Rock All Night

86




In the midst of all this angst, Glen from Rolling Stone started calling more often.

At first it was just to check in, with a slight note of urgency. Hey, how’s it going? Are you getting good stuff? When are you coming back?

But then the conversations began to get more and more charged. More negative. More domineering.

Look, you need to wrap this up.

This is going on way too long.

We’re not spending any more money on this.

It was the money part that really ticked me off. When he told me that, I hadn’t had my own hotel room for twelve days, and I hadn’t charged a goddamn thing on the Rolling Stone credit card for ten. I ate with Derek, either alone or with the rest of the band, and everything else was essentially free.

I told him that.

“I don’t care,” he shot back. “We sent you out there to do a job, not go off on your own little fantasy vacation.”

A*shole!

He absolutely had a point: I was here to do a job. And I wasn’t doing it.

But it was obvious he was just using the money angle to manipulate me.

It felt like he didn’t give a f*ck about me; that all he wanted was the story, and if I was the only way he could get it, fine… but I was just a means to an end. Nothing more.

He finished up with, “This is verging on the EXTREMELY unprofessional.”

This from the guy who didn’t care that I slept with the interview subject.

But… to be fair… I was a nobody with a shot at a Rolling Stone cover article, who wasn’t holding up her end of the bargain.

So I gritted my teeth and said I would do better.

Finally, though, there came a conversation that was like a sucker punch to the gut.

Thank god Derek was there to hear it.

I was in the hotel room when Glen called. Derek was scribbling out some lyrics on hotel stationary at a big wooden desk in the corner.

“That’s it, you’re out,” Glen snapped in my ear.

“…what?” I asked, stunned.

“This has gone on long enough. Get on the next flight back to New York from wherever the hell you are.”

“But – but I’m not costing you guys money anymore – ”

“I don’t give a shit, Kaitlyn. It’s obvious to me that you’re just taking advantage of the magazine.”

“I’m not taking advantage of you! I’m doing what you asked!”

“You’re not doing what I asked – you’re not doing anything REMOTELY close to what I asked.”

“Yes I am! I’m doing interviews with the band members, I’m getting background stories, I’m actually starting to write the article – ”

“STARTING to write the article?! Jesus Christ! Maybe you forget that you’re on a deadline!”

“You never gave me a deadline!” I said, my voice rising in panic.

At this point Derek looked around in curiosity. He could tell I was in fight-or-flight mode, and he frowned as he heard more of my side of the conversation.

“It was IMPLIED that we needed this as quickly as possible!” Glen yelled.

“You never told me that! You never told me that you needed it by any specific date!”

“Well I’m telling you NOW! Stop acting like a freshman in college, get the f*ck back to New York, and do your goddamn job!”

At this point tears were welling up in my eyes.

As soon as Derek saw that, he got up from the desk and held out his hand for the phone.

Fear bloomed inside me.

“No,” I said, shaking my head, afraid of what he might say. My relationship with Glen was already dangling by a thread. I could only imagine what the Rock Star Who Despised The Press would do if I gave him the chance.

Unfortunately, Glen thought I was saying ‘No’ to him.

“WHAT the f*ck did you just say?!”

“Oh – sorry, Glen, I wasn’t talking to – ”

“F*ck YOU. You do NOT tell me – ”

Derek didn’t give me a choice. He just grabbed the phone away from me and hit the ‘Speakerphone’ icon on the screen.


I went sick to my stomach. I tried to wrest it away from him, but he turned away and kept me at arm’s length.

Glen was still talking. “ – ‘no,’ I tell YOU ‘no,’ and NOW I’m telling you to leave your f*cking entitled bullshit at the door and get back here and act like a professional, for Christ’s sake! I knew this was going to happen – I should have had my f*cking head examined for – ”

“Hey, what’s up!” Derek said loudly, like he was entering a party and announcing himself. But not in a friendly way.

Glen went silent – but only for a second. “Kaitlyn, are you there?”

“She’s here, she’s listening in on speakerphone.”

“Um… I need to talk to Kaitlyn – ”

“Oh, you can still do that. AFTER you talk to me.”

“Um… who is this?”

“This is Derek Kane.”

Glen’s attitude turned around 180 degrees in a tenth of a second flat.

“Derek, hi! This is Glen Smith from Rolling Stone – I’m a big, big fan – you guys are phenomenal – especially you, I personally think you’re quite possibly the most gifted singer/songwriter of your generation – ”

“Hey, Glen? Take your tongue outta my ass, buddy.”

Despite how afraid I was, I couldn’t help laughing – and had to stifle it with my hand.

Glen didn’t take it well. Although he retained a lot more cool-headedness than he’d displayed with me.

“Hey, there’s no call for that. I’m just being friendly and letting you know – ”

“‘Friendly’? Really? That’s funny, coming from a guy who was berating my girlfriend just a few seconds ago.”

My girlfriend.

My heart thudded in my chest.

Glen tried to keep up a valiant front. “Oh… uh, look, I can appreciate that she’s special to you, but she has a job to do. I mean, if somebody in your organization wasn’t doing their job, I’m sure you would – ”

“Glen!” Derek barked. “Why is she here?”

There was a pause.

“Um… I thought you knew…”

“Oh, I know why, I’m just wondering if YOU do. So, tell me – why is she here?”

“…um… to do a story on you and the band – ”

“EXACTLY! To do a story on me and the band. And she’s the only reason you’re getting that story, Glen. Do you know why?”

“Um… well… you’re not a big fan of the press – ”

“That is one way to put it. That is definitely one way to put it. But more specifically, it’s because I f*cking hate little cocksucking weasels like you. Did you know that, Glen? I f*cking DESPISE little cocksucking weasels like you. And let me be clear, because you might try to misquote me to make me look bad, which you and your cocksucking weasel friends do all the f*cking time. So write this down, Glen, ‘cause I’m going on record: I couldn’t care less if you’re gay. Doesn’t matter to me in the least. But the fact that you’re trying to be my best friend and suck my cock – for a story? Trying to stroke me off so I’ll give you a couple of quotes for your magazine, all while you’re verbally abusing my girlfriend? F*ck you, Glen. F*ck YOU. Why don’t you go and print that?”

Glen cleared his throat. It was obvious he wanted to explode – and obvious why he couldn’t.

Because Derek was right: Glen was a weasel who would do anything for a story.

“Look, Derek – I understand you’re upset – ”

“Oh, you do, do you?”

“And I understand you’ve had some bad experiences with the press in the past. But I’m not like that, okay? I respect you.”

“Really? You respect me?”

“Yes. Immensely.”

“Awesome. While you’re at it, have some goddamn respect for my girlfriend, since she’s the only reason I’m f*cking talking to you at all.”

Silence on Glen’s side of the line.

“From now on, Glen, don’t call her. She’ll call you.”

And with that, Derek hung up the phone.