Stone: A Standalone Rock Star Romantic Comedy (Pandemic Sorrow)

by Stevie J. Cole

  “How many cocks did you have to suck to get on our record?” Jag asks. “Or was that all thanks to Daddy Warbucks?”

  “I’ll tell you how many,” Phoenix says, shooting out of her chair and charging at Jag. “One less than you did.”

  “Oh, burn, baby…” Rush says.

  The entire room is alive with this immature buzz, feeding off the dipshits arguing on live TV. One girl in the audience stands up and screams at Rush before she yanks her shirt up showing her tits. “Oh, god, I love being famous,” Rush says. He jumps off the stage, runs up to her, and palms her tit before he flicks his tongue over it. The room goes berserk. All these women start rushing toward him, grabbing him. Security tries to get them off. Jag and Phoenix are yelling at the top of their lungs. And Pax is just scrolling through his phone.

  “Alright!” I shout before grabbing Jag by the elbow and attempting to drag him off.

  “You’re both assholes!” Phoenix shouts.

  “Would you just shut the fuck up already!” I say, turning around just in time to get a palm over the side of my face.

  Phoenix’s eyes go wide before she spins around and storms off the stage. There’s a moment where I’m not sure what the hell just happened. But then an angry heat flies all over my face, and I find myself running through the backstage area after her. She glances over her shoulder and picks up her pace, heading straight out into the hall. I shouldn’t be following her, but damn it, I’m pissed. She just fucked that entire interview up and it’s our reputations that will take a hit. I mean, sure Jag started it, but fuck…

  She throws open the door to a stairwell and disappears inside, and I follow, running after her down the stairs. She’s at the bottom and there’s no way out.

  “What is your deal?” I say. “Huh?”

  “I don’t want to talk to you about this, Stone”

  “You just lost your shit.”

  “Yeah, because your brother’s a dick,” she says.

  “I’m the one you fucking slapped.”

  “I’m sorry, I just… it’s too much. This,” she waves her arms around, “the band, the guys, you…”

  There’s a moment of silence. “I’m sorry.” I sigh, rubbing my hand down my face. “I didn’t know. It was coincidence and I…”

  A small grimace works over her face. “The hardest thing to deal with is that I lost respect for you, Stone.”

  Shit. That jabs me. “Phoenix… come on, give me a break. I didn’t know you.”

  “It’s not just that, it’s…it’s…I mean, it just rams home the fact that this,” she motions between us, “we can never have what I want. What either of us want.” She hangs her chin to her chest, and I want to grab her and kiss her, hold her, tell her she’s wrong.

  “You know that’s not true,” I whisper.

  “Stone, you may be famous. You may be the guitarist for the biggest rock band there is, but I grew up in this. I have seen what it does to a relationship. I have seen how people use and abuse each other, and even when people have the best intentions, they just turn to shit somehow. Life on the road, the fame, the fans, the money, the arrogance…” she shakes her head. “I just want normal.”

  I study her. Normal. She wants normal? “Then why are you doing the same shit?” I ask. “Why are you going into music, into an industry you know will completely destroy you?”

  “I don’t know what else to do.” I hear her voice catch. “It doesn’t matter where I go or what I do. I’m connected to fame at every turn.”

  I reach up and stroke my finger across her cheek. “If you want normal, then leave, Phoenix. Just leave.” She looks at me, her eyes tearing up. “Just leave it.” I take her chin in my hand and gently lay my lips over hers, but she doesn’t kiss me back. I said I wouldn’t chase her, but here I am. Chasing her because I’d be a fool not to. I pull back. Her nostrils flare. I can tell she’s fighting a break down. “Give me another chance,” I whisper, closing the space between us again. “Please.”

  Her gaze falls to the floor and she drags in a heavy breath. “I want to remember you like this, Stone.” She shakes her head. “We’re destined to go down in flames, and I don’t want to hate you. Right now, I don’t hate you.”

  Damn. There’s so much truth to that. And it fucking hurts. This job– it takes everything from you and then some, and there’s no way to realize it until you’ve been sucked under by it. “Stone,” she says. “We could date, we could try to make it work, but there’s the yearlong tours, long nights in the studio. The interviews, the never-ending rumors. It all takes a toll.

  Could we try to make it work? Yes, but the risk that lies in that–I don’t ever want to hate you.” A few tears slip down her cheek and I wipe them away. Some people, you can’t afford to lose, and she’s one of those people. I’d rather keep her in my life, even if it’s not in the role I want, than let her go completely. So, I’ll just let her go a little.

  Sighing, I cup her cheek in my hand. “I would have loved you. I really would have.” And I kiss her gently on the lips before pulling away and turning around.

  My heart is pounding in my chest, my throat growing tight. Some things you can’t fight in life. And at this very moment I realize the two things I’ve chased in life have one thing in common, they both destroy you.

  32

  Phoenix

  The humid air wraps around me like a blanket as I step up to the cemetery gate. A light breeze kicks up, catching the moss hanging from the large trees, but it does little to grant relief from the unbearable Georgia heat.

  There are several people wandering through the tombstones, but I pay them no mind as I walk past them to a large, crooked headstone in the center of the path.

  He fell in duel on the 16th of January… I read over the headstone, fascinated. I wander around going from marker to marker, and as much as I try not to think about it, I think about the day I took Stone to the cemetery in LA. The way he kissed me… I touch my hand to my chest. It shouldn’t hurt like this, it shouldn’t. It’s not like we were ever anything, so why does it feel like I just lost something I can’t replace? I didn’t decide to walk away from him because of Pam. I walked away because, no matter how much I like to think I’m a hard ass, I’m not hard enough to handle that shit. I’m just not. You don’t stick your hand in a fire and expect not to get burned, so I just had to let him go. I had to let go of how he made me feel safe, of the way his lips felt when he kissed me. Stone Steele made me feel like I was his whole world when I was with him, and I don’t know that I can ever let go of that, because it was the only time I’ve ever felt like someone could have loved me.

  My phone rings and I pull it out of my purse, staring at Lauren’s name flashing on the screen. I guess I can’t avoid this shit forever. “Hey,” I say.

  “Hey?! I haven’t talked to you in four days. You’re gone. Stone doesn’t know where you are. James doesn’t know where you are. Pam…” she sighs. “And all you have to say is hey?”

  “I just… needed a minute.”

  “A minute. Where are you?”

  “Savannah.”

  “Savannah. Like as in the African savannah?”

  “Jesus, no. Savannah, Georgia?”

  She huffs over the line. “And you promised me you wouldn’t go Britney circa 2004.”

  “I didn’t, Lauren.”

  “Tell me you didn’t shave your head?”

  I groan. “No. I didn’t shave my head.”

  “When the hell are you coming back? I mean, Henry is pissed because you were supposed to finish recording and the tour and all that shit.”

  “I’m not,” I say, and that feels like a weight has been lifted off my chest.

  “You’re not?”

  “Nope.”

  “Oh god, you’ve lost it.”

  “I don’t want that life.”

  “So what?” she asks. “You’re just going to live in Georgia and do what? Tend cattle or some shit? What else do they do in the south? My god, you could
have at least gone to New York or Miami.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe go wait tables.”

  “Alright, Britney…”

  “Look, I’ll call you in a little bit when I figure out exactly what I’m doing, okay?”

  “Okay, I mean, what else am I going to say since you’re on the other side of the country?”

  I hang up and immediately text Stone: Thank you for teaching me to fly. And I would have loved you, too. Then, I turn my phone off and toss it into a trashcan as I make my way deeper into the old cemetery, trailing my fingers over the headstones.

  I know this is for the best, it’s just hard to let him go, but sometimes it takes a broken heart to teach you how to fly.

  33

  Stone

  2 years later

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” Mom asks.

  I kiss her on the cheek. “Yes, I’m fine.”

  She glares at me. “I can’t go through what happened to your brother again.”

  I hold my hands up. “One, I don’t have a drug problem, and two, I have never been better.”

  “Stone…”

  “Ma…” I grin and kiss her cheek again as I back down the first porch step. The past year has been hard on her. First she lost dad, then Jag nearly killed himself, and I know she worries I’m going to have a breakdown any day since the band broke up, but what she doesn’t understand is, I’ve never been happier.

  She huffs at me. “I just worry about you.”

  “I know you do, but I’m fine. I hated being famous, it sucked ass.”

  “Stone Steele! I didn’t raise you with a mouth like that.”

  I hop off the last step and head toward my car. “Thanks for dinner.”

  “I love you,” she calls from the porch.

  “Love you too, Ma.”

  I climb into my car and drive down to the riverside where me and Jag used to hang out. I’ve only been back in Savannah for a week, but god, it’s fucking good to be home. I grab my leather jacket when I hop out of the car and head down the cobblestone path toward River Street. As soon as I round the corner, the damp smell of the water and Sulphur from the mills surrounds me. Smiling, I take that scent in. It reminds me of being young and stupid and full of hope. I pull my jacket on and shove my hands in the pockets as I stroll along the street, passing the bars and shops before I go over to the railing.

  The moon glints off the Savannah River. Boats sputter past filled with tourists and drunks, and I just watch uninterrupted, because I can. The wind blows, tossing an empty cup along the pathway as I walk to one of the empty benches and take a seat. I dig my phone from my pocket and take a selfie with the Rock and Roll symbol thrown up, my tongue sticking out, and the neon sign of Coyotes in the background. Then I text it to Jag with the message: Makes me feel old as shit.

  Jag responds with a picture of him holding his baby. Makes me feel old as shit. I laugh.

  Jag found his happiness, and it wasn’t in money or fame or drugs, it was with a girl who loved him despite what a cocksucker he can be.

  I post the picture on Facebook, and scroll my newsfeed, and those damn Facebook memories pop up on my newsfeed. Two years ago today: And there, right under that header is a picture of me and Phoenix–the only picture of me and Phoenix I have. All I said was: This woman… And it got 1,617,000 likes. Insanity.

  I study the picture, the smile I’m wearing, the way she’s glancing up at me. Facebook has a way of shoving shit in your face: look, remember how this got fucked up? Congratulations. You’ll never find something like this again.

  I still remember the way she smelled like amber and vanilla, and, like a true pussy, my heart does that little jumping shit in my chest. Damn. I actually loved her.

  I haven’t forgotten her, haven’t even stopped missing her. And I’ve tried to figure it out exactly what it was that made me fall for Phoenix the way I did, fast and hard. But I can’t pinpoint it. It was just her. The way she smiled. The attitude she had even though she was vulnerable as fuck. I never wanted to let her go, but she gave me no choice. When she left California, she sent me one final text that jabbed me right in the heart, and then she just vanished. She deleted her social media accounts, changed her number. And so here I sit, two years later, wondering if we could have made it work… Funny how little time it can take to fall in love with someone, but it seems like it takes a lifetime to let them go.

  I glance up from my phone. People walk by, laughing, talking. For the most part, completely ignoring the guy on the bench in the ripped jeans, because fame… it’s just the opposite of love. It takes forever to obtain and in an instant– bam– people forget who you are. And this is a serenity I hope I never take for granted.

  Sighing, I push up from the bench, shove my hands in my pocket, and stroll down the sidewalk. I wander through the streets, amazed that the city has changed so little since I left. I pass by Arnold’s, the restaurant Jag and Rush and I got kicked out of senior year because Rush was high as hell and thought it would be a good idea to drop his pants and shit right there on the table. I laugh at the memory when I stop and peer through the window. I can almost still see all 3 of us sitting at that table in the corner.

  I wander around the cobblestone streets for a few more minutes before I head down the stairs leading down to Bar Bar, the first bar Pandemic Sorrow ever played at. When I push the wooden door open, the smell of piss and cigarettes hits me. Still smells the same. I shoulder my way to the bar to order a drink, then go to a booth in the back and take a seat. A group of girls are staring and pointing at me. I sink down a little further and scroll through my phone. Two of them come over and slide into the booth next to me.

  “Hey,” the brunette says. “You’re Stone Steele, aren’t you?”

  I smile. “Yeah. Guilty.”

  “God, Pandemic Sorrow was my favorite band. I was gutted when you guys broke up.”

  I rub my hand over the back of my neck, because I still haven’t quite figured out what to say to comments like this. “Yeah, it was a tough decision…”

  “I get it. And thank god Jag, you know…” she sighs. “Anyway, could we get a picture with you?”

  “Yeah.” I smile. “Of course.” I throw my arm around the brunette. The light on her phone flashes, and then… they’re gone. And I’m again alone with my beer. I sit, thinking about life, about what I’m going to do now that everything’s said and done, and before I know it,

  I’m on my way to the bar for my second drink. I lean against the worn bar top and the speakers crackle before some serious feedback kicks in. I plug my ears for a second while they adjust the sound, and then the melancholy note of an acoustic echoes through the tiny bar.

  “What you having?” the bartender asks.

  “Coors.”

  He opens a cooler, grabs a can, and slides it across the counter. “On the house,” he says.

  “Thanks, man.”

  I pop the tab and take a sip, my back still to the stage in the corner as the strings of that guitar pluck out a somber tone. “Your love, it was my weakness, your love, it was my disease…” That voice send chills down my spine. “I left you but a skeleton. You left me an angel with no wings.” Slowly, I turn from the bar, but I can’t see the stage through the thick crowd and smoke. “But darkness was our beauty, and your kiss set that angel free. I loved you with a madness. I loved you in the darkness.”

  It can’t be, I tell myself as I shove people out of the way.

  “In the gallows of heartache, I would have loved you,” she sings, and there’s pain in her voice that makes my heart fucking hurt. “I would have loved you the most. I loved you when you let me in.” I shoulder past the last person standing in my way, and I freeze.

  This is one of those moments where I question my sanity, because what is the fucking chance? Phoenix is standing on the stage, her dark hair hanging over her shoulder, her eyes closed as she strums the strings of her guitar. Her brow wrinkles when she sings the next verse. “I shouldn’t have l
et you go…” She shakes her head. “I shouldn’t have let you go.”

  “Holy shit,” I mumble. And I just stand here, taking her in for a minute before I move to the side of the room. The way she’s singing, so soft, unplugged–I never heard her sing like that and god, there is so much beauty in it. When the song ends, she smiles and opens her eyes. She doesn’t see me over here in the shadows, and that’s fine. I just want to watch her. Listen to her, because I’m sure if she saw me it would throw her off balance. I lean against the wall and just close my eyes, pretending I’m the only person in the room and she’s singing to me.

  When she finishes the last song, the bar applauds. She bows and thanks everyone before she turns to pack up her guitar. And here I’m left with a decision. I’ve had two things in my life destroy me. Fame and her. I let one of them go, but the question is, do I let both go? Of all the places in the world we could both be what is the chance that, on this Tuesday night, we would both be in this dingy Savannah bar.

  Pretty fucking slim. Sometimes, you just have to believe in the universe and fate, so I take a deep breath and enjoy the anxious knot forming in my gut when I step toward the stage. She’s crouched down, her back to me as she packs stuff inside her guitar case. “I have some contacts in the record industry, if you’re interested,” I say.

  She freezes and slowly turns around. When our eyes meet, a soft smile shapes her lips before she stands up. “Well,” she says. “I’m not the kinda girl that wants anything to do with fame.”

  “Oh, really?” I smile as I step up on the stage next to her. “Would have never guessed.” My heart is hammering against my ribs so hard.

  “Really.”

  I glance down at her, and god, I want to kiss her. I need to remember how she tastes. “Yeah, I wouldn’t want to deal with that shit either,” I say. “Seems like a pain.”