Strings (7 page)

“
Okay. Whichever band has
the most number of likes on their fan page by January 1 wins a
prize.”

“
Like what?” I ask. Not
that I’m worried. We’ll obviously win, no beans about it. I just
want to know what I’ll be rubbing in Killer Dixon’s
faces.

Rax leans forward. “A wallow in the loser’s
pit of failure. A public humiliation of the viral kind.”

“
You mean like a YouTube
video of you guys dressed in drag, giving us lap dances?” I twist a
red lock around my finger and flap my lashes. I’d fucking
kill
to see Shades in a
bikini and on a pole.

Rax smiles. “You’re on.”

“
Uh—” Jinx raises her hand
like the class geek. I pat her knee to hush her.

“
I’m gonna love watching
you in a G-string banana hammock and pasties, grinding your big
cock in my face,” Kate says to Rax. “I’ll be sure to stock up on
dollar bills. And wipe my ass on them for you ahead of
time.”

The grin cracks his face wide open, and he
rests his arms on his knees. “Dream on, sister. We’re bigger and
better than you. Got way more fans already. Everyone in this room
knows it’s gonna be three hot bitches skidding down the pole into
our waiting laps.”

He turns his head thoughtfully to the
window. “I think I’ll write an extra-special riff for you to
solo-strip by, Kate. Or maybe I’ll use the one from the song you
tried to steal from me.”

Kate bounds out of her seat, shoots across
the room, and stops in front of Rax. Her hands ball, weight shifts,
and shoulders heave. He lurches up, furious fire burning his eyes,
and plants his nose an inch from her face.

Oh shit.

I stand. Shades stands.

“
You stole that song
from
me
.” Kate’s
lips miss Rax’s by a hair.

“
Bullshit. You were so
stoned that night, you could barely hold your head up, let alone
writing a fucking song.”

“
Chill out, guys.” Jillian
darts over to referee. She burrows in and pushes the two of them
apart. “Cut this shit out
now
. Both of you.”

Kate huffs. “Make me.”

“
Okay, get out.” Jillian
points at the door. “Get the hell out of my house, and don’t come
back until you can pretend to be an adult.”

“
Fuck you. I don’t need
you or your fucking tour. Shove it up your ass.” Red-faced, Kate
grabs her coat, flips off the room on her way out, and slams the
door hard enough to rattle the jamb behind her.

Great.

There’s no way Kate’s getting on that bus
now. Biting my tongue, I scowl at Rax.

Jillian takes a deep breath, sits, and
lights another cigarette. She combs her fingers through her hair.
“Kate will come back once she has time to think about it. She
always does.”

I’m not so sure. She’s pretty pissed.

Rax shrugs and rubs his hands together like
nothing ever happened. “Well, our work here is done. Gotta be off.
We have a headlining tour to get ready for.”

Toombs stands and stretches. Shades follows.
The smug dickweeds.

“
Nice to meet you,
ladies,” Shades says. His smartass tone and total disregard for our
situation crawl under my skin.
He’s
blowing
me
off? What the fuck?

Toombs licks his lips and surveys Jinx like
a slab of meat in a butcher’s window. “Jinx.”

A blush slides down her face, and she looks
away fast, gnawing on her already cut-to-the-quick fingernails.

The trio of male bodies with egos big enough
to fill a museum marches out, all smiles and attitude.

I can’t think of a single insult to hurl at
them. I must be in shock. I turn to Jillian. “What the hell just
happened here?”

She looks after the guys and shakes her
head. “Don’t worry about it. Stick to the original plan. It’ll work
out.”

“
I’m not touring without
Kate.”

Jinx pipes up, “Me neither.” I’m glad she’s
with me on this.

“
I know she’s a bitch and
hard to get along with, but we can’t replace her.” I resume my
seat. Dread sinks into my gut, weighing it down. Maybe it wasn’t
meant to be.

I stare blankly at the wall. Another dream
shattered, just when the Technicolor was about to kick in.

I’m going to be a fucking waitress for the
rest of my life.

Gulp.

My brain doesn’t know what to settle on.
Yesterday, I sat in a bar bemoaning my lack of music success,
blowing my birthday wish on fantasies of making it big. I forgot my
troubles when I shoved my fake dick up Shades’s ass. Then this
morning, I find out I’m going on tour. But it’s with a bunch of
dickheads I hate. Except maybe one of them. And now the tour’s off,
so none of it matters.

Right back where I started.

I want off this roller coaster. I need to
think. Or not think. Something.

“
I’m out of here.” I pick
up my coat and sling it around my shoulders. Memories of Shades
warming me with his ugly-ass pea coat in the taxi last night smack
the back of my head. I shiver.

Jillian rubs her forehead. “What about
rehearsal?”

I point to Kate’s empty spot on the couch.
“Kinda hard to practice without a guitarist. What’s the point,
anyway?”

A staring contest ensues. I win.

“
Bye, Letty,” Jinx says
softly.

My heart breaks a little for her, but I head
for the door anyway. “Bye, Jinx.”

Outside, my foggy breath puffs around me. I
wish I’d nabbed a few of Jillian’s beers before I walked out. Might
make the carnage of the last twenty-four hours a little less
vivid.

On my way to the POS I’ve been driving since
I got my license nine years ago, I pause and look up at the stars.
They’re so bright out here, away from the city lights. So different
without the blight of civilization to diminish their glory.

Sometimes I think Kate diminishes Jinx and
me. She dictates what happens with this band because she knows we
can’t go on without her. And if, God forbid, we disagree—about
anything—then we’re “against her.”

Fuck that.

I get in the car, twist the key in the
ignition, and wait for the old girl to sputter to life. It takes
three tries before the bitch finally turns over.

My ass is freezing. The heater doesn’t work.
I rub my hands together and step on the gas pedal to rev the engine
a few times.

My heart hurts.

I don’t want to go home. It’s too depressing
to drink alone.

So, back to the bar I go. Along the way, I
vow not to pick up any guys tonight and to have only one drink.
Something really cheap.

I snag a parking spot on Clayton Street
right outside BAR-k and rush into the warm, dark cave where drunken
losers go to drown their sorrows. I should invest in this place for
all the time I spend here. Maybe some day, when I’m rich and
famous.

I plop my ass down on a stool in front of
Rob.

“
Hey, Letty. How’s it
going? You have fun last night?”

“
Not really,” I lie.
“Gimme the cheapest beer you got.”

Rob nods, pulls down a glass, taps the keg,
and hands me a mug of frosty goodness. “That guy you left with. He
came in here today.”

I choke midslurp. The violent twitch of my
beer-holding hand sloshes a thick, foamy mustache onto my upper
lip. I slog it off with my sleeve and shake the bubbles to the
floor beside me. “What? When?”

“
Couple hours
ago.”

“
Was he looking for
me?”

He shrugs. “He didn’t mention you.”

Shit, why do I care?

I don’t. I suck down a big gulp.

Motherfucker didn’t ask
about me.
Pfft
.
Just for that, I oughta write a song about him.

I set down the beer and bust out a rhythm on
the wooden bar top with palm slaps. Wiggling my ass on the stool, I
put my back and hips into it. The neck joins in the rocking. Words
surf along on my brain waves. I mumble bits and pieces.

I take you down, kick off your crown

My boot crushes your chest, you lie there
and wallow

You can hide those eyes, your precious
prize

But anywhere I go, you’re sure to follow

Tonight it’s you and me in our own little
world

Just ’cause it’s casual don’t mean it’s
hollow

When I do my worst, you’re gonna burst

Deal with your guilt when I’m gone
tomorrow

The two guys sitting at the bar look at me
as if I’ve grown three heads. Then one of them—the white-haired
dude who looks about seventy—starts rocking to the beat too. “Get
it, girl!” he yells.

I up the volume on my lyrics.

Aim this rocket, no time to cock it

Got you in my sights, now it’s time to rock
it

I ain’t got all night. Don’t put up a
fight

Come over here and plug your prong into my
socket.

Oh ho! Brilliant!

“
Rob, you got a pen and
paper I can use?”

He lifts a brow and tosses a few cocktail
napkins in front of me. Then he shuffles around under the bar and
produces a dull pencil. It’ll do.

I scribble the words as fast as I can,
spanking a knee with my free hand to keep the bass rhythm in my
head going. In a mad fury, I jot down the musical notes too. I have
to skip some to keep up with the song that shows no signs of
slowing down.

I wonder what
Todd
will think of this
when he—

Nope. Not going there. If, by some miracle,
we do end up touring together, this song stays under wraps until
it’s finished and polished. Kate might be a paranoid freak, but
after the two-year drama with Rax, I’m a little paranoid too. Can’t
risk those dickholes stealing another tune. And this bass line is
fucking perfecto. Jinx will come up with a totally badass rhythm.
I’ll bet we can persuade Kate with it.

Yeah, this song is gonna fucking rock.

As my brain spurts out the
last of its musical splooge on the napkin, the old coot at the end
of the bar gets up and dances. He holds his beer high and shakes
his ass, albeit slowly. Dude
might
have, like, six teeth in his head.

“
Yeah, baby, you know what
I’m talking about.” I lift my glass in his honor and down a few
more swallows. I swagger over to the guy and dance with him. I’m
probably the most action he’s seen in twenty years.

Rob turns up volume on the ’70s radio
station, drowning out conversations and bringing curious stares
from customers. Zeppelin’s “The Crunge” rattles the speakers. You
can’t dance to that song for shit, but I do anyway. And the old
fucker is right here with me, swinging his bony hips, waving his
scrawny arms. Man, this is what rock and roll is all about.

Pretty soon, everyone in the place is head
bopping or flat-out grooving. I jump on the bar, use my thumb as a
mic, and belt out the song with my buddy Robert Plant.

People say Cherry Buzz Float is like a
female version of Led Zeppelin. I take that as a high compliment.
When they say my voice is a cross between Plant’s and Janis
Joplin’s, I hump legs.

All eyes turn to me as I spout lyrics, grind
my hips, and put my rock moves to good use. It might not be a big
arena or even the little stage at Vertigo Palace, but in this
moment, I’m the fucking Queen of the World.

When the song ends, claps, cheers, and
whistles warm the room. A bead of sweat rolls down my cheek. “Thank
you guys for coming out. You’ve been great,” I joke, and then
bow.

Smiling, I jump to the floor. I might be
glowing. I’m not sure. Definitely got a contact energy high from
the small crowd. Boozers and frat boys return to their seats. The
volume drops to normal. I turn around, and there’s fucking Shades
standing next to my seat.

Hand Job? Blow Job? Rim
Job?

“
Not bad for a girl,”
Shades says. No sunglasses, so I get the full effect of his
hotness. If he weren’t such a dick, it might blind me.

“
I could say the same
about you after what I did to you last night.” I snarf down the
remainder of my beer and flash my last ten-dollar bill at Rob. So
much for eating this week. “I gotta cash out.”

Rob waves me off and nods to the window
where people on the sidewalk peer inside through cupped palms. A
few wander in. “After that performance, it’s on the house.”

Thank God. Tomorrow I feast on ramen
noodles. “Thanks, bud. I appreciate that.” I slap his outstretched
hand, point at him, and hike up my hood over my hair. Pushing past
Shades, I make my way around the tables to the door and half hope
he follows.

I step into the cold night and head to the
car.

Oh shit. My song. I left it on the bar.

“
Fuck!”

Heart pounding like a bass drum, I turn
around and run slap into Shades.

He looks down his nose and grins. “Forget
something?” The napkin with my badass tune is nestled between his
index and bird fingers. He wiggles them.

I grasp for the makeshift paper. He snatches
it out of reach.

I sigh. “What do you want? Hand job? Blow
job?” I don’t say rim job, but it’s not entirely out of the
question. Especially considering he could be holding my livelihood
in his hand.

“
Food.”

That’s the worst idea ever. Now that the
paranoia bug has bitten me, I scan the street for Kate. If she sees
us together, she’ll go ballistic. “Is that a code word for
‘sex’?”