by Ava Lore
I'd never performed live in front of hundreds of rabid fans. The very thought had me jumping out of my skin. Which brought me around to another thought. "Wait," I said, "I'm not part of the band. Why do I need a new outfit?"
At that, Carter looked down at me and grinned. For a moment, he looked very much like Kent and my heart did a weird little twist. "Don't worry about that," he said. "It's just for when you go onstage."
Me? Onstage? Suddenly I felt distinctly less relaxed and chipper. "Excuse me?" I said. "Excuse me?" The sweet little assortment of Danishes and muffins I'd consumed at the cafe began to murmur with civil unrest. I was going to have myself a riot on my hands pretty soon.
Carter laughed, which I felt was not very kind under the circumstances. "Don't worry, Rebecca. It'll be fine."
"What will be fine?" I demanded as he took my arm and began to steer me down the street. "Going onstage is not fine. Not at all!"
"Yeah, but it will be fine. I promise."
"All those people hate me, Carter!" I hadn't been able to keep myself from peeking at some of the comments on the gossip blogs. Even the pictures of Kent and Carter and I together, laughing and having a good time here together in San Diego—well staged by Kent, I had to say—had about a thousand vicious comments on them, calling me a whore and a slut and worse. There were people who defended me, but they were few and far between. I'd probably lost five pounds over the past few days by obsessing over this shit, and it was not fun at all. Now I had to get up in front of all of these people who loved Kent and loved Carter and hated me? I was going to get eviscerated. My eyes unfocused as Carter propelled me across the street, imagining the boos that would come raining down on my head.
The civil unrest in my stomach began to burgeon into a pretty angry mob. I looked around for a trash can.
"Relax," Carter said. "I have a pretty decent story. Everyone will believe it. And Kent... I think he has something planned. So don't sweat it."
"What's your story?" I demanded as we stepped up onto the curb. "I need to know."
He grinned at me. "Really?" he said. "You don't want to be surprised?"
"I hate surprises," I said. "Please, Carter, give me some hint about what you're going to say."
To my shock, he wrapped his arm around me and pulled me close. "Don't you worry about it, Rebecca," he said. "We've got it handled. You don't trust me?"
It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him that no, I didn't trust him at all... but that wasn't true, and it would be a bad idea to say it out loud anyway. I looked up into Carter's eyes and saw nothing but glee and good nature there. It was my trust and my support that had helped him break out of his self-destructive spirals. If I really trusted him, I should demonstrate it. I took a deep breath.
"I do trust you," I told him. "I don't trust other people to believe what you tell them. We did a pretty good job making out last month."
"We did," he conceded, "but trust me, please. I know exactly what to say. It'll be fine."
"But why won't you tell me?" I asked as he opened the door to a shop. "I want to know!"
He laughed. "Oh come on, Rebecca, where's your sense of adventure?"
I wasn't sure I'd ever had a sense of adventure, to be honest, and I was about to say this when a familiar smell hit my nose. I finally stopped and took in my surroundings.
We were in a thrift shop.
"Here?" I said. "We're going to shop for a new rock get-up here?"
Carter grinned at me. "You'll be surprised at what you can find in a thrift shop," he said.
I shook my head. "I know exactly what I'll find in a thrift shop. Tons of stuff that looks hideous but that is mercifully not my size."
"Oh, come on," Carter said. "This will be fun."
I took a deep breath and turned to him. I didn't like this at all. I didn't like the idea of appearing on stage. I didn't like the thought of what would happen if whatever story Carter had concocted didn't go over well. In fact, my feet almost itched with the desire to run run run far away. There was no way I was going to be able to do this.
"Carter..." I started. I bit my lip, unsure how to tell him about my fears.
Then he put his hands on my shoulders and smiled down at me. My heart did a little flip. He was so sweet, so boyishly handsome. He was going to make some woman so happy someday, if he kept pulling himself together. He wasn't the guy for me, but I was so glad I'd met him. Even if I had to leave some day, if tonight didn't work, I was so glad to have met him. So glad to have met all of them. They were all so special to me, in different ways, a family away from my family...
"Rebecca," Carter said, pulling me back to the present, "stop worrying about it. Kent will take care of everything. I know you've been relying on yourself for a long time, getting screwed over and still standing up and soldiering on, but you don't have to do this shit alone. Let us help you. Trust us."
I glared at him to hide the fact that I thought I might cry if anyone else were kind to me.
Then his warm hands on my shoulders pulled me in and he gave me the biggest bear hug I'd ever received. Warmth enveloped me, and I inhaled the sweet scent of his skin, soap and boy. Comforting. Tentatively, aware that someone else was probably watching us, I put my arms around him, too. We stood there for a long moment in the thrift shop, embracing, and when Carter finally let me go I had to take a few deep breaths to keep myself from breaking down.
"You're going to be fine, Rebecca," he said. "Not everyone is out to hurt you or use you. I promise."
Unable to speak, I just nodded, and Carter gave my shoulders a final squeeze before letting go. "Excellent," he said. "Now lets go find something for you to wear."
"What do you know about dressing girls up?" I asked him, struggling to put some emotional distance between us.
"You'd be surprised," he said. Then he grabbed my wrist and pulled me into the aisles, and I resigned myself to a morning of shopping.
*
Friday. The night of. I hadn't seen Kent all day. My stomach was in knots, twisting and turning and filled with acid.
Despite my churning stomach, I looked pretty good. To my shock, Carter was something of a whiz at finding good thrift store clothes, and he'd thrown together an outfit for me out of a huge old silk blouse, a fat belt, a pair of my own skinny jeans, and high-heeled boots. Then he'd sent me into a salon and told me to get my hair cut and dyed, and an hour and a half later I emerged with a punky, fire-red haircut. Carter took me back to the hotel, told me to get dressed, and then artfully slashed my silk blouse with a pair of scissors he'd stolen from the front desk downstairs. Then he'd left me alone to go prepare for the concert tonight.
Being alone was not good for me. I did my make up at least three times, then I'd forced myself to eat a piece of toast for dinner, but that was it as far as food and I were going. If I hadn't gone for the toast I would have puked up the sugary treats I'd stupidly eaten that morning. When Carter knocked on the door to get me downstairs to the van, he'd frowned at my green face and asked me if I needed a drink.
Emphatically no.
Now I stood backstage at a place called the Snake Pit Lounge. It held about a thousand people and the notice had apparently gone out over the internet and airwaves yesterday that The Lonely Kings would be playing a concert there. The place had sold out in seconds.
It was weird being backstage. I'd been to the Snake Pit Lounge several times when Jason wanted to see a bigger name band. It was like a nice bar with a big ballroom floor and a stage. It sold alcohol and had a cocktail lounge and it was a pretty decent venue, if a bit overcrowded during sold out shows.
Now I peeked out from behind the curtain and saw that tonight it was packed. People were already sloshed and ready to get grooving, impatient for the opening band to come out.
Ah. Yeah. Right. The opening band. Jason's band. Sweet Lobotomy.
Yes. There. That was his band name. I tried to not think about it because I was embarrassed that I'd ever thought that it was a decent name. I mea
n, The Lonely Kings of Lifeless Things is a mouthful, but at least it can be shortened to The Lonely Kings and evokes something. Sweet Lobotomy sounded like a high school band that never made it out of the drummer's mom's garage. Which was kind of the case. Oh well.
So. Sweet Lobotomy opening for The Lonely Kings.
I hadn't seen them yet. My whole body vibrated with nervous energy.
Backing away from the curtain, I hurried around the guys setting up and glaring at me and half-walked, half-ran to the room where the band waited. The back stage area was plain and white and dull except for the signed posters of the bands that had gone before, and it made me think of a high school. The backstage area had obviously been thrown together when the Snake Pit had opened up, converting whatever had been here first into a concert venue.
Now, when I entered the cramped little 'green room,' it was weird to me to see the band in such dingy circumstances. I mean, I'd seen them in dingy circumstances before—the rehearsal room came to mind—but they'd all been dressed like regular people then. Now they were dressed up like rock stars. The contrast between Sonya's colorful peacock clothing and the white walls of the musician's lounge was startling. She wore a black leather bustier and a frilly neon pink skirt with black netting and neon pink PVC platform boots. She looked like a psychotic Barbie doll who'd just discovered the S and M scene, and even I had to admit she was smoking hot. Manny was the least dressed, in a white t-shirt with black capped sleeves, a backwards baseball cap over his wild curls, and ripped jeans and Chucks. Carter was in the bog-standard white t-shirt, jeans, and black leather jacket. And Kent...
Well. Like always, he was cool as a cucumber in his normal clothes. Black v-neck t-shirt that showed off his full sleeve tattoos, dark blue jeans, boots. Silver and diamond earrings glinting in his ears, and dark kohl liner around his eyes.
My whole body lit up with desire just looking at him, cutting through the fear and anxiety that had been building up all day, and with a start I realized I hadn't seen him since last night.
They all looked up when I came in, but only Kent held my eyes. The rest went back to talking about whatever it was they'd been talking about—best ways to get groupies in bed, I think. Well, Carter and Manny were talking about that. Sonya was telling them they were gross.
Kent was silent, and I could see in his eyes that he was tired, but the little smile on his lips when he saw me eased my heart more than I could have thought.
"Hey, Rebecca," he said. "Come over here." He was sitting on an old beat up couch that had probably seen more than its share of groupie sex. I ran my tongue over my teeth and tried to get over my internal squeamishness. Then Kent held out his arm and I was flitting to his side like a trained dog. When he touched me, my cares melted away and I sank down next to him. He pulled me close and I laid my head on his shoulder, reveling the feeling of being next to him, of the warmth of his body seeping through his clothes and into me. I just wanted to close my eyes and stay there with him. I wanted time to stop, just for us.
"How are you holding up?" he asked me.
I shrugged. His arm around my shoulders was a sweet weight. "Fine," I said.
"Have you eaten anything?" he asked.
I nodded my head. It wasn't a total lie.
"Are you looking forward to the pre-show?”
Hooboy. That was it. Even the thought of it made me stiffen, and when I did Kent's arm tightened around me slightly. "No," I said at last. "I'm really, really not."
“What? You don't trust me? I said it would be fine.”
“No, I trust you. But I don't trust Jason to not somehow pull it out and get what he wants. He did it last time.” I shuddered thinking about it. It was just as well that Kent had been working himself like a dog for the past few days, because every time I thought about ripping his clothes off and riding him until sunrise, Jason's leering face flashed across my brain.
He'd been watching. He spoiled it. I couldn't be with Kent again until this problem was well and truly handled and I couldn't stand the thought that it might not be handled by the end of tonight.
On the other hand, I knew Kent had probably made Jason sign something huge and legally binding. That was his thing, after all. One way or another, the Jason thing would be over after tonight.
I just hoped Jason's career wouldn't suddenly take off. I couldn't think of a person who deserved it less.
Again my nerves spiked and I leaned in to Kent.
“Relax, Rebecca,” he said. “We'll take care of this. You don't have to do a thing.”
A knock on the door drew my attention. A guy I recognized as one of the pit crew stuck his head in. “Excuse me,” he said, “but the opener is about to go on stage, and they wanted to drop in first.”
The opener. Jason's band. Fuuuuuck me.
“Of course,” Kent said. “Show them in.”
My whole body went cold and still. I barely heard Kent say, “Relax,” but I felt his warm arm tighten around me, a reassuring squeeze. I licked my dry lips and tried to nod even though I felt vaguely sea sick.
The door closed, and not a minute later it opened again, and in trooped Sweet Lobotomy.
First came Jason. Of course. He was the lead singer and guitarist, he loved to be up front with everything. He strolled into the room, giving us all a once over. I knew he wouldn't have told anyone about his public humiliation in the hotel lobby, but the fact that he'd managed to get one over on us gave his smile a smugness that I wished I could punch out of him. He nodded to each of us, though he skipped over Sonya, and when his eyes met mine he grinned.
Behind him followed Ricky the drummer and Sean the bassist. I didn't know them very well since Jason was the only constant member of the band; he'd been through at least two drummers and several bassists since the band's conception, and he'd stopped inviting me to rehearsals long before I got to know Ricky and Sean. Mostly I knew them from parties where they would do blow and get incredibly fucked up. They were both spineless burnouts that let Jason shove them around, and I suspected now that when Jason had stolen from our friends and blamed it on me, that he had been buying drugs for himself and then dealing to the rest of his band.
Not that I was much better than them. Just breathing the same air as Jason made me feel like I was falling backwards in time, spiraling back down to the days when I worked myself to the bone to keep us in food while he fucked around and stole money and pumped himself full of toxic chemicals.
I took a deep breath and reminded myself that things were different. That Carter and Manny and Sonya were my friends. That Kent was next to me, a warm weight in the world, anchoring me in the here and now.
I clenched my fists in my lap, and I saw Jason take me in. His grin grew wider. He'd come to lord it over me.
He turned to the band and leaned forward, extending his hand to shake toward Carter, who was sitting nearest to him. “Hey guys!” he said, chipper and cheerful as though this were the first time we were all meeting. “Great to meet you. I'm Jason Davis.”
Carter looked at the proffered hand as though he'd never seen anything like it before.
After an uncomfortable silence, Jason cleared his throat and pulled back. “Anyway,” he said. “This is Sean, and that's Ricky. We wanted to drop by and thank you for this opportunity.”
My teeth clenched. As if he'd earned this opportunity. As if we were giving it to him of his own free will. The worst thing about Jason was that he probably thought that he had earned it.
Then Manny laughed. “Oh, it's no trouble. Are you guys ready?”
Ricky gave him a little nervous smile. “Been waiting our whole lives for this opportunity.”
“Well,” Manny said, “don't you worry too much about it.”
Jason's band exchanged quick glances. “Uh,” Ricky said. “Worry too much about what?”
Manny raised his brows. “The press,” he said. “Everyone's out to rip us a new one. People love a winner, and they love to watch a winner fall, too. Got like five or six of
the harshest bloggers out there looking for mistakes.” He waved the drink in his hand. “Don't worry about that, though. They probably won't notice you.”
A small, awkward silence reigned. “Oh,” Ricky said. “Thanks?”
“Don't mention it.”
Jason cleared his throat again. “Well, thanks for having us,” he said, and took a step back, but Sonya stood up and pointed at Sean. “Sorry,” she said. “Which one are you?”
He licked his lips nervously. I didn't blame him. Sonya looked magnificent. “Er, Sean. I play the bass.” He gave her a big smile.
She looked him up and down. “Oh,” she said. Then she sat back down, pulled out her phone and started texting.
“I think we'll be getting ready then—” Jason started.
“Have you ever played such a large venue before?” Carter asked. His eyes were wide, all innocence.
Ricky shook his head, staring around the room as though he thought he were dreaming. “No, never.”
“Oh, well then can we give you some advice?”
Ricky and Sean nodded. Jason's smile was going a little glassy.
“Okay, well, the first time at a place like this, you might get stuff thrown at you,” Carter told them. “Like, I don't know, ice, shoes. Someone threw a shoe at me once and gave me a bloody nose.”
“Oh god, yeah,” Manny said. “You hear about the panties, but you never hear about the glass tumblers when someone's had too much to drink. Had to have five stitches in my scalp because of one of those.”
Ricky's hands twitched. “Oh,” he said. “Does that happen often?”
“All the time,” Manny told him. “The best is when you can tell the crowd is slipping away. It takes just one wrong note and they'll turn on you like dogs. It blows. Oh, hey, you guys want something to drink before you go out? Loosen yourselves up a little bit?”
“Yes!” Sean and Ricky said together.
Manny smiled and leaned over, opening the little minifridge that sat next to his couch. He pulled out a bottle of chilled vodka, poured out two large plastic cups full of vodka, and passed it over to the band. “What about you?” he asked Jason. “You want some? It's smooth, none of that furniture stripping shit.”