Rock Star

by Kathi Goldwyn

  Every Friday night, I tried to hit a few clubs. I’d check out the local talent and prayed I’d find that somebody who ‘stood out,’ who had a spectacular voice. To find that someone with the sound that could be molded into a hit machine was my true dream. I knew I was already getting jaded at the ripe old age of twenty-seven. I needed something to shake up my career, or I was gonna have to do the unthinkable; get a normal job. My insides crunched at the thought, and it set my body trembling. My heart would pick up and roar inside my chest. Holy shit, that was like sentencing me to a life in the burning depths of hell. The thought made my eyeballs roll back into my head, and I would slam my fist on the table and firmly say, Not today!The idea of regular employment gripped my heart into a clenched mass of beating muscle. The mere thought of looking for a normal job, set my pulse racing, and sweat would break out on my forehead. Sure, I’d had some success locally. I booked bands into county fairs, and local talent was easy enough to find. My bills were covered for the summer, so I told myself to calm the fuck down. I had plenty of time to find “my act,” someone I could discover, someone who was the whole package.

  Breathe, Hunter, just breathe.

  The whole package, the thought made me chuckle. It meant they could sing the songs they wrote like a fucking maniac, and they had “the look.” It was hard to define and even harder to find all three in one act. That was the real challenge. They had to have the style that throngs of people would emulate. Finding someone with the aesthetic, and the drive to put in the work that would take them to rock star status? Someone I could shape into a machine? Seemed impossible most days.

  Bah.

  I shook my head to clear my mind. As I walked up to the entrance of the last bar of the night, I steeled myself for more disappointment and forced myself to open the fucking door.

  Finally, I walked into the bar. Tippos was the local watering hole attended by the working class. Men and women who labored with their hands flocked to this joint for a beer at the end of a hard day. I felt pretty damn defeated. I had already hit up three spots tonight, and wasn’t feeling hopeful for this one, either. The performances I had already witnessed had forced me back out the doors as quick as I could make my departure. After an act played a few bars, normally I knew I was in the wrong place. They didn’t know who I was, so it was easy to slip out unnoticed. I felt bad for all of them. They weren't ever going to go further than this grubby bar. They were failures, in my opinion. They failed in the industry. I wasn’t going to waste another moment of my time.

  Thankfully, I was nearly finished for the night. As I strolled into this dark joint, I was thinking of what I needed to accomplish tomorrow. I had contracts to go over, emails to return, and the phone to work. The phone felt glued to my ear most days, when I put in the cold calls and tried to sweet talk fair managers into giving me a try.

  The bar was full of young men and women looking for fun, at the end of a long day. And normally a hookup too. Sex was always on the minds of these kids as they danced seductively, undulating towards their dance partner, sweat dripping down their faces. And soaking their hair. They used their shirt tails to swipe it away and kept on moving. They grooved to the beat of the music on the postage stamp sized dance floor. At least that was a good sign.

  It was dark and dreary inside, with a small, raised stage. I saw a drum kit and bass player warming up. The two young men looked an awful lot alike with identical dirty blonde hair. They dressed the same in torn jeans and t-shirts. The air was sticky with the faint smell of weed, and almost everyone was on their way to drunk. The musky scent, of the sweaty patrons who drank far too much booze oozing from their pores, was gross. It made me wish for fresh air. Ugh.

  Just as I was about to leave, this stunning girl came out onto the stage, She had long, to the waist, platinum blonde hair with elfin features and was so tiny she looked like a beautiful, guitar slinging fairy. That Gibson slung across her shoulder was an aged relic and was almost as lovely as her. Without a word, her fingers flew over frets and strings, astonishing me how startingly good the music was. Stunned, I sat down on a barstool next to the shiny, varnished bar. Backed by drums and bass, the girl grabbed the mic off the stand, looking out into the crowd, daring them to be quiet. But it wasn’t until she began to sing that I was enthralled by her voice. It was pure and singular, a standout voice. It was the voice I had been searching for all these years. The voice! And she had that look of innocence that called to me. She was a curvy, pretty, young thing and her beauty stunned me into submission.

  Lord, thank you.

  My brain froze in that moment. She looked like an angel who’d fallen from heaven, with full, pouty lips and startling blue eyes. They looked like gorgeous jewels sparkling from the stage.

  I knew in that very instant my search was over. Here, at the feet of this young, guitar-playing songstress, I had found my true destiny.

  She walked up to the stand, placing the mic back in the loop, at the end of her first song, and called out, “Hi everyone! Who wants to rock!?” The fifty or so people held up their hands with that rock emblem, fists up with two fingers stuck in the air. They yelled and screamed, “We do!” She looked straight out to the audience, no fear showing, and cried, “Who wants to rock?!” The small crowd roared, getting to their feet, stomping into the dirty, tiled floor.

  “We wrote this a couple of years ago. You might have heard of it, ‘Rock Star!’” I was mesmerized by her voice as the house broke into a frenzy. I heard the first thrilling notes strummed on her ancient, beautiful guitar, and I thought, this is the girl who wrote that song? The music had a timeless quality, and the lyrics, were so enchanting. I had heard it on local radio and thought the hook was incredible. Hooks made a song a hit, everyone knew that. Everyone in the industry, anyway.

  This girl, with her dark, sexy, blue eyes, made love to her audience. I watched from the corner of the shiny bar, as the bartender dropped my order in front of me, vodka with a twist. He said, “Beautiful, yeah?” in a gruff voice, as he looked up to the stage, dazzled by this slim beauty. Hell yeah! Beautiful, talented, and exactly what I’d been searching for. I took a sip, my foot fucking tapping as the cold alcohol coated my throat, ! I started making a plan for Callie before she barely finished her first song. My mind clicking through my roledex, nodding with absolute glee. I decided right then and there that I was going to approach and sign her. I wanted her on my roster, that was for fuck sure. And I wouldn’t take no for an answer. I would use all my charms to sway her into an exclusive agreement with me.

  At the end of the night, the band wrapped up and dragged their instruments out the back of the bar. I could see they loaded into a van, check, a must have for the cross-county tour I was already orchestrating in my head. This song ‘Rock Star’ was a hit. I needed to clean up their look, find a label, and sign them to a record deal before someone else snapped them up. I felt an urgency in my quest to nail her down. She was ripe for the picking, and I was so ready. I was going to sign this girl and make a name for myself.

  I wanted to sign her right there on the spot. I only had one thought on my mind.

  I’m gonna be rich, motherfuckers.

  Chapter three

  Callie

  This dude looked sharp, a total music industry type, and I couldn't believe he wanted to talk. He was dressed in a pair of holey black jeans with a light green button-down shirt underneath his dark hoodie. He had long, shiny black hair pushed away from his sculpted face. The long strands slipped over his ears and hung jaggedly around his shoulders, a total hipster. His face looked like it was cut from marble, sharp edges revealing his jaw, high cheek bones, and those luscious, dreamy lips. He was gorgeous, for damn sure. I felt his brown orbs look straight into my soul. A dimple popped by his mouth when he gave me a quick smile. He wanted to talk to ME. I pointed out a table and slid into a chair, my heart doing a boom boom boom rhumba beat. I tried to hold onto the ego that got me here on the precipice of everything good.

  He introd
uced himself first, “Hey, Callie, can we speak for a minute? My name is Hunter. Hunter Lightfoot.” I took a deep breath in and looked him straight in the eyes. Hunter added, “I think you’ve got something, Callie. I’d like to manage you[ES2].” His voice, a deep baritone, rumbled in his chest. He added, “I think you have real talent.” He talked softly, staring square in my eyes, brown to blue. His sincerity grabbed ahold of my very heart beating a mile a minute. He pushed his dark, shaggy hair off his forehead and pulled a business card out of his wallet. He laid it down right in front of me.

  “I've managed acts for ten years now. I think you have a standout voice, just what I’ve been looking for.” Hunter gave me a big, wide-eyed smile, dimple bustin’, and I thought, wow, he’s talking about me! “Do you have representation?” He grinned one of those panty-melting smiles that froze my brain, and all my intelligence flew out the window.

  “Thank you, Hunter, I love to sing.” Our smiles matched. I felt shiny and happy, all at once. “Nope, no representation.” I pushed my hair off my shoulders and took in a deep, centering breath, then blew it all out in one stream of air. For a moment, I was speechless. This man seemed so confident, and I wanted to bask in his glowing words. He didn’t wait for me to say another thing. I was in a daze, caught up in the moment, trying hard to believe that this was really happening. My dreams were shoved right into my face. I wanted to pinch myself, so I sat on my hands to hold them in place. Inside, I was dying! I mean, my excitement took over, and my heart rate sped to a thunderous roar.

  “I’d like to sign you. I’d like to make history with you.” Hunter started rattling off all the acts he had signed and the success stories that followed. I zoned out and instead of listening to his litany of victories, I was caught up in my own desires. What did I care? I was wrapped up in my own fantasies, and I didn’t really follow along. Someone had noticed me, and I was feeling oh so flattered, I wanted to scream, Yes! But I swallowed the word back down my throat.

  I needed to listen to his pitch. I needed to be smart about this impromptu meeting.

  Hunter was tall at about six feet. I had to look up to keep our eye contact. HIs glossy, black hair fell over his ears, and his chocolate brown eyes were lit with enthusiasm. He had a sharp, angular jaw and his goatee highlighted his full, lush lips. I thought he was hot as hell. I had to stay conscious of my attraction; I knew I couldn’t flirt with him like I did with every boy that swarmed around me like bees to honey. He was different, and this had to stay strictly business. The words stamped on my brain like a tattoo. As I reached out and took his hand again, I felt a zing of sorts, like we connected on a higher level where exhilaration lived, and dreams came true with a wish upon a star.

  “What do you say, Callie? You want to do this?” Hunter gave me a squeeze, my much smaller hand still grasping his large, warm palm. “You want to go on this journey with me?” As I nodded, I thought, Is it this simple? Do I have management now? I knew in my heart of hearts that this was gonna be huge! I wanted to yell it from the mountain tops. I’ve been discovered assholes, to all those jerks who never believed in me.

  “Okay, I’ll draw up a contract between us. I want a year’s exclusivity. I take 15% of everything; gigs and record and sponsorship deals. When can you meet me so we can sign, and I can get to work on making you a star?” Everything I knew up to this point seemed irrelevant. This was the moment my career really began.

  Wow, was this how it worked? I had a manager just like that? With the snap of my fingers? I felt like I should do some research on Lightfoot, but I knew in my heart I was going to sign with him no matter what. “Sure, how about tomorrow? I can get together any time after ten am.” I didn’t want to jump for joy while he was sitting here, but as soon as he left, I knew I would leap to my feet to celebrate!

  “How about two? I’ll have time to get it together.” We agreed to meet at the diner down the street from where I lived, Mary’s Diner. Then, Hunter got up from the table, and was about to leave.

  “Do you really think you can make me a star?” I searched his face for any deception, but all I saw was a confident man. He’s so handsome, I thought. He looked strong as fuck, and I felt my heart flutter. Dude must work out. He grinned as he stood, preparing to leave. His sharp jaw was on full display. I looked into his glittery, chocolate brown eyes, as his hands swallowed mine whole.

  “Yes.” He gave me a reassuring smile, showcasing his dimple, and then, just like that, I watched him walk out the door. He was so damn sure of himself. There goes my future. I had representation, and, for the first time since I was a small child, I didn’t feel alone anymore.

  I sat spaced out at the table lost in my dreams, until the night manager came over. “Callie, we’re closing for the night.”

  “Oh shit, sorry dude, I’ll get the hell out.” I grabbed my stuff and ran out the door, daydreaming of the days of limos and parties and awards. I looked for the van, but it was long gone, damn it. There went my ride. I trudged down the street, guitar in hand, walking towards home in a daze, fantasizing about my dazzling new future.

  I was confident now that the day would come, when I would play the huge arenas, the crowd on their feet as they announced, “Callie” over the giant speakers, and I would take the stage with the roar of the mob vibrating in the air. I would have my trusty Gibson acoustic slung over my shoulder, and, as I walked to the mic, I would hear, “We love you, Callie!” shouted up to me from the crowd.

  I would strum the first notes of ‘Rock Star,’ and everyone would cheer and jump to their feet. I visualized them singing along with me, and I knew I’d arrived! I’d made rock history. I was the rock god I’d always wanted to be! I saw my future materialize right before my very eyes. All I had to do was say yes.

  When I got to my house, I quietly slipped inside. The house was dark, shadows dancing across the living room walls. I needed to be quiet as I slunk down the hall towards my bedroom. Last weekend I dropped my purse and the clanking sound of my things hitting the floor woke Gaby out of his nighttime slumber, and Mama came out to yell at me.

  “Callie, if you wake up your brother again, I’m gonna beat your ass!” she whispered, warning me to be quiet. She’d never really hit me; my mother was a loving woman. But damn it, that’s what I get for working weekend nights, blasted for coming in late. She always threatened to punish me, but I knew better. I knew she never would.

  “I’m trying to be quiet, Mama,” She grabbed my arm tightly and pushed me up against the wall.

  “Shut up, just shut up. It took me a long time to get your brother to sleep. Young lady, if Gabriel wakes up, I’m going to be pissed!” She whispered harshly.

  My brother was only a couple of months old, and my mother was completely exhausted what with getting up all night. I understood totally and forgave her for losing her cool. Gaby wiped her out and drained her of all her patience. I didn’t know babies were so time consuming, wearing out their moms completely. I was never going to have a baby, ever.

  Tonight, I avoided any confrontation. I went quietly to my room and stashed my guitar in the corner. I tore off my clothes and slipped into my soft pj’s. I slid down into my bed, bunching up my feather pillow to hold up my head. It felt so good to slide between cool sheets where I could daydream all I wanted with no condemnation of my choices.

  I started thinking about Hunter and pulled out his business card. “Hunter Lightfoot,” his phone number, and ‘management’ were all it said. I shrugged and lay the card on my nightstand. I thought back on how he looked at me with so much excitement sparkling in his gorgeous, chocolate brown eyes. He vibrated with enthusiasm when he grabbed hold of my hand. It was infectious. I guessed I would get to know him over time. But what he said, the way he said he could make me a star? Yeah, it stuck, and I held onto that. I played the words over and over again.

  I was going to be a star. I had known all along it was my destiny, and Hunter was going to be instrumental in making it happen. I felt so happy as I finally drifted off
to sleep, imagining my fans lined up for an autograph.

  This was going to be epic! I was on my way, motherfuckers. Nothing was going to stop me now.

  Chapter Four

  Hunter

  She said yes.

  I couldn’t believe she said yes, and I felt amazing, glimmering seductive thoughts of my big win. I knew without a shadow of a doubt I’d get her a record deal and tour support. I started strategizing my first steps and all the bookings I was certain of securing as soon as we got Callie on tape. I didn’t know if she’d ever been in a real studio, but I intended to change all that tomorrow at two.

  Her band, those bass and drums players, well, I didn’t care whether they came along or not. This wasn’t about them. I could always use studio musicians. I wasn’t signing those dudes, but hey, if they wanted, maybe we could take them with us. It wasn’t really important.

  When I got back to my place, I slid my key in the lock and slipped inside. I lived close to town in a two-bedroom apartment. It was a fine place to live, but I would love to move to one of those fancy, new condominiums built just last year. I’d live in a swanky place, soon, that represented my banging status.

  I was consumed with thoughts of Callie. I had already mapped out a plan for her. I hoped she was everything I believed she could be. I was certain she was going to finance my sparkling, new future. I meant, the residuals alone for producing her originals could run into the millions. I visualized what my new place would look like, classy. I would be taken more seriously, that’s for damn sure. She could boost my career, setting my sights to the stratosphere in this crazy industry. I would become a well-known man and king among managers.