The naming thing had taken us over a week. That had almost been a bigger headache to survive than finding a new drummer. But we’d finally been able to settle on Non-Castrato. Next was finding a place to perform. After striking out at nightclubs that were well known for taking on new talent and giving them a chance to show their stuff, I took a leap of faith and contacted the newbie owner of Forbidden. The place had never had anything above jukebox music in its bar before, but I’d already been batting zero. I had nothing to lose by simply asking.
After cornering Pick Ryan in his office, I’d blurted out my request, and I have no idea why—I must’ve caught the guy on a good day or something—but he’d agreed to let us play in his club. It might’ve had something to do with me saying we’d play for free and that I’d come to work for him as a bartender since that’s what he’d needed at the time, but whatever. He’d agreed!
So I found myself quitting the package handling job to work for Pick and starting this music venture with basically three strangers. I hadn’t regretted it once, though, not through any of the long hours or headaches or pretty much having to set up all the gigs and create any original song we sang. It was a challenge I loved and a place I knew I belonged as soon as I’d stepped into the position.
But yeah, sometimes I thought it would’ve been nice if we all understood each other a little better, or if my bandmates actually knew what half the words I said meant. I guess we didn’t need to be tight to make a group, however. There was no reason for me to be whiny and wistful. I was probably just one of those people who simply wasn’t meant to have a great meeting of the minds with others.
Besides, tomorrow was a fresh, new day. I assured myself we’d finally find a fourth band member to agree on and my current frustrations would be moot.
As I pushed out of the studio and into the cool November evening, however, I felt restless. Unsatisfied. Because I still wished I had...fuck, I’m not even sure. Maybe a friend. Just one person I could hang out with and do shit with, or maybe not even do anything with. Just someone to be there, to help me get out of my own head for a while. A lifeline of sorts.
I’d told myself for years that I wasn’t lonely. But screw it, I was lonely.
And oddly enough, this past year that I’d worked at Forbidden and made more casual friends than I’d ever had before, I was realizing just how utterly alone I was.
Or maybe I was just in a mood because I was still letting what that girl had said earlier bother me. But, dammit, we were not a cliché. I’d worked hard to be my own kind of person and write songs that were different from everything else out there. Why had she gone and said the one thing that would bug me the most? Now her words were going to fester until they drove me crazy.
And what was up with calling me a man-whore? Was she for real? She didn’t know me. She didn’t know how I interacted with women, or that it’d been months since I’d last had sex. It itched at my craw that she would so easily label me like that.
But then, I tried to tell myself she’d been upset, for which I totally didn’t blame her. Gally should’ve let her audition (yet another reason I was irritated with him). So maybe it’d only been her anger talking.
Okay, fine...the truth was I was stewing because I was mad at myself. I could’ve forced the issue and let her audition, except damn...she’d affected me. Instantly.
As soon as she’d walked in the door with her long, tan legs sticking out of her short, short skirt with such a cocky, self-assured saunter, this heat had spread up from my gut and scorched my brain cells. That kind of immediate, intense reaction had only happened to me, like, twice in my life. Once a few months ago, and then...today. I didn’t much like it. It turned my hormones into these primitive beasts that wanted nothing but *.
I’d been forced to turn away and pretend to take a drink because I feared staring much longer might’ve caused me to sprout wood. But I just kept picturing myself ripping off that cheap blonde wig to see what she really looked like under there and then pushing her against the first available surface so I could feast upon her.
Seriously, the craving had been that bad.
So busy trying to cool my jets, I hadn’t even paid attention to what Gally was telling her until she’d said, “Is this some kind of joke,” and her voice...damn, her husky voice had me jonesing big time. It was low for a female but still really, extra sexy.
When I finally realized Gally was rejecting her because of her gender, sadly, I’d felt a spark of relief. There would’ve been no way I could’ve concentrated around someone who attracted me the way she did. I knew it was biased, cowardly, awful, and completely sexist of me, but I just couldn’t be in a band with her without wanting to jump her...constantly, and probably convincing her even more that I was some kind of man-whore.
And so, I felt crappy and antsy and regretful as I marched to my ride for not giving her the simple audition she’d wanted.