Rock All Night (The Rock Star's Seduction #2) (32 page)

Actually, things got a lot less grim after that.

Especially when, after my fourth shot, I decided it was a good idea to come clean and admit I’d heard her and Ryan in the kitchen.

“You BITCH!” Riley howled with laughter, and slammed back another drink. “I shoulda known. Did you hear everything we said?”

“I didn’t
mean
to…”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“I heard you being mean to me.”

She laughed. “If I’d’a known you were listening in, I’d’a said a whole lot worse to your face.”

I did that little sideways head-bob that means,
Yeah, okay, I can see that.
“I was totally shocked when you agreed to do it.”

“Yeah, well…” She took another shot. “I’d do just about anything for that fucker.”

“I didn’t realize you guys were that close.”

“Hell yeah. He’s like the older brother I always wanted but never got. After my sister, he’s probably my best friend.”

“You have a sister?”

“Yeah, but… I don’t get to see her much while I’m on tour, so it’s basically me and Ryan.”

I noticed that she raced past my question about her sister, but she was talking so fast – and I was already so drunk – that I let it slide without comment.

“When I first got to Athens, life sucked. I mean, sucked
bad
. I lost all my friends when I left New York. I had
no
fuckin’ money, cuz I spent every last dime on the drive down. And I don’t know if you know this or not,” she said playfully, “but the chicks in Athens? Not exactly like New York. There were, like,
ten
lesbians in the whole fuckin’ town, and basically all the little bi-curious college girls wanted to do was get drunk and kiss other sorority chicks. So I was gettin’
NO
play at all.”

My memory of Athens – and the LGBTQ community – was slightly different. I remembered
lots
of crop-haired Women’s Studies majors all over the place. (Sorry to be stereotypical, crop-haired Women’s Studies majors).

But I doubted any of them were ready for the totally insane, perpetually drunk, walking tornado of an NYC punk rock drummer chick that was Riley Wojtalik.

Not that I blame them.

“So I was basically a mess,” Riley continued. “Really fuckin’ unhappy. I probably woulda quit and gone back to New York, but Ryan was the reason I stayed.”

She laughed, and her eyes got a faraway look. “He kept bugging me to play cards. I was like, ‘Get the fuck out of here with your cards. I came here to rock out, motherfucker, I’m not here to play Go Fish
.
’ But he kept bugging me, and bugging me, and bugging me, until finally I agreed, just to shut him the fuck up. And that was the first good night I had in Athens. We got drunk – well, I
stayed
drunk. He
got
drunk, but he’s a lightweight, kind of like you. Anyway, we were drunk and laughing and telling stories… and then we played cards every night for the next three weeks. That was before we were booking any shows. We’d practice during the day, maybe record some demos on Ryan’s equipment, and then we’d get drunk and play cards at night.” She smiled. “That was one of the best three weeks of my life.”

My heart swelled as I thought of Ryan befriending the lonely little punk rock girl. “You were the one who talked him into staying in the band, right?”

“Yeah. Well, just moving into the house is all. He was never gonna totally quit the band… he was just gonna stay in school and live with his parents and only do the band thing on the side. So, yeah, I basically guilted him into chucking the other shit. But once he went all in, that’s when things really took off.

“His parents fuckin’
hated
me for that, though. They totally blamed me for making him quit school. They love Derek –
loooooove
Derek, so they weren’t gonna get mad at
him
. Killian they’re totally panicked around cuz he’s a pothead. It’s like they think he’s gonna mug them or something, even now. But they don’t really see him as the evil fuck who corrupted their son. Me, on the other hand… not only do they not like the whole mohawk and tattoo and lesbian thing, they think I took Ryan away from them, too. But… I can’t say I blame ‘em. If I was like them, I probably woulda blamed me, too. I’m just glad it worked out so he could say, ‘See? I did the right thing.’”

I was struck by the lack of rancor in her voice. For somebody who was so angry at the world –
all of the time
– she sounded remarkably philosophical. Even compassionate. I remembered her in Los Angeles, watching Ryan’s family from a distance, and what she had said:

They’re good people. They really love Ryan.

And the line that had really touched me:

It’d be cool if somebody came across the country to watch ME like that.

I hadn’t understood it at the time. But after hearing about Mr. Hopkins and the multiple foster families, I thought I was beginning to.

Then something happened that took me completely by surprise.

Riley shook her head ruefully and said, “You should totally ditch Derek and hook up with Ryan.”

Her words were like a bucket of cold water to the face.
“What?!”

“You heard me.”

It must have been the combination of alcohol and shock, because I didn’t come back with anything obvious like
But I love Derek!
or
Ryan’s just a friend!

All I could get out was, “Why?!”

“Cuz Ryan’s a great guy. And you’re both just uptight enough to make it work.”

“What, Derek’s not a great guy?”

Riley about choked with laughter mid-shot.

After she’d snorted some whiskey out of her nose, she said, “Look, I like the guy, and he’s a hell of a lead singer – don’t you tell him that, I’ll totally fuckin’ deny it – but he’s kind of an asshole.”

“You’re kind of an asshole, too,” I said, only to realize that I might have just ended the interview with those six words.

Instead, to my overwhelming relief, she grinned. “I know. That’s how I can spot ‘em.”

I thought back four years ago to me and Derek outside Krispy Kreme on highway 78. “But… he’s been sweet to me…”

“Really? When? That time he chewed you out in the bus for talking during the rehearsal? Was that him being sweet?”

Oh yeah.

I’d forgotten about that.

“…I crossed a line I shouldn’t have crossed,” I said, in a voice so hesitant that even
I
didn’t believe me.

“Fuck that noise.
I
didn’t give a shit. Neither did Killian. Ryan was… okay, well, Ryan is kind of insecure – but Derek’s worse. Derek turns into a raving dick. Ryan just loses his confidence and gets all down on himself till I snap him out of it.”

My eyes widened.
“You
help Ryan with his confidence?”

“Don’t act so surprised, Blondie.”

I was pretty sure I’d hurt her feelings, and I scrambled to pull my foot out of my mouth.

“That’s not what I – I just meant, what’s he got to feel insecure about?”

“Nothin’. He’s cute as hell, he’s a fucking genius, and he’s the heart and soul of the band. He’s just gone through the last five years of his life thinking he’s less awesome than he is cuz he’s always comparing himself to Pretty Boy Dickhead, that’s all.”

Okay, that was the first time I’d ever heard Derek referred to as ‘Pretty Boy Dickhead.’

But it was also the first time I’d heard something else she’d said.

“What do you mean, he’s the heart and soul of the band?”

She sighed. “Okay, as a drummer, I usually’d rather cut off my right hand than say what I’m about to say… but what’s the most important part of the song?”

“…I don’t know… the lyrics?”

“NO. Don’t be a dumbass, Blondie. Whistle me something by the Sex Pistols.”

“I don’t know any Sex Pistols songs.”

“Jesus Christ, fuckin’ kids these days… whistle me part of ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit.’”

“I can’t whistle.”

“Well fuckin’ hum it, then!”

I hummed a few bars of the chorus of Nirvana’s biggest hit.

“Well, Blondie, you might not be able to blow worth a damn, but at least you can give a hummer,” she smirked. “Derek must be happy about that.”

Before I could come up with a good comeback, she said, “Now do a Beatles song. Any song.”

I hummed ‘Hey Jude.’

“Okay, now do one of ours. Bigger’s, I mean.”

I chose ‘Girl, Please Stay.’

“Okay, what were the words to all the parts of the songs you just hummed?”

“Uh…”

It took me a minute, but I was able to piece together a few lines from each song – although I probably got probably half of the words wrong.

“Had to think about it, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, so?”

“But when I asked you to hum it, you did it right away, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, s– ohhhhhh.”

She nodded smugly. “So what’s the most important part of the song?”

“The… melody? Is that what it’s called?”

“Fuck if I know – I’m punk rock, bitch. Melody, tune, whatever – it’s the part you can hum. That’s what people remember. I mean, yeah, they’ll remember the words – sometimes – but only if they can hum that part, too. Hell, I know tons of people who don’t even pay attention to the words. You tell ‘em what the song’s really about and they’re like, ‘Really?’ And I’m like, ‘Listen to the words, dumbass, it’s right there in front of your face.’”

“What’s your point?”

“Ryan comes up with all the melodies. All of them. Always has.”

I frowned. “But Killian – ”

“Killian’s fuckin’ awesome. He takes whatever Ryan gives him and runs with it – but he never comes up with a tune on his own. He never says, ‘Hey, we should do this.’ He just doesn’t work that way. He riffs on stuff, and goes off in different directions and adds brilliant fuckin’ shit… but he doesn’t write the basic tune.
And neither does Derek.
”

“But… doesn’t Derek write the songs?”

“No, we
all
write the songs. We all put in our own parts. Take me, for example – none of those other fuckers could lay down a good backbeat to save their lives. That’s why we all share equal billing on the writing, and we all get 25% of the publishing royalties. So yeah, Derek writes the fuckin’ lyrics. And yeah, he’ll add stuff – I mean, he’s got to sing it, so he does his own thing to make it come out good. But he didn’t come up with the tune for ‘Girl, Please Stay.’ Or ‘Forgot You Were Gone.’ Or
any
of it. Ryan…
he’s
the one who comes up with the part that everybody fuckin’ remembers. Derek’s just the one who gets all the credit, cuz the frontman always gets the credit for
everything.
” She snorted derisively. “But try sayin’ that to Derek and he’ll flip the fuck out. The thing with Derek is, you gotta stroke his ego. And you gotta give him what he wants, or he’ll turn into a dick. That time on the bus when he chewed you out? He was
being an asshole because he wasn’t getting what he wanted.”

“What did he want?”

“Here’s a hint: it’s in your pants.”

“No,” I scoffed, “that wasn’t it.”

“Yeah, right. Stop letting the cock go to your brain, Blondie.”

“What does
that
mean?!”

“It means quit making excuses for him just because you like how he fucks you. Here’s the truth: as long as Derek’s getting his way, he’s sweet as pie. Problem is, he needs you to say ‘You’re so
awesome’
all the fuckin’ time.
And he gets bored real quick. Just remember that.”

I could almost hear Killian’s voice whispering in my ear:
It’s in his nay-chuh.

“Ryan, though… Ryan’s a keeper,” Riley finished.

“So you want me to ditch Derek for Ryan?” I asked sarcastically.

“If for no other reason than I’d like to see that smug bastard finally lose one, and Ryan win one.”

“Ryan’s in the hottest rock band in the world. And according to you, he’s the heart and soul behind it. He’s won plenty already.”

“Yeah… just not the one he really wants.”

Her words broke my heart a little bit.

“Ryan’s not my type,” I said lamely.

“What’s your type – assholes?”

“
No.
I – I’m in love with Derek.”

There. I finally said it.

Even if he hasn’t.

She nodded. “So… your type is assholes.”

“No – ”

“Whatever. It doesn’t matter – the pussy wants what the pussy wants. But don’t ever say I never gave you
any
good advice.”

The pussy wants what the pussy wants.

It wasn’t exactly Shakespeare.

But it turned out she was right about the other part – the part about giving me good advice.

I just didn’t see it at the time.

The night – and Riley’s story – continued amidst a flurry of shots.

She talked about the various punk rock bands she’d been in through the years, including the one she’d started when she was sixteen, called ‘Fuck You.’ When she first heard Cee-lo Green’s song by the same name, she immediately changed the band name to ‘Punk Rock Bitches’ because she didn’t want people thinking she took her band name from a Top 40 hit. That would have been very un-punk rock. (Although, technically, the Top 40 hit was titled ‘Forget You,’ and ‘Fuck You’ was the naughty, alternate version… but that didn’t seem to matter to 16-year-old Riley.)

She talked about how she started playing the drums when she was five years old, using overturned pots and pans as the bass and snares, and lids suspended on fishing line as the cymbals. Growing up, she got practice time on other kids’ real drum sets by trading them alcohol she shoplifted. She didn’t get her own set until she was seventeen, just three years before she joined Bigger. She paid for them by working on a phone sex line. She eventually got fired – but not because she was lying about her age to work there. No, it was because she pissed off too many customers. If she got mad at a caller, she liked to tell them things right before they were about to climax. Like their penises were too small. Or she would drop her voice and say she was actually a 65-year-old man named Hiram.

She talked about how she had been born to a sixteen-year-old girl who had gotten pregnant and given her up for adoption. She didn’t even know her mother’s first name, just that her last name was Wojtalik.

She talked a little about some of the foster homes she grew up in. Riley freely admitted she was the kid from hell – furious at the world, shutting everyone out, always in trouble, getting drunk daily by age twelve. As a result of her bad behavior, she got shuttled around a lot. Some of the foster homes were good… and some weren’t. She didn’t go into detail, but I could tell there was a lot of pain there. And there was some kind of abuse in her past. Whether it stopped at physical beatings like the one that Mr. Hopkins had given her at four years old, or whether it went beyond that into something worse, she wouldn’t say… but she never looked me in the eye once when she talked about it.

She finally brought up her sister, who was actually her foster sister. Megan was two years older than Riley. Their host family only kept them for the government checks. They’d kicked Megan out of the house the day she turned eighteen. A couple months later, Riley ran away and followed her foster sister to New York City.

Megan got a job as a waitress, went to community college at night, and lived with three other girls in a squalid dump in the Bronx. Riley would crash on their second-hand couch for weeks at a time, until the other girls got tired of her drunken rages and kicked her out. Even then, Megan would always give Riley some money out of what little she had, and always made sure Riley had something to eat.

Megan was the only person Riley still talked to from that period in her life. I could tell how much she loved her just from her voice – because it was the only time in the three weeks I’d know her that I’d ever heard her sound truly happy.