Seductive Chaos

by A. Meredith Walters

  I could hear the wave of boos that followed me overlapping with the chant, “You suck!”

  And they weren’t wrong. We had sucked big time.

  I came off the stage and handed the guitar to a frantic stagehand.

  The guys in Primal Terror stood to the side looking both furious and bewildered.

  “What the hell, man?” Geoff, the lead singer asked.

  I ignored him completely. I couldn’t explain to him or myself what the hell had just gone down out there.

  It was time to find my so-called friends.

  They hadn’t had a chance to go far. They were in our assigned dressing room, loading up their belongings when I burst into the room.

  “What was that?” I roared, picking up a chair folded against the wall and throwing it. It clattered noisily to the floor.

  “Why would you do that?” I screamed, losing my shit on the three guys who I had always considered to be family.

  But family didn’t bail on you like that. They didn’t humiliate you in a stadium of 5,000 people. They didn’t begrudge you the spotlight because they weren’t getting the attention they thought they deserved.

  Mitch was closest when I decided to start throwing fists. He took a punch to the jaw and then before I knew it Jordan had his arm around my throat.

  Maysie came running into the room and started yelling at us to stop.

  Garrett tried to pull Jordan off me but it didn’t work. We ended up on the ground, his gut meeting my fist.

  I was certain we would have kept going until one of us was unconscious if Jose hadn’t come in and dumped ice cold water on both of us. He hauled Jordan up to his feet and slammed him against the wall. Maysie grabbed my arm and pulled me back.

  “Enough! All of you!” Jose yelled, pinning Jordan with his forearm across his chest. Jose was a beefy guy and even though Jordan was strong, he was no match for our manager

  Jose was furious. “What the fuck was that?” he screamed to the four of us. None of us said anything. What could we say? We were all guilty of letting our egos get the better of us. We had really screwed up.

  Jose let go of Jordan who slumped a bit. “Go back to the hotel. I’ve got a hell of mess to clean up. We’ll talk in the morning,” he barked. We all stood there, either obstinate or afraid to move. This felt like the beginning of the end.

  “Go!” he hollered and that propelled us into action.

  I grabbed my jacket and exited the dressing room first. My heart was pumping; my head was fried.

  And I was pretty sure I had just lost my band and my best friends all at the same time.

  Why had I decided to play that song?

  I knew why. I was feeling bitchy. I wanted to show them I could do whatever the hell I wanted to. That I didn’t have to answer them. That was I was better than they could ever possibly be.

  I had wanted to show them that they couldn’t tell me what to do. Just as I had done all those years ago when I had walked out of my house and left my parents behind.

  I didn’t take direction well, that was obvious.

  I had just never self-destructed so totally and completely before.

  But I wasn’t the only one to blame for this shit. And I wouldn’t let the guys off easily.

  What had happened to us?

  Once back to my room, I peeled off my clothes and took a hot shower. I trembled under the spray, not sure what I was going to do. How do you come back from something like that?

  The bond the four of us had for years felt ruined.

  The thing that had made us great was destroyed.

  I didn’t see how we could continue on.

  I got out of the shower and wrapped a towel around my waist. I grabbed my phone and sank down on the bed.

  I dialed a familiar number.

  “Hello. You’ve reached my voicemail. . .”

  I listened to the recording of Vivian’s voice and when the beep sounded in my ear I hung up.

  “The label is pissed. They’re threatening to pull the record,” Jose told us the next morning. We were sitting on the tour bus, having checked out of our hotel rooms first thing. I sat by the window and the rest of the guys were gathered around the table.

  It couldn’t be more obvious it was them against me. I was on the outside of my own fucking band.

  “Can they do that?” Jordan asked.

  Jose sneered at him, barely containing his rage. “Hell yeah they can do that. They can do whatever the fuck they want to! They own Current Static, you bunch of fucking morons! And if they decide to chuck this album those songs you worked so hard on, that music you bled your souls out for, will never see the light of day. It will sit in a fucking vault while you fade away into nothing.”

  “It was one show. How can it be that big of a deal?” Mitch asked, tapping his fingers on the table, a sure sign of his agitation.

  He should be agitated. We were fucked.

  “It’s a big deal because immature children with massive egos don’t sell albums. This isn’t the eighties, fellas. Trashing hotel rooms and storming off stage is frowned upon. And you aren’t some big name that can get away with that shit! I hate to be the one to remind you, but Generation Rejects isn’t anybody. You are a blip on the fucking radar. And if you aren’t here tomorrow, no one will miss you. Some other band will slide in and fill the gap,” Jose yelled.

  Ouch, that hurt.

  “You have problems with your lead singer. Woo fucking hoo. Join the club with every other band out there. But he is your selling power,” Jose pointed at me. “He is what gets you interviews. Like it or fucking lump it.”

  Jordan’s face turned red. “What about our music? Doesn’t that have something to do with it? Cole’s fucking face isn’t what got us here!”

  Jose laughed but it wasn’t from amusement.

  “Grow the fuck up Levitt. You’re in an industry where sex fucking sells. And Cole is your sex up for sale. Your music is fine and dandy. Your lyrics are deep and meaningful. Whatever. You are being marketed as a band that is fronted by Cole Brandt. That is what the label sees as your strength,” Jose nodded in my direction and I couldn’t help but feel validated.

  Mitch, Garrett, and Jordan however looked as though they had just swallowed glass.

  “The label wants to meet with you in a week to discuss the future of your band and your album. I suggest you take the time to figure out what you’re going to do. Whether you can put your ego trips on hold and do what’s best for all of you or not. Because I’m not going to waste my time and you can bet your asses the label won’t either. We aren’t going to wait around on a bunch of pussies to figure their shit out. You’re playing with the big boys now.”

  I was thoroughly embarrassed by the whole thing. And I could tell by looking at my band members that they were as well. Maysie was rubbing Jordan’s back but even she seemed worried. And she should be.

  “Primal Terror has asked that you be replaced.”

  We all recoiled at that. For the first time I made eye contact with the others and we all wore the same horrified expression.

  “What?” I hissed.

  Jose shrugged, raising his hands in a what did you expect gesture.

  “This is their first nationwide tour. The last thing they want is to be sidelined by your drama. Because that’s what the press will pick up on and it will overshadow them completely. So way to burn your bridges guys,” Jose said sarcastically.

  “Maybe we could apologize-” Garrett began but Jose cut him off.

  “An apology ain’t gonna cut it, son. You and this tour are parting ways. Now, you have seven days until you have to be in New York to meet with the label. I suggest you pack your shit and you go home to wherever it is you fucking came from and get yourselves sorted. Take a break. Regroup. Do some yoga or something. And come to the table next week either with your heads in the game or with an understanding that this shit ain’t gonna work. But this petty bullshit is at an end.”

  Jose slammed his hands down on th
e table, knocking over his empty coffee mug.

  “I suggest you not making me regret taking you on. I don’t like to be made a fool of. And last night, you made me look like the biggest idiot on the fucking planet.”

  None of us said anything else.

  What was there to say?

  It looked like we were going home.

  I loved Sunday mornings. They were my favorite part of the week. Gracie usually slept in and I was able to monopolize the television for hours.

  We had gone out last night, though I had refrained from getting wasted for Gracie’s sake. I knew how hard it was for her to hang out and not drink. We had gone to a small club downtown and listened to some live music. It was a local punk band called Shake and Shiver.

  They sucked.

  The Rejects would be able to show them how it’s done. It had been weeks since I had seen Cole. And he was still in every corner of my mind.

  I had thought our relationship had lacked substance. That it was about nothing more than two people sharing a bed.

  Then why did everything make me think of him? I went into a convenience store and found myself picking up Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups out of habit because they were Cole’s favorite after show snack. He particularly liked to eat them off my bare stomach.

  I was driving past the movie theater and saw an advertisement for their science fiction Saturday. And that inevitably reminded me of the time Cole and I stayed in bed for an entire day watching a marathon of Star Trek movies.

  Other times I would hear a joke and pick up my phone to text him, because I knew he would appreciate it.

  How had he, without my realizing it, invaded every facet of my life?

  Gracie and I had come home early, neither of us in the best of moods to be out socializing.

  The reasons for my funk were well known. But Gracie had been in a horrible mood for almost a week now. When I asked her what was wrong, she attempted to reassure me that she was fine.

  But I had heard her talking on the phone until the wee hours of the morning several nights in a row. I had recognized the angry cadence of her voice through the thin walls. And I knew that whoever was on the other end of the phone was the source of her crappy attitude.

  I stretched out on the couch and blew on the top of my piping hot coffee. I had gotten my first paycheck from The Claremont Center on Friday. And while I wasn’t thrilled with how much my good friend Uncle Sam took for his pockets, it was still a heck of a lot more than I had ever earned on my own in the past.

  To celebrate I went out and bought myself a fancy gourmet coffee machine. Complete with a mixed assortment of flavored drinks. I was currently indulging in a caramel macchiato.

  I flipped through the channels until settling on my all time favorite movie, Dirty Dancing, for the thirtieth time. It was the perfect way to prepare myself for another week of work. Though I couldn’t complain. I had a dream job. And even though it had picked up to crazy levels in preparation of the Kimble Project Gala in two weeks, I was having a blast.

  And then there was Mr. Theo Anderson and his refusal to relent in his persistent wooing.

  And woo he did.

  He made sure to bring me coffee several days a week and he called me throughout the day under the pretense of an asinine piece of information he needed to relay.

  I always called him on his miserable excuses.

  And then we’d flirt and tease but I was always conscious to pull back before it became too serious. Theo hadn’t brought up the subject of going out on a date again since our lunch at Barton’s but I knew he was waiting.

  He thought it was because he was my client.

  He had no idea that I was waiting for reasons not related to my job.

  I was waiting to forget about a certain lead singer.

  I knew that it would only take time. Though I was beginning to worry that I would be old and grey before the Cole Brandt effect finally wore off.

  I was right at the climax of the movie. Johnny Castle had just blown onto the scene and said his iconic line, “Nobody puts Baby in a corner,” and there was a knock at the door.

  I frowned, not knowing who could possibly be coming by for a visit at this time in the morning.

  I pulled my robe tighter around me and got to my feet. Whoever was on the other side of the door was extremely impatient.

  “Hang on. Where’s the fire?” I grumbled, twisting the deadbolt and pulling the door open.

  “Maysie?” I asked, looking down at my best friend.

  She gave me a wane smile and reached out to give me a hug, which I returned, though I was still in shock at her sudden arrival.

  “What the hell are you doing here? Are you moving in? Because if you are, you should have said something, bitch,” I teased, though I was sort of serious. She had mentioned when we had been in Raleigh that she was thinking of coming back to Bakersville to get some needed distance from the drama of the boys on tour.

  But that had been the last she had mentioned it. Gracie and I had figured she had said it in a moment of frustration and Jordan had calmed her down.

  But here she was, standing on our doorstep, looking anything but happy.

  “Can I come in? It’s sort of cold out here,” she asked, stepping around me into the living room.

  “Sure, sorry. I’m just surprised to see you. The last we spoke you were on your way to Chicago,” I said, closing the door behind her and following her to the couch. Maysie looked even more exhausted than she did the last time we saw her. I knew whatever reason she was here, it wasn’t good.

  “Yeah, well, we got to Chicago-” she began, sitting down.

  “Do you want me to get Gracie? How about a coffee? I just bought this amazing machine,” I broke in. It was in my nature to be a mother hen, even if I was abrasive in how I went about it.

  “No, I’m fine. And don’t wake up Gracie. I can fill her in later.” Maysie waved away my offer.

  With nothing left to do, I sank down beside her, ready to listen.

  “I don’t see any luggage. Am I to presume you’re not moving in?” I asked.

  Maysie shook her head. “No, I’m at Garrett’s.”

  “Really?” I asked, surprised. Though I shouldn’t have been. That was where Jordan had lived before going on the road.

  “Yeah, with Garrett and Jordan,” she added and the world stood still.

  Or at least it felt like it.

  “Jordan and Garrett are back in town?” My voice cracked and I reached for my coffee. I took a sip, not caring that it was now cold. Because if Jordan and Garrett were back in town, then that meant Cole was back in town.

  And I wasn’t sure I was ready for Cole to be back in town.

  No. I knew I wasn’t.

  “We all got in a few hours ago. We caught a flight from O’Hare at six this morning.” Maysie was twisting her fingers over and over again. She was upset. Seriously upset.

  “That’s a really early flight. Are you on the run or something?” I joked, even if the last thing I felt like doing was laughing.

  Cole was here.

  In Bakersville.

  Suddenly the small town felt even smaller.

  How would I ever be able to avoid him?

  “Pretty much,” Maysie stated, pulling me out of my Cole centered fixation.

  “Just spill it, babe. Tell ole Vivvie what happened,” I coaxed.

  “Their show in Chicago last night was a freaking disaster. I told you that the band hadn’t been getting a long. That Jordan and Cole had been at each other’s throats. Well it had been getting worse. And Garrett and Mitch were becoming just as fed up with the Cole ego show. He’s been monopolizing every interview. He’s been given press that the rest haven’t. It had been slowly building to a breaking point. I’m not saying Cole was doing any of this on purpose, but the boys were feeling slighted. Macho pride and all that.”

  I nodded. I had picked up on the tension in Raleigh. Cole had never mentioned anything. We hadn’t had a whole lot of tim
e to talk about band problems in between sealing my eyes shut with honey and telling him to get out of my life.

  “It all seemed to center around this damn song the guys had written on the road. It’s an awesome song. It really is. I just don’t understand why they were fighting so much about it,” Maysie agonized, foregoing her finger twisting and started chewing on a strand of her hair.

  “Well, I’m sure it wasn’t about the song really. If they were having problems, it was most likely the catalyst. Just the thing to push them over the edge,” I supplied.

  Maysie arched her eyebrow at me, her lips twisting into a wry smile.

  “Since when did you get so astute?” she asked, though I knew she was teasing.

  “Hey, I actually paid attention in psych class. Unlike someone else I know,” I countered, swatting her knee. Maysie had been a lot more concerned with learning about Jordan Levitt than learning about Freud and Jung.

  “You’re probably right though. Because they started arguing about this stupid song last night before their show. Cole insisted they had to play it. Everyone else said it wasn’t ready. So they got on stage and they weren’t the same. Their shows have been different lately. I don’t know if you picked up on that in Raleigh,” Maysie said and I nodded in agreement.

  “I did,” I told her.

  “Well, Cole took it upon himself to play the song anyway. He grabbed a guitar and sang the whole damn thing.”

  I gasped. “You’re kidding! What did the rest of them do?”

  Cole could be a self-centered bastard. He loved the limelight. But this seemed so out of character, even with his narcissistic tendencies.

  “They walked off the stage. They left Cole out there by himself.”

  I was stunned. I couldn’t imagine that the four guys I had seen play a hundred times before had degenerated to the point where they would abandon one of their own on stage.

  “Shit,” I breathed out.

  “Yeah. Then Cole and Mitch got into it and then Jose had Jordan up against a wall. It was horrible.” Maysie covered her face with her hands and I rubbed her back.

  “They were kicked off the Primal Terror tour. Apparently their drama was in danger of overshadowing the actual shows. And they were told to head home. They have to meet the label execs in New York in a week to talk about where they go from here. Jose says they may pull the album and sever the contract.”