Victory RUN: Collected Victory RUN 1, 2, 3

by Devon Hartford

  “Anybody want food?” Logan asks. “I’m starving.”

  “I could use a bite,” I say.

  Olivia glances between the brothers and says, “I could use a bite too. Which one of you is sweeter?”

  “Liv!” I bark.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Olivia says, ignoring me. “With a little whipped cream and sugar, I bet you’re both as sweet as pie.”

  I say, “Liv doesn’t get out much.” I glare at her, “Can we go now?”

  Olivia asks the brothers, “Which one of you wants to carry me? I feel ready to swoon.”

  Lucas and Logan laugh.

  I walk behind Liv and push her back with both my hands, “Go, girl! Food is that way!”

  Olivia stumbles forward, spinning her legs to keep from tripping. “Victory,” she laughs, “watch it!”

  The edge of the sun slides behind the Silver Lake hillsides when we reach the sidewalk outside.

  Olivia hooks her arms through the brothers’ elbows.

  “We ready?” she asks.

  “Be nice,” I warn. “They’re brothers. And Logan is sensitive.”

  “Ooh,” Olivia coos, “I like the sensitive quiet types the best,” she crinkles her nose, “they’re so tender on the inside.”

  I blurt, “You make him sound like squishy candy or something.”

  Olivia looks up at Logan and smiles, “I would say more of a hard candy shell that melts in your mouth…”

  Exasperated, I roll my eyes and say, “You need to get laid, Liv!”

  “I’m working on it,” she purrs. “Let’s go, boys. I’m starving…” she says seductively.

  Lucas and Logan both laugh heartily as the three of them walk down the sidewalk together, arm in arm.

  I really hope Liv isn’t serious about arranging a three way with Lucas and Logan.

  That’ll really screw up my plans for a band.

  I sigh, but I can’t blame her. The Summer brothers are incredibly sexy. Oh well. I follow behind them, admiring the brothers’ butts in their clingy surf shorts.

  Maybe we’ll have a four way and the band will never go anywhere.

  Not!

  Chapter 77

  VICTORY

  Late morning sun bleaches all the buildings on Wilshire Boulevard blinding white. I walk from my parked car to the front entrance of Rock & Roll High School, my Fender case in hand. I’m so glad I have my guitar back.

  It’s a hot day so I’m wearing my sleeveless Whitesnake ‘Slide It In’ shirt. Lucky for me, Johnny and Karen’s apartment building has a big laundry room so I have clean clothes without having to use the Lucy’s laundromat down the street.

  When I near Rock & Roll High School, I notice Kellan leaning against the doorframe.

  When he sees me, he folds his muscled, inked-up arms across his chest. The muscles contract and pop dramatically, but I’m pretty sure he’s not doing it on purpose. He just has big muscles and very little body fat.

  I say, “Hey.”

  “Rich is late,” Kellan grunts, “he called and said he’d be here soon.”

  Kellan clearly isn’t in a talkative mood.

  “Okay,” I say and lean against the front wall on the other side of the door, leaving space between us. I realize that the locked door between me and Kellan is vaguely symbolic. It’s a portal between the two of us that leads to a wonderful world of guitar and kids and smiles and endless laughter and happiness, but the door is locked, and neither Kellan nor me has the key, apparently.

  Whatever.

  I steal a quick glance at Kellan.

  He stares into the distance, looking a lot like one of those cigarette ad cowboys. I really wish Kellan was super ugly. Then I wouldn’t feel compelled to drink in his beauty with my thirsty eyes.

  Neither of us says anything.

  We watch cars drive slowly by on Wilshire Boulevard.

  Ms. Instigator takes control of my mouth and I say, “How’s your band with Switchblade coming along?”

  He frowns, still staring into the distance thoughtfully, then swivels his head around, “I didn’t tell you I was in a band.”

  “Yeah you did,” I blurt.

  He shakes his head resolutely, “No I didn’t.”

  “Well, uh,” I say nervously, “I think Rich mentioned it.”

  “No he didn’t. I haven’t told him yet.”

  “You must have,” I say with false confidence. “How else would I know about Switchblade?”

  “I didn’t tell Rich about Switchblade either.”

  “Uhh…”

  Kellan smirks, “Have you been stalking me, Victory?”

  “No,” I scoff. “Why would I want to?” I say it like his personal life is as appealing to me as discussions about sewage treatment plants.

  “Okay,” he says dismissively. “Whatever you say.” He totally doesn’t believe me. He goes back to staring into the distance. His brows are knit together, deep in thought. Damn it, he really is hunky from every angle. His jaw muscles dance in his cheeks.

  What is he thinking about? Is he mad I asked about Switchblade? I want to know more, but I don’t want to ask. Maybe I don’t even care.

  A voice in my internal committee pipes up, Yeah, right!

  “Hey, guys,” Rich Aymes says as he walks up, a big key ring in one hand, a Guitar Central plastic bag in the other. He unlocks the front door, “Sorry I’m late. I had to stop at Guitar Central and buy a few boxes of high E strings. I swear, one of the kids breaks one during their lessons just about every day,” he chuckles.

  Kellan gives Rich a friendly smile.

  Kellan didn’t give me a friendly smile. But I seriously don’t care.

  Kellan says to Rich, “Good call. Chloe broke an E yesterday. But I didn’t have any elevens handy. Can you believe that girl plays elevens on the E?”

  Rich asks, “She doesn’t bend them, does she?”

  “Yeah,” Kellan chuckles.

  “Kid has strong hands,” Rich smiles. “I bought nines, tens, elevens, and twelves. We should be covered for awhile.” When he twists the keys in the door lock, he smiles at me, “Morning, Victory. How you doing?”

  Kellan shoulders inside before I respond. He doesn’t care what I have to say. Whatever.

  “Hey, Rich,” I smile. At least Rich is happy to see me. “I’m good.”

  “Love the Whitesnake shirt,” Rich chuckles, “I’ve got one just like it.” He holds the door open for me, “After you.”

  I walk inside and head toward the hallway door at the back of the waiting area. It’s already open and I hear Kellan closing a door in the back. Wow, he really doesn’t want to see my face.

  What’s up his ass?

  As I’m stepping through the hallway door, Rich says, “Oh, hey, I’ve got some news I want to share with you and Kellan. Can you grab him and bring him to my office so I don’t have to tell it twice?”

  “Sure,” I smile, but my smile is slightly forced. I don’t want to go round up brooding Kellan.

  But I do it anyway because Rich asked and I like Rich.

  Chapter 78

  KELLAN

  Victory is wearing the same Whitesnake shirt today that she wore the night she slept in my apartment. The night we had pizza at N.Y. & C.’s. The night we recorded that video I uploaded to YouTube.

  I did my best to forget about that night and the next day when she took all her stuff and bailed out of my apartment.

  It still pisses me off thinking about it, so I try not to. But when she wears the same damn shirt, it’s hard to block it all out of my mind.

  I shake my head and sigh.

  When she walked up to the school a half hour ago, her guitar case in hand, her long hair fluttering in the light breeze, tight jeans, Whitesnake shirt, and her aviator sunglasses on her face, she looked incredible. Like something out of an old Mötley Crüe video.

  Looking at her all hot like that physically hurt.

  I’ve never seen a woman do justice to the rocker chick look the way Vi
ctory does. I don’t know why, but she rocks it better than anybody. It’s not just that she’s hot. Hot women are a dime a dozen in this town. But Victory represents the look. It’s not a pose for her. She is a rocker. The best I’ve ever seen.

  That’s hot as hell in my book.

  I don’t want to think about it right now.

  Shit, I don’t want to think about it ever again.

  I’m done with Victory.

  I don’t need her.

  I sigh as I set my Ibanez case on the floor of the practice room and unlatch it. When I pull my RG550 out, someone knocks on the door.

  “Hold on a second,” I say while I rest the guitar in a stand. I open the practice room door and see Victory standing in front of me. “What?” I grunt, staring over the top of her head so I don’t have to look at her eyes.

  She says, “Rich wants to talk to us in his office.”

  “What about?”

  “I don’t know,” she practically snarls. “He didn’t say.” She spins on her heel and walks down the hallway.

  I suddenly wonder if Rich is going to sit us down and tell us to get over our cold shoulder act toward each other because it’s affecting the students. I don’t know why it would. I do my best not to be rude to Victory when I’m at work. Maybe I’m not very friendly, but what law says you have to be buddies with your co-workers?

  You never know.

  Maybe some perceptive parent noticed and said something to Rich.

  Victory is already standing in Rich’s office when I walk in. I don’t acknowledge her. She ignores me.

  Good.

  “Hey, guys,” Rich says. “Have a seat.” He sounds serious. Maybe I was right about him noticing me and Victory’s cold shoulder routine.

  I pull out a chair for myself. Victory can get her own.

  “What’s up?” I ask Rich.

  Rich sighs, “I know I’m shooting myself in the foot telling you two this, but I heard from a buddy of mine last night that Wild Child is holding auditions this weekend here in town.”

  This is not at all what I was expecting Rich to tell us.

  “Wild Child?” I blurt. Wild Child is my favorite band. I’ve been a huge fan of them since their first album came out years ago. Amazingly, they’re one of the few bands that has all the same members they started with in high school. “Why are they holding auditions? Did one of them die?” It’s the only explanation I can think of.

  “Close,” Rich snorts. “My buddy, who’s a roadie for them, told me one of their guitar players broke his hand in a skydiving accident yesterday.”

  “Danny Daggers or Chainsaw?” I ask in utter disbelief.

  “Danny,” Rich says.

  Daggers is the lead guitar player. I know all of his solos note for note. “No way…” I groan.

  Rich nods, “Yup.”

  “I can’t believe it,” I say, nearly awestruck. “And they’re holding auditions?”

  “Yup. They need a replacement right away. They’re in the middle of a 200 city U.S. tour and they can’t cancel eight weeks worth of shows while Daggers recovers. They need someone now.”

  “No shit!” I blurt.

  I’ve dreamed of playing with Wild Child since I was a kid. I used to play along to their albums in my bedroom when I was in high school, pretending I was on stage with the band. I used to dream of something like this happening, but never thought it would. I mean, I feel bad Danny Daggers broke his hand, but if they need a replacement, I’m not gonna say no. I still know all of Daggers’ solos. I don’t even have to prepare for the audition. I could do it right now and own it. I’m speechless.

  “Why are you telling us?” Victory asks.

  Rich sighs, “My mission with this school has always been to help kids find their way into the music business any way I can because I never really made it myself. So I like to give back to the kids, and that includes you guys, my teachers. Even if it means one of you might land this Wild Child gig and leave me searching for another qualified guitar teacher two weeks after Steve left on his tour.”

  At the exact same moment, me and Victory both blurt, “When are the auditions?”

  I glance at her, but she isn’t paying attention to me. Her eyes are glued on Rich.

  “This weekend,” Rich answers. “Somewhere in Hollywood. I’m waiting to find out the details. But I’ll let both you guys know as soon as I hear back from my buddy.”

  I stand up to leave, “Thanks, man.”

  “No problem,” Rich smiles and sips from a cup of fresh coffee on his desk.

  “Yeah,” Victory says, also standing. “Thank you, Rich.”

  “My pleasure,” Rich smiles. “Just make sure one of you two gets the gig. I’d hate to see it going to anybody else. My buddy says the pay is good and all expenses are covered. You could easily make ten or twenty grand for two months on tour with a headliner band like those guys.”

  Victory mutters, “Twenty thousand?”

  “Yup,” Rich nods and sips his coffee. He turns to his computer and says absently, “Did either of you notice if there’s any leftover doughnuts in the kitchen? I didn’t eat breakfast…” He’s already sorting through email on his computer.

  I turn to walk out of the room. All I can think is, Doughnuts? Who can think about food at a time like this? Wild Child needs a guitar player!

  Victory and I hit the door frame at the same time. It’s not wide enough for both of us and my beefy shoulder literally thuds into the wood when I shift right to avoid smashing Victory into the beam on the left. My impact literally shakes the room.

  “Easy, guys,” Rich chuckles without looking up from his computer screen, “the auditions aren’t this minute.”

  I’m still blocking Victory’s way out of the room.

  She glares up at me and grunts, “Watch it!” She squeezes past me and tears down the hallway to her practice room.

  I frown at her back as she disappears and slams the door behind her. I can’t help but chuckle at her behavior.

  A few seconds later I hear Cold Stoned coming from the computer speakers through Victory’s door. It’s the first track from Wild Child’s first album, and one of my favorites. I wonder how well Victory knows their music? Probably not as good as I do based on how agitated she acted a minute ago, and the fact she’s starting with their first song.

  Rich asks, “Hey, Kellan?”

  I’m still lingering in his doorway. “Yeah?”

  “Can you check on those doughnuts for me, brother?”

  “Sure, man.” I stroll into the kitchen and find a pink box on the counter. I lift the lid and it’s got three doughnuts left. Doughnut crumbs, rainbow sprinkles, and grease stains litter the rest of the box. I walk the box back to Rich’s office. “Here ya go, bro.” I set the box on his desk.

  “Thanks, Kellan.” Rich says without looking up from his computer. He takes a doughnut out of the box without examining it and takes a big bite. His cheeks puff and deflate as he munches hungrily.

  I stroll past Victory’s practice room and hear her rewind the guitar solo for Cold Stoned through the door. Yeah, she doesn’t know it.

  But I do.

  I know all of their solos

  I shake my head to myself and grin from ear to ear.

  Wild Child.

  Fucking Wild Child!

  When I go into my own practice room, I still hear Victory playing along with the recording of Cold Stoned. She’s already got the rhythm guitar part figured out and most of the solo. I have to hand it to her, she learns music quick. But Wild Child has a deep catalog, and I doubt she’ll learn everything in two days.

  Not my problem.

  I pause for a second, thinking about Victory’s financial situation. I know she needs money, but it’s not like she’s living on the street. She told me she’s crashing at her friends’ and I know she has a job. If she was desperate, that would be one thing. But she’s not. She has options. She’ll manage.

  So I’m not cutting her any slack on this Wild
Child gig. I plan to take it to the bank and spend two months touring with my idols.

  Screw Victory.

  She’s on her own.

  I chuckle to myself.

  She never wanted my help anyway.

  Chapter 79

  VICTORY

  My last student of the day finishes at six o’clock that evening. It’s been tough keeping my mind on my students because that Wild Child audition has been pounding in the back of my head all day.

  $20,000.

  I could pay back Johnny and Karen the $6,000 I owe them for the Contrares. And have plenty of money to move out and leave them to their nightly tantric sex sessions, which by the way, are getting old. I can’t decide if hearing them having sex every night is making me hate sex, or jealous that I’m having none. Either way, I need to move out of their apartment.

  But the move can wait until after the Wild Child audition.

  So I’m staying late at the school tonight, working my way through the Wild Child albums, learning all the guitar parts and solos. It’s a lot to take in, but I’m up for the task. My stomach growls around 7:00pm. I don’t want to stop for dinner, but I haven’t eaten since breakfast, which was a yogurt. I’m starving and I can tell I’ll run out of gas if I don’t fill my tank.

  I put my guitar down and walk into the school’s kitchen. The vending machine is full of the usual junk: chocolate in every form imaginable: bars, pieces, bits, bites, cookies, and chocolate covered pretzels. The machine also has all kinds of potato chips, imitation cheese and sawdust crackers, microwave popcorn kernels encased in blocks of dehydrated motor oil, and Lifesavers in every flavor.

  Is any of this healthy? I’ve been eating Johnny and Karen’s vegetarian dinners so much lately, the contents of the vending machine turn my stomach.

  The least awful alternative is the Lay’s plain potato chips. With nothing but potatoes, oil, and salt, they seem vaguely nutritious, but not exactly a wholesome meal.

  I feed change into the machine and buy a bag.

  On a whim, I check the refrigerator.