by Tara Kelly
“That sucks,” I said, tapping my foot.
“I said, ‘You owe more than the car is worth, moron.’ And she hangs up on me. Nice, huh?” He spins around and clicks on his mouse, waking his computer up. “Let me check this so-called e-mail real quick.”
I glanced at my cell clock again. 9:47. “Okay.”
When he opened an e-mail that resembled a novel, I groaned inside. A wave of smoke hit me in the face, making me cough. I pinched my nose and held my breath for a second so I didn’t make a scene.
“Can you believe this shit?” Nile jabbed his cigarette into a blue ashtray. “She says, ‘You’re a lying, cheating loser who lives in his own filth. You don’t even buy toilet paper unless someone reminds you. And you’re lecturing me about responsibility?’”
“Um…” Why was he reading this out loud? I’d be completely humiliated if someone wrote that about me.
“Ohhh.” He lit another cigarette. “What a bi—”
“Maybe we should get started. I’d rather not be driving home at two a.m. My night vision kind of sucks.”
Nile spun his chair around. “You can crash here.”
And where would I sleep—with creepy Marty in the living room or the Taco Bell wrappers in here? “Can’t. I have work in the morning.”
“Oh, well, that’s a bummer.” He studied me for a second before resting his head back on the chair. “I’m done with hot chicks. They want everything for nothing, you know? They’re lazy as hell in bed too.”
I leaned forward, hugging myself. Obviously I wasn’t a hot chick. But I wasn’t a counselor either. “So, um—”
“I want to date a real girl. A girl who can take care of herself. That’s sexy,” he continued.
“Well…” I motioned to his walls. “You’ve got plenty of adoring fans. I’m sure there’s a great girl out there for you.”
He laughed, putting out his second cigarette. “Are you kidding? Most of our fans are dumb, psychotic, or fat—usually all three.”
I thought about Jason’s boyfriend and his goth friends—how one of them framed a CD Nile had signed. Another talked about what a nice guy he was, that he always made himself accessible and responded to fan e-mails. Sure, she kept calling him her “future husband,” but that was beside the point. These people adored him, believed in him—paid his bills.
“You’re looking at me like you think I’m a jerk,” he said, squinting at me.
I knew I should probably bite my tongue—for C-Side’s sake. But I couldn’t. “Well, I know some of your fans—I’m one of them. We’re sane—for the most part. Not dumb. And being fat doesn’t make someone a bad person.”
“Dude, I wasn’t talking about you—and I’m sure your friends are cool. But you’ve been to our shows, right? Have you seen some of those people?”
Of course there were rabid fans at every show. But they didn’t make up the majority.
“I’ve seen girls—who claimed to be best friends—give each other bloody noses over who got to get on the bus first,” he continued. “I’ve been proposed to, ring and all, at least five times. Married chicks tell me they’re single on a regular basis. Guys have asked me to kiss their girlfriends so they’d have a shot at getting laid that night.”
My stomach was beginning to turn. “That’s…insane.”
“Exactly!” He tossed his lighter back and forth between his hands. “If you go on tour with us this summer? You’ll see. It’ll wake you right the fuck up.”
“But aren’t those extreme situations? There are a lot of people who just love your music. It heals them or speaks to them in some way. Doesn’t meeting them make it all worth it?”
He grinned, shaking his head. “I was like you before my first tour, all pumped and starry-eyed. But I learned one thing real quick: People are dumb. Dumb as rocks.”
Or maybe you’re just a jaded ass, I wanted to say. I’d heard the stories about musicians who let it all go to their heads. But I always pictured those people to be pop stars with vacant smiles or mainstream bands who played stadiums for a hundred bucks a pop. Sure, Luna’s Temptation was signed to a huge electronica label and they’d shared the stage with the biggest industrial acts around, but they weren’t of NIN fame—at least not yet. It seemed a little early for a Jupiter-sized ego.
“We really should get to work,” I said, trying my best not to sound rude. Normally, I’d tell a guy like him to stick it, but then I’d be out of a band.
“All work and no play, huh?” He pursed his lips. “I can dig that. Go ahead and play something, then.”
“Oh—okay.” I scrambled to open my case. “What am I playing through?”
He motioned to an amp modeler, a way to record without an amp. I preferred real amps, because I loved the raw sound and the vibration beneath my feet. But this would do.
I leaned over him to hook my guitar up, since he didn’t offer to help. His breath hit my arm and it felt like he was smiling.
“A girl who knows her way around equipment. That’s refreshing,” he said.
“Glad you think so.” Okay, maybe that sounded too snarky. “I mean, thanks.” I lifted my guitar strap over my head.
He clasped his hands behind his head. “So, what are you going to play for me?”
“Aren’t you going to put on one of your tracks?”
“I thought maybe you’d want to share something of your own.” His foot tapped mine.
I backed away. “That’s okay. I don’t have anything ready.”
His eyebrows rose. “Not much of a songwriter, huh?”
“I am, actually.”
“But you don’t have a completed song?”
If he wanted me to come prepared with a demo, he should’ve said so. “I thought I’d be adding to your tracks.”
“Fair enough.” He faced his computer and opened up Pro Tools, recording software I could never afford. “I’m going for a Morcheeba feel on this one, kind of sultry and bluesy. You heard of them?”
I sucked in my breath with excitement. That I could do, no problem. “Yeah—love ’em.”
The song kicked off with a lazy beat, reminiscent of a million trip-hop songs. A simple but catchy synth bass blended in. I tapped my fingers against the fret board, hearing a wah guitar effect fading in and out. “You got a wah setting on this?” I asked, scrolling through the presets on his modeler.
“Try the A bank.”
I found a setting that was serviceable, but not even close to a pedal. And then I dove in, adding bits of color. Nothing too overwhelming. “You’re going to have vocals in this, right?”
“Yeah—I was actually thinking of your singer.”
“Veta? She’d be stoked, I bet.”
“Sweet.” He lit yet another cigarette. I was surprised this dude could still breathe. “She models for Ink Angel, right?”
“What’s that?”
He exhaled a cloud of smoke. “An alternative modeling site—hot chicks with tats and piercings. Pinup-style stuff.”
“I don’t think so.” I added a few more notes to the basic lick I was playing.
“I thought Ajay said it was her. Is it true she’s only into chicks?” he asked.
“Yep.” Was he listening to this at all? I closed my eyes, focusing on the song. My foot tapped to the beat and I let my fingers explore, not knowing what would come next.
“Oh, wait. I know who it was,” he said. “That chick in Newton’s Whore. What’s her name?”
I hit a sour note. “Amy.”
He typed something. “Amy what?”
“Castellano, I think.” I opened my eyes to see his browser opened to InkAngel.com. Girls with tattoos, dyed hair, and a lot of skin decorated the page. Was he seriously this rude?
He pulled up a page that showed a girl with intense eyes and a mess of dark hair. Amy stood with a bass, her head tipped back. And worst of all—she had nothing on but a bra, underwear, and thigh-highs. “Damn, baby,” Nile said in a husky voice. “Maybe I should ask her to sing.”
Growling chicks with vocoders and downtempo music did not go together. It would be like Rob Zombie singing a Portishead song.
I jerked my guitar off my shoulders and sat back on the couch. Any hope I’d had for tonight had vanished. Now I just felt sick.
“Hey.” Nile turned back around. “Why’d you stop?”
“You seem a little preoccupied.” I laid my guitar back in its case.
He rubbed his eyes, standing up. “Sorry, Jasmine. It’s been a long day.”
I slammed my guitar case shut. “It’s fine. Another time. Whatever.”
He sat next to me, his arm pressing against mine. “Don’t be mad.”
I gave him my best tight smile. “I’m not.”
“We can hang out. Talk music—if you want.” His fingers ran up and down my thigh, making my entire body tense.
I scooted away. “I should go.”
His lips stretched into a playful smile. “Oh, come on. Really?” It was amazing how beautiful people could turn ugly when you got to know them. Nile’s chiseled features morphed into pointy shapes, making him look like the wicked witch in The Wizard of Oz.
“Yes, really.”
He sighed—like, actually sighed. “Can I get a kiss good-bye at least?”
“Um, no.”
“See?” He cupped my face. “You are mad.” His fingers smelled like Marlboros and spicy cologne.
I removed his hands and stood up, grabbing my guitar case. “See you around.”
“Aw, Jasmine, lighten up. I’m just—”
I yanked the door shut behind me, muffling his voice, and got the hell out of there. It wasn’t until I got in the car that I let myself breathe. Long, shaky breaths that made me feel like puking. I hated Nile for being—what he was. I hated him for proving Sean right. But most of all, I hated myself for falling for it.
I just wanted this chance so bad. This chance to prove that I was worth something as a guitarist. But maybe I wasn’t worth anything, if I needed someone else to validate me—the least-talented member of Luna’s Temptation, no less. All he did was look pretty and bang on a keyboard. Zia and Ajay wrote and produced the songs—they were the driving force of the band. Their revolving door of bassists and guitarists couldn’t even be brought into the equation. And the way Nile talked about his fans, the things he said about touring—his eyes were so dead. It was like he left his soul on a stage in Kansas somewhere.
My hands slammed into the steering wheel. Was this what I gave everything up for? To be laughed at and ridiculed, treated like I was nothing? It wasn’t like I expected rainbows and sunshine—or for anything to be even remotely easy. But I didn’t expect to feel like this, doubting the one stable thing I’d ever had in my life. If I didn’t have music, what was left?
I forced myself to look in the rearview mirror. At my damp cheeks and heaving chest. Red-rimmed eyes. Trembling lips. Desperation. Fear. Lots of fear. I didn’t recognize myself—who was this pathetic person?
I thought about my dad, what he’d do if I came home right now. Probably what he always did when I finally gave in: smile, nod, and make another phone call. But what if I walked in just like this? Would he have a clue what to say?
I thought about my mom, but I didn’t see her curled up in a cell somewhere. I saw her putting on red lipstick, her eyes bright and alive. I saw who I thought she was when I was little, the woman she could’ve been—if she really wanted to be. If she’d had the strength to make different choices.
My hands grasped my seat, squeezing tight. And I just sat there, parked outside Nile’s duplex, bawling like a fool. I didn’t care who saw me. I had to get it out, because right now everything was a blur. And I had no idea where I was going.
When my eyes had cleared enough to drive, I just barreled forward, not thinking about a destination. It didn’t hit me until I saw the SANTA CRUZ COUNTY LINE sign. I wasn’t ready to give up yet. I still had fight left in me, even if it meant sucking up my pride—giving Sean the satisfaction of being right. He might’ve been right about Nile, but he underestimated me. And maybe that was my fault. It wasn’t like I ever let him close enough to see the real me. He didn’t know that I was terrified he didn’t like me as much as I liked him. That, deep inside, all I wanted was to find somewhere I fit.
At the West Cliff house, all three guys were in the living room watching TV. Bryn and Sean took up the ends of the yellow couch, while Felix was reclined in the chair, his bunny slippers bouncing.
Bryn hit MUTE and all three of them stared at me—Felix and Bryn anxiously, Sean more skeptical, like he saw something in my face.
“How’d it go?” Bryn asked with a hopeful grin.
I looked down at my hands, wondering how he’d respond to the truth. If he’d blame me. “It didn’t.” My gaze moved to Sean. “You were right.”
Sean’s expression softened, but I couldn’t tell if it was pity or relief.
“Right about what?” Bryn asked.
I told them—everything. Even the part about Amy being on Ink Angels, which made Sean turn a little red. I waited for someone to yell or call me an idiot. For Sean to say “I told you so.” But they all gaped at me in silence.
Finally, Bryn’s fist slammed into the couch. “What a dick!”
“Me or him?”
Bryn crinkled his brow. “Him, obviously. Why would I call you a dick?”
I shoved my hands into my pockets. “I don’t know—I thought you might get pissed at me.”
“Why?” he asked. “You handled yourself pretty damn well. I would’ve kicked him in the balls or gone off—you know, if I was a chick or something.”
I let a breath out. “I would’ve, too—if it didn’t affect you guys.”
Felix shook his head. “What a perv. Isn’t he, like, old?”
“Twenty-five or something,” Bryn muttered. “Maybe I should talk to Ajay.”
“Do you really think he’d care?” I asked.
Bryn shrugged. “Probably not, but still—Nile had no right to treat you like that.”
I was surprised to hear those words coming from Bryn, the guy who didn’t seem to have a soft bone in his body. “Well, thanks. I appreciate that.”
Sean stared down at his hands, his hair falling over his eyes. I wished I knew what he was thinking—if he was thinking anything at all.
“Group hug?” Felix asked.
Bryn shotgunned a pillow at him. “Hug this.”
I rolled my eyes, feeling this odd mix of sadness and comfort. Mostly, I was exhausted. I could probably sleep for days. “Good night, guys.”
“’Night,” they called as I went up the stairs.
I didn’t quite get to my door when I heard footsteps coming up behind me. I didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. I could just sense Sean now, his quiet tension. “Yeah?” I asked, keeping my back to him.
“I’m sorry. For everything.” His voice was soft, almost a whisper.
I faced him. His eyes searched mine, like he was almost afraid of what I’d say. “Me too.”
We stood there for a minute, him drumming his hand against his leg, me hugging myself. Both of us safe in our bubbles. Maybe this was how we should’ve kept things.
“Good night,” I said finally.
He brushed his hair out of his face, his lips parting. “’Night,” he whispered.
I went into my room before either of us was tempted to say more.
Chapter 19
I stayed remarkably calm the day of the big show. Right until Bryn showed up with the van. Watching him hop out and scramble to the studio made my heart pump faster and my fingers go cold.
I closed my eyes and took deep breaths, focusing on the sound of the ocean—a calming technique Veta taught me. I would not psych myself out. Not again.
We’d practiced every song on the set list at least a hundred times this week, and I’d been nailing each one. Even without Sean taking my mind elsewhere. We hadn’t said more than five words to each other since the night I went
to Nile’s. Yes, I’d actually counted. Hey. What’s up? Not much. But there was no shortage of lingering stares and awkward silences.
After we finished loading the van, Veta and Felix whisked me off to the bathroom to get ready. I’d agreed to a compromise again, but one that suited me better. This ended up being my ripped jeans paired with a black velvet corset top Veta brought over. I actually kind of liked it. The laces down the front narrowed me in the right places, and it made my boobs look kind of, well, okay.
“I was afraid you’d look like you walked out of a bad ’80s movie,” Veta said, combing out my hair. “But I may have to steal this look.” Our other agreement was that I’d wear my hair down instead of up. No biggie. As long as it wasn’t in those ridiculous ringlets again.
“Seriously,” Felix said, eyeing me up and down. “You actually have kind of a nice body, Jasmine.”
“Felix!” Veta shot a rubber band at him.
He covered his mouth, laughing. “What I meant was, you’re always hiding under, like, clothes.”
“That’s the idea,” I said. “Not all of us enjoy walking around in little towels all day.”
He pouted. “I don’t.”
“Yes, you do,” Veta and I said in unison.
His eyes widened at both of us. “Not all day!”
Veta fluffed my hair and inspected her work. “There ya go, mamacita.”
“Thanks.”
“Now shoo.” She waved me out. “I need to fix Felix’s makeup.”
“What’s wrong with it?” he whined.
I walked out, chuckling. Bryn and Sean were shooting pool—well, Sean was. Bryn watched with his arms folded. Both had their stage garb on—Bryn in a tight-fitting shirt that showed off his physique and Sean with his fedora and button-down shirt.
“You finally done?” Bryn asked me.
