Copyright
Rock Bottom is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
ROCK BOTTOM: A NOVEL
Copyright © 2018 by Angie M. Brashears
All rights reserved.
Editing by Michelle Areaux
Formatting & Cover design by KP Designs
Photographer: Wander Aguiar
Cover Models: Natalie Cefalu and Jonny James
Published by Kingston Publishing Company
The uploading, scanning, and distribution of this book in any form or by any means—including but not limited to electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the permission of the copyright holder is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized editions of this work, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
Dedication
As always, this story is dedicated to my most captive listener.
My own personal Handler, Jim Brashears.
I am nothing without you.
Table of Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Epilogue
Extras
From the Author
Prologue
It got so bad that we were fighting over the mic. I mean…who does that? - Whimsy artist, Penny Lane on the demise of Penny Candy.
They do realize I can only be pushed so far before I’ll snap, don’t they?
When the changes for today’s video shoot titled Penny gets a boyfriend were delivered to my Star Wagons trailer this morning, I was left to wonder, where’s mine? I mean the afternoon show is based on our band, Penny Candy. A tween best friend pop group I’d won my way into by winning Star Struck over ten years ago, or is it a case of chicken vs. egg and the show came first? At this point, who knows? As far back as I can remember I’ve been fifty-percent of Penny Candy, but I’m not Penny.
It’s then that I read who Penny’s love interest is.
We vowed, long ago, to split everything. I just didn’t know that meant boyfriends too.
I swear, my life is a never-ending stint in High School Bullshit. Most people get to leave after four years, but not me, I’ll be pulling this cheerleading skirt up over Depends if Whimsy has his way.
Rusty’s the only thing that makes it bearable.
We met on Summer tour. His band opened for mine and it was love at first sight. I don’t know if that’s what you even call it. I just know that when I looked into his dark eyes, I felt my heartbeat strongest in the crotch of my panties.
He played guitar, but I could tell by the way the other guys looked up to him, that he was the leader. As his long fingers caressed the strings, he only had eyes for me. Those eyes followed me wherever I went and burned with the same hunger that burned in mine. A yearning to be seen, noticed, cherished. Rusty and I were just two kids playing at foreplay.
But for once, I wasn’t alone. I had Rusty by my side.
Of course, Penny was jealous. Absolutely seething with it.
My first time had been fast, and left what felt like rugburns inside of me, but that’s not what I was thinking about.
I looked up into chocolate milk eyes and asked. “I’m still a virgin, are you?”
After the last grunt, he shrugged.
“Never mind,” I said and began to hum a few bars. Set to a marching band intro, which incidentally sounded like our thighs slapping together, a cheer erupted within me. Gimme a V!
My first orgasm, I burst into song.
I started following Rusty around the lot of Whimsy Productions. In him I saw my first solo hit record, in me he saw his next meal ticket. When there was talk of bringing in a new opening band, I put my foot down. There was no way I was losing him. His band was renamed The Whims and slated to tour with us throughout the rest of the summer. That was two years ago and all me.
Point is, he was my first. Penny knows it, but more importantly, Whimsy does too.
At the end of every episode, we sing a song, why should the Season Finale be any different?
No, don’t tell me. I flip to the back and my worst suspicions are confirmed. I knew she was getting more songs.
Gimme a V! by Penny Lane. Are you kidding me?
Can I have one thing that’s mine alone? This song was written by me, about losing my virginity, but Penny’s going to sing it with my boyfriend? Bullshit!
The last eight years of being picked last have left a bitter, salty taste in my mouth that I can’t brush out. No matter how hard I work, it’s Penny that gets top billing. Her name even rolls first in the credits on the show. Whimsy High, lots of singing, but my dialogue is becoming paper-thin.
We’re both supposed to be the “cool kids” but lately, all the good lines have been written for her. Which leaves me sloppy seconds.
Smile, no lines. Laugh at her jokes, don’t talk. Unless it’s to compliment her cool decision making in solving every Scooby Doo mystery, that bad Penny always turns up. Never Candy. I’m the syrupy sweet sidekick that knows how to laugh at her jokes and compliment every obvious clue she recaps for the viewers like we don’t already know who done it.
How much more can I tone it down?
But that’s the role that was written for me, long ago and it’s becoming clear to me that I’ll never break out of this mold. Our storyline took a turn into starting a band. Our story selves promised to split everything 50/50, whether it be dance moves or solos, but in real life it was already decided by fat writers with their cracks hanging out that it was all about Penny.
No matter how hard I worked, Penny read better in the polls.
Their shiny penny might be content to stay in high school forever, I’m moving onto bigger and better things.
On set, I get that feeling I’ve been getting a lot lately. A tingle that roars to a burn between my shoulder blades, an incessant itch on the bottom of my earlobe, I’m nervous and look around. The fake high school halls are lined with pink lockers. In what world?
Leaning against the coffee cart which is painted in school colors, Go Tigers! Are the “mean girls.” Extras who sole purpose in life is to appear, flip their ponytails and throw shade at me. Looking me up and down with the tight-lipped faces which scream ‘ignoring you!’ while their eyes stay glued on me, but I’m used to that.
That’s not it. But something’s got the hair on the back of my neck standing up. Nonchalant, I turn and see Penny with a carbon copy version of me. Whispering in the new girl’s ear, stealing glances my way and I know, a change is coming. The tides are turni
ng. Most people stock up for a rainy day, batten down the hatches to weather the storm, but that’s not me.
I face everything head on. When the raindrops begin to fall, it sure won’t be this hard Candy that gets wet. I look out for numero uno. Because I have too.
The script calls for Penny to approach the new guy, my guy. But I beat her to the punch, looking at Rusty like it’s the first time. Sauntering his way, he blushes all the way to his ears but doesn’t look away as I blatantly stare up into his eyes and rekindle our link. It’s just you and me. No one else. I meet his brown eyes and give him a smile to simmer over as my body naturally claims ownership of what it owns, I lean into him.
His body molds to mine, close enough that I can smell the chili dog that he had for lunch, and I notice little Miss Peroxide isn’t whispering any longer. Wide-eyed, Penny stands in the middle of the hall, out of character and just stares as I exhibit the one trait I do have. The uncanny ability to take yo man, bitch.
That’ll teach you to talk shit about me.
Now that I’ve got her attention, I could tap the brakes, ease up. But my foot’s firmly on the gas when I say her line, "You got your braces off!"
I’ve got aspirations. Being voted Miss Popularity ain’t one of them. My voice drops to a husky whisper, and Penny tries to lean forward to hear.
“Tell her you belong to me.” And I lick what’s mine.
Kirby, the director of our show yells cut! “That was hot, Candy damn! We’ll meet back here tonight for the live concert scene and I’ve got a special surprise. We’re bringing in a live audience!” Cheers go up from the crowd, but I’m ravenous and I hate the way my life’s storyline is unfolding.
On my way to the Kraft table, Mr. Whim’s assistant, Peter holds up a hand to stop me. “Erk.”
Dressed in baggy pants and an Aqua man t-shirt, if it wasn’t for the annoying grey at his temples, Peter would fit right in with the high school dress code.
Impatiently, I eye the panini press as Peter listens to his earpiece. “Not for you, Candy. The boss wants to see you in his office.”
An extra dressed as a cheerleader thinks we’re still filming. She has the nerve to lean over the Kraft table and say. “Ohhh, you’re in trouble.”
“Shut up and eat your free lunch!” I hiss right back.
I turn on Peter next. “I’m way past hangry, Peter.”
He grabs an apple, polishes it on the front of his sweaty shirt, and hands it to me. "Go," he says. And, I do.
Walking down the corridor, every poster on the wall features our hit show, Whimsy High. A lot of first days of school, but no graduations in sight.
The secretaries all greet me as I pass.
“Don’t you look cute!”
“I love those boots, where’d you get them?”
“Aren’t you the sweetest little thing?”
Which is only a tad bit creepy since I’m twenty-two. I just play a Novice on TV. But they don’t know that. Whimsy goes to a lot of trouble to keep our ages a secret. But come on, they’ve gotta know. I’ve been kicking around these high school halls for eight years now.
Reaching the end of the hall, I knock once on the double doors.
“Come in, Candy.”
Are there no secrets around this place?
The boardroom’s empty, it’s just me and the boss. “Where’s everyone?”
“Oh, they’ll be here shortly. I wanted a word alone," he says.
I hope my smile didn’t just flinch.
As he gets closer the politician grin he wears shrivels up. “Candy, is that makeup? You know the rules, glossed lips and the barest of mascara. You look like…”
“A grown woman? Good, because that’s what I am. I’m sure my tone isn’t pleasant, but I’m missing Panini’s for this.” I huff.
Choosing not to engage, he motions to a seat near the middle of the table. “Have a seat.”
But I choose to sit at the head of the table.
After a pause, in which I’m sure he’s staring daggers into the top of my head, he takes the seat to my left. Fingers perched into a steeple, eyes closed. When he sucks in a long breath, I can almost hear-I’ve gotta deal with this shit today-on the exhale. “As I said, I wanted a moment alone with you.”
“Oh? Why?”
“Just got a look at the dallies.” With a condescending tsk-tsk, he adds. “Kissing her love interest? What was that? You know Rusty is slotted to be Penny’s, not yours. Has been for weeks. You threw everyone in a tizzy with that stunt. What’s going on with you, Candy? Not getting enough attention?” He purrs, and I hate that I even have to talk about this with someone that’s old enough to be my grandfather, but he asked for it. As he always says, he wants his thumb in every pudding. So here goes.
“Her fake love interest. Rusty’s my boyfriend.” I look up and catch a knowing look. I knew it! The steam is leaving my sails with this new development. I don’t know which is worse. The fact that he knows Rusty’s my boyfriend or the fact that he doesn’t care about my feelings. It’s worse than I thought.
As condescending as ever, he says. “I didn’t want to bring this up…but now that you have, I think it’s safe to say, Rusty’s becoming a bit of a problem. I’ve gotten a few reports from the grounds crew. It seems Rusty’s been sleeping in your trailer. That one’s a little too rough around the edges for my taste.”
Why do I feel nervous? “I’m a grown ass woman and if I want to….”
“But you play a child on the show, same as Rusty. How would it look if it got out that two of the cast members of Whimsy High, were “hooking up?” Isn’t that what you call it?” He asks, and I hate the air quotes.
“Anyway, Kirby said it was hot!” I grumble.
He rubs the back of my hand before saying. “Because Kirby’s a grown man. Is he our target audience, Candy?” But it doesn’t stop there. His heavy hand just sits on mine, sweaty and stifling.
My resting face is straight up WTF? “No,” I admit reluctantly.
But he goes on. “No, it’s not. If I were writing a show geared toward middle-aged men, believe me, you’d be the star. But this one’s for teen’s and you’ve got the one thing American mothers don’t want to see on their children’s iPad’s. You my dear, have sex appeal. Which is the kiss of death for an afternoon teen special.”
After one last pat to my hand, he points to a spot on his back. “Itch right here, Candy.”
I get up and dutifully chase that itch. At least his shirts on this time and try again.
“Is this a quid pro quo scratch?” I ask and begin kneading his shoulders.
“Yes, Candy. Just like that. Believe me, if I had the power to let you sing it, I would, but it’s…”
“Those pesky shareholders.” I finish for him, because I’m not in the mood for his shenanigans today.
“When I wrote it, you said…”
Annoyed, he interrupts. “I know what I said. Snappy, refreshing, If Penny were singing it. Coming from those pouty lips it would sound slutty, provocative, too forward.”
Mind made up, he says. “There’s no way I’m letting you sing that song.”
“Penny gets everything, is she getting a new best friend too? I saw the extra that looks like me, by the way. I got the hint,” I say.
He ignores me and gets to the point. “It’s time for a solo act. One of you will be branching out on their own.”
I’m irritable, hungry, and now I’m whining. “And one of you will have an unfortunate accident. Penny Candy is so popular, you said it yourself. Why change things now?”
Speaking of the prepackaged blonde with the individually sliced ass, I ask. “Does she know about the solo spot?”
He looks back and grins. “No, I wanted to talk to you first. Candy, you’re not out of the running, but if you want any chance at this, you’ve got to tone it down. Speaking of which, I need you to sign something.” He slides a sheath of paper towards me.
“What’s this?” I ask, not bothering to read it. No ne
ed because there’s never any wiggle room.
“I’ve added an additional clause to your contract. Starting tonight, I need to approve all your outfits before performances. Call me when you’re ready.”
With a creepy feeling I sign what he asks. I’m being monitored now?
“When are you going to let me grow up?” I ask.
“You’ll still be with the show, supporting cast. College bound in a few years…”
I’m 22. Keeping us perpetual children, I’m one half of Penny Candy Notice my name isn’t the lead. And if the shareholders get their way, it never will be. 58% of Consumers prefer the copper taste of penny’s. Plus, they’ve made me so sweet, I hurt their back teeth.
I’m here for the other braced, pimply faced, stiff-socked half of consumers. And I’ll be doing this for the rest of my life.
“Just take it down a notch, you know? Dim the lights a little bit. Stop outshining Penny and things will go a lot smoother around here for you,” he says.
Even as the words come out of his mouth, I know. It’s already been decided. One of us will thrive and the other will wilt in the shade.
****
Why split up a good thing? I think as I jog back to my trailer. Penny with her bite sized boobs and individually sliced butt who never has to jog, I might add. She’s more than happy to tone it down but that’s not me. Toning it down so much that you let that fire lit under your ass wither and die, all because they don’t know how to dream big? That’s just falling down to their level.
Penny knows how to heel, I’m not housebroken yet.
Our octagon may be lined with lace and ribbons, pinks and pastels but don’t be fooled. There’s a bloody, sweaty cage fight going on here just the same. Who knows what he’s been filling her head with for the past eight years, but I know what he’s been poisoning mine with. Anti-me propaganda.
I should have left a long time ago, but Whimsy knew exactly what buttons to push. He learned from the masters of manipulation, my parents. Luckily, I came from ruthless stock. Instead of being pushed to the side politely, I’ve chosen to fight.
Rock Bottom (The Handler Series Book 1) Page 1