Voices Carry: A Rock and Roll Fantasy (The Rock And Roll Fantasy Collection)

by Diane Rinella

  This waiting is driving me crazy. For God’s sake, it is Saturday morning. I know she’s in town, yet it’s been total radio silence since Thursday—no voice, no Facebook post, not even a photo on Instagram. I’m gonna lose my ever-loving mind.

  Inside my jean’s pocket, my phone vibrates. It’s probably another text from Dale, whom I’ve completely lost track of because he keeps getting shipped off to God knows where.

  I look to my phone, and my heart speeds up. Finally! It’s about freaking time Katherine resurfaced.

  I lean against one of the bins at Warped Records to check out the post. The glimmering, emerald dress she wears in the photo displays so much cleavage that I can’t help but lock my eyes on it. Damn! I wouldn’t mind sticking my face …

  Focus, Brandon!

  “Presenting at the Emmys last year. I never thought they would even let me in the door. :)”

  How does this post already have over two hundred likes and forty-one comments? Are people sitting at their computers while waiting on her every word? Don’t they have lives? How crazy.

  Why yes, Brandon. Crazy indeed.

  Oh, everything about this is crazy, including how I need to get noticed in a sea of fans.

  Does seeing all these comments about how hot she looks ever get old? Sure, people need ego boosts, but artists also care about their craft. All that stuff she does to her body is hype, similar to how Saleena altered her appearance in order to stand out.

  There lies the key. I may not know how to talk to Katherine, but I once knew how to talk to Saleena. My inner voice is the one who needs to comment. “You should have been there winning instead of presenting. It’s only a matter of time. Let passion be your guide.”

  The door swings open and nearly slams shut. A wannabe skate punk heads toward the counter. The waistband on his pants hangs nearly to the top of his thigh like he has a death wish. Loose fitting pants while skating? Sure, but you need leg swing without your belt being in the way. Oh, well. We all learned the hard way, hence the permanent bump on the right side of my skull.

  I sneak a peek at Facebook. Unfortunately, my comment is raking in the likes by everyone but Katherine.

  The kid huffs and clears his throat. Shane holds up a finger to tell him to wait while he finishes reading some relic. Finally, he pops his head up. “Can I help you?”

  “Yeah, what’s that band that sounds like Green Day?”

  Shane shrugs. “Which one?”

  “You know, that other punk band.”

  My insides clamp. I was right about him having a death wish.

  “Other punk band?” Shane sounds indignant. Here we go.

  The kid shrugs. “Yeah.”

  “Kid, punk is about aggression and anarchy brought on by going against the norm. Green Day is the norm. At best, they are pop punk.”

  “Don’t be a hater of the cool. Green Day is totally punk.”

  Yikes! What he loves isn’t the issue; not dissecting his passion is. You can only grow once you see beyond the obvious. If you dig a band, look at their idols. If you are into a genre, trace its roots. Green Day uses punk tempos and chord changes, but their melodies and subject matter are pop. Figuring out what he likes about them will open his world. Because of this kid’s attitude, Shane is leading him down that road the only way he will understand the journey.

  “Yeah, sure they are punk,” Shane says. I don’t have to look to know his eyes are rolling. I check my phone again for an alert from Katherine—nothing.

  “Are you going to tell me who I am looking for?” the kid asks.

  Shane pretends to scratch his brain. “Hmm … Blink 182 is pop punk.”

  “Old dude, are you deaf? Not pop punk. Punk!”

  On second thought, this kid should run for his life while he can. Despite the insults, Shane plays along by snapping his fingers as if he is about to be brilliant. “You want the soundtrack to Full House.”

  Snort!

  The kid’s head snaps at me. “Seriously,” Shane says, “ ’21 Guns’ snags part of the theme song. It also sounds like ELO’s ‘Telephone Line’ and Mott the Hoople’s ‘All the Young Dudes’. Oh, and ‘Jesus of Suburbia’ totally sounds like Bryan Adams’ ‘Summer of 69’.”

  The kid crosses his arms and gets testy. “Bryan Adams isn’t punk.”

  “Neither is Green Day!”

  “Yes, they are!”

  Shane thrust his index finger toward the door. I’m surprised it’s not his middle one. “Kid, you are giving me an aneurism. Get out of my store.”

  My phone buzzes with a Facebook notification—from Katherine!

  She responded?

  “Thank you, Brandon. You have no idea how fantastic your timing was or what those words did for me!”

  Holy …

  She tagged me!

  In the grand scheme of life, it means nothing, but in light of our situation, this is huge. I have to hold her attention! But how?

  I’ll paraphrase something she said in one of the visions. “I’ve always believed no dream goes unheard.”

  Shane’s customer starts to head out. Oddly, Shane seems to feel sorry for him. “Okay, hold on. I’ve got what you want.”

  This is what it has all been leading to. Shane and I became the way we are because we were handed the right seed to plant. I got mine at fourteen while standing in front of my cousin Diane’s record collection in awe. She asked what I listened to and why I enjoyed it. My head had always been stuck in the Top 40. When she laid the needle on Cheap Trick at Budokan, the opening notes to “Surrender” hit, and a call to war bounced off of the speakers. Instantly, the fire of passion was ignited. Now I may get to witness that magic with this kid.

  A drumroll plays in my head as Shane hands him a copy of … The Kinks Are The Village Green Preservation Society. Brilliant! Always look to the idols. When it comes to numerous bands, you start with The Kinks.

  “Listen to ‘Picture Book’,” Shane says. “The circulating intro sounds a lot like ‘Warning’. Messes with me all the time.”

  “Dude, this thing is ancient history. They didn’t have punk in the sixties.”

  Now Shane’s not the only one who wants to kill this kid.

  “Punk originated in the sixties,” Shane says. He grabs a copy of The MC5’s Kick Out The Jams. “Early punk, though they are far from the first. It’s on me. Take The Kinks too, and see what I am talking about.” He heads to another bin and pulls out some TSOL. “This is punk. Hone in on what you groove to, and I’ll help you track down whatever you are looking for.”

  This is why I respect the hell out of Shane. He could have sold that kid pretty much anything—maybe even a stack of it. Instead, he opted to open his mind. This is akin to watching poetry.

  My phone buzzes, snapping me out of rock and roll heaven and filling me with hope.

  Katherine replied, “I agree!”

  We had a conversation!

  I slip the phone back into my pocket and divert my attention to a bin of records while trying to hide my canary-eating grin. Shane sends the kid on his way and then walks up to me. “Please tell me we were never that dumb.”

  “We both know it would be a lie. Any clue what he actually wanted?”

  “Who cares? He walked out of here with The MC5, The Kinks, and TSOL. The kid owes me his life.”

  In the course of a few minutes I got both a response from Katherine and to watch the foundation laid for a kid to build a love of music. Life is awesome!

  Fresh in from work, I fall back onto the hotel room bed. It may be the dead of night, but I feel enlivened—as if I am diving into a pool of cool water on a sweltering day.

  “I did it!” I scream. I found the part within myself that made me believe I loved that creep. I went up against one of Hollywood’s best, took a tiny scene, and avalanched everyone with it! Even the curmudgeonly director applauded. My dreams are coming true, all because I was able to gain inspiration brought about by a fan who took a moment to remind me to have faith in my dr
eams.

  I have fans! How long has it been since I thought about that? I’ve been so wrapped up in day-to-day life I’ve lost sight of the fact I am already living the dream.

  A combination of excitement and exhaustion makes it difficult to type on my phone, but I’m eager to share the good news with those who want to hear it. “Had a great day on set! Thank you all for the inspiration. I couldn’t do this without you.”

  But how I share my excitement is bitter sweet. I prepared for this performance with the help of a man who only exist in my mind and heart. He is the one I want to tell because without him, I never could have pulled that scene off.

  I tuck a pillow into my arms while daydreaming I’m resting my head on the chest of someone special. With him I share the heaven in my soul. “I didn’t realize it until now, but my dream is coming true. I’ve been so caught up in work I’ve forgotten to appreciate the little things. You know, sometimes I wonder …”

  “… sometimes I wonder how I let myself get this way. I don’t want to be like this anymore. From now on, I will change that.”

  Katherine’s voice nudges me awake. At first I feel a light ache in my chest as if I have strained a muscle. Then pressure builds. My eyes creep down while not knowing if what I feel is a heart attack, a cat I don’t own, or something unimaginable—yet nothing is there. The hair on my body begins to prickle as I come to understand the sensation of a head pressing down on my chest and a warm body curling next to me.

  “Do you remember to get excited about little things?”

  Though I’m starting to find acceptance in hearing it, every time that beautiful voice comes into my head I can’t help but flinch and gasp. Katherine may not be a ghost, yet she is haunting me nonetheless. If she can do this while alive, how is it Amber has never done it while dead? Am I sure this isn’t Amber?

  I try to force myself to relax and come to peace with the presence I feel. Not only does the timbre of the voice tell me this is not Amber, so does the tone of the energy.

  “I miss embracing life. Has life turned out to be all you want it to be? Are you happy and healthy? Are you with someone?”

  I bring myself into the beauty of the moment, curl to my right and imagine her head is tucked under my chin. “No, Katherine, I’m alone and missing someone I’ve never met. Can you hear me, too? I ask it all the time, yet I never get an answer.”

  “I’m always afraid to ask about you because it implies I believe you are real. If you are, you may be happily married and I am out of luck. I hate that I can’t live a life of fantasy without the pain of reality being apparent. Does the pain of reality cross into the beauty of your dreams too?”

  “All the time.”

  “My mother often says because she always thinks of me, I should know I am loved. I feel her love all the time. Do you feel mine?”

  Her voice drifts off, and I sense the peace of slumber. I wish I could join her in that bliss, but this conversation has me wide-awake. There must be a way to get through to her. If I could respond …

  Maybe I can.

  I turn on my phone and a Facebook notification tells me about the great day Katherine had. It’s late, so there aren’t many comments yet. Perfect.

  I wish her good night with words that I hope resound. “I’m so glad your day was wonderful. Mine was but only because the pain of my reality was erased by the beauty of my dreams.”

  Rat Trap

  The five AM sounding of my alarm clock has me again wondering why I have chosen to work in a profession that doesn’t allow me to sleep in, even on Sundays, yet insists I always look well rested.

  As I contemplate the day, the song that again infiltrated my dreams slips into my head.

  “The road to success is dark, but flames of my desire will light the path.”

  I swear I know this from somewhere. Weird.

  Weirder still, why did I think the voice singing it was mine? My voice sucks.

  Getting up sounds as if it is the worst idea mankind has ever had. Since my cell phone is in reach I delay the inevitable by checking Facebook. My last post is still showing, and before I can close it, my eyes lock on one of the comments. “I’m so glad your day was wonderful. Mine was but only because the pain of my reality was erased by the beauty of my dreams.”

  Hey, I’ve seen this profile picture before. What is it with things sounding weird to me? Like, that sounds so familiar it’s creepy.

  My thoughts break as a call comes through. Jason’s name popping up makes my muscles twitch. I can’t avoid him forever.

  My hi gets cut off by his enthusiasm. “Guess who’s boarding a flight bound for LA! Your assistant told me you are scheduled to wrap early today, so be prepared to be wined and dined.”

  Oh God, seriously? He can’t be blind to how bad things are. “Wow, this is quite the surprise.” I sounded surprisingly polite. My acting coach would be impressed at how well I pulled that one off.

  “Fantastic! I’ll swing by your hotel around six. See you then.”

  Since there is no way I will ever get into whatever studio she is filming at, my only hope for running into Katherine is to put myself in places where she would go. Intuition has always told me she loves the beach. How beautiful would it be to see her in the light of the sun as it is reflected off of the water on a perfect Sunday evening?

  Still, I can’t escape the ghost of my past—a past that my body didn’t experience but my soul did. Finding reality in my association with Katherine means accepting the full picture.

  Waves crash onto a cluster of boulders before me. The sheen the water leaves behind reminds me of the steel of a gun. As much as I feel the urge to race past the rocks, I’m drawn in as if it is a spectacle of horror—a train wreck I can’t turn a blind eye to. The guilt I carry may not belong to Brandon Wayne, but it belongs to his soul.

  Another wave hits the rocks, bringing back the sheen that tears at my heart. Memories of the past life regression surface, and Johnny’s pain slips into my soul. I’m quick to divert my eyes and start to take off with my head low, yet a pebble catches my attention. Unlike the smooth rocks around it that have taken a beating by the waves, this one is jagged. It appears to be a lava rock, yet it is surprisingly heavy for its size. It reminds me of the burden I bear—dark, jagged, and weighty. I slip it into my pants pocket and continue on my way.

  The sun begins its journey behind the waves, and the air turns chilly. I tighten my jacket around me, blocking the wind that nudges me back. Like a rainbow chaser, I look at my screen shot of the online conversation Katherine and I had yesterday. Even if all this was to end now, and I never heard from her again, this experience would still be nothing short of astounding.

  Waves roll in, barely missing my boots. Suddenly, my chest is shocked into quivering, and my body freezes at the warning. There is no mistaking that was a chill of impending danger—not to me, but to someone I love.

  The sensation hits again. This time it comes from behind, nudging me. Enough holding back. I’ve been given the gift of sensing her for a reason, and intuition is screaming something is wrong.

  I’m headed down Highway One in a flash. The chill pays me another visit, and I jump off the highway, dropping me in Santa Monica and sending me winding through streets. Pressure forms in my head and is accompanied by the emotional crumbling of my chest. What could possibly be happening to Katherine?

  The pressure continues to build, making me nearly dizzy. When it begins to ease, I know I have driven too far.

  I pop an illegal U-Turn and speed back to where I felt the sickest, get out of my car, and start running. My ears fill with the sound of my heart valves popping open and then closing. The intensity grows until I find myself in front of a restaurant so exclusive that drivers wait in parked cars and reservations are checked before you can get in the door. Shoot, even the paparazzi have taken up residence in front of this place.

  Is she here? Is what I am feeling simply a signal to bring me here for an appointment with destiny? My hea
rt races with the hope of seeing her, yet it feels so broken that I fear for her. What could happen that would be so bad, especially in such an elegant place?

  Cheers come from inside—loud cheers reminding me of a sports bar when the home team has scored. I step to the window in hopes of seeing what the commotion is about, but standing people and flashing lights block the spectacle. An older couple dashes out, laughing. “I can’t believe we saw that,” the woman says.

  The man wraps his arm around her and smiles. “You and your star lust.”

  “You have to admit the look on her face was priceless. And the size of that rock! I didn’t realize he made that much money.”

  “It’s obscene how many so-called stars rake in the cash—even bottom feeders like Jason Day.”

  Oh, no.

  No way! There is no possible way this is as it seems. She’s mine. I’m hers. It’s always been that way. At some point we made a vow for eternity. I know we did. God brought us together, and Jason Day is not allowed to mess with that!

  I try to keep my cool while tailing the couple close enough to eavesdrop but not for them to fear I am about to mug them. They need to tell me I’ve got the story wrong.

  “The tabloids should be buzzing tomorrow,” the woman adds.

  “Yeah, we are going to be more inundated with Kason jokes than ever. I already want the divorce over with.”

  The sucker punch to the gut causes the world around me to slow; yet the flashes from behind make my head spin. In the cracks between the paparazzi I catch a glimpse of Katherine’s fluttering hair as she and Jason duck into a waiting car. The boldness of his grin eats at my soul.

  I've lost her, and I never even got the chance to show her the light she puts into my eyes.

  Come back, Katherine. Step out of that car and look at me. See the love I have for you. How can it ache so much if my love for you isn’t true?