Rock Me Baby

by Jesse Jordan

  “Oh, I gotcha,” I reply, disappointed, but then Andrea smiles. “What, got an idea?”

  Andrea nods and reaches for her notepad. “You're in town for a few more months, right?”

  “Yeah, we kick off again in January, and start concert practice right after Christmas,” I tell her, seeing where she's going. “And you know us rock stars, we've got lots of nights free. So maybe, if you've got a free night...”

  “I can give you a call,” Andrea says, scribbling her number down on a scrap of paper before tearing it off and giving it to me. “What about you?”

  “Here,” I reply, writing the number on the top of her notes. “You know, so you know who's calling is someone legit and not some crazy stalker ex.”

  Andrea's face clouds for a moment, but then she laughs. “No, not a crazy stalker. Not even the Dark Prince of Rock, as our urban beat reporter calls you.”

  “Better than what some people have called me,” I laugh, and Andrea's face clouds again. “Sorry. I don't like it, but some people in rock have issues. So, I laugh instead of getting pissed.”

  Andrea nods, putting her stuff away. “I understand. So... if you get a call from me, you'll pick up?”

  “Do you mind if I walk you out to your car?”

  Andrea shakes her head, pulling her bag over her shoulder. “Not at all, Joey Rivera. In fact, I think I'd like that very much.”

  Chapter 3

  Andrea

  “Who were your big influences growing up, musically?”

  I should be listening, or at least transcribing better. The fact is though, every time Joey's voice comes on my recorder, my pen is faltering, and I've caught myself drifting, lost in his voice.

  “Of course, growing up in San Diego, there was a ton of Mexican influences. Mama teases me about it, I don't speak Spanish like a Puerto Rican, but with a Mexican accent. Ha, ha, ha. Anyway, of course playing guitar I was influenced by that culture. Mariachi, flamenco. But being on the base, there was a lot of rap, rock, even some country. A lot of country boys in the Marine Corps. The cool part was it just sort of melded all together. So, I guess if I had to say hard rock, of course, Eddie Van Halen and Slash were big influences. I can't claim to be Latino and not say that Carlos Santana didn't play a huge role in my development. But also, Clapton, and the guest spots he did with Phil Collins were just amazing.”

  It's easy to be distracted, I think. He's got a great speaking voice, not too deep, not too high, with a laid back, California vibe to his speech. He's bashful, not cocky. He’s one of the best guitarists in the country, and he doesn't seem to quite get how awesome he is.

  “So how were you in school? You know my paper does a lot of stay in school type work.”

  “Ha-ha. High school wasn't quite my thing. I wasn't the best student, my mind just works more musically than book-wise. Add that in with me getting super early and staying up until eleven or midnight to practice in or working another odd job, yeah... academics was just not my strong suit. I'm trying to catch up now, though. My sister, she just got her GED, and you know what she scored? Ninety-three average. Ninety-three! That's like, college level smarts. I'm so proud of her.”

  He's amazing, and every chance he gets, he praises his sister or his mother. He's seriously the most devoted son and brother I've ever heard of. Considering I haven't even heard from my mother in fifteen years, since the divorce, I guess it's a rarity. Especially for this town.

  “You don't strike me as the dumb rocker type though, no offense.”

  “I try not to be. Helping Maria study for her GED made me learn again too, and I like to read a lot. Nothing super high level, I mean I'm not going over medical books or anything, but I do like to read.”

  “What are you reading right now?”

  “Business Management for Dummies, if you can believe it. Mama and Maria are starting their own business, and I'm trying to help them out. And I think it helps me too, you know? I mean, Cora's great, I love her to death, but I don't want to be the guy who can't even read his own recording contract.”

  “Hey 'Dre, why are you burning the midnight oil?” Henry asks, stopping by my desk. “It's Monday, I know you worked the weekend, and now you're here at nine o'clock? There's dedication, and then there's being a masochist.”

  I blink and turn off the recording. “Huh? Oh, hi Harry.”

  “Oh, hi Harry, she says, like I haven't been listening to Joey Rivera for the past two hours. Damn woman, are you having issues today?” Harry asks, his voice concerned. “You usually are a whiz at transcription and fishing quotes out.”

  I shake my head and set my recorder aside. “Sorry, I guess I'm just distracted, and yeah, the weekend stuff kinda wore me out.”

  Harry hums in sympathy and picks up my recorder. “Well, here's a trick I picked up, let me show you what to do. Did you know all the computers here have voice typing capability? It's a bit old, but it should work for this.”

  Harry takes a two-way audio plug from his pocket and plugs one end into the headphone jack of my recorder, and the other into the microphone jack of my desktop and pushes the button. “And here you are. Let it play, and when you're done, you've got a pretty good transcript of the interview. And you can just leave it up all night if you want. I've left it running in the background and when you come in in the morning, you’ve got what you want.”

  I watch my screen as words start to almost magically appear, with halfway decent punctuation marks, and even skipping lines in between questions. It's all clear enough that I can make sense of it. I'm impressed. “Thanks, Harry. Why didn't you mention this to me before?”

  “Simple, you were too fast for it before,” Harry says with a smirk. “Go on, get out of here. I'll see you in the morning.”

  I yawn, stretching overhead. “You're probably right. I still need to get a couple miles on the rower tonight anyway. You know, coffee and donuts do not a sexy backside make.”

  Harry laughs while I grab my bag, leaving the office. I am exhausted as I ride the elevator down to the parking garage, but the fact is, that it's not just because of working the weekend. I mean, my craft fair and street carnival stories were written and turned in before I even got to the office today. With nothing else due until Wednesday, I sat down to get going on the Joey interview, and just got distracted. I spent nearly an hour deciding how to describe him. His odd, sexy stage image as a dangerous rock guitarist versus the shy, humble, cute boy next door that I met in the studio. How do you describe his muscular arms or he seems dangerous there’s no hint of danger in person, or the way his dark brown eyes go from mysterious to twinkling instantly without...

  “Hey, watch it, lady!” a bicyclist in front of me yells, as I nearly run into the back of his bike.

  I shake my head, trying to get focused, and realize... I've got a major case of first meeting crush. Just ninety minutes with Joey Rivera, and three days later, still… I can't run over bicyclists on my way home. I just need to get some perspective about Joey. He's cute, and has a sexy body, but after all the bullshit Chad is putting me through, am I really ready?

  When I pull into the parking lot of my building, I see Chad's Mercedes parked in the visitor slot. He hasn't been by in weeks, and I realized that even not calling him after his 'gift', he still didn’t get the point.

  Sighing, I shut off my engine and take my keys out, keeping them in my hand. I honestly don't trust Chad anymore, the rape accusations notwithstanding. Frankly, girls who falsely cry rape disgust me almost as much as the guys who actually did assault their dates or rape girls, because it makes every legitimate complaint look tainted by association. But Chad's the type of guy that I can believe did something at that frat house back in college.

  Chad's waiting for me in the lobby of my building, a grin on his face.

  “Hey, baby,” Chad greets me, opening his arms. “When you didn't call, I thought I might just stop by.”

  “Why? It's over, Chad. I told you that weeks and weeks ago. And your gift was fucking disgu
sting,” I fume. “Sending sex gifts to my work? Really, you fucking jerk?”

  Chad's smile disappears,. “I was just having a little fun, Andrea. You used to like it.”

  “I never liked it, I laughed once because I was embarrassed, asshole!” I holler back. Chad clenches his fists, and looks up, taking a deep breath as he tries to calm himself. “What?”

  “I came to ask for another chance,” Chad grumbles, pouting. “I was trying to say sorry, Andrea.”

  “Well, you are sorry. A sorry POS, and no, you don't get another chance,” I fume, sliding my bag off my shoulder but keeping it in my hand for self-defense. I'd rather have a broken smartphone than a broken jaw.

  “Why? Why won't you give me another chance?” Chad half yells, slamming a fist against the panel next to the elevator. I back up a step, but I don't run, not yet. I don't think I can make it to my car before Chad chases me down if I take off running.

  Besides, I'm pissed off. “Why?” I scream, flabbergasted. “Well, let's see. Should we start with any of the six girls I caught you cheating on me with? You know, the ones you were sexting with and boning on the side? And those were just the ones I caught you with!”

  “Those bitches were crazy!” Chad yells, hitting the wall again, louder this time as he loses control of his emotions. “I told you that!”

  “Then if that weren't enough,” I continue, not caring about his arguments, “was the fact that every time I told you no.... you tried to get me wasted. You think I didn't notice. 'Oh Andi, I know you just said no to a threesome with my frat brother, but here, have another Jell-O shot...' like that shit was some magic cure-all for a woman saying no.”

  “You did plenty with me lots of other times,” Chad accuses me, and he's got me there. A few times, when I did get drunk and fucking him seemed like a good idea, we got up to some pretty freaky shit. So yeah, I've got an inner wild child... but that doesn't mean I always want to do it that way. Just with the right person, when I feel safe about it.

  “And?” I shoot back. “Is that what you told the girl at the frat house? You'd done plenty with her other times too? Or maybe she just forgot to say no when you offered her one too many shots.”

  Chad raises his hands, and I can tell I've pushed him a step too far. Still, I've got my keys in my hand, and if he comes any closer I can go for his eyes, or his...

  “What the hell's going on down here?” asks someone coming out the door to the stairwell. “I'm upstairs trying to watch the goddamn game, and I hear you two yelling and screaming, beating on the fucking walls.”

  “Nothing,” I reply, forcing myself to lower my voice. “Chad was just leaving, weren't you Chad?”

  “I'm not....” Chad starts before he sees my neighbor pull out their cell phone. “I guess we'll continue this conversation later.”

  “There is no later, Chad. I keep telling you that,” I reply, circling around the outside of the lobby to give Chad a path to the door. He shoves at the door and stalks off across the parking lot, narrowly avoiding getting into an accident as he leaves. I watch him go, then let go of the breath I've been holding, my hand aching where my keys have been digging into my palm.

  “Hey... you okay?” my neighbor, suddenly a lot less hostile, asks. I turn around and see that he's still got his phone out, but he's quieter, less ready to throw down. “You want me to call the cops or not?”

  I shake my head, wiping at my eyes where it seems I'm leaking. Damn dusty lounges, always making me tear up at the worst times. Allergies, it's got to be allergies, right? I mean, I can't be afraid of a guy like Chad, I just can't be. “No... no, I'm all right. He didn't touch me, and besides, his father's a lawyer. Named partner in a downtown firm.”

  My neighbor nods, and puts his phone away. “Okay. But if he comes down here causing any more shit, I'm calling the police, I don't care if the complaint sticks or not.”

  “Thanks,” I say tiredly, heading for the elevator. I try to think of something else to say, I feel like I should, but nothing comes to mind. “Uh... just thanks.”

  “No problem. Have a good night,” my neighbor says, opening the door to the stairwell just as the elevator opens and I go up to my place. The fifteen feet from the elevator to my door feels like a mile, but by the time I get changed into some shorts, my fear and frustration is being replaced by anger.

  How dare he? How dare he come to my home, when I've told him at least a dozen times that it was over? How dare he threaten me, and make me feel unsafe in my own home? I'm shaking in anger, my fists clenched, and I realize I should work this off. I look over at to my rowing machine, Dad bought for my birthday when I mentioned I needed to workout more. But the damn thing is noisy, with an air fan providing all the resistance.

  “What the hell, why not?” I half laugh, feeling good about the laughter. I open my iTunes list and load a little mix I put together of the Fragments’ latest two albums.

  I start the mix, plugging my laptop into my home stereo and letting the Dolby surround sound power me through thirty minutes on the rower, a good workout that leaves me sweat-soaked and the last of my anger gone. When I'm done, I stretch, because I know what my lower back is going to feel like tomorrow if I don't, and as Four Letters comes on, I find myself humming along. It's a great song, and when listening, I don't think that anything could make it any better. I know everyone gives Rocky Blake credit for his singing. I'll admit, he pours his heart out into every word... but Joey's guitar carries just as much weight, giving him the framework to put his words on.

  Joey. I might as well. I go over to my desk, where the slip of paper with Joey's phone number is tacked to my corkboard. I pull it off, programming it into my phone then I hit the dial button. I'm still sweating, and I'm twisting a lock of my hair around a finger as I wait, nervous. It's pretty late, after ten o'clock, and he might not answer. When he answers though, I can't help it, I grin. “Hello, Andrea?”

  “You programmed my number into your phone,” I half laugh, going over to my couch and hopping over the back, landing in a floomph of cushion and a stuffed animal that I got at a fair a month ago. “I'm touched.”

  “When a beautiful woman says she might give me a call, I pay attention,” Joey says, and I feel myself blushing. “What can I do for you tonight? Re-think that idea about coffee?”

  “Actually, coffee's still a no-go, but before I tell you my idea, how about you tell me about your Monday? I've had an epically sucky day, and I could use some good news.”

  “Well, let's see... you inspired me,” Joey says, and my heart catches in my throat. “After we talked, over the weekend, I spoke with Cora while I was helping Rocky put together that swing set at their house. By the way, Bella Clearwater's going to have the world's most awesome backyard play set after this next weekend, Rocky, Ian and I got almost all the big work done, and we'll be working on it on and off this week to finish it up. This thing rocks!”

  “Good for her, every kid should have a big backyard to play in,” I cheer. “Not sure how that inspired you, though.”

  Joey laughs, and I swear my heartbeat goes up a few notches. “Oh, sorry, got off on a side road there, didn't I? No, I was talking with the guys about an idea I had. You know, Ian's resting up, Rocky's focusing on getting married and all, but we've still got a lot of extra time on our hands. So, I was telling them about some of the riffs I've been working on, and Cora just pipes up, saying that I should record them. This crazy woman actually offered to go down to the studio later this week and record them with me. Like, she's got a wedding coming up, she's pregnant, and still... anyway, I couldn't say no.”

  “Why couldn't you?” I ask, and Joey laughs again.

  “Because Ian had the garden hose pointed at me. If I had said no, I'd have been driving back to Thousand Oaks soaked to the bone. So, what made your day so bad?”

  I'm tempted to tell Joey about Chad, but that's no way to talk to a guy that I just met. “Tough day at work, really. I kept trying to write up our interview and... I kept getti
ng distracted. Has anyone ever told you you've got a great voice?”

  “Nobody who's listened to me sing,” Joey jokes, and I laugh again. “Face it, Rocky's got the pipes.”

  “I'm not so sure, I just got done doing a half hour on a rowing machine listening to you guys, and you do pretty good backup vocals.”

  Joey hums, and I can hear him lower his voice. “Half hour, huh? You must be tired.”

  “Soaked in sweat all the way to the skin,” I tease, shocked at my forwardness. Am I really giving this guy double entendre naughty talk on our first phone call? “Which is why I'm calling.”

  “I don't know your address, but I'm pretty sure I can be there with a towel by the time the sweat dries,” Joey jokes, and I laugh again, turned on. He knows how to be playfully flirty without crossing the line, he's good at that.

  But I want to move on. If I delay much longer I'm going to lose my nerve for why I called. “Actually, how about we look at this Thursday? I've off from work since I just worked this weekend, Thursday's supposed to be a great fall day, weather-wise. So... how about lunch in the park?”

  “The park, huh?” Joey asks, and I suddenly get worried that he's going to think that I'm being too playful, or maybe that I'm trying to friend zone him, or maybe... “You know what? That sounds great. Just one thing.”

  “What's that?” I ask, and Joey chuckles.

  “I'm going to need your address if I'm going to pick you up. I mean, I doubt you live around here in Thousand Oaks.”

  I let out a sigh of relief that turns into a laugh, nodding to myself that I've found a good guy. “Okay. You don't mind coming out to Santa Monica?”

  “Not a problem. You're worth a little trip on the 101,” Joey replies. “So, where should I pick you up?”

  “How about I text you my address?” I ask, and Joey agrees happily. “Great, I'll send it as soon as we hang up then.”