Rocking Hard: Volume 1

by Sol Crafter, Diana Sheridan, Talya Andor, Lacie J. Archer, Angel Propps

She had met them just as their lead singer was quitting. He had been the one who owned the van they had all been riding in and they were a thousand miles from home, so when she had asked if they wanted to join her band, they had said yes. She had been working in a tiny bar in Dallas; she had followed her then lover out West from her hometown of Memphis, and they had all drifted to San Antonio, where the brothers were from.

  It was there that they had met their manager, a ferret faced man who had promised to get them a record deal. He had: a year before, he had signed them to an indie label that had spent a ton of money making sure that the album they cut was utterly perfect. The engineer had crafted every bit of life out of it, and to make up the cash they had found themselves touring for twelve weeks at a time, with only a few days off in between.

  A month before, they had been told to go to LA and that there was an apartment there for them. The apartment turned out to be a ratty little one bedroom place right above a liquor store. The place was only a few steps away from the Strip and that was a bonus, because the van had broken down the week before and they had actually had to carry their equipment to the show the night before.

  The guys had given her the bedroom, and they had tossed mattresses on the living room floor. She often crawled through the bedroom window rather than deal with the antics of three guys in her living room and the constant parties they liked to throw.

  That afternoon, Goochie and Joe had quit the band after she had gotten pissed off, because she had come home from the waitressing job she had taken to help put some cash in the coffers to find the tiny Christmas tree she had bought decorated with beer cans, worn panties and cigarette packs. She knew she should have handled it better but the strain of moving, of the need to pay back the label and the constant touring, had taken a toll and she had snapped. She had screamed at them until her throat had grown sore and they had left, calling her every name they could think of on the way out. She didn't really blame them; she just was not really sure she wanted them back either, though.

  "Our contract is up in three days."

  Kara sighed and asked, "So what do you want to do, Dean? I don't have the cash to get all of you home. I don't have the cash to stay here, honestly. If we sign again, they will at least give us enough cash to pay rent for a few more months."

  "Yeah, and we will have to spend a year paying that back. No offense, Kara, this label sucks and they are working us like dogs. None of us think it is going to get any better, and what is more, there have been offers for all of us to work with other bands."

  That stung. Nobody had offered her a job. Then again, it was well known that the band was her baby. But what if Dean were right? What if the band was never going to be anything special? She had spent a lot of very hard and long years trying to make it work, but it just never had.

  "I have to do this." She drew a deep and fiery breath. "With or without you guys, I have to do this. I have to make it happen, and it has to happen now. I was made to be famous, to be a singer. This is who I am, Dean. I gave up everything back home to follow this dream; I can't just quit now."

  "Well, I'm out. We, the guys and I, we can all work and we will. We can find a place. If you want to crash there, you can, but we won't be a band anymore. Well, we won't be this band. No offense, Kara, but we just don't think this is going anywhere."

  "None taken," Kara said softly.

  *~*~*

  The next afternoon Kara finished her shift at the restaurant and set out down the street toward the apartment. She had a lot on her mind. She was trying to decide how much money she could get out of her van and if she could survive in LA without transportation. She had a few hundred bucks in her pocket, but she had to find a place to live. The label had paid the rent on the apartment on a short term lease, and they were not inclined to allow her to continue as a solo artist. She shared Dean's opinion of them anyway, and so she was about to face the option of selling the van and moving into a place, or moving into the van.

  The guitar stopped her cold. She literally stopped walking, her face turned sideways toward the pawn shop window at such a severe angle that she could feel the pain in the tendons of her neck.

  It was a gorgeous guitar, an obviously vintage Gibson SG, red and black, yet it had no signs of ever having been played on its surface. The pick guard was flawless, and there was no arm wear—or any type of wear as far as she could see. Her feet seemed to have a mind of their own and she followed them into the dusty smelling shop.

  The guitar had no belt rash on its back or any of the bumper stickers and other things that most musicians were fond of decorating their axes with. The neck was true and straight, and when she took it down, a small current of sheer electricity coursed through her hands. She almost dropped the guitar but recovered quickly, deciding that the odd sensation was due to it having been left in a window and having gathered heat from the day. It was lightweight and thin, the action low but not so low that it would cause it to sound muddy. It was perfect, Kara thought happily.

  The man behind the counter pointed her toward a small amp when she asked if she could try it out. She sat down and put her left hand on the frets, took a breath and began to play. First she used a spare and angular picking pattern, then she began the lightning fast tapping and runs that she was so fond of. She looked up to see the counterman staring openly, and she grinned as she executed a few flashy bends and the thin and stinging vibrato that her father had taught her.

  "Nice," the man said.

  "How much?"

  She could not believe she had even asked. She could not afford anything; she was too broke to afford a place to live, much less a new guitar. But none of that mattered; she could not leave there without it, even if it meant running for the exit with it firmly in hand.

  "You know, I am looking for some help here in the shop. It's LA; half the idiots that come out here think they are going to get a record deal, and the other half think they are the next big movie star. I get a ton of gear pawned off on me and I could use someone with some knowledge about it."

  Kara's heart started to pound hard and fast in her chest and her face went red. "I could do that," she managed.

  "Well, good. I'm Howard."

  "Kara," she said, extending her hand.

  Under the fingers of her other hand, the guitar gave off a slight but palpable buzz.

  "You know," Howard said as he peered at the guitar closely, "it's the oddest thing. That guitar got pawned over twenty years ago. My dad took it in, and it somehow stayed hidden in the back all that time until just a few minutes before you came walking in. I had just hung it up."

  Kara blinked and a shiver ran along her spine but she ignored it. It's mine, a voice whispered in her head, all mine.

  "I'm glad I happened to be walking by just then," she said lightly.

  "Yeah, me too. This jerk about to walk in always brings me garbage that he fixes up just enough that it works until he leaves. He is your first duty. Have fun."

  Kara laid the guitar in the dusty case Howard handed her and went to deal with the customer.

  The club was filled with a blue-gray haze thanks to the two smoke machines hidden on either side of the stage. Strobe lights sent pulses of crimson, yellow and a bright neon green through the foggy stuff, turning the dingy place into a wonderland for the moment.

  Below the stage people were moshing. The sight of their churning bodies and their fists being held high in the air sent a vicious thrill through Kara's belly. The vibrations from the guitar's pickup rumbled through her belly and crotch, and she grinned as she pushed her hips closer to the strong vibrations. She knew she was basically using her guitar to get off, but so was everyone else in the audience.

  Her voice went out over their heads, the voices came back, and the adrenaline punched through her, making her head feel buzzy and her heart beat a little too fast. Sweat poured across her face and her fingers slipped a bit on the strings. The chorus ended with a loud bang and she began a chunky riff made up of heavy power ch
ords that had her pumping her hips at the back of her guitar, helpless to stop the orgasm spreading through her.

  As the crowd screamed and cheered, she wondered if they knew exactly what was making her voice quiver and her body go rigid but found she could not bring herself to care if they did.

  The set ended and she stood there, both fists up in the air, drinking in the energy and love coming from the crowd. Looking down, she could make out a few individual faces, though during a show everyone became a large mass, and she smiled and waved and blew kisses before running off the stage. The guys who worked for the club were already moving the equipment that belonged to her band to make room for the headliners, and once that would have made her sad, but all she wanted right then was food, sex, alcohol and maybe to dance a few hours. Lately, she always felt jazzed up and half insane after a show. She had no idea of why; that had never been true before, and so she chalked it up to being finally happy with the lineup of her band.

  And it was her band. Gone was the all-inclusive name. Now it was simply Kara South that got booked onto stages and into clubs. She had hired the guys who backed her, and when they wore out or wanted out, she replaced them with a ruthlessness that she would never have guessed that she was capable of.

  She was twenty two years old, and she knew that she was on the precipice of fame, major fame. In the eleven months since she had walked into that pawn shop, she had made huge leaps forward. She had played at every large club in the city, had been written about in fanzines and was listed as the new face of rock-pop. She was the one to watch and everyone knew it.

  In the dressing room, she stood in front of the mirror and looked at herself. She had bleached her hair six months before and straightened it as well so that it hung in a smooth sheet down her back. She had taken to wearing heavy eyeliner and thick mascara, crimson lip glazes and stiletto heeled boots. She had gotten herself a pair of leather pants and they fit her like a second skin, molding to the curve of her hip and accenting the swell of her ass and the slimness of her long legs.

  The black halter showed off her midriff, her well-toned and slender arms, and the tattoo that she had had inked there, a long coil of barbed wire with roses caught up in its snarls every few inches.

  She looked very different from the Kara South that had arrived in LA as the head of an indie soft rock band and even her music had changed greatly. She had grown up the daughter of a blues musician who was a sought after session guitarist and a well-known musician in his own right. He had taught his daughter many skills and she had learned them well, but as the lead singer of a band, she had let her co-guitarists take on the solos. Not any more. Now she timed them with vocal breaks.

  She had developed a strut and an attitude to go with the new hairdo and style of playing. She was not aware of it, or the fact that it was that cockiness that drew so many people to her.

  The dressing room was full of people: girls hanging onto the arms of the guys who played in her band, people looking for a free drink or an interview, a few drug dealers and even a couple of other musicians. Kara ignored them all for the moment and headed to the table where someone had put out food. She helped herself to a huge roast beef sandwich and then flopped over in a chair, watching the scene unfolding around her. Before she could take a bite of her sandwich, there was a hard knock on the door and then it opened. A burly man dressed all in black stepped in and said, quietly but firmly, "Everyone but Kara South should leave now."

  There was a moment of silence, then derisive laughter and a few jeers. The man shrugged and then beckoned behind himself. A second man stepped forward, and he was even bigger.

  "Regret Rumor wishes a word with you in private," the first man said directly to Kara. "I would suggest you clear the room."

  Kara's face went pale. Regret Rumor had been the biggest name in rock back in the eighties, and when Kara herself had been a ten year old girl, she had accompanied her father to a three day music fest back home in Memphis. She had wandered away from the tents where the blues musicians had been set up and found herself staring up at a gorgeous creature that had been beating the hell out of her guitar while swaggering across the stage. Her music had been hard, fast and loud, and her face had been covered in sweat. The crowd had screamed her name, and when she had finished her last song, Kara had stood there with her fists clenched and her heart beating high and hard in her chest while the thought that that was exactly what she wanted to do with her life had rung clearly through her head.

  The room emptied and Regret came in. Kara felt her hands bang together in an involuntary applause before she could stop them. She got to her feet and started toward the other woman, her eyes unable to stop looking at the mane of red-gold hair, the green eyes that slanted upward just a bit at the corner so that she had a kittenish look, the attenuated body that slouched inside a latex corset, black jeans and military style boots that had a high shine gleaming from the tops.

  Regret stopped short and stared, her eyes widening in surprise. Kara blushed and tugged nervously at her halter, unsure of how to proceed. Regret was her idol and her inspiration. It was a moment she was not positive how to be comfortable in.

  "You … you look like someone I used to know," Regret said softly. "I'm sorry; it just took me aback for a moment. You could be her twin."

  "I'm a huge fan," Kara blurted out, and the tension broke in the face of Regret's warm laughter.

  "And I want to sign you to a label. I manage more than play these days, and I have learned to spot talent. You have it. You have the whole thing. Hire me as your manager and I will make you a star, I promise."

  "You're hired." Kara blurted.

  "Let's talk about it over dinner."

  Kara didn't even bother to say goodbye to her band. She just followed Regret out.

  *~*~*

  Regret's hotel room was larger than some houses Kara had lived in. A small staircase led up to an open loft where a king sized bed draped in silk sheets sat. Versace towels were in the bathroom, and the rooms smelled like the huge bouquets of flowers that were arranged in cut crystal vases. The whole place had an opulent feel, and she could feel something growing between her and Regret, but she could not put her finger on what it was, exactly.

  It felt like sexual energy, but there was something else there, something indefinable and almost unpleasant. She kept staring at the swell of Regret's breasts and the curve of her bottom lip.

  She wondered what it would be like to kiss her, to push her down on the bed and tease her tongue across the delicate flesh of her inner thighs. She could imagine parting her labia and licking the sweetness inside them, sucking on her nipples until they turned hard and tight inside her mouth. She wondered how the heated tightness would feel wrapped around her fingers, how hard Regret would arch back against them as they moved inside her.

  Those thoughts embarrassed her, and she had to push them away to concentrate on the words the other woman was speaking.

  "So, I can get you an audition this week, and we can record in New York. I hate LA, to be honest. I just happened to be out here, and I heard about you, so I came to see if you were as good as they said you are. We are going to go very far together, wait and see."

  Regret put her hand on top of hers and Kara shuddered a little. She had to fight back the sudden urge to lift those fingers and suck them, lick them and stroke them. Regret leaned across the table and Kara could smell her perfume. For one brief second their lips were incredibly close, close enough to kiss, but then she pulled back and the moment passed.

  The streets of NYC were crammed with tourists despite the freezing February wind that boomed down from the rooftops and the constant rain. Kara ducked out of the doorway of the studio and dashed to the nearby coffee shop. She craved coffee loaded with sugar and milk, but since she was recording, she settled for herbal tea, unsweetened and unlightened instead, and also passed, with real regret, on the cheesecake as well.

  The studio was bustling when she came back in, and the person they had a
ll been waiting for had finally shown up. The crowd parted just as Kara came back in and her heart stopped.

  The woman facing her was stunning, but not in any typical way. Her black hair was cut in a shaggy style that only served to highlight the hard angles and planes of her face. Icy blue eyes looked out from under jet black brows and a fringe of eyelashes so thick it appeared as if she were wearing eyeliner and mascara even though she wasn't. She didn't need to.

  Her body had curves in all the right places, and her skin glowed with health and vitality. She walked like a lioness; she had a slow prowling grace and an undeniable sex appeal. Kara could only stare, and she was not the only one who was staring. She was being regarded with the same open scrutiny.

  "She looks like Lila, doesn't she?" Kara blinked. Regret had materialized beside her and spoken to the other woman. "Dee, meet Kara South, my new protégée. Kara, this is Dee. She is one of the best engineers around," she added.

  Dee gave Kara a tight smile and a courteous nod, and then she walked away. Kara felt an instant sense of loss.

  "You keep saying I look like someone," she said to Regret.

  "Oh, yeah. Lila West. She was a minor star in the eighties; we were in a band together, actually. It split up, and we sort of fell out of touch. Dee dated her for a while. In fact, she was dating her when Lila died."

  "How did she die?" she asked curiously.

  "She fell off of a balcony. At this big party, she had too much to drink and went outside to get some air. They think she fell into the railing or maybe just leaned on it too hard. Either way, it let go and she fell."

  Before Kara could think of anything to say to that, a tall woman with frizzy red hair came walking over. She had sallow skin and an unpleasant scowl on her face. Her sweater hung baggily over her hips, and her jeans had a hole on one knee.

  "Are we ready to go, Olivia?" Regret asked.

  "Yes, we are all set." Olivia gave Kara a look that would have slain dragons before marching off, leaving Kara feeling baffled and confused.