by Jesse Jordan
Ian nods, saying nothing for a long time. Finally, when he does, it's with concern in his voice. “Rocky... I don't want you going on if this is going to kill you. I'd rather we break up the band. I can get a spot working with someone else. It won't be the same, I've enjoyed every minute of being in the Fragments with you. But I don't want to see you dead.”
I swallow, and while my eyes are looking out over Manhattan, I shake my head. “I'll make it, Ian. I owe you and Joey that much.”
“Bullshit. You don't owe us a fucking thing,” Ian says, his voice level and contemplative. “You owe yourself.”
I think it over, and make a decision inside myself. “Okay, maybe I do. But I owe myself more than just walking away. I don't know if I've got a career in this, but that song, the concert tomorrow, I owe that to myself. For all the pain, all the hard work... and that song. It is fucking timeless.”
“And I read the original paper, man. I don't know what she became later on or why, but the eighteen-year-old girl who wrote Four Letters those years ago… she loved you, Rocky. So, if you want my fifty cents’ worth of free advice, tomorrow night, sing to that girl. Not to the image you've got in your mind and heart right now... but sing to the girl that loved you, and to the image that you love. Don't let it go into past tense yet, it's too fresh, too raw for you. But tomorrow, sing for that girl.”
“And the rest of the songs?” I ask, thinking of the fifteen song set that we've put together over our free moments the past few days, old material, new material, and a few rock covers that we've done in concerts just for fun, and thankfully no Eternal Flame.
Ian looks over and smirks. “Sing for Joey. You know he's got the hots for you.”
I laugh and punch Ian in the shoulder. “Asshole. Why do you have to make me smile when my heart's breaking?”
Ian gets up and offers me a hand, pulling me to my feet. “Because that's what life is. Smiling through heartbreak while you slowly freeze your ass off on a New York rooftop. Hmmm, wonder if we can turn that into a song?”
I clap him on the shoulder and give him a hug. “Thanks, big man. No matter what, I've got your back.”
“And I've got yours, Rocky. Come on, Martha's gotta be pissing her pantsuit by now.”
We go inside, where we find Joey and Martha with worried looks on their faces at the studio level, the concern clearing when they see that I'm okay. Martha comes up closer, rubbing my frozen cheek. “Rocky...”
“It's okay, Martha,” I reassure her, taking her hand and pulling it away gently. “I'll be okay. What I need right now though is to get to the airport and fly home. We've got a concert Saturday, and we've still got run throughs to do tomorrow morning on that.”
Something flashes in Martha's eyes, but she swallows and nods. “Okay, Rock. I already talked with the MTV people, they said they'll call us a limo for the trip to JFK. We'll be there in plenty of time. Too bad we don't have a private plane.”
“Hmm, maybe for the world tour,” Joey jokes, patting me on the back. “Come on Rocky, I was thinking we can put a version of Pour Some Sugar on Me in the set Saturday.”
“Not if you want to get paid,” Martha warns, growling, as we turn and leave the studio, heading for the elevator. “You play any Def Leppard, and I'll castrate you all.”
“Then we can sing The Bangles without a problem,” Ian deadpans, and Martha growls again. “What?”
“Fucking rockers. Wiseasses, all of you. Come on, let's go home.”
Chapter 19
Cora
The concert isn't so much a concert as it is a press event, and because of that, it's got the whole media circus going along with it. Red carpet entrances for the celebs, who are showing up and being dropped off by their drivers in outfits that might look tame at the MTV Music Awards, but that's about it. For the rest of us who might drive their regular cars, valets are mandatory.
Also, Vevo is streaming the whole concert on the brand new “The Fragments VEVO” channel tonight, with the world premiere of Four Letters happening immediately afterward on MTV.com and on YouTube. I checked this morning, the preview video's hot, already garnering over a half million views even though it's only a forty-second preview clip. As for me, my original ticket was for a celeb entrance, but I go instead through the regular entrance, skipping the circus.
What this means for me is that I'm able to approach the venue without having to walk through the red-carpet gauntlet that the celebrities are. Instead, I look normal in my jeans and the old leather jacket that I used to wear back in high school, my hair pulled back and threaded through the hole in the back of the baseball cap I'm wearing along with the cheap aviator sunglasses that I picked up at the dollar store today.
Why I'm doing this, I don't really know. Actually, check that, I do know. I knew when I dropped Bella off at Mom and Dad's house, already dressed for this fool's errand. They say that love is foolish, that any reasonable person would have cut their losses and moved on by now. Let's face it, I'm not exactly ugly, at least Rocky thinks I'm attractive, and other men have hit on me too. So, it's not a matter of trying to deal with the instinct to reproduce. It's not a matter of security either if I was just money-grubbing I'd have slept my way to a decent prenup when I was an intern.
I'm doing this for Rocky, and for my heart. So yeah, I'm a total damn fool, and I am more aware of that than ever as I hold my arms up for the security guard to sweep the metal detector over my outfit, ignoring the beeps over my sunglasses and the zippers of my jacket. “Take off the glasses.”
I want to protest, I don't know if my face is famous enough to be noticed by security, but I know that if I do, I'm just going to call attention to myself. I quickly pull them off, and the guard checks my eyes, looking carefully. “What's up?”
“Sorry, but we had a bunch of folks show up high as kites last month for some concerts that my company worked, and it's cheaper than the alternative,” the guard says, studying my eyes for a moment before waving me through. “Enjoy it.”
“Thanks,” I tell him, putting my glasses back on and heading into the Bowl. They've built up the stage quickly, erecting temporary extensions that will allow the guys to cross the moat-like gap between the normal stage and the rest of the arena. The Starlight Bowl is often used for stage productions, not rock concerts, and the production crew wants to make sure that not only are the guys close to their fans but also that nobody gets trampled in between a couple of wrought iron fences.
Thankfully, I can use another element of the Starlight Bowl to put my plan into motion. Established the way it is, and built in the late forties, the wings aren't built with the same amount of defined 'front/back' areas that newer stadiums are. The giant evergreen shrubs that extend around the wings of the stage allow open access to the back of the house from the arena area.
I use the shadows and the general hubbub of the situation to try and put my insane plan into action. Roadies are still on stage doing mic checks and lighting checks while most of the concert goers are outside, checking out the A- and B- listers who made it to the concert, probably begging for a few autographs, snapping photos, and stuff like that. Still, there's a lot of people around, and I plan on taking advantage of the craziness. I head towards the wings of the Bowl, looking to get backstage. My plan is simple, just act like I'm supposed to be there, and hope that nobody notices that I'm not wearing an ID tag until I run into Rocky, Ian or Joey.
I slip past the big bushes, and in seconds hit my first snag. While the original plans for the Starlight Bowl might have only had the evergreens separating the backstage and the seating areas, someone must have tried to pull the same trick that I'm trying, because there's waist high temporary security barriers just past the bushes, out of sight of the concert goers but still enough to stop someone who just randomly decides that the big ass bushes aren't a real barrier. I grab on and jump, thankful that I'm wearing tennis shoes and land on the far side. Safe, so far.
I want to hurry, but I know if I run I'm just going to att
ract attention, and instead I take out my cell phone, pretending that I'm talking to someone as I walk towards the backstage door. I'm just feet away when a security guard comes out, seeing me. “What are you doing back here?”
“What do you mean?” I bluff, hoping he buys it. “I'm part of the crew, you idiot. Now, I need to get this information to Miss Mellors, right away. The camera crew that's going to be working the crowd is saying there's a problem with the uplink feed.”
The guard buys it for a second but then shakes his head. “No, no way. Come on, let me see some ID or your backstage pass.”
I'm desperate, but suddenly luck falls my way as Ian and Joey start to walk by, talking together. “They know me. Ian! Joey! Please!”
Joey looks over, and the look of anger on his face chills me to the bone. What's going on, why is this happening? I figured after Rocky wouldn't return my messages yesterday that he was angry with me for something, or maybe just that he's upset about the scandal, but what could Joey and Ian be angry with me about?
Ian whispers in Joey's ear, and Joey nods, ignoring me and going backstage. Ian comes over, looking at me with an icy, surly stare that sends even more fear into my heart. Ian normally looks like a bear that just got poked with a stick, but he's never looked truly angry before with me. “What are you doing here?”
“Please Ian... please, I have to talk to Rocky. I don't know what's going on, but I have to talk with him, there's been a terrible mistake!” I plead, desperate. The security guard's heard enough and grabs my arm, his grip like iron on my bicep, squeezing tight enough that I think my arm's going to break any minute. Still, I struggle, even as he twists my arm behind me and yanks, my shoulder screaming out in pain enough to make the world swim. “Please, Ian! Please, just two minutes!”
“Stop,” Ian says, putting his hand on the guard's shoulder. “Okay... two minutes, out here. Then I don't want to see you again.”
The guard lets go, and I shake out my arm, hoping that the ache I feel isn't a tear of something inside, and follow Ian. He leads me through the generally organized chaos that is the backstage of any rock concert. All of the equipment creates a huge amount of gear that needs to be brought in. While it's semi-organized, it forces Ian to lead me in a slightly meandering path towards a semi-trailer that's parked along a road. Stopping, he turns around. “Talk.”
“Ian, I don't know what's going on. After I talked with Martha on Thursday, I tried to text Rocky yesterday, and he's ignoring me. I mean, I get that the scandal's bad...”
“Bad?” Ian asks, incredulous. “Do you have any idea how much you've hurt him?”
“Hurt...?” I ask, my voice trailing off. “Ian, what are you talking about? I've never tried to hurt Rocky.”
“Right,” Ian growls sarcastically. “So, you weren't hurting him when you leaked the sex tape and started shopping yourself out to reality TV producers? You weren't hurting him when you lied to him? Martha told us all about it, and I found him on top of the MTV building. To be honest, two days later I'm still not sure if he was going to jump or not.”
I gasp, clutching at my chest at the thought of Rocky being that broken up. “Ian... I never leaked the sex tape. And I didn't talk to any TV producers, why would I?”
“Everyone's got a price,” Ian growls. “How much was yours to lie to him? To trap him for the tabloids? For your TV spots?”
“Wait, what? Ian, no! I didn't lie to him, I was going to tell Rocky about...” I stop, confused. Wait, TV spots? “Ian, what are you talking about?”
“Like I said, Martha told us about it, how you were happy about the tape,” Ian says, shaking his head. “I trusted you too, Cora. I even liked you. So why?”
“I'm not happy!” I yell, tears threatening my face again. “My God, Ian, this is tearing me apart! How do you think it felt telling... telling my family about the tape, being called a slut in the middle of dinner with my...?”
“Ian!” Martha calls from the shadows, stepping forward. “They need you on stage!”
“Okay!” Ian calls, turning back to me. “Time's up.”
“Please Ian, I didn't do it!” I hiss, grabbing his arm and lowering my voice. “Martha's lying to you guys. I didn't sell you out. I love Rocky, you have to believe me.”
Ian looks into my eyes for a moment, then nods. “Okay. Wait here, after the concert I'll see what I can do. But I gotta go.”
“Thank you,” I sigh, letting go. Ian heads off, and I think that Martha's going to follow him, but instead, she waits, studying me with a triumphant smirk on her face. I turn to face her and realize in a crashing moment that all this is her fault, somehow. “What? And why Martha, why?”
Martha laughs evilly, and I shudder knowing that she's been guiding the guys for so long. What sort of damage has she done, what hell has she been putting them through, and why? “Which do you want answered, you stupid little girl? What, or why?”
“How about both, before I kick your ass,” I growl, but before I can do more than take a half step forward, Martha steps back, pulling a gun from her jacket pocket. I freeze, and she hums triumphantly.
“CCW permit, hard to get in Cali but not impossible. You know, it doesn't matter, you're finished in this town. There's no studio with any rep at all that's going to hire a producer that fucks the talent then leaks the sex tape out,” she laughs. “And there's nothing hotter than a rock star who's got a bad boy streak so deep in him that he'll fuck anyone he can if she's willing to give it to him. Cha-fucking-ching.”
“You... you're setting Rocky up,” I growl, taking a half step forward before remembering that Martha's got a gun on me. “Why? You know what this sort of stuff will do to him, to his soul. Why destroy him?”
“He'll realize why some day… when all those people have turned against him, and he's at the end of his rope, and there's only me to save him, to open up my arms and hold him close, comforting him. I'll build him back up, bring him into my bed… and then I'll destroy him fully and completely. Guess he shouldn't have missed my signals the way he missed yours. Not everyone's nice enough to just write some love poetry,” Martha laughs. “Some women don't like being scorned.”
“You… you bitch,” I hiss, and Martha smiles sweetly.
“Why thank you, I appreciate your compliments. Now, it's time for you to go.”
For some insane reason, I step forward, not knowing what's come over me. Actually, I do know. This bitch is threatening to ruin not only me, but more importantly the man I love, and his two best friends. No way in hell, not if I can help it. “I don't think so.”
“Back off, Cora. Don't make me shoot you,” Martha says, her voice dropping to a menacing growl. “Think what that'd do to your daughter.”
“You mean the daughter you lied to Rocky about? Does he even know?” I ask, stepping forward again. “No bitch, I can see it in your eyes. It was your first lie about me, and the biggest one since I actually helped out. How'd you really find Bella?”
“I Facebook stalked you as soon as I saw your reaction to him. I knew about your brat long before you thought to switch things to private. Now, no more warnings... go.”
Instead of turning though, I let my instincts take over, charging Martha as she swings her gun. I step underneath the swing and grab her, the gun going harmlessly over my shoulder to thump against my back, but hey, my leather jacket does more than look cool, and she loses her grip on it, the gun clattering to the pavement. Shoving her against the equipment crate behind her, we wrestle, not politely, not according to any sort of rules, but down and dirty, knees and elbows and fingernails all getting involved. It's not a catfight, but I claw at her, trying to get past her to get to Rocky before things are ruined between us. Martha's yelling, but I get a knee into her thigh, causing her to shriek in pain. I start to get up, but before I can I'm tackled, the security guard’s slamming me to the ground and knocking the wind out of me. “Bitch! Let me go!”
“Call the cops on her,” Martha says to the guards, letting the guards hel
p her to her feet. “She threatened to kill me, and to blackmail Rocky.”
“No! You lie!” I gasp, but the guard's still on my back, I can barely breathe. I feel my arms wrenched behind my back again, and the zipping sound of the plastic cuffs being tightened on my wrists. Someone grabs my feet, and despite how hard I try and kick I feel the same thing happen to my ankles before I'm picked up like a sack of potatoes and hauled towards the road. “I'll get you, bitch!”
“No... you won't,” Martha says, turning away. The guards turn my body as they haul me, and I can't see anything more except the road and the flashing lights of the approaching cop car coming up the road, I guess they were close. I hang my head, wondering what I'm going to do.
I just don't know.
Chapter 20
Rocky
“Rocky... yo, Rocky!” Ian calls, catching up with me. The last-minute preparations before the concert have been hectic, a lot more hectic than anything I would have expected. First, I actually had to sit down for makeup. Honestly, who the fuck wears makeup on stage at a rock concert? Well, Joey does, but that's his look. He's got the whole eyeliner and even a half of his mouth done up with black gloss, taking it up half a notch from what we normally do. I'm the same way, my normal look just taken up half a notch. The whole thing is us, but with the volume turned up a little bit. It's all for the cameras for the Net feed. Apparently, the director and the folks at the label want us looking good out there.
Ian on the other hand... looks like Ian. Except that right now, instead of looking sleepy or grumpy, he looks worried. “Ian, what's up?”
Ian glances at Joey, who shakes his head. “I didn't say nothin'. We don't need that shit before this.”
“Yeah, we do,” Ian says, turning back to me. “Rocky, Joey and I ran into Cora outside. Listen, man... she's saying that she didn't leak the video. She said that...”