Rocker (Rockstar BBW Romance)

by Demare, Laura

  I still hurt from that even though I was at 30,000 feet in the air, roaring toward Stevie, brownstones, and Brooklyn at 600 miles per hour.

  The day seemed to take forever, but seeing Stevie waiting for me when I got to the security checkpoint and Newark Airport was the thrill of a lifetime. He looked tougher, cooler, and sexier than ever. The man could rock a t-shirt and jeans. He kissed me passionately right there with hundreds and thousands of people from all over the world rushing this way and that.

  It was almost 10pm by the time we were riding the shuttle into Manhattan. I was spellbound. I would have been excited just to hold Stevie’s hand in the dark bus, but instead, I was seeing the New York City skyline rise up before us. Then we were in New York!

  Yellow taxi cabs thundering down the 4 or 5 lane avenues, rows of cars on the cross streets, and people of every color, shape and size on the wide sidewalks.

  Then we went down into the earth to wait on a crowded cement platform with a train track running up against it. We smushed into seats on the stainless steel F Train and it pummeled its way to Brooklyn in short order. Finally we were on well-manicured, relatively quiet streets in Park Slope as we walked to the Astral Record’s brownstone.

  “Yoko’s here,” I heard a one of the band say before I was all the way in the front door. I blushed. Stevie sighed and shook his head.

  “Don’t mind them,” he said.

  I did mind and so did they. Why shouldn’t they. They’d been together for 2 years, just the 5 of them. Now all of the sudden I was in the middle of the most exciting time in the band’s history? Not only that. Their charming lead singer, the focus of the band, was going to be seen with a curvy girlfriend?

  Life wasn’t meant to be perfect, I told myself. Just look around at all the people that you thought had it all that have screwed up royally or gone down in flames. I was in love; I would have to put up with the circumstances.

  Later that night, I heard Karl, and the drummer, Trey, talking about me. “It ain’t right,” Karl was saying. They were downstairs and I was upstairs with Stevie’s bedroom door open while Stevie had gone to the bathroom in the hall.

  “You mean her being so fat?” Trey said, quietly.

  “Yeah, and her being here, but mostly the fat part. How the hell are we supposed to make it big? The first break we get, there'll be pictures taken of him with a fat chick.”

  “He’s in love with her, man,” Trey said. My heart went out to Trey for saying that.

  “We’ve been working on this for two years,” Karl said, “now fat Yoko is gonna come along and ruin everything.”

  I was listening so intently, I didn’t notice Stevie who appeared in the doorway and startled me. He closed the door.

  Dear Diary, the man of my dreams has a phenomenal brother who hates my guts.

  The next day was my first day in New York City. The Statue of Liberty? Ground Zero? Top of the Empire State Building? Central Park? Bronx Zoo? No, I think I’ll go job hunting.

  It may sound ridiculous, but I had dreamed of the day when I was out of Placerville and in a real city where one could actually find interesting and decent paying employment. I was a big rock ‘n’ roller’s big girlfriend, and I was looking for a job?

  I had bills piled up, Stevie didn’t have extra money, I wasn’t going to sit around all day, or worse, try to hang out at the studio. I knew about the New York temp agencies. Tara’s oldest sister had lived in New York for over a year trying to make it in theater, but she only ever made it as a temp. Temp agencies could get you jobs for a day or two that paid really well and all you had to do was answer phones and maybe type up some documents. I was good at both. I rode the F train into Manhattan before any of Mercury 7 was even up. I left a note for Stevie that read, “See you tonight. Love, April.”

  I was into my first temp agency by a little before 8. A+ Employment Agency. I wore black slacks, and a dark blue blouse. I handed them my resume I had prepared just a week before, filled out an application, and took a typing test. “OK, April. We can probably get you something today. Just take a seat, and we’ll let you know when something comes in.”

  Unbelievable! Is this how NYC works? I loved it. By 9:30 I was at an ad agency called DDB on Madison freaking Avenue! Some nice older lady from personnel showed me my cubicle and I sat down to make $25 dollars per hour. Who was I? Cashier Girl?

  Everybody was well dressed, professional, pleasant, and a lot of them were noticeably attractive. The office was quite, super clean, organized, tastefully decorated, and my computer was new and powerful. I didn’t even see my boss until after 11. She was a very good looking 30-something, who was friendly, but got me right to work on proofreading a 20 page proposal. “Read it out loud, quietly of course, it will help you catch any errors. And, um, April is it?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “April, there can’t be any errors.”

  I was happy because that’s what I liked to do: read. I did as Janet told me to do and read the entire document out loud. She had given me a hard copy so I marked in red the problems that I’d found.

  I felt like I did it really slowly and at any time she was going to come out of her office and ask me what the holdup was. I kept plugging away. I found the document a good read. It was a 20 page pitch, but written from the viewpoint of the prospective client (a cruise line) about how DDB would transform their customer acquisition.

  I gave my corrections to Janet and told her I was going to lunch if it was OK. “You haven’t had lunch yet?”

  I looked at the clock, almost 3!

  By the time I got back from a ½ hour lunch, Janet had the document on my desk. Her note read, “Looks good. Make corrections to file and print me a copy.”

  By the time I was done it was almost 6pm. Janet thanked me and told me I could go. I had made over $200! I used to have to make it through 3 nights at Ben’s to make that much. I walked out of that beautiful office building onto Madison Avenue, with the sound of the evening traffic as music, feeling like I’d conquered the world.

  In the fading sun, I was surrounded by the biggest buildings I’d ever seen. The trippy part is, they went on for miles up and down the island of Manhattan. I felt like I was off-planet. I felt like I had walked into a different life.

  Back in Brooklyn, I had the whole brownstone to myself. I called Tara to tell her I was a temp just like her sister had been. I called Mom, past her bedtime, and left her a message to tell her I would have the bills and rent covered.

  By the time I had made myself some pasta, cleaned up the mess in the kitchen, and had a bowl of ice cream, I brushed my teeth and passed out in Stevie’s bed. He had left me a note that read, “Don’t know when we’ll be home. Love, S.”

  At dawn, they weren’t home. I went through my same ritual. I only had one nice blouse. I had washed it out in the sink the night before. I took a long, steamy shower with it hanging in the bathroom and it looked fine. I was on the F train by 7:30. Before I got to A+ Employment, they text me and said, “Please report to DDB by 9am.” I was a woman of the world.

  I went on in and worked for Janet another 9 hours that flew by. Another $225, I’d made more money in 2 days doing something I liked than I made in week of graveyard shifts at my old job. Janet joked around, encouraged me, and seemed to genuinely take an interest in me.

  Stevie called me around 3pm, he had just got up. “It’s going great, April,” he said about their recording sessions. Mercury 7 had plenty of original songs to choose from. Stevie had been writing songs since he was 15, and the band had been tightening up about 20 of them over the past 2 years. “Everybody is ecstatic over the progress.”

  “Where are you?” he asked me.

  “I’m at work.”

  “What?”

  “I got a job on Madison Avenue.”

  “Ha, ha,” Stevie said.

  “I really did. You made me into a new woman, Stevie.” I suddenly got choked up. “Really, I’m not joking. You saved my life. No matter what happens b
etween us, you saved my life.”

  “April, I…”

  “My boss is coming,” I cut him off. “I’ve got to go. You just focus on your art and don’t worry about me. Love you.”

  “Love you, too.

  13

  “April, you alright, Dear.” It was Janet standing beside my cubicle trying to get my attention.

  “Oh, sorry, Janet.” I just got some really good news. Here are those latest revisions you asked for, and I’m gonna start on the VM account right now.”

  “Great,” Janet smiled. “I’m going to ask personnel to have you become my permanent temp if that’s alright with you.

  “Permanent temp,” I laughed. Janet laughed, too.

  “They probably won’t do a permanent hire into this position for at least a few months, so for the time being, you can be my permanent temporary if you’re up for it.”

  “That’s terrific. Thank you.”

  What a day. I was in orbit. Not sure about which planet I was going around though.

  I was about to crash back down to our world.

  I decided that needed to see Stevie.

  The office building I was working in is only a couple of miles from the recording studio in the East Village, but what a difference a couple of miles can make in New York. After I got out of work, I caught the subway heading downtown with men in suits and women in business attire; I got off on Houston Street and soon I was the only person with those kind of clothes on.

  Take a breath, April.

  I still had on my dark blue blouse, black slacks, and pumps. I looked and felt keenly out of place. The vibe I felt was, you got off at the wrong stop, lady. As I walked east on 4th street, things got worse. The sun was going down, the early fall air had turned suddenly chilly, and I was clomping down the narrow, dirty sidewalk to Astral Studios.

  An impossibly dirty and matted man shuffled past me. He looked me up and down. I hadn’t seen a soul who remotely resembled me. No one was fat, no one was wearing a poly-blend and pumps.

  Two women, about my age, passed me. At first I was relieved, and then I saw the sneer of disgust on their faces as they looked down on me from their lofty hipster perch. I kept looking at the addresses on the residential buildings praying that 1-6-3 would get here soon. 417 was the current address. Was I in the right place?

  A couple of older Hispanic men passed by me and one actually said, “hello.” I felt a tiny sigh of relief, but they were gone. The next person I passed on the sidewalk was a thin and disheveled white kid about 20. He looked kind of desperate to me. As we passed each other, he turned his head and glared at me. I was a mark, I felt it. I sped up in a cold sweat.

  I heard footsteps behind me. 217 the address read. Almost there. A car horn honked near me, I jumped slightly, and almost broke into a run. 1-9-7.

  Then I stopped short. Up ahead a few narrow, residential buildings in front of me, was Stevie. He was standing on top of the front stoop of a building. The building’s front light shown down on him and woman.

  It was their body language that killed me. They were standing too close to one another. She was tall and beautiful and cool looking. Stevie looked like he was in love. I backed into the shadow of a small tree. I forgot my fear of the street. They both chuckled at something and kind of titled the tops of their heads together until they touched. She put her hand on his shoulder. He smiled at her. His hand went to her waist. She kissed him on the cheek.

  I’d seen enough. I whirled away and stomped back across 4th Street toward the subway. I didn’t see any sign of the scary kid, but I wasn’t worried about him anymore. Suddenly the street did not seem threatening at all, now that my life wasn’t worth living.

  I went over and over it in my mind. Every tiny detail was seared into my brain. My gut told me they were lovers. There’s no way that they could have been that close and that comfortable with one another if they hadn’t done it. He’d fallen for some gorgeous NYC girl, who could blame him. He hadn’t come home last night. No wonder.

  I didn’t let myself cry until I was back in the brownstone in Brooklyn. The kitchen was a disaster. My heart had been quick frozen and shattered. No way Humpty Dumpty was going back together. I sat down at the little kitchen table and wept softly.

  Love you, too. Yeah right.

  I washed the dishes while letting myself have it for being so naive. He’s in a band, you idiot. You’re not Yoko. You wish you were Yoko. You’re just a fling. Peter Paul Rubens. I’m just some big girl fetish. Now he’s moved on to some sweet, blonde hottie.

  At one point, I splashed water on the lower front of my blouse and slacks. Oh my gosh, I couldn’t go into DDB another day in these dirty clothes. Janet was going to start to wonder what's wrong with me if I wear this again. Whatever. I stripped to my underwear and bra and trudged to the upstairs bathroom to wash my outfit out for tomorrow. I was so smug just a couple of hours ago. I was in love. I was still in love. At the top of the landing, Karl came out of his bedroom in only a pair of boxers, saw me, and smiled.

  It wasn’t a smile like, good to see you, April. It was a smile like, caught you in your bra and panties. “Oh,” I said, holding my clothes in front of me, “I didn’t know anyone was here.”

  “Just me,” he said, his eyes took in every inch of my body. “Stevie and the guys are still finishing up a few things. I’m wrecked. I had to come back and sleep for a few hours.” Karl was so damn hot, I couldn’t help but notice. He brushed past me with the same smile on his face and went down the stairs.

  Maybe the smile was a “you’re through” smile.

  I got into Stevie’s bed. I could smell him. It was only 10:30. I tossed and turned in the darkness for hours. Finally about 2am, I heard the guys come in. I pretended to be asleep as Stevie came into the room. He didn’t touch me, kiss me softly on the cheek, or anything. He just went back out of the room. I must have finally drifted off to sleep.

  I awoke a few hours later in the early dawn. Stevie was out like a rock next to me. I slipped from beneath the covers.

  A half an hour later, I slipped out of the brownstone, ready for work. Work didn’t start for 2 ½ hours, though. I got a coffee and a muffin and headed toward the train.

  I took the F on into Manhattan and road up to Central Park. The bright sun was blinding after being below ground for 30 minutes. I walked into the park. Dozens of walkers, joggers, and bicyclist passed me as I made my way to the pond. I sat on a bench in the sun and my heart literally ached. What the hell did I think I was doing?

  “You’re making the most of the morning,” came an answer to my internal question. It came from an amazing looking guy who seemed to be about 70-years-old. He was rather large, about 6 feet, 200 pounds. He had a long white beard and a close-cropped head. In a white t-shirt and khaki shorts he looked to be in better shape than most men.

  “I’m trying, Sir.” I said to him.

  He slowed his walk. “I’m old,” he said. “I’ve found that when the going gets tough, it is best to forge ahead. I know it’s a cliché, but it makes things happen, and it makes you tough. You have to be tough, if you want a life. Forge ahead, Dear.” With those words he continued on up through the park. I noticed his shoes, they looked like leather slippers, and he seemed to glide across the sidewalk.

  Forge ahead, April, I told myself. I headed into work an hour early. There was plenty to do. I was a permanent temporary after all.

  My chutzpah drained, though. By 10:30 am, I had consumed 4 cups of coffee and felt wasted. Time was dragging by; my stomach and heart hurt, and Janet hadn’t even shown her face in the office.

  I looked at the clock again, 10:32. Maybe Madison Avenue was not the place for me. I fought the urge to leave the building, hop on a train, go back to Brooklyn, and confront Stevie. I fought the urge to put my head down on my desk and take a nap. It was agonizing. Forge ahead I told myself. I Googled it.

  Forge: to form or bring into being especially by an expenditure of effort.

  The old man wa
s right. I needed to forge the life that I wanted for myself. I couldn’t rely on Stevie, Mom, or Tara to do it for me. I got up, went down the elevator, walked outside into the beautiful early fall air, briskly walked all the way around the city block, and then went back up to my desk and got to work.

  At lunchtime, I started looking in the “apartments to share” section of craigslist. I was energized.

  Sometime after noon, Janet finally showed up and dumped a bunch of work on me. I was thankful.

  Around 3pm, my cell buzzed, it was Stevie. I held my phone in my hand looking at it. On the third ring, I answered, “Hello.”