Reckless Obsession (The Reckless Rockstar Series)

by Samantha Christy

  “Bria Cash!” someone says behind me. For a moment I hope it’s him, calling me back.

  A man is exiting the restroom.

  “You were great up there.” He shuffles his feet uneasily.

  “Thanks.”

  “I saw the band play at another bar last year. They’re much better now, with you up there.”

  “I appreciate the vote of confidence.”

  “Where will you be playing next weekend?” he asks. “I’d like to check out more of you … uh, your band, I mean.”

  I laugh at his nervousness. “We’ll be at The Vogue Friday and Ripple on Saturday.”

  “Great. I’ll be sure to catch one of them. Or maybe both.”

  “Thanks for the support.”

  Crew comes out of nowhere and latches on to my elbow. “We have to go.”

  He drags me back into the bar. I look over my shoulder at the guy in the hallway. “Uh … bye.” I turn to Crew. “What just happened?”

  “Why did you tell him where we’re playing next?” he asks with an aggressive slash of his brows.

  Has he lost his marbles? “Why do you think? Because we make money when people come see us.”

  His lips are pinched together, nostrils flaring. I try to hide my smile. He’s jealous.

  He drops my elbow after realizing he’s still holding on to me. “You shouldn’t make a habit of talking to strange men in dark hallways.”

  I itch to call him on his jealousy, but I don’t.

  “Let’s rejoin the others, okay?”

  Garrett, Liam and Brad look at us strangely when we sit down at the table.

  “What?” Crew bites out.

  “Nothing,” Liam says, shaking his head. “Good set today.”

  “It was good,” Crew says.

  My cheeks pink, and I turn away. What was good, our songs or what happened in the storage room?

  I don’t miss how Liam scrutinizes Crew and me the rest of the night. Does he know about us? Not that there’s anything to know really. If he does think there is something between us, he doesn’t look mad about it. Concerned maybe, but not mad.

  I’m reading too much into it. Liam’s always been concerned about me when it comes to Crew. All the guys have.

  I accept my ceremonial drink to end the evening, and we toast to another successful performance.

  ~ ~ ~

  Crew and I enter the barn together. He stays with his mom in the city some days so we can put the finishing touches on the songs we’ve been working on.

  All eyes turn to us, including Jeremy’s.

  “What’s up, guys?” Crew asks.

  Jeremy opens his briefcase and removes papers, handing one to Crew and another to me.

  I read the top line. “An addendum to our contract? What’s this about?”

  “This is about the two of you having a sexual relationship,” Jeremy says.

  Crew steals a glance at me. I’m sure I turn beet red. The guys act mildly embarrassed for us.

  “We had to say something,” Liam says sheepishly. “It could get complicated. We’re just getting started. None of us want anything to screw this up.”

  Crew hands the paper back to Jeremy. “We don’t have a sexual relationship.”

  Jeremy follows him over to the seating area. “Do you deny it?”

  “We’re not having sex,” Crew says. “End of story. You guys can take your addendum and shove it up your asses.”

  “Come on,” Liam says. “I saw you go into the storage closet together Friday. You didn’t come out for ten minutes, and then it looked like you were having a lover’s quarrel.”

  “A lover’s quarrel?” Crew says. “You’re seeing shit, man. We’re not sleeping together.”

  “Maybe not yet,” Garrett adds.

  I rub my forehead in frustration as the men in the room discuss my love life. This isn’t happening.

  “Listen,” Jeremy says, shoving the paper back in Crew’s hands. “This is just a precaution to protect the band. Nothing else. It doesn’t define your relationship with Bria.”

  “Like I said,” Crew snarls, “we’re not in a relationship.”

  Jeremy motions for everyone to calm down. “That may well be, but these guys seem to think you are, and they want to protect themselves and your brand.”

  I skim the addendum. It states that if either of us ends up leaving the band, we give up all rights to the music we brought in and recorded as RA. Not only that, we forfeit any and all future royalties earned by that music.

  Crew reads it too, then huffs. “Seems to me all of us should be signing this, not just Bria and me. What if Garrett quits tomorrow because he and Liam got into a fight? He’s played on all the songs we’ve recorded. How is that any different than Bria or me quitting?”

  Jeremy nods, thinking about it. “Crew’s right. I’ll have the addendum modified to include all members of the band.”

  Garrett stands. “How did this turn into our problem?”

  “Problem?” Crew says. “There is no problem. There is no relationship. So we kissed. So what? No need to alert the goddamn press. It didn’t mean anything.”

  Why my heart falls into my stomach when he says that is beyond me. Did I want it to mean something?

  “Still,” Brad says. “Maybe the two of you should think twice before sneaking into any more closets. Look at the bigger picture. We have the band to think about.”

  “Says the guy who’s been in it about two seconds longer than Bria,” Crew spits out.

  “Crew,” Liam warns. “We don’t need to fight about this. We just want you to be responsible. That’s all.”

  Crew tosses the addendum into the trashcan and crosses to the stage. “Are we going to rehearse or what?”

  “That’s not all,” Jeremy says.

  “There’s more?” Crew runs a hand through his hair. “I can’t wait.”

  “This is the good part. You’ll want to hear this.”

  Crew rejoins us.

  Jeremy’s smile grows as he reaches back into his briefcase. He throws a thick folder on the table. “We have an offer to sign with a label.”

  “Are you serious?” Liam asks.

  “I am, but before you get too excited, it’s not a major record label. It’s an independent.”

  “What’s the difference?” I ask.

  “Indie labels come in all shapes and sizes. Some even operate like major labels. The smaller, grass-roots labels concentrate on promoting, selling, and publicizing releases. They wear many different hats, with one or two employees bearing the brunt of A and R, arranging airplay, working with distributors, and coordinating publicity.”

  Liam picks up the folder. “I’m assuming we got an offer from the latter kind.”

  “We did, but that’s not a bad thing,” Jeremy says. “It’s a move in the right direction. It will allow you to dip your toes in the water before diving in headfirst. Because they are a small label, their offer is negotiable. I’ve gotten them down to a three-year contract.”

  “What does that mean exactly?” I ask. “And not to sound stupid or anything, but what is A and R?”

  “Artists and Repertoire,” Crew says. “They’re the ones who locate new talent and work with bands on song selection and recording studios.”

  I’m not sure if I feel naïve for not knowing that or impressed that he does.

  “They’ll have the rights to all your recorded material for three years,” Jeremy says. “After that you can re-negotiate or move on. There is also a buyout option. Say you climb the charts to number one, and you need more PR than they can handle. You give them a lump sum and part ways.”

  I smile to myself, happy I’m not completely unaware. I know PR stands for Public Relations.

  “How much is the buyout?” Liam asks.

  Jeremy turns a few pages and points to the figure.

  “A million dollars?” Liam shouts. “We’d be stuck with them for the full three years if we do this.”

  “It’s a good po
ssibility, but three years is nothing in this business. A blip on the radar, during which time you’ll figure out how the industry works. I’ve had an entertainment attorney look it over. It’s standard issue. My advice is to take the bird in the hand because you never know what’s going to happen.”

  “They’ll get us on the radio?” Garrett asks.

  “Most definitely.”

  The five of us look at each other and smile.

  “We’ll need time to discuss it,” Crew says.

  “As you should,” Jeremy responds. “Why don’t I meet you back here in two days? I’ll bring the new addendum, and you can ask me any questions you have.” He leaves.

  We stare at the folder in Liam’s hands. Then we high-five and hug each other. Everyone but Crew and me. We keep our distance, and Liam notices. He looks between us and shakes his head.

  “Holy shit,” Garrett cries. “We made it!”

  “Hold on,” Crew says. “This is amazing. It’s exactly what we’ve hoped for. But you heard the man. We’ll be at their mercy for three years. They’ll control us. They will tell us where to play, what to play”—he glances at me— “maybe even what to wear.”

  “But we can make demands of our own,” I say, “can’t we?”

  Brad laughs. “What, like, ‘I refuse to wear a skirt more than five inches above the knee?’” he says in a hideous falsetto.

  I throw a pillow at him.

  “Actually,” Crew says, looking at me protectively, “exactly like that.” He paces around the back of the couch. “Like Jeremy said, they’re a small label and more likely to negotiate. That means we can ask for stuff we wouldn’t normally ask a major label.”

  I smirk at Brad.

  Liam puts the folder down. “We have two days. Why don’t we all write down the things we think are negotiable and regroup before Jeremy comes back.”

  We nod.

  “Now,” Garrett says, smiling, “let’s rock the roof off this barn. We’re going to be fucking famous!”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Crew

  I’ve avoided her for three weeks. I’ve avoided her through eight gigs and twelve days in a studio re-recording our first album with Bria singing.

  I sang with her. Even put on a pretty good act onstage. But that’s all it was, an act. I even quit riding to and from the city with her.

  But the truth is, I’m not sure if I’m avoiding her to validate my proclamation that we’re not together, or if it’s because I really don’t want to be with her.

  Bria and I signed the addendum, along with the rest of the band, even though everyone knew it was meant just for us. We also signed something else that day, a three-year contract with Indica Record Label. Jeremy is introducing us to our label rep next week.

  This should be the best week of my life. I glance over at Bria. So why isn’t it?

  I screw up on the keyboard, and Garrett throws a drumstick across the barn floor. Everyone stops playing. “I’m so tired of this shit,” he says. “We all are.”

  I walk over and flick his snare. “Like you’ve never missed a goddamn beat before. If I called you out on every one, we’d never get anything done around here.”

  “You’re kidding me, right?” Garrett snaps. He turns to Liam and Brad. “Are you hearing this?”

  “Crew,” Liam says, putting down his guitar.

  “What?”

  “Garrett’s right. The three of us are tired of this.”

  “Tired of what exactly?” I say, like I don’t know what’s going to come out of his mouth next.

  He motions between Bria and me. “You. Tiptoeing around each other because of the goddamn addendum. For the love of God, will you two just get over yourselves and fuck already?”

  Bria’s jaw drops. I step forward, wanting to punch him. “What the hell, Liam?”

  “I’m only saying what everyone else is thinking. Get over your shit and do something, because the two of you avoiding each other is not working. You sucked at our gigs last weekend. If Jeremy had been there, he’d have torn you each a new asshole.” He turns to Bria. “No disrespect.”

  “Right,” she says dryly.

  “We did not su—”

  “Shut up and let me talk, Crew. This conversation is long overdue. You’re damn lucky you two recorded in separate booths at the studio, or that shit would have sucked, too. Whatever is going on with you affects all of us. We have four weeks before we go back to the studio to record our new stuff. Four weeks, and you’ve still got two more songs to write and three to complete. Not to mention the time it’ll take me to put them to music and for us to rehearse them. So yeah, go fuck—then write a song about it. Then fall in love and write a song about that. Then break up and write another fucking song. I don’t care as long as you both get over this shit and do your damn jobs.”

  Bria sits on the couch. “Maybe my joining the band was a mistake.”

  Garrett hops off his stool. “It wasn’t. We’re ten times better than before. This is going to work. You need to figure out how that’s going to happen.”

  I pick up the mic. “Stopping in the middle of rehearsal is not going to help.”

  Liam turns off the amps. “We’re finished with rehearsal.”

  “We’re not even halfway through,” I say.

  “We’re done until you finish the songs.” He goes to the door with Garrett and Brad. “Do whatever you have to do to make that happen, and don’t come back until then.” He gives Bria a sharp look. “That goes for you, too.”

  “What about work?” Crew asks.

  “Leave that to me,” Liam says. “Dirk knows the band is what’s important.”

  “Seriously?” Bria says as they leave. “Are you tough-loving us?”

  Liam looks guilty. He knows this is my fault. Everyone here knows that.

  I narrow my eyes at her. “Tough-loving us?”

  “Cutting us off until we do what they want.”

  I sit on the chair across from Bria and let my head fall back. “Fuck!” I shout into the rafters.

  “What do we do?” she asks.

  “We write the damn songs.”

  “You realize that means spending time together. Lots of time. A car ride to the city isn’t enough.”

  “I know.” I try to think of a solution that will work. “I guess we could go to my place.”

  She shakes her head. “We’re talking ten- or twelve-hour days, Crew. Liam’s right. We have to finish. I’m not about to sleep on your couch. You’ll have to come to the city.”

  “We can’t work at my mom’s place. My stepdad works from home.”

  “We’ll use my apartment then. You can sleep at your mom’s. It’ll be just like before except—”

  “We’ll be at your apartment instead of in your car.” I work my neck from side to side, thinking of what will be there. A couch. A bed. Hours and hours of us alone.

  “What do you suggest? Writing songs at Starbucks?”

  “Fine. Let’s take your car.”

  “Don’t you need to go by your apartment for some things?” she asks. “And why can’t we ever drive your car? Do you know how many miles I’ve put on mine in the last few months?”

  Notebook in hand, I head for the door. “I keep clothes at my mom’s, and we take your car because mine’s a piece of shit.” It’s true, but that’s not why I don’t want her in it.

  “Mine’s not much better.”

  “Can we just go? We have a lot of work to do.”

  “Okay, but we’re going halfsies on gas.”

  “I’ll pay for the damn gas.”

  She jingles her keys. “You’ll get no argument from me.”

  ~ ~ ~

  We ride in silence to the city. I stare out the window and she drives, glancing at me when she’s not looking at the road.

  “Giving me the silent treatment isn’t helping,” she says.

  “What do you want me to say? We’ll figure it out when we get there.”

  “Whatever,” she says, t
urning up the radio.

  I flip through my notebook, making no progress at all in the seventy minutes it takes to reach our destination.

  A card from her visor gets us into a parking garage. None of the other cars are much nicer than hers. It’s a bargain garage for sure. Half the security lights either don’t work or flicker. I look in the corners to see if they have cameras. They do. We walk down three flights of stairs and pass the security booth. Bria knocks on the window, waking up the old man who’s sleeping on the job. She waves, and he salutes her.

  We cover eight or nine blocks in silence. “Could you have picked a garage any farther away? How much longer?”

  She stops and her stare all but pins me to the wall. “You try living in New York City on what we’ve been making. I’m lucky to have a car and a place to park it. Most people don’t.”

  “But you were the backup singer for White Poison. Surely you made enough to upgrade your parking accommodations.”

  She laughs. “Oh, I can’t wait to see what you have to say about my apartment. I was only their backup singer for one tour. Three months. I couldn’t exactly change my standard of living on that. Plus I have a lot of debt.”

  Across the street a kid runs out of a store, followed by a yelling man carrying a gun.

  “Jesus, Bria.”

  “That’s the city for you.”

  I expect her to be scared or upset, but she’s not affected at all. Some kid not fifty feet away robbed a store, and she’s acting like it’s no big deal.

  Our surroundings say it all. Broken windows line some abandoned storefronts. Homeless people lie in the alleys. I’m certain we’ve seen more than a few people making drug deals. “How can you live here?”

  “Not everyone grows up with a silver spoon up their ass.”

  Like Bria, most people assume if you’re from Stamford, you’re wealthy. For the most part, it’s true. I’m one of the exceptions.