by Jesse Jordan
I want to hurry, but I know if I run I'm just going to attract attention, and instead I take out my cell phone, pretending that I'm talking to someone as I walk towards the backstage door. I'm just feet away when a security guard comes out, seeing me. “What are you doing back here?”
“What do you mean?” I bluff, hoping he buys it. “I'm part of the crew, you idiot. Now, I need to get this information to Miss Mellors, right away. The camera crew that's going to be working the crowd is saying there's a problem with the uplink feed.”
The guard buys it for a second but then shakes his head. “No, no way. Come on, let me see some ID or your backstage pass.”
I'm desperate, but suddenly luck falls my way as Ian and Joey start to walk by, talking together. “They know me. Ian! Joey! Please!”
Joey looks over, and the look of anger on his face chills me to the bone. What's going on, why is this happening? I figured after Rocky wouldn't return my messages yesterday that he was angry with me for something, or maybe just that he's upset about the scandal, but what could Joey and Ian be angry with me about?
Ian whispers in Joey's ear, and Joey nods, ignoring me and going backstage. Ian comes over, looking at me with an icy, surly stare that sends even more fear into my heart. Ian normally looks like a bear that just got poked with a stick, but he's never looked truly angry before with me. “What are you doing here?”
“Please Ian... please, I have to talk to Rocky. I don't know what's going on, but I have to talk with him, there's been a terrible mistake!” I plead, desperate. The security guard's heard enough and grabs my arm, his grip like iron on my bicep, squeezing tight enough that I think my arm's going to break any minute. Still, I struggle, even as he twists my arm behind me and yanks, my shoulder screaming out in pain enough to make the world swim. “Please, Ian! Please, just two minutes!”
“Stop,” Ian says, putting his hand on the guard's shoulder. “Okay... two minutes, out here. Then I don't want to see you again.”
The guard lets go, and I shake out my arm, hoping that the ache I feel isn't a tear of something inside, and follow Ian. He leads me through the generally organized chaos that is the backstage of any rock concert. All of the equipment creates a huge amount of gear that needs to be brought in. While it's semi-organized, it forces Ian to lead me in a slightly meandering path towards a semi-trailer that's parked along a road. Stopping, he turns around. “Talk.”
“Ian, I don't know what's going on. After I talked with Martha on Thursday, I tried to text Rocky yesterday, and he's ignoring me. I mean, I get that the scandal's bad...”
“Bad?” Ian asks, incredulous. “Do you have any idea how much you've hurt him?”
“Hurt...?” I ask, my voice trailing off. “Ian, what are you talking about? I've never tried to hurt Rocky.”
“Right,” Ian growls sarcastically. “So, you weren't hurting him when you leaked the sex tape and started shopping yourself out to reality TV producers? You weren't hurting him when you lied to him? Martha told us all about it, and I found him on top of the MTV building. To be honest, two days later I'm still not sure if he was going to jump or not.”
I gasp, clutching at my chest at the thought of Rocky being that broken up. “Ian... I never leaked the sex tape. And I didn't talk to any TV producers, why would I?”
“Everyone's got a price,” Ian growls. “How much was yours to lie to him? To trap him for the tabloids? For your TV spots?”
“Wait, what? Ian, no! I didn't lie to him, I was going to tell Rocky about...” I stop, confused. Wait, TV spots? “Ian, what are you talking about?”
“Like I said, Martha told us about it, how you were happy about the tape,” Ian says, shaking his head. “I trusted you too, Cora. I even liked you. So why?”
“I'm not happy!” I yell, tears threatening my face again. “My God, Ian, this is tearing me apart! How do you think it felt telling... telling my family about the tape, being called a slut in the middle of dinner with my...?”
“Ian!” Martha calls from the shadows, stepping forward. “They need you on stage!”
“Okay!” Ian calls, turning back to me. “Time's up.”
“Please Ian, I didn't do it!” I hiss, grabbing his arm and lowering my voice. “Martha's lying to you guys. I didn't sell you out. I love Rocky, you have to believe me.”
Ian looks into my eyes for a moment, then nods. “Okay. Wait here, after the concert I'll see what I can do. But I gotta go.”
“Thank you,” I sigh, letting go. Ian heads off, and I think that Martha's going to follow him, but instead, she waits, studying me with a triumphant smirk on her face. I turn to face her and realize in a crashing moment that all this is her fault, somehow. “What? And why Martha, why?”
Martha laughs evilly, and I shudder knowing that she's been guiding the guys for so long. What sort of damage has she done, what hell has she been putting them through, and why? “Which do you want answered, you stupid little girl? What, or why?”
“How about both, before I kick your ass,” I growl, but before I can do more than take a half step forward, Martha steps back, pulling a gun from her jacket pocket. I freeze, and she hums triumphantly.
“CCW permit, hard to get in Cali but not impossible. You know, it doesn't matter, you're finished in this town. There's no studio with any rep at all that's going to hire a producer that fucks the talent then leaks the sex tape out,” she laughs. “And there's nothing hotter than a rock star who's got a bad boy streak so deep in him that he'll fuck anyone he can if she's willing to give it to him. Cha-fucking-ching.”
“You... you're setting Rocky up,” I growl, taking a half step forward before remembering that Martha's got a gun on me. “Why? You know what this sort of stuff will do to him, to his soul. Why destroy him?”
“He'll realize why some day… when all those people have turned against him, and he's at the end of his rope, and there's only me to save him, to open up my arms and hold him close, comforting him. I'll build him back up, bring him into my bed… and then I'll destroy him fully and completely. Guess he shouldn't have missed my signals the way he missed yours. Not everyone's nice enough to just write some love poetry,” Martha laughs. “Some women don't like being scorned.”
“You… you bitch,” I hiss, and Martha smiles sweetly.
“Why thank you, I appreciate your compliments. Now, it's time for you to go.”
For some insane reason, I step forward, not knowing what's come over me. Actually, I do know. This bitch is threatening to ruin not only me, but more importantly the man I love, and his two best friends. No way in hell, not if I can help it. “I don't think so.”
“Back off, Cora. Don't make me shoot you,” Martha says, her voice dropping to a menacing growl. “Think what that'd do to your daughter.”
“You mean the daughter you lied to Rocky about? Does he even know?” I ask, stepping forward again. “No bitch, I can see it in your eyes. It was your first lie about me, and the biggest one since I actually helped out. How'd you really find Bella?”
“I Facebook stalked you as soon as I saw your reaction to him. I knew about your brat long before you thought to switch things to private. Now, no more warnings... go.”
Instead of turning though, I let my instincts take over, charging Martha as she swings her gun. I step underneath the swing and grab her, the gun going harmlessly over my shoulder to thump against my back, but hey, my leather jacket does more than look cool, and she loses her grip on it, the gun clattering to the pavement. Shoving her against the equipment crate behind her, we wrestle, not politely, not according to any sort of rules, but down and dirty, knees and elbows and fingernails all getting involved. It's not a catfight, but I claw at her, trying to get past her to get to Rocky before things are ruined between us. Martha's yelling, but I get a knee into her thigh, causing her to shriek in pain. I start to get up, but before I can I'm tackled, the security guard’s slamming me to the ground and knocking the wind out of me. “Bitch! Let me go!”
“Call the cops on her,” Martha says to the guards, letting the guards help her to her feet. “She threatened to kill me, and to blackmail Rocky.”
“No! You lie!” I gasp, but the guard's still on my back, I can barely breathe. I feel my arms wrenched behind my back again, and the zipping sound of the plastic cuffs being tightened on my wrists. Someone grabs my feet, and despite how hard I try and kick I feel the same thing happen to my ankles before I'm picked up like a sack of potatoes and hauled towards the road. “I'll get you, bitch!”
“No... you won't,” Martha says, turning away. The guards turn my body as they haul me, and I can't see anything more except the road and the flashing lights of the approaching cop car coming up the road, I guess they were close. I hang my head, wondering what I'm going to do.
I just don't know.
Rocky
“Rocky... yo, Rocky!” Ian calls, catching up with me. The last-minute preparations before the concert have been hectic, a lot more hectic than anything I would have expected. First, I actually had to sit down for makeup. Honestly, who the fuck wears makeup on stage at a rock concert? Well, Joey does, but that's his look. He's got the whole eyeliner and even a half of his mouth done up with black gloss, taking it up half a notch from what we normally do. I'm the same way, my normal look just taken up half a notch. The whole thing is us, but with the volume turned up a little bit. It's all for the cameras for the Net feed. Apparently, the director and the folks at the label want us looking good out there.
Ian on the other hand... looks like Ian. Except that right now, instead of looking sleepy or grumpy, he looks worried. “Ian, what's up?”
Ian glances at Joey, who shakes his head. “I didn't say nothin'. We don't need that shit before this.”
“Yeah, we do,” Ian says, turning back to me. “Rocky, Joey and I ran into Cora outside. Listen, man... she's saying that she didn't leak the video. She said that...”
“Guys, you gotta be on stage!” the concert director says, interrupting Ian. “Now! We start live streaming in one minute!”
I wave the guy off but look at Ian. “Listen, after the concert, tell me. If you believe her, we can talk.”
Ian nods, looking over at Martha when she approaches. Her suit looks jacked up like she's been fighting with someone, and her hair's a mess, but she's smiling. “Come on guys, let's have a good concert.”
“And Cora?” Ian asks, but Cora shakes her head. “You were there.”
“She's not here anymore. After the concert, guys. She and I talked some. Come on, go out there and rock. That's the end of the rainbow out there!” she says, smiling broadly as she points toward the stage. “Go kick ass!”
I'm confused, looking from Ian to Joey to Martha, and my mind is whirling with questions about Cora, but the director's in our ear again, tugging on my jacket, and I throw my hands up. “Fine, fuck it. I want a full explanation of this shit when this is all done. Let's go.”
The crowd isn't the biggest we've performed in front of, even with the standing room crowd area there are only six thousand people. These six thousand though, they're here to see us, not some main act... and in the wings checking some of the faces I see before the lights go down, I think the net worth of the six thousand people outstrips the thirty thousand we played warm up.
“Holy shit,” Joey mutters, glancing over at me. “Was that Emilia Clarke?”
“You should try to get her number after this,” I joke, taking a deep breath. “Come on guys, this is just like any other concert.”
“Ladies and gentlemen...” the public-address system booms, in a voice that sounds like it's making the trailer for an epic movie or something. In a land without hope, a woman with no chance meets a man with no fear... “Rocky Blake, Joey Rivera, and Ian Ivory... the Fragments!”
The applause is loud, but with an open-air amphitheater, it's not too bad. It helps us to keep our wits about us as I run out on stage, the spotlight following me before Joey follows, and Ian stalks behind, heading for his drums. When we're all in place, the lights drop for a moment, and Ian smacks out on his drumsticks. “One-two-three-four!”
Joey rips off the opening riffs to Gimme Danger, and the spotlights and stage lights flash on as Ian tears into his drums. I'm momentarily blinded, the crowd reduced to nothing more than a faceless, single mob blob, shadows against a bright light that I can read by sound and instinct more than anything else.
Step into the arena
Double knot your shoes
Whatcha worried 'bout boy?
Ain't nothin you got to lose...
The crowd's cheering, and I can even hear some of the fans in the standing room only section along the edge of the stage singing along as Joey and I start singing the chorus.
Gimme danger, gimme pain,
Gimme a hard knock life,
Gimme sweat, gimme tears,
Gimme victory through strife
You might knock me down
You might drive me to a knee
But keep giving me that danger
It makes me strong, you see
Joey nails his guitar solo, nearly tearing the stars down from the heavens with the scream of his guitar, and we launch into the second half of the song. We're having a great time, and at least more importantly for my peace of mind at the moment, I'm having a great time. When the song wraps, the roar of applause is larger than when we came out, and as my eyes adjust to being able to see the crowd, I can see that even some of the celebrities who came more for the chance to get their picture in People or Variety or maybe The LA Times are cheering.
“Thank you, thank you,” I say into my microphone, taking a deep breath and calming down. “How'd you all like that?”
“YOU GUYS KICK ASS!” someone in the crowd calls, which is followed by a roar of approval from the crowd.
“I'd say you guys kick ass for coming out here for us, so thank you!” I call back, getting another roar. “Okay, we're going to play a long time favorite of ours, this song was first done back in nineteen eighty-seven, and by the way, our manager has already promised to kick my butt if we play it... but what they hell, this song rocks!”
Joey hits the opening riffs with me playing backup, and the crowd, which has a lot of older celebrities in it in their thirties and forties, is clapping along almost instantly as we launch into a cover of Pour Some Sugar on Me, a classic that again has everyone singing their asses off with us. In fact, the crowd is so loud at times that I don't even need to sing, and I hold the mic out to the crowd during the last chorus, letting them sing their own version, bringing a party atmosphere to the concert. When it wraps, Joey, Ian and, I are already sweating, and I'm grinning ear to ear. Ten minutes in, and we've got them in the palm of our hands already.
I go over to Ian's drum set, grabbing the towel off the little stand we've set up and mop my forehead, giving Ian a thumb’s up. He returns it, taking a quick swig of water while we've got a moment to breathe in between songs. “Water?”
“Yeah,” I answer, taking a swig from the squirt bottle, capping it and turning back around. I grab the mic from the stand and play to the crowd a little, letting the mood mellow out. “You know, maybe it's just a rumor, but I heard somewhere that the whole reason Steven Tyler started that whole long scarf thing on his mic stands was because he wanted a quick way to wipe his forehead. Who knows, after this, we might be famous enough to get the truth straight from his mouth. Hey, anyone know if Steven or Liv is in the crowd tonight?”
“Yeah man!” a distinctive voice from the crowd calls, and I shade my eyes, seeing a dark figure stand up. “You're rocking baby!”
“Holy shit,” I mutter, the mic picking it up and causing a ripple of laughter. “I've met an honest rock god. Thank you for coming, Steven. Uh... go easy on us when we play Sweet Emotion in about twenty minutes. And... mind if I get your autograph later?”
Another ripple of laughter rolls through the crowd, and I grin before letting the smile fade. “Our next song, well, it's our lead single
off our new album. Sitting around the studio one day with our producer, we were trying to figure out...” I start, getting ready to go into the story of how Four Letters was written, but I shake my head. I can't, thinking about Cora and what she did hurts too much right now. “Maybe that story can be another time. But let's slow it down now... Four Letters.”
The lights dim, our lighting crew is professional as all hell, and I put the mic back on its stand. This time I play the opening notes on my guitar before letting it slump to the side and Joey takes over while I start singing. The pain in my heart is real, thinking of what Cora did to me, and I falter for a moment. Joey and Ian cover it, and I swallow, remembering Ian's advice. Sing to the girl who wrote this, sing to the girl who has my heart, not the woman who hurt me.
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.
Tears slip from my eyes as I sing, and when the final note slips away into the night, there's silence, just like when we demonstrated it to the record execs. The first applause starts somewhere in the back, rolling forward in a quiet, mixed way as people wipe their eyes and come back from wherever the song took them in their minds and hearts, until it swells, grows, and rolls over us in a tsunami of hands clapping. There are few cheers, no roar of approving voices, most people are still too raw to trust opening up, and I step back into the darkness that's outside the spotlight that's shining on me, crying a little before wiping my eyes and gathering myself for the rest of the concert.