by Riley Scott
“Superman…speaking of superheroes, I called to check on Ryland this morning. He’s in his first round of treatments. He sounded tired but he’s upbeat. I just thought you’d want to know.”
“Of course I do,” Chris said. She reached over and ran her fingers through Raven’s hair. “Keep me posted on how he’s doing.”
“Absolutely,” Raven said, nodding. “Next question.”
“Any past lovers who are going to show up at one of the stops and beat me up?”
“No.” Raven laughed. “They’re all long gone by now.”
“Yeah?”
“They don’t stick around very long,” she said, waving her hand in dismissal. “Something about the time I spend on the road destroying what we had.”
“Any other reasons for them running off?”
“What is this?” Raven joked, leaning down to kiss Chris and make the questions stop for a moment while she searched for an answer. “I’m probably the reason for the latest ones—not hard to imagine why. Then there was my first girlfriend, Staci. She was something else. We were buddies in high school and then more as we got older. She was a looker and just got me, you know?” Raven shook her head, clearing the dust off the old memories. “Anyway…we lasted about two years. It was bliss—just the most amazing connection. Everything was great right up until the day she showed up at my apartment and told me that what we had was wrong and gross. Now she’s married with two kids in the suburbs of northern Michigan.”
“That first heartache is brutal,” Chris said. “I know mine was.”
“Yeah? Let’s hear it.”
“Well there are two for me,” Chris said, sitting up and straightening her shoulders. “The first was my junior prom. My date, Brent, was my best friend. We ran around together, I let him drag race in my car, we watched sports, the whole nine yards. Neither of us had dates, so we went together. That was great. It was a blast. I really thought I felt something for the guy. It all goes back to that connection thing. But he hooked up with one of my good friends at the after-party. I drank a bottle of rum with another sad guy whose date had dumped him mid-prom. Then I went home, drunk and alone. Looking back, I think it was my pride that shattered that night. But it still stung.”
“I want the real one now,” Raven said. “That was weak.”
Chris laughed and nodded. “You’ll get it. Her name was Renee. I met her when I was twenty. She was six years older. That’s a hell of an age gap when you’re in college. But I was mature and thought I could handle it. I fell hard and fast. She said she did too. I guess I’ll never know if that statement was true or not. We were inseparable, and she gave me my first true experience with love. She also handed me my first genuine heartbreak five years later when she cheated on me.” Chris paused and crossed her arms over her chest. The move made Raven want to move in closer and protect her. But she waited silently, giving Chris the emotional space to finish her story. “I kicked her out, threw the ring she had put on my finger at her and never heard from her again until my father died a year later. She reached out to me. I never called her back.”
“Damn,” Raven said. “Women can be the worst.”
“They can be. I haven’t really connected with anyone since then. After my father’s passing, I closed myself off a bit. I got busy at work and liked it that way. I do my own thing, and the dishonest women of the world can do theirs—with someone else.”
“Agreed,” Raven said, reaching below her bed to grab the stashed bottle of whiskey. “Cheers to leaving the dishonest women of the world behind and embracing the here and now.”
“Cheers,” Chris said, taking a swig.
“You’re pretty hot when you drink it straight from the bottle like that.”
“You like that?” Chris asked, winking and taking another drink.
“Mmmhmm.” Raven’s response came as more of a growl than words.
“So tell me more,” Raven said, composing herself. “What is it you dream of?”
Chris’s eyes glazed over and she bit her lip. While the move would have typically made Raven crazy with desire, she waited. Chris’s caution was evident. “Typical dreams,” she said, nodding and taking another drink.
“Like what?”
“I want to have a strong career and to make a difference.”
“That’s cliché and not true. I can tell by the way you’ve shifted. You’re holding back. Lay it on me.”
Pain evident in her eyes, Chris took a deep breath. “I want that same connection that we’ve both talked about. But I want it without the heartache. I want kids and a family. I want love.”
“I hope you find it,” Raven said, replaying Chris’s words. What must it be like to think those were attainable dreams? She knew they were for some people. But to her, they seemed so foreign. Rock stars didn’t settle. People who didn’t give love didn’t get love. That wasn’t a future she could envision for herself, but she wished it for Chris—if that’s what she wanted.
“Thank you,” Chris said. “And what is it you dream of?”
“Selling albums, rocking out to crowds, watching you press that bottle to your lips again and then getting to taste the remnants of whiskey from your lips.”
Chris raised an eyebrow. Raven was thankful Chris didn’t take offense. She lifted the bottle to her lips and ran her tongue around the rim.
“Sexy,” Raven commented. “Let’s see what else you can do with those lips.”
“Come and see for yourself.” Chris shimmied her body on her side of the bed and set the bottle down.
“Oh I will.”
This felt normal. It felt right. She smiled as she crossed the distance, needing to feel Chris’s body against her own.
Before their lips met, she pulled back briefly. “I like the way we mesh, by the way,” Raven said, her smile growing. Not giving her a chance to respond, she pressed her lips to Chris’s, giving into living life in the moment.
Chapter Nine
Overstuffed couches and abstract art filled the plush room and overhead an obscenely pretentious chandelier lit the room. Chris looked around, taking it all in. She had been in her share of fancy places, but this room screamed of money. It was Rolling Stone magazine after all.
New York hadn’t been on the schedule but since Raven had been asked to play at a tribute concert for an ailing bassist whose music had influenced her life, schedules had been off-kilter this week. Regardless of circumstance, she was taking advantage of every PR opportunity—and that’s what brought them here today. After watching how well the Ellen interview had gone back in LA, Chris was certain this one would be a winner as well.
Across from her on the couch, she watched Raven, poised and at ease. She smiled, noting that this was nothing out of the ordinary for either of them. National media was commonplace, given their work.
Clad in a black tank top, ripped jeans and a fedora, Raven looked every bit the part of a rocker, yet she somehow managed to make the look seem elegant. On the other side of the coffee table, the young reporter shifted in his seat, ready to start the interview. Much like Raven, he looked his part. He was an up-and-coming reporter. His slicked-back black hair and his thick-rimmed hipster glassed paired perfectly with his sleek, gray button-down shirt. The only indication that he worked for Rolling Stone and not the New York Times were his jeans instead of slacks and the Def Leppard tattoo on his right hand. She smiled at the thought, hoping the distinctions made Raven feel more at ease for the interview. He was one of her kind, a lover of rock ’n’ roll and a young person paying his dues.
“I’m Geoff Thomas,” he said, shaking hands. Chris had exchanged emails with him for the past two weeks. “Thanks for making time for me today,” he said, looking nervous “You look great.”
“Well, thank you very much,” Raven said, smiling warmly at him. “And it’s my pleasure. Thank you for reaching out. I’m Raven, by the way.”
Chris watched as the young man returned her smile, relaxing in her presence. Chris had realized
over the past month and a half that Raven had that effect. It was a gift.
“Can you tell me a little about how you got started in the industry?” he asked, not taking his eyes off the star. Her beauty emanated throughout the room.
“It’s what I always loved,” Raven said. “I loved music as a little kid. I’d hang out at home in the basement with an old record player. I got my start on a dusty, out-of-tune guitar that had been in storage for years. I’d jam out to Zeppelin, Janis Joplin and Jimi Hendrix, and I’d just get lost in it all. It was my escape. Eventually, basement playing ceased to be an option but in those days I’d entertain anyone who would listen. It was my form of expression, my outlet for anything I felt or thought. By the time I was a preteen, I was writing my own lyrics and branching out. Childhood comes with its fair share of life challenges and everything seems bigger when you’re a kid, so I needed a place to just be me and express everything going on in the world around me. Music was that for me and it still is—after all this time.”
“You mentioned your childhood,” he noted. “What was that time like?”
“It was the eighties,” she said, offering a smile. “So, pretty much what you’d expect. Good music, big hair, lots of bike riding, lots of MTV.”
He nodded, taking notes. Chris admired the way she was able to give people enough of an answer to keep them satisfied without baring her soul. It was a trick she had tried to teach many of her clients, but Raven was a natural.
“You’ve got a tough image,” he noted. “People regard you as the goddess of rock. How does that feel and is that an image you, too, feel you have?”
“Wow, a goddess?” she asked, her tone conveying genuine gratitude.
“Not a goddess,” he corrected. “THE goddess.”
“Well, thank you,” she said, grinning largely enough to let her dimple show. “I don’t consider myself a goddess, but it’s flattering to hear that some may believe that. I’m just your ordinary rebel kid who loved music enough to make it my life’s work. That’s all. I worked my ass off, playing in every bar that would let me in the door. From my first gig, it’s been the same motivational factor. I don’t care about the charts or the sales. I just want to make music, to be heard for standing up for those of us who are a little different, those of us who don’t fit the norm, those who don’t do the nine-to-five in a suit thing and those who maybe have felt a little too much pressure to fit the mold.”
Pausing dramatically, she took a drink from her water bottle. “We’re all told who we’re supposed to be. Sometimes it’s spoken blatantly. Other times, it’s subtle. But everyone has an idea of who everyone else should be and I’m a big fan of saying ‘fuck what everyone thinks.’ I want to be known for encouraging everyone to follow their own dream and for making some of the outcasts like me feel a little more at home with who they are. If you’re weird, own it. That’s what I’ll always stand for and I’ll always be making music. So, if that makes me a goddess, I’ll claim the title, but no, that’s not how I see myself.”
Chris silently cheered at the answer—modest, yet uplifting. And she noticed the spark in Raven’s brown eyes. They were not just simple words. They were the truth and that’s the part of Raven she wanted people to see. This was genuine. This was legitimate feeling from the girl who was more typically bottled up and closed off, unless she was pouring her heart out in song.
The reporter smiled and nodded with every word, taking notes, looking up only when she had finished speaking. “I think that’s a great way to look at it,” he said, nodding again. “What kinds of things are you working on lately? Anything new in the works?”
“There’s always something new in the works, Geoff,” she answered, her raspy voice deep with excitement. “That’s the beauty of life on the road. I’m always with my guys. We have a lot of fun and sometimes that means we just sit around and create. I wrote a new song a while back for the album that I’m working on. Right now, I’m doing a little at a time, to let it all flow. As the songs come, I’ll share them. I’ve got one I just started writing this morning, though, and I think it’s going to be a hit. It falls in line with my life philosophy. It’s all about being who you are—whoever that may be—and kicking society’s rules to the curb.”
“The bad girl of rock ’n’ roll,” he commented. “I like it. Care to share the name of the song?”
“It’s not really named yet,” she said. “It’s not quite finished, but I’ll give you a call for an exclusive listen when I have it finished.”
“You’ve got a deal,” he said gratefully. “Now can you tell me a little about the charity work you’re starting?”
“Absolutely,” she said, her face lighting up again like a child. Chris smiled to herself, thankful she had chosen something that Raven was passionate enough about to exude this level of excitement. “I’m working with a nationwide rescue group, Pawsitive Projects. They are focused on rehoming pets. I’m not sure if you’ve heard their new jingle or seen the commercials, but I’m currently serving as their spokeswoman. I wrote and recorded the song, and will be performing at events throughout the summer to raise money. I’ll match every dollar raised at the shows and will continue to serve as a proponent of their no-kill policies and their advocacy in placing pets with responsible pet owners.” She paused long enough to smile, adding depth and sincerity to her words. “I’ve always loved dogs in particular, and I think they all deserve great, loving homes, where they will be cherished for the treasures that they are.”
“Very cool,” he said. “Do you have any pets of your own?”
“I don’t,” she said, not faltering. “My life on the road doesn’t quite allow for that at this point, but I will one day.”
“And what about your life back home, when you’re not on the road?” he asked. “Is there anyone special in your life?”
“I’ve got my home in San Diego and, of course, my place in Boston. I like the coast to coast option. I think that we have far too many beautiful places here in the US to stay in just one. I don’t see my places regularly but I’m told they’re still standing. And there are a lot of special people in my life,” Raven commented, brushing her hand through the air. “I have wonderful friends, a great band and a strong support team. They’re all special enough for me right now.”
The reporter raised an eyebrow. “You should be a politician,” he said, laughing. “But I’ll let it slide for now. Maybe you can tell me more when I listen to your new song.”
“Maybe so,” she said, winking and placing her hands back in her lap.
“In the meantime, I do have a couple more questions,” he said, good-naturedly moving on to another subject. “You seem to be one of those people who stays below the radar of the paparazzi and who is out of the public eye most of the time. I mean, we’ve all seen glimpses—and there were a couple of unflattering stories a while back, but no one really seems to know you. Who would you say is closest to you?”
“Tricky way of asking that,” she said, laughing even though it was clear that she was a little less than impressed with his tactics. “I would say that first and foremost, it’s Frank Karnes, my manager. He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to my life. He’s always there, always stable, always has good advice and truly always has my best interest at heart. He’s a good guy and he’s like a family member to me. I couldn’t do this without him.
“Next, it’s my band guys, Peter, Paul and Joe. I guess you could say they’re my version of Peter, Paul and Mary.” Geoff and Raven both laughed at her silly pun. “Paul Warner, my drummer, is my rock and a lifelong friend. I credit him not only for his musical talents, but also for his ability to see me through any situation. I also have Pete Riley, who plays bass for the band and offers much-needed comic relief, well-timed pranks and moral support. And Joe Easton on guitar. He’s our wise one, always fun but wise beyond his years. They’re all crazy talented and make a rock show look like as easy as setting up a lemonade stand. More than that, they’re like brothers. We s
ee each other at our best and our worst, we challenge each other, we make each other better and of course we bicker and joke like family as well. Beyond that, I think it changes from time to time. Currently, I’ve got some new team members who really go above and beyond to make my days great and make this whole thing so much fun.”
He opened his mouth to speak, but Raven continued. “Christina Villanova here,” she said, pointing in Chris’s direction. “She’s new to my team this tour and she’s been an incredible asset. She’s got great energy, enthusiasm and is always an encourager. It’s people like that who work so closely with us that they almost become a part of who we are. Those are the people who are the closest to me and those are the people who see the true me, behind all the lights, behind the music.”
“Behind the music,” he laughed. “MTV to VH1.”
“And on every radio station between, hopefully,” she joked. “What other questions do you have?”
“I’ll get to those, but you seem to be a young woman wise beyond her years and with enough talent to really make a change in the world—and that seems to be something you really want. So, I’d like you to tell me what you’d like to tell the world.”
Raven didn’t flinch at the open-ended question. She leaned forward, her elbows on her knees. Looking him in the eye, she pondered his question for a second before speaking. “I want everyone—especially all of the girls out there—to think about who they want to be. We’ve made a lot of progress as a society, but the fact remains that there are still so many preconceived notions about women. I want everyone to challenge those norms, to be who they want to be—unapologetically so. I want people to step outside the box and be those rebellious girls who make things happen and make a difference.”
“Very nice,” he commented, making a couple of notes. “What about those women who believe their worth is found in finding someone to love?”
“I’d say that we all want to be loved,” she answered with ease. “I think that love is wonderful. It truly is, but it shouldn’t define who we are. And it shouldn’t stop you doing what you want with your life—it shouldn’t be an either or. We are great. We are beautiful. We are fierce—with or without someone.”
