My Night with a Rockstar

by Mankin, Michelle

  Rage vibrates inside me and spits off my tongue as growling vocals that spill out at an octave lower than anticipated. Willing her to push him away, I stand firm, my eyes glued to them both. Instead, she curls against him, fitting under his arm.

  A rancid howl bleeds from my chest, pain tearing over the crowd in ardent bursts. My breath comes in shallow blows.

  Is she trying to make me jealous?

  It’s fucking working.

  When he leans in and whispers in her ear, I’ve had enough. I vault off the stage, limbs flailing and fists tight. The audience grapples for a piece of me, but I part the crowd like Moses in the Red Sea.

  Chaos erupts. I step into his personal space, my face pinched in anguish. “Hands off my girl, asshole!”

  Maribelle blanches. “Last I checked, I wasn’t your property.” Her brown eyes thin to a razor-sharp glare that filets me open.

  Silence slices the club like a knife. The spotlight swings between us. “Get backstage, Maribelle.” Heat pricks my skin. The coke and Jack taint my emotions like a poisonous snakebite. I’m hyperaware of my surroundings, yet the fury boiling within darkens the corners of my vision until Maribelle’s face is all I see.

  She folds her arms across her chest, her tits heaving in her low-cut top. “No.”

  The yuppie in the Miami Vice jacket steps forward. “I’m not here looking for trouble, guy.”

  “Oh, yeah? Well, you sure fucking found some.” My arm flies on its own accord. His head snaps back when my fist finds his face, but it’s not until blood spews across my knuckles and dapples the creamy skin of Maribelle’s cleavage that I realize I struck first.

  “What the fuck?” he cries, holding his nose.

  Maribelle rushes to his aid. “Steff!”

  “Steff? You’re cheating on me with a guy named Steff?”

  She whips around, smashing my shoulder with the butt of her hand. “Like you’re one to talk, Lizard.”

  Heat flows through my tense body like lava. I step toward her, locking my wild gaze on hers. A rosy hue blossoms on her cheeks and neck, her lungs heaving, her eyes glimmering in pure, unadulterated fury. My brain and my heart fire separate synapses, creating a bluster of feelings too fucked up to register. I’m seething with rage, yet so turned on I can barely see straight.

  “You know first-hand how I got that nickname . . . you’ve been the one screaming it for the last two years.” I flick my tongue in her direction.

  “You’re not a lizard, you’re a pig,” she simpers, but her nostrils flare and her lips tremble. Fuck, she feels it, too. This electric current that zaps between us. Love and war, anger and sex — they go together hand-in-hand. Maribelle and I have that in spades.

  “And you love that about me.”

  Her icy gaze deflects my heated words, yet she can’t argue what she knows is true. She loves the fire as much as I do, but the yuppie asshole bleeding next to her is the wind that blew it the fuck out.

  A guitar riff cuts through the silence. I glance toward the sound and bring the microphone to my lips again.

  “You blew in like a hurricane

  Lips like heaven, kiss like hell”

  I run my thumb across her quivering lips as I sing aloud.

  “Searing through me like a beautiful pain

  Your love is a cursed blessing

  Entrapping me in your venom

  Let me go”

  With two quick moves, I’m up on the bar. Neon lights explode around me. I’m a golden God, hovering above the ocean of worshipers as I muster the strength from deep in my core and scream the chorus for all to hear.

  “Baby, I’m begging, release me from your spell

  (Baby, release me)

  I need out of this shell”

  Maribelle’s lips tremble as she watches, but I tear my attention away from the girl who broke my heart and offer it up to those who deserve it.

  “(Baby, release me)

  Let me go, release me”

  I pretend not to care, but a piece of me dies the moment I see Maribelle lock arms with Steff and saunter out of the club.

  Lizard

  Violent banging jars me awake. I open my eyes, the light cascading through the filthy windows. It highlights the glass strewn about, twinkling in sea green and hazelnut brown, the remnants of a night spent at the bottom of a bottle.

  Another rap rattles the door. I grumble something of a greeting and peel myself off the floor. My head spins, my stomach plummeting as I push to my feet and reach for the knob. “Do you know what fucking time it is?”

  The guy at Slade’s door looks down at his Rolex. “It’s nearly one in the afternoon.”

  I narrow my bleary gaze as it wanders over the blackened skin around his eyes. Memories of last night develop like Polaroid snapshots, the images gradually coming into view. “Look, if you’ve come to slap me with some bullshit lawsuit, good luck. I don’t own anything.”

  “I’m not here to sue you.”

  I pull my brows together. “Then what do you want?”

  “What do I want? I want to tell you that you’re a drunken buffoon. An uneducated cave-dweller who, despite his own Neanderthalic tendencies, still puts on a good show.”

  The mid-afternoon sun burns through my eye sockets, confusing my half-drunk brain. “What?”

  Steff huffs as if he’s bored. “Can I come in?”

  “You fuck my girl?”

  Shaking his head, he shoves his hands in his pockets. “Didn’t even kiss her.”

  I turn away and shuffle to the couch. The clink of bottles follows my fall as I plop onto the cushion. I push them to the floor and grab a slice of cold pizza from the open box on the table.

  Steff follows yet scowls at the couch as if it’s a pile of rancid trash. I suppose his privileged ass is too good for Salvation Army’s finest. He probably only sits on rich Italian leather, and Slade lives like he’s homeless. Everything used and broken, dirt permeating every surface. My glare darts around the room and down at myself. I belong in this hovel. A fact that didn’t occur to me until now. I’m garbage just like the couch.

  I don’t know why Maribelle even wants me.

  If I were a better man, I’d step aside and let him have her. He could give her the life she deserves. But, lucky for me, I’m an asshole who was never good at sharing his toys. Maribelle is mine, and I have no interest in letting her go.

  “Despite our” — he clears his throat — “rocky first meeting, I think you’ve got something special. Charisma. Stage presence.”

  “Yeah. And?”

  “And I think you’re just what I’ve been looking for.”

  “Well, I like women, so . . .”

  “Your band, dipshit. I’ve been looking for acts to bring in, and I want Steele Hammer.”

  A slow ache builds behind my eyes. He’s speaking in riddles I’m too tired to decode. “Bring in where?”

  Steff exhales through his teeth as he reaches into his jacket pocket. “I promise you: this is an offer you won’t be given twice. I suggest you don’t blow it by acting, well, like you.” A business card flutters onto my lap. “Call me after you’ve sobered up. You might want to consider a shower, too. Wash off the day-old stink of smoke and Jack Daniels.”

  I lift the card and mumble aloud as Steff turns toward the door. “Stephan Duke the Third, RatBird Records.”

  That sobers me up.

  I’m off the couch in an instant. “Wait . . . you’re with RatBird?”

  “Yeah. Maribelle and I attend the university together. She was sure she had her hands on the next big thing. She can be quite convincing.”

  He opens the door, but I grab his arm before he can leave. “Why are you giving us this shot after what I did?”

  “Maribelle believes in you, and I believe in what I saw. That’s an amazing woman you have there. Don’t fuck that up.” With that, he turns to leave.

  Guilt skates down my spine and swims in my gut. I fucked up. Possibly ruined the only thing in my life th
at’s truly good with petty jealousy and my bullshit need to feel untethered.

  I want to be with Maribelle. Together, we can have it all.

  I hope it’s not too late.

  • • •

  Aviators shield my puffy eyes as I slink through the black, wrought iron gates of the Vista View. This place I’ve called home I’ve taken for granted. I’ve worn this face for so damned long. The cocky rock-star mask fit so seamlessly it grew hard to figure out where Lizard ends and I begin. The lines blurred. I tirelessly crafted this persona until I lost all sight of the real me.

  A little boy who was beaten when he cried.

  I moved cross-country hoping to break free, but that boy came with me. He’s still inside, drowning in the river of booze and crying in private. The only way to relieve myself of that burden is to open the box and let him out.

  Highway traffic echoes around me, the hot pavement burning through my boots. A gleam in the bushes catches my eye. My heart sinks. Pyramid studs embedded in leather; my pants clinging to the leaves.

  “The fuck?”

  I pluck the pants from their green resting place, noticing my Union Jack tee sitting in the mulch below. My gaze scans the patio. T-shirts and jeans are strewn about. My entire life scattered on the wind.

  Once upon a time, I was punished for feeling.

  Now, I’m being punished because I can’t.

  The weight on my chest crushes my lungs. I look up at the apartment door, taking the steps two at a time. It’s not just my stuff hanging off the railings making my heart feel heavy. It’s the fear that I’ve lost her for good.

  I slide my key in the lock, but the chain stops me from entering.

  “Maribelle,” I shout through the open gap. “Maribelle, I know you’re home.”

  When she comes into view, my stomach twists. Leopard satin kisses her skin, her flowing robe just transparent enough to show the lacey black tank and panties underneath.

  “Unlock the door. This is bullshit.”

  Expecting her to fight, I brace myself for the blow, but her calm demeanor is almost worse than her wrath. Eyes once filled with passion-fueled fire seem vacant and empty. She lets out a long, low sigh, her chin falling to her chest. “You’re right, Lizard. This is bullshit. You. Me. This whole situation. I’m done.”

  Attempting to get to her, I slam open the door, but the chain holds firm. “Baby, c’mon, don’t be like this.”

  “I always believed in you. I may have been the only one who consistently believed in you, but after last night, I see the truth. You’re the brick wall standing in your way.”

  “I’m sorry, Belle. I overreacted. I just . . .” I beat my elbow into the side of the doorframe. “Maribelle, please.”

  “Please what?” She steps closer. The scent of her perfume wafts through the crevice, the fragrance of home. “I already got you everything you dreamed of. What more do you want?”

  “Baby . . .”

  “Say it, Lizard. I want to hear you say it.”

  I press my lips together, nostrils flaring, words I’ve never said stalling on my lips. “Don’t you already know?”

  Pain slashes across her features. She bites down on her lip, her darting gaze searching my face for the truth I’ve kept hidden deep inside. “I need to hear it.”

  Panic surges. Three little words should be so easy, yet they stumble over the bitter lump forming in my throat. “I love you,” I mumble.

  She swallows hard and squares her shoulders. “Louder.”

  The dam bursts, and it all comes rushing off my tongue faster than my reluctant brain wants to allow. “I love you, okay?” The sound of my admission ping-pongs across the courtyard and echoes off the surrounding buildings. “I can’t live without you. I can’t fucking think knowing you’re mad at me. There . . . I said it. I fucking love you. Why is everything fucking labels with you?”

  Another streak of anguish flashes in her gaze, but she blinks it away. “I love you, too. But it shouldn’t have to be this difficult,” she says, closing the door and latching the deadbolt.

  Maribelle

  “What are you doing tonight?”

  My friend Heather walks alongside me, frizzy strands of her Ogilvie home perm sticking to her frosted pink gloss.

  “I don’t know. Paint my nails, maybe watch The Facts of Life.”

  She stops near a bench and lifts her foot onto the ledge. “You and Lizard broke up, like, a week ago. You have to snap out of this funk,” she insists, adjusting the slouch on her neon green sock.

  I blow out a strong puff of air. “I will.” It just may take me a couple of years.

  She presses her lips together in a knowing smirk. Heather was the first friend I made at UCLA. She’s fun and cool, despite her hideous wardrobe choices. “The best way to get over a guy is to get under another one. There’s a party at the Sigma Chi house tonight. You should come with.”

  A scowl lifts my lips. “A frat guy? Gag me with a spoon.”

  “They aren’t that bad, as long as you . . .” She trails off, creases forming between her brows as her gaze moves past me. “What is that?”

  I twist to follow her stare and find a bright orange snake hiding in the tall grass. “An extension cord.” Mirroring her confusion, I turn away from my friend and notice a ruckus in the lot ahead. “Something’s happening down there.”

  “Well then, what the hell are we standing here for?” She takes my hand and rushes across the quad to the congregation of people flocking in the parking lot.

  A deep baritone booms through the bright blue haze as Heather and I make our way through the throng of people. “Maribelle De La Cruz, I have something to say to you!”

  The breath hitches in my throat. Sunlight catches on platinum locks blowing in the breeze. Strat over his shoulder, he raises his hands to the sky as if worshipping it from below.

  Heather elbows me, but I can’t take my eyes off Lizard standing on the hood of my car. “This ought to be rich,” I snap. Coming to a stop in front of the bumper, I suddenly remember that I rode in with Heather this morning.

  A jittery feeling sits low in my stomach. Did Lizard pay to have my car fixed?

  Before I can ask, he grabs the neck of the Strat and starts to play. Flushed with adrenaline, I shuffle back with a gasp as he slides into the lyrics, his fingers fumbling across the fretboard with unease as he belts out the words. Lizard doesn’t play the guitar, but he blindly feels for every chord, his desperate stare melting me to a puddle on the concrete below my feet.

  “The bed feels lonely, the house too quiet

  My world is dark without your light

  I’m lost without your smile, without your eyes

  I need you at my side

  These lyrics mean nothing without you in my life

  I need your strength to get me through

  I’m better when I’m with you

  I need you

  I need your touch like I need air

  I need you

  My soul couldn’t bear

  Another day without you at my side”

  A thousand eyes bore into my back, but all I see is him. The rest of the world fades in the background. He sings for me, and only me. In a chaotic world that wraps him up tight, he strips free the façade he’s worn since we met and finally lets himself be real.

  By the time he strikes the final note, I can barely stand under the weakness of my knees, but when he looks at me, I become unglued. “I’ve always done my best work in front of an audience.” He crouches on the hood of my car. Cobalt eyes glitter fierce and bright, gleaming with hope. “Give me another chance.”

  Emotion storms my face and stings my eyes. “We don’t want the same things. Your dream—”

  When he sweeps his thumb across my cheek, the tiny piece of intimacy steals the words from my throat.

  “I came to California to follow the dream, but what I realized too late is that you were the dream all along. I wasn’t chasing the limelight; I was chasing you. We si
gned the deal with RatBird Records, but without you, it means nothing. Without you, I’m nothing.” He stands again, his smooth voice ringing out above the crowd. “My name is Chett Connelly, and I love this woman,” he announces, pointing down at me.

  Tingles sweep up my neck and across my face. I cover it with my hands, a nervous laugh breaking through my sobs. The low din of voices closes in on me from behind. Some say yes, others no, but my heart is the only voice that counts. Every beat cries his name. It thumps like a beast inside my chest, hammering so hard I feel lightheaded.

  “You made your point. You can get down now.”

  “Not until you say yes.”

  Pulling a deep breath in through my nose, I allow my lashes to flutter closed for a split second before letting it out and sealing my fate. “Yes, asshole. Just get down here and kiss me already.”

  He lets out a victory whoop and jack-knifes off the car like David Lee Roth. An electric grin lights up his face; he pulls me into his arms. “We’re going all the way, baby. Swimmin’ pools and movie stars.”

  I twine my arms around his neck, tipping my face to meet his. “I fuckin’ hate you.”

  “No, you don’t,” he smirks, tilting his head. “You love me so much you can’t stand it.”

  A small exhale wisps between my lips. “Is that a fact?”

  His expression grows serious as his arms tighten around my back. “It’s a fact that I really love you. And I’ll never deny it again.”

  Warmth radiates through my chest. “I love you, too.” He lowers his lips to mine as cheers erupt around us. “But if you ever leave me before I come again, I’m gonna rip your balls off.”

  He winces. “I guess I should make that up to you then, huh?” he taunts with a provocative growl, walking backward with me in his arms. When we reach the car door, he pins me against it with his pelvis. “One last hate-fuck for old time’s sake?”

  “You sure do drive a hard bargain, Mr. Connelly,” I whisper with a wink, and he rolls his eyes.