CLASS ACT (A BRITISH ROCKSTAR BAD BOY ROMANCE) (6 page)

BOOK: CLASS ACT (A BRITISH ROCKSTAR BAD BOY ROMANCE)
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Charlotte wasn’t a particularly attractive looking woman by my tastes. Most of the groupies I bedded were better looking. Yet, there was something striking about this buttoned down, prim and proper teacher.

 

 

Which made it all the more difficult to hear her critique me.

 

 

“Your mathematic skills are abysmal,” she said, going through the grading rubric. “Your ability to do calculus is nonexistent. The trigonometry portion was left blank-”

 

 

“I don’t need the blow by blow,” I grumbled, drinking my coffee. We had retired to the company’s cafeteria for a break. A small booth in the corner provided us with some degree of privacy. “Just tell me how badly I did.”

 

 

“Well, if it’s any comfort,” Charlotte said, sipping her herbal tea. “You’re not the worst performing student I’ve given this diagnostic test too.”

 

 

Intrigued, I rose up from my seat. “Really?”

 

 

She sucked in her lower lip before speaking. “I gave the lowest grade to a nine year old boy who slept through it.”

 

 

I slumped back in my chair. The last thing I needed was some teacher critiquing my intelligence for the next three years. I got enough of that from the tabloids.

 

 

I’ll admit I was a slacker and a jackass. Don’t blame for me acting this way with the level of shit I deal with on a daily basis. Hell, my management just lied to my fucking face.

 

 

I was nothing more than a slot machine to them with money flowing out of my mouth. Management would just push the lever, make my life more difficult, and collect their bounty. They would cut me up and sell my organs to the black market if they thought it would fetch them a higher price.

 

 

God, I missed the good old days. It would be just me and Harold going from one gig to the next. The times in between we would work odd jobs and try to save enough for the next gig. We had been poor as squirrels but we still had each other. It was so much simpler before the record label came with their money and their devil’s contracts

 

 

“Well, are you done making a fool of me?” I asked rhetorically. “I can barely understand half of these questions. Unless you have a magic wand that can make me into Stephen Hawkins, I think this test settles matters.”

 

 

“I never expect my work to be easy, Heath,” she replied. “I’m going to put in as much effort as I can in helping you succeed. You just have to meet me halfway by working with me. It’s the only way things can work out between us.”

 

 

Gone were the days of playing on the streets of Liverpool or the pubs of Dublin like all the other starving artists. Now, Sterling Record micromanaged my entire life. They chose what hotels I stayed at and what venues I played at. Hell, they even decided what guitar and microphone I used so they could score another endorsement deal.

 

 

To add insult to injury, they wanted to me go to school like a good little boy. Charlotte was just another tool for them to control and belittle me. No matter how much money I made or fame I gathered, I was just another employee on a spreadsheet program.

 

 

I looked off to the side. I hadn’t even managed to finish the test. It was page after page of gibberish. So many questions were left blank. “I’m a lost cause, Charlotte. At least you’ll get paid for the privilege of tutoring an idiot.”

 

 

She reached out across the table to hold my hand. I noticed that her hands were so small and soft. Mine were callused from years of playing the guitar and fist fighting. “You can never give up hope, Heath. I’ve worked people who’ve been written off before. It took sweat and tears but we manage to succeed.”

 

 

I raised an eyebrow. “Like who?”

 

 

“College football stars that needed a way to salvage their academic careers,” Charlotte said. “By that, I mean American football.”

 

 

I scoffed. “What was the problem? They finally realized they should play a sport where they can kick the ball more often?”

 

 

“No, they couldn’t play at all,” she sighed, looking downcast. The woman seemed to genuinely care about her students. I’d give her that much. “I’ve met a lot of up and coming sports stars during my years of tutoring. But I’ve also met the not so lucky ones.”

 

 

“What’s so unlucky about them? Did they end up playing at some third string position for some second rate team in a lower division?”

 

 

“No, they don’t get to play at all,” she answered again, looking serious. “Maybe they don’t make the cut. Or a bad injury in practice changes them from a hot prospect to damage goods. They end up losing their sports scholarship and their entire future with it. Their only choice is to get an education and make something of themselves.”

 

 

I chuckled. “That’s life.”

 

 

“Heath, you’re gifted with talents few men possess.”

 

 

I put a hand on my groin. “Very few.”

 

 

Charlotte ignored my gesture. “Your career may not go on forever. How many rock stars end up broke or dead after their sales fade? Your fans’ taste might change or the market might want some other genre. However, you can always rely on your education no matter how bad things get.”

 

 

It was a thought worth chewing over. What people called my ‘antics’ and ‘scandals’ were the things that kept me going each day. All of that rage on and off stage was real. It was the only thing I could truly own in this well-oiled business. Everything else was trademarked and manufactured by the music industry.

 

 

“Every Tom, Dick, and Harry has a GCSE, Charlotte. My music is what makes me stand out from the crowd.”

 

 

“You’re blessed to have this opportunity, Heath,” Charlotte said, staring straight into my eyes. “Don’t look at it as just another hassle. I’ve been to poor countries like Malaysia where an education is a luxury.”

 

 

The woman looked adamant about this tutoring thing. “Well, I hope that diagnostic test of yours gives you an idea of what is in store for the next three fucking years.”

 

 

“That’s something I wanted to discuss with,” she said, taking out the test and flipping through it. “The writing portion of the test got my attention.”

 

 

I looked over to see my admittedly poor handwriting. Honestly, a hen could randomly peck a piece of paper and it could be passed as my signature. “What’s interesting about those incomprehensible scribblings?”

 

 

“You see how you’re supposed to write the name of the object?” she asked. It was something a grade school boy could do. I had utterly failed at it. “So this image is a ‘pot’ so you should write down ‘pot.’ However, you wrote down ‘top.’ You can see the same mix up here with ‘ship’ and ‘hips.’”

 

 

“What about it? I’ve been making the same mistake for years. Decades even.”

 

 

Clearing her throat, Charlotte asked. “How did you write music if you kept mixing up the letters? I know your collaborators speak highly of your music compositions skills.”

 

 

I glanced to side before speaking. “I got others to do the writing while I did the thinking. I can still do sheet music if I put my mind to it. However, Howard was the one who handled most of the technical work back when I was starting out. Even now, I’ve always been more of an idea and concept guy.”

 

 

“He was your old partner, right?”

 

 

He was more than that. That man always had my back since we were orphaned children. He would take a haymaker to the face for me.

 

 

And now he was dead.

 

 

“Harold was the smart one,” I said, remembering the old days. We used to be an unstoppable team. “He was the brains of the operations. I was the beauty and muscle of the equation.”

 

 

I had lost so many friends and colleagues over the years. When it wasn’t suicide, it was a drug overdose. When it wasn’t the drugs, it was some fatal disease which is what ultimately claimed Howard’s life. The pessimist in me wondered how long I had before I would join them.

 

 

Charlotte smiled. “I think that’s the first time you’ve complimented a musician other than yourself.”

 

 

“He could play the guitar with his left hand while taking a piss with his right and still do it better than the rest of the sorry lot at this record label combined,” I stated. “That includes me. His brain came up with our biggest hits. Harold was a fucking legend that was taken before his time.”

 

 

She reached out to my hand again. “I’m sorry to hear about his death.”

 

 

“Don’t say that,” I growled, brushing her hand away. “You never met him. You don’t know what that man did for me. So don’t say you’re sorry.”

 

 

There was an uncomfortable pause for a moment. I regretted speaking so harshly. Harold would’ve scolded me for talking like that to a lady.

 

 

“Heath, please don’t be offended,” Charlotte said with a deep breath. “I think you might have dyslexia.”

 

 

“What the hell is that?” I asked narrowing my eyes. “Some venereal disease that’s affecting my prick?”

 

 

“No, it’s a learning disorder,” she clarified. “It’s a common disorder across all ages. It makes learning and memorization very difficult. Your diagnostic test shows the telltale signs of it.”

 

 

I leaned forward. “You think I have it?”

 

 

“It’s nothing concrete but it would explain why your brain keeps switching all the letters,” she said with a shrug. “Did your parents ever take you to the doctor? Did you ever visit a psychologist about your reading disability?”

 

 

“Where I am from, going to the shrink was like saying you wanked off to pictures of toddlers,” I laughed, causing her to frown. Psychiatric help was a powerful social stigma in the rundown borough where I grew up. “No, you didn’t go to the shrink. And no, you didn’t go to get help. You kept your baggage inside your house and prayed it went away.”

 

 

“Did your parents try to help you?”

 

 

“Nothing the strap wouldn’t fix,” I said with a half-smile. I remembered those dark nights. Daddy would come home smelling of booze. His pants would already be undone. He would hold his belt like a bull whip. Then, he’d strike. “That was their solution for any problem involving me.”

 

 

Charlotte’s eyes flashed with concern. “Did they ever stop abusing you, Heath?”

 

 

“Oh, they did stop alright!” I chuckled. “Only after they died. Dad got killed in a sports brawl after the local football team lost. Mum drank herself to an early grave. I got sent to an orphanage.”

 

 

“That must have been a very difficult time for you.”

 

 

“Difficult?” I retorted. “It was the best thing to happen to me. I became interested in music. I learned how to sing and play the guitar from the older boys. I had people who actually gave a damn about me. I met Harold…”

 

 

“Well, this has been a very productive meeting,” Charlotte said with a small smile. I felt a strange twinge in my heart at seeing her leave. “I’ll see you in a few days after I plan out a schedule.”

 

 

Come to think of it, she was a breath of fresh air from the grind of a countrywide tour. The constant partying and traveling was getting very boring. I needed a break from the action, even if it was an hour a day. Hell, I could actually learn something from her.

 

 

“Hold on a minute, Charlotte,” I said, grasping onto her dainty wrist. “I’m not going to be your average student. Not by a longshot. You’re going to get used to how Double Damage does its business. If you want this to work, then you have to learn how I put food on the table.”

 

 

She raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

 

 

“I’ve seen your world,” I grinned. “Let me show you mine.”

BOOK: CLASS ACT (A BRITISH ROCKSTAR BAD BOY ROMANCE)
6.49Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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