A Lush Rhapsody: A Rhapsody Novel

by Selena Laurence

  Unfortunately. “Yeah. He came backstage for a bit.”

  “And did Jeanette seem like she liked it? He was really hoping that she’d be impressed.”

  In the back of my mind I notice that my mother has yet to ask me how my performance was. “I’m not really sure, Mom. He was pretty loaded by the time I saw him. I know that’s been an issue between them.”

  My mother sighs. She’s been married to my heavy drinking father for thirty-some years, so she’s maybe not the best person to talk to about a relationship with a drunk.

  “Well, I bet she loved seeing all those rock stars up close. Did you get her some of their autographs?”

  I pick up the Rock Steady magazine that I grabbed at a supermarket earlier in the day and idly flip through it. “Yeah, she got to meet all the guys from my band—I think they gave her autographs too.”

  “Oh good. Well, thank you for helping out your brother. I really think if he and Jeanette can get over this little hump we can look forward to a wedding in the next year.”

  I reach the Sex, Drugs and Your Favorite Rock Stars page of the magazine and notice a picture of Blaze as I squint in the low light provided by the built-in lamp over the bunk. The photo is obviously not recent, Blaze’s hair is longer, but he’s with Dez and they’re walking out of a large brick mansion, going to a car waiting for them under a port au cocher. The caption reads, Bandmate and BFF Dez Takimoto breaks Blaze Davis out of rehab. That’s all there is. No explanation. No elaboration. It sounds dramatic, but what does it mean? Did he literally bust him out, like Blaze escaped? Or did he just give him a ride home when it was time to check out?

  “Tully?” My mother’s voice snaps me out of my curiosity and I shut the magazine, tossing it to the foot of the bed.

  “Yeah, you’re welcome, Mom. And the show went fine, by the way, thanks for asking.”

  “Oh, Tallulah. You don’t need to sound so bitter. It’s not very attractive.”

  “Well, it just seems like you should at least ask how my debut in front of twenty-five thousand people went.”

  “I’ll never understand how you do that,” she says.

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “How you can get up in front of so many people, all of them looking at you, watching every move you make. I’ve always been amazed at how independent and self-confident you are up there.”

  I pull the phone away from my ear and stare at it for a moment. Did my mother just compliment me? Surely I heard her wrong.

  “Well, it was a little more intimidating tonight. It’s a lot more people than I’m used to, so I was pretty nervous.”

  I hear my dad mutter something and my mom answers him in a whisper before she comes back to our conversation. “I watched the livestream and I couldn’t tell you were nervous at all.”

  My heart skids to a stop. What. The. Hell. “You watched the livestream? Are you serious? Wasn’t that like fifty bucks or something?”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that,” she answers. “Savvy bought it and then we watched with her and Kevin at their house.”

  I shake my head a bit because I must have some sort of concussion or I’ve forgotten what date it is—maybe April Fool’s?

  “Who is ‘we’, Mom?” I already know the answer, but damned if I don’t need to hear it out loud.

  “Your father of course,” she answers as if my dad watches me perform all the time. Not since I was ten, by the way.

  “Dad watched me play?”

  “Yes. You don’t need to sound so surprised. Although I have to say he wasn’t thrilled with the way that guitarist was groping you onstage. I tried to explain to him that it was all for show, but he said he wants to know the young man’s name. Well, he used a term that wasn’t so flattering, but you understand what I’m saying.”

  I stare at the ceiling of the bunk for a long moment trying to process all of this. My parents—my dad in particular—watched me perform. They noticed Blaze and I playing together. And my father actually cared enough to comment on whether some guy was feeling me up onstage?

  “Tully? Tully I can’t hear you. Have we lost the connection?”

  “No. I’m sorry, Mom. I’m pretty tired, it was a long day. So, did you and Dad like the show?”

  As soon as the words are out of my mouth I regret them. This is an invitation to ruin my night. Of course they didn’t like it. They don’t understand music, they can’t conceive of why I’d want to do it. Asking a question like that will only bring me heartache.

  “Never mind, Mom—”

  “We liked it, actually. Your father said that the music your band plays reminds him a little bit of Coldplay and you know he’s always liked them. I thought you looked pretty up there. I’ve never really understood why you dress the way you do, but I have to admit that it looks very striking onstage.”

  There is a pressure behind my eyes now, and I’m not sure how I’m supposed to feel. It’s little and it’s late, but it’s still one of the few positive things my parents have ever said about my career. I swallow, trying to tamp down the myriad emotions bouncing around inside of me.

  “Well, thanks for watching, Mom.” I pause, then plunge in before I can reconsider, overthink it, place too many hopes on it. “Maybe when we get to Portland you guys can come see the live show.”

  “We might be able to if it’s not on a bunko night. I’ll check with your sister and she can tell me the details.”

  “Okay. I’ll talk to you later, Mom.”

  “Goodnight, Tully,” she trills before the line goes dead.

  I stare at the ceiling of my bunk for a very long time before I finally fall asleep. You’d think I’d be thrilled that my parents made the slightest movement of acceptance for me and my career. But somehow all I feel is that the very foundation of my life is in danger of crumbling from beneath me.

  Blaze

  When I was midway through my junior year in high school I went to a party at my friend Jared’s cousin’s house. His cousin, Neal, went to the public school in town rather than Penn Prep like the rest of us. Neal also played in a band, and they provided the music for much of the night, blasting out covers of rock anthems from the backyard pool deck that luckily didn’t have any neighbors for a mile or more.

  At the end of the night, those of us who hadn’t found a girl to hook up with lay on lounge chairs by the pool and fucked around with drinking games like teenage boys do. At one point I asked Neal if I could check out his guitar. That was it. The minute those cool metal strings touched my fingers and my hand curled around that smooth, polished neck, I was done. It felt like I’d found something I’d been searching for my whole life. Like my hands had been missing this always, and now I was finally complete.

  Thing was, I’d never felt that way with a football. Ever. And thus began my world of heartache. In rehab they said that until I resolve things with my father I’m going to have a very hard time staying clean. I said, in no particular order, “I have resolved things—he’s a dick and I haven’t spoken to him in eight years,” “No one tells me I can’t do something, including stay clean,” and “fuck you.” That was right before I checked out with two weeks still to go in the program. And yeah, I didn’t anticipate how hard it could be staying away from the damn stuff, but I’m hanging in there, and what all the counselors don’t seem to realize is that if my old man didn’t break me, cocaine sure as hell won’t.

  At least that’s what I tell myself as we barrel down the highway in the middle of the night after our first performance. I’m jonesing. I don’t know why, but I am. It stressed me out playing with Lush, like somehow I might not be good enough. I try to remind myself that they’re the enemy. I shouldn’t give a fuck what they think of my playing, but the fact is, I do. They’re what I want to be, they’re who I crave to conquer. Playing with them tonight was a fucking head trip, and it’s left me unsettled. That and my never-ending lust for Tully.

  I know I’m not going to be able to sleep, so I try playing a little Cla
sh Royale on my phone, but I’m still agitated. The tour gave us a complete list of all the crew chief and band member numbers when we started. It has Tully’s cell phone on it, and while I’ve been swearing to myself that I won’t use it, I finally give in and open the email with the numbers. I copy and paste hers into my text app. I watch the little cursor blink—off, on, off, on—until I can’t take it anymore.

  Blaze: Hey. How does it feel to be a real bonafied rock star? You looked so hot on that stage I thought I might have to devour you in front of everyone.

  I hit send and begin the painful wait for a reply. Dez would never let me live this down if he knew what was going on. I’m acting like a tween girl over this shit.

  I nearly jump out of my seat when my phone buzzes and the screen lights up.

  Tully: Who is this?

  Oh, shit. I grin to myself. God, I really have no game with this woman.

  Blaze: Who do you want it to be?

  Tully: Someone who’s not an ax murderer.

  Blaze: What about someone who’s a guitar hero?

  Tully: Hi Blaze.

  I send her a picture of my hand disappearing down my pants. It’s juvenile, but I’m grinning anyway.

  Blaze: Hey short stack. Just wanted to let you know I’m thinking about you.

  Tully: Perv.

  Blaze: You love it.

  Tully: I’m not sure, I haven’t seen it yet. ;)

  Blaze: I’m happy to oblige…

  Tully: No! God, no, that’s okay.

  Blaze: LMAO. Scared you, didn’t I?

  Tully: Go to sleep, guitar hero.

  Blaze: Your wish is my command. Good night short stack. I’ll be dreaming about you.

  Tully: Good night.

  I look around the bus to see who else is there. Carson and Topher took the bunks, Garrett is crashed out on the sofa and Dez is watching a movie with his headphones on. I flip up the footrest on my seat and lean it back as far as it will go, then I turn on my side and reach into the outside pocket of my guitar case on the floor next to me. I pull out the magazine photo of Tully that I managed to save from Garrett’s giant feet backstage.

  With my index finger I trace the curls that cascade over her shoulders, her blue eyes focused like lasers on the unseen photographer. She soothes my cravings. Fills up some empty spot inside of me. It’s just further proof of how little the universe cares about me that she’s the one woman I can’t have—shouldn’t have. I’m just not sure that I’m strong enough to resist cocaine and her.

  We arrive in L.A. at two forty in the morning, and everyone tumbles off the buses either loaded or exhausted. We’re all rock stars and roadies, we don’t normally go to bed early, but we also don’t have to get up at eight or nine a.m. so this isn’t going to be a normal day. With a tour this big, however, it’ll take most of the day for all six bands to get familiar with the setup and do soundchecks.

  I step out of our bus and my gaze immediately goes to Lush’s bus parked adjacent to ours. Mike stumbles off, one arm around Tammy’s waist as Walsh follows carrying a bag on each shoulder and one in his hand.

  “Fuuuck,” Mike mutters. “Why can’t you just let me stay on the bus?”

  Tammy snaps at him even as she’s helping him walk across the parking lot. “Because no one would know if you got even sicker. Your temperature might go up or you could get dehydrated. Jenny would never forgive me if something happened to you. You’re going to crash in our suite so that I can check on you.”

  Mike makes a strange sound and lunges toward a bush as he shoves Tammy away from him. I can hear him wretching from fifteen feet away.

  “Jesus,” Walsh mutters. “Tam, maybe you should go see if the hotel’s got a doctor on call. And a wheelchair to take him upstairs wouldn’t hurt either.”

  “I’ll go,” I call out from behind them. Walsh and Tammy both turn to look at me. “You stay with him and I’ll go talk to the front desk.”

  Tammy’s eyes narrow at me like she doesn’t trust me. Smart woman, but for the moment, at least, I’m completely on the up and up.

  “Really? That’d be a huge help,” Walsh says.

  “Here, give me the bags. I’ll take them to the bellhops. They all going to your room?”

  Walsh slowly hands me the three bags glancing at Tammy like he expects her to protest.

  “Yeah. You sure?” he asks as he hands me the third.

  I adjust the straps on my shoulders. My own bag went in with our roadies a few minutes ago.

  “Yep, no problem.” I pause, looking around the parking lot that’s getting emptier by the minute as the rest of the tour personnel trickle into the back doors of the hotel. I can’t help but wonder where Tully is. “Where the hell is your security team anyway?”

  “It’s a long story,” Walsh says, waving his hand around as if to indicate it’s not important.

  Mike groans as he wretches one last time before slumping down on the curbing next to the bushes he’s been dry heaving in.

  “Somebody get me to a fucking bed,” he rasps out.

  “Back in a few,” I tell Walsh as Tammy sits down next to Mike and puts her hand on his forehead.

  “God, you’re burning up you huge idiot,” she reprimands. I guess it’s better than no nursing, but she’s not exactly comforting.

  I jog inside, the bags flopping against my legs. It reminds me of two-a-days at summer football practice when we’d have to run with big sacks of sand slung across our shoulders. I try not to analyze why I’m doing this too closely. I know it’s all wrapped up in these rapidly expanding feelings I have about Tully. As many times as I remind myself that we can’t go there, my mind just won’t stop fixating on her, and my body won’t either. So I’m schlepping Lush’s bags into the hotel and actually getting Mike some help instead of letting him steep in his virus like he deserves. I’ve gone soft. My father would be ashamed.

  When I reach the front desk I get Walsh’s bags delivered to his room, and explain the situation with Mike. The hotel manager goes into a frenzy ordering staff around to call the doctor, having all kinds of over the counter medications delivered to the room, and sending two security staff out to the parking lot to help hoist Mike upstairs to a bed.

  Because it’s the middle of the night we’ve lucked out and there are very few people around to go fan-crazy on us. I see a couple of the night clerks eying me, but aside from that the place is deserted. Then I feel a hand on my arm and I spin to find Tully smiling up at me. Everything inside of me goes warm and loose.

  “Hi,” I say like a chump. Her eyes are soft and sleepy, hair mussed, her skin flushed. It’s a very good look on her.

  “I just saw Walsh and Tammy. Thank you so much for helping them out—and Mike.” Her eyes dart around, surveying the lobby for anyone who might see us talking.

  I shrug. “Sure. All I did was tell the hotel to take care of them.”

  She drops her hand from my arm and I want it back. “Well, you didn’t have to, and it was Mike and everything. So thanks.”

  She starts to turn to walk away, but suddenly I panic over the idea of her leaving me. I know it’s a fast train to nowhere, but one look in her blue eyes and I’m a goner. I can smell her, feel her, hear her. What I can’t do is leave her, so I look around the deserted lobby, notice that no one, not even a crew member, is there, and grab her hand and pull her with me toward the elevators.

  “Hey. What are you doing?” she whispers fiercly.

  I realize that I haven’t really thought that far, I just know that I want to be with her someplace people can’t see us.

  “My room or yours,” I answer as the elevator doors open and I stride inside quickly towing my prize along. “Your choice.”

  “I haven’t even checked in to mine. I was about to, but you and the dragging me places thing, so…”

  I chuckle as I punch the button to the twentieth floor where the front desk said my suite is.

  As the elevator doors close I look down at her, and damn. If I get my way s
he won’t need to check in to that room tonight. Maybe not tomorrow night either.

  My mind is racing, and even though I haven’t thought it through carefully, I know what I have to do. What I want to say. “Just hear me out on this, short stack. I want to tell you my idea.”

  Her pupils dilate with interest and I run my hand up her arm, relishing the feel of her smooth silky skin.

  “Oh-kay.” She sounds skeptical, but she hasn’t told me to fuck off, so I’ll count it as a win.

  “I know we can’t let anyone know, and I realize that this whole thing has no future. We’ve both got careers that demand way too much for that.” I think I might see disappointment flit over her face, but I put one hand on her cheek as I reach behind her with the other and push the stop button on the elevator.

  She blushes. It’s fucking adorable. “God, you aren’t seriously going to suggest we go at it in the elevator.”

  “And if I were?”

  She swallows, and I realize I don’t even want to know that answer, because I’m not going for the instant gratification. I want more than that.

  “I want you to come to my room,” I tell her in a low voice as I touch the tip of my tongue to her earlobe. Her hips shift forward and she melts against the wall of the elevator. “Then I want to peel these clothes off of you, piece by piece.” I press my own groin against hers so she can feel my hard-on. “I want to lick you from head to toe, and then I want to put my tongue on that sweet, hot clit of yours and suck until you come in my mouth.”

  She gasps, and I tip her head up to look in her eyes. They’re glazed over with desire, and I feel her nipples, hard and plump against my chest.

  I kiss along the column of her neck, taking tiny nibbles of her creamy skin as I go.

  “It’ll be our secret. Spend the night with me. We’ll be careful, I won’t tell anyone—not even Dez. I want you, short stack. Let me show you how much.”

  Her breath is coming in short, soft pants now, and I feel her nod her head against my face as I whisper in her ear. I pull back to confirm that she’s agreed. She looks at me with her eyes hot and needy.