“Wow...” I said, sitting back on my heels. “Hadley...that was deep.”
“I have my moments,” she sniffed, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder. “Also, and this is a technicality, but they’re terrible at foreplay, rock stars. They all have gigantic members, and they somehow think that’s a pass. Like they don’t have to do anything but bulldoze you in order to have done a good job. It’s the medium-sized guys you want. They compensate just enough to get you off in good time, but still pack a little punch of their own—”
“Thank you, master,” I said, cutting her off, “Your grasshopper will do her best.”
“That’s all I ever ask,” Hadley smiled. “Go for the bass player, if you can. Have you ever seen the way they pluck those strings? I’m telling you...”
Hadley was still dispensing pearls of wisdom long into the night, until we finally had a month’s worth of belongings packed away into my matching luggage set. I realized that I was bringing most of what I owned on the planet, and a good deal of what Hadley owned too. It was sort of liberating, realizing that all my earthly possessions could fit into a couple of suitcases. Maybe I wasn’t so far off from these bohemian rock star types after all. Maybe I actually stood a chance of fitting in with them, instead of being the odd girl out for a month.
I could hope, at least.
As I lay down to sleep on the eve of my journey, I knew that slumber was going to evade me. I felt like a little kid the night before their birthday. I was excited, and a little nervous, trying not to get my hopes up, but letting my imagination run wild. I pictured myself lounging in the back of a tour bus, conversing coolly with the biggest rock stars in the world. For some reason, I kept imagining myself with a cigarette in one hand and a glass of whiskey in the other. I didn’t drink whiskey as a rule, and had never smoked in my life, but that was beside the point. Like Hadley said, I had to play the part of the cool reporter chick while I was on the road with these people. Jackson playacted all the time, after all. If he could have a thousand different personalities, so could I.
Finally, as I drifted off to dreamland, Hadley’s words floated through my mind. Rock stars are tragedies waiting to happen...They’ll never be anything but human, no matter how hard they try. I wondered faintly about the truth of that thought, wondered if there really was a true side to Jackson. But before I could come to any brilliant conclusions, I fell into a deep sleep.
Though Jackson had offered to pick me up at my apartment, I’d opted to take a cab to the airport instead. If I was going to survive this trip, I needed to keep a little professional distance between the two of us. Hadley helped me down the stairs with my bags, the two of us stumbling down the steep flights like Lucy and Ethel. Hadley flagged down a cab as it swung around the park and drew me into a tight hug as the car pulled up next to the curb.
“I love you, Alex,” she said into my hair.
“I love you too, Hadley,” I said, squeezing her bony shoulders with all my might, “Please don’t start an all-male harem while I’m gone, OK?”
“I will not make that promise,” she replied, smiling broadly. “But seriously, Alexa. Take care of yourself. There’s no reason you need to do anything you don’t want to, or be anyone you don’t want to be. Just be true to who you really are, even if it’s just for a few minutes a day. Don’t lose yourself over there, OK?”
“I won’t,” I said, “And that’s a promise.”
“Good,” Hadley said, “Go get ‘em, tiger! Bag yourself the story of a lifetime!”
I climbed into the cab and waved at Hadley as we peeled off into traffic. Sudden tears surprised me as my best friend and home of two years disappeared around the corner. This is it, I thought, this is the craziest thing I’ve ever done. But there was no turning back. Whatever happened next, I was in this little spirit quest until the end. I just prayed that I’d be coming back in one piece.
The cab soared through the New York traffic toward the JFK airport, and I rode the whole way with my nose pressed up against the glass. I watched as the city, my city, flew by my window. I’d only lived there a couple of years, but it felt more like home than anywhere else. I made a silent vow to New York that I wouldn’t have a new favorite city by the time I got home. I was never one to practice infidelity.
As we arrived to the airport, I drew in a little gasp when I saw Jackson waiting outside the terminal with his whole entourage. He was dressed the part today, wearing those perfect jeans that I so admired and a tight gray tee shirt. Even from the cab, I could see the outlines of his stony abs through the thin cotton. The scruff on his chin was more pronounced, and even his hair seemed a little bit longer. I was amazed by this chameleon, the way he could change shape and color to suit any occasion. I wondered if I’d be able to pull off my own transformation quite so easily.
He spotted my cab and hurried toward it, opening the door and paying the cabbie for me. With a grin, he let his eyes run up and down my body. I was wearing a short denim skirt and loose white tee shirt. My hair was pulled up into a deliberately messy ponytail, and my eyes were smudged with black.
“Where’s your headband?” Jackson asked as we gathered my bags.
“Fuck off,” I muttered playfully.
“Language, language!” he chided, “You’re in the company of professionals, now.” He turned toward the pack of people on the curb and yelled, “Hey, all you lousy fat fucks! Pay attention!”
They turned toward the sound of his voice like a herd of well trained sheep. I had to stifle a giggle as they swivelled about obediently.
“What is it Jackson?” said the band’s manager, a short, stocky man.
“I want to introduce the latest addition to our caravan,” Jackson said, “Some of you met her the other night, but she was fucking plastered, so let’s do this again.” I scowled at him as he brought me front and center. “Go ahead,” he told the party, “Introduce yourselves, then.”
“I’m Pete,” the manager said, looking through his bag distractedly, “I’m supposed to keep this merry band of idiots from missing entire concerts. I usually get the job done.”
“I’m Eddie,” said another man. He looked rather much like the poor man’s version of Jackson. Handsome, to be sure, but without that magnetic quality that Jackson had in spades. His hair was sandy blonde, and his brown eyes were like chocolate. Carnal Knowledge’s guitarist was not too hard on the eyes, that was for sure.
“I’m Marco,” said a thickly-built, dark-complexioned man. The drummer had his arms crossed against his barrel chest, and it was hard to read his expression beneath his heavy brow. There was a certain rugged strength to him that I’m sure many women found attractive, though it wasn’t exactly my thing.
“Hey!” grinned another man from the pack. “I’m Turbo!”
I could have guessed that much. Turbo, the bassist, was wearing a thick Union Jack bandana in his bright blonde hair, and had what looked to be a joint wedged between his teeth. If nothing else, I was sure that Turbo would make for some interesting company along the way. Something about his dopey grin was positively infection. I remembered what Hadley said about bass players and wondered if I’d get the chance to test her theory.
Jackson took over the introductions, pointing to people whose names I would never remember, “That’s Joey, Frances, Shredder, the Rob, Mel, Gage, and Spiker,” he said.
“What about us?” said a feminine voice from somewhere out of my range of vision.
A smile spread across Jackson’s face. “You three need no introduction.”
The huge crowd of men parted, letting three stunning women pass. I gaped at them as they came front and center. It was like a magazine cover had sprung to life and was now sauntering toward me. The first girl was waif-like and platinum blonde; she wore a tiny red dress and was sucking on a lollipop. The second looked like a wood nymph, tall and willowy and dressed in skimpy, flowing layers. Her brown hair fell in perfect waves down to her waist, and her breasts were among the most perfect I’d ever
seen up close. The final girl, who stood at the head of the pack, had deep tawny skin and eyes that were almost golden. Her hair was dirty blonde and streaked with pink, and sleeves of tattoos covered her arms. She turned a dazzling smile on me, one that seemed to say, “Hey new girl. Screw with me and you’re dead.”
“Hi,” I said, “I mean hey. I’m Alex.”
“Hi Alex,” grinned the lollipop sucker, “I’m Britt.”
“I’m Annabelle,” said the nymph.
“I’m Sadie,” said the tattooed girl.
“Are you...backup vocalists?” I asked, feeling very much like the new kid standing before the cool girls’ table.
“No,” Britt said happily, “We’re groupies.”
“Oh,” I said, taken aback by her straightforward answer. “I’m...not.”
“I gathered as much,” Sadie drawled, sizing me up. “So what is your story?”
“I’m a reporter,” I answered proudly. The looks of disgust that rushed onto the faces of the assembled group made my stomach twist anxiously.
“A reporter?” Eddie said, staring incredulously at Jackson, “You’re bringing a reporter with us?”
“Calm down guys,” Jackson said, “She’s cool.”
“She’s the media,” Marco said, scowling at me.
“I’m more of a freelance writer,” I fibbed.
“I call bullshit,” Sadie said, “What’re you doing here, Jackson? The entourage is a sacred unit. You can’t just drag whoever you want into the mix.”
“Hey, enough of that,” Jackson said, “You think I’m some kind of idiot? I’ve thought this through, and I want Alexa to come with us. It’s going to be a great thing.”
“For you, maybe,” Eddie said, “You’re bulletproof. The rest of us? Not so much.”
“I’m just here for Jackson,” I said quickly, instantly regretting my choice of words. “I mean...the story will be about him. Just him. I promise.”
“Whatever,” Sadie said, “Come on, guys. We’ve got a plane to catch.”
One by one, the group turned away from me and headed into the airport. I looked up at Jackson, speechless. He grinned boyishly and shrugged his shoulders.
“Don’t worry,” he said, “They’ll come around.”
“Did you not mention to them that I was coming on tour with you?” I said, amazed.
“It didn’t come up,” he said, “Not let’s go. We don’t want to miss the flight.”
And with that, he whisked me through the airport as if it were nothing and led me to a terminal at the end of a very long hallway. The rest of the group seemed to be boarding, so we hurried after them. AS we stepped through the gate, I peered onto the runway and let out a little bark of amazed laughter. There, standing before me, was an honest-to-god private jet.
“I should have guessed that you wouldn’t be flying coach,” I smiled.
“Not on your life,” Jackson said. “Come on, you’re going to love this.”
Chapter Five
As we boarded the plane, I could see that it was more like a hotel suite than an aircraft. The band members and crew were sprawled casually around the spacious cabin, and someone was already pouring whiskey shots. I stuck close by Jackson, trying like hell to blend in despite the ongoing hostility towards me. I was handed a shot as the doors closed and didn’t dare refuse it, lest I be labeled a party pooper. As the engine revved up and we turned down the runway, Jackson raised his shot.
“To Carnal Knowledge!” he cried, as we began to race toward flight.
“Carnal Knowledge!” the group echoed, and downed their shots as one. I threw back the tiny swallow of whiskey, trying to keep up. It burned as it hit the back of my throat, in a way that was not as unpleasant as I might have guessed. My eyes widened as another round was poured and taken. At this rate I was going to be drunk before we were over the Atlantic.
I swallowed another shot at the very moment that the jet’s wheels left the runway. The sudden jolt as we took off into the air hit me hard as the whiskey flowed into me, and a huge wave of nausea passed through my body. No, I thought desperately, No, no, no...You are not allowed to get sick! I tried to swallow the sick feeling that was roiling inside me as we gained altitude. Someone produced a guitar and started playing through one of the band’s most popular songs. As everyone joined in, singing the chorus, I clenched my jaw and panicked in my own little corner. There was no fighting it.
“Jackson,” I whispered, tugging on his sleeve.
“What is it, love?” he asked, though one look at my face answered his question. “What the fuck’s the matter with you?”
“Where’s the bathroom?” I said quietly, hoping no one would overhear, “I need to go powder my nose.”
“I didn’t know you were into coke,” Jackson said, raising his eyebrows.
“Jackson,” I pleaded, “Bathroom.”
He pointed toward the back of the plane and I scurried off, hoping that no one would notice my absence. I pushed open door after door, amazed by the complexity of the jet’s layout. Finally, I located a tile floor and lunged into the room, closing the door behind me. The jet’s bathroom was more spacious than my bedroom in the city. I turned to face the mirror, steadying myself against the sink. The nausea subsided as I look deep breaths, and I thanked god that I didn’t actually have to christen the flight with a good puking. I looked into the mirror, staring at my reflection quizzically. I didn’t even recognize myself. With my face painted and wearing unfamiliar clothes, I suddenly felt very lost.
“What have I gotten myself into?” I whispered, my words echoing off the bathroom walls. There I was, locked in the bathroom of a rock star’s private jet, soaring toward Europe. Things like this did not happen to girls like me. Girls like me had successful careers, and married older, mature men, and maybe had kids when they were in their thirties or whatever, and moved to upstate New York to write their novels. Girls like me wore blazers, and drank lattes, and preferred wine, thank you, and waited for the right man to come along. Girls like me did not run away with rock stars, yet there I was.
A knock on the door disrupted my miniature identity crisis. Tearing my eyes away from the mirror, I unlocked the door and let it swing open before me. My stomach twisted as Jackson leaned against the doorway, grinning at me like he knew a secret that I wasn’t privy to.
“Oh good,” he said, sauntering into the room, “You’re not puking.”
“No,” I said, “Thanks for the concern, though.”
“Don’t mention it,” he said, closing the door behind him.
“Were you coming to check on me?” I asked, leaning against the sink.
“Sort of,” he said, “I usually head to the back of the jet once the party gets going. I thought I’d stop along the way to see if you needed saving.”
“Never,” I said pointedly.
“Never?” Jackson said, “I think you might be overestimating yourself.”
“What,” I said, “I get a little too drunk one night, and you suddenly have permission to talk down to me for the rest of the time we know each other?”
“You didn’t get a little too drunk,” Jackson said, “You got absolutely ridiculous. You do realize that I found you in a pile of coats, singing something by Madonna?”
“Big deal,” I said, “Like you never do anything stupid.”
“I don’t,” Jackson said sternly. His features shifted into an adamant, intense expression. I could feel the blood rushing through by body as I took in the closeness of him. All of a sudden, the bathroom seemed like the most private place in the world. A little grotto where the two of us were completely alone. “I don’t do anything stupid,” he went on, “You’ll see that in time. I don’t do anything unless I absolutely intend to.”
“I see,” I said weakly, my voice barely above a whisper. He was looking at me with those eyes, blazing like blue fire. I’d heard it said that blue fire burns hotter than any other kind. Suddenly, I didn’t doubt that fact at all.
“I
t was very difficult to leave you that night,” Jackson said. His voice was thick, grating against the bottom of his register.
“What do you mean?” I asked, my hands gripping the sink so hard that I thought it might break off in my fingers.
“When I put you to bed the other night,” Jackson said, “I wanted to stay with you. I just wanted to crawl on top of you right there and take you in your own bed. You have no idea how much restraint it took to leave you alone.”
A throbbing, hot need awakened between my legs. My every nerve was standing at attention, begging me to let go. My body needed his, had been calling out its hunger since the very moment I laid eyes on him. I drank in the sight of him with my entire being. He was leaning heavily against the bathroom door, his muscles tensed with the effort of keeping himself away from me. I could feel myself growing wet as I raked my eyes across his firm chest, his sculpted biceps, those eyes that looked like they could swallow me whole. My knees were trembling uncontrollably, my heart was racing faster than the jet was cutting through the sky.
“I have to tell you something, Alexa,” Jackson said, pushing away from the door and standing a few paces away from me. I let my eyes flick down toward the front of his jeans, and nearly collapsed onto the tile floor when I saw the hard, unmistakable bulge there.
“What is it?” I asked, my voice throaty with anticipation, with twenty four years of pent-up lust.
“I think those rules you laid out are bullshit,” Jackson said, taking a step toward me. Each move he made sent needles dancing across my skin. I was actually aching for want of his hands on me. “Is that so?” I said, leaning away from his approach. My mind forced me to fight my body’s impulse. A little scrap of reason refused to be blown away in the force of Jackson’s torrential sex appeal.
“And what’s more,” Jackson said, coming to a stop mere inches away from me, “I think you know they’re bullshit. I think you know that you’re just terrified, because you want me more than any other man you’ve ever met. Is that true?”
Beauty in the Breakdown (A Rock Star Romance Novel) Page 6