Grease Slapped

by A. M. Jones

  It’s another moment before I realize my body is locked and tense. I exhale and lower myself on the couch. I’m proud of him. He wants to leave his marriage for the right reasons and not because I’m on the other side. He’s not giving up because of me. He tried because of me—not wanting me to think poorly of him. Extreme relief pours through my body like a frosty beer on a hot summer day.

  That amount of time is disconcerting, but Crockett’s right. The line is blurred and has been for a while. This message serves to show one thing and that’s knowing the ball is in my court. My hands tremble at the thought.

  Gavin smiles when I open the door. “Hey, you.”

  He appears genuinely happy to see me. I return it, but it feels tight.

  The smile slips from his features. “Why do I have a bad feeling right now?” I step back to let him in, but he stays put. “You going to answer the question?”

  “I need to cancel.”

  Glancing down the hall, he scratches the buzzed hair behind his ear. “Why?”

  “I—”

  “You leave me hanging for months, call me—most likely wanting me to scratch your itch—but something suddenly changes. You ever think I might like you and want to be more than your fuck-puppy?” He shakes his head.

  Shame slices me to the core and I wince. “I-I didn’t know.”

  “Of course, you didn’t. You never cared enough to open your eyes and see.” He removes a cigarette from behind his ear, placing it in his mouth. “Do me a courtesy and don’t call me again.”

  After stalking down the hallway, he punches the elevator button with his fist while I bite my lip to keep it from quaking. He knows I’m watching, because when the elevator doesn’t come fast enough, he hits the button several times. I close the door, hating I hurt him unintentionally, but I hate myself even more.

  “That’s all she said?” I ask Crockett. I loathe I have to go through him to determine where Taylor’s mind is at. The only reason I haven’t called over and over or visit her apartment is because I want to give her space. I’ve said what I needed to say. It’s the not knowing that sucks. I thump my forehead on the desk and grip the phone tighter to my ear.

  “She’ll come around. She needs time. I hate to say it, but you got a lot of baggage, good lookin’.”

  “I know.”

  “Let’s focus on Tainted District. You have plenty to keep you busy. It’s not like you’d have a lot of time for her right now, anyway.”

  What he says is true. When I’m not at the shop, I’m booking venues, playing at venues, researching the industry, or making new music. Summer is a big opportunity for plenty of gigs. None of it means anything if I can’t share it with whom I want to share it with.

  “You’d have more time if we got a manger,” he says, knowing what I’ll say next.

  “Yeah. Yeah.”

  “I gotta go. Hot date.”

  I laugh. “Tell the lucky guy I said, hey.”

  “Not a guy,” he singsongs and leaves me hanging before I can question him. I stare at my phone with my mouth wide open.

  Milo pulls his van to the back of a hole-in-the-wall venue in Jackson, Mississippi. Jack passes his flask from the front seat. “Here. To loosen the vocals.”

  “Thanks.” I tip the flask, letting the liquid flow. A sharp sting hits my nose. I choke down the cheap bourbon, hissing through my teeth. “Where did you get this? You rob a homeless man?”

  Jack shrugs, opening the sliding door to the warm night.

  “We doing the same set as last night?” I climb out of the van. Several people lean against the brick wall as their cigarette smoke floats through the humid air with their boisterous chatter.

  “No.” Crockett opens the back doors and lifts an amp. “I listed a new set. Tired of playing in the same order.” One-handed, he pulls a folded piece of paper from his pocket and hands it over.

  I unfold the set list, already knowing what he did. Yep, Ink Slapped is on here. “No way.”

  They groan, except Kevin. I’ve learned he’s a go-with-the-flow kind of guy.

  Jack speaks, “It’s one of our best and this is a bigger venue than we’re used to. We’re playing it.” I open my mouth, but he keeps going, “Yeah, yeah. You want to wait for Taylor. Yadda, yadda, yadda. I’m not sure why you want another woman messing with your mind, but it’s four to one. We’re playing it. Find your ball sack and make sure it’s still attached.”

  The ladies standing around keep me from making an obscene gesture. “What do you know about women?”

  “Enough to know I’d rather be alone.” He mimics drinking the flask, so I do. The burn isn’t so bad this time.

  Next thing I know, we’re backstage after a sound check with the other opening band—a chick band. It’s not a huge room, so we’re squeezed in. Jack and Milo act as if they won the lottery. I lift myself to sit on the vanity, close enough to the cracked leather couch Jack occupies to pass the flask back and forth.

  “You ladies are based out of?” Milo lets the question hang in the air.

  “Houston.” A deep but feminine voice says through the open door before a blonde walks through it. She scans the room. “You guys must be Tainted District.”

  “We sure are,” Jack says, in a way I recognize as his game voice, but he hit the flask too hard. The blonde strides to the mirror beside me. She pulls the bun from the top of her head down and shakes the scraggly curls it made. Jack saunters over to lean against the vanity. “Your name?”

  “Kayla, lead of Dead Storm.” She pops gum and gives him an appraisal.

  “You guys played at the Indie Rock Fest Awards,” I remember aloud. Kayla’s gaze falls to me. Her darkened eye makeup only serves to bring out the green in them.

  She smiles. “So, did you.” Jack hands her his flask. She tips it but frowns. “It’s empty.”

  “What?” Jack whispers in a harsh tone, glaring at me and snatching it from her. “I’ll be back.”

  When he leaves, she laughs, turning to the mirror and smoothing on red lipstick. She removes her shirt to reveal a strapless top. Tattoos cover her shoulders and back. Her band mates titter, and I can only assume it’s because Kayla has every male’s attention in the room.

  I can’t help but make a physical comparison. She’s not as curvy as Taylor. Taylor reminds me of a tattooed Marilyn Monroe while Kayla resembles a super skinny Courtney Love.

  “Tainted District. You’re on in five.” A guy with a clipboard says, popping his head in and out of the door.

  Kayla licks the corner of her mouth and wipes it. “Break a leg.”

  “You, too.” I say, slipping on Taylor’s nerd glasses. Kayla cocks her head and sticks her finger through the lens hole. I veer away from her hand and smile. “Later.”

  As we exit the room, I hear her say. “Yep.”

  “You ready?” Savannah fluffs her hair one more time before pulling it into a ponytail. I love when she does this, it makes her look more severe and sharp but exposed somehow. I asked her to come with me because she’s trying to regain trust. Even though she doesn’t deserve it, I’ve forgiven my oldest friend because I believe her romp with Adrian was a mistake on her part. A sure sign I’m ready to move on. Besides, if I’m being honest with myself, she made easier on me to end my relationship with him.

  I swallow. “I think so.” I feel strange about putting in more effort than usual. It’s been a while since the last time I dolled myself up. My hair has extra volume, bounce, and curl. The top I have on is a halter made from flannel that ties around my neck and cinches between my boobs, making them look bigger than they are. My denim shorts are ripped and frayed and hang low on my hips. The boots I painted with red glitter for Halloween match the red in my top and my lips. Looking at myself in the mirror, I regret ditching the tights. Tanning with Crockett has done no good. My legs are blindingly white. I squint. “At least I know if the lights go out, I’ll glow in the dark.”

  Savannah laughs and grabs my arm. “Stop worrying. Let’s d
o this.” She hauls me from our seedy motel room, which is only a block from the venue where Tainted District’s performing.

  People mingle down the sidewalk. Savannah laughs.

  “What?”

  She shakes her head. “Nothing. You’re just turning heads.”

  “Am not. It’s you.” We laugh at the familiar conversation as we get in line.

  “You nervous?” At her question, my stomach flutters in a good way. Now that I think about it, I feel buoyant and happy. It has to mean I’m doing the right thing, even though I’m nervous.

  I smile. “A little, but I think it’s butterflies.”

  Her eyes widen with excitement. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen her this way. “Butterflies? Wow. I haven’t felt those in forever.”

  Unease sneaks its way into my gut about being this excited. There’s nothing wrong with feeling happy. I hate I’m letting my own insecurities get the best of me. That’s what got me engaged to Adrian. I shake it off as best as I can, blowing a breath to enjoy the emotion. That’s what Eli does—makes me happy. Maybe he’s helped me become a better person, too.

  The line moves, and she shrieks, lacing her arm with mine as we weave through the throng of people. A few bump into me, and anxiousness settles under my skin at being around this many people. After we pay and get in the door, there’s standing room only. A bar lines the back wall. The huge pillars that support the building have string lights swirling to the rafters. A stage sits front and center, but low to the ground. Very different from a bar.

  I laugh when Tainted District strolls on stage. They sport the nerd glasses again. Crockett jokes with someone off-stage, and he plays air guitar causing the group nearby to laugh. Jack plugs in, plucking out a tune. Milo pretends to drum on his head. Kevin scratches his head as he unplugs a cord from his keyboard and plugs it in another place.

  Eli’s the only one who looks like he can take it or leave it, which is unusual. He loves playing and being on stage. It’s where he shines and lets his insides out. My heart drops as I take him in. Since I haven’t seen him in a few months, I soak it all in. His laid-back style is topped off with his leather wrist cuffs. I love those things since they do something sexy to his forearms. He seems normal if you don’t know him. The stoic expression and demeanor give him away.

  Scanning the crowd and tapping the mic with his finger, he speaks into it, “What’s up, Jackson?”

  The crowd screams and Jack jams a quick riff. Eli’s smile is way too brief. “We’re Tainted District.” Hoots and shouts ensue as Jack opens on an intro I know.

  My earlier anxiety leaves me. Savannah and I spend their set singing and jumping so we can see better. It surprises me she knows most of their songs. The audience gets wild in front of the stage. My heart pumps to the tune of Milo’s drum beats. We’re pushed back, but Savannah grabs me to keep our place. This never happens in a bar. I suppose it’s the lack of space. This is also the first time I’ve felt this kind of energy from other people. It soaks the crowd, spreading outward as it gets rougher. Eli sings about being a distrustful psycho—one of my favorites because it’s clever. Some might think it suggests he’s a psycho, but it’s about all the hardships Madison puts him through, with her being the psycho.

  Finally, I yell over the music, “Let’s throw elbows.” Savannah nods and elbows a young guy with moss-green hair who’s in her personal space.

  “Geez, woman!” He rubs the spot next to his armpit and moves away. Yeah, I believe I love bar venues better. They’re way more intimate. Most of these people will never see the faces of Tainted District up close.

  Ink Slapped’s keyboard intro starts. I freeze as Eli squeezes his eyes closed and announces. “This one’s about that something special. If you’re not sure you’ve found it or not, you haven’t because when you do, you’ll know… but be careful, it sneaks up and bitch slaps you in the face.”

  Savannah smiles but her expression turns to concern when she sees my face. I wrap my arms around myself and pull my gaze forward. All of a sudden feeling cold and silly about coming here.

  Eventually she tosses her head in tune, along with everyone else around us.

  After their set, we take a break for some bottled water and fresh air. We make it to the sidewalk in time to encounter everyone else with the same idea.

  The smokers light up. A cigarette sounds good right about now but I’d better not. I pop a piece of gum to take my mind off the bad habit, fan myself, and shake my top as much as it will let me. “I’ve got sweat dripping between my tits.”

  “Yeah? I’ve got sweat dripping down my ass crack,” she retorts with a giggle and shakes it.

  Some spikey-haired guy with a horseshoe septum ring pokes his head into our conversation. “And I have sweaty balls, so it’s all good.”

  Savannah bursts into laughter as the guy takes a drag from his cigarette, eyeing Savannah. After a few minutes of mindless chatter between the two, another band starts. Everyone weaves their way in. When the stage comes into view, there’re women on it. The blonde seems to have had too many Redbulls as she cavorts at a maddening pace.

  “Cool. All female.”

  Savannah nods, impressed, but pushes me away. “Go find him before they leave. I’ll stay here and watch.”

  I search for a way backstage. Two clammy hands cover my eyes from behind. “It’s about time, luscious.”

  “Crockett!” I turn to see his ‘the devil’s got nothing on me’ smile.

  He scrutinizes me, stopping at my cleavage. “I don’t think you need to be pulling out the girls. You drive him crazy enough.”

  “How is he?”

  “He’s about to be a lot better.” Crockett searches the crowd. “He’s around here somewhere.” Clasping my hand, he drags us toward the bar.

  The girls on stage kick it up a notch with some heavy stuff. The lead screams into her mic and I laugh as Crockett flinches from it. This band is different from Tainted District. I like their vibe but at least listeners can understand what Eli is singing. We both get cheap beer in cheap plastic cups.

  “Fancy.” I tap my cup against his.

  He lifts his brows. “Don’t think they’re going to go all out for this crowd.” To prove his point, an empty cup flies by. We snicker when it hits a tall woman in the back of the head.

  A couple of people stop and chat with Crockett—which he eats up—and beams wide at me when they go on their way.

  “Wow. Making it big.” I poke him in the ribs. “I’m proud. You guys rocked it.”

  “I hope so. We leave next weekend for a short tour in the Midwest.”

  “Really?” My heart sinks a little. “For how long?”

  Crockett notices my demeanor and clears his throat. “For about a month. We’ve booked fourteen gigs in small bars and venues. We made a road trip out of it, although, we’ll be home for three days in the middle. We’ll probably sleep in the van on top of each other. You know how I love sleepovers with drumsticks.” He smirks and waggles his eyebrows. I laugh.

  “There you are. You find him?” Savannah appears from nowhere, and she looks at Crockett curiously. I shake my head. Now that I think about it, it’s weird they’ve never met until now. I introduce them.

  Crockett shakes her hand and gives her a charming grin. “He’s around. We all drove down together.”

  Loud yelling draws our attention to the left back corner. Jack and Milo laugh at something. A huge throng of people gathers around them. I spot Eli leaning against the wall, still wearing my specs. Taking a drink from a flask, he doesn’t pay attention to them, but keeps his gaze focused ahead—on the singer on stage. She exudes intense energy as she jams a solo on a purple electric guitar. It’s hard not to watch her concentration. Her tongue is curled out, and the tip of it rests on her top lip as the barbell through it flashes in the light.

  She twirls her arm with a final clashing note and drops to her knees just as the entire band goes silent. Screeches from the crowd amplify. Her body heaves a
s she catches her breath. The rest of her band departs the stage and roadies immediately break down for the last band. Background music rises in volume for an intermission.

  When I glance back, Eli is gone. Savannah and Crockett are locked in a conversation. I tell them I’ll be right back and mosey toward the stage. My boots adhere to the vile floor like Velcro, making a sticky sound. The stage is easier to get to since there’s a break in bands. The roadies zip back and forth—on and off the stage. Some of them leer at me. I focus on keeping my lip from trembling. The bad feeling intensifies as I follow a guy carrying a cymbal into a back hallway.

  A man with a clipboard and a walkie-talkie stops in front of me. He scans my body, probably trying to decide if he should kick me out or not. An arm snakes around my waist. “She’s with me.” I tense and peek to see the same guy from outside. He smiles before dallying his septum ring with his tongue.

  Clipboard man nods. “Make it quick. You’re on in ten, Hunt.” He rushes past us.

  “Thanks… Hunt.” I tense and try to ignore the fact that clipboard man thinks we’re about to have a quickie somewhere.

  He shrugs. “It’s Hunter, and no problem. You look like you’re on a mission.”

  “I am.” I remove myself from his grip.

  A small laugh rumbles from him. “Guess I’m not the mission.”

  “What? You were ogling my friend,” I blurt with a little incredulity. Some nerve.

  He scowls. “Was not.”

  “Were, too.” I follow the hall with Hunter on my heels.

  “I was wondering how to get rid of her,” he admits.

  “That’s not any—”

  The sound of Eli’s voice through a cracked door cuts me off. I touch my boot to it lightly and it pops open more. The blonde singer takes the specs from his face, slides them on her own, and budges between his legs as he sits on the counter. She laughs and lays her hand on his upper thigh—her thumb close enough to rub the head of his dick. He tenses and leans backward as his gaze follows her hand.