Rock God_Book 2_A Contemporary Harem Fantasy

by Michael-Scott Earle

  “That sounds really wonderful. You have talent, Eric.” She was leaning forward on the couch, and I noticed that her wine glass was now half full.

  “Naw. I’m an amateur on piano. When you are a music major in college, you have to learn how to sing and play piano in addition to whatever instrument you specialize in.”

  “You are a guitarist?” Beth raised a perfect eyebrow and took another small sip of wine.

  “I was. I don’t really play anymore.” I guessed that Aimee must have told Beth.

  “You don’t have a guitar anymore?” Beth seemed confused, and I guessed that Aimee hadn’t told Beth about my parents.

  “No I’ve still got them in my closet. I just... don’t play anymore.” I felt my throat close up like there was a fist around my neck.

  “But you are fine playing piano?” Beth took another taste of her wine and blinked her light-blue eyes.

  “I didn’t think I was, but your sister convinced me to play at your house.”

  “So you might be fine playing guitar? You just need someone to convince you to play?” She smirked, and I started to shake my head.

  “Listen Beth, I haven’t touched them for too long. I’m-”

  “Can you please play for me?” There was something about her voice, or maybe it was her eyes, or perhaps it was just the way her hair fell over her beautiful face. It suddenly seemed bizarre that I wouldn’t want to play my guitar for this girl.

  It would remind me of my parents though. The thought of them made my throat tighten even more, and I had to blink away the tears that came to my eyes. I didn’t want to cry in front of Beth. I didn’t want to talk about my parents. I didn’t want to touch my guitar, because I knew that the pain and loss I felt from their death would cascade out of my soul like a broken dam. I wouldn’t be able to function tomorrow, or this weekend. Hell, I’d probably slide back into the black pit that Jack had pulled me from.

  “I can’t, Beth. Sorry.” Her face was emotionless, but I half expected her to play one of her games and try to manipulate me into doing what she wanted.

  “Okay,” she said. Her eyes seemed to fill my blurry vision. I felt an overwhelming desire to go into my room and bury my face into my pillow.

  Fuck. Would I ever be over their deaths? My brain reeled with the question, and I wondered if the reason that I’d been so promiscuous lately was because I wanted to fill the hole in my chest with love from any woman that would have me.

  “I’ve caused you pain. I’m sorry,” she finally whispered.

  “No. It isn’t you. Damn.” A tear fell down my left cheek, and I quickly wiped it away with the back of my hand.

  “I will leave.” She stood from the couch and walked toward my little-used kitchen table. A small, black handbag was there that I had not noticed, and she pulled her new phone from it.

  “No. Wait Beth.” She turned to me with the phone in her hand and a question in her cold eyes.

  “Please sit back down. I’ll get my guitar.” I pointed to the couch and then walked back into my room.

  My hands shook when I opened the door to my closet. In the back corner were the three guitars that had once served as extensions of my body. The first case had my nylon-string Yamaha; the second, thinner case was my Fender Telecaster that I used for jazz; and the third case held my pride and joy, the Martin D-28 steel-string acoustic. All three cases were covered with a thin layer of dust, and I felt my heart grow a bit heavier when I pulled out the Martin from hibernation.

  “I can leave as soon as you want. It is okay, really.” Beth seemed nervous, and she perched on the edge of my couch like she was ready to run out the door.

  “No, that is okay. I’m fine.” I set down the guitar case and opened it with a practiced move. The familiar smell of the wood, polish, and strings comforted my nose, and I stared at my old friend.

  It was a slightly larger than average acoustic guitar; a “Dreadnaught” style that Martin invented back in the early 1900s. Mine had a dark-brown mahogany top, a darker-red tortoise pick guard, and an ebony fingerboard. I picked up my friend, and the feel of the neck wood in my grip made me sigh with relaxation.

  I was going to be okay.

  “It is pretty,” Beth commented from her seat. “It looks like my father’s.”

  “It is the same model; his is a custom version though. I played around sixty or so over a week until I decided on this one. It played and sounded the best to me.”

  I walked over to the keyboard and hit the E to tune my lowest string. I wasn’t surprised when the string was perfectly in tune. A quick strum through the other strings confirmed that they were in tune as well, so I walked over to the couch and sat on the far side of Beth.

  I knew I was going to be slightly out of shape with my hand muscles, but it would only affect my stamina. I also didn’t have any calluses on my fingertips, so I wouldn’t be able to play for very long. The nails on my right hand were just the correct length though, so I focused on the nail-picking technique with my right hand.

  My fingers knew what to do, as did my hands and my mind. I started playing guitar when I was ten, and, most days growing up, I practiced over two hours. When I was in high school, my average practice time was around four hours a day. During my first year of college, it seemed as if I was practicing every waking second that I wasn’t in class.

  The music poured out of my soul and onto the frets of the fingerboard. The sound of the guitar filled my small apartment and my mind like the breath of a symphony. I don’t know how long I played, but I thought about my parents the whole time. I cried while I played, but I didn’t care if Beth saw. I didn’t even think about her or look to the other side of the couch.

  She could have gotten up and left the apartment, or stripped naked, and I wouldn’t have noticed. The only thing I wanted to do was play the guitar that my loving parents bought me and remember how much they loved me.

  Sometimes life sucks, but at least music makes it better.

  My hands started to hurt, so I stopped playing and blinked my puffy eyes. As soon as I stopped, the pain shot through my fingertips with renewed vigor, and I had to flex my grip. The pain felt good.

  “That was wonderful.” Beth’s voice startled me, and I felt panic flood my stomach again. I hadn’t meant to cry in front of her. Damn it.

  “Sorry.” I set the guitar down against the couch and wiped my eyes with my sleeve.

  “For what?”

  “I’m a mess,” I laughed, and she smiled.

  “It is late. I’ll call my car.” She found her phone again and flipped it open.

  “Okay.” I felt so tired. I just wanted to sleep forever. I heard Beth tell her driver to come get her.

  “Thank you for playing for me.” She stood with unnatural grace, and I looked at my guitar so I wouldn’t gawk at her body. I didn’t know exactly how to reply, so I busied myself with putting away my guitar. Then I glanced at the clock on the DVD player and saw that it was a little past two in the morning.

  “Damn. It’s late. I lost track of time. Sorry to keep you up so long.”

  “You were lost in your art. Happens to me all the time, which is why I wear the watch. It is easy to get lost in life if you don’t have something reminding you where you should be.”

  “You are very wise, Beth.”

  “I’m also tired.” She stretched her arms up over her head with a yawn, but the move didn’t incite desire in my crotch. I just wanted to sleep.

  “I’ll walk you to the curb.”

  “And then we’ll see each other Saturday?”

  “Yes,” I lied.

  Chapter 12

  I skipped school the next day. I hadn’t played hooky for a while, but there weren’t any tests going on, I was ahead of the class schedule, and I wanted to spend the morning doing something else.

  Like playing guitar.

  I almost felt alive again. I spent a few hours with each of my three instruments, only taking a break when my hands cramped, to stretch them.
The pads of my left fingers blistered eventually, so I had to stop around lunch time, but it was okay because I didn’t want to skip work.

  I was getting into my car when I got the text from Kim.

  Looking forward to tonight :o)

  I’d almost forgotten about the party at Brent’s place, Katherine, and Kim. I considered not showing and then going back to my apartment to play my own guitars, but I wanted to continue the friendship trajectory I had going with Brent. I also wanted to hang with Katherine and Kim again. I didn’t know if tonight would have us being lovers again, but I knew that just going to a party would get my mind off of Aimee.

  And off of Beth.

  I’d just call the genius supermodel stalker tomorrow morning and say that I couldn’t come. I imagine she would be hurt, maybe even angry, but the worst that would happen would be that she wouldn’t want to see me anymore.

  I wanted that.

  Didn’t I?

  “Yes. You fucking idiot. She is sixteen,” I growled to myself as I fired up the engine and backed out of the parking space. Midway to work, I realized I hadn’t texted back Kim, so I sent her one as soon as I parked at the office.

  Me too. I’m surprised you didn’t have a game.

  By the time I made it into the office my phone had vibrated again.

  I’m playing other games tonight. >:o)

  Haha! See you then.

  KK. Katherine says hi. We are getting ready together.

  It is like eight hours till the party.

  I know. We are in a rush. XOXO. See ya later cutie.

  I closed my phone and tried to focus on work. The office was pretty empty since it was Friday, but I still had a list of calls to make. I put my headset on, clicked on the first lead, and then started my cold calling. I was soon lost in the work and didn’t realize it was five o’clock until one of the advisors swung by my desk to wish me a good weekend on his way out. I took his cue and walked with him out to our cars.

  Traffic was unusually bad, and I didn’t make it home until almost six. It was just enough time to pack an overnight bag, work out, cook a light dinner, and then shower before I had to go. I was sure there would be food at Brent’s house, but I felt like doing a brutal workout and wanted to eat right afterwards. Of course, after I ate, I felt like a short nap, so I didn’t end up getting into my car to leave until eight, which was when the party was supposed to start.

  Brent’s family lived in Beverly Hills, not up in the steep top part where Aimee and Beth’s home was, but down on the foothill area a few blocks north of Sunset Boulevard. It was still an amazing home with a long driveway that went past a manicured lawn several times the size of a football field. At the end of the driveway was a Roman-style home and matching fountain that I guessed was as big as my apartment. The whole place looked like it could have been in a secret-agent movie. There was space for a fleet of cars to be parked there, and I quickly counted forty. When I pulled up to the place, a valet approached, took my keys, gave me a slip, and then directed me to the front door.

  I gave the big dude in the suit my name at the entrance, and he opened the door for me. Inside the mansion was white, like the inside of a Roman marble palace, and music seemed to come from every direction. I was surprised that I hadn’t heard it while standing outside of the door.

  “Hi!” A cute, redheaded girl greeted me. She had on a tight, green pencil dress that showed off her delicious curves. There was a gold nametag on her chest above her breasts that said her name was Theresa.

  “Hi.” I returned her greeting with a smile.

  “I’m Theresa. Nice to meet you.” She shook my hand.

  “Eric. Happy Friday. This is a beautiful home.”

  “Yes it is. How do you know the family?”

  “I’m a friend of Brent’s.”

  “Excellent! I’m here to help guide people around the property. Follow me, please.” There were a handful of attractive people mingling in the foyer of the white-marble mansion, and I noticed a few other women wearing the same type of dress as Theresa. It made sense to have a bunch of assistants when the house was this big and there were many people expected at the party.

  “This is the dining area.” She led me out of the foyer into a vast hall where a few large dark-wood tables were spread with mountains of food. The theme of the meal seemed to be Greek-Asian fusion, and I couldn’t even count the number of sushi rolls, plates of grilled meats, bowls of hummus, mountains of pita bread, and desserts displayed. A dozen people navigated the buffet, and, even though I had already eaten, I was half tempted to grab a plate and stuff myself.

  “The kitchen is back through this door.” Theresa gestured over her shoulder to a double, wooden swing-door that was getting traffic from servers wearing similar green outfits to my guide’s. “You don’t need to go back there, but if you want a drink or food, just ask someone, and they will get it for you.” On cue, a tall good-looking man offered me a glass of wine from a tray he was carrying. I picked up a glass and thanked him before he passed into another room.

  “There are four sitting rooms.” Theresa walked me out of the kitchen and into the next room. Her ass swayed hypnotically under her tight dress, and she caught me checking her out when she turned to speak to me. I gave her a sheepish grin and then directed my attention from her butt to the next room. It was a multi-level affair with a giant, round steel fireplace in the center and plenty of green, yellow, and light-brown couches. The style looked somewhat contemporary modern, and I felt as if I had actually stepped into a spy movie. There were a few small groups of people sitting on the couches having whispered conversations, and I started to guess that, even though I was late to the party, I was actually really early.

  Theresa tugged on my arm and led me to another room. This one was closer to the theme of the rest of the house, with white and gray leather furniture accompanied by black coffee tables and modern, recessed lighting. There were more people in this room, and I wondered if Brent’s family had a lock down on supermodel friends. Every woman here was really good looking, and every dude looked like he belonged on the cover of either a fitness or men’s style magazine. I still didn’t see Brent, Katherine, or Kim, and I wondered if Patrick would be here with Daya.

  The next two rooms were just as spacious. One was lined with multiple TVs, and there were half a dozen people relaxing on the dark-brown leather couches and watching them. The final ‘sitting room,’ as Theresa called it, was more of an art room. There were a few couches, but most of the space was devoted to various Roman-looking sculptures, and the walls were filled with artwork. They were photographed nature scenes of Zion and filled with deep oranges and soothing blues. While I looked at the hanging art, I found myself wondering what Beth would think of them.

  “All the rooms have sliding glass doors out to the back part of the property. That is where the band is going to play at ten. Here is the game room.” Theresa led me to another room, with two pool tables, three card tables, a foosball table, a ping pong table, and half a dozen arcade games. There were a lot of people in the room, and I saw Brent holding a cue at the rear-most pool table, with Samantha sitting behind him.

  “Ahh, there is Brent.”

  “Do you want me to show you the rest of the property?” Theresa asked.

  “No, that is okay. Maybe Brent will give me a tour if he feels like it. I think I know my way around now. Thank you for the help.”

  “No problem. If you need anything, I’ll be at the front door or giving another tour.” She smiled a perfect row of teeth and then walked away from me.

  “Hey Eric!” Brent shouted when he saw me. I moved to shake his hand, but he gave me a hug instead and then gestured to the table. “Thanks for coming, buddy. You play pool?”

  “I’m pretty bad at it, honestly, but I can keep Sam company while you play.” He wore his usual designer faded jeans, rock-star-looking, button-down distressed shirt, and he even had a leather wrist band on.

  “We can do something else. I want t
o introduce you to some people.” He gestured with his head, and we walked to where Samantha sat with three other people.

  “Hi Eric!” Samantha stood off of the bar stool and gave me a warm hug. She wore a lemon-yellow dress with blue heels that matched her eyes. Her hair was braided back, and her ears were decorated with big, gold, loopy earrings.

  “Hi Sam!” We parted, and she complemented me on my clothes before turning to the three people sitting next to her. There was a pretty strawberry-blonde girl who looked familiar and two men around my age. The men were dressed similar to Brent, with the faded jeans and expensive, distressed shirts. The pretty girl had big brown eyes, and I saw that she actually had Hello Kitty earrings, along with an anime robot necklace. She wore ripped, loose-fitting jeans and a bright-pink, frilly blouse. On her right wrist were cheap plastic neon loops accompanying a thick, diamond tennis bracelet. On her left wrist was a twisted, jade-and-gold band.

  “Hey guys, I want you to meet Eric. He is a really good friend of mine, a killer guitar player, and he actually saw your No Ho show. Was that last week or the week before?” As soon as Brent reminded me of the show, I recognized the blonde girl. She was the singer for the band that Aimee and I had watched.

  “Last week,” the girl answered, and her honey-brown eyes stared into mine before a slow smile cracked her lips.

  “I’m Nicole, this is Roger, and Trey.” I shook their hands and tried to recall which one played which instrument in the band. I had been more than a little distracted with Aimee that night, and I only remembered Nicole because of her high-energy performance.

  “You guys sounded great last week. I really enjoyed the show. How long have you been playing together?”

  “Little over three years.” Nicole smiled. “You play guitar?” She raised a dark-blonde eyebrow.

  “Yeah. Since I was a kid. Was a music major at school, but just switched to business.”

  “Are you good?” asked Roger. Both of the guys were lean and tall, but Roger had long, brown hair and green eyes. Trey had short, curly hair and brown eyes.