Fall Of The Rock Girl
A Lesbian Rock Star Romance
Nicolette Dane
Revolving Record / Book 2
Contents
Copyright
About The Author
Sign Up For Nico’s Mailing List!
The Revolving Record Trilogy
1. One
2. Two
3. Three
Yes! Another Book Is Coming!
Thank You!
Get A Free Story!
An Excerpt: Rise From Rock City
Restless On A Road Trip
Full Bodied In The Vineyard
Hotel Hollywood
Do You Like Free Books?
Copyright © 2017 Nicolette Dane
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved.
About The Author
Nicolette Dane landed in Chicago after studying writing in New York City. Flitting in and out of various jobs without finding her place, Nico decided to choose herself and commit to writing full-time. Her stories are contemporary scenarios of blossoming lesbian romance and voyeuristic tales meant to give you a peep show into the lives of sensual and complicated women. If you're a fan of uplifting and steamy lesbian passion, you've found your new favorite author.
www.nicolettedane.com
Sign Up For Nico’s Mailing List!
If you’d like to be notified of all new releases from Nicolette Dane and receive a FREE story, point your web browser to http://bit.ly/nicosub and sign up for Nico’s mailing list right now!
The Revolving Record Trilogy
For Our First Song: The Prologue
Rise From Rock City: Book 1
Fall Of The Rock Girl: Book 2
On Top Of The Rock: Book 3
(Coming Soon!)
One
I smiled brightly and waved as I walked up the red carpet amid the flashing lights of cameras taking my photo. I was dressed in a long black gown, strapless, tight against my slender frame. And my hair was freshly dyed bright red, so bright in fact that I think it matched the carpet underneath my heels. Photographers were clamoring out my name, begging me to stop and pose, and I obliged them in front of a white backdrop with the repeated logo of the event.
It was the 2009 Grammys. And I was up for Best Pop Vocal Album for my record Typical Me. A lot had changed for me since Cast Party broke out. It was almost a decade since those garage rock days, though the time had gone by so fast. Sometimes, when I thought back on my previous life, it was difficult to picture myself in it. I couldn’t tell if that old version of me was a dream, or if the version I was currently living was the dream.
“Beaner!” I heard called out as I posed for the cameras. Turning my head, I saw him speeding up to me in a tuxedo. It was Jack Timberline, former boy band frontman and current pop star sensation. Once he was next to me, Jack slipped his arm around my back and we posed together, bulbs flashing as the two of us smiled.
“Don’t call me ‘Beaner,’” I said, through my smiling teeth. “It’s kinda racist, don’t you think?”
“Then you have to stop calling me ‘Timbo,’” said Jack. “Makes me feel like a total bro.”
“You are a total bro,” I said. Jack offered me his arm and I took it, the two of us walking together down the red carpet and continuing our chat. We had met a few years prior, around the time Jack’s super hit double-album came out, and for some reason he was drawn to me. If you’d asked me ten years ago what I thought about befriending a guy like Jack Timberline, I would have laughed in your face. But when I actually met him, well, he was just too nice to hate.
That angry, upset, anxious, nauseous Layla… she was still in there somewhere. But it had been a while since I was acquainted with her. I was somebody different now. Who? Well, I was still trying to figure that out. But everybody else seemed to have a pretty good idea.
“C’mon Layla,” said Jack. “Give me a chance.”
“I’ve told you,” I said. “You’d make the top of my list… if I was into guys.”
“What if I got some implants?” he asked, motioning toward his chest. “Would that help change your mind?”
“Yes,” I said. “You do that. If you get some fake tits, I’ll consider your proposal.”
“I’ll ask my publicist how it’ll affect album sales,” said Jack with a wink.
“Marilyn Manson did all right with it in the 90s,” I quipped.
Jack laughed and clutched tighter to me, the two of us traipsing down that red carpet like we were royalty. And we were.
Once Cast Party hit it big, along with my subsequent solo record, something changed in our culture in regards to perceptions of a girl like me. It was cool to be counterculture, to be punk, to be different. And while polished pop music was still the name of the game, an image that was a little rougher around the edges became something that was sought after. With my manic hair, my dark style of dress, my face piercings — one specifically, my labret — it all caught on in popular culture. Girls were emulating me, they wanted to be like me, and they bought my albums in droves.
I had become a sensation. I had become a pop star. It wasn’t what I had set out to do, of course, but it just happened. And it happened fast.
“Fiddlesticks,” said Jack as we walked into the atrium of the event center, an area that had been dressed up for mingling. He nodded his head toward the woman standing a few yards ahead of us. Dressed in a bright and shimmering silver dress down to her mid-thigh, holding a clutch by her side, blonde hair knitted back, Daisy stood there smiling at Jack and I.
“Get out of here,” I said. “I’ll see you backstage.”
“Good luck tonight, Layla,” said Jack with a smile. He leaned in and kissed my cheek.
“Thanks,” I said happily. Jack gave me a thumbs up and then scurried off to talk to a group of Hollywood actors sipping champagne in a circle.
“There you are,” said Daisy as we walked up to one another. She draped her arms around my shoulders, while I held her around the hips. We came in together for a kiss.
“Here I am,” I said.
“For a second there,” she said, the two of us gazing into one another’s eyes. “I thought you were going to run off with Jack Timberline.”
“You think that, huh?”
“You were looking pretty cozy with him,” said Daisy with a wink.
“That would be quite the story,” I said. “The tabloids would have a field day with it.”
“Sorry I didn’t come in with you,” said Daisy with slight embarrassment. “You know how I am. I don’t want the photos of me.”
“I know,” I said, sweetly kissing her on the lips.
“It’ll be bad enough when the camera focuses in on us as they call your name,” Daisy teased.
“Stop,” I said, laughing softly. “C’mon. I don’t think I’m going to win. I’m up against some pretty big stars.”
“You’re crazy,” said Daisy. “You know everyone’s saying you’re a lock.”
“Yeah, but I can’t think like that,” I said. “I don’t want to build it up and then be super disappointed if I don’t win. I mean, I’ve never really cared about the Grammys.”
“Right,” said Daisy, rolling her eyes.
“What are you trying to say with that little gesture?”
“You try to play it so cool, Layla,” she said, shaking her head softly with a smile on
her lips. “I know you want to win.”
I couldn’t help but grow a smile.
“See?” said Daisy, folding her arms.
“Fine,” I said in a whisper. “I admit it. I do want to win.”
“You don’t have to play games with me,” said Daisy. “I know you too well.”
“Let’s stop talking about this and go mingle,” I said. “I don’t want to jinx anything.”
Daisy let out a small laugh and looked at me knowingly. After a moment, she just nodded and stuck out her arm for me. I took it gleefully and we walked together toward the bartender to grab a glass of champagne. It wasn’t our first time at this rodeo, but it was my first time being nominated. In the last few years, my music had really worked its way into the public’s ears and I had become someone truly special. Winning this award — even if it was really just a pat on the back from the industry that made me — could solidify that specialness in a way. Make it more legit.
And old Layla, punk rock Layla, I knew her ethos would be offended by this entire show. The way I looked, dressed fancy in a loaned dress that probably cost as much as a car, the way I acted. She would probably hate me. But people change, people mature. At least, that’s what I told myself.
“Smile,” I said to myself in my head. “They’re all watching you.”
I could have never anticipated it. As Daisy and I sat together in the audience of the ceremony, something both familiar and foreign was happening to me. It was my anxiety. It started in the pit of my stomach and then it wrapped itself around me in a suffocating embrace, like it was an old friend who had come back to regurgitate a forgotten grudge.
Over the past few years, I’d only experienced touches of it. I was on and off pills for it, trying to control it, trying to find that right substance to even me out. But those pills either made me feel lethargic, suicidal, or too dulled to do what I had to do for my career. Giving up smoking helped, but only after a year of focus. In the beginning, not smoking amped up my anxiety. But somehow, I had got it under control. Maybe because it felt like I’d had my life under control. Things were going well, they were predictable, I was happy. That leveled me.
But sitting there at the Grammys, awaiting the category I was nominated for — plus the Grammy that Jack and I had to present together — just all of it combined somehow brewed up that same sickness I’d always had when I was younger.
“Hey,” I murmured to Daisy, leaning over and bringing my mouth to her ear. “Something weird is happening.”
“What is it?” she whispered back, her eyes forward.
“I don’t know,” I said, starting to fidget. “I’m starting to freak out a little bit.”
“Freak out?” said Daisy, turning her head toward me and looking concerned. “Like how?”
“Like… my anxiety,” I said, eyes pleading. “I can’t explain it, but it’s just suddenly come back. Like… like… before a show when I was just starting out.”
“It’s back?” said Daisy with a mixture of skepticism and fear. “Tonight?”
“I don’t know,” I said, looking around. I held my palms against my small belly. I really craved a smoke.
“Do you want to go to the bathroom?” asked Daisy. “We can rush out and try to calm you down before your big moment.”
When Daisy said ‘big moment’ I felt like I wanted to vomit. I couldn’t remember the last time it had been that bad.
Suddenly Daisy and I were interrupted by a young man in a tuxedo.
“Miss Bean,” he whispered, leaning down closer to us. “Can I lead you backstage for your presentation?”
“Now?” I said with urgency and confusion.
“Yes,” he said. “You’ll be on in just 10 minutes.”
“Okay,” I said, nodding quickly. “Okay. I’ve got to do this. I’ve got to do this.”
“You’re going to be okay,” said Daisy with empathy, rubbing my bare arm. “Deep breaths, all right?”
“I’ve got to do this,” I repeated, standing up into the aisle. I gave Daisy one more look before the young man offered me his arm.
Everything was moving in flashes of light. As the man ushered me off, I saw another guy slither past us and sit down in my seat. I told myself that was fine. They did that for the TV audience. No seat should look empty. He wasn’t stealing my seat, he wasn’t stealing Daisy.
“This is an exciting night,” said the young man as we walked.
“What?”
“An exciting night.” He smiled.
“Yeah.”
“I hope you win,” he said. “I’m a big fan of your album.”
“This is going to sound weird,” I said. “And don’t tell anybody I said this.”
“Okay…” he said, eying me with confusion.
“You don’t have any, like, pills do you?” I said. “Like a benzo type thing. Valium?”
“I… I mean… Miss Bean,” he said, stammering.
“Nevermind,” I corrected. “Just forget I said anything. Don’t tell anyone.” I took a deep breath and clutched tighter to the man’s arm. One foot in front of the other. Don’t puke.
Then we were backstage and I rushed up to Jack when I saw him. His face was grinning when he first saw me, but quickly shifted to concern once he saw the look on my face.
“Layla,” he said seriously. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I have,” I said. “I mean, oh shit… Jack, something crazy is happening to me.”
“We should get a doctor,” he said, looking around. “They gotta have one around here somewhere.”
“No,” I said. “We’re going on in minutes. No, I can’t.”
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his eyebrows lifted, forehead slightly wrinkled.
“It’s anxiety,” I said. “I don’t think you ever knew this about me, but I had terrible anxiety.” I bit my lip and my eyes darted. I saw some woman dressed all in black, hair in a ponytail, headset over her ears, walking toward Jack and I with a clipboard in her hand. “Shit,” I said in her direction.
“You said had,” said Jack. “But it’s back?”
“I… yeah,” I said, starting to get shifty. “Before when I had this, I’d always run off and smoke a cigarette and be alone with it. But now… all these people, I just…”
“Hey,” said Jack compassionately. “You’re here with me, Layla. We’re friends. We’re gonna do this together. It’s gonna be fine. You’ve been on big stages hundreds of times.”
“Right,” I said nodding quickly.
“You two ready?” asked the headset woman with an overworked smile as she approached us. “Here’s the envelope, Jack,” she said, handing Jack the envelope with the winner’s name in it. “Layla, you grab the statue from the table just before you go on stage.”
“Okay,” I said. “Okay.”
The woman looked at me like I was crazy. I couldn’t even remember the category we were presenting.
“Don’t worry,” said Jack reassuringly. “She’s fine.”
“All right,” said the woman. “Ninety seconds, okay?”
“It’s okay, Layla,” said Jack, giving me a hug. But his hug felt wildly strange to me. I felt like a kid again. And even though Jack was younger than me by five or six years, even though I had been in this music world for a decade, I felt as though I were out of place. Like I was a fake, a phony, and superstar boy band pop sensation Jack Timberline was embracing me like a friend. I was barely holding on to my own body anymore.
Next thing I knew, we were walking on stage to applause. Sound was muffled for me. I stared out to the audience, feeling like I was in shock. But amazingly, although my brain was going nuts, my stomach turning itself in knots, the rest of my body knew what to do. It went through the motions. My lips smiled, my hand waved, while my other hand cradled the statue that we were to give out.
Jack was talking, smiling, reading from the teleprompter in front of us. I followed along with his words. Then he stopped and there was silence. He gave me
a little nudge and I shook, eyes focusing in on the teleprompter, searching for my words.
“And musical theatre is no exception,” I said in sort of a wooden tone. Jack smirked softly.
We continued on through the lines, through announcing the nominees, that large screen behind us playing videos of each of them. To me, though, it felt like the video of life I was watching before me was stuttering, fast forwarding, jerking and jumping. There were too many lights pointing at me.
“The Grammy for Best Musical Theatre Album goes to…” said Jack, opening up the envelope. He held it so we could both see it.
“Juan-Manuel Madera,” we said together. “On The Stoop.”
There was applause, music from the musical played. I loosened my knees, tried not to stand so solid, focusing on not fainting, not puking. As soon as the winner took the statue from me and took the podium over from us, I stepped to the side with Jack and held firmly to him.
“Don’t let me fall,” I whispered.
“Okay,” he said, wrapping one arm around my back and using his other hand to hold my arm.
“This is fucking crazy,” I mused, looking out to that vast audience of rich and famous people. I could feel everything swaying. I felt like they were all watching me.
“You need to get over this,” whispered Jack with some authority. His eyes remained on the podium. “Did you see On The Stoop?” he asked out of nowhere.
“No,” I said.
“It was good,” said Jack. “Watch that Madera guy. He’s gonna be something.”
“Okay,” I said, breathing out a big sigh. I was just trying to hold on.
The scene was moving so fast. I felt Jack begin ushering me off stage, walking alongside Madera, who was hoisting the Grammy up to the audience. They were applauding. I just wanted to get off. I could see little white floaters moving over my eyes. My hands were clammy. I trusted myself to Jack because at that point, I really had no idea what I was doing.
Fall Of The Rock Girl: A Lesbian Romance (Revolving Record Book 2) Page 1