Bottleneck

by Henry, Max

  “Maybe that’s your problem,” Fria continues from the rear of the bus. “If you let somebody else do that—somebody of the male persuasion—you’d be less uptight.”

  “I know what you’re getting at, and no. Just no.” I open the cabinet and note our food is spread-eagled across the shelf. Thankfully my chocolates sit untouched.

  “Did you guys know Emery from Dark Tide is here as well?” Shanae asks, completely oblivious.

  I tear the plastic wrapper off and fling the lid open.

  “Yeah,” Fria grumbles, re-joining us. “We know.”

  “What did I miss?” Shanae drops her ass to the bench seat, glancing up at us both.

  I toss her a caramel. “Nothing important.”

  She catches the candy in her left hand, staring down at her right side. “Do you guys smell that?”

  “Smell what?” Fria asks with a hint of humor.

  “It’s, like, really musty in here.” She narrows her gaze on my drummer. “Have you been farting on the seats again?”

  “Gross,” Fria calls.

  “Not as gross as the truth,” I mumble, giving them both my back while I devour a strawberry centered bite of Heaven.

  “Oh, my God,” Shanae squeals, launching from the seat. “What did you do?”

  “You’re fine,” Fria appeases with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Just don’t run a black light over it any time soon.”

  “Fuck you both.” Shanae takes her leave toward the bunks.

  “Why both of us?” I call out, second chocolate in my mouth.

  “You could have warned me,” she hollers back.

  “I thought seeing Emery would have been enough of a clue.”

  Her head pops back through the dividing curtain, wild red hair tangled across her shoulders. “You didn’t.” She fixes on Fria.

  “Who said it was me?”

  “Um, you mentioned the black light, plus—” She gestures toward me while I start my third. “—I know Alice wouldn’t touch him with a ten-foot pole.”

  “Can confirm,” I mutter around my cocoa-based medicine.

  Shanae’s eyes narrow as she steps slowly through the curtains. “So?”

  “So what?” Fria retreats to the sofa.

  Nowhere is far enough away in this tin tube when you’re under pressure.

  “Was he as good as the rumors?”

  “Oh, fuck no,” I whine, snatching up my box to head for the safety of the driver’s seat. “You are not talking about that while I’m in here.”

  “Yeah.” Fria positively purrs. “Let’s just say, all that cockiness in his attitude extends into how he uses his cock.”

  I use the shoulder of my arm clutching the chocolates and the pointer of my free hand to block my ears. “La, la, la, la!”

  Even perched up in Telly’s spot at the front of the bus, I get no respite. The disgustingly horny tones of Fria’s recount drift through the narrow doorway to where I sit scowling at the stars in the night sky.

  I had a perfect evening of self-care planned, and now … now thanks to the libido of my bandmate I’m left listening to how my arch nemesis’s tongue works when he goes down.

  Nope. Not cool with this.

  “Let me know when you’re finished.” I drop off the side of the seat, sugar-hit in hand, and head for the stairs.

  Neither of the sickos answers me before I exit into the night. Surely, there’s somewhere around here far enough away that I don’t have to listen to Fria damn near orgasm all over again.

  “He can’t be that good,” I mutter, making a beeline for the shipping container that’ll be loaded with Lords of London’s gear before the truck arrives to take it away in a few hours.

  “Who can’t be how good?”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake!” I clutch the chocolates to my chest as though they’ll provide me with some protection and spin to face the glowing ember in the shadows. “What the fuck are you still doing here?”

  “Didn’t realize I had a time limit to get off the grounds.”

  Fuck him. I get comfortable on the pavement, folding my legs to sit, right where I stood a second before, and dive into my box.

  “Comfort food,” Emery observes with a little too much snark to his tone. “Didn’t realize I shook you up that much.”

  “Do me a favor.” I unwrap an after-dinner mint and offer it to him. “Eat this, so I don’t have to smell Fria’s pussy on your breath while you talk.”

  He chuckles, taking the sweet from my fingertips and popping it in his mouth.

  I rub away the tingle his touch gave me on the leg of my jeans—the super-tight stage jeans I was supposed to be out of by now.

  “Why are you still here?” I ask.

  Emery takes another drag on his cigarette, making me cringe. How the hell you can chase something as luxurious as chocolate with a concoction of poisons, I don’t know.

  “Next flight home isn’t for a few hours yet.”

  “Can’t you hang out at the airport?”

  “Trying to get rid of me?” He steps into the light a little better, highlighting the sharp line of his stubbled jaw.

  “Stating the obvious solution for all of us.”

  “If you must know.” Prick drops to his haunches to level our gaze. “The food here is free.”

  “You’re such a bum, you know that?” And even so, I long to push his messy hair free of his fascinating eyes.

  “Takes one to know one.” Emery reaches out to brush his fingertips beneath my jaw.

  I pull back before he can. “Don’t touch me.”

  “Afraid you’ll like it?”

  “Know that it hurts.”

  His gaze drops, eyes glazed as he slowly returns to full height.

  I pop a victory caramel in my mouth. “Why did Fria kick your ass off the bus anyway?”

  “Did she not tell you?” His interest is already elsewhere as he stares across the darkened lot. “You think there’s a liquor store nearby?”

  Some things definitely don’t change. “Is there none left in Jasper’s dressing room?” I taunt.

  He glares down at me while he stamps out the spent cigarette. “Never mind. I’ll figure it out myself.”

  I wait until he’s a few steps away before calling out. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “Maybe I don’t want to.”

  FIVE

  Emery

  “Alabama Song” (Whisky Bar) – The Doors

  I made it as far as the end of the block before I gave up on a drink being within walking distance. The stadium sat surrounded by industrial lots, all cast in darkness.

  Instead, I hitched a ride with Ahmed, or Abdul—whatever the fucking Uber driver’s name was—and listened to some music I don’t ever want to repeat on my way to the airport.

  I asked him to translate the lyrics. But all the fucker did was shrug and say a guy like me wouldn’t understand.

  What the fuck does that even mean? A guy like me?

  “Whiskey, neat,” I instruct the bartender at the airport lounge while tapping the marble counter. “Four of them. Line the fuckers up.”

  He lifts an eyebrow and then turns with a smooth sweep of his feet to prepare the order. He doesn’t get paid to question the size of my demand. Dude will get his when I smash these back and order four more. I could do with a hit of something more potent: a couple of Oxy, or maybe a little Percocet to really give the alcohol a rise. But if I’ve learned one thing about travelling commercial, it’s that the TSA almost always pull the ones like me aside for “random” checks.

  I tug the billfold from my back pocket and count how much I have available for the shower facilities. I would never let Alice know, but she was right: I need to scrub Fria off my goddamn body before I arrive home and using my cards would leave a trail for Deanna to sniff out.

  If there’s anything that woman can smell faster than bullshit, it’s other women.

  “Four whiskeys, neat,” the bartender announces as he sets my drinks down on
e-by-one.

  I’ve finished the first before the fourth touches marble. After the second tumbles down my throat, the guy catches on, waiting with a straight back for his next order.

  “Unpleasant trip?” he asks without a single shred of genuine interest.

  “Unpleasant everything,” I mutter before finishing off the last one.

  The four tumblers off syrupy sedative settle into my gut, balance restored as my head clears. Give it fifteen, and these puppies will spread numb throughout my body like a welcome tide, washing away any iridescent thoughts of freedom. Jaunts like this are my tease of what life could be if I had enough talent to make it solo. But instead, I suckle on the tit of Dark Tide as though it’s my fucking life-source, doing what I’m told when I’m told.

  I have no chance without them. No career. No direction.

  And without Deanna waiting for me at home, I have no reason to stop. Her love may be cold and dished with a sharp dose of self-interest, but she’s the anchor that pulls me back down to earth whenever I get it in my head that I might, for once, know what’s best for me.

  I don’t have the first fucking clue what’s right or wrong when it comes to my path in life. All I know is the reverberation of bass in my hand takes me to another plane where I forget about the past, present, and future for a while. And I know that with Dark Tide, that escape is guaranteed.

  Time has no bearing when you’re immersed in the passion that burns in your fucking soul.

  “You sell it by the bottle?”

  The bartender lifts an eyebrow before being conveniently saved by a busty brunette in a dress that leaves no curve unattended. He sidles down to her, taking her order for fancy wine or some shit, and ignores the fact I sit dry.

  “Hey.” The snap of my fingers echoes off the swanky mirror behind his bottles. “You’re not finished here.”

  With a polite nod to the disgusted brunette, he sweeps back down my end. “Sir, we have firm rules against serving intoxicated customers.”

  “I’m not intoxicated.” I rise to my feet, fucking annoyed by his dominant stance standing over me. “I want another fucking drink.”

  “I’ll finish serving this lady and then return to you.”

  Her judgment burns holes in the side of my head. “Forget it.” I back away—tip be fucked. “I’ll go elsewhere.”

  “This is the only licensed establishment on-site,” he sledges, aiming for the final word.

  I flick my middle finger up and veer right … toward a pop-up stall that I spotted on my way in. Yeah, he may be the only licensed bar at the airport, but he didn’t think about the woman selling boutique label wines at the wheelie-cart near the check-in.

  I hate grapes. Can’t stand the way the skin feels on my tongue, or the sickly taste of them when they jizz in my mouth.

  But I need oblivion more than I need my next breath. And that woman is my only hope at reaching it before the plane boards.

  As though to rub salt in the wound, my phone starts screaming out The Imperial March while I finish up the cash transaction for a bottle of Pinot Gris.

  “What?”

  “Way to say hello, asshole.”

  “Sorry, babe.” I jam the phone into the crook of my neck. “I’m at the airport, having a shit time getting home.”

  She snorts down the line. “Perhaps you shouldn’t have left, then?” A tell-tale pause, and then, “Who are you with?”

  “Were with,” I correct. “Just a friend.” The less Deanna knows, the better.

  “A girl, though,” she states triumphantly. “Do I know her?”

  Thankfully, no. “You haven’t met her,” I explain, easing her jealous streak into something more manageable. “She’s Kris’s new woman.”

  “Why the fuck were you with her then?”

  Shoving the wine under my arm, I fish around in my wallet for the notes I need to pay for the shower. “Was there a point to you calling?”

  “I want to know exactly when you’ll be home.”

  “I said I’ll be back as soon as I can, Deanna. Why the third degree?”

  “Because you fucking left without telling me a thing, Emery! I have plans for us, but you didn’t bother to ask me if there was anything you needed to be home for before you took off with some cock tease, did you?”

  One second to breathe deep, another to let the rage pass. “Maybe you should ask me before you make plans for both of us?” Then I’d at least get a chance to say no, fuck off, don’t wanna.

  “Don’t you turn this back on me,” she hisses low and threatening. “You took off with another woman, and you’re accusing me of not taking your feelings into consideration?”

  “No.” I steel my jaw to temper my tone. “I wasn’t.”

  “Dress it up however you want, Emery, but you were. We are a couple. Making plans for the both of us isn’t out of the ordinary. You galivanting across the fucking country with some groupie, is.”

  “She’s not a groupie,” I press. “And she’s in love with Kris. You have nothing to worry about, babe.”

  “Funny. That’s not what the girls said when I told them what you’d done.”

  For fuck’s sake. If there’s one thing I hate more than being sober, it’s being the subject of her hen-pecking friend circle.

  “I want to go out tonight,” Deanna states defiantly. “Either you’re home in time, or you’re not.”

  She knows I won’t make it back in time. What she really wants is to get obliterated, and post update after update on her social feed of her barely dressed and manhandling limp-dicked college boys, just to fuck with me.

  “Go out,” I snap. “What do I fucking care? I’ll see you when I get in tomorrow.”

  “I’m going out with Karla.”

  Of course, she is. “Good for you.”

  “She said she’d bring her cousin.”

  I hang up.

  Fucking woman knows exactly what she does by bringing him into the conversation. I’d hedge my bets on the fact the fucker wasn’t even invited until now. But with Deanna, who’d know.

  Shit. Last time she caught me balls deep in a groupie, she worked her way through the support act out of spite while I was onstage and unable to do a damn thing about it.

  I can’t even quantify why we’re together. She was just there from the start. A constant when our lives got thrown in the blender and shaken up after Dark Tide was signed. Somehow, she needled her way into my day-to-day life, and like a fucking splinter that healed over, I’m so used to the pain she causes that I don’t notice it the majority of the time.

  Pocketing the burning phone, I smile at the dark-skinned beauty behind the reception desk. “Minimum rental, if you have it, with facilities.”

  She flashes her pearly whites, somehow alleviating the ache in my chest. I guess that’s the power of genuine joy; you make other people feel it too.

  “You’re in luck.” She taps on the keyboard before her. “A suite just became available.”

  Thank fuck for small miracles. Although, I almost want to keep the smell of Fria on me to fuck with Deanna after that call.

  The rest of my time at home before we hit the studio isn’t worth it, though.

  “How would you like to pay?”

  “Cash.” I slap the money on the counter, ensuring my fingers meet hers when she retrieves the bills.

  I’m such a fucker, but the high I get from this shit is too good to pass up.

  I was blessed with good looks and natural magnetism when puberty hit. The more I filled out, the more the girls paid attention. And like a junkie moving up the paygrade, I kept hitting that shit until I needed more.

  Something heavier. Something more … dangerous.

  I’ve got no illusion about why I ended up being an unfaithful douche. Probably serves to reason why I ended up with a bitch who’s just as bad. Karma works like that.

  It waits until you think you got away with your shit behavior and then it fucks you up the ass without you even noticing.


  One bottle of oblivion, a jaded missus, and a receptionist that might give me extras if I work my charm right.

  Yep. Just another day in the life of a fucking rock star.

  SIX

  Alice

  “Under the Graveyard” – Ozzy Osbourne

  Only because of the gauche swirls in the airport carpet, am I able to find where he went. Dressed in black head to toe, he stands out against the vomit of nylon colors like a damn beacon.

  Our bus was scheduled to leave half an hour ago, but I managed to convince our manager that doing this favor for Dark Tide would pay off in the end. Whether that’s true or not, only time will tell.

  I told Jasper that I’m only helping since he asked me so nicely, but as I near Emery and recognize the pang of pity in my chest, I wonder how long I can keep up the lie.

  Passengers move around him as though he’s some peculiar artwork, slumped against the wide marble pillar at the check-in. His legs are crossed at the ankle, broad shoulders curled inward. What amuses me most, though, is that he paid for a damn private suite to get rest, and because of his conduct, now he sits here with his T-shirt pulled up over his head like some kind of shroud, exposing the lower half of his abdomen to the world.

  “Hey.” I stop beside the drunk asshole and nudge him in the thigh with my toe. “Wake up, hobo.”

  “I don’t need one,” he mumbles, swatting my foot away with a feeble swipe of his hand.

  “I’m not offering any.” Ignoring what a shame it is to cover such fine obliques; I jerk his T-shirt down his body and off his head.

  It snags on his nose, making me snort with laughter and him curse. “What the fuck?”

  “Sleep-time is over, princess.”

  Bloodshot eyes find mine. “Says who?” He moves to tug the T-shirt back over his head, yet I catch his wrist and stop him in his tracks.

  “Do you know that you missed your flight?”

  The barest hint of alarm flashes through his eyes before he returns to his stone-hard stare. “You don’t know what flight I’m on.”

  I retrieve my phone, flick open the text that sits active, and show it to him.

  “Arsehole.”