ROCK STAR

by Daiko, SC

  “I’m scared of thunderstorms. Love cold weather.”

  “You don’t get much of either in California.” I paused. “Where do you see yourself in five years?”

  She glanced at me. “Promise you won’t laugh?”

  “Promise.”

  “I’ll love to be signed to a record label and fronting a band.”

  Her words sounded so innocent, like she had no clue what that would involve. The crippling hours, the dedication, the giving up of a personal life.

  The pressure…

  “If you want it, you’ll need to be hungry for it,” I warned.

  “I am.” She nodded. “Music is my life.”

  “After the rigors of the tour, you might change your mind.”

  Her face assumed a determined expression. “I won’t.”

  We carried on eating, sharing information about our tastes in food (she liked Italian while I preferred Spanish), music (we were both slightly obsessed with Radiohead… best shit ever) and sport (I was a soccer fan whereas she was into American football).

  After we’d finished our food, she helped me load up the dishwasher. She said she should be heading home, and I made a mental note to ask Jake for more info on her background. Everyone had secrets, and something told me she was hiding something. Not that I would use it against her.

  Whatever it was…

  It occurred to me that I didn’t want her to go, but, nevertheless, I pulled out my cell and called Joe to come and fetch her. “I’ll see you in the studio tomorrow,” I said. “You did good today, Firebird.” I grinned. “Can’t wait to see your tattoo.”

  “And me yours…”

  “At our first performance. And not before,” I smirked. I always removed my shirt toward the end of a gig and displayed the guitar tattooed on my back.

  I escorted her to the front door. She turned and her beautiful green eyes lingered on mine. “Thanks for today…. I feel a lot more confident now.”

  “We’ll do this again,” I said.

  “Sounds good to me.”

  I reached for the handle at the same time as she did. Our fingers touched and heat spread through me.

  Fuck.

  How the hell was I going to keep my dick in my pants?

  Said dick twitched in response.

  Ignoring my hard-on, I opened the door for her. She brushed past me as she stepped through. All soft curves and the scent of flowers.

  She stopped and faced me. Before I realized I was doing it, I lifted my hand to her face, skimming her silky skin. A strand of her thick, blond hair had come lose from her pony, and I tucked it behind her ear. I bent and pressed my lips to her lovely warm cheek, kissing her.

  Her breath hitched. “Bye, Axel,” she breathed.

  “See you tomorrow, Firebird,” I said, resisting the urge to do something that would fuck everything up.

  I closed the door after her, then headed for the shower to rub one out. I’d call the guys later and tell them I was staying in.

  Tell them I was writing.

  And I would be.

  Writing about a girl who was scared of thunderstorms and avoided stepping on pavement cracks.

  I couldn’t wait to open my notebook.

  6

  Sit still, sugar.” Hayley, Camila’s assistant said, flicking her chestnut brown braid over her shoulder. “You’ve got ants in your pants and I nearly poked you in the eye with this mascara wand.”

  I was in my dressing room at the Roxy in West Hollywood, sitting in front of the mirror while she was putting on my makeup, changing my appearance like she was casting a glamour wand over me. ChiMera was leaving on tour next week and tonight we had a gig, my first backup singing performance with the band in front of a live audience. Evidently, they always ran through their set in a small venue before leaving on tour because, if they didn’t succeed there, they almost certainly wouldn’t succeed anywhere else.

  “Sorry,” I apologized to Hayley. I still hadn’t gotten used to being ‘glammed up’. The past three weeks had been a frantic round of rehearsals, practices at Axel’s place, photo shoots, press, radio and TV interviews. My head was spinning, and I still wanted to pinch myself at every moment. Even more so because CM had arranged for Mom to have further treatment for her cancer, and maybe even a stem cell transplant if the doctors thought it feasible. How they’d found out about it was a mystery to me, but I was grateful and couldn’t stop thanking them. They’d said she was a member of my family and entitled to it under their health insurance scheme. Given that her cancer had already progressed, I knew it would cost the record label a lot…

  I could hear that the sound system in the nightclub had kicked on, playing a selection of indie rock songs including The Killers ‘Run for Cover’ and The Strokes ‘Hard to Explain’. Soon it would be show time, and I’d be kidding myself if I said I wasn’t freaking nervous.

  “Stand up, honey.” Hayley took my kick-ass bodycon black dress off its hanger. Shiny sequins overlaid a lightweight stretch knit lining that danced across a sleeveless, darted bodice with a V-neck and back. I slipped off my robe and stepped into it.

  “Love your bird tattoo,” Hayley said, pulling up the hidden side zipper. “I’ll just give your hair an updo and you’ll be ready.”

  I perched on my chair again while she separated and twisted my thick blond tresses. Hayley had been relegated to working on me while Camila did the guys’ stage makeup. I got on better with her than Camila, possibly because Hayley didn’t wander around in short red dresses displaying all her assets. Like me, she was new to this job and stoked to be traveling to Europe. I was looking forward to hanging out with her…

  “Step into your shoes, girlfriend,” she said after she’d twisted my hair into an intricate sassy style complete with a small bun and braids looped around it.

  I did as she asked. Stilettos weren’t a normal part of my wardrobe… I usually wore Keds. At least I didn’t need to walk far in the heels, just stand behind my mic at the side of the stage next to Zach.

  Hayley stood back and admired her handiwork. “You look amazing. You’re good to go.”

  “Just need to warm up my voice.”

  “Did you go to a performing arts high school?” Hayley asked, packing away make-up, combs and mirrors.

  “No. I only had piano, guitar and voice lessons. When my parents could afford them…”

  Axel had asked me the same question a couple weeks ago and I’d given the same answer. It was shortly before CM offered to pay for Mom’s treatment. Remembering the band calling me in for a meeting, tears of gratitude prickled behind my eyelids. I closed them down before I ruined my makeup.

  The guys were waiting backstage behind a velvet curtain when I joined them. They all told me I looked beautiful and I said the same back to them. I wasn’t lying… they were freaking rock gods, dressed in ripped jeans, skin-tight tees, chains and amulets around their necks, each one of them over six feet in height and drop-dead gorgeous. In my heels, my head only came up to their chins as they pulled me into a group hug… it was what they always did before a concert, and it felt oddly reassuring.

  “Awesome tat, Firebird,” Axel whispered into my ear, sending a shiver to my core.

  “Can’t wait to see yours,” I countered, my voice breathy.

  His gaze lingered on me, stripping me naked.

  Oh, God.

  I guessed it was this sexy dress… he’d treated me one hundred percent professionally while I’d been practicing with him at his place, keeping his distance and not repeating the kiss he’d given me that first time.

  The time when I’d felt his hard-on as I’d brushed past him.

  Now wasn’t the moment to think about such things, though. The music being played on the sound system beforehand had fallen silent, and I could sense the anticipation of the audience as we walked onto the darkened stage.

  We took up our positions, the stage lights hitting us, and an eruption of whistles and screams broke out. Foxy clacked his sticks th
ree times, then brought them down on the skins. Rhys launched into the riff, his guitar wailing. Zach came in on the keyboards. Axel added the bass and his voice cut through the air like a shard of glass. ‘Ghost in the Heart’—all crashes and slashing cords lit by flashing, almost blinding white light—was the perfect overture, and I felt honored to be contributing my voice harmonies toward it.

  The crowd went wild, I could tell from the whoops, but, as the song neared its end, the band surprised them by kicking the tempo up a notch. Foxy drummed faster, faster, faster, and Axel shouted, "Jump!" The spinning stage lights flashed to purple, and the audience was suddenly, undeniably, at a ChiMera rave, having the time of their lives.

  Song followed electrifying song. I couldn’t take my eyes off Axel. He was mesmerizing, seeming to touch the life of every person in the crowd. He spread his arms out wide then brought them in, pointing toward the wildest fans, who then lost their shit. After crouching and singing to the front row, he leapt up in an explosion of energy that sent the entire nightclub into a frenzy. He fed off the response, devouring it like he’d been starved, and throwing it back at them, his infectious performance almost tangible, like something they could reach out and grasp in their hands.

  With bated breath, I waited for the ‘off the shirt’ moment. When it came, toward the end of the set, my legs felt as if they would slip from under me. Dammit he was ripped. Freaking beautiful. He threw his tee into the audience and the spotlight followed it to the lucky recipient, a dark-haired lady who let out a squeal of pleasure before burying her nose in it. Axel held every woman in the audience in his hands at that point. I wouldn’t have been surprised if they’d thrown their panties at him. I stared at the stunning bass guitar tat on his shoulder and I couldn’t help smiling. He was such a bad ass.

  At the end of the set, after ChiMera’s slower paced hit, ‘Welcome Home’, their instruments fell silent.

  Axel slung his guitar across his bare back, took the mic from its stand and spoke into it. “As many of you will know,” he said, “this is our first public performance since Ella passed.” He paused, and I heard him suck in a breath.

  This must be so hard for him.

  I wanted to reach out and hold him close.

  With a sigh, I wrapped my arms around myself, tears biting my eyes as I waited for him to carry on.

  He bowed his head, clearly fighting his emotions, and my heart ached for him. “Ella…” He raised his head and cleared his throat. “She was fucking taken from us too soon, and we miss her every goddamn day.”

  The crowd had fallen silent.

  “She would have so enjoyed tonight,” Axel carried on. “You are a great audience. She would have loved you. We love you.” He placed the mic back on its stand and swung his guitar around to the front. “We are about to play our first ever US hit, ‘The Alchemist’, and we’d like you to join in if you know the words. It was Ella’s favorite so let’s sing it for her.”

  Don’t waste your time with explanations

  People only hear what they want to hear.

  We sang, the guys played, and the crowd joined in, swelling the sound as the lights dimmed. After the final riff, Axel thanked the audience on behalf of ChiMera, the spotlight highlighting each band member as he mentioned their names, and then, Oh, My, God, he introduced me, Phoenix Johnson, saying he and the guys were chuffed (such an English word) I was helping out.

  The band left their positions and walked forward to the front of the stage. They bowed together, then Axel indicated for me to join them.

  With trembling legs, I did so.

  “You did good, Firebird,” his voice purred. “So proud of you.”

  I caught his masculine scent as he looped his arm around my shoulder, and I felt the hard stares of the women in the audience, jealous I was so close to him.

  No need to worry, girls, I felt like mouthing.

  After a final bow, we trooped off to the green room, for yet more press and radio interviews.

  Not good for our voices, but there was no way we could get out of it.

  An hour later, Jake had met up with us and we were sitting on couches in the upstairs bar, in a black leather booth at the side of the room, coming down from the adrenalin high of performing. The aroma of blunts being smoked infused the air, but the guys seemed keener on getting plastered than getting stoned.

  The place was small and packed with guests for the after-show party. Joe and Mike stood guard by our table, but ChiMera loved their fans almost as much as their fans loved them, and a constant stream of people came up, asking for autographs. The guys signed anything handed to them, including several pairs of tits. Such a cliché but it actually happened. Apparently, these fans had won an internet competition to be included on the guest list.

  I sipped my drink of choice, a Margarita, going slow as alcohol tended to make me sleepy. I lost count of the number of bottles of Bud arriving at our table. I was feeling kinda awe-struck, never having been to a private club like this before in my life. The bands I’d worked with in the past had tended to play in seedy joints.

  As if reading my thoughts, Axel leaned in and said, “Did you know this used to be a strip club back in the day?”

  Was he messing with me? I caught a wicked gleam in his eye as he pointed toward a set of poles. He took a swig from his bottle, then leaned back on the couch, draping his arm over the upholstery behind me. Thankfully, he’d put a shirt on or I’d be melting into a puddle at his feet.

  I noticed that the other guys had all found themselves a girl and had moved over to the dance floor. “I hope I’m not cramping your style,” I said to Axel. “If you wanna hook up with someone, I can go home.”

  He smirked. “I can give it a rest for tonight. How did you enjoy your first gig in front of an audience with us?”

  “I loved it,” I gushed. Then I remembered him talking about his sister and said, “I was honored to stand in for Ella.”

  He raked a hand through his tousled hair and I felt a sudden urge to run my finger through it. I tore my gaze away from his and stared wistfully at the tiny dance floor, where people were packed like sardines in a tin.

  He must have caught my expression. “You want to join them?”

  “You mean dance with you?” I’d tried not to sound too keen, but I couldn’t help myself. “I’d love that.”

  “Come on, then,” he held out his hand.

  He hadn’t sounded entirely enthusiastic; but on the floor he slid his arm around my waist and drew me close, pressing me into his lean muscled body. His flat stomach felt like cords of steel wrapped around his torso as we swayed together.

  He danced like a rock star, of course he did, his moves in perfect timing with the music. Sexy. Sensual. My entire body was burning, and my brain too.

  He ran a hand up my arm. Slowly. Deliberately. Until it was cupping my shoulder. The shoulder with my tat.

  “Firebird,” he bent and spoke into my ear, his hot breath tickling my neck. He rubbed his thumb over my skin, making it hum with pleasure. “Can you feel it? The fire between us?”

  Oh, God.

  I could definitely feel it.

  His hardness against my stomach.

  I took a step back from him. I had to be sensible. If I let myself become one of his ‘women’ he’d lose all respect for me.

  “I’m not gonna have sex with you, Axel,” I said with determination in my voice. “Remember what you said about not shitting where you eat?” I pushed my hand against his rock-hard chest. “Well, the same goes for me. I have my career to think about…”

  He’d just drunk a ton of beer; if I gave in and we broke the rules, he’d regret it later. He might even decide to fire me, and what would happen to Mom then?

  He laughed… a belly laugh that reverberated between us. “You are a breath of fresh air.” He lifted me up like I weighed nothing, then whirled me around. “Women never say no to me. It’s never happened. Ever.” His laughter rang between us again as he set me back on my feet. “
I love a challenge. Want to bet that by the end of the tour we’ll be having sex? And not just any old sex. But such incredible sex you’ll be shrieking my name. Not once. Not twice. Not even three times. But over, and over again.”

  I spat on my hand and held it out to him. “Challenge accepted,” I said. “The bet is on.”

  And I would win it, so help me God.

  We shook hands and I caught him chuckling, “Something for the notebook,” but I had no clue what he meant so I merely asked if he’d mind if I went home.

  He agreed readily, which annoyed me somewhat. I was giving him room to hook up with a willing woman, I reminded myself. I would simply have to get used to it.

  Either that or risk losing everything.

  7

  I was sitting next to Hayley in a plush armchair in the cabin of ChiMera’s Gulfstream G650ER private jet, flying high above the Atlantic, halfway through our thirteen-and-a-half-hour flight to Milan, Italy. There were fourteen of us on board… the guys, their instrument technicians—‘backline boys’ as I’d discovered they were called—Joe and Mike their personal security team, as well as Camila, Hayley and me.

  We’d made a brief refueling stop and a crew change at JFK, eaten dinner, and now everyone was trying to get some shuteye. Hayley had reclined her seat to lie down flat and was snoring softly, but I couldn’t drop off. Axel was on the other side of the aisle; he was also wide awake, shooting brooding looks in my direction.

  Oh, God.

  He was pissed at me… I knew he was. But he’d been drunk on beer and the success of the show when he’d said he wanted to have sex last week. I doubted that he’d meant it… and, even if he had, there was no way I would jeopardize my position in the band. I’d worked years for this and wasn’t about to give it up for a one-night stand, which is all Axel would want.

  It was his MO.

  So, I’d come up with excuse after excuse not to go to his place for a final practice before we left LA. Excuses like fittings for dresses, taking Mom to her hospital appointments, shopping for groceries. I’d said I wanted to practice on my own and watch the videos Jake had given me of Ella’s performances at stadium shows. Basically, she simply stood behind the mic and moved her body in time to the music. I could do that, no problem, but could I stand on stage in front of eighty thousand people? Merely the thought of it was giving me jitters in the pit of my stomach.