Victory RUN: Collected Victory RUN 1, 2, 3

by Devon Hartford

  The two of them go back and forth.

  I stand up and nearly bolt out the door.

  Ms. Sensible: $6,000!!

  Ms. Impetuous: Fuck!

  I sit back down.

  What am I getting myself into?

  Chapter 63

  KELLAN

  “We gotta problem,” I say to my boss Rich Aymes as I close his office door behind me.

  “What?” Rich looks up from his computer, his face worried.

  Rich wears a stylish sport coat over a threadbare Y&T white Mean Streak t-shirt he bought new at the concert during Y&T’s tour in 1983. There’s a photo of Rich on the wall behind him posing with Dave Meniketti, frontman of Y&T, taken that same year. In the photo, eighteen year old Rich has the same scraggly mustache and feathered hair parted down the middle he has now, as well as the very same Mean Streak t-shirt.

  I say, “The new hire interview at eleven o’clock.”

  “You mean Victory Payne?” Rich asks in his gruff baritone voice.

  “Yeah. We can’t hire her.”

  “Why not?” Rich glances at the clock on the wood paneled wall. The clock is made from a picture disk record of the British Steel album by Judas Priest. The hour and minute hands mounted in the center of the record are metal daggers. “It isn’t even eleven. Have you interviewed her already?”

  “No. She’s in the waiting room. But I know her…”

  “You know her? Let me guess…” Rich leans back in his creaky office chair, laces his fingers casually behind his head, and cracks a good-natured grin over teeth that have seen better days, “…you banged her.”

  I chuckle, “No.”

  Rich knows me too well.

  He says, “Then what’s the problem, man? Can’t she play?”

  “Oh, she can play. She’s one of the most amazing shredders I’ve seen in a long time.”

  “Is she Paul Gilbert good?” he asks.

  “Pretty damn close,” I say seriously.

  “So hire her already,” Rich chuckles.

  “Dude, I can’t work with her.”

  Rich surveys my face for a moment. He nods slowly, “Oh, I get it. You want to bang her.”

  I frown, “No,” I growl a bit too forcefully.

  Rich nods, eyes narrowed, “You wanna bang her. I can tell.”

  “No, man! I totally don’t!”

  Rich leans over to the closed circuit monitor next to his desk that shows the waiting room. “She’s the one with long hair, sitting by the front door, right?” Rich turns the monitor so I can see it.

  “Yeah, that’s her.”

  Rich nods, “Uh huh. You want to bang her.”

  “I don’t, man. I swear.”

  He looks at the monitor shrewdly, “Hell, Kellan, I want to bang her. Don’t tell me you don’t.” Rich is all bluster when it comes to the ladies. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him go on a date, he’s so busy running the school.

  “I’m tellin’ you, Rich, it’s not that.”

  “Yeah, uh huh. I know you, man. You ain’t foolin’ me.”

  I roll my eyes, “Whatever, man.”

  Rich leans forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his paper strewn desk. “Then what’s the problem?”

  “It’s just…fuck, I don’t know. I just don’t want to work with her.”

  “Come on, man. You know Steve is leaving soon. He’s gonna be on tour for six months. There’s no way you and I can pick up all his guitar students for that long. We need a third guitar teacher to replace him ASAP.”

  I’ve always appreciated Rich’s level-headed, no bullshit approach to running his business. He’s the best boss I’ve ever worked for. I think it’s because he loves running Rock & Roll High School. And I love working here alongside him. But there’s no way I can work alongside Victory. Not after…

  I blurt, “I can pick up the slack. You know me, Rich. I’m a work horse.”

  “Yeah, but you can’t teach two one-on-one lessons at the same time.”

  “It’s summer,” I argue, “we can shuffle their schedules around.”

  “Easier said than done. I know the students love you, man, but people like regularity. Especially kids. They need structure. And so do their parents. We don’t want to change up times on them unless we have a good reason. So far, you haven’t given me one.”

  “Yeah,” I sigh. He’s right. The last thing I want to do is make things harder on the kids because I can’t suck it up and deal with Victory.

  “Look,” Rich says, “it’s not like you’re going to be working side by side with her. You guys’ll be in different rooms. So what if you bump into each other in the hallways?”

  “You’re right,” I hiss. “I’ve just gotta man up.”

  “You shouldn’t have any problem with that,” Rich chuckles. “Didn’t you tell me you wrote I’m A Man for Bo Diddley back in the day?” he jokes.

  I didn’t but I chuckle, “Yeah. M. A. N.”

  Rich smiles, “Show Victory how much of a man you are by being one. Now go interview her and hire her if she’s right for the job.” He looks around, like he’s checking if anyone’s listening, and says in a low voice, “If she’s not right for the job, get her number so I can ask her out.”

  I growl, “No way, man!”

  Rich erupts with laughter, “You want to bang her!”

  “Dude, I don’t!”

  Rich continues to laugh. It’s slightly infectious.

  I chuckle, “Dude, you need to get laid.”

  “When do I have time, man? I’m too busy running the school and babysitting your ass. Now go do the interview. If it’s really a problem, tell me and we’ll find somebody you aren’t attracted to. I hear some of those old circus monkeys that smoke cigarettes can also play a mean guitar. If I have to, I’ll hire one and hope for the best.” His face turns serious, “But it’ll be on you if the bitter old monkey goes ape shit in the practice room with one of the kids.” He winks at me.

  It’s funny because I know that Rich is the sweetest guy ever, and would never do anything remotely like that. He loves the school and the students way too much. He’s really just giving me shit.

  I smile, “All right, all right. I’ll suck it up.”

  “Good. Now get out of here,” he grins, “I have work to do.”

  Chapter 64

  VICTORY

  “So, Ms. Payne,” Kellan says sarcastically while reading from a paper on a clipboard, “it says on your job application that you’ve been playing guitar for a long time. Can you specify an exact number of years?”

  We sit in one of the lesson rooms. There are two practice amps on the floor, a computer and speakers in the corner, swiveling office chairs, sound baffles on the walls, and various rock and roll posters. Overhead, a fluorescent rectangle lights the room. Even in this crappy lighting, Kellan is incredibly gorgeous.

  I frown and roll my eyes, “Does it matter? You’ve seen me play.”

  He chuckles, “I need to know how many years. There’s a box for it right here on the interview paperwork.”

  “I don’t know. Forever?” I grumble. “Is that long enough?”

  He jots something down on the clipboard, saying it out loud as he writes it, “For-ev-er. Good. Thank you, Ms. Payne.”

  “Quit calling me Ms. Payne,” I groan.

  “That’s your name, isn’t it?” he asks seriously.

  “Yeah.” Despite my irritation, the corner of my mouth lifts with mild amusement. I can’t help it. Kellan’s snooty professor behavior is funny. “So is Victory.”

  “Can you spell that?” he quips.

  “Isn’t it on the paperwork right in front of you?”

  “The paper is smudged. I need you to spell it.” He gives me a serious look.

  I stand up so I can see what’s on his clipboard, but he flattens it against his chest, hiding the paper.

  He says, “No fair peeking.”

  I plop back down in the chair. “Fine,” Rapid fire, I say, “V-I-C-T-O-R-Y.”<
br />
  He frowns, sticking his tongue out the corner of his mouth, and in slow motion says, “Vee. Eye. Cee—wait. Can you repeat that?”

  I shake my head, smiling slightly against my will, and groan, “You know how to spell it.”

  He looks up and levels a serious look at me, “If you can’t be patient with me, how can you possibly expect me to believe you’ll be patient with the students?” He arches his brows confrontationally.

  “Ahhh!” I huff. “V. I. C. You still with me?”

  “Yes, Ms. Payne. Please continue.”

  “T. O.”

  “I’m sorry,” he holds up a stop sign hand, “Where does the T go? After the C or before it?”

  I fold my arms across my chest, but I can’t help smiling, “You know!”

  “Indulge me, Ms. Payne,” he says seriously.

  “The T goes after the C. You ready for the next letter? This one goes after the T.”

  “Are you getting flip with me, Ms. Payne?”

  “Stop calling me that!” I giggle.

  “What comes after the T again?”

  “O, R, Y! O, R, Y!” I’m laughing completely against my will.

  “Are, Why. Got it.” He looks up at me like he’s accomplished something significant. “Oh, wait. Whoops. I think I put in one to many Ohs.” He turns over his ball point pen and tries erasing with the cap. “Hmm, that doesn’t work.”

  “It’s a pen! It doesn’t erase!” I’m laughing freely now.

  “Ms. Payne, if you can’t demonstrate a professional attitude during the interview, I really don’t think you can be expected to deal with the children.”

  “Kill me now!” I laugh.

  He chuckles, finally breaking character.

  I chuckle too, “Hey, what’s your last name, anyway?”

  Kellan frowns, “Didn’t I tell you?”

  “No.”

  “It’s Burns.”

  “Really?”

  He nods.

  “Kellan Burns?” I ask doubtfully.

  “That’s me,” he smiles.

  “It fits,” I say.

  “Oh? How?”

  Oops. Why did I have to say that? I’m not going to tell him that I’ve seen his brown eyes burn like embers on more than one occasion, during one of which he had his hand between my legs…

  I repress a pleasant shiver.

  He smiles, “Are you cold?”

  Oops again. “Uh, the A/C must be getting to me.” I rub my arms like I’m trying to warm myself.

  He gives me this knowing look that I can’t hold because he’s probably thinking about the exact same thing I am. I’m sure he remembers.

  He asks, “Want me to turn it down?”

  I almost say, “What, the heat, or the A/C?” But that would be a dead giveaway. Instead, I say, “I’m fine.”

  “You sure?”

  I nod.

  “Okay, let’s get serious.”

  My eyes goggle, but he’s looking at the clipboard and doesn’t notice. I hope he doesn’t mean relationship serious. No, he can’t mean that.

  “Now,” he says, “I know you can play and perform. But I need to know how good your music theory knowledge is, and if you can teach.”

  “Sure,” I say.

  “What are the seven modes?”

  “Ionian, Dorian, Phrygian, Lydian, Mixolydian, Aeolian…”

  “And?”

  I lean toward him like I’m a spy sharing secret information, “And Locrian. The devil’s mode.”

  He snorts, “Ha! You know about the devil’s mode?”

  “I play metal. What did you expect?”

  He grins. “Nice.”

  For the next ten minutes he asks me a series of questions about music theory, all of which I answer easily and quickly. Now maybe he’ll apologize for calling me stupid to whoever he talked to on the phone that night.

  “Wow,” he says, “you really know your music theory cold.”

  You can apologize any time.

  He doesn’t.

  He needs reminding. With great superiority I say, “I guess I’m not as stupid as you thought.”

  “What? I never thought you were stupid.”

  “Did too!” I sound five years old. “You told your friend or whoever on the phone the night I moved out!” Wow, I sound like I’m having a relationship argument.

  …two days does not a relationship make.

  Thank you, Ms. Sensible.

  Kellan frowns thoughtfully. “I don’t…oh! I remember. I wasn’t talking about you.”

  “Yeah, right,” I sneer.

  He shakes his head, but he’s smiling and relaxed. “I was talking about Savannah.”

  “Who?”

  He arches an eyebrow, “Femme Flakes?”

  “Femme Flakes?”

  He looks at me expectantly, “The female corn flake?”

  Then it clicks. “Oh! Femme Flakes! The girl you told you had the squirts!”

  He points a finger gun at me and fires it, “That’s her. Savannah.”

  “So you were talking about Savannah? She’s the stupid one?”

  He nods, “Couldn’t you tell?”

  “I thought—” then I stop myself. “You really weren’t talking about me?”

  He shakes his head, “No. I think you’re the opposite of stupid.”

  I crinkle my nose, “Why does that not sound like a compliment?”

  “Are you fishing now?”

  “For what?” I grin.

  “Compliments?”

  “No!”

  “Uh huh. So we don’t have to go over this again…” he places a hand on my knee and levels a serious gaze at me.

  His hand is very large, firm, warm, and making me very very hot. His burning brown eyes add fuel to my fire.

  He continues, “…you’re probably the smartest woman I’ve ever met.” He leans back, releasing his hand from my knee. “Got it?”

  Don’t let go of my knee! I like your hand! But I don’t say anything. Instead I nod dumbly. Yes, dumbly. Because I feel stupid for doubting him, and because I seem to lose my brain when he looks at me with those beautiful super novas smoldering beneath his handsome brow. I think his eyes are about to set my skin on fire. They’ve already incinerated my brain, which is probably dribbling out my ears at the moment.

  “So, back to the interview,” he says seriously. “We know you know your music theory and how to shred the shit out of your guitar, but how are you with kids? Most of our students are young. It’s not like teaching adults.”

  I’m taken aback by his question.

  Here I am, sitting across from an admittedly hot but still slutty motorcycle riding manwhore who I thought would be the last person on the planet to ask me if I was good with kids. What does he know about kids? Oh yeah, he teaches them guitar every day. Probably a fair amount.

  I say, “I don’t know. But I’m sure I’ll be fine.” At that moment, I notice the paper on Kellan’s clipboard is blank, except for the word Forever and VICTORY. “Hey!” I say, “Your paper is blank!”

  “It’s not blank,” he snickers, “It says Forever. It also says Victory, see?” he points at the words.

  I frown, “So?! I thought it would be some sort of official employment form! What was all that b.s. about?! Asking me to spell my name like you didn’t know!”

  “Just b.s.,” he laughs, “I couldn’t help myself.”

  “Jerk,” I kick his shin with the ball of my booted foot, but not hard.

  “I hope you don’t plan on kicking your students,” he chuckles.

  “No,” I sneer.

  “Anyway,” he smiles, “we were talking about you and teaching kids. My next class is at noon. Why don’t you sit in with us and I’ll have you teach part of the lesson.”

  “Okay,” I smile.

  “Hey, I’ve gotta use the restroom before class starts. You wanna wait here?”

  “Sure.”

  He stands and opens the door.

  “Oh, uh,” I say,
“do you have a guitar I can warm up on? I haven’t played in a few days, so I’m probably kind of rusty.”

  “You rusty? I doubt that,” he chuckles.

  “I am! I don’t have a guitar right now.”

  He gives me a compassionate look, “You still haven’t found one?”

  I shake my head, slightly embarrassed, “No.”

  “Sorry. Anyway, use my Ibanez for now. Go crazy.”

  “Thanks. Oh, hey, I have to ask. What was Paul Gilbert doing here?”

  Kellan smiles, “Did you meet him?”

  “Yeah, when he was leaving. He doesn’t teach here, does he?”

  “No. But Paul knows Rich, the owner. They’re talking about having Paul do a clinic for the kids this summer.”

  “That would be awesome!” I smile. “Can I go?”

  He snorts, “What could Paul possibly show you?”

  I’m totally flattered by the epic compliment, but it’s a bit of an exaggeration. I toss my hair and blush, “I still want to go…”

  “Don’t worry. If you’re a teacher here you can go for free. If not, I’ll make sure you get in either way.”

  “Nice,” I grin.

  Kellan closes the door when he leaves.

  I do my best to catch a glimpse of his butt in his tight jeans while his back is turned, but I only get a snippet before he’s gone.

  Wait, Ms. Sensible barks, don’t go rushing into things, young lady! Ignore that ass!

  As if.

  I guess I’m not mad at Kellan anymore?

  I shake my head, smiling at myself as I grab his RG550 off the guitar stand. It’s the same one I played at his house. Is it just me, or does it feel hot to the touch? Either way, picking it up reminds of the night I played it…

  …and everything that followed.

  Is my working here really a good idea?

  Or should I leave now before I make a big mistake?

  I shrug my shoulders and fish a yellow Tortex guitar pick out of my pocket.

  Ms. Mischievous says, Mistakes can be fun.

  Ms. Sensible shakes her head, I warned you.

  Ms. Mischievous and most of my internal committee stick out tongues and shrug shoulders at Ms. Sensible.

  Chapter 65