Rock Star

by Roslyn Hardy Holcomb

  Bryan gave him a disgusted look, “Callie is not a call girl! Your good friend Chasdity made all that crap up and gave it to the tabloid,” Bryan rasped, reminding Harley that he’d introduced him to the starlet.

  Harley winced, idly scratching his blonde head. “Well, you know what they say about a woman scorned. She didn’t seem particularly upset when I left L.A. What the hell did you do to her?”

  “I didn’t do anything to her and she sure as hell wasn’t scorned,” Bryan replied, contempt dripping from every syllable. “Hell, she dumped me!”

  Harley pursed his lips in confusion, a particularly arresting gesture in such a saturnine face. “Interesting. Chasdity’s been around a while. She knows the score; she has no problem with the pay-to-play routine. That’s why I passed her on to you. I figured that was one even you couldn’t mess up. So what brought out her vicious streak?”

  “I don’t know. The only thing I can figure is she got pissed off about a confrontation she had with Callie at the pre-tribute party. As usual, she blew it way out of proportion. It wasn’t that big a deal. God, I hate melodramatic people.”

  Harley sobered, giving Bryan and Jon an encompassing glance. “Sorry I couldn’t get back to the Left Coast for that. The shooting schedule for the show is a real bitch.”

  “No problem, we knew the deal.” Bryan started coughing again, his shoulders shaking with the effort.

  Harley waited until the coughing fit eased up. “So who is this Callie? If she’s not a call girl, where is she? Even you couldn’t have destroyed it this quickly. I saw the pictures.” He gave Bryan a knowing look. “Nice tits, but I always took you for an ass man.”

  “Those aren’t her breasts!” Bryan hissed through his teeth. “She’s not some groupie, she’s my girl, so don’t talk about her that way.”

  Harley raised both hands defensively, leaning back away from Bryan’s vehemence, “Oh. Sorry, man. Hell, I didn’t know.” He looked over at Jon. “Whupped, huh?”

  Jon nodded. “Totally.”

  All three laughed as Bryan made no attempt to deny it.

  Bryan made an encompassing gesture towards the dressing room. “What the hell are you doing here anyway? Why aren’t you back in L.A. helping Myron deal with Lainie’s kidnapping?” Myron Ellison and Harley were long-time friends. In addition to Lainie’s show High School Blues, Myron also produced The Shelter.

  Harley made a moué of distaste, “Kidnapping, my ass! Don’t talk to me about that spoiled little bitch. Myron should’ve beaten her ass a long time ago! She probably had herself kidnapped or ran off with some drug dealer or something. Besides, I’ve bailed on this show one time too many. I had to do it this time; I ran out of lies.”

  Bryan shook his head. Harley had told him about Lainie’s repeated attempts to get him into bed. Even if Harley had been stupid enough to ignore the age difference and possible statutory rape charge just for a young piece, he certainly wasn’t prepared to give up his long-time friendship with Myron for it. Lainie had always been a brat. He hoped for her sake that this was just another one of her ridiculous stunts.

  Harley returned to the subject of greatest interest, Bryan’s love life. “Where is the lovely Callie? If she’s got you in this kind of shape, I know you didn’t leave her behind in L.A. for all the other coyotes to get their hands on her.”

  Bryan rested his chin on his hand. “She doesn’t live in L.A., so at least I don’t have to worry about that, but she won’t talk to me. All this stuff was too much for her. I think she’s dumped me.”

  Harley was puzzled by Bryan’s response. “You think she’s dumped you? Well, that’s nothing new. They all dump you eventually. I don’t get it. Women go nuts for you. They say you’ve got a face like a fallen angel, but your bedside manner couldn’t be more Neanderthal if you shaved your back. So, I’m not surprised you got dumped again, but don’t they usually do it to your face? Why don’t you know whether she’s dumped you or not?”

  “I told you, she won’t talk to me.” Bryan didn’t bother to dispute Harley’s comments about his romantic track record. Harley had been his friend for a while, and pretty much everything he’d said was true.

  Harley snorted. “Like that’s ever stopped you before!”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, man, we’re trying to wrap up a tour here.” He nodded significantly at Jon. “I can’t just take off to see what’s going on with Callie. We’ve got a few more dates after we leave here, and then I’m going back to Alabama to see her. I’m going to get her to talk to me.” He gave Harley a wry glance. “Besides, why are you so fixated on my love life? Hell, at least I’m not sneaking around to see my lady!”

  Harley’s complexion blanched under his light tan. “What the hell…” he began, then seeing Bryan’s smug smile, decided he wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of asking how he’d acquired his information. Bryan couldn’t know too much. For once in his life heactually been reasonably discreet, and he’d thought he and the lady in question were the only parties privy to their relationship. He grinned back at his pal, indicating that there would definitely be a reckoning at a later date. The poor guy wasn’t up to it right now. It would hardly be sporting. But when he got on his feet again…

  Harley nodded knowingly. Bryan’s presence in New York City was an interesting plot twist in Storm Crow’s ongoing drama. He leaned against the edge of his dressing table, contemplating his friend. An unusual choice for a leading man, Harley was tall, slim and blonde, but he was not the California beach blonde so prevalent in films and television. He was a Nordic blonde, with the wide sensuous mouth and the sculpted cheekbones commonly seen amongst the Russian Tartars. His deep-set, heavy-lidded peridot green eyes punctuated an almost unreal male beauty. Fortunately for the sake of his masculine pride, his love of extreme sports had left him with a nose that had been broken frequently enough to make him aristocratically handsome, rather than beautiful. Indeed, the bumps in it were so arresting there was a running joke that he’d had them put there, possibly by surgery. Regardless of how he’d acquired his distinctive nose, it added an air of danger and interest to his cover boy good looks. His puckish personality was the complete antithesis of the brooding roles he usually played. People were always astonished to learn that Harley liked nothing better than a practical joke, and he would put in endless hours of effort to ensure that his victims were caught in his web. His vivid green eyes gleamed devilishly as an idea occurred to him. “You know what? I think Ms. Chasdity needs to be put in her place.”

  Bryan glanced up at him, recognizing the unholy glow in Harley’s eyes. He really didn’t care what happened to Chasdity, but he didn’t have time right now for another one of Harley’s elaborate schemes. Frankly, he’d had enough plots to last a lifetime. “What are you talking about, Harley? Chasdity is the least of my concerns right now.”

  Harley began laughing out loud. “Oh man, this is killer. Yeah, man, I know you only want to get your woman back, and I doubt if this will help, but God it’s going to be so funny.” When he realized that Bryan was not joining in the fun, he gave him a disheartened look. “There you go again, ‘Monster of the Minor Chord.’ Lighten up, dude, why don’t you?” He’d given Bryan the nickname when a music writer called him the “Master of the Minor Chord.” Harley had hooted hysterically and claimed that his friend was more “monster” than “master.” It had stuck, like all too many of the names Harley generously bestowed on his friends. He used it as much as possible, especially when he wanted to get Bryan’s goat, which was most of the time. When Bryan still didn’t respond, he threw his hands up in disgust. “It won’t involve you anyway.” He moved towards the door, muttering to himself. “Now if I can convince these cheap-ass producers to add a sketch this late…”

  Bryan stared at the door Harley had just exited through, then up at Jon. “I wonder what the hell he’s up to?” His comment about undercover romance must have hit closer to home than he’d initially thought. He hadn’t known Harley for very long when he
discovered his friend’s tendency to use humor and sarcasm to cover his own pain. Anytime anyone dug too deeply, he would start pulling pranks and practical jokes like crazy, feverishly trying to distract them. Bryan had been in on a number of them. It was said that even Mel Gibson could not top him in utter deviousness. Fortunately for all concerned, his masterpieces were generally played out behind the scenes.

  “I don’t know, dude.” Jon wasn’t particularly concerned about Harley’s plan. Frankly, as far as he was concerned, Chasdity deserved whatever she got. He had witnessed the tête-à-tête between Callie and Chasdity, and Chasdity had gone way over the top in response to what was really a very mild putdown.

  At the moment, though, he was quite worried about Bryan. His friend hadn’t slept much before the story broke, but it hadn’t seemed to affect him too much. Now, in just a few short days, he’d lost weight he couldn’t afford to lose, his skin was drawn and pale, and he had dark circles under his eyes. Bryan was almost always wired, alive with barely contained energy. Now his usual lively demeanor had taken on an almost feverish intensity that none of them had seen before. When they weren’t playing or rehearsing, he was on the telephone, either trying to reach Callie or talking to Callie’s roommate. The cold had started two days ago, and Bryan still hadn’t taken the time to rest. The coughing fits were clearly draining him, but he’d insisted on seeing Harley before they rested back at the hotel. He’d become more unreasonable as he got sicker. The others had gone to their rooms, but Jon had accompanied him, fearing that he might lose consciousness in transit. Bryan had dismissed his concerns, but he hadn’t protested too hard. Jon suspected that he also knew he was in bad shape.

  Jon touched Bryan lightly on the shoulder. “Hey, dude, we’ve got a while before rehearsals, so why don’t we go back to our rooms and get some rest? Kelly got you some cough medicine and some aspirin, and I think you should take it and then get some sleep.”

  Bryan rose slowly from the chair. “Since our host has apparently abandoned us, that’s probably the best offer I’ll get all day.”

  * * *

  The body against his was wonderfully familiar; he knew every soft sensuous curve. Callie was kissing the back of his neck while her hands stroked over his arms and chest. She moved down, taking each nipple in her mouth in turn. Bryan’s body convulsed at the first exquisite contact. Then he sighed, bereft as her lips moved downward. Callie followed the line of hair from his chest to his abdomen. Her lips pursed, and she sucked gently at his flesh as she continued. Her tongue flicked out periodically, as if she’d tasted a particularly tasty morsel.

  Bryan was in a daze; Callie had never made love to him like this before. His every nerve ending humming, he waited for Callie to reach the center of his arousal. His muscles tautened with each caress. It was almost beyond bearing. When he felt her soft lips slide over the head of his arousal, Bryan almost erupted in rapture. Trying desperately to prolong the pleasure, he moved his hips away from Callie’s questing lips and tongue. But she would not be denied and followed him eagerly. Bryan gave in to the bliss as her tongue stroked along his hardened length. She took him into her mouth, her tongue again circling the head of his manhood and moaned as if pleasuring him was also a turn-on for her. The little kitteny growls were viciously arousing. It was all he could do to contain the scream of ecstasy when her soft hand moved up to gently caress his testicles. They tightened even more in response to her touch. Then she moved to engulf his entire penis, her soft wet mouth suckling gently on the length. Bryan couldn’t hold it another moment: His back arched until only his shoulders and heels were touching the bed as his body shuddered convulsively in release.

  * * *

  Bryan sat up suddenly, his body drenched in sweat. Damn! He’d been having that recurring dream again, a replay of their last morning in Jacksonville. God, he had to see her. He couldn’t sleep, and when he did, she haunted his dreams. He’d been sure the cold medicine he’d taken earlier would guarantee a restful sleep, but he should’ve known better. He didn’t know how much more of this he could take. Four months of celibacy broken by only occasional sex had been difficult enough, but now not knowing when or if he’d be with Callie again was driving him insane. Twist had suggested that maybe he should start dating someone else. The very thought of touching another woman sickened him. No other woman would do, he had to have Callie. His body taut with longing, he moved over to the window. The view from The Mark Hotel had always been one of his favorite things about New York City. Now he didn’t even see sparkling vista of 77th Street below. With a sigh, he moved over to his guitar, knowing from experience that he wasn’t going to get any more sleep tonight. Might as well do something productive with the insomnia.

  * * *

  From the wings, Bryan looked on as Harley and one of the actresses from the show did a sketch that was a brutal full-frontal assault against Chasdity. Though very much an inside joke, those for whom it was intended would recognize the vengeful strike for what it was. In the sketch, Harley was a Wall Street type out on a date with an actress, who, with heavy make-up and assorted padding, was a dead-ringer for Chasdity. If there was any uncertainty as to who was the brunt of the joke, they removed any doubt by calling the character Puriti with an “i.” Over dinner Harley’s character earnestly told Puriti that he loved her deeply and wanted to see the real authentic person she was underneath. It took a great deal of persuasion, but eventually the young lady agreed to allow her swain to view her au naturel.

  The next scene showed them back at her apartment. Harley waited anxiously while Puriti undressed on the other side of a screen. As she removed each article of artificial enhancement, she tossed it over the screen, as Harley cheered her on. Harley grew increasingly leery as the expected wigs, falsies, nail-tips, and even fake buttocks flew over the screen. His eyes widened in escalating horror as prosthetic arms and legs followed those items. Then the young lady whispered breathlessly that she was ready for him to join her behind the screen. He moved very woodenly towards her. His face was a study of concern as he was clearly worried as to what he would find when he turned that corner. The camera focused on his face as the air was rent by his horrified screams. Then the camera panned down to the bed to show a large drawing of a stick figure on the white sheet.

  * * *

  Bryan tried to suppress his laughter, knowing that it would likely trigger another bout of coughing, but each time he thought about that stick figure drawing and how aptly it described Chasdity, he was overcome again. Chasdity had gotten what she deserved, but now he had to get through this show. Storm Crow had performed earlier in the broadcast, and they were setting up to do their second song. Earlier in the week the band had been playing the piece he thought of as Callie’s song. He hadn’t given it a title yet, but he’d been kicking it around for months and finally had some good lyrics. Since their separation, he’d taken the portrait from Venice Beach and the photographs her sisters had given him at Christmas around with him. One night when he was once again staring at the Venice sketch, the words to accompany the music which reflected all the longing and desperation he felt just fell into place. Though songs sometimes came that easily, usually writing was grueling work. Bryan had little doubt that this song was going to be incredibly important to his relationship with Callie, if she was willing to listen.

  Due to the cold his voice was very fragile so they had been using the song as a warmup. One of the producers had heard them and insisted that they play it tonight. Bryan had initially protested. But most of the furor over the tabloid article had died down and the media focus had been redirected to Lainie Ellison’s disappearance. For a moment he’d wondered if B.T. had actually engineered the kidnapping as a diversionary tactic, but his manager had assured him that he didn’t generally make a habit of breaking laws that would land him in a federal penitentiary for the rest of his life. He’d seemed genuinely hurt that Bryan would even consider such a thing.

  Regardless of how the reprieve had come about, Bryan di
dn’t want to initiate more speculation by singing a song that was so out of character for the band. But on further reflection he realized that he really had nothing to lose, and that this might actually help his cause. He wanted the world to know how he truly felt about Callie, that she wasn’t some passing fling, but the lady in his life. More importantly, he wanted her to know that. Apparently she’d forgotten that last morning in Whistler, and he wanted to remind her of the commitment they’d made. This performance would spark such a firestorm that most people would forget about the tabloid article or dismiss it as the trash that it was. Of course, everyone on the planet would know about his love life, but they thought they knew that now. At least this way everyone would know the truth, not a bunch of lies dreamed up by a vindictive woman.

  Bryan tried to warm up his voice again, but stopped when he began coughing. No point in trying anyway; he had very little voice left. Fortunately, they’d practiced with Thad harmonizing on the chorus; otherwise they wouldn’t have had a show. His falsetto, which was erratic at best, would not be putting in an appearance tonight. He’d literally blown his vocal chords on the first performance and would have to struggle to get through Callie’s song.

  Thad’s singing ability was a bonus they’d discovered by accident when his mother happened by one of their rehearsals and asked why Thad wasn’t singing. It was all they could do to restrain their laughter when she added that he sang almost every Sunday in the church choir. How had they managed to hire a bona fide choirboy? They’d all had a grand time teasing Thad about it and had tried in vain to get him to sing for them. Bryan didn’t understand it; the kid was an absolute guitar virtuoso, and unbelievably talented, but he could perform only if he totally blocked the audience out. Otherwise he freaked out. They’d finally given up trying to goad him into a performance. He’d only agreed to sing tonight because Bryan simply wasn’t up to the task.