Rocked Up: A Novel

by Karina Halle

  It’s a part of the job, it’s a balancing act. When to turn off, switch gears, when it’s too soon. I used to start the show, in my head, hours before. I can’t blame people for not understanding really, the opening act hasn’t hit the stage and I was a pacing wild man who couldn’t be reached. The larger the venue, the larger the crowd, the further from reality I go.

  Now, at this moment, I am gone.

  There is no sound, everything and everyone around me are blurred out, they don’t exist. I can see the route to the stage, my bandmates, and nothing else. I can hear Arnie’s voice but I don’t see him, I don’t need to see him, I’m selfish and only take what I need.

  Someone hands me my guitar and I strap in for the ride. We’re using a wireless system tonight so I make sure the guitar doesn’t make a sound that will rocket out of the main speaker to the crowd.

  “Alright boys!” Arnie shouts.

  The lights go dark and a faceless man with a flashlight guides Switch, Calvi, and Lael along the route to the darkened stage. I always go last.

  I don’t hear the crowd, I can hear Arnie’s voice but it seems like it’s miles away and I don’t care what he’s saying. I follow the flashlight, floating along the route, someone slaps my back along the way. I begin to hear the crowd, I feel the strings of my guitar, the breath in my lungs, the electricity in my heart firing bolts of lightning to my limbs preparing them for battle.

  It’s not so dark that I’m not recognized and the crowd begins to roar. My soul has been a few steps behind, but has caught up to me now and steps in.

  Here I am, here it comes.

  I have my first thought since I left my body backstage.

  Turn on your guitar volume, wait for Switch.

  I’ve had problems in the past getting too lost in the moment and forgetting to turn on my volume. There is a voice that reminds me to turn it on when I first step on stage, I assume that voice is me, or maybe it’s Mr. Robson.

  Click Click Click Click

  My heart stops and I hold my breath when I hear Switch click his sticks together.

  Then it begins.

  I hit the opening note and the lights explode on cue. I hear my guitar thud and shake the room when I hit the strings. It takes only a moment before Calvi, Lael, Switch and I have the motor running. The piston is firing up and down and motor shakes and roars.

  The crowd look like a surging sea coming toward me, they are a part of this machine, and they are doing their job well. The fake smoke and colored lights make everything look like a dream, I sing the first line of the opening song and the crowd sings along too.

  This is a short set so we hit the ground running, When I turn to face Switch I see he’s already a sweaty mess. Calvi, normally calm, cool, and casual, is standing on a monitor wedge thrashing is body around, wind-milling his arm with each note he hits on his gold-top guitar. It almost feels like the four of us are trying to one-up each other.

  Even Lael is performing differently than I have ever seen her. I like it, I think everyone does.

  Time passes too fast with these short sets and we are damn near the end, only a couple songs left. Lael is under a single light and to my surprise she’s taken off her shirt. There she stands in her leather pants, bra, and little else. She begins the song “FuzzFace” moving her hips from side to side seductively and has the attention of every person in the venue.

  As always, she has my attention.

  Lael’s background as a dancer is showing right now. Myself and the rest of the band take a step back and let Lael have the stage and she uses every inch. The end of this particular song is purposely unstructured so we can improvise and it’s at this moment that Lael takes the bottle of whisky from her amp and begins to chug it while still keeping the rhythm happening with her right hand on the bass. The crowd adores it.

  That’s when I see Ronald in the wing of the stage, he must have been there the whole time.

  I’m starting to have a new perspective on things.

  Lael passes me the bottle of whisky, upside down, while it is still pouring out on the floor. I hold it, unsure of what she has in mind. She goes to her knees and begins playing her bass wildly, letting the whisky pour down her throat. The guitar tech must have hit her special teal pedal because I hear the familiar tone kick in at that moment.

  The crowd reacts wildly, the front row of people have half of their bodies on the stage, fists in the air, screaming for the moment to continue. Lael lets most of the whisky fall down her neck and stomach, drenched.

  On her knees, she gyrates her hips up and down and plays with a mix of skill and ruthless improvisation. Myself, Calvi, and Switch have the good sense to let her take the lead. It’s rare to have such control over a large mixed crowd like this and Lael has them eating out of the palm of her hand.

  The song has already gone on longer than it ever has before and now Lael is climbing the PA speakers. I already know we won’t have time to do our closing tune on the set-list. Honestly, there’s really nowhere to go from here so it’s just as well.

  Lael climbs higher and higher and the light man follows her the whole way. I have been using the whisky bottle as a slide and take a shot of what’s left in it but when I do my mouth is filled with only pure unsweetened iced-tea.

  I can’t help but smile. I look up at Lael dancing in the rafters and wonder what else she has up her sleeve.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Lael

  Well that was a fucking doozy, I think as I walk off the darkened stage with shaky legs, my clothes absolutely soaked with all the iced tea I poured all over myself.

  “That was unreal,” Brad says, walking beside me with a giant grin stretched across his face. “I’m in awe of you right now.”

  As tired and wired as I feel, I match his smile. After everything that happened between us earlier, I’m more connected to him than ever and all the adrenaline and lust is coursing through me. I feel like I might explode and am wondering if the backstage area is the place to do it.

  But before I can say anything to Brad – suggest we go off somewhere for a drink, or just find an empty room – my father looms in the distance, arms folded across his chest. After what I witnessed in the hotel room, he’s the last person I want to see and I know he feels the same way about seeing Brad and I together.

  I step away from Brad, putting more distance between us and keep my eyes forward. I don’t even think I can talk to my father at this moment, all those horrible things he said were ringing in my ears for most of the show. That’s partly why I did the whole act with the whisky bottle, to piss him off.

  The other reason is because I really wanted to show what I’m made of. I’m not just some replacement on the bass. I’m Lael Ramsey and I bring a whole new deck of cards to the table. I wanted the mouths of every last fan to be open. I wanted the band to look at me with respect. I wanted my father to see that I’m far more uncontrollable than he thought.

  I wanted so much.

  I think I got it.

  “Lael,” my father says. His eyes are warm but his voice is hard. I have to remind myself that he has my entire life planned, that he thinks he controls every last piece of me.

  “Hey,” I say to him, trying to keep my voice light as I hand my bass to a guitar tech and wipe the sweat of my face with my arm. I notice his eyes don’t leave mine, not even to glance at Brad who is walking away from the both of us.

  “I had to see your show, I had to know,” he says. “You did good, real good. Not sure I like that whole bit with the alcohol but the crowd loved it. They loved it. Look, we need to talk.”

  “What about?”

  He looks around him to see if anyone is nearby listening. Backstage everyone is bustling to and fro but no one pays us much attention and if they do, they’re subtle about it.

  “Everything, Lael. You’ve been on the road for some time now. It’s about time we catch up. How about we grab a drink at the hotel bar?”

  I sigh internally. That’s the last t
hing I want. I can’t possibly pretend that everything is fine, that I didn’t hear him earlier, that Brad and I aren’t sleeping together, but I know I’m going to have to.

  Luckily my father loves to hear the sound of his own voice. I probably won’t be able to get two words in, even if I wanted to.

  “Sure,” I tell him, plastering a fake smile on face. “Let me get washed up though.”

  “I’ll have the driver take us to the hotel,” he says.

  This way there is no escape.

  I nod. “Let me just get my purse from the dressing room.”

  I turn and quickly hurry over to the dressing rooms down the hall, needing some last-minute courage from Brad.

  But when I burst inside, it’s empty save for Arnie.

  “Where is everyone?” I ask him.

  “They’ve gone to a bar, love,” he says.

  “Without me?”

  He smirks. “Seems like they knew you have some business with your father.”

  I hate the fact that I’m going to be missing out on a fun night. I wonder if I can join them afterward. It would all depend on my father and how strictly he’s watching me.

  I just nod and turn around as Arnie calls out after me. “Don’t ruin anything for Brad, Lael. He’s doing his best.”

  I give him a dirty look. Like I would do anything to jeopardize that.

  It’s not long before I’ve shimmied out of my sweaty leather pants and taken a nice hot shower and I’m joining my father at the hotel bar.

  It’s quiet here, which is probably why my father picked it. Everyone else is out on Bourbon Street or other places in the Quarter. He has a booth in the corner and I slide on in, expecting a lecture.

  Surprisingly, my father doesn’t lecture me much. Not at first. I sip on a hurricane while he has a glass of cognac and he talks about the music industry.

  By the time I’m done my drink and have ordered another, then he starts.

  He folds his hands in front of him and gives me a stern and loaded look.

  “Lael,” he says. “You know I do a lot for you, don’t you? Do a lot to keep you happy. And I know we’ve lost touch a bit when you left to go backpacking. But I do my best to do right by you. I hope you know that.”

  I nod, wishing the server would hurry. I need that second drink, stat.

  “But I’m hearing some rumors and I’m concerned,” he adds.

  “What about?” I ask carefully, trying to look innocent.

  “For one, I know you’re not traveling in the other bus.”

  “That was better for band morale. I play better when I bond with the guys.”

  “And that brings me to the other shit. Bonding. I don’t want that. You hear? You don’t need that. Especially with Brad Snyder.”

  “Brad and I are just friends. Co-workers, even,” I tell him, smiling gratefully at the waiter who drops off my hurricane.

  “That’s not what I’m hearing.”

  I eye him suspiciously. “What are you hearing?”

  “Lael, please. I have eyes and ears everywhere. I understand that he was your crush, I get it. A musical idol, even, I don’t know. I get that all. But you can’t…involve yourself with that boy.”

  “Brad is twenty-seven,” I remind him. “He’s hardly a boy and he’s someone capable of making his own choices.”

  “Brad started from nothing. He would be nothing without me. I’m like a father to him, do you know how much responsibility lies in our relationship? I overlook and oversee everything he does. I made him, Lael, I did that. I made him what he is. And sometimes he feels ungrateful. Someone who was truly grateful wouldn’t be breaking my wishes like this. You don’t bite the hand that feeds you.”

  I don’t say anything to that. No matter what I say, my father is going throw something back at me. Everyone always owes something to Ronald Ramsey, including me. It’s never the other way around.

  “Look, princess, the thing is I’m looking out for you.” His tone is sweeter now as if he’s trying a new approach but even his sweet tone is off-putting. “I just want the best for you. That’s why I do everything for you. I only have your best interests in mind. You know, the Ramsey name is a legacy. Something to hold on to, to be proud of. It’s a brand you represent.”

  I suck back my drink, hoping it goes straight to my head. Oh, I get it. It’s not about what’s best for me, it’s about what’s best for him and the Ramsey name.

  “You know that the media is already talking about that you got the role because of who I am…”

  Actually, every interview I’ve done has only reflected on me favorably but I don’t bother bringing that up.

  “And I don’t want them to think that,” he continues, swirling his cognac around his glass. “What’s worse if you hook up with Brad. That’s not good. Not good at all. The media will then turn it around and say you’re in the band because of him. You don’t want that, you don’t, Lael. You want to say you’re here because you’re talented.”

  I meet his eyes. “Do you think I’m talented?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “I’ve never heard you say it.”

  “Look, do you think I would let you have a chance at this if you were just going to make a fool of myself?”

  What about making a fool of myself? I think.

  “You’ve got talent. You’ve got the chops. I see it. Everyone does. Now do the right thing for everyone and preserve it. Don’t lower yourself to Brad’s standards, don’t become part of the rumor mill. Keep your head up.”

  “Or else?” I say.

  He glowers at me. “Or else there will be problems.”

  Problems like making Brad disappear? I know it was probably just an idle threat but still.

  “You know he was last with Lindsay Lyons. That relationship, as fake as it was, helped her career. He’s going to be with someone else next, someone else from Ramsey Records. You don’t want to mess that up, believe me. You don’t.”

  I swallow hard.

  “I got to go, Lael,” he says suddenly, getting up. He leans across the table, looking me dead in the eye. “Remember what we talked about. We don’t want any problems. You don’t want any problems. Brad doesn’t want any problems.” Then he straightens up. “I’ll be off in the morning, going to New York. I’ll see if I can drop in again soon. You’re doing good, kid.”

  Then he leaves, as abruptly as he showed up.

  I sigh and try and get the attention of the waiter to get another drink. When I don’t see him, I decide to mosey up to the bar and get it there. Quicker service anyway and no one likes to sit at a booth alone.

  But when I grab a seat on the stool, I notice I’m sitting right next to Jean Marc. The French musician I love and whom Brad seems to hate for some reason.

  “Hey,” I say to him.

  He turns and looks me up and down. “You are Lael Ramsey,” he says in his accent.

  “You know who I am,” I say brightly.

  “I do. How can I not? Look at your hair, it’s so bright. And you play so well.”

  It’s funny, back in the day I would be overjoyed to have Jean Marc sitting next to me but now that we’ve played the show and I’m exhausted, plus the fact that I slept with Brad, I don’t feel that same pull.

  Still, he seems like a nice guy, if not a bit pretentious. I mean, who wears a silk neck scarf and a fedora?

  “Thank you for the compliment,” I tell him. “I heard you put on a great show tonight.”

  “You didn’t see it?”

  I smile to myself. Brad would be so happy that Jean Marc knows we didn’t catch his show.

  “No, we got to the venue late,” I tell him.

  “Such a shame. Well, I caught your show. I have to say, I’ve never seen two players with such chemistry before.”

  “Are you talking about Calvi and Brad?” I ask him.

  He grins at me and takes a sip of his drink. “No. Those two secretly despise each other. I can tell. I mean you and Brad. You are sleeping
together, no?”

  I burst out laughing, feeling my face go red. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Oh, you can lie but I know. I know. I’ve been there myself.”

  “Oh really? Who were you sleeping with?”

  “A true man never kisses and tells,” he says. “But I can give you some advice.”

  “I’m not sure I need advice,” I tell him.

  “Everyone needs advice, mon Cherie,” he says. “Especially someone as young as you. You live in a beautiful idealistic world.”

  “And you’re here to ruin it?”

  “No, no, no. I am not like that. Have some faith, Lael Ramsey.” He leans in closer. “My advice is the opposite. My advice is to never lose that beautiful idealistic world, the one that lives deep within you. This industry makes people hard. It turns them into shells. The world does it to everyone, but playing music like this will do it the most. Hold onto that purity inside you. The goodness in your heart. Where your youth comes from and stays. Make it eternal. View the world through the rose-colored glasses, it’s much prettier that way. And believe in love and changes for the better, believe it with everything you’ve got.”

  I can’t believe this Frenchman is getting so deep with me. But in a way I can. I just never expected to hear him be so non-cynical toward love.

  He shrugs. “You can take it with a grain of salt but know it’s the truth. Don’t let the world corrupt you. Stay good. If you love this man, this Brad Snyder, don’t ever let anyone tell you it’s wrong or it doesn’t mean anything. Love means everything. It’s why we sing about it, yes?”

  I nod. “Yes.”

  Absolutely, yes.