When I walk back inside I say, “You’re really a guitar teacher?”
He nods calmly, “Yeah. I have anywhere from five to fifteen students on any given week. And before you get any ideas, Chloe is twelve. You’d like her. She’s a lot like you. Totally driven to master guitar. But she’s only into rockabilly. Has thick black plastic hipster glasses. She fingerpicks on a huge Gretsch hollow body that’s twice as big as she is. Cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” he grins.
I can picture it. “Really?”
“Yup.”
I hate that it matters to me what women Kellan involves himself with.
“Anyway,” Kellan says, “Those tracks we laid down last night were incredible.”
I nod, still dwelling on my confused and likely disastrous attraction to Kellan. Is it going to be a problem?
Kellan continues, “If we can round up a solid drummer and bass player, we could flesh out a complete song in no time.”
I gaze at Kellan, amazed by how quickly he shifts from talking about sex at the restaurant ten minutes ago to talking seriously about music. He’s not some simple minded hottie who does nothing but chase girls. He has ambition. I totally respect that. I also like the fact he wants to form a band with me. That means he’s thinking long term. Maybe he sees me as more than just a throw away distraction. At least, that’s what I’m telling myself. Bands form and break up all the time. This may just be a passing phase for him.
He’s certainly fly by night with women.
Who knows.
Kellan says, “I’ve got a drummer buddy who might be a good fit. He’s wicked on the double bass. I can email him the rough track we did last night and see what he thinks, have him record some rough drums over our guitars. I also know a guy who kicks ass on bass. Unless you know some people?”
I’m somewhat surprised he’s asking. Scott was always telling me and Rex and Bobby how things were going to be. Scott didn’t ask for input. He issued orders.
“Uhh,” I say, “I can think of a few people. Actually, I know a couple guys, Lucas and Logan Summer. They’re brothers. They play bass and drums and they’re really good. And totally cool. I think you’d like them.”
Kellan smiles, “Blood brother rhythm section?” He chuckles, “Sounds like a band name.”
“What?” I ask.
“Blood Brother Rhythm Section.”
I grin. “How about Blood Brother Syndicate?”
“Love it. You wanna call them and set up a time for us all to jam? Maybe tonight?”
Wow, Kellan doesn’t waste any time. I say, “I’ll have to check with them. There’s only one problem.”
“What’s that?” he asks.
“They live in San Diego.”
“That’s like two hours away, right?”
I nod.
Kellan says thoughtfully. “Do you think they’d be willing to move to L.A.? I mean, if things work out?”
“Oh, I don’t know. They’re total surfers and might miss the waves in San Diego.”
“Tell them to move to Venice. They’ll fit right in. So, who do we get to sing?”
The mention of singers makes me want to hurl. All I can think of
(don’t sing)
is Scott. Scott had L.S.D. in a bad way. Lead Singer’s Disease. If I never have to deal with another lead singer, it will be too soon.
Kellan muses, “Maybe we can do the singing ourselves. I’ve sung backing vocals in a bunch of bands. What about you?”
Stab.
(never ever sing)
I do my best to hide my horror.
Kellan may as well have asked me if I liked to torture small animals or stab myself repeatedly in the stomach with a pitchfork. All I can manage is a crazy head shake.
Kellan looks at me quizzically, “You must’ve sung back up once or twice?”
I shake my head more fervently.
(never ever ever sing)
Kellan frowns, “Did I say something wrong?”
“Ahh, no, it’s just that, I, uh…” I look around for the closest distraction or hole to hide in. Now would be a good time for the Big One, the fabled earthquake that’s supposed to level Los Angeles someday, to hit. Earthquakes are always a good subject changer. At the moment, I would welcome one because
(Stop!!!)
the fault line in the middle of my heart is cracking open and the raw emotional pain I keep buried inside is going to rip me open and scatter my guts to the four winds.
(never ever ever ever sing)
“Fine,” Kellan grins, “you don’t have to sing. That’s cool. Maybe I’ll be the singer. I’ve done it before in some of my old bands.”
My heart is crushed underneath the wheels of a cement truck. I can’t do this. I can’t
(sing)
be in a band with Kellan, who I’m obviously extremely attracted to, and have him be the lead
(singsingsing)
singer. Heck, I probably shouldn’t even consider being in a band with him at all. But if he’s the lead singer? Forget it. It’s Scott all over again.
I tried to tell myself Kellan and I can just be friends, but who am I kidding? Being in a band together will be walking into a minefield. One wrong step and BOOM!, it all blows up in my face.
I can’t.
I just can’t.
I’m not going to make the same mistake twice.
Black resolve rushes through my veins. When I leave for work a few minutes from now, I’m going to pack all my stuff in my car, and never look back. I’m moving forward with my life, not making the same mistakes over and over again.
Kellan chuckles, “Or we could just find a singer. Playing guitar and lead singing is a ton of extra work.”
White relief waterfalls out of my heart and peace returns. Maybe we could make it work? If he’s not the singer?
(singsingsing)
Maybe.
Kellan smiles, “We can be old school. Me and you can be like Eddie and Michael in Van Halen and sing three part harmony with our lead singer. I’ve always wanted to do that. It’ll be awesome. We’ll be co lead guitar and co backing vocals.” Happiness beams from him like a kid opening Christmas presents and finding everything he ever wanted.
(don’t sing don’t sing don’t sing)
My throat clamps shut. It’s not gonna happen. And there’s no way I can tell Kellan why I won’t ever sing. Besides, he seems so enthusiastic, so innocent, I don’t want to disappoint him by telling him this Christmas he gets socks or rocks.
I nod half-heartedly.
That white waterfall in my heart goes gray and murky.
“Well,” Kellan says, “call your buddies Lucas and Logan and let’s set something up. If we can get shit together quick enough, we might even have some tunes ready for L.A. Gunslingers over at Guitar Central.”
“You know about that?” I ask.
“Of course.” A huge smile widens across his face, “With you and me writing songs, we could totally take first place. And that’s just the beginning. Sky’s the limit.” He gives me a long, amused look as he mulls over the possibilities. “Now I’m all excited about forming a band,” he grins. “If your pals are cool, we might just be in business.”
I can’t escape the feeling I’ve blundered right into that minefield I was so worried about.
I wonder how long it’ll take for one of us to trigger something explosive
(Stop!!!)
and everything blows up in our faces?
Maybe I need to tell Kellan a band isn’t going to happen and stop things before we both walk into a bomb lawn.
Chapter 44
VICTORY
The drive to work is a slow death march.
I dread the looks I will see on Johnny and Karen’s faces when I show them the busted Contrares. Will they fire me on the spot? I don’t know how I can possibly pay them back in a reasonable amount of time. I’ve never had much money, never made much money, and $6,000 is a number that makes me nauseous thinking about it.
&nbs
p; I turn on the radio. Hopefully some good tunes will ease my worries. The first song I hear is the boppy pop hit Your Love Is My Drug by Ke$ha.
While I drive along Sunset through the windy part where all the mansions are, between UCLA and the Strip, I think about how Ke$ha uses a dollar sign for the S in her name. I’m thinking I need to use the cent sign for the C in mine, like so:
Vi¢tory
And put a zero in for the O, to show how much money I have. That’s me. Broke ass Vi¢t0ry.
Not a single cent to my name.
Trying to get my mind off of money, I listen to the lyrics of Your Love Is My Drug.
Sure, I stop thinking about money, but only because now I’m picturing Kellan lying in bed nearly naked and I can’t stop. Abs, abs, arms, tats, abs, eyes, chest, hair, abs, shoulders, tats, abs, abs, abs…
Kellan is totally drug worthy, although, from the way I find myself obsessing about that crazy body of his, a more appropriate title for the song would be Your Abs Are My Drug.
I’m thinking Ke$ha must have written the song about Kellan. Considering that Kellan and Ke$ha both live in L.A., it’s the only rational explanation for where she got the idea of comparing a guy’s love to a drug, because no other guy on the planet is as hot as Kellan.
I totally need to ask him if he ever dated Ke$ha.
Anyway.
The song on the radio changes to Boy Toy Ploy by Layce. It’s an uptempo dance anthem about a girl who dreams and schemes about how to finally catch the hot guy she always wanted but could never get. When she finally attracts his attention and he decides to hook up with her, she quickly realizes that her hot guy is a hot mess and she’s better off without him.
Hmmm.
Sounds like Kellan to me.
I believe Layce lives in L.A. too. I snicker to myself, imagining she met Kellan at some point and wrote Boy Toy Ploy about him. It’s totally possible. Based on her lyrics, it makes sense.
Anyway, I bet if I were to hook up with Kellan, it wouldn’t be long until I was listening to Boy Toy Ploy repeatedly and wondering how Layce was able to perfectly predict my disastrous path with Kellan.
I decide I need to take Layce’s lyrics to heart.
Kellan is obviously a hot mess and I’d be smart to avoid stepping right into his hot mess. And I’m not talking about the yummy kind of mess. I’m talking about the brown kind.
I snicker to myself.
It’s glaringly obvious that all female pop singers don’t write songs about Kellan. I’m just imagining they do.
What does that say about my feelings toward Kellan?
It doesn’t say brown, that’s what.
When I reach Big Momma’s Guitars, luck shines on me and I find a parking space around the corner. Parking meters are free on Sundays in Hollywood. But that means I’ll have to face Johnny and Karen sooner.
And tell them about the Contrares.
Where is Ke$ha and her dollar signs when I need her? She probably has six grand to spare. But I’ve never been one to shy away from trouble. I steel myself and walk to the shop with the Contrares in hand.
I notice the L.A. Gunslingers flier taped to the front door when I open it.
I could really use the $5,000 first prize.
Maybe I can do like Johnny said and get up on stage by myself and just play. If I win, every cent will go straight to Johnny and Karen. For that to happen, I totally need to start practicing.
But I still don’t have a guitar.
I can’t ask Johnny and Karen to borrow another one now.
Hmmm. Maybe Kellan would lend me one? He has a ton. I’m sure he’d let me use his Ibanez from last night. I liked it quite a bit. But that will tie me down to him more than I’d like. I heave a sigh. I’ll worry about it later.
Moment of truth.
I open the front door of the store.
Johnny is behind the counter with Karen.
“Morning, Victory,” Johnny smiles. “How did the Promenade go last night?”
I can’t hide my worry. It’s probably shining from my face like searchlights.
“Did something happen?” Karen asks, concerned. She can always tell.
“Kind of?” I wince. I set the guitar case on the counter in front of her and Johnny. Best to get it out of the way. I wince, “There was a bit of an accident. When I was putting away my guitar at the end of the night a bunch of skaters were messing around. One of them bumped into me.”
Johnny frowns, “Did he scratch the guitar with his skateboard or something?”
I smile thinly, “You could say that…” I can’t bear to open the case.
“Let’s take a look,” Johnny says, unlatching it.
He lifts the lid.
I squint my eyes shut in preparation for atomic detonation.
“Far out, man,” Johnny says.
Karen’s eyes bulge like I’ve never seen them bulge, “That’s quite a scratch,” she chuckles throatily.
I had expected a bigger reaction from them. If someone busted my $6,000 guitar, I’d go on a stabbing spree. “Can you fix it?” I ask, fully aware of how stupid a question it is.
“Far out,” Johnny mumbles, picking the guitar up by the neck.
“No, don’t!” I blurt.
The bottom of the guitar clatters onto the glass counter top.
We all wince in unison.
“It’ll make for some good kindling,” Johnny chuckles. “Too bad we never use the fireplace in L.A. anymore.”
Karen rolls her eyes, “We never had a fireplace.”
Johnny nods and smiles at her, “That’s right.”
Karen whispers conspiratorially to me, “He took the brown acid at Woodstock.”
Brown.
Tee hee.
Johnny snickers, “I heard that. And no, I didn’t.”
Wait, did he hear my mental laughter?
Or was he talking to Karen?
Karen shakes her head and smiles, “You did, Johnny. I remember. You took the brown acid and—“
Tee hee. She said brown again.
“—you freaked out and had the worst acid trip of your life. I had to constantly reassure you that you didn’t have a cannibalistic tentacle growing from your third eye chakra, and Captain Kirk had not beamed you up to the Enterprise.”
Johnny chuckles, “I don’t remember that.”
“Imagine that, Victory,” Karen chuckles sarcastically, “Johnny doesn’t remember the brown acid!”
I laugh.
Smiling, Johnny sets the guitar neck in the case, and the six strings still attached to the bridge slide around like a slippery sextopus or whatever you call a cannibalistic six armed monster.
“Watch out, Johnny,” Karen jokes sarcastically, “it bites.”
Johnny shakes his head, “I’m not having any flashbacks now.” He kisses Karen on the cheek.
I glance between them.
They’re both smiling.
So, I guess the broken guitar isn’t a big deal? Maybe I’m hallucinating their mellow reaction? I mean, to me, $6,000 is a huge deal. I’ve never had that much money at one time in my entire life. It’ll take me years to pay them back.
Johnny looks at me and says, “I think the Contrares needs a proper burial.”
They don’t seem to be mentioning anything about the money.
I may as well take the initiative. I say, “I can totally pay you guys back for it when—”
Johnny interjects, “No worries.”
“—I get the money. I’ll work here for free until you guys close the shop, and—”
Karen smiles, “Relax, honey, it’s no big deal.”
“—I’m going to look for a second job first thing tomorrow—”
Johnny sighs, “Look how mixed up she is about owing us.”
“—so I can pay you back with that money too. If I have to eat nothing but cold Ramen and walk everywhere to save gas, I’ll do it,” I finish, nearly out of breath.
I usually never get this worked up about thing
s. But I’ve never owed anyone six grand before.
Johnny says to Karen, “You thought that Woodstock acid was bad? Look what money can do to a groovy girl like Victory. Her head is all inside out about paying us like it’s more important than breathing.”
“Her head isn’t inside out,” Karen says, “it’s her root chakra. It’s knotted.”
“My what?” I blink.
“Your root chakra,” Karen smiles, “at the base of your spine, near your tailbone. It’s attached to survival issues and money.
Johnny laughs, “I always knew money and assholes were close brethren.”
“Victory,” Karen smiles, “Take a deep breath, honey. And put your whole body into it.”
“Huh?”
“Take a deep breath,” she says soothingly, “and let it out slowly. Try to feel it in your toes.”
I inhale deeply and imagine little mouths on the tips of my toes inhaling too, which makes me grin.
“Doesn’t that feel better?” she asks.
“It does.”
Johnny says to me, “Pay us back when you can, Sunshine.”
Karen admonishes me, “And don’t you start eating junk food to save money. It’s counter productive. Your body needs nutritious whole foods from Mother Nature, not a bunch of chemicals in shiny plastic wrappers.”
“Okay,” I say, “but I’m totally paying you guys back as fast as possible.”
Johnny smiles, “If that will make you feel better, then that’s what you should do.”
Wow, I’m having a hard time believing him. “But it’s six thousand dollars.”
Johnny lifts his brows, “And?”
“Are you serious?” I ask, still in disbelief.
Karen smiles at Johnny, “I think we blew her mind.”
I guess they’re serious. I throw my arms around them both and hug them tightly, “You guys are awesome.”
Johnny says, “What you see in us is merely a reflection of what’s inside you.”
I giggle, “More Yoda bullshit?” My eyes are wet.
They both laugh at the same time, but are interrupted by the ringing of the shop phone.
“I’ll get that,” Karen answers. “Big Momma’s Guitars?” She listens, then looks over at me. “Yes, she is…Uh huh…Yes, she can. Let me grab a pencil.” Karen pulls an old pencil out of the cup of pens and pencils by the phone, and jots something down on a scrap of paper.
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