by Lolah Lace
I sat on the edge of my king size bed and reached back for Victoria. My acoustic guitar Vicky was a gift from my mum and named in her honor. I took Vicky with me everywhere. She had been all around the world. She was the guitar formally known as Victoria. I called her by her new name after Prince died. I’d only met him a few months before his death and he jammed with me the once. I almost peed my pants when he touched my guitar and played Nothing Compares To You as I sang along.
I took a deep breath and strummed a few of the chords I’d had in me. I was so knackered I was amazed that I also had lyrics. This song would be the catalyst for an entire album. I just knew it. It was a feeling I had in my soul. I wished Dr. David had a recording studio in his house. I should gift him one. I probably won’t be the last addicted musician he’s paid to babysit into sobriety.
One thing at a time, I grabbed my mobile and decided to record the words and the melody I had combined. . .
She tells me what to do
And I let her.
Do what I gotta do
Just to get her.
I want that sugar
Nice and sweet
The kind that knocks me
Off my feet.
She smiles
And I turn into butter.
Do what I gotta do
Just to love her.
It don’t matter
What she does to me.
My mind is gone.
I’m hers to keep.
It wasn’t much in the lyrics department but it was enough to revisit later. It was also enough to make it into a top forty hit. I had gold in this song and I knew it. I was staying sober this time. I vowed to write this next album completely sober and it will be just as successful as the other ones, the ones where I was hammered from start to finish. Despite everything, I was going to get some kip and wake with a speck of optimism. This wasn’t the end for me. I had something to wake up and look forward to. I wondered if the record company would let me call the next album Sweet and Sober?
Chapter 3
JASON
My mobile was ringing out loud obnoxious. I hadn't heard it ring in days. The only rings were from my warden Dr. David. I had a new number that came along with a new iPhone. My last phone was ruined when I was passed out in a bathtub full of champagne. I didn't remember the incident with clarity. I didn't recall how multiple bottles of 2008 Louis Roederer Cristal was poured in the bath. I just knew I was on a bender, partially dressed, and submerged in a champagne-filled tub. This was one of the many exploits that landed me here in this town.
I was in an unconventional rehab. I was told I didn’t need any distractions while I was trying to get my emotions in check along with my sobriety. I didn’t have much family to speak of and they didn’t have my new number. So it wouldn’t be them ringing me in the wee hours of the morning.
I answered my mobile at the end of a ring.
“Hey Jag, what is this a hear about you and a job?” Glynn, my manager, he was nothing if not persistent, relentless and clever.
“I found employment like a regular bloke.”
“Cool, but have you ever had a real job in your life?”
“No, you know that I haven’t but how hard could it be. I’m trying to fit into my environment. You have me out here in the country.”
“You know why I have you there.”
“Yea, I do.” One overdose and no one will let you forget it. Well two overdoses, but who’s counting. “What time is it in L.A.?”
“It’s two hours earlier than it is there.”
“Are my mates with you?”
“They’re back in London. I gave them a break.”
“A holiday for them and a prison sentence for me.”
“Funny, I’m trying to keep you out of a real prison sentence. Archie’s back at home with his family and Winston’s at Abbey Road Studios trying to record a demo for Adele. Colin’s in the studio with Tove Lo.”
“I bet he just loves that.”
“I told him no hanky-panky. The same goes for you. These record execs are breathing down my neck. They want weekly briefings on your progress.”
“Give them what they want.”
“Every time you fuck up, do you know how hard it is to keep it off of TMZ? Listen, the world loves Toxic Shock. They love you. Negative attention, headlines, news stories, and rumors are not a good thing.”
“I know, I know, I know.”
“Once you get a bad reputation in the industry it’s hard to turn it around. There are not enough heartfelt apologies, and raving reviews to wipe the slate clean.”
“Glynn, I hear you loud and clear. I’m committed to my sobriety.”
“I sure hope so. Don’t let your bandmates and your fans down. You are the heart of this group. They can’t survive without you.”
“Way to pour it on thick.”
“I prefer to be honest with you. If Jagger Bowie Adkins crashes and burns, we all crash and burn. I need you at the top of your game. Unlike you, I have a wife and two daughters to feed and eventually send to college.”
“You are so subtle.” I joked. He was far from that but I appreciated his candor.
“No, but honestly. My girls worship and adore you. Your fans worship and adore you. Think about the love you have waiting for you once you get back into the world of music.”
“I understand my responsibilities. That’s why I’m here in Neverland in this sober house.”
“You know Winston’s out if you’re out. He would never continue on without you.”
“Winston’s a loyal mate. He has to know he can survive without the likes of me. He’s a dynamic songwriter.”
“That he is. But Winston knows what I know.”
“Really? And what’s that?”
“He knows you’re the most valuable player on the team. You write. You produce. You direct. You choreograph. The list goes on and you have the most experience.”
“I know. I know. I’m grandpa Jag of this motley crew.”
Glynn was right and I knew it. I tried to make all things equal but I had fifteen years in the spotlight. My bandmates didn’t have the years or knowledge of the business.
“Beat this addiction. I know you can do it. Come back better than ever and do this new album and this world tour. You will make millions and we can negotiate the next phase of your career.”
“Are you done with the lecture? I haven’t had my daily therapy session yet. I’m not really in the mood for a double dose of introspection.”
“I’m done. Please just do whatever David and Fiona tell you. They are the best, experts in their field.”
“Yes, I signed the contract. I plan to get my quid’s worth of this sober living arrangement. Did you tell David I could make a go of this job?”
“Reluctantly, yes, I did. I went to bat for you. Don’t make a liar out of me.”
“I’m feeling bloody inspired already. I started writing again.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” There was a brief silence. “Jag, I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve any of these things that happened to you. I believe in you.”
“Thanks, Glynn.” I hated emotional conversations. This was the girly rubbish my manager was trying to lay on me in the wee hours of the morning. “Fiona said my presence is needed at breakfast. They expect me to wolf down American food. I will ring you later.”
“Sure, later, Jag. You can do this.”
I ended the call and remembered Fiona said she was making me an English breakfast. These calls would get easier once Glynn started to trust me again. There were so many times I’d lied to him. More times than the fingers and toes and had on my body. He was just doing his job. But trying to handle four young chaps from London wasn’t an easy affair. I was the one that made his job that much harder. I was the temperamental one, the one that would party incessantly. Sure he was paid well but I still think he had a genuine care for us. His job wasn’t a picnic in the park. I had to try to remember that.
I showered a
nd made it down to the kitchen in record time. Fiona had my favorite breakfast tea waiting for me. I enjoyed starting my day with a cuppa Twinings of London. I think she was happy to cook for a Brit. Although Fiona was considerably older than me she would make a great sister. I could see how she and David made a great couple. Upon my arrival, she’d told me they had been married for thirty years. Literally longer than I had been living and I held a great admiration for that level of commitment.
Fiona was removing something from the oven when I entered the kitchen. I never mentioned it to her but Fiona bared a striking resemblance to Stevie Nicks. The one difference was Fiona had fiery red hair. She had that same Bohemian style and raspy voice.
“Morning Jagger, you are right on time. The food is nice and hot and I have your special tea.”
I took a barstool and seat at the kitchen island. “Yum, I’m starving.” I was pretty famished. Alcohol and drugs took the place of food so now that I wasn’t indulging I had quite a bit of an appetite.
“How are you feeling this morning?”
“A little excited but rested.”
“Excited, why?” Fiona placed an empty plate in front of me.
“I have a job. I get to use my ever-evolving American accent.”
“Well, I could see how that would be exciting.”
“I’m going with a West coast inflection. I have never perfected my Midwest, New York or Boston accents. I’m going with the lesser challenge.”
“I think that’s best. You don’t want to give anything away.”
“No, I don’t.”
“You have to understand that David is concerned for your safety.”
“I understand but he need not worry. I’m a fairly decent actor. I never thought that not being recognized or noticed would feel so lovely. Blending in with people is super cool.”
“I forgot to ask, how was your first day at work.”
“Brilliant, different, a challenge in a way. The shop is small and filled with loads of candy. Kids come in and there’s a level of elation in their eyes when comforted with an array of treats.”
“Sounds like a healthy environment.”
“It is, believe me, the owner isn’t the party type. She’s a mother and has kids.” She’s fucking beautiful, but I wasn’t going to say that out loud.
I decided to concentrate on the dish placed in front of me. I wolfed down the scrambled eggs, fried tomatoes, fried mushrooms, buttered toast, and bangers. The meal was hearty and delicious. I couldn’t wait to see what Fiona had in store for supper.
I cleaned my dish and I felt Fiona’s eyes on me.
“Jagger, you finished just in time to start your session with David.”
I dreaded those therapy sessions. They were all apart of this rehabilitation crap. Maybe it wasn’t crap but being out here basically just meant I was away from temptation. I didn’t know any dealers and I didn’t have any credit cards or money to buy any booze. I wasn’t cured because I regularly thought about not being able to buy drugs and booze.
I was living as Jason Smith. I decided to make him American. I never thought I would have to actually pretend to be him. I knew if I messed this up I would have to go to one of those well-known celebrity rehab centers. If that happened it could be catastrophic for my band. Paparazzi would get images of me for sure. Staff would sell my medical information to the tabloids. The Daily Mail would be the first to fabricate stories that were far from the truth. I had to get this right. I had to stay clean. In my heart, sobriety was easy, but in my brain, it had a severe level of difficulty.
Therapy with Dr. David was the thing that helped me manage my day. I had a level of anxiety before I entered his home office. The problem was I couldn’t take anything for my anxiety because I was an addict. At this point, I wasn’t allowed any mood inhibitors. I wasn’t even sure David would give me a pain pill if I had a migraine.
Chapter 4
KATRINA
Jason was here and he arrived on time. That was a good thing. I’m not sure why I’d thought that I wouldn’t see him again. He did a lot of work on his first day. He stayed the entire day yesterday. He didn’t have any experience and that was easy to figure out right away.
Regardless of his inexperience, he was a good worker and very helpful. I thought that maybe I worked him too hard. Young people nowadays were extremely lazy. I still had problems with my son putting his dirty clothes inside the hamper. It seemed that he preferred to strategically place them in piles on the floor. These piles were like landmines if you walked into his room at night with the absence of light. I already missed my son despite his messiness.
Jason didn’t forget to bring his identification and that was a good thing. I had to pay him a meager salary. He didn’t seem to mind minimum wage. It was all I had to give. I hadn’t really come up with a schedule but his availability would make that very easy.
He did everything I’d asked without the attitude of a teen. He was twenty so maybe he’s gotten all the brooding and angst out of his system. I don’t know why I was even thinking the worse. Jason seemed like a good kid. At least I thought so until I saw the tattoo on his bicep. The ink was creeping out the bottom of his short sleeve. I wondered what it could be but I wouldn’t dare ask.
Jason had been here for four hours and adolescent girls were coming in and buying candy. Some of the girls I recalled seeing just yesterday. I didn’t think it was a case of a sweet tooth. I think Jason had a fan club. He had all the attributes that would make a teenage girl swoon. He was tall. He was slim and muscular. He had meticulously coiffed bad-boy hair and his smile was pretty charming.
A long time ago I married one of those perfect, pretty boys. It seemed like a long time ago because it was two decades ago. I can’t call it a mistake because I have my two wonderful kids. I just wished I were smarter. I never planned to marry again. My ex-husband was a handful. Getting out of that marriage was hard so getting into another one wasn’t in the cards for me— ever.
After one gang of girls left the store. There was another that followed soon after. Jason Smith was pretty damn popular. I was free of giggling young hot-tailed girls for almost an hour when the bells on the front door rang and three girls of about thirteen came inside and started eyeballing the candy. I had a feeling they were looking for Jason. I tilted my head up to see that they were ignoring me. I put my head down on my laptop and continued to check my never-ending stream of emails. I started with one hundred and twenty-two. I was down to sixty-six. I was making some progress. Hallelujah! Amen.
Jason was on a bathroom break. He emerged from the hall and walked right up to me.
“Did you clear out some of your emails?”
I sighed. “Some.”
He smiled with his teeth and noticed that the three girls were noticing him. I’m sure the owner of the flower shop across the street could see these teens gazing at Jason. It was that obvious.
“Hey girls.” He greeted them because their eyes were already glued to him. It would’ve been impossible not to notice the intrusion. He seemed unbothered by the girls. I thought that was a good thing. His good looks didn’t seem to be going to his head. Maybe he didn’t know he was overly attractive. Nah, he didn’t seem slow.
Most kids loved candy. Clearly, these teens were far more enthralled with my hunky new employee. Why did I call him hunky? I don’t think I’ve ever used that word in my life.
All three of the giddy girls rushed to the counter where Jason stood beside me. I was tempted to look back at my laptop screen but I was intrigued. The girls were cute but they were fast in the ass. They were trying unsuccessfully to look casual. Jason was too old for them and when I was their age I never even gave older boys a thought. This was a new dawn and a new day and these little fast ass girls were different.
“Hey, Jason.” The blonde girl was the first to speak up. She looked thirteen or fourteen even with the excessive eye make-up and thick pasty lip-gloss.
“Sara, right.”
She s
miled. “Yes, you remembered my name.” A giggle escaped her lips.
“Of course, you bought a lot of jawbreakers yesterday. Is that right?”
“Yes, I did.”
“I’m happy you didn’t choke on them.” He flashed a smile at these hookers in training and I swear they all found a new pimp. I need Jesus, Joseph, and Mary. Why was a calling these little girls hookers? Now I was the one laughing on the inside.
“These are my B.F.F.’s Mia and Charlotte.” The blonde pointed to each girl as she said their names. Charlotte was the redhead and Mia was the brunette. They were all cute girls but young.
“Hey.” The two new girls said in unison.
Sara leaned on the counter. She had confidence now and I looked down at my laptop no longer interested in whatever was coming next. I would bet the coming attraction was a few hair flips followed by a series of high-pitched cackles. This would be adorable if he was under eighteen. Twenty years old might technically be a child but legally it was an adult.
“I told Mia and Charlotte that you looked just like Jagger from Toxic Shock. What do you think Charlotte? Does he look like Jagger?”
“You do, you do, seriously, you look just like Jagger. But your nose and your hair are different. He’s like my favorite.” Charlotte admitted.
Who the hell is that? I thought.
“You’re taller than him, but you do look like him,” Mia added.
“I hear that all the time. I have to live with the face of a famous guy that looks better than me.”
“Jagger isn’t just any famous guy.”
“Right, he sings or something right?”
“He sings. He dances. He does everything.” The girl mused.
“Don’t cancel me but honestly I think his music kind of sucks.”
“Oh, my friggin’ God. Did you just say that?” Sara was appalled. They all were appalled. I would’ve been appalled too if I knew what they were talking about.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I can’t sing or dance. So basically I’m jealous of that guy. I have two left feet.” Somehow that solicited another giggle from the trio.