Delivering His Heir

by Jesse Jordan

  I nod, my heart breaking for the millionth time in the years that Rocky and I have been together. Why can't he see? “So, you've made up your mind that you're going to skip school and go straight to trying to make it with a band?”

  Rocky nods and I can see him kind of half smile in the moonlight. “Let's face it, Cora, I'm not an idiot, but I'm not the type made for formal higher education, you know what I mean? But it's cool. You know, I may not be scrambling as hard as I thought I would be. That little channel you put together on YouTube? There's a band already reaching out for me, not to try out, but to invite me in. From what I know, they're better than the guys in Reseda that I told you about. They were even thinking that with their old lead singer jetting, that they could use a rebrand. I guess being called Hunky Limburger wasn't working for them.”

  I laugh, the choices that some bands make for themselves in terms of names are just… damn. “Yeah, I can't see you being Hunky Limburger. So, you’ve got an in?”

  “I think so,” Rocky says, and we start walking again. “I talked with their drummer, a guy named Ian, he says that they are pretty close to making it a full-time job for themselves. They're based in Huntington Beach right now, and if we click, he offered me a chance to crash at his apartment.”

  “Wow... so, you're going to be on your way,” I say, shaking my head. “Well, we won't be that far apart, I guess. I mean, LA City U is close to Hollywood, as soon as you guys land a studio gig you're going to be getting pulled up there too, right?”

  “Yeah, I suppose. Hey, speaking of LACU, isn't Duane Phillips also heading there?” Rocky asks, smirking. “I saw you two dancing at the prom.”

  “Well, you know, he just kinda came up and since you were on stage, I was trying to be nice...” I stammer, but Rocky cuts me off.

  “Any chance you and him might spark some?” he asks teasingly, and my heart shatters in my chest again. He just doesn't see me that way. He doesn't see that the whole time I was dancing with Duane, I wanted it to be Rocky in my arms. That it hurt me afterward when Rocky didn't want to dance anymore, and that the reason I was quiet when he took me home was because I didn't want to act like a total girl and start crying about it all. He thinks… he thinks I'm just a friend.

  What the hell do I say to that? “No... I don't think so,” I finally choke out, glad that at least there are some shadows down here. I gotta roll the dice, try to be more forward. “You know Rock... you've been the closest thing I've ever had to a boyfriend all through high school.”

  “You always are gonna be special to me, Muse,” Rocky says, but in that same tone, the tone that says pure friend zone. “Hell, you and I, you're my sister from another mister. I'm going to hold you to that promise. We're gonna make a million dollars together; you behind the boards, me on the mic.”

  “Yeah... yeah, I guess so,” I whisper, giving up. He just doesn't see me that way, not now, not before, maybe not ever. And I won't have a chance to see him much after tonight. I want to force the issue and grab him by the cheeks and kiss him the way I’ve always wanted to… but I can't. “Hey Rocky, you mind if we start to head back? I guess graduation and all, it just took more outta me today than I thought.”

  “Yeah, no problem,” Rocky says, turning around on the path. We walk up the trail in silence, I just can't trust myself to not start crying if I say anything, and Rocky's already thinking ahead to this meeting with Ian, whoever he is. We hit the sidewalk, and get to the front of his house, where the streetlights illuminate my car.

  “So... Rocky,” I say, trying one last time. “Rocky... I don't want to stop seeing you.”

  “You won't, you know that, Muse,” Rocky says lightly. “Come on, we're staying in LA County, it's nothing. But you don't worry about me, you just keep busting your butt. You're gonna be someone's dynamite producer, Cora. Just keep grinding, and being that super-smart chica I know you are.”

  I swallow. “I... I want to be your producer,” I finally work out, trying to say what I want to say but I just can't, I don't have the guts. “I want to work side by side with you.”

  “We will,” Rocky promises. “You just take care of yourself, Muse. We'll see each other again.”

  He reaches out and gives me a hug, but I can feel it even in the way he hugs me... I'm just his 'sister' to him. We might as well have bro-hugged the way he feels about me. He pats me on the back even and steps back, letting me get in my car. “Hey, I'll give you a call tomorrow or something, as soon as I get a chance to talk with Ian, see how the connection is. We'll get together sometime before you start school, right?”

  “Right,” I say, sniffling and starting my engine. I drive away before Rocky can see me totally break down, and start to head home. I'm about three-quarters of the way there before I can't do it anymore, and I see that I'm close to SHS. On a whim, I pull into the student parking lot, shutting off my engine and crying hard. I don't know how long the storm lasts, but when it ends, I feel empty. My heart is cursing me for being a coward, unable to tell Rocky that I love him.

  “Coward,” I curse myself in the rearview mirror. I curse the blue eyes that are staring back at me in the parking lot lights, the eyes of the lost little girl who can't even tell the boy she loves how she feels about him. “Fucking coward.”

  The words cause me to start crying again, but it's shorter, and I see something in my mirror again. It's my school bag, I never took it out of my back seat, and I grab it, pulling it open. It's pretty empty, but inside I see the pad of paper that I would use for writing music stuff in, a composition book that was useful for notes. I find an empty page about half way through, along with the Flair pen that I used, too.

  I get out of my car and sit on the trunk. It's facing the school, and the light from the security lamp overhead lets me see better. I uncap my pen and focus. If I wanted to write to Rocky… what would I say? It takes me a minute, but then it comes to me, and my pen moves, almost on its own.

  The light is so bright

  But still, you can't see

  The glare has blinded you

  It's kept you from the truth

  We've been together so long

  I can still remember the day

  When I knew in my heart

  That I wanted to be more than...

  How can Four Letters hurt so much?

  How can they break my heart?

  It's only four little letters

  How can Four Letters hurt me so?

  When they're put together this way

  When I want you to say love,

  And what you say is friend.

  I want you to find every happiness

  I want you to find your dream

  But can't there be a place

  For me in your paradise?

  I stand in the shadows

  Hoping and praying for the day

  When I hear a simple knock

  And find you at my door

  Until that day, I'll be here for you

  Because as much as it hurts

  Not having you is worse

  So, I go to bed every night

  And I say a little prayer

  That a miracle can happen

  That Four Letters can become four

  And we can make love out of friend.

  When I finish it, I think about tearing it up. It's cheesy, it's sappy, it's everything that Rocky and I have joked about being some of the worst rock in history. “Then again,” I whisper as I cap my pen and put the notebook away, “Jim Steinman made careers for Meat Loaf and Bonnie Tyler out of this stuff.”

  I re-read it and recognize it for what it is. It's what I've wanted to say to Rocky for years, and it's honest. Maybe someday I'll be able to actually say it to him. Nodding to myself, I close my notebook and put it in my backpack, and start up my car. There's still the summer, right? Maybe there's a chance I'll find the guts to let him read this.

  Rocky-Five Years Later

  “Wasn't that a great show, folks?” the guest host of The Tonight Show
asks the audience, who are applauding wildly. “Of course, tonight, let's give it up to our guests Emma Watson, Christian McCaffery, and tonight's special musical guests, Rocky Blake, Joey Rivera, and Ian Ivory, the Fragments! Rocky, would you and the Fragments play us out?”

  I give the host a nod and turn to the guys, giving Ian a thumb’s up. “Okay guys, just like we jammed,” I say, turning back to the camera as Ian starts the beat on his drums. Joey picks up the classic theme on his guitar, doing the hard notes while I get to just look cool playing essentially the backing riffs while vamping a bit for the camera. It's just the closing credits theme, we're having a bit of fun, and when the director gives us the cut signal I take us out with a bit of flare for the live audience as Ian drops a short solo on his drums. “Thank you, New York City!”

  The roughly two-hundred-person live studio audience applauds well, and while it isn't quite the normal crowd we play to, it was a good set. More importantly, it was our first national network television exposure, maybe pushing us out of the niche audiences that we've been playing for the past five years.

  “Great job guys,” the guest host, a former NFL player, says as he shakes hands with all of us, which is cool. The names Ian Ivory and Joey Rivera might not be as well-known with the fans as Rocky Blake, but we're a band, and I'm not Diana Ross or Beyoncé.

  “Thanks. And thanks for the little dance there during Slam the Floor,” I reply, laughing at the image of a formerly three-hundred-pound man doing the splits in an Armani suit while we jammed. “You sure you didn't pull anything?”

  “Yoga. Lots and lots of yoga since retirement,” the host jokes. “Thanks again guys, I hope you can make it out to New York again.”

  He leaves, and the three of us go backstage, where Martha Mellors, our publicist and manager, is waiting. “Nice job guys,” she says, giving all three of us hugs. “Joey, I already got three production assistants who want your phone number.”

  Joey, who wears his near buzz-cut black hair slightly spiked up, is definitely the 'dark and mysterious' one of the group, but it's allowed me to be more myself too. I don't have to be anything other than myself, which I appreciate. It's not an act either, Joey's totally into his Puerto Rican goth look too, at least on stage. Off stage, he looks more like the sweet, nerdy kid you'd want to take home to introduce to Mom, honestly.

  Totally Joey though, instead of being like most of the musicians I've met since joining the Fragments, he blushes and shakes his head. “Come on Martha, you know I just want to get back to the hotel and chill. After last night at CBGBs and now the Tonight Show, I just want to get some sleep.”

  “All right, but two of those girls were certifiable nines,” Martha teases. She's in her normal professional gear, a fitted pantsuit that shows off her slender figure, her hair done in a bob, looking all dark, smoky, and intense around the eyes. She kinda looks like a prim Joan Jett in a business suit, and she's smart enough about the whole scene that she's been a godsend to the Fragments. Still, she likes to tease Joey, who is nowhere near the dangerous tatted up bad boy that he looks like. Of the three of us, I'm the one that went through the biggest 'bad boy' stage, until a year and a half ago.

  “Well... yeah, but I think I'm going to go hang out or something a little,” he says, disappearing down the hallway. Before turning the corner, he stops and calls back. “Hey, Rocky, you wanna join me? I was thinking of going up on the roof, getting some shots with my new camera.

  “Intriguing, but I'll take a pass Joey,” I reply. “I'm gonna hit up the fitness center. You know, the look and all.”

  Joey shrugs, he understands. Getting back into good shape and not just depending on my genetics helped pull me out of my bad days. When we get back to Cali, he'll be right there next to me down at Equinox across from the beach, making sure he's looking the part too. But as the guitarist and not the front man, he's not as worried about his image. “All right compadre. Just don't forget to breathe in between gigs, you know?”

  Ian's already gone back to the dressing room, he's probably gonna hit the bed back at the hotel even before I get my workout started. Maybe he gets his arms from all the damn drumming, but I do know that Ian Ivory loves his sleep. Soon, it's just me and Martha, and I turn around, looking at the now mostly empty studio. “So, you liked it?”

  “I still wish you'd done a re-cap of Slam the Floor instead of that campy exit music, but it came off well,” Martha says, tapping at her tablet. The only thing she's missing from her power executive look is some glasses, but when I asked her about it, she said that glasses don't go with her eye makeup. Whatever. “Hey, did you see what TMZ is saying about you?”

  “What is it this time?” I groan, my mood ruined. Two gigs in New York, two great receptions, that's what I want to focus on. Not something that the tabloid vultures want to publish. I don't quite get the press that A-listers do, but I get enough that I don't like them very much. “Did they mix up me buying a Coke at a convenience store with buying coke from a dealer again?”

  Martha laughs and shows me her tablet. “Nope... apparently, you were a very bad boy last night.”

  I look at the headline, groaning again. Fragments Heart-throb Slamming More Then the Floor! it reads, with a fuzzy picture of me being approached by a groupie outside the club as we were leaving. Martha's got a shark-like grin on her face. To her, the adage 'there is no such thing as bad publicity' is very, very true. “What do you think?”

  “I think they misspelled 'than,' and it's total crap,” I say, passing it back. “Come on, Martha, you know exactly what happened. She came up mostly drunk, hit on me, and I blew her off. You were right there beside me, you'd be in the picture if it wasn't such a tight damn crop. It's not like I asked her to pull her top down and show me her tits.”

  “They weren't all that impressive a tit job anyway,” Martha deadpans, trying to inject some humor. I'm not that easily swayed, and I turn around, shaking my head. “Come on Rock, I was trying to joke. You know that every single celeb rocker has groupies, and they gotta deal with shit like this. And with that little patch you had a while back, you're easy fodder. So, what are you stressing about?”

  I don't answer her and head back to the changing room. Martha follows right behind, she has apparently no problems seeing me strip down to my underwear. I'd protest, except I don't think she'd stop, and she's at least professional the whole time about it, she hasn't hit on me in my skivvies ever. I'm only changing shirts anyway, I performed in jeans today. Although if it'd get her to stop, I'd try going commando under my jeans sometime.

  Ian's stretched out on the sofa in the changing room, already chilling out with his eyes closed. I can tell from his body language that he's not asleep, while Joey's pulled on a sweatshirt and leather jacket, trying to look more anonymous. He's got his look down too, you'd never think with long sleeves, some baggier clothes, and the eyeliner off that the nice, normal looking Puerto Rican guy sitting down in front of the makeup mirror is actually Joey Rivera. Ian opens his eyes just as Joey gets up, looking him over. “Just make sure you keep that ID badge on your jacket man. Security's going to mistake you for some geek off the street.”

  “Not everyone's six foot six like you, Ian. You sure they don't need someone to play the Predator in the remake they're doing back home?” Joey jokes, making Ian blow a raspberry. “Nah, it's no sweat. I asked. They'll call me a cab to get back to the hotel so it's all good.”

  I flop down in a chair, causing Joey to stop. “Yo, what's wrong Rock? Figured you'd still be buzzing from the set.”

  “Yeah… not so much the TMZ story,” I sigh. “Show 'em, Martha.”

  Martha passes her tablet to Joey, who passes it to Ian before Ian sets it on the table, not bothering to actually sit up enough to pass it back to Martha. The guys say nothing, so Martha speaks up first after a few seconds. “Okay, well, I'll have to give the folks back in LA a call about it either way. And I've got a little bit of paperwork to get taken care of with the Lorne Michaels people, so I'll see y
ou guys back at the hotel. Just remember, we fly back to LA tomorrow, so don't be out all night. I'd prefer to not have to chase you guys down.”

  Martha leaves finally, and in the silence, I sit forward, rubbing at my eyes. “Fuck, I don't want this.”

  “Want what?” Ian asks, sitting up finally. “It's the price of fame, man. And let’s face it, this is nothing compared to what Jagger or the others go through.”

  “Yeah, well, we're not making Jagger money, and I sure as hell am not doing Jagger level bullshit,” I protest. “I just want to make good music, not this celeb scandal shit.”

  “Not everyone can get by on just cute looks and a unique sound though,” Ian reminds me. “Hell, we're not BabyMetal.”

  I laugh, thinking of the time we met the three Japanese cuties backstage at Rockfest in Seattle. “Those three are a trip, though. But yeah, we're not BabyMetal.”

  “Thank Jesus for that,” Joey comments, grinning for a moment before growing serious and patting me on the back. “Hey, don't sweat it. Really, man. If you were actually doing half the shit that these pendejos say that you do, we'd be pissed. But we've been together for five years, you know? You've got your head screwed on right, so chill out. We got your back.”

  “Thanks, Joey,” I say sincerely, giving him a grin. “Now, go get your photos or maybe talk to a cute assistant. You know, show her that you're more than just Rivera Dark.”

  Joey gives me a smirk about his joke of a moniker and leaves the dressing room. I stand up and peel off my shirt, waiting for Ian to say something. He usually does, but he picks his spots. There's a reason me and Joey sometimes call him Yoda. “Well?”

  “Joey said what needed to be said,” Ian says, stretching out again. “From day one that we met, I knew you had your shit together. A week after high school graduation, and you're not out there trying to slay pussy, you're focused on rocking. And since then you've tried to find real people to connect with as well, man. Every girlfriend you've had, you broke it off with her because you're not just looking for an easy fuck. I've tagged more groupies than you have, in fact. I still owe you for that Playboy girl who you turned down. Can I ask you a question, Rock?”