Guitar Face Series Box Set: Books 1-4

by Sasha Marshall

“Thank you.”

  “You’re like a force of nature when you’re playing this version of you,” he says.

  “Yeah. I feel powerful and in control when I play rock star.”

  “Do you feel stronger?”

  “I really do. I’m happy with where I’m at in my life. I’ve set goals and I’m trying to avoid certain behaviors that cloud my judgment.”

  “Drugs?” he asks.

  I laugh because drugs seems so much easier than my reality. “No, men.”

  “Ah…. Matters of the heart are all consuming.”

  “Yes, wise one.”

  “So what’s the plan?” Memphis inquires.

  “No sex.”

  Rhys and Griffin both choke on their drinks, and Memph is looking at me like I’m crazy.

  “I said no sex, I didn’t say no orgasms,” I clarify.

  “Wait so a man can give you an orgasm as long as he doesn’t stick it in you?” Rhys questions.

  “No, I’m not having orgasms with men, period.”

  “Aww, fuck! Samantha turned you!” Griffin shouts.

  “Nope. The only orgasms I’ll be having will be with my vibrator. I’m avoiding men in sexual situations. I need space from all the bullshit,” I explain.

  “For how long?” Rhys asks as if I said I will be completely celibate.

  “I’m not sure. For a while.”

  “As a man, I admire your effort, but damn. I already feel bad for you,” Memphis sympathizes.

  Chapter 17

  Henley

  I change into my favorite pair of holey jeans, a black, lacy bustier, and thin blazer. I’m changing out my jewelry when a knock comes at my door. Jessica and Samantha stand on the other side, so I throw it open and reenter the bathroom to finish exchanging jewelry pieces.

  “We need to talk,” Samantha begins.

  “Talk,” I say.

  “You’re eerily calm,” Samantha eyes me.

  “I’m fine. I’m happy. I feel great for the first time in a very long time,” I assure her.

  “Well, fuck,” Jessica utters.

  “Just spit it out. I’m sure whatever it is will be fine,” I reassure.

  Jessica and Samantha look at each unsure of how to proceed.

  “Out with it already,” I say.

  “The label has added Straying to the tour,” Samantha sighs.

  “Straying as in Ian’s band?” I ask.

  “Yup,” Samantha pops her p.

  “I thought his people didn’t want him to have anything to do with me?” I ask.

  “The label aren’t his people. The label is pushing this,” Jessica answers.

  “They’re capitalizing on the sex tape,” I state.

  “Yup,” Jessica pops her p as well.

  I take a moment to think about what this means for me, for our first start after Caleb’s death. The label is playing with fire and hoping it generates enough publicity it will sell out the shows. Our music is selling out the damn dates without their meddling, but hey if this is the way they want to play, I can play too. They won’t use this to overshadow our music and being back on the road for the first time in years.

  “Okay,” I say and pick up heels to sling my feet into them.

  “Okay?” Samantha questions.

  “It’s fine. If they want to use my personal life to sell shows, let them. I’m making bank either way. If they want Ian here to stir up shit to make the tabloids, let them. We’re all adults here. We can all behave,” I say.

  “Okay,” she sighs in relief.

  “That’s it?” Jessica asks.

  “What did you expect?” I ask.

  “I expected you to be pissed,” she answers.

  “Can I change it? No. Is it worth getting upset over? No.”

  “Well that was easy,” Samantha looks bored.

  “I’m going out to get pizza and site see. Want to come with?” I ask them.

  “I’ve got a shit ton of stuff to do to deal with this addition to the tour,” Samantha responds.

  “I’m sorting wardrobe for the next stop,” Jessica also declines.

  “Okay. I’ll see if Cory or Joe want to go so I’m not alone.”

  I walk the hall to Cory and Joe’s suite, knock, and wait. No one answers the door, so I knock on Memphis’ door but still get no answer. Damn, where is everyone? Rhys doesn’t answer his door, and neither does Koi. Well fuck, I guess I have to brave it by myself. Cory will bless me out later, I’m sure.

  I call the elevator and wait for the car arrive. I pull up Twitter while I’m waiting, and when it dings I walk forward. I walk straight into a man wall and instantly notice the fragrance wafting from the body. Damn that smells good.

  “Whoa, where ya going?” Kip asks.

  I peer up at him slightly embarrassed to be turned on by his cologne. Fuck. No sex would be difficult. Fuck you sex gods, I’m trying to behave myself in a sacrifice of sorts to your holiness. Why must you lead me into temptation?

  “Hey. I was looking for several of the guys and no one answered their doors,” I answer.

  “Most of them are either asleep or out grabbing food,” he says.

  “Oh ok. I guess I’ll go on out without them then.”

  “Where ya going?”

  “Pizza and to find something pretty to look at?”

  “Pizza and strippers? I always knew I loved you for some reason,” Kip winks.

  “Pizza, no strippers. I was thinking of heading over to Bryant Park and relaxing afterwards. I’ve never been able to get over there,” I say.

  “Want company?” he asks.

  “I’d love some,” I smile sweetly.

  Kip and I find a local pizza joint that looks like it’s been in the same family for years. We eat, drink beer, talk, and of course anytime Kip is around we laugh like hell.

  “You did good on Letterman,” he compliments.

  “Y’all sounded good too.”

  “I meant with the whole scandal thing,” he looks down all of a sudden appearing shy.

  “Hey, no need to be weird about it. I’m not a virgin for Christ’s sake. A psycho just happened to video me fucking. It is what it is. I might as well play along with the bullshit. I was pretty sure Dave would do well with the material.”

  “I just… I never watched it. I thought you should know that,” he says as he blows out a sigh.

  “I thought you and Rhys watched it before you came over that morning.”

  “No. I was trying to make light of it to help lessen the anger and humiliation you were going through. I’ve never felt the need to watch it. It’s your privacy and I would not be one of the people who violated it.”

  “Thank you for not watching it.”

  “I mean if I wanted to see it, I would just pour another six beers into you and voila we’d make our own sex tape,” he wiggles his eyebrows.

  “Seven beers is what you think it takes to make me vulnerable?” I tease.

  “You’re right. I seriously miscalculated your tolerance for alcohol. Anyhow, I thought you were strong and witty today. I was like a proud papa watching you.”

  “Are you being sweet Kip Paxton?” I flirt.

  “And if I am?”

  “I’ll tell the whole world!” I say dramatically.

  “Shhh! Don’t you dare! You’ll ruin my reputation,” Kip puts his hands over my mouth and looks around to make sure no one is listening. When the man commits to his dramatics, he sees it through.

  “Want to go to Bryant Park?” I ask.

  We pay our tab and Kip holds the door open for me as we exit onto the street. The October air is much cooler in New York than in the south. I pull my small blazer a little tighter around me.

  “Cold?” Kip asks.

  “It’s just a little chillier here in the fall than I remember.”

  “Come here,” he says and pulls me into him.

  We walk through the streets of New Y
ork huddled together. New Yorkers hate people like us. The city shuffles around each other, never afraid to issue a solid middle finger salute to other citizens. They don’t stop, and they rarely smile, all too consumed by the rat race they’re damned to live in. New Yorkers don’t care for tourists as we walk against the chilly breeze, taking out time to appreciate the city.

  “Why Bryant Park?” Kip asks several blocks later.

  “Why not Bryant Park? I’ve heard it’s a cool place to hang out, so why not check it out?”

  We continue on to Bryant Park with Kip flipping off as many people as he can for being rude and speaking in his best Brooklyn accent. Actually it was horrible, but he was very proud of himself, so I nodded and smiled. When Kip wants you to tell him how amazing he was, even if he really wasn’t, you just nod a smile. When we arrive at Bryant Park, Kip puts his hands in his front jean pockets and takes in the sights. It’s busy, full of people doing their own thing in a city of millions. Some look as though they’re in an entirely different world all together, and I find it intriguing they don’t need the vast landscape rural areas like Georgia provides to relax and find peace. This is their peace though, who am I to judge?

  “So our options are to read a book on our phones, appreciate plant life, eat, or people watch. I really thought you were taking me somewhere magical, Hen. You have disappointed me greatly. This fucking blows, and I want to do something fun,” he says with impatience and genuine disgust.

  I take the park in once again. He’s right, this fucking blows. I came, I saw, I… Kip got bored in two seconds, but hey we can check this off the bucket list.

  “Hey, you’re Kip Paxton,” says a female voice behind us.

  Uh oh spaghetti-o.

  Kip pulls the hood up on his jacket, “Nope. Case of mistaken identity. Happens all the time.”

  “Oh shit! Henley Hendrix!!! Oh my God, I’m like your biggest fan!” she shrieks at the top of her lungs.

  I think every head in Bryant Park turns, and this my friends is how a mob of fans forms in 2.5 seconds. Fuck me.

  “Time to go,” Kip says, grabs my hand and we hurry away from Bryant Park.

  The problem with a fan shrieking your name in Bryant Park amongst hundreds of people, is the potential for being followed is high. Now the likelihood a large group of mother fuckers follows you is also a potential, and that becomes our reality all too quickly. Kip and I are running through the streets of New York with a large group of people running behind us. Cell phones are in the hands behind us, and I’m sure a few videos will make it to YouTube.

  We bob and weave through oncoming human traffic, cross the street and almost get run slap over a couple dozen times. Horns blare at us as we slap the hoods of cabs. I swear to everything holy twenty people join the adoring herd behind us at every block. My heart is pushing its limit, and breathing hurts my lungs as I take sharp intakes of cool air.

  “Come on,” Kip yells and grabs my hand to pull me into a shop.

  Somehow this idiot picks up a handful of items, throws hundreds of dollars at the irate Asian shop keeper, and we’re out the back door of the shop. We run down the alley to another alley, over a street, through another alley, in another shop, out the shop’s back door and into a cab.

  “Dude I’ll give you a fucking grand if you get us the fuck out of here ASAP!” Kip yells.

  The horde of fans just makes it close enough to the vehicle to slap the trunk when our cab driver rockets forward. Thank fuck for that.

  “Where to?” he asks.

  “Coney Island,” Kip answers.

  I let my head fall back to the headrest and try to catch my breath. I’m good on cardio for like a year at least.

  “Bryant Park,” Kip gets out as he attempts to catch his own breath.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Bryant Park, she says. ‘Let’s go to Bryant Park.’ You have the worst ideas in the history of ideas.”

  I promptly burst into a fit of laughter and Kip joins me.

  “I thought we were going to die! I hope one of those fuckers got some good footage of us running around,” he chuckles.

  The ride to Coney Island wasn’t short on account of the massive amounts of traffic blocking the way to our destination. As the adrenaline leaves my body, my eyes grow heavy so I give up easily and let them close.

  “Wake up, genius,” Kip shakes me.

  “Okay, okay, I’m up,” I say before I can manage to pry my eyes open.

  “I’m giving you magical here, Hen, and you’re still sleeping.”

  “I said I’m up!”

  “You’re grumpy.”

  “Humph.”

  Kip shakes me again like he’s a three-year old who wants his mom to wake up at seven on a Saturday morning because the little shit is hungry and can’t let the tired parent sleep an extra thirty minutes. Ki… I mean children are so selfish.

  “Hen! Magical! I’m giving you magical bitch!” Kip shouts.

  That does the trick. My eyes open and he’s smiling like he’s at Disney World. I’d say he’s smiling like a kid at Disney World, but this is Kip we’re talking about. Kid, Kip, same difference.

  “I’m awake.”

  I peer out the window to see the sun has set and the lights at the amusement park on Coney Island light up the sky. Okay, I admit I feel like I’m at Disney World too.

  “No more hordes of adoring fans throwing themselves at this sexy body. We have disguises,” Kip says and throws a hat at me.

  “Where did you get these?”

  “The store with the Asian who was yelling ‘cocksucker’ at the top of her lungs. I threw five hundred bucks at her,” Kip says.

  “How do you know she called you a cocksucker? She was speaking another language,” I question suspiciously.

  “What? You don’t think I can learn another language?” he asks feigning shock.

  “You’re incredibly smart Kip. You just have a penchant for hiding behind humor and stupid. I am fully aware of how intelligent you are,” I assure him.

  Kip is smart. He took AP classes in school and all that shit came easy. Don’t tell him I told you, he has a reputation to protect.

  “Thank you for thinking I’m smart, tell no one,” he says as he pulls on a hat.

  “I would never!” I pretend to be shocked he thinks I would do so.

  “I never said I spoke the lady’s language.”

  “What?”

  “The Asian who was yelling at me… I never said I spoke or understood her language,” he admits.

  “Then how do you know she was calling you a cocksucker?”

  “She was really angry and shaking her fist at me and yelling and it was making me feel a bit jumpy in an already delicate situation. I’m positive she called me a cocksucker,” he explains.

  “That’s your explanation?”

  “Yeah? Look, I don’t want to frighten you but we were in the midst of an ex-jungle peeper in that store. When they yell all… I don’t know… Asian-like, they’re always calling you a cocksucker. True story,” he expounds.

  “You can’t possibly know she was calling you a cocksucker! How did you know she was a jungle peeper?”

  “I saw her picture on Wikipedia in the ‘Asian Jungle Peeper’ section of the article. It was seriously her! And since you doubt me, it also states they call all Americans cocksuckers. It’s like a rite of passage for them to call Americans cocksuckers. They get to a higher level of heaven or some shit for checking that particular box. Gotta have witnesses though to confirm the box gets a check.”

  I stare at him because what in the hell do you say to that? I mean he’s got this crazy shit down pat. He could explain away why he robbed a home, was caught in the home with the alarm blaring in the background, and the fine silver and diamonds in his pocket. And he would do so with a straight face. Welcome to my world.

  “You’re an idiot,” is all I can manage as a retort to the ridiculousness that is Kip.
>
  “Yes, but I’m your idiot,” he quips. “Put your mustache and biker vest on so you look like a 70’s porn star, and a biker made a baby.”

  I snicker and put the pleather vest on. I then pull on a yellow trucker hat with the saying “yo quiero nachos”.

  “Put my moustache on woman!” Kip demands.

  He hands me a black horseshoe mustache, and I expertly place it on his face. I can’t hold back my giggles. He looks ridiculous and somehow only Kip can still be attractive while wearing the damn thing. He places his biker vest on, and a black trucker hat sporting the saying “I Pooped Today!”

  “All right it’s your turn!” he says and pulls a spectacular Ron Jeremy mustache from a piece of plastic.

  He places it on my face, kisses me on the forehead, and says, “You’re beautiful!”

  “Kip, I look like a skinny Ron Jeremy transvestite wannabe biker.”

  “Right. Like I said, beautiful.”

  “Here man, thanks for waiting,” Kip hands the cab driver a stack of hundred dollar bills and grabs my hand as he exits the car.

  He drags me around the amusement park from ride to ride. We get strange looks from the crowd, and it only makes me laugh. Kip shouts at them as though he’s offended.

  He drags me to some crazy ride that admittedly looks a little scary. He jumps up and down like a kid before we hit the steps to the ride. Impatience is his middle name. He grabs my hand and leads me around as he has all night and tugs me into the waiting metal cage. He buckles me in like I’m an idiot, hilarious I know, and then buckles himself in.

  “Are you scared?” he asks.

  “I always think about the bolts and screws before a ride takes off. When is that last time they checked and tightened them? If a bolt comes undone am I going to die? How many bolts and screws would need to be loose to weaken the stability of the ride? If the ride fails and these cages fly would I want to be at the height of the ride or the bottom? Which one would be safer? If we were at the height of the ride, what are our chances of surviving?”

  “No, Hen, I don’t fucking know. Jesus Christ you’re a kill joy. At least if we die, we get to go to heaven together. I mean could you imagine the reception when we got there? They’ll throw a party in our honor 24/7 because we’re that fucking spectacular. Next thing you know, angels are fornicating, and the big dude himself is starring in porn.”