Vintage Volume One

by Suzanne, Lisa

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” I tossed my bread down on my plate. Tossed, threw. Same difference.

  “Don’t talk to me like that,” he said sharply. “You know it pisses me off.”

  “You really want to talk about being pissed off, Dad?”

  My dad laughed just as the waitress delivered our soup, giving me something to focus on besides this ridiculous conversation. But I had lost my appetite somewhere around “bus changes.”

  So in those moments when I would be able to escape to my bus, to travel to our next destination, to have the quiet peace away from this hot mess, I’d still be stuck with Parker James.

  My dad and I went straight from lunch to Madison Square Garden. I completed my duties in record time, and then I hung out in my dad’s waiting room with Jadyn.

  We sat in the same room on the same couch together and stared blankly at the television. I wasn’t even paying attention to the show that was on. I could not have cared less, really, what was on. I was too stuck in my own thoughts.

  And I literally had nothing to talk about with my step-mommy. I could not think of a single thing to say to her that wouldn’t come out accusatory and hateful. So I remained silent.

  And then a commercial came on, and Jadyn started with small talk.

  “So you and Parker are dating?” she asked. It rubbed me the wrong way that she’d even asked. I didn’t want to talk about my personal life with her, let alone the complications of it.

  “Sort of,” I answered absently.

  “He seems nice.”

  “He’s a lot of things. I don’t know that I would use the word ‘nice’ to describe him.”

  “Spoken like a girlfriend.” She laughed at her own joke, like her wit just couldn’t be matched. I shrugged.

  “How’s married life?” I asked, trying to deflect the conversation from me and my personal life.

  “It’s perfect. He’s perfect.” She started gushing, but I tuned her out. It sort of made me sick to think that she was married to my father. She was a gold digger, but I had to give my dad credit. If he was in love with her, that was his prerogative. He wouldn’t have married someone if he didn’t love her, and as irritated as I was with my dad, he deserved to have his daughter treat his new wife with courtesy. Even if I didn’t trust one word out of her lying mouth.

  My dad came in the room and sat on the middle cushion of the couch, right between us.

  Mikey followed behind him, and he sat in a chair across the room. My dad and Mikey had been best friends my entire life, and I looked at Mikey like a second father. He didn’t look like the fatherly type, but then again, neither did my own dad. Mikey had long black hair, and he always wore a bandana around his hair, Bret Michaels style. He had eyes so dark that they were almost black, and his skin was toned a beautiful olive color. Katie had been born his exact opposite—with her mother’s fair skin, light hair, and blue eyes.

  As much as I knew Mikey missed his perfect life before Katie had died and Fern had left him, he’d remained the same guy I had grown up with.

  Johnny, Black Shadow’s bassist, and Carlos the guitarist shuffled in behind Mikey. Johnny was the youngest of the men. He’d been only sixteen when Black Shadow had first formed, and he’d spent the first tour they’d ever gone on with a private tutor so he could finish his high school degree. The ladies tended to love him as he was incredibly attractive. He was the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome. He kept his hair cropped short, and he kept one of those really sexy, perfect beards. When I was a little girl, I’d nursed a crush on him, but now I just thought of him as one of my dad’s friends.

  And I always thought of Carlos as the jokester of the group. All four men were gentlemen, and all four knew how to have one hell of a good time. But Carlos told raunchy jokes, and he didn’t care who heard them.

  “You’re all gracing us with your presence before the show? What’s the occasion, boys?” I asked with a grin.

  Mikey glanced over at my dad. Johnny and Carlos stared at the floor. My dad put his arm around my shoulders, and I felt nerves kick in.

  “Someone attacked Keith last night. He’s fine. He went to the ER and was released with a few bruised ribs.” My dad looked anxiously at me.

  I didn’t know what to say. Keith? Why would someone attack Keith?

  I thought they were after me.

  Clearly Randy was stopping at nothing to rattle my dad. It was a clear message that he’d take out anyone close to Gideon Price.

  My body started to tremble with fear, and I felt my dad’s arm tighten around my shoulders. “It’s okay. You’re safe.”

  “Jesus, Gideon. Why Keith?” Jadyn asked, clearly vying for my father’s attention.

  I started to wonder how far back this feud between my dad and Randy went. Was it possible that my dad had married Jadyn just to piss off Randy?

  Surely he wouldn’t go that far.

  Or would he?

  Both my dad and Parker had admitted to me that there was a lot more to the story that I didn’t know. Maybe Jadyn was part of it.

  Flashing Light had just taken the stage. I had the sudden urge to get out of the stuffy dressing room with all eyes on me. I needed to get away from the drama and the fear.

  I wanted to see Parker performing in front of a New York crowd. But I had no interest in fighting my way through the pit to catch my glance.

  “Do you have a press pass?” I asked my dad.

  He shook his head. “No, but I can get you one. Why?”

  “I’m going to check out Flashing Light from the trench.” The trench was the spot immediately in front of the stage, fenced off from the people in the first row of the pit. It was where security and photographers stood. My credentials only allowed me backstage, not into the trench.

  “I can get you in the trench without a press pass.” He reached into his pocket and tossed me his credentials. There were five or so plastic cards that looked like credit cards held together on a key ring, and they granted access to anywhere in the venue. “Be back with it before Pure Adrenaline takes the stage.”

  “And who is coming with me?” I asked, knowing it was inevitable. Vanessa was surely with her husband. Someone had to be responsible for watching over me.

  “George.”

  “Fine. Where is he?”

  “Right outside the door.”

  I stood, and my dad stood up with me. I glanced at Jadyn and saw the jealousy in her eyes.

  He was my dad, for crying out loud. Her need for attention would have to wait.

  My dad opened the door and checked the hallway. True to his word, George stood beside the door, his eyes trained on the long hallway in front of us.

  “CC wants to watch Flashing from the trench.”

  George nodded, and that was that. George led the way, knowing the layout of the backstage of Madison Square Garden like the back of his hand. He led me through some long hallways, up an elevator, and down some more hallways, and then we walked out onto the floor.

  I flashed my dad’s credentials at the security guard blocking the trench entrance, and he let me pass. George was right behind me.

  Flashing Light was in the middle of playing their current radio hit, a song called “Cash Out.” I flashed my credentials at another security guard and took a spot right in front of Parker. George stood a few feet to my right.

  I wasn’t sure about the order of their set list, but I figured they’d play somewhere between five and ten songs. They had to be getting close to the end of their set.

  I heard the opening bass drum. I recognized the beat of “Trial and Error.” My eyes were fixed on Parker. He had stage presence in spades. He looked like the man who’d fucked me that first night when he was up on stage, not like the man who had made love to me the night before.

  He looked like a goddamn sexy beast up there.

  His fingers slid gracefully along the strings of his guitar. His hair was a mess. He wore his signature black pants and black shoes and black t-shirt. Sweat gli
stened on his forehead. He was lost in his music, and it was a sight to see. I drank him in.

  I heard girls screaming behind me whenever he backed up on the mic. They loved him. They wanted a piece of him.

  But he belonged to me.

  I could deny it all I wanted, but my heart was in his hands as much as his heart was in my hands.

  My eyes moved down to his shirt. I couldn’t help but fantasize briefly about what was under there. And then I finally fixated on the shirt he’d chosen to wear that night. The familiar face and lettering finally registered.

  It was a Jimi Hendrix shirt.

  I felt hot tears prick behind my eyes, but I refused to let them fall.

  Parker backed up vocals over the bridge and through the chorus of my favorite Flashing Light song. I listened to the words he wrote, to the words he’d imprinted on his skin.

  He glanced down in my direction. Surprise flashed through his eyes as they met mine. His gaze didn’t leave mine as he backed up Fitz’s lead vocals. “We tried, we tried, we tried, But all we got was an error.”

  I couldn’t help but think how appropriate this song was for us. We had tried, but we kept running into errors. I wasn’t sure we could overcome them, and even though I was still devastated by what he’d done, the tingles that raced up my spine as his eyes locked on mine told me that I wanted to give it another try.

  I had to get over the hurt, over the stubbornness that I felt. I had to figure out a way. As I thought about how good life could be with Parker versus how dark it could be without him, I knew I’d arrived at my answer. I just wasn’t sure if I was ready to give in. The pain was too fresh.

  I’d learned a little bit about him, but if we were ever going to make this work, I’d need the rest of the puzzle pieces.

  “We’ve got time for one more,” I heard Fitz tell the crowd after he introduced each band member. He glanced over at Parker. “You’re up, man,” Fitz said.

  I heard the opening notes to a familiar song. It was a cover of “Sex Type Thing” by Stone Temple Pilots.

  I watched Parker take the lead on vocals, and the crowd behind me started going crazy. I saw security beside me step up, shining a flashlight on someone in the crowd. My eyes never left Parker’s. It was like he was talking directly to me as he sang about knowing how I wanted—and liked—what was on his mind. An intense heat passed between us from stage to crowd.

  One of the things that set Flashing Light apart from other bands was the fact that they did different cover songs at every show they played. And tonight it was STP’s song from the early nineties, the perfect song for Parker and me.

  I knew without a doubt that he’d chosen it because it expressed so much about what was going on between us that he wasn’t able to put into words. He was telling me through music, the one thing that he could use to fully express himself, to expose what was on his mind and in his heart.

  But as I watched him take the lead on vocals, what scared me the most was the lyric about hurting me.

  He’d already done that part. So how did we move past that?

  How did I force myself to get over it?

  The answer was simple, but it wasn’t until a little later in the tour that I arrived at it.

  thirty-seven

  I cancelled my room for the next two nights at the Four Seasons. It seemed silly to pay for a room that I wasn’t going to use. I wasn’t sure that I was any safer in Parker’s room, necessarily, but at least it would save us a few hundred dollars.

  Not that we were hurting for money, exactly, but it was the principle of it.

  After the show, I was completely exhausted. George ushered me back to Parker’s hotel room. He sat outside Parker’s room until Parker stumbled in a little after two in the morning. I’d left on a light by the door so he could see when he came in, and I’d fallen asleep a little before midnight without the assistance of sleeping pills. I wanted the ability to wake up alert just in case I needed to, and taking anything that could alter my consciousness in the middle of the Randy situation seemed dangerous.

  The noises he made as he stumbled around the room told me that he was obviously intoxicated.

  I didn’t blame him. He deserved to let loose after a show and after the intense moments we shared as he sang that Stone Temple Pilots song to me.

  That song that I’d forever consider “our song.”

  That song that wasn’t romantic in any way but would always remind me of Parker.

  I made out George’s voice. “You okay, PJ?” I kept my eyes closed even though I was awake.

  “Fine, fine,” Parker sang.

  “Goodnight,” George said. I heard the door click behind him, and I heard Parker fumble with the lock for a moment. Footsteps moved in my direction.

  I heard him singing some tune softly. I didn’t make out the words until he was standing over me and I felt him brush the hair away from my face. “Jimi Price is in my head. Jimi Price is in my bed.”

  I stayed still, wanting him to believe I was asleep.

  He seemed almost happy. I was happy for his happiness, but I wasn’t ready to be happy along with him.

  And I wasn’t drunk.

  One drunk person plus one sober person usually didn’t create the best conditions for the type of conversation we needed to have.

  Parker leaned down to press a kiss to my cheek. He smelled like a whiskey factory. “So beautiful,” he sang softly.

  He padded away from me and fumbled around in the bathroom for a few minutes, and then he returned to the bedroom, shut off the light, and got in bed beside me, wrapping himself around me. His arms around me felt good. Right. Perfect.

  He sighed, and then he started talking softly. He was certain that I was asleep.

  “I wish you didn’t take your sleeping pills. You’d be awake now, and we could talk.” When he said that, I shifted slightly. I was about to tell him that I actually was awake when he continued talking quietly in the dark to himself.

  I couldn’t stop listening.

  “I wish I could tell you everything, Jimi. I wish you could listen and hear me and not be so mad at me and tell me that everything’s going to be okay in that way you do with just your blue eyes. So fucking blue.” He paused for a moment, as if envisioning my eyes in his head. His voice cracked slightly when he said the last part, and I could tell he was getting emotional. The night before I was the sad drunk, and now he was turning into one through his monologue.

  “I wish I could confess to you how much it hurts me that I hurt you. I wish you knew about Kimmy and my parents and my past. I wish I didn’t have to keep secrets because of the choices I made. I wish I never agreed to it, because it’s making me keep secrets from everyone. I don’t know if I can do this anymore, Jimi, and I wish you could hear me and tell me what to do. But most of all, I wish you could understand how hard I’ve fallen for you and how I would do anything to keep you safe. Anything.” His voice was becoming hoarse and gritty with emotion.

  “Promise or no promise to Gideon, I’d do this even if he took everything away. I’d do it because I love you so fucking much.”

  I wasn’t sure if he was crying, but he was definitely emotional. I heard a sniffle, and then he repeated, “So fucking much.”

  His warm lips pressed against my neck.

  His speech to himself in the dark had revealed nothing I was looking for but said everything that I needed to hear.

  Everything.

  I wanted to turn toward him, to cup his face in my hands. I wanted to know if his cheeks were wet with tears. I wanted to press my lips softly to his. I could smell the sharp smoky flavor of the massive amounts of whiskey he’d consumed mixed with the familiar scent of tobacco. Somehow that blend was comforting.

  And because I wanted all of that, I did it.

  I turned into him. His lips moved from my neck to my mouth, and he kissed me intensely, hard, with drunken abandon. He tasted as comforting as he smelled. Being wrapped in Parker’s arms gave me a home away from home, a
peaceful haven amidst the anxiety that the world outside our hotel room door held.

  The kiss turned instantly heated.

  Instantly.

  I really had to stop sharing a bed with Parker. It was fucking with my emotions, and I’d never recover from him. He was ruining me, bit by bit. Just like I knew he would from the start.

  I understood that he was there to protect my physical safety. But I hadn’t realized how precarious my emotional safety was in his hands.

  Before I could even think about stopping him—I didn’t want to, anyway—our clothes were tossed aside and his cock was pushing into my pussy.

  I’d have gambled on whiskey dick given his condition, but he was definitely up for the occasion.

  He was thrusting into me as if his life depended on it, jackhammering away at me, and I held onto the headboard to brace us both so that he wouldn’t fuck me right through the hotel room wall.

  My body found its release faster than any man had ever made me come before in my life, and Parker followed soon after me. He collapsed by my side. He clung to me, and I to him, in the quiet afterglow, and we fell asleep naked and tangled in each other.

  When we woke up together the next morning, still naked and still entwined, I repeated the same thing I’d said almost exactly twenty-four hours earlier. “Last night doesn’t change things, Parker.”

  His response was the same, too. “Of course it does.”

  “We can’t keep sleeping in the same bed.”

  His arms tightened around me. “I think it’s all working out very nicely.”

  “I’m weak around you. I don’t want to be. I want to be the strong woman I know I am. I want to be able to resist your temptation because you and I won’t work.”

  “Give me a single reason why.”

  “Because you lied to me.” I sighed and pushed his arms away from me, but he only gripped me more tightly.

  “I told you on the bus that I wasn’t going to say it again.” His voice had cut from playful to serious.

  “Say what again?”

  He sighed. “You’re a pain in the ass.”