Rock Chick Rescue
Kristen Ashley
Published by Kristen Ashley
Copyright 2011 Kristen Ashley
Discover other titles by Kristen Ashley
Rock Chick
Rock Chick Redemption
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www.kristenashley.net
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* * * * *
This book is dedicated to the memory of
Patricia Ann Mahan Lovell
My Mom
She had a majorette’s smile
that could brighten a room and, if she flashed it at you,
I swear, for a moment, you’d be dazzled.
Acknowledgements
First, I want to thank Kelly “Kelita” Brown for being my best friend for over twenty years; demonstrating how the words “as such” can be so danged funny; teaching me how to play the drinking game “Ooblie Dooblie”; naming her daughter after me; and editing this book during school holidays.
Second, to my biggest fans and cheerleaders, The Premier Rock Chicks, Cat “Lily-Landa” Kruzek and Dena “Lotus Blossom” Cocetti and my Rock Guru, Will Womack, thank you for reading, liking every word… and telling me you did. Love you guys.
Third, thank you to my readers, my family and my friends for being so supportive of my writing and the first book in the series, Rock Chick. By the way, this book you can flip straight forward to Chapter… erm…
No, you don’t want to miss all the fun (wink, wink).
Last, to my stepdad, Reggie “Reggae” Lovell, thank you for showing me what unconditional love means after Mama had her stroke. And thank you for taking care of Mama all the years after her stroke (and the ones before). And thank you for loving me so… freaking… much.
Rock on…
* * * * *
Chapter One
My Name Is Jet
Don’t get excited, I’m not cool and hip. My real name is Henrietta Louise McAlister and that suits me a lot better than Jet. Dad was a fan of Paul McCartney and Wings so he nicknamed me after the song.
I’m not a Jet in any way, shape or form. When someone notices me, which is rarely, and I tell them my name, they look at me funny.
I’m five foot seven and I have ash blonde hair and hazel eyes. Therefore, I’m an in-between girl; not tall, not short… not blonde, not brunette… not green-eyed, not brown-eyed.
Just kinda not.
* * * * *
This is my story, such as it is.
* * * * *
I was born in Denver, Colorado (therefore a rare “native”) twenty-eight years ago to Ray McAlister and Nancy Swanowanski. I have a little sister who’s two years younger than me, her name is Charlotte but we call her Lottie.
Dad started calling me Jet straight away and Mom went along with it because she’d do just about anything to make Dad happy enough not to leave. He was kind of a lying, cheating sonovabitch (well, not kind of, he was one). That’s how I got the name and that’s how it stuck.
Anyway, none of Mom’s ploys worked. Dad left when I was fourteen. He came back to visit (which drove Mom nuts), sent a few Christmas and birthday cards (none of which had money in them, which drove Mom nuts) and phoned on occasion (usually collect, ditto with Mom going nuts) but mostly he was gone. Since, when he was around, he was pretty hilarious and definitely over the top, Lottie and I missed him.
I did well in school and had friends. I graduated and got a job as a teller at the Arapahoe Credit Union. It was steady, quiet, you knew what to expect and I liked working there.
Lottie, who got all the personality in the family (she was just like Dad), left town the minute she graduated. She went to LA to be an actress. She didn’t become an actress, as such. Instead, she got a boob job, got her ash blonde hair highlighted true blonde and became somewhat famous for being really good at lounging on muscle cars with half her ass hanging out. I see her picture every now and again in a magazine some guy is flipping through or on a calendar at the garage where I get my oil changed. Maybe I shouldn’t be proud, but I am; she’s happy so I’m happy for her.
* * * * *
Things were going pretty steady until eight months ago.
I have to admit, my life was kinda boring and things have certainly become a heck of a lot more interesting.
I’d never want my Mom to go through what she went through for me to have an interesting life though.
See, Mom had a stroke eight months ago. It was bad; she lost her whole left side. Then she lost her job, her insurance and her apartment. Since she was in a wheelchair, I had to move to a different apartment with Mom— the kind of apartment with rails in the bathroom and bigger halls and doorways that wheelchairs can get through. A lot of old and disabled people live in our building, either because they have to or because they’re preparing for when they have to.
Anyway, the place was a lot more expensive than what I had. Furthermore, Mom was getting on her feet a bit. She’d never get the use of her arm back but her leg was moving and she was beginning to get around on her own. So, to keep that good work going, I had to pay for physical therapy and occupational therapy, twice a week each. That’s a lot of cabbage to be coming out of the bank account on a weekly basis when there’s no insurance to help. So I had to get a second job working nights at Smithie’s; good money, lots of headaches from customers and exhausting because I was on my feet the whole night.
Then, I had to quit the Credit Union three months ago because I was falling asleep at the drawer. I needed a stress-free, flexible job. Yeah, right, you say. But I had my first stroke of luck and found the coolest job in the world. It was working during the day at Fortnum’s.
Fortnum’s is a huge, old, musty, used bookstore (in the back) and groovy coffee shop (in the front). The owner, India Savage, known to everyone as Indy, is cool and hip. She’s a Rock Chick, gorgeous, with a lot of red hair and a killer body. She’s absolutely hilarious and one of the sweetest ladies I’ve ever met. She inherited the store from her grandmother several years ago and she put in the espresso counter. She has a bunch of characters working there and she had some big drama happen to her and her boyfriend Lee Nightingale a couple of weeks before she hired me. Though, if you paid attention, you’d realize that Indy’s past was littered with big dramas, this latest one was just the biggest.
Smithie’s is a strip joint, better known as a titty bar. I don’t dance; I’m a cocktail waitress. The tips aren’t bad; they’re better for dancers (for obvious reasons). Though they’re good enough to keep Mom in OT and PT appointments. Smithie is a good guy and takes care of all of his girls, including me (though I kinda drive him nuts). Surprisingly, he wants me at a pole, dancing. He keeps trying to talk me into it but I just tell him he’s crazy and he laughs at me. Working there is relatively safe (considering) because Smithie invests in excellent bouncers. Smithie says, “Doesn’t do me no fuckin’ good to have my girls quittin’ every few weeks. It’s like anything in life, you take care of it, it takes care of you.”
At Fortnum’s I work with Duke; a Harley guy, Tex; a crazy guy, Jane; a quiet lady and sometimes Ally; Indy’s best friend. Ally is also a Rock Chick and Indy’s boyfriend, Lee’s sister. They have a long history, Indy, Lee and Ally. I envy them that, they’re all real close, including Duke, Tex and Jane. Ind
y also has other family and friends who come by all the time. Lee’s a private investigator and all the boys who work for him and his friends come into the store too, including Lee’s best friend Eddie.
* * * * *
Eddie is where my life gets interesting, even if it’s only in my dreams.
* * * * *
See, the minute I clapped eyes on Eddie Chavez, I fell in love with him. Not that he’d ever notice me if I wasn’t under his nose. In fact, watching him (which I do, a lot), I think he has a thing for Indy.
At least I thought that in the beginning. He doesn’t look at her like that so much anymore.
Anyway, sometimes, I’d catch him looking at her in a way that made my insides feel funny. Sometimes, in the middle of the day (between shifts at Fortnum’s and Smithie’s, one of the only times I can get any decent sleep) while I was trying to catch some z’s while Mom watched soaps, I thought of Eddie looking at me the way he looked at Indy. Sometimes, trying to sleep, I thought of Eddie doing a lot of different things with me and to me, but that didn’t exactly help me sleep.
* * * * *
I kinda screwed things up with Eddie.
No, that isn’t true; I really screwed things up with Eddie.
Though not intentionally.
* * * * *
See, he’s hot. Not hot. Hot. He’s so flipping handsome it burns your eyes to look at him.
He has to be six foot maybe six foot one, tall for a Mexican-American, olive-skinned, with dark hair and even darker eyes. He has a lean body made up of compact, defined muscles and he’s one of those guys who makes whatever he wears look the bomb, instead of one of those guys who looks like he was trying to be the bomb in what he wears.
Eddie’s a cop and from what everyone says, he’s a good one, though not a conventional one. He kinda goes his own way, which isn’t exactly encouraged by the Denver Police Department.
Anyway, when Eddie’s black eyes turn to you, I swear to God, your breath starts burning your lungs, his eyes are so hot.
He’s lush.
Since I’m not lush, there’s no hope and I’m in love with him— I get a little weird around him.
Weird as in, stupid.
* * * * *
The first time he spoke directly to me was about a week after I started at Fortnum’s.
Eddie was waiting at the end of the counter for his cappuccino. I was re-filling the stacks of cups so I had two big columns of cups in my hands. Eddie was talking to Lee (who, by the way, is also hot).
Eddie’s eyes cut to me and he smiled, all super-white teeth in tanned face. The effect of this when trained on me totally flipped me out.
Then he said, “So, Jet, what’s your story?”
Since he used my name, I couldn’t exactly ignore him so I looked at him blank-faced and said, “Story?”
I hadn’t told Indy or anyone about anything, not about my Mom nor Smithie’s. People had been really nice about Mom but it was weird, talking about her and us and how we were having to make a go of things. They got this look on their face that said, “poor you” and it kind of pissed me off because, you know, shit happens. We all deal.
Anyway, Eddie turned more toward me, Lee’s eyes had moved to me and I was beginning to feel the heat come into my face.
“Yeah,” Eddie said, “your story.”
I started to panic so I had to find a way to say as little as possible and get the hell out of there. “No story. I’m just Jet.”
“Just Jet.” His smile didn’t dim and I was beginning to feel my insides curl.
“Yeah.” I set the cups down and started refilling.
Eddie turned to Lee and he said, “Don’t know about you but I think there are hidden depths to Just Jet.”
“There are hidden depths to everyone,” Lee replied, still looking at me and I could swear he could read my mind and was trying to get Eddie to leave me alone.
“Not me.” Tex, Indy’s barista, a Vietnam Vet and ex-con who was crazy as a jay-bird but you couldn’t help liking him, reached across me to give Eddie his cappuccino, “With me, you get what you see.”
Eddie didn’t take his eyes off me, even as he reached for the sugar (Eddie took lots of sugar in his coffee, I’d memorized this fact right away, as I memorized practically everything about Eddie).
“What about you, Just Jet? Do we get what we see with you?”
Just for your information, I wasn’t a virgin and totally unlucky in love. I had a boyfriend all through high school and three since then, all long-term.
All boring.
All predictable.
All wanting more but not knowing how to get it.
All just like me.
That said, obviously, I’d had guys flirt with me. It was rare, but it happened. I just couldn’t believe Eddie was doing it, or at least it seemed like it.
“Chavez, for fuck’s sake, quit flirtin’. Christ, you flirt with anything in a skirt.” Tex said (explaining the flirting). “She’s tryin’ to work and you’re embarrassin’ her. Can’t you see her blush?”
At that, my hands slipped on the cups, they went flying in the air, bonking on my head, arms, hands, all over Tex and they fell everywhere. I bent down immediately to hide and to pick up the cups.
Eddie came around the counter to help. He crouched down and said, “Didn’t mean to embarrass you.”
I looked up. His smile had dimmed to a grin and his eyes looked different. I couldn’t put my finger on it but it, too, made my insides feel funny. I couldn’t help but think he felt sorry for me, but his eyes weren’t exactly saying that, though I didn’t know what they were saying.
I was mortified and maybe a little pissed off at Tex and one look at my face wiped away his grin.
“You didn’t embarrass me.” It came out kind of snappish, which wasn’t intentional, more self-defence. Maybe I was trying to convince myself, I don’t know.
He handed me the cups and looked at me closely, no smile or even a hint of grin in evidence. I avoided his eyes, avoided him (as best I could with him helping me pick up the cups). When we were done, I got up fast, so fast I made myself dizzy and had to step back or fall over. Eddie’s hand came out to steady me and I jerked my arm away, as if his touch would burn.
That’s when I saw his brows draw together and I stepped around him, giving him as much room as possible. I walked as fast as I could into the acres of bookshelves in the back and hid there until I was certain he was gone.
* * * * *
That was the first time I was an idiot around Eddie, but not the last.
* * * * *
Weeks passed and I got to know the people at Fortnum’s.
It was a laugh riot working there, everyone was hilarious and nice and you could tell they cared a lot about each other.
It was comfortable and stress free (except for Eddie, of course). You made your own hours and I started to relax, except when Eddie came around. Anytime Eddie was there (and he was beginning to stop around more often), I stiffened up, shut my mouth and most of the time, hid in the back.
Lee and Indy had a party about a month after I started and they invited me.
Of course, I thought I couldn’t go. My shift at Smithie’s started at 7 pm and the party started at 7:30 pm.
Mom was beside herself. She made me go, said I could “just pop by” and tell Smithie I’d be a little late (something he was used to, part of why I drove him nuts).
See, even before Mom had her stroke, she and her best friend Trixie wanted me to find a life and find a man (these were synonymous to Mom and Trixie, by the way). Both of them kept going on about how pretty I was, I just didn’t know it. How I didn’t have any confidence. How I just needed to brighten myself up a bit. They’d been saying that for years but then again, everyone said it, even Lottie.
“Sistah,” Lottie would say, “you are shit-hot. Even without any makeup on and your hair pulled back in that stupid ponytail. Look in the fuckin’ mirror every once in awhile, would you?”
&nbs
p; Then again, Lottie loved me, so did Trixie and Mom.
Trixie, who’s got a license for doing hair, nails, facials, everything, kept trying to give me highlights like Lottie’s. “Don’t hide your light under a bushel, or in your case, hide that thick, shiny hair in a ponytail. I’m sick of those ponytails! Every day, it’s a ponytail! Enough with the ponytails!” Trixie would say (Trixie was a bit dramatic).
She and Mom kept trying to take me shopping for clothes that “fit a bit better” (they meant tighter which also meant I mainly wore tight jeans and fitted t-shirts and sweaters), tried to get me to go with the girls to parties and out to the bars, they even suggested speed dating once.
“All the men will be backed up at your table, I swear to God,” Mom said.
I know Mom felt guilty for everything that happened, it had been a bad few months and she wanted me to have a break. She was working hard at getting better so she could get on with her life, but more, so I could get on with mine.
Mom had bigger dreams for me than I did.
Not that I didn’t have dreams, I used to dream all the time, always had my head in the clouds. When Dad left though, Mom fell apart for awhile (okay, so it was a long while).
I had to keep it together, for Mom, for Lottie, and didn’t have time for dreams when I was taking care of all of us. When Mom got back to it, she still needed help. By the time Lottie took off to LA, I was used to the way it was and it was comfortable so why screw with that?
“A party,” Mom said, “is just the thing.”
I couldn’t let Mom down. I could never let Mom down. It was just the way it was.
She made me make her famous chocolate caramel layer squares to take with me. I didn’t have time for that either but at that point, I was so exhausted and run down, I didn’t know which way was up. Finding a spare fifteen minutes to make chocolate caramel layer squares for Indy and her friends seemed the least of my worries.
“Men love those!” Mom added as I walked into the kitchen to make the squares.
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