Phone Calls from a Rock Star

by JL Paul

  Phone Calls from a Rock Star

  JL Paul

  Copyright © 2013 JL Paul

  Smashwords Edition

  All rights reserved worldwide.

  No part of this ebook may be copied or sold or distributed without prior written permission -- if you have this file (or a printout) and didn't pay for it, you are depriving the author and publisher of their rightful royalties.

  All characters in this book are entirely imaginary and any resemblance to persons living or dead or actual events is purely coincidental

  Chapter One

  “You’re lucky to have me as a big brother.”

  I ignored Seth as I concentrated on the energetic rock band jumping around the stage on VTV, my favorite music channel, and spooned chocolate chip ice cream in my mouth. The scream of their guitars reverberated off the walls thanks to the surround sound system my dad had finally installed earlier that summer.

  “Don’t you want to know why you’re so lucky to have me?” Seth persisted, leaning over the back of the couch and invading my personal space. I licked my spoon clean and dropped it in the empty bowl before sliding it across the coffee table. I sat up so I could listen to his latest lecture.

  “Yes, dear brother,” I began in a sarcastic tone. “Do tell why I am so fortunate.”

  “Because I am about to rescue you from boredom. It’s your last weekend home before the parents ship you off to that snobby boarding school of yours and I’m going to make sure you enjoy it.”

  I pointed at him, narrowing my suspicious eyes. He was three years older than me and looking at him was almost like looking in a mirror – our resemblance was so great. We both had blond hair, green eyes and slim builds. He, being male, was more muscular and towered over me. Of course, I had inherited my mother’s height, so it wasn’t much to brag about when he pointed out how much taller he was.

  “You graduated from that so-called snobby boarding school, so don’t get on your high horse. Besides, who said I was bored? Maybe I want to waste away in front of the television.” I huffed, crossing my arms over my chest to illustrate my point.

  He rolled his eyes, hopped over the back of the sofa and dropped beside me. His lips curled into a smug smirk as he shifted so he could pull an envelope out of his back pocket. He handed it to me, and I peered inside cautiously. Seth usually was a good big brother, but he’s been known to pull a prank or two - especially on me.

  My eyes grazed the contents of the envelope and I gasped, immediately growing lightheaded. He couldn’t be serious! “Seth…how…no way…” I sputtered, causing his smirk to widen. “I mean… how? Who did you have to kill?”

  He snatched the concert tickets out of my hand and carefully shoved them back inside the envelope. “Easy. Pete has connections. And since Pete can’t go, I thought I’d take you.” He smacked his palm with the envelope, a look of superiority on his face.

  “What do you mean, ‘since Pete can’t go?’ I should have been your first choice!”

  He laughed and chucked me under the chin like a cute little kid. “Didn’t you just say last week these guys were a bunch of hopped up Neanderthals who probably savaged innocent girls for kicks?”

  Okay, so maybe I did. But that didn’t mean their music wasn’t fantastic. “That doesn’t matter,” I quickly amended. “I love baseball even though I think a lot of the players are overpaid jocks.”

  “You are such a hypocrite,” he muttered, taking the tickets out of the envelope to peek at them again. What, did he think they suddenly changed into tickets for…I don’t know…Julio Iglesias? If that was the case, he could definitely count me out.

  “I am not a hypocrite; I’m a music fan. Big difference.” I refrained from sticking my tongue out at him. I was about to enter my senior year of high school so I figured I’d act a little mature.

  “Whatever,” he grinned. “So are you going or what?”

  “Are you serious? Of course I’m going.” For someone with a high GPA, he sure seemed pretty dumb.

  “The concert is tomorrow night. Pack a bag because we’re getting a couple of rooms.” He leapt from the couch and bounded up the stairs, laughing at my slack-jawed response. “For safety purposes,” he called over his shoulder.

  “Safety purposes my butt,” I mumbled as I slumped back into the sofa.

  ***

  “So tell me, dear Isabella, am I or am I not, your favorite brother?” Seth grinned as we made our way to our front row seats. When I say front row, I mean front row balcony and not front row as in right in front of the stage. I mean, I know Seth is good, but he’s not that good. Still, the seats were pretty awesome.

  “Let’s forgo the clichéd ‘you’re my only brother’ and just say, yeah, Seth, you are my favorite brother.” I took the concert shirts he handed me and frowned. Just because he bought them didn’t mean I had to lug them around all night. Did it?

  “I’m going to get us something to drink. I’ll be right back.”

  I just nodded and gazed at the crowd below me. I loved to people watch. My roommate from school, Annie, always says I’m weird but I prefer the term ‘observant’. After all, if I hadn’t been so observant, no one would have ever known Dean Gold spiked the punch at the Fall Festival. Okay, bad example. No one really cared who spiked the punch because obviously they all liked to have their good judgment impaired with alcohol. I guess it gave them an excuse to act like idiots - or more so in some cases.

  Me, I prefer not to drink. Not only am I too young, but the stuff tastes nasty. And, I like to keep a clear head in most situations.

  I watched the ladies line up in front of the stage. ‘Ladies’ was probably too polite a term, as most of them were dressed in scanty tops and tight jeans and motioning wildly for the roadies to throw them something; guitar pick, drum stick, chest hair, whatever. I rolled my eyes and leaned forward to get a better look. One lady in particular caught my attention. I pressed Seth’s binoculars to my eyes and focused on her. She was dressed similar to the girls around her but she was old as in I-left-the-three-kids-at-home-with-the-hubby old. Didn’t she watch VTV and see that the guys in this band were young? I mean early twenties young? Talk about your desperate housewife!

  “Stop glaring jealously at the girls in the front row,” Seth said as he handed me a plastic cup full of alcoholic no-no. I winced at the smell and handed it back. Didn’t he remember I was underage and not a drinker? He rolled his eyes but placed the cup on the floor near his seat.

  “And I am not jealous of the bimbos in the front row,” I pouted, crossing my arms over my chest. “Look at them! How disgusting. Do they think one of the guys from the band is going to pluck them from the crowd and make them their wife?”

  “You’re too funny, Bella,” Seth chortled. He took a long drink from his cup, and I laughed at his foamy mustache. He wiped it on his sleeve and scowled at me just as the house lights went down and the crowd roared.

  The opening band had one hit—period. They played the video over and over on VTV, and it was a decent song, though I was personally getting tired of it. I gave them the benefit of the doubt and listened, deciding their other songs weren’t too bad—but I couldn’t get into the music. I was too excited for the main act; Controlled Environment.

  I watched the front row bimbos jump up and down in excited furor. Even the mommy was jiggling, trying to attract attention. It was comical, to say the least, and I hoped I’d never behave that way. Maybe they all had consumed alcohol or maybe their blood sugar was low. Who knew, and frankly, who cared. The band finally finished, and the house lights came back on. I watched the roadies converge on the stage and take apart the equipment while the bimbos called out to them, begging for souvenirs.

  Set
h struck up a conversation with a couple sitting next to him. He could be blindfolded, standing in front of a firing squad, and before a single assassin could squeeze off a shot, he’d make lifelong buddies out of them all. He made friends very easily. Me, not so much.

  He mumbled something to me about getting more drinks with his new friends and promised to bring me back a soda. I hoped he’d return before Controlled Environment came on stage. I was afraid he’d get wrapped up in some kind of weird conversation and forget all about the concert. And my soda.

  But he didn’t forget. He made it back just as the house lights went out and the crowd jumped to their feet, screaming wildly. Yes, I joined them - I couldn’t help it. I love music, especially live music. And especially if it was done well. Controlled Environment did music very well. They hadn’t been around for a long time but as soon as they emerged on the music scene, they exploded. Their first album had gone platinum and their second was well on its way.

  The band came out on stage and burst into their first song. The crowd screamed hysterically. Did I say they were good? They were awesome! And okay, they were a little cute. None of them were Orlando Bloom or Johnny Depp hot, except for possibly Nick, but they weren’t hard on the eyes. Jake Johnson, the lead singer, had black, and I mean jet black, hair gelled into some kind of organized mess. In his videos his eyes always appeared so piercing blue, you wondered if he wore colored contacts. He was tall and lean with a slight build as though he tried to work out when he had time.

  Nick Collins, the drummer, was the best looking. He was built better than the others and wore his bleached blond hair spiky. He had sweet green eyes and a sweet smile to match. And his drumming skills were often compared to some of the great legends.

  Ronnie Stone and Matt Wenslow were tall and thin, like the others, with messy brown hair. They weren’t overly attractive but you’d never know by the crowd reaction. Just strap a guitar around their necks and they suddenly became Mr. Universe.

  Jake strutted up and down the stage in torn jeans, a white t-shirt and a brown leather jacket. Leather jacket? On that hot stage? Typical bad boy attire if you were James Dean maybe. But then, they were labeled the bad boy band. Tabloid reporters followed their tour bus around practically drooling. Rumors circulated like wild fire that they even trashed an entire floor of some posh hotel in Boise, Idaho. I didn’t even know they had posh hotels in Idaho.

  Some of their lyrics didn’t help this bad boy image either. Don’t get me wrong, they didn’t throw the F-word around in their songs just because it’s America and they have Freedom of Speech. No, they used explicit words tastefully. Well, as tastefully as possible when using explicit words. See, that’s one of the reasons I loved this band. Not only was the music superb but the lyrics were remarkably clever. Jake and Nick did all of the writing, so of course, they were pegged as tragic, angry young men taking out their miserable childhoods in their music. Did they actually have miserable childhoods? I didn’t know. Were they angry? They seemed pretty well-adjusted to me.

  Seth and I screamed, clapped and stomped our feet with the rest of crowd until the house lights came back on following two encores. Seth took firm hold of my arm as we wrestled with the crowd. I glanced over my shoulder and laughed as the front row bimbos tried to wrangle something, anything, from roadies. Preferably Jake’s boxers.

  Seth’s grip began to hurt, but he wouldn’t loosen up. Sometimes he took the big brother role a little too seriously.

  “I’ve invited a few people up to our rooms,” he informed me. My stomach fell to my feet. Wonderful. A mass of strangers drinking who knows what until all hours of the night. So much for sleep.

  “Oh, joy,” I muttered sarcastically.

  ***

  My stomach rumbled as I brushed past a guy with long, greasy hair standing in the doorway of our connecting rooms. I was grateful I’d left all my valuables at home as Seth insisted I keep the adjoining door open to give our guests more room.

  I flipped through the room service menu and frowned at my options - everything was too fancy for my taste. I had a craving for something sloppy and greasy, and I knew I wouldn’t get it here. Besides, I didn’t want to share my food with the twenty-some extra people. Let them raid the vending machines down the hall.

  I threw the menu on the table and pushed my way through the throng, glaring at the blonde shamelessly flirting with my brother in the corner. Neither one took any notice of me, so I lifted Seth’s keys from the top of the television and squeezed back through my room. I slipped quietly out the door and ran to the elevator. Freedom was a sweet victory - until I stepped out in the cool night air and cursed my brother for not giving me enough time to change out of my thin t-shirt. Although it was August, the late night breeze drew chilly goose bumps on my flesh.

  I jumped in Seth’s car and headed for the main strip. I knew there were a couple fast food joints, and that was exactly what I needed. Some people were addicted to drugs, others to alcohol, but for me, it was junk food.

  Deciding that a Big ‘Un, a double cheeseburger from my favorite Burger Kastle, with all its messy goodness sounded wonderfully delicious, I turned into the drive-thru. I placed my order and checked for accuracy on the screen like a good customer. I kept my window down because I’d only have to roll it back down in a few minutes anyway and I’d hate to burn out the power window motor thing—if that was possible. Seth would have a fit.

  I fiddled with the radio while throwing occasional glares at the car two ahead of me who was holding up the entire line. He must have ordered a hamburger with no ketchup, no mustard, no onions, add two and a half slices of cheese. One of those sorts who disrupt the entire drive-thru natural balance.

  I huffed in impatience and played with the radio knobs again, trying to find the perfect song to fit my mood. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find the Frustrated Drive-Thru Customer station anywhere.

  A loud bang startled me, and I looked up in time to see a guy dressed in jeans, a dark hoodie and a baseball cap run out the back door of the restaurant. He pulled the hood over the cap as he darted around the dumpster in an obvious attempt to get away from something. He sprinted toward my car. My car! The first ever Burger Kastle burglar wants to use my car as an escape vehicle. Okay, so technically it was Seth’s car, but I don’t think he really cared at that moment.

  I instinctively hit the power lock button as he reached the passenger door to lock the already locked doors but hit the unlock button instead. The stranger yanked the door open and dived inside, ducking out of view.

  “Drive,” he ordered. “Now, woman. Damn it!”

  “But I didn’t get my food yet,” I answered, brain swirling in total confusion.

  “Please, get me out of here. I’ll buy you anything you want, I promise,” he begged in a high, desperate voice.

  “What did you do in there?” I asked as I pointed at the door. The entire ridiculousness of the situation hadn’t penetrated. I guess Seth was right when he said I had a thick skull.

  “Nothing, now will you please get me out of here before they find me?”

  “But,” I began, brow furrowed. “If you robbed the BK I’ll get a reward for turning you in—maybe a lifetime supply of Big ‘Uns.”

  I heard before I saw a horde of teenage girls stampeding around the corner of the building. They stopped as though they were one entity, and all looked anxiously around – one of them even peeking in the dumpster. If they were looking for the robber then they had another thing coming—I was getting all the loot myself.

  “You’re kidding me, right?” I stared seriously at his dark face. I couldn’t make out his features because the combination of the baseball cap and the hood shadowed it. He let out a long sigh. I knew that sound. It was the same one Seth used on me when I pushed him a little too far. He lowered the hood and removed his hat.

  I gasped, hand to my chest, before hitting the gas, swerving in time to miss the vehicle in front of me, and squealed out of the line. I turned quickly into traffic
and drifted away from the restaurant.

  His climbed onto the seat and dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Thanks. I really appreciate this.”

  I stared at the road in front of me, startled by the identity of my carjacker and a little befuddled by the entire situation. My tired, hungry brain began to shut down and no coherent thoughts entered my mind. So, as usual, I spoke the only words I could comprehend at the moment.

  “You owe me a Big ‘Un.”

  Chapter Two

  It took my bewildered mind a couple minutes to grasp the situation. It was like my entire head went numb and I couldn’t seem to jump up and grab on to reality. I didn’t know exactly what I was doing as I continued to drive to nowhere in particular. Finally, after a few awkward moments, I managed to lift one shaky hand off the wheel to point at him.

  “You’re Jake Johnson.”

  He grunted and continued to sulk in his little corner of the car. “Great. First I’m nearly mauled by a bunch of crazy fans, and then I jump in the car of a groupie. Can this night get any better?”

  “Hey!” I shouted, startling us both. “That’s not nice. I’m not a groupie! I don’t hang out hoping you or one of your little friends will toss me a lock of your chest hair. If you even have any.”

  Heat rushed to my cheeks as I realized how immature I sounded, but I blamed it all on my still stunned mind and empty stomach.

  He laughed, his voice as deep and rich as it had been hours earlier on stage. I watched out of the corner of my eyes as he appraised me then relaxed his shoulders. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to insult you.”

  I bristled, doubting his apology was sincere. “Well I don’t flounce around after tour busses offering myself up to the first rock star I meet, if that’s what you think.”

  “Who uses the word ‘flounce’?” he asked. His tone was a cross between amused and flabbergasted.