talk to Arnie or talk to someone else at the label, to convince them to let you stay out here?” I asked. “Stay with me?”

  “I think we need to be careful,” said Daisy in a soft whisper. She leaned in closer and we kissed. Then we kissed again, and then again. It stoked that fire of arousal in me once more and I ached for her to stay.

  “Why?”

  “We need to be professional,” she said. “Do you know what they’d say about me at the label if they knew I had slept with you?”

  “What would they say?”

  “They’d say that I was a whore,” said Daisy. “That I was trying to sleep my way up. They all know what you are, Layla,” she went on. “They know you’re special.”

  “I’m special?” I asked, my voice cracking the slightest bit.

  “C’mon,” she said, as though I were being crazy. “You’re legit. You’re the real deal. Authentic. You’re not some pop star wannabe. And the people can tell,” said Daisy. “The fans know authenticity.”

  “You’re scaring me,” I said, placing a hand on my chest to feel my heartbeat.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, kissing me sweetly. “I just… I value my career,” Daisy continued. “I love what I do. And I’ve got to be careful of peoples’ perception of me in the industry.”

  “What about me?” I said. “I mean, what about my perception of you?”

  “I really like you, Layla,” she said. “I was trying to fight it because of, well, everything I’ve already told you. But with all that drinking last night… hell, maybe I did that on purpose.” Daisy shook her head as she considered it.

  “I really like you, too,” I admitted. “I like this.”

  “Let’s just be careful about it,” said Daisy. “Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “You’ve got to continue on tour,” she said. “You’ve got the album coming out so soon. You’ve got press to do. You just have so much on your plate,” Daisy leveled with me. “Don’t let me screw with that. Not yet, anyway.” She grinned wide.

  “We’ll be careful,” I said, but feeling miserable about it. The confidence I had felt was bottoming out. I felt manic with highs and lows. But I didn’t want to show that to Daisy. I wanted her to go on thinking about how cool I was. “Though, I’ll admit to you, I don’t really want to be.”

  “I know,” said Daisy, a small huff of a laugh coming from her closed lips. That laugh let me know that she agreed with me. “Listen. This isn’t the end of this,” she said. “This is the beginning. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Now let’s get dressed.” Daisy kissed me once more and I could taste the sweetness of her lips. The flavor lingered and I hoped that it wouldn’t go away.

  Not now, not ever.

  It was sometime later in the tour. We had just finished up a week in the Bay Area, playing multiple shows in San Francisco and San Jose, and were on our way south on the 5 toward Los Angeles. The bus rolled along at a steady clip, our home on wheels. Although tour buses appear pretty big on the outside, when you’ve got to live out of them for months on end, they can become rather claustrophobic. Especially for an introvert like me. Sometimes you just want to be left alone, but you can’t really have that on tour. It can be good for the camaraderie of the band, and it can certainly also be very bad.

  That morning, before we left, Linus our tour manager had given us all a surprise. The latest Spun Magazine, a preeminent publication in music news, had come out and within its covers was an interview with me. The band sat around our cramped living quarters on the tour bus and read the magazine, while I just stared down at my cell phone and reread text messages I’d sent back and forth with Daisy. I was too nervous to read the interview. I didn’t want to come off as an idiot and if I didn’t read it, I figured I’d never know.

  The guys looked grumpy, though — all three of them — as they read the interview, so I assumed that I did come off as an idiot.

  “What the fuck, Layla?” said James as soon as he finished reading, abruptly closing the magazine and tossing it to the table in front of him.

  “What?” I asked timidly.

  “That whole thing was about you,” he said. “The band was mentioned in passing at the beginning… ‘Layla Bean is a rising star with the band Cast Party,’ but then the rest of the interview is like one big advertisement for you.”

  “Yeah,” affirmed Renee. “You didn’t mention the rest of us at all.”

  “I did!” I protested. “When I did the interview, I talked a ton about you guys.”

  “Well, it’s not in this magazine,” said Paul, exhaling a long sigh and letting the magazine fall beside him on his seat. “I swear they spent half the interview talking about your piercing,” he said, pointing to his own lip.

  “No one’s going to read that and think, ‘hey, I bet this Cast Party band rocks!’” said James. “It’s gonna be, ‘that Layla chick is really fucking alternative.’”

  “C’mon,” I defended. �
��I didn’t fucking write the interview. I just answered questions and talked about whatever they wanted to talk about. They put it all together, not me!”

  “Sometimes I think this was the plan all along,” said Paul, looking conspiratorially at the others. “I knew that Arnie guy was shady. I think we’re just a vehicle to get Layla in front of people.”

  “That’s fucked up,” I said, beginning to feel angry. I crossed my arms and gave Paul a sour face. “That’s a real fucked up thing to say.”

  “All right,” said James in a much calmer voice. He could see me getting agitated and his face became empathetic. “Let’s not get crazy or anything. Layla’s right. She couldn’t control what they printed. I’m sorry, Layla,” he said to me. “I’m just in my head about it.”

  “Thank you,” I squeaked.

  “I’m seeing it, too, though,” said Renee, butting in. “Layla, you know I love you. But there’s something fishy about this whole thing. I mean, can we talk about the cover for Audition?”

  “Yeah,” said Paul, getting even more worked up. “That’s some cover.”

  “C’mon guys,” said James, trying to steady us all out.

  “It’s got Layla front and center on a stage,” said Paul. “And the rest of us are shuffling around in back. You can hardly see us, it’s so dark!” he called out. “You can see her face perfectly. But not us.”

  “The label says having Layla up front will sell records,” said James. “We’ve already had this discussion. We had input on the cover.”

  “And they just convinced us to do what they wanted anyway,” said Paul.

  “I’m sorry, guys,” I said. “This isn’t my fault. I’m just trying to… do this. You know?”

  “I get it,” said Renee. “Layla’s got a look they’re trying to push, they think she’s got star power or whatever, and they want her in front of everything. But damn it, we’re important too!”

  “We are important,” said James. “But we just need to cool it and understand that this is a business and it’s not always fucking fair.”

  Just then, Linus stormed in from up front with a gruff look on his face. He was older, probably early 50s, bald on top with the sides of his head shaved yet growing stubble. He had a goatee and a belly. Linus had been around the music world for a long time, and had even managed a very famous grunge band on their first tour around the country in the early 90s. He didn’t like to talk too much about that experience, as he’d ended up in a fist fight with the lead singer. You probably read about that back when it happened.

  “What’s going on back here?” he asked authoritatively. “What’s all the fucking yelling?”

  “We’re fine, Linus,” said James.

  “You don’t sound fine.”

  “We were just discussing Layla’s article,” said Paul, flopping his copy of the magazine onto the table.

  “From the looks on your faces,” said Linus. “I’m guessing you all took that article to heart.”

  “Why wouldn’t we?” said Paul. “There’s almost nothing about the band in it.”

  “It’s Spun Magazine,” said Linus like we were all stupid. “Of course they’re going to play Layla up, because that’s what the label tells them to do. That’s what the label pays them to do.”

  “That’s kinda fucked,” said Renee.

  “That’s not kinda fucked,” he countered. “That’s how this shit works. Spun is just trying to move units, which is the exact same thing the label is trying to do, and that’s the same thing you all should be trying to do.”

  “But it is fucked,” said Paul. “We’re just as important in this band as Layla is. Just because she’s the face and the voice, that doesn’t mean we deserve to be kicked to the back.”

  “Whether you like it or not,” said Linus, his hand raising up and pointing at me. “This chick has got something the label thinks is special. And the fans agree. You all should be fucking thankful how fast this is moving for you. It’ll be reflected in your bank accounts. And damn it, don’t let this stupid shit ruin it for you. I’ve seen too many bands implode for the exact same reason.”

  “So you’re saying there’s really nothing we can do about this?” asked James. “That this is how it has to be?”

  “And why would you want it any other way?” said Linus skeptically. “The album is out in less than a week and you’ll see then how good you guys have got it. You’ll be whistling a different fucking tune then.”

  Paul sighed audibly, slumped in his seat, and looked upwards. The rest of us were silent.

  “And on that note,” continued Linus. “I’ve got a little addendum to your tour schedule.”

  “What’s that?” asked James.

  “So we’ve got the show tonight in LA,” said Linus. “Then tomorrow in LA for the second show. Then the following day in Anaheim.”

  “Right,” said James.

  “Then you’re all getting on a plane and going to New York,” he said. “The bus will continue on to Phoenix with all your gear, but you’re going to New York to perform on Letterman.”

  “What the fuck!” cried out Renee. “Are you serious?”

  “I’m serious,” he said. The mood shifted. Everybody was suddenly wide eyed and near speechless. We all wanted Linus to continue on, so we let him have the floor and we just shut up. “You’re performing on Tuesday’s show, same day the album comes out.”

  “Holy shit,” said James, shaking his head, dumbfounded.

  Although the idea of performing on Letterman was exciting to me in its own right — I mean, I could feel myself trembling from the news — my mind immediately jumped to Daisy. Daisy was in New York. If I was in New York, I could also see Daisy.

  “Holy Cow,” corrected Linus with a grin. “That’s what you’ll be playing. Now, it’s going to be a whirlwind couple of days. All the shows out here, then to New York, then back to Phoenix. But this is your life now. Don’t let minor squabbles fuck this up for you all.”

  “You’re right,” James affirmed with a revitalized sense of purpose. You could read it on his face. “This is it. This could really make us.”

  “With your performance on Letterman, your first week of sales is going to be huge,” said Linus. “You kids are about to explode.”

  My confidence was coming back and a smile was etched into my face. I knew I had to stop wavering. I had to stop letting myself tip to my anxiety. It was all unfounded, anyhow. I was someone special. And I would soon find out just how special I truly was.

  I felt giddy as I traipsed through the halls of Municipal Records. We had arrived in New York just a few hours prior, checked in to our hotel, and while the band went to pick out some rental equipment for Letterman, I told them I had a meeting at the label. As I wandered through the office, I could tell people were looking at me with some sort of weird reverence. I was smiling, I was happy, I was excited.

  I approached an open office door and, thrusting my hand out, I swiftly knocked at the door and stuck my head in.

  “Yes?” said Daisy, looking up from her computer. As soon as she saw me, her face grew a smile.

  “Can I come in?” I asked with a teasing grin.

  “Yes, of course!” she said. “Shut the door.”

  I leapt inside of Daisy’s office and closed the door behind me. She stood up from her chair and came around her desk, the two of us eagerly approaching one another. As we neared each other, she slinked her arms around my hips and I put mine over her shoulders.

  “Are you surprised to see me?” I said.

  “Well, sort of,” said Daisy, her eyes looking away.

  “Sort of?” I repeated. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Layla, c’mon,” she said. “I know why you’re here. I’m the one who put it together.”

  “What?” I asked with pleasant surprise. “You got us on Letterman?”

  “Of course,” said Daisy. “I pulled some strings. I’ve got a connection over there. And I got them to take you guys on the day the album
comes out. Not bad, huh?”

  “That’s amazing!” I beamed. “I can’t believe it.” Without thinking anymore about it, I leaned in and kissed her. Daisy excitedly kissed me back and we stood there for a moment, locked in an embrace, lips gleefully pressed together.

  “Mmm!” Daisy interrupted, pulling back from our kiss. “We really shouldn’t do that in the office. Even with the door closed.” She looked around suspiciously. “I just worry.”

  “Okay,” I said with a single nod.

  “You must be really tired,” she said. “You guys have been going non-stop.”

  “It’s rough, I admit,” I said. “But I’ve been being good. Nothing too crazy.”

  “Right,” said Daisy skeptically with a short laugh. “Just the life of a rock star,” she said in a sing-song voice.

  “No, I’ve been good,” I affirmed. “But there are some cute ladies out in the audience that I wouldn’t mind talking to…”

  “Oh, stop!” she said, nervously giggling. “Don’t make me jealous.”

  “Jealous?” I replied. “Are you saying you’d be jealous if I cast my eyes in the direction of some groupies at a show?”

  “Shh!” Daisy shushed. “C’mon Layla. You know what I’m saying.” She leaned forward and kissed me once quickly.

  “I thought you said no kissing?”

  “That was the last one.”

  “Can I see you tonight?”

  “I was going to ask the same thing.”

  “Then we’re on,” I said, offering a contented smile.

  “Hey!” said Daisy with a sudden burst of enthusiasm. “Do you have the album yet?”

  “Our album?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “Did Linus get you guys one?”

  “No,” I said. “It was a crazy few days.”

  Daisy broke away from me and walked back to her desk. There was something about how she was dressed, wearing that business jacket and skirt combo, her legs covered in black nylons, black heels on her feet, it just drove me wild for her. She was so different from me, yet we seemed to get along so well. Picking up a jewel case from her desk, Daisy swiftly turned back around and trotted toward me once again.