Stone: A Standalone Rock Star Romantic Comedy (Pandemic Sorrow)

by Stevie J. Cole

  She glares at me, her cheeks slowly turning red. “You would know, wouldn’t you?”

  “Seriously?” Jag butts in. “We busted our asses to get where we are. At least we earned this. You on the other hand, fucking ridiculous. People like you give the industry a bad name. “Oh look,” Jag does his best girly voice, “my daddy’s the owner of Deviant Fault. I’m cute. I’m pretty. I can sing. Daddy? Give me a record deal.” He stomps his foot like an angry toddler. “Now Daddy. Now!” He grins. “Is that how it went?”

  “Fuck my life right now,” she groans, dropping her chin to her chest. “Look, we don’t have to like each other. This is business and that’s it, right?”

  None of us say a thing.

  “And just to clear shit up,” she continues. “He’s not my father. He’s my mom’s third husband, okay?”

  Jag mumbles before strumming over his guitar. “Whatever.” He thumbs under his nose. “Let’s just nail the song and you can be on your merry fucking way.”

  She nods and Pax taps out the beat on the drums. I join in, then Rush and Jag. I watch her. I watch the way her fingers glide over her strings, the way her eyes close when she opens her lips to sing. She loses herself in the music, shaking her head slightly. Rocking her hips. She grabs the stand and wraps her fingers around it, her mouth nearly brushing the mic. Then, she bites down on her red lips. Fuck, it’s hot.

  When the song’s over, she glances at me again. Our eyes lock for the briefest of moments and her gaze falls to my lips.

  “So,” Jag steps between us, “how do you know Jimmy?”

  “Friend of a friend,” she says.

  “Huh. You fucking him and his shitbag son?” Jag says.

  “What,” Pax pipes in from the back of the room, “she knows Jimmy?”

  “Shut up, Paxton,” Jag grumbles.

  Phoenix cocks a brow. “Wow, you guys have a hard on for him or something?”

  Jag smirks. “Guess having Daddy Warbucks hook you up wasn’t enough, gotta go wrapping your hungry little cunt around Jimmy’s dirty old pole.”

  “Jag…” I start, “just lay off her, would you?” Jag shoots a nasty glare at me.

  “Oh my god,” she rolls her eyes and slings her guitar over her shoulder. “I’m going.”

  Jag shrugs, stepping to the side to let her out. “Don’t snag any of my shit either.”

  She doesn’t respond. Jag glances at me and grins. “Man, I can see your cock swelling from here,” he says.

  It’s her attitude. Her no shit demeanor. Her… ass. Shit. “Shut up, you were telling me to fuck her yesterday.”

  “Well, that was before I knew she was Edward’s daughter. You know, when I thought she was just some super slut, and the worst fallout you might suffer would be some green shit coming out of the tip of your dick.”

  I glare at him before I brush past him and through the door. Phoenix is already at the end of the hall. “Hey, Phoenix, wait a second.” She keeps walking. Of course she fucking does. “Jesus Christ, would you wait a second?”

  She gets to the living room before she spins around. “What? Want to give me some shit, too?”

  “No.” I stop in front of her. “Just… fuck them, okay?”

  “Oh god, the rocker in shining armor?” She shakes her head. “Look, I appreciate it, I do, but I don’t need your sympathy, okay? I know better.”

  “Know better?” What the hell is up her ass?

  “Yes. I know better. I just… It’s not my fault he’s my stepdad. I think he’s an asshole if it makes you feel any better, and I begged him not to make me sing with you guys.”

  “Okay…”

  “I just want to get done with the song and move the fuck along.” She starts toward the door.

  God, she’s angry and volatile, but I get it. This industry makes us all angry little fucks. “For what it’s worth,” I say as she opens the door, “I think you would have made it regardless, you got a voice, babe. You got a voice.”

  I watch her shoulders rise and fall. “Thanks,” she whispers before she steps out and slams the door shut behind her.

  I stand in silence, staring at the door. Thinking. Wondering. Mesmerized… maybe.

  “Stone and Phoenix sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G,” Rush sings from the hallway.

  I turn around with a laugh. “Jesus, you better be glad you’re famous, or your dick would never get any use because you are fucking stupid.”

  “Dude, you’re going to poke her in the bear cave,” he laughs.

  “Shut up.”

  And I suddenly feel like I’m right back to 7th grade when I had a crush on Penny.

  10

  Phoenix

  Lauren’s lying across the foot of my bed filing her nails. “You know, Rush is actually really humble.”

  I nearly choke on my spit. “I’m sorry? Are you high?”

  “No.” She smiles. “He’s really not so much of a dick when you’re alone with him.”

  I stare at her for a minute, my mouth hanging open. “Uh, yeah, it’s kinda hard to be too big of a dick when you’re balls deep in someone.”

  She shakes her head. “No, I mean afterwards, he’s a cuddler.”

  “A cuddler?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Wow, a cuddling manwhore,” I say. She’s got this dreamy haze in her eyes. One I know all too well. “No. No, Lauren.”

  “What?” she tosses the file down and sits up.

  “Don’t even think about it. Don’t even wonder about it.” I point at her. “Rock stars are not boyfriend material, hell, they aren’t even fuck buddy material.”

  “Oh my god. You are insane.”

  “I’m well-versed at this shit. Half of my DNA is from one of those shitheads.”

  “You dated Voss, Phoenix. Voss!” She shakes her head. “Pot meet kettle.”

  I glare at her. “I was weak. Have you seen his leather pants?”

  “I have, and have you seen Rush Wilder’s peen?”

  “No,” I groan, “and I don’t want to.”

  “It’s magnificent, and besides…” she shrugs, “I’m not trying to date him. Make it into a tabloid or two, have some rumors that I’m an incubator for his love child– maybe.” She grins. “God, I remember when you used to be less cynical.”

  Her phone dings with a text. She grabs it and is all smiles. “See.” She hands her phone to me. Vomit hits the back of my throat when I glance down at the picture of a massive dick fisted in a heavily tattooed hand. “Ugh. Really, Lauren?”

  “Tell me it’s not pretty.” She points at the screen.

  “It’s the color of Subway ham.”

  “What?” She grabs her phone from me and stares at the screen. “Oh my god, way to ruin a perfectly good penis for me, Phoenix. Thanks.” Groaning, she tosses the phone down on my bed.

  “That,” I point to the phone, “is not a perfectly good penis. It’s been in more vaginas than the entire Trojan brand has.”

  She rolls her eyes and falls back on the bed. Her phone dings again, and I snatch it up. This time it’s a text: Come to practice with your friend.

  I don’t even get a name. Just ‘your friend’. He’s so humble, but at least if she goes I won’t have to be alone with them. “Wanna go to practice with me?”

  She sits up and grins. “Of course.”

  _________

  I ring Jag’s doorbell and Lauren looks up at the mural of Pandemic Sorrow painted above the porch. “Does Rush have an erection in that painting,” she says.

  “Yep.”

  “You know, you’d think I’d be used to this shit with you, but I’m not.” She claps her hands. “I know you hate Henry, but god, I fucking love him. When we’re old, we’ll look back on this and smile.”

  The door swings open and there stands Jag in a pair of black jeans and nothing else. His gaze drifts from me to Lauren, then he flips me the bird. “You’re late.”

  “And you’re high,” I say, stepping into his foyer.

  “Ni
ce house,” Lauren says. Jag grunts.

  We follow him down the hallway, Lauren stops and swipes her finger over the Moonman Award on one of the shelfs.

  “Don’t touch my Moonman,” Jag says.

  “Sorry.”

  Glancing at her, I roll my eyes. Jag opens the studio room door and, as always, pungent smoke billows out into the hallway. I wave my way through the cloud. Rush glances up and grins at Lauren. She waltzes over and hugs him. He smacks her ass, grabs it, then says something in her ear that makes her blush.

  “The color of your penis,” I say, grabbing a guitar and strapping it over my shoulder, “should concern you.”

  Rush glares at me.

  “Two words,” I say, “Subway ham.”

  All the guys laugh, and Stone glances at me and winks. “Below the belt, babe.”

  I fight a grin. “Don’t call me babe.”

  “Yeah, yeah…” he strums over his strings.

  Pax taps away on his drums, then stops. “Can we just get this over with, dick?” he says.

  I turn around and Rush has Lauren pinned against the wall, his tongue down her throat.

  “Rush!” Jag shouts, but Rush just keeps sucking Lauren’s face. Jag struts over and whacks him on the back of his head.

  “Damn,” Rush says, turning around. “Fine.” He shamelessly adjusts his dick and grabs his bass from the stand. “Two run throughs and then…” he winks at Lauren, “I’m running through you.”

  “Oh my god… Lauren.” I say, “please tell me you realize what a nasty fuck he is?”

  All she does is grin. I swear, when she ends up with the clap, I’ll have no pity. None!

  Pax goes at the drums again. Stone strums over his guitar, followed by Jag and Rush, and I grab the mic, closing my eyes as I sing out the first lyrics to the song. It’s moments like this when my eyes are closed and all I can hear is the music when everything else goes quiet. Moments like this when nothing else matters. To hell with Pam and Henry and all these other idiots. All I need is music.

  11

  Stone

  As soon as we finish practice, Rush throws open the door, tosses Lauren over his shoulder like a caveman, and hustles out of the room.

  “I don’t know what I expected,” Phoenix grumbles as she makes her way down the hall. She stops in the living room and awkwardly leans against the wall.

  Jag takes a running sprint and throws himself over the back of his couch and grabs the remote. I start toward the door and she looks at me, panic crossing her face. She grabs my arm when I pass by her. “Don’t leave me here,” she whispers before shooting her eyes over toward Jag who is now flipping through Pornhub.

  “He’s harmless,” I say with a smile.

  “He hates me.”

  “He hates most people.”

  “Just… stay. Please, you’re the only one that’s not a complete dick.”

  “Wow,” I laugh, “what a compliment.”

  She huffs. “Please…”

  “You know,” I lean against the wall, “Rush takes a lot of Cialis and Viagra and just drugs in general. It can take him hours to bust one.” Her lip snarls slightly and I find it pretty fucking adorable. A loud moan echoes from the TV across the living room followed be the smack of skin slapping skin.

  “Get it, James. Get. It.” Jag cheers at the TV, and her grip on my arm tightens.

  “Okay, okay.” I pull away from her hold and place my arm around her shoulder. “Come on… let’s get you away from the porn.”

  I walk her toward the back of the house and open the door to the pool deck. The warm California sun heats my skin, and I pull my shades down as I lead her over to one of the lounges. “So…” I say when I take a seat.

  “Yeah.”

  There’s an awkward silence. “You started recording your songs yet?” I ask.

  “No. Been practicing, working out some kinks with one of the bridges. I’m supposed to start recording next week.”

  “Yeah.”

  She walks to the edge of the pool and slips her sandals off before taking a seat on the concrete and sinking her legs under the water. She’s staring off into the nothing and I know that look–that look of what the fuck am I doing.

  “Second guessing it all?” I say.

  “Huh?” she asks without turning to face me.

  “Second guessing fame?”

  She shrugs.

  “It’s not what you think, but, I guess you know that.”

  “Henry’s famous, not me.”

  “True, but it’s like a disease. It kinda spreads to all those people around you. I mean, come on… you’ve probably met most rock stars.” I scrub my hand over my jaw. “You know, actually, I didn’t even know he had kids.”

  “He doesn’t.” She shakes her head. “I told you, he’s my mom’s husband.”

  I can hear the disdain in her voice, and I’m not sure if that’s actually aimed at Henry, or her sperm donor. “Yeah, sorry…”

  “It’s fine. So,” she turns to face me, “sounds like you’re not a fan of being famous.”

  I shrug. “Depends on the day. I mean, I love the music. That high you get when you perform, the way the world just melts away… but the isolation. I hate that shit. Fame isolates you.”

  “Never heard it put that way before.”

  I sit up in the chair, leaning over my knees. “I mean, think about it, it makes you this– this thing that things separates you from everyone else. You’re not a real person anymore. People either love you or they hate you, you fart and the world knows about it. Hell, you can’t go anywhere and have peace and quiet. You go for a walk, people notice you. They ask you for a picture or an autograph, you’re grateful. But after a while you just want to be able to go get a bag of fucking Doritos. Just go someplace where you can walk and be left alone.”

  “Yeah, peace and quiet,” she says. “I get that.”

  But I don’t know if she really does. She will when fame gets to her, but right now, I don’t think she understands what a monster fame is, how it eats you up and spits you out. Then again, she’s already not “normal”. Hell, maybe she’ll be fine.

  “Your brother,” she says, “he seems to eat it up.”

  “Jag? Yeah, he eats it up.” He eats it up now, but I remember the first tour we did. He got nervous shits and threw up before every show. And the wear and tear, it got to him, and his way of dealing with it: drugs. Fame is not easy. That bitch will get you one way or the other, but I’m not going to ruin her dream like that. Maybe I should, but I’m not going to.

  She pulls her legs out of the water and pushes to her feet. “I really asked Henry not to help me.”

  “Why do you let that bother you so much?”

  “Because, I feel like a liar.”

  “Nah,” I say, lifting my shades up to really look at her, “just lucky. Not a liar.”

  A soft smile shapes her lips. Shit, I just want to kiss her. Not fuck her, not grope her, just kiss her and make her feel like it’ll all be okay. I want her to be okay.

  The door creaks open and I turn around just as Rush comes running out butt-ass naked, dick and balls flopping before he does a cannon ball into the pool. Water shoots up, splashing Phoenix.

  Sighing, she walks past me and into the house. I hear her and Lauren bickering. Jag’s still shouting at Pornhub, and now Rush is backstroking across the pool.

  “You know,” he says, “it feels good to let the sun shine down on your balls every once and a while.”

  Shaking my head, I get up from the lounge and head back inside. My phone dings with a text from my mom: Is your brother okay? I can’t get in touch with him.

  I walk past Jag and slap him in the back of the head. “Call Mom, dickfuck.”

  “Hey,” he says.

  “She’s worried about you.”

  “Fine, fine.” He picks up his phone and that’s enough for me.

  I walk to the front of his house and look out the window, watching as Phoenix climbs into her car.
There is something about her that seems too familiar. Like something I’ve known, or maybe it’s just something I want to know. Whatever it is, it drives me a little crazy. And I’ll admit, it’s been ages since anything has driven me crazy.

  Ages.

  12

  Phoenix

  Two weeks. I’ve survived two weeks with these– whatever the hell they are–children, maybe?

  I glance around the recording studio as the track blares through the speakers. Rush has his phone aimed at his leather clad crotch, flashing pictures. Pax is behind the drum set staring off into space. Jag isn’t even here, and Stone is leaned against the wall with his eyes closed. The door bangs open and Jag struts in, thumbing under his nose, his pupils blown wide.

  I feel sorry for him. I really, really do. He gets high just to function. No matter how confident he seems, no matter how much money he has, he must be miserable, because those drugs own him.

  The track ends and the crackle from the intercom comes over the speaker. “That sounds good. Clean. You guys alright with it?”

  The guys all mumble and nod.

  “Okay, Jag and Phoenix, you’re turn.”

  I glance through the window at James and the techs sitting behind the massive control board full of lights and knobs and buttons. My heart slowly picks up its pace, my nerves bunching in my stomach. Stone leans toward me. “You’ll do fine, don’t stress,” he whispers before one of those sexy grins of his crosses his face.

  “Thanks,” I say as he follows the other two guys into the hall. Seconds later, the door to the sound room opens. I watch through the window as Stone, Pax, and Rush file in and lean against the back wall. And for some reason, it makes me feel a little better that Stone’s here.

  The track starts. I grab the mic, placing a death grip on it. And… I miss my cue.

  The music stops. Jag groans. “Jesus,” he mumbles.

  Now my pulse is hammering in my temples. Sweat is forming above my lip. The track starts again, and this time I don’t miss the que, but my voice completely cracks. The music stops and Jag falls back on the chair. “Do I really have to deal with this shit?” he asks.