by T Gephart
Hardcore drug use hadn’t been part of the Power Station history. And while that shit was straight up reminiscent of my teenage years, thankfully I’d separated myself from those fucktards a long time ago. Most of them either in a cell or underground— I couldn’t make myself give a crap either way. I was just glad it hadn’t been my footnote. Which brought us to the dipshits currently in front of us.
“You losers have drugs in here? Are you motherfucking insane? There are kids on this tour.” The anger rolled off James like a tidal wave. If the words that jutted from his mouth weren’t enough of a clue, the bulging veins in his neck would have cleared up any misunderstanding.
“Relax dude, we’re just partying.” Wade held his hands up defensively, smug-ass grin on his face. “This is how we do our come down.”
“You come down by getting high?” I coughed out a laugh. “Yeah these guys are fucking geniuses.”
What the poster boys for Dumbasses of the Year didn’t realize was that we weren’t interested in the irony. The rage kicked up to we’re-going-to-bust-some-heads level as they were told to pack up their shit and get the fuck out.
Oh, and mention of the five-o made the girls who had been deep-throating suddenly take an interest in the conversation.
The motley crew of assholes got ready to clear out with Wade throwing in there, “We’ll see you tomorrow,” while he pushed his dick in his pants and zipped up.
It really shouldn’t have needed to be said. Their contracts, crystal freaking clear. Drugs on tour equaled do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars. Buh-bye. It didn’t matter it wasn’t my woman or child that needed protecting; they were my family and this was a hundred percent united front. And if I got to limber up and break out some old school moves with the bastards, well that would just make the evening more interesting. My guess was the collective douchebags in front of me had never seen any real action. As for me, I’d been in more street fights than I’d cared to remember. Not that the press ever got a hold of that information. Nope, my bio was sold as an Army vet who played keys and liked to knit. The knitting thing was complete bullshit of course, but it just goes to show how nobody was taking notice. FYI, no one gives a rat’s ass about the keyboard player.
“No, I don’t think you understood me.” James settled into an eerie calm. “You’re done.”
“You’re firing us?” Oh look, one of the other band members, Pete, suddenly decided he wasn’t mute and joined in the conversation. “You can’t just fucking fire us.” The unsteadiness of his voice not giving the statement the confidence he’d possibly hoped for.
“Read your contract, asshole.” Alex stepped in, the edge in his voice enough to chill the room a few degrees. “I think we can all agree a piss test at this point isn’t needed.” His raised eyebrow dared them to prove him wrong.
What happened next I could only describe as stupid-ass shit. Because clearly you should know better than to argue with a bunch of guys who were sober and not only outweighed you in muscle, but freaking brains as well. That right there should have been an advert for an anti-drug campaign. Look kids, if the drugs don’t fuck you up, the stupid shit that will come out of your mouth will finish the job.
Wade had opened his mouth, and I really didn’t care much for what he had to say. The conversation had already taken too long. Cue my fist grabbing the front of his shirt and tossing him out the door while Troy threatened to go Scorsese on the other douchebags who weren’t moving fast enough. And just like that, we’d pulled some abracadabra type shit. Boom—place cleared.
“We solid, big guy?” I clapped my hand around Troy’s neck hoping to help him rein in some of the rage. My time with the dark side had taught me some pretty handy tricks in talking people down from the ledge. And this guy, I’d easily take a bullet for.
He shook his head, the look in his eyes enough to convince me he was exercising as much restraint as he knew how. “I don’t want Megs exposed to that, especially not while she is knocked up.”
“Agreed.” James sunk his ass into one of the vacated chairs. “That shit doesn’t go on. I’m not expecting them to be sitting around holding prayer meetings—I expected blowjobs and weed, not fucking heroin and coke.”
The high we’d been on from the show took a very quick downswing; the reality of the situation hitting home. I took a seat beside James and cleared my throat. “Not to be an asshole and state the obvious, but we just fired our opening act day one of our tour. Any ideas on how we’re going to play this?”
Not that I didn’t concur with said firing, but tomorrow we were going to be hitting the stage again. A big gaping slot where the warm-up band should be. Going on without a pre-show was unheard of, so it was either get creative or hire some record spinner from Soho.
“Everyone decent is already booked. We can probably put out a call, see who’s around?” Dan grabbed his phone from his back pocket. His creased brow the tip-off he wasn’t entirely convinced, that even with his connections, he could pull off a miracle and fill the spot.
“No, this just perfectly illustrates why we need to do this in house. It isn’t just us on the road anymore. We don’t need the kids finding a fucking needle ’cause some jerk-off thinks it’s the 90’s.” Alex planted his ass beside James; Troy and Dan following suit in chairs opposite them. Well wasn’t this warm and fucking cozy? Pity the situation itself blew hardcore.
“Alex is right,” James agreed, “we need someone we can trust. Now would be a good time for any ideas.”
“Hey what about Angie Morelli?” Troy rubbed his hand through his mohawk, the mess of crap he called hair.
Angie Morelli.
Yep, just saying her name was enough to send a chill up my spine. It had been ten years, and still not long enough. Her long, black hair and dark-brown eyes, something that had taken a while to wipe from my mind. That body. Yeah, I still remembered every curve. So freaking sweet, too. Unfortunately it wasn’t only her attributes that I remembered, one of my biggest asshole moments was also front and center getting the trip down memory lane. So you would have to understand why I didn’t immediately start doing backflips and welcoming her. The idea was to avoid the drama, not to give it top freaking billing.
“Dude, no. No fucking way,” Dan chimed in, his words echoing exactly what was rattling around in my head.
Thank you, douchebag. An Angie reunion was bad news. There had to be someone else. Hey, was Charlie Manson out of prison yet? I mean if we were thinking up bad ideas to take on tour, we might as well put them all on the table.
“She’s still playing?” James tipped his head toward Troy, taking way more interest in the topic than I would have liked. The itch to shut the conversation down danced with the need to keep my mouth shut. Delicate act. Wasn’t sure which one was going to win. Honestly, it was going to be trouble either way.
“Sure is. Lexi is trying to sign her band, Black Addiction; saw them last week at a club in Brooklyn. She said they packed the house.” Troy threw some more weight behind the cause. The conversation continued around me, even as the mother of all headaches took up residence in my frontal lobe.
“I saw her stuff on You Tube, they’re tight.” Alex nodded, the bastard not having any idea on what he was signing us up for, and I wasn’t going to be neon-signing it for him either.
“C’mon! Angie?” Dan rolled his eyes, throwing his hands up in disgust. “Troy, did you snort some of Wade’s nose candy before he left? She doesn’t have the chops for a stadium. Besides, she hates us.”
Had to admit, this was one time where I was happy for Dan to be running his mouth. Giving him a round of applause would have been too conspicuous, so I kept it on the down low, but I was a hundred percent behind his stance. The fact it wasn’t me who was leading the anti-Angie movement was a fucking bonus.
“No, she hates you.” Troy smirked. The Dan v Angie battles common knowledge.
“No, she fucking hates Jase, too.”
The motherfucker had to go there. He c
ouldn’t have left it with his own reasons for not wanting her around. He had to go ahead and drag me into it.
“Hate is a pretty strong word, let’s go with a strong dislike.” I eased back into the chair knowing well enough that it wasn’t going to be the last on the topic I was going to have to volunteer. Fucking Dan.
“Dan I understand, but why you, Jase?” Troy’s raised eyebrow proving he had no idea what had happened between me and his sexy, barely legal neighbor before we’d hit the big time.
At least Dan had managed to keep a lid on it for longer than I’d ever imagined; I’d always had my suspicions that he’d spilled one time or another, but seems to be those concerns were unfounded. Who knew he had it in him. In the end, the violence was still happening. I’d just make sure I didn’t punch him above the neck, keep the SOB pretty for the fans.
“Long story.” Well at least it wasn’t a total lie. “Let’s just say I’m not her favorite person and move on, shall we.” The less I said about the subject the better. Besides, it was fucking years ago. Why the hell were we dredging it all up now?
“I heard she has a voodoo doll of you.” Dan stretched out his arms, anchoring them behind his head, his grin splitting off the side of his face. “Tell me, asswipe, do you feel any stabbing pain in your cock?”
“Dude, seriously. Can we focus here?” My shut-the-fuck-up vibe via the eyeball hopefully coming in loud and clear.
So remember how we talked about Jase version 2.0? It turns out some stuff can’t be wiped away even after an upgrade. A one-night-stand seemed part of this system failure. Not that I would take it back. The memory of her, and that night, worth the grief I was catching now. God, she’d been perfect. Fuck. Maybe I had snorted Wade’s nose candy. Would explain the crazy talk.
Thankfully Dan’s tendency to say stupid shit was enough for the band to overlook his current hard-on to bring up the past, namely mine. His comments about me, Angie, and all things to do with my cock were left ignored as they moved on to the problem of no support band. Once again, I resisted the urge to fucking applaud. Seemed someone upstairs was throwing me a Hail Mary.
My thanks to all things holy took a strong and steady nosedive as Alex sold her virtues some more. “Ain’t gonna lie, someone from the old neighborhood would be a fucking godsend right now. She knows us, we know her and last I checked isn’t attending AA meetings.”
Awesome, was he selling the band or nominating her for sainthood? James’s head action telling me he’d already made his decision.
The recon went further, with someone stalking Black Addiction’s Facebook page and mentioning they were playing a bar in Long Island. Someone else chimed in suggesting we jump into our ride and put this to bed ASAP. Whose voice was whose really didn’t matter. It all spelled trouble.
“Angie fucking Morelli. I can’t believe we are even considering this.” Dan gave it a last-ditch effort to stop the insanity.
“Dude, she will probably say no.” Or at least I’d hoped she would.
“Well we can stand here with hypotheticals or we can go fucking ask. Do you not remember her back in the day? She had killer pipes and played wicked guitar. I say we at least have to consider this.” Alex squared off, his no-bullshit meter running overtime.
My problem was I remembered exactly how she was back in the day. I remember how I was, too. Bringing that on tour. A lit match in a fireworks factory stood a better chance. And I wasn’t sure if I was more worried about her or me.
“Fine, let’s go fucking ask and get shot down.” Dan sunk his hands into his pockets as he reluctantly planted his feet on the floor.
“Awesome, should feel like old times for you then.” Troy bucked out a laugh. “Let’s just go see where shit lands. And keep your mouth shut.”
Yep, where shit would be landing would be right in my fucking lap. This night could not get any worse.
The money I was making was pathetic. Singing my ass off for an hour, working up a sweat, and I’d be lucky to cover the gas money it cost us to get to the gigs. Studio time? Ha! Only way we afforded that was courtesy of the day jobs we all were working, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. On stage is when I could finally exhale, when I could finally be myself, and no amount of coin would ever be worth more than that.
“Angie, you want to go grab a burger or something?” Joey loaded the last of his kit into his beat-up Chevy Blazer.
“Nah, Pops needs me to open the shop tomorrow morning. I need to get home.” The night air hit my skin. Even though I’d be jumping into my bed soon, it was going to be a while before I came down from my buzz. The crowd had been great, even more people than last time. Maybe soon we could talk Big Al into giving us a cut of the bar. We sure could use the extra cash flow if we were going to self-produce an album.
“You need a ride to your car? Where you parked?” Rusty lit up a cigarette, the blaze of the ash brightening as he inhaled. With his guitar slung around his chest and his amp in his hand, he was relegated to giving Joey a chin tip as he drove by us.
“See ya guys. My shift starts early.” Max jumped into his weathered Thunderbird, tossing his bass across the backseat. Both the car and his instrument had seen better days.
“See ya.” I waved, my feet restless in my boots as I stood on the side of the road and refocused on Rusty. “I’m good, just down a little ways down the road.”
Rusty gave me a look over, his finger flicking ash as he glanced down the street to where I said I was parked. His hesitation a hint he wasn’t sold on me walking alone. “Alrighty. Be safe.” He knew better than to argue.
“Bye.” I gave him a wave as he hauled his guitar and amp into his Camaro and then slid into the driver’s seat. The roar of his engine muffled our goodbyes.
Walking the streets didn’t scare me. I’d grown up in New York, would probably die here too. But I wasn’t some tourist with a death wish—just knew my way around. Happens when you spend most of your nights around the seediest part of town. Sadly, the Rainbow Room wasn’t looking to book a rock band with second-hand instruments and fuck-you attitude. Who knew?
There she was, my most prized possession. The glow of the streetlight hit the cherry-red curves of my ’69 Corvette as I’d made my short trip down the road. Pops and I had pulled her from the junkyard and rebuilt her from the chassis up. Took us years, but was worth every single minute. The car, and the time we spent together kept us sane after mom died. Poor man had no idea what to do with a teenage girl with an attitude. It was that car and the Harris family that saved us from all-consuming grief.
A hand grabbed my shoulder as I fished for car keys in my purse. It had been a dumb move, ignoring my surroundings while I took a trip down memory lane. I should have known better.
My body swung around, throwing off the hand on my shoulder as I faced my would-be attacker. He’d picked the wrong girl to mess with.
“Holy shit, Angie, put the gun away.” Troy’s eyes widened as he stared at the muzzle of my nine-millimeter. I’d flicked off the safety as I’d pulled it from my purse. The business end of my Glock pointed square at his chest.
“Troy? What are you doing here?” I lowered my gun and took my finger off the trigger. Troy Harris, my old neighbor and drummer for a now famous rock band, was not who I was expecting to see on the dark, deserted streets of Long Island. “Didn’t you have a show?”
“Yeah, we did.” His eyes followed my hands as I flicked the safety back on and tossed my gun back into my purse. “When did you start carrying?”
“Since always.” I shrugged. Like I said, I knew my way around.
“Hey, Angie, how you doing?” James slowly walked toward us, his band of merry men following close behind him. Great. Jason fucking Irwin. I resisted the urge to reach back into my purse and palm my weapon. Not to kill him, maybe just let a bullet wiz by. Scare him a little. The thought alone made me smile.
“Well, well, it’s Power Station.” Did they expect me to fucking bow down before them? Not likely. “You get lost o
n your way home from the Garden, boys?”
Even if I hadn’t grown up next door to their drummer, there weren’t many people in the city who didn’t know who they were. The constant rotation on the radio took care of that, the billboards promoting their current domination of nationwide stadiums, a nice exclamation point.
Their still idling SUV was parked in Big Al’s parking lot not far up the road. At least I wasn’t totally losing my edge; Troy’s footsteps had been masked by the residual noise spewing from Al’s as the last drunkards left for the night.
“We actually came out looking for you. You’d already left the bar and some guy named Eric said you wouldn’t be too far. Thought we could catch up for a chat.” Troy flashed me a grin, the smile a peacekeeping effort if ever I saw one.
Mental note. Punch Eric right in the kidneys for giving out information about my whereabouts. I didn’t give a fuck how famous anyone was, he needed to keep his big bartending mouth shut.
“It’s almost midnight.” My weight shifted on my feet, my hip leaning against my ’Vette. “Last time I checked I didn’t owe any of you money, what’s so important?” Their impromptu visit had my interest piqued more than I cared to admit.
“Can we go out for a drink?” James offered, his head tilting toward their waiting SUV.
Was he joking? The serious look he was giving me led me to believe he wasn’t, but the fact none of the other band members had said anything had me worried. Even Dan was standing there giving his best rendition of a mime. Jason had kept his eyes glued to me the whole time, despite me not even glancing his way. Peripheral vision unfortunately meant he crept into my line of sight. Damn, he still looked good. No. Fuck that. Where the hell was that gun? I need to coldcock myself for even mentally going there.
“I have an early morning, not all of us made the cover of Rolling Stone.” My keys jingled in my hand, signaling they should probably get lost. That was a cheap shot and I knew it. They’d deserved their success and I was just annoyed. At what? Well the jury was still out.