Rocked Up

Jack Willow is wearing a loose fitting brown blazer that smells strong of cigars, wiseguy leather boots, and the collar of his dated shirt is half sticking out. He walks next to me and I wait for him to talk.

“You know kid, I don’t know how you do it,” Jack says as he lights a half-smoked cigar.

“Do what?” I ask.

“Work for Ronald Ramsey. Can’t be easy.”

“I don’t work for Ronald Ramsey.” I know what I sound like and immediately regret it. Jack laughs out a cloud of smoke.

“Right, he works for you? Look, you are deep in the machine and it hasn’t seemed to break you, you’re a smooth kid.”

“Thanks?” I say as I run my hand through my hair. I can’t tell if he’s sincere or not. Jack is zeroed in on me and senses my defensiveness.

“You write your own shit, right?” Jack asks.

“Yeah,” I answer.

“I like that limousine song,” Jack says as if the compliment was some kind of offering.

“Thanks.”

Jack wraps his arm around me as we approach the entrance of the pub. The place is called Moby’s as stated by the flickering neon light in the window. There is a chalk board next to the entrance with the words Open Mic Tonight scratched in large letters. The distinctive shaky vocals of an open mic performer are pouring out of the entrance. The bouncer is looking at me in disbelief, I can tell this will not be an evening that I can go unnoticed.

“Here you go brother, for me and my son here.” Jack still has me under his arm and pulls me in closer as he talks to the bouncer. He gives the speechless bouncer a twenty and struts into the bar, finally releasing me from his hold. He makes a direct route to the bartender, lit cigar in one hand and a fistfull of cash in the other. He hands the barkeep the cash and leans over the bar to exchange a few words.

Our crew pours into the room almost drowning out the nervous performer on stage. The lady was strumming a Ukulele and singing sweetly, her song ended and we gave her a roaring applause.

A heavy empty glass is put in my hand – the barkeep and Jack are handing glasses out to everyone in the joint.

The host of the open mic thanks the lady and asks if there is anyone else who would like to play.

“Brad wants to play!” Jack shouts as he pours what looks like whisky into my glass. He continues around the room filling glasses, it was as if his feet never touched the ground.

“No, no, thanks, I’m good,” I respond waving my hand dismissively.

I back away to the edge of the room. I consider joining Calvi and Switch but they’re sitting at a table with a couple of gals and I don’t see my place.

“Alright, well, I’m the host of open stage tonight, so if anyone wants to come up and play let me know. My name is Vince Stark and this song is called Would, by Alice in Chains.”

The host begins playing a very quiet, stripped down version of the famous song. We all shout and cheer in support, our cheer softened with his gentle playing. The energy in the room is electric, I don’t know if it’s just the whisky but I’m truly having a good time. My headache is long gone and I take in the positive energy that’s swirling around the room.

I wish Lael was here.

The bassist and drummer from B.S.R hop on stage. All the equipment was there waiting, asking to be played. Mr. Stark looks very pleased to have the famous rhythm section joining him. I’m surrounded by people who are trying to buddy up to me, or have their picture taken with me. I point to the stage indicating that that’s where their attention should be.

The bassist, Gregg, gives the signal to keep the same riff going so they can get into it. The sound gets bigger, the room cheers as the drums and bass fill out the sound. Switch, Calvi and their new lady friends began to dance.

“So, where is the girl?” Jack asks as he tops up my glass.

“The girl?” I question.

“Your new bass player, who I assume is your new girlfriend,” Jack adds.

“She’s Ramsey’s daughter, you know,” I say.

“I know,” Jack says through a smile. A silence lingers, Jack takes a drink from the bottle and presses on. “The boss’s young daughter and your mates think she’s gong to ruin the band… just make sure it’s worth it.”

“Worth what?”

“Everything?”

“Without question,” I answer. The words fall from my lips and I hold eye contact without blinking.

Jack matches my intensity and says, “Life is too short, man, trust me it goes fast. You will be just fine starting over without Ronald Ramsey. If you’re in love with this young lady, jump in, take her and never look back.”

I looked at Jack very suspiciously, he seems to know more details than he should. Just intuition, perhaps.

“Come on.” Jack again takes me under his arm and walks me to the stage. The room begins to explode as we step up. Jack hands me a mic but I wave it away and motion for him to begin the verse.

He complies. The host and Jack both sing the verse while I size up the guitar and amp in the corner. I sling the guitar around my neck and test it out to see if it’s in tune.

Close enough for this kind of night, I think.

Jack places the mic stand in front of me and puts the mic to my lips for the chorus. I strum along and belt out the words. Jack lip-syncs and works the crowd with the bottle of whisky still in hand.

At the end of the tune, the entire room shouts the final words so loud it rivals a stadium crowd.



“IF I WOULD COULD YOU”





Chapter Fifteen





Lael




I hear Brad’s door close.

I probably should have been asleep. Lord knows I wanted to text him every moment, but I didn’t want to be that girl. Friend, bassist, something more…whatever I am to Brad, I don’t want to push it.

But I do want more of him.

So much more.

I get up off my bed, wearing just a long, threadbare Anthrax t-shirt I’ve had forever. It barely covers my butt but I’m not going far.

I swipe my key off the coffee table and then make my way to the door, pausing by the mirror to look at myself. My makeup is washed off, my hair is a mess, and yet I don’t care. Brad has seen a million different versions of me, including the one earlier, stark naked in an alley and getting fucked while hanging onto dirty pipes. I never thought I had that in me, but this man is making me do all sorts of crazy things.

Including sneaking across the hall to his room when I know for sure there are spies everywhere. I know what Arnie said to me, I know what my father threatened, but I can’t seem to stay away from him.

Maybe I’m a fool. Maybe all my hormones are awakening for the first time in my life. Maybe I’m being driven mad by lust and years of obsession over him. Who knows.

But I want him. I need him. And no one else will do.

I open the door and quietly close it behind me before shuffling across to his room. I knock on it softly and wait.

I hear him walking around in there but nothing else happens.

“Brad,” I whisper, knocking again.

The footsteps get closer. The door opens.

He’s standing on the other side looking sexy as fuck.

And drunk as a skunk. He might even be swaying a bit on his feet.