Hating the Rock Star

by Hamel, B. B.

  Thousands of dollars. That’s my girl.

  Frankly though, I think I got off easy. If I were her, I would’ve spent even more. I would’ve bought a small house, some absurdly overpriced jewelry, all that crap. Maybe even a few things that I could sell later on, just for some quick cash.

  Still, she beat me up pretty good, and it makes me happy.

  Let’s face the truth for a second here. Grace is an intern for a record company, which means she’s not getting paid much. She probably can’t afford the boutique, designer stuff she went out and bought normally… and it makes me happy as hell to afford it for her.

  I don’t want things anymore. At first, having a ton of money was really fun. I bought anything I wanted whenever I wanted, and I never really had to worry about it. The tour made me an absurd amount of money, and now I don’t have to think or worry about my finances. I hired guys to do that for me.

  These days though, I don’t want to spend my money on myself. I don’t need any more shit. Stuff, crap, garbage, fucking objects: I’ve been stripping myself of that stuff over the last year, like a monk. I’m shedding my worldly possessions and becoming something great.

  Not really, but whatever.

  Now though, buying things for other people more deserving is way more fun. Or at least letting them take my credit card and go crazy.

  Plus, I sort of owe her. I know I’m being an asshole, forcing her into this fucking tour. It’s not like she’s making millions like we are. Really, this is just more bullshit work for her… except I want to make it more than that.

  She ran out on the after party last night. One of the groupies I fucked on our last tour pulled me away for some bullshit reason. I think she wanted another taste, but I wasn’t interested, not by a long shot. When I extracted myself from that conversation with my usual grace and good will (“I’m not interested in fucking you again, Justine, so why don’t you go fuck yourself instead?”), I went back but couldn’t find her.

  “She left,” Nathan said. “Practically ran out of here as soon as you walked away.”

  “You wouldn’t have had anything to do with that, would you?”

  Nathan just shrugged, that annoying fucking impassive gesture he makes.

  “Maybe,” he said. “Who knows.”

  I left the party not long later. I knocked on Grace’s door, but nothing, no answer. Not really a surprise, in retrospect, but still. Worth a shot.

  This morning goes like most pre-show mornings. I sleep in way too late and roll out into the city to grab something to eat. The other guys are either asleep or not around or named Nathan, so I’m usually on my own. I find a bagel place, get some coffee, and meet back up at the hotel.

  Eventually, the other guys emerge, and by the time I’m finished eating and start feeling human again, it’s time to head to the venue for soundcheck.

  “You see Grace yet today?” I ask Chase on the ride over.

  He shakes his head. “Nah, not a peep. Wasn’t really looking, though.”

  “How was the rest of the party?”

  He grins at me. “One of the best. The girls seem to like the new record.”

  “’Course they do. They’re fucking groupies.”

  “They’re respectable, stand-up ladies, man,” Landon cuts in. “And no, before you ask, I haven’t seen her either.”

  “Thanks for your help,” I grumble at him.

  Back at the venue, everything’s set up. Chase goes through his checks, Nathan does his thing, and I hang off to the side. My check usually goes pretty fast, and plus, I don’t feel like being here anyway. Everything should be set up from the night before and ready to go as it is.

  “You look annoyed.”

  I glance over. Karl leans up against a piece of rigging, looking at his nails.

  “I hate soundcheck. Especially on a second show.”

  “Necessary evil, my man. I’ve seen bands skip it entirely and regret it during the show.”

  “Yeah, I know. You’ve told me a million times.”

  He arches an eyebrow. “You’ve got a tone in your voice today. What’s your deal?”

  I sigh. Karl’s been with us from the start, one of our earliest supporters. To be fair, he’s not in this because he believes in our artistic integrity. He’s more interested in all the millions of dollars we can make.

  Still, he’s a good manager. He knows the business and has been in it since the seventies. He’s been around it all, seen it all, and I know I should listen to his advice.

  He still annoys the hell out of me.

  “Just something I left undone, back at the hotel.”

  He laughs softly. “Bet I can guess what.”

  “Bet you can.” I give him a flat look.

  “Listen, Joss. I’ve seen this play out—”

  “I’m not interested,” I say, cutting him off. “Honestly, Karl. Save it.”

  He frowns. “I have your best interests at heart, my man.”

  “I know you do.” I stand up straight and cock my head. “Because what’s good for me is good for your bottom line.”

  He grunts like I punched him as I breeze past. I feel bad for being a dick but I know what he was about to say, and I don’t. want to hear it.

  Grace isn’t Yoko fucking Ono. Whenever there’s a woman involved in any of this, that’s the first goddamn comparison anyone makes. Yoko fucking Ono. Like we don’t all know the story, burned into our minds. The woman that broke up the Beatles.

  Except it’s a bullshit story. It’s not that simple, not even close to that simple. Yoko Ono didn’t stroll into a group of guys that loved each other and manage to tear them apart with her feminine wiles. The band was already tense well before she showed up. Yoko was just the damn excuse.

  There’s a grain of truth to the story, of course there is, but everything’s always more complicated. And that damn story just reeks of good-old-boy sexist bullshit. Never liked it.

  So when I stalk off from soundcheck, I don’t feel like I’m tearing the band apart. Maybe Chase shoots me a look, or Nathan, or Landon, but nobody stops me. Nobody really cares.

  It’s just fucking soundcheck.

  I head back outside and grab a cab. I don’t feel like waiting for an Uber or for our own car to come get me. I head back to the hotel, annoyed the whole time, partially at myself and partially at Karl.

  I know what he’ll say. I know what he’s thinking. I’m not tearing the band apart.

  I knock on Grace’s door. She doesn’t answer at first, but I knock harder. “Grace,” I call out. “I know you’re in there. Open up.”

  There’s a click and the door softly pulls inward, and she stares out at me.

  “What do you want?”

  “Why aren’t you at soundcheck?”

  She arches an eyebrow. “I’m not in the band. Why aren’t you?”

  “I wanted to see you.”

  Hesitation. Her eyes flick down my body. “Well, you saw me.”

  “What are you doing right now?”

  More hesitation. This time, her eyes move away. “Work for the studio.”

  Lying.

  “What kind of work?”

  Her eyes narrow. “Does it matter?”

  “No, I guess not,” I say, nonchalantly. “But I would think keeping one of their biggest stars happy is more important than whatever you’re doing.”

  There it is. A flicker of anger, but she doesn’t deny it. So her boss must’ve told her to keep me happy, which is almost… gross, but exciting at the same time.

  “I’m busy, okay?” she says, jaw clenched now. “Go back to soundcheck, Joss. You don’t need to be here.”

  I put my hand on the door before she can slam it in my face. “Why are you so fucking mad?” I ask her.

  She glares at me. “You’re an asshole. You’re controlling and a manwhore and I’m just not interested in you.”

  “Manwhore?” I smirk a little. “Okay, that might be true. But controlling?”

  “You’re forci
ng me to be here, remember? Husband?” She spits the last word like acid.

  “Oh, get over it.” I glare at her now, getting pissed myself. “This must be so horrible, right? Traveling the country for free, buying expensive clothes, partying with real rock stars. I’m sorry I’m ruining your life.”

  She goes to say something, but a young couple steps out from a room nearby. I realize we were just talking very loudly at each other, nearly shouting. The girl gives me a look and I swear she recognizes me.

  “Let me in,” I say softly to Grace. The girl’s digging in her purse now, eyes wide, face joyous.

  “No.”

  “Grace,” I warn. “Let me in or I’m pushing this door open and coming in myself.”

  The girl pulls out her phone and starts to fumble with it, coming closer, walking fast.

  She hesitates. “Go to soundcheck.”

  I push the door open. She stumbles back a little bit, clearly annoyed. I turn and slam the door shut before the girl walking toward me can get her camera up for a picture.

  “You fucking asshole.”

  I turn on Grace. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I had to. That girl was about to take a picture and I don’t feel like listening to Karl bitch at me for an hour over it.”

  She glares at me. “You could’ve been nicer about it.”

  “I did warn you.” I step past her and into the room. On the middle of the floor is a huge jigsaw puzzle, half finished, and I can’t help but laugh at the absurdity.

  “Looks like you’re really busy.”

  She storms past me and crosses her arms as she whirls around. “You don’t have any right to shove your way in here.”

  “You’re my wife. I have every right.” I point at the Liberty Bell puzzle. “And plus, it looks like you need some help.”

  “You’re such an ass.”

  “What is that thing, five-hundred pieces?”

  “Seven-fifty,” she mutters. “That’s not the point.”

  “Huh. It’s actually pretty hard. Not a lot of different colors.” I step toward it, stroking my chin. “Missing lots of edges. You gotta get the edges first.”

  “I know that,” she grumbles. “I just started like a half hour ago, okay? I got really bored sitting in here.”

  “You know what’s less boring than sitting around alone in a hotel room?”

  “If you say sound—”

  “Soundcheck.”

  She sits down on the bed with a groan. “You don’t give up.”

  “Look, I’m sorry, okay? Sorry for barging in here and sorry for whatever I did to piss you off.”

  “You didn’t do anything. I’m not mad. I’m just… busy.”

  “Clearly.” I cross my arms, shaking my head. “Come to soundcheck.”

  “No.”

  “Come to the show then.”

  “No.”

  I watch her for a second. She’s so fucking frustrating, so goddamn annoying, and so fucking beautiful. I want to throw her on that bed, no, right on top of that puzzle, and fuck her until she begs to come. Afterwards, she’d follow me back to the venue like a sick little puppy, I just know it.

  Instead though, she’s all fire and brimstone. I actually kind of like it. Most of the girls back at that place would throw themselves at me, practically beg for me to fuck them. Justine’s just like all the others, pretty but conventional and boring. Grace isn’t like that, not at all.

  “Look, I get it, okay? This is hard.”

  She frowns a little. “It’s not really that hard.”

  “I know I ditched you last night. Justine is… well, shit, I used to fuck her, okay? She was a bullshit fling. Truth is, I’ve had a lot of fucking flings like that on the road.”

  She listens silently, her face looking bored, but she’s leaning in my direction.

  “If you’re not going to be okay with it, well, I don’t know what to say. I’ve fucked a lot of women, Grace. You’re not the first girl I’ve wanted.” I step closer to her. She has to look up at me to meet my gaze. “You are the first one I married, though.”

  “That was a stupid mistake,” she says softly. “It was half my fault.”

  I tip my chin back more. “No, it wasn’t. It was all my fault. I just… I never thought I’d go through with it.”

  “Why not?” she says, whispering now.

  I have to look away. “I have a thing with marriage. It’s not important.”

  There’s a short silence. I slowly look back at her.

  “I don’t care who you’ve fucked,” she says finally. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Good, because you’re right. It doesn’t matter.” A little smirk crosses my face. “Besides, if you’re going to have an issue with all the girls I’ve fucked, this is going to be a really, really long tour.”

  She rolls her eyes. “You really are a pig, you know that?”

  “I know.” I bend down on one knee in front of her. “What do you say? Come to the show?”

  “Help me finish the puzzle.”

  She says it suddenly, a smile on her face. I can’t help but laugh.

  “Seriously? It’s a big puzzle, and you clearly suck at it.”

  “I know I suck,” she says, a little annoyed. “We have, what, two hours?”

  “Three,” I say, glancing at the clock beside her bed.

  “Okay, three hours. Let’s get to work.”

  She moves past me, brushing up against me as she goes. I feel a thrill run through my body at the thought of being near her.

  She wants to do a puzzle. I could be back at the venue with the boys, running through soundcheck, flirting with the groupies that Karl always lets hang around the green room to keep us happy. I could be having a beer, shooting the breeze, relaxing, getting my mind right and centered in preparation for this concert.

  Instead, I get down on the floor next to Grace and I get to work.

  It’s boring. I mean, it should be boring. It’s a big stupid gray puzzle of an old cracked bell that I don’t give a fuck about. Except doing it with Grace is like shoving my mouth on a live wire and sucking it all down.

  She’s mesmerizing. It’s the way she moves, the way she laughs. It’s so easy to make her laugh, to tease that little giggle from her lips, that stupid smile she does. She really does suck at puzzles but fortunately I’m pretty good at them. I used to do them a lot when I was a kid, back when I’d have to wait for my dad to come pick me up from my mom’s.

  It feels like ten minutes. Really, it takes us nearly the whole three hours.

  We work, heads together, fingers touching as we move through the pieces. We don’t talk a whole lot and we both sink into this strange place, or at least I do. It’s like meditation, where I drop into a flow state and I just ride it. There’s nothing else outside of this puzzle and Grace.

  She seems to feel the same. We’re buzzing together, putting this stupid thing together. Two minds bent to a single task.

  It’s almost like sex. Except, obviously, not nearly as good.

  Although tinged with the erotic. It’s hard to call putting together a fucking jigsaw puzzle “erotic,” but there you go, I just fucking did.

  It’s the truth. She leans forward, I catch a brief glimpse of cleavage. Her breasts are big and full and she’s wearing this green bra that gets me hard. Or she’s moving to the side of me, and I see her shirt pull up just enough to show a hint of her underwear.

  Or the way she looks at me, a little smile on her face, when I find the piece we need.

  Or when her fingers touch my hand and stay there a second longer than they need to, shivers on my spine.

  Or when we bump into each other as we crawl around on the floor like idiots, noses down toward the ground. We both laugh but I know she can feel it too, that electricity…

  When it’s done, it’s like we were always meant to do this. Always meant to build a jigsaw puzzle.

  “Huh,” she says, sitting at the edge of the bed, looking down at the floor. I lean up against the bureau ac
ross from her. “We really did it.”

  “Didn’t think we could?”

  “Honestly? No, I mostly expected you to leave like a couple hours ago.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you.”

  “No, no, I mean, I’m not disappointed. I actually feel…” She trails off.

  “A weird sense of accomplishment?”

  “Yeah?” she admits, laughing. “I mean, we built a puzzle. It’s like the most useless thing in the whole world.”

  “But we finished it.”

  “Yeah, we did. I don’t think I’ve ever finished one this size in a single day.”

  I laugh a little. “You’re lucky then. I used to do these all the time.”

  “Really?” She arches an eyebrow at me.

  “When I was younger, I’d do thousand-piece puzzles in a night. Sometimes it took me ten hours, usually more like six.”

  “That’s pretty impressive, but hard to imagine.”

  “I wasn’t always a rock god.” I grin at her and she rolls her eyes. “I had a lot of time to kill when I was a kid.”

  “Why?” she asks softly.

  I glance away from her. I can still feel the bitter disappointment when the puzzle is finished and my father still hasn’t come to pick me up. Like he didn’t give a fuck if he saw me or not. Like he was too busy fucking his new girlfriend to bother.

  “Just did,” I say finally. “Anyway, we’d better get going.”

  She frowns but doesn’t press. “Okay, fine. Let me get changed.”

  “Changed?” I look at the clock as she glares at me. “Okay, okay, just hurry. Five minutes, tops.”

  “Ten. And you’re waiting outside.”

  I sit there a second. “So you’re going to take too long and refuse to give me a show.”

  “Yep.” She points at the door. “Out.”

  “What happened to all that comradery we just built up?”

  That gets a little smile. “It’s a good start, but not enough to see me naked.” She points again. “Get moving. You’re wasting time.”

  I grumble but I’m smiling as I leave the hotel room. I lean up against the wall outside her door, glancing through my phone. I have a ton of messages from Karl basically yelling at me, begging me to come back.

  There’s only one from Chase: “Don’t miss the show, douchebag.”