Platinum h5k3s

Platinum

A Rock Star Romance Series

Sandra Alex

Keep in touch with the author by Subscribing.

ISBN 978-1-989427-50-7 ISBN 978-1-989427-51-4

Copyright © 2021 Sandra Alex

All rights reserved.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17

Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 World Tour Keep In Touch Other Books in This Series World Tour – Sample Did You Enjoy This Book? Author’s Note

Chapter 1

Tommy The door slamming is what wakes me up and makes me open one eye. With my retina burning from the morning sunshine, I feel my stomach lurch and my head pound, and curse the asshole who slammed the fucking door. A half full bottle of whiskey lays on the floor next to me, as does a mirror with remnants of last night’s hit still dusted on it. Stomping feet approach, and another door slams behind me, as I lay my head back down on the floor, defeated. Whoever it is they can fuck the hell off. I’m not ready to get up yet. “Tommy, you fucking loser, get up!” my bandmate, Russell, shouts, or at least I think he shouts, because any sound is amplified with the huge hangover I have. “I checked your mail, man. When was the last time you walked to the box? The shit was pouring out of it.” He walks past my head, dumping a pile of mail beside my face, as he picks up the whiskey bottle and observes it, and then puts it back down where he found it. “You didn’t drain it, man. You slipping?” he teases. “Fuck you.” I sneer, my voice is gravelly. “Hand me a beer from the fridge, will you?” Russell scoffs. “Like you fucking need it.” “Hair of the dog, man. Works every time.” “Tell you what.” His voice is flat. “If you can pick your ass up off the fucking floor, you can get it yourself.” “Thanks, asshole.” Ignoring me, Russell picks the mail up off the floor, and shuffles through it. My guitar is laying dangerously close to the open whiskey bottle, and my head is only a couple of feet from my amps. I can see the wire from my microphone snaking past me, and I realize that Russell is pulling it away. Russell is the lead singer in my band, ‘Stop’, a nickname for me that stuck from back in high school, paying homage to my surname, ‘Stopliewicz’.

Russell turns the speaker on and begins talking through the microphone, both pissing me off and causing me immense pain at the same time. “Your water bill came in, you want me to open it?” the sound reverberates through my head, making me want to puke. “You fucking asshole! Cut it out or I’m going to fucking toss my cookies all over my amps!” He ignores me. “Oh, your fucking Visa bill is large!” “If I get up off this floor, you’re a fucking carcass, man!” I scream, even though my head pounds. I hear the front door open, but thankfully, it doesn’t slam. “Yo, you want this coupon, man? Twenty-five percent off at Denny’s.” he continues, talking through the microphone. This time even louder. I plug my ears instead of trying to get up, knowing that if I lift my head, the Chinese food we ordered last night, well, more like at three o’clock this morning, when we finished jamming, will be all over my guitar. I recognize Paul’s snakeskin leather boots next to my nose, as I hear him shout at Russell and pull the microphone from his hand. “Yo, you okay, Tommy?” Paul asks, kneeling so he can see my face. “You drank a shitload last night, man. And then you snorted nearly your body weight.” “I’m fine if this fucker would cut it out.” I say, reaching for Russell’s leg and punching it. I manage to get only a smack in, before he walks away, snickering at my lame attempt at revenge. “Hey, take it easy, man.” Paul says fairly, addressing Russell, and then he looks back down at me. “You need some water or something, man? You need to fucking puke or something? I know that makes me feel better after a bender.” “No, man, I just…I need a beer or something to take the edge off. Hand me one from the fridge, would you, man? Shithead over here wouldn’t give me one.” Russell ignores us, still rifling through my mail. Paul goes into the tiny bar fridge behind us and pulls out a beer. There is a metal bottle opener hanging on a string, taped to the top of the fridge. He removes the cap and hands me the beer.

“You gotta get up, man. Ain’t no way you can drink that from down there.” Slowly, like a baby learning how to roll over for the first time, I manage to get up into a semi-seated position and take the beer from him. Sipping gingerly, I feel like the cells in my body are coming alive as the cold brew settles in my stomach. Paul brings the mirror with a breath of blow still on it, over to me. “You need a hit?” “Na, man, this is fine.” I answer, watching Russell rip open envelopes with my name on them. “Would you fucking stay out of that?” “I’m doing you a favor, man. From the dates on some of these letters, you haven’t opened your mail in weeks.” I tip my head back, drinking more. “All I get is shit, anyway. What’s the point.” “Hey, what if that Robin Leach guy, you know, from the Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous, tries to you?” “So what.” “How about that other…that...sweepstakes guy?” he snaps his fingers together, trying to the name. “Ed McMahon?!” he shouts, finally, making me wince. “You’re such a dumb fuck!” I grunt, and then I raise my voice. “Why would Robin Leach and Ed McMahon try to me! Do you not see my fucking recording studio? My fucking huge house behind us? The stack of custom-built cars in the driveway? Shut up, motherfucker!” “He’s just trying to get a rise out of you, Tommy. Relax.” Paul says warily. “Maybe you shouldn’t drink so much, or do so much blow, man.” Russell says, condescendingly. “You put enough of it away, too, man. We all did.” I rake a hand through my hair. “Yeah, but I’m not the dude being scraped off the fucking recording studio floor.” Russell chuckles snidely.

“Easy, fellas.” Paul warns, lifting a hand. “What the fuck are you two doing here so early in the morning, anyway?” I ask, frustrated. “It’s noon, dude.” Russell says. “And we agreed that we’d rehearse some of the shit we worked on last night, before Lou gets here.” Lou is our producer. He’s helped us produce all of our records, with the exception of the first one, since our other producer retired. “What time is he supposed to be getting here?” I ask, sipping more beer, feeling my body start to feel normal again. “Three o’clock, he said.” Paul confirms. “Terry’s going to be here shortly, too. He had to run a few errands first. He was fucking shitfaced this morning, too. Worse than you.” “What, are you the official wake up crew now?” I ask, good-naturedly. “Someone has to be.” He shrugs. “Well, asshole face over here seems to think that he’s been given that task.” I gesture towards Russell, who is getting to the last envelope in my pile of mail. “My fucking dog woke me up, man.” Russell whines. “I would’ve still been asleep.” “Remind me to shoot your fucking ugly dog then.” Russell has a decrepit old Jack Russell terrier that barks his face off at everything. Drives me nuts. He ignores me and smiles, reading a letter from my mail. “Hey, dude, you got a letter from some charity, asking for a donation. You want me to toss it?” “Fuck…another one? Jesus Christ, that’s probably half my mail stack, isn’t it?” “No, not really. This is the first I’ve seen.” “What charity?” I ask, curious. My beer is half empty now, and I’m loose. “Some…oh, they want you to donate a guitar, not money.” He states, averting

his answer. “They’re going to auction it off for money. They say if it’s signed it would be wonderful, as they’ll get more coin for it.” “Yeah, no shit.” I mutter. “What charity. It’s not that fucking Jehovah’s Witnesses one, is it? ‘Cause fuck them.” “Why are you giving away your fucking money anyway, man?” Paul asks. “I wouldn’t.” “That’s because you’re a fucking tight wad.” I say flatly. “Look at your fucking shoes. And I’m the fucking Jew around here.” “My ass.” Russell argues. “When was the last time you saw the inside of a fucking temple.” Paul gestures at Russell with his chin. “Why do you care, dickwad.” “I don’t.” he shrugs. Growing tired of listening to them, I finally sit upright, with my legs crossed under me. There is a bag of fortune cookies sitting on the floor, leftover from earlier. I pull one out and eat it. “So, what charity is it, man?” “Some children’s charity.” He finally answers, handing me the letter. I read through it. “Does it look legit?” Paul asks. “Yeah, pretty legit. It’s the children’s hospital here in LA. They’re having a silent auction fundraiser. It’s going to be some big to-do dinner and everything. You can buy a table for it, too, if you want.” “Fuck, he’s turning into Mother Theresa.” Russell chuckles snidely. “You’re not going to buy a table for it, too, are you?” “And so what if I do?” “Why bother? You don’t have any kids.” Russell argues. “So? I want them some day.”

“You?” he laughs, as if it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s heard. “What’s so funny? I want to be a dad some day.” Russell gestures to the floor, which is a disaster, full of garbage, my scotch bottle, my beer, the leftover food and blow, and my ass, still sitting in the middle of it. “I’ve got a better chance of sprouting horns than you do of being a good dad. Sure, you can create one, hell, I’m surprised you don’t have illegitimate little assholes running around already, but to raise one, a good one…yeah, good luck.” “Shut up, asshole. I’d make a better father than you.” I pause. “And, yeah, I’m going to buy a table for this thing, and I’m going to donate…at least three guitars, hell, maybe even four. We’re all going to sign them, and we’re all going to attend this shindig. It’s good PR.” Russell lifts a brow. “Rock stars at a children’s charity function?” his tone says that it’s ridiculous. “Don’t you think we’ll stick out like sore thumbs?” Paul interrupts. “We’re not going to perform, are we? Because don’t you think that’ll be just a tad inappropriate?” “There’s not going to be kids there, I presume, stupid.” I snap. “And no, it says nothing performing. Besides, how bad would it be if we did? All of our songs are radio worthy. We have plenty of underage and school age fans. What’s the big deal?” “The big deal is us…playing at a charity. It sounds dumb and like we’re sucking up.” Russell states. “ ‘Feed the World’?” I ask. “Lots of rockers do charity stuff.” “That’s a song, stupid.” Russell says. “I know that. But the point is that they did it for charity. I don’t mind doing it. Especially if it’s for kids.” “Why?” Russell laughs. “Did you knock up that chick you banged earlier in the week?”

“Fuckoff.” I say under my breath, reading further into the letter. “Hey, it gives a list of other people who are donating stuff. This is pretty cool.” Paul takes a step towards me, interested. “Oh yeah? What else have we got?” This draws Russell’s attention, too. He scoffs when he sees the list of other donors. “Children’s books? Jesus, and you’re donating a bunch of guitars? This is going to go down like a clown show. Do you really want to go to this thing? It sounds more like something for the cast of Romper Room, not for a bunch of rockers.” “Would you relax, man.” I say, standing up. My head isn’t pounding quite as much, and my stomach is finally in a semi-happy place. “These are items that are going to be auctioned off, not given to the kids. And besides, it’s not a children’s book, idiot. It says it’s a memoir.” “What the fuck’s that mean?” Paul gives him a look. “It’s another name for a biography, dumbass.” He smiles at him. “Maybe if you graduated high school and read more, you’d know that.” “I read enough when I read our set lists.” Russell comments, satisfied with himself. “Besides, the only reading I need to do is reading music.” “And even that’s a little sketchy at times.” I comment. “Only when I’ve had a few.” He shrugs. We hear the front door open and Terry walks in, carrying his bass guitar, or, most of it. “Yo!” he throws his thumb in the air, smiling. “Check it out!” he lifts his guitar in the air. The neck is broken in half, and the strings are hanging like spaghetti. The body of it is crushed, as if it was stepped on. Yet, he’s surprisingly upbeat considering it looks like his guitar is a mangled mess. “What the fuck happened?” I say almost in awe. To me, as a guitarist, it’s like losing one of my children when a guitar gets creamed like this. “Never mind that.” Russell says. “Donate that to this stupid fucking charity event that Tommy is making us go to.”

“You’re such an asshole.” I say to Russell. “This guitar is done. It’s…kindling.” I inspect it as if it needs to be inspected. “What’s the loser talking about?” Terry thumbs at Russell. I wave, dismissing the question. The loser doesn’t take the hint. “Tommy wants to donate a bunch of guitars to this children’s hospital.” Terry looks me up and down. “Dude, you look like hell, man.” “Thanks, man.” I say quickly. “Your guitar looks worse.” “What’s this? You want to donate guitars? To a children’s hospital?” Terry repeats. “And he wants to buy a table at the fundraiser dinner…and we all have to go.” Russell adds facetiously, like you couldn’t pay him to go. Terry frowns. “I’ll go. Any chance that chicks are going to be there?” “Probably.” Russell answers. “Like…hot ones?” Terry adds. “Chick doctors are hot.” Russell says, and I’m growing irritated. “Nurses, stupid.” Paul corrects. “Chick nurses are hot.” The door opens again, and I look up to see Lou, our producer, walk in. “Heeeeyyyy!!” he calls out, smiling. When he reaches the recording pod that we’re standing in, he looks around at the junk on the floor, as if seeing exactly what he expected. His tone is flat. “So, Tommy. You drunk still or tying one on again?” “This is my first beer.” I say, holding the bottle up. “I’m ready to go once this guy tells us who the fuck ate his guitar.” I gesture with my chin towards Terry. “Yo, Lou!” Russell calls as Lou walks to the soundboard in the room next to us, as if ignoring the banter. “You want to go to some swanky fundraiser for a

children’s hospital?” “Would you let it go, idiot?” Paul says. Lou gives me a look. “Fundraiser? Since when do you give anyone financial , other than your junkie?” “Fuck you.” I mutter. “And they’re not asking for money. They want me to donate a guitar.” “And a table at the shindig.” Russell reminds. “If you’re trying to impress the ladies, I’m all for it.” Lou states. “But I think that some of your fans will think that you’re a pansy for it.” “You don’t know what you’re talking about, shithead.” I argue. “More than half of our fan base is female, and they love that kind of shit. And it sets a good example for the male fans, too. Besides, it’s not like we’re going to have a press conference there or anything. Not much publicity will come from this, if any at all.” I add. “And I’m not doing it for anything, other than the fact that it’s for a children’s hospital.” “Because he wants to be a daddy someday.” Russell teases, using a baby voice. “Shut up, loser. With those tight pants you wear, at least I have a hope in hell of procreating.” “Yours are tight enough, too.” “Whatever, dude.” I raise my hand, palm flat, out to him. Suddenly, the phone rings. I pick it up. “Yeah.” A female voice is on the other end. “Mister Stopliewicz?” “That’s me.” “Good afternoon, sir. Sorry to bother you. It’s Melanie from the Fund Development Department over at Oaks Children’s Hospital.” “Oh, yeah, hi. Yeah, I just opened your letter.”

“Thank goodness.” She says. “I’m not sure if you noticed, but there is a deadline to respond on there, and it ed already.” “Oh, no. I hadn’t noticed.” “Yes, sir, I’m afraid the letter was sent over a month ago. There must have been some sort of delay, which is why I’m following up.” “Yeah, sorry. I don’t check my mail that much. Bills.” “I understand, sir.” She pauses. “Are you interested in making a donation to the fundraiser, sir?” “Yes, actually, I am.” I look up at the guys, they give me blank looks, all except for Russell, who is shaking his head. “I’d also like to buy a table.” “Oh, that’s awfully gracious of you, sir. Would you like to take care of that now?” I say yes, and she takes my credit card information to purchase the table. I tell her that I’d like to donate some guitars and she is so pleased she must say thank you a dozen times. “After the event, I’ll be sure to send you a tax receipt for all this, sir.” “Oh, that’s okay.” She thanks me and we hang up, after she gives me the details. The fundraiser is in one week, so there isn’t enough time for her to mail me the tickets. When I hang up, Lou is ready to go at the soundboard, and while I’d been talking to Melanie, the guys lost interest and started setting up for our rehearsal. “You guys realize that this is a black-tie event, right?” “I figured as much.” Paul shrugs. “Things like that usually are.” “You guys ready to roll?” Lou asks. The soundproof door between the pod and the sound room has been closed, so we can only hear Lou’s voice from the overhead speakers. I look at Terry. He looks at me. I say to him. “Yeah, just as soon as this guy tells us what happened to his goddamn guitar.”

Terry looks at the floor, still covered in the remnants of last night’s debauchery. He shakes his head. “You know, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

Chapter 2

Debbie As I unlock my front door, I can hear it. In all its glory. Silence. The whole house is shrouded in quiet. My lips curl into a smile. Nobody screaming or yelling, no fighting, and nobody running to me screaming angrily, ‘Mom, look what she did!’. It’s the best…sixty seconds of my life. My shoes don’t even make it off my feet before I’m trampled by my kids coming in the door behind me. One is laughing and the other is shouting to the other one to stop laughing at her. “Mom! Would you get out of the way?!” Georgia whines. “I have to pee really bad!” “Alright, just give me a second.” I mutter. “Maybe if you weren’t flirting with James before boarding the bus, you might have had time to pee.” Mylee taunts. “Don’t you two start.” I warn, getting away from the door before Georgia pees on my feet. “I’ve had a really long day at work, and now I get to come home and cook dinner.” “Why are you home so early, mom?” Mylee asks as Georgia bolts to the bathroom, and a steady stream of urine is heard. “I have to work a little from home tonight, but I came home early.” It’s a practice that I’ve been getting into for the last year, since my kids all but gave me a nervous breakdown expressing their distaste over the after-school program I had them enrolled in. It was a year of bickering back and forth, but once my boss allowed me to do some work from home, this scenario has been working out. Why Mylee repeatedly asks me why I’m home early is beyond me. She asks me at least once a week, but the therapist says that this is normal for a grieving child. Bryan, my husband, died a few years ago in a horrid industrial accident. He was an electrician, working on a huge project with a local builder, and someone got stupid one day. He was electrocuted and died on the spot. Months of counselling and therapy later, we’re finally in a good place, me and the girls. Luckily, Mylee

and Georgia are grown; Mylee approaching teenage hood, and Georgia a year behind. The first year was really tough, but we’re coming right along. Georgia even asked me the other day if I’d ever considered dating again. I laughed and sloughed her off, since Bryan and I married so young, and I’d really not dated anyone before. The thought never entered my mind. Of course, my days of working a full-time job are numbered, since the book that I wrote last year hit the New York Times bestseller list. After dabbling in writing since Mylee was a baby, one of my works has finally made it. Since Mylee could talk, I’ve been jotting down all the funny and cute things my girls say into a diary that I kept in the kitchen, and when I finally had enough of a collection in hand, I made it into a book and submitted it to publishing agents. It was accepted and the rest is history. After that book, I fell in love with writing, and I’ve been writing every day since. It’s become such a practice for me, that I find myself making up scenes in my mind constantly. I use a pad and pen I keep in my purse to write the ideas down when I’m on the move, and I’ve become so prolific I can create a full-length novel in six weeks if I set my mind to it. My publisher can’t crank them out fast enough, as I’m submitting before the previous book has even been released. Because I’m a single mother, though, I keep my day job. Let’s be real here; I don’t make enough money to my kids, mortgage and all the bills…yet. As I begin making dinner, listening to my teenage daughters bicker intermittently between listening to music in their rooms and doing their homework, I find another story idea coming to my mind. Grabbing the pad and paper I keep in my purse, I jot the idea down, capturing as much data out of the creative side of my brain as I can, before I burn the pork chops in the pan. Then I realize that my usual five o’clock phone call has not come yet. My best friend, Janice, has been calling me every day at five o’clock for as long as I can . It’s like she read my mind. Smiling, I pick up the phone from the receiver on the wall next to me and answer the call. “Hey sexy lady, how are you?” “Heyyy, how was your day?” “Long, but I’m making my favorite meal, so all is well.” “Pork chops?” she guesses.

“Yep.” “I figured. It is Tuesday, after all.” “Being in a rut isn’t as bad as you think, girl. You should try it sometime.” Janice sighs. “You know me. In this house, we’re the fly by the seat of your pants kind of people. You should try that sometime.” She pauses. “You hear about Hilary’s latest rant?” “And how would I hear about it? You know she stopped talking to me ages ago.” I comment, scoffing. Hilary is a friend I’ve known since high school. She and I were close, off and on, until I started becoming successful with my writing. You see, she’s also trying to be a writer, but her creative sense is stunted by the fact that it isn’t something that can be handed to her on a silver platter, like just about everything else she’s had given to her in her life. “Glenda told me that she’s still trying to get an agent.” Janice comments. “Glenda was back at work today?” Glenda and Hilary are mutual friends, except for one thing: Hilary does not know that Glenda is still friends with Janice, since they had a falling out years ago. We keep that part a secret, so that we have an in whenever Hilary pulls another stunt to try to settle her score with me. For the record, I have no score to settle with Hilary, aside from when she directly insults my kids. You see, she also thinks that she’s the parenting expert, since she has five kids to my two. While that may be true, she also has had a plethora of from her family and friends, while Bryan and I had nobody. Hence, we only had two. Given the chance, I’d have had more, but that’s life. “Yeah, she sounds much better now, and she can breathe again. I’m glad I didn’t get that nasty cold.” Janice says. “So, what’s Hilary saying now?” “She saw you grocery shopping the other day. Evidently you don’t know how to match your clothes.” I cluck my tongue, rolling my eyes. “That all she can come up with?”

“Must have been a slow day.” Georgia comes up behind me and taps me on the shoulder. “Hang on a second, Janice.” “’Kay.” Georgia addresses me. “Mom, can I go check the mail? I wrote to my pen pal like a month ago and I still haven’t heard back.” “Sure, honey. My keys are in my purse.” I gesture to my purse, sitting on the counter. “Yeah, I’m back.” I say to Janice. “So, do you feel like going dancing Saturday night? Me and Glenda are going.” Janice asks. “I can drop my two off, so that they can hang with your two, and we can make a night of it.” Janice has twin teenage girls, three years older than mine. “Sure, that sounds like fun. I wonder what I’ll do when yours are too old to hang around with mine.” “By then, yours will be old enough to stay home alone.” I bark. “Yeah, right. If I want my house burned down, sure. You know that Mylee loves to be inventive in the kitchen the second I turn my back on her.” “That girl’s going to be a chef. Don’t knock it.” “I’m not saying I knock it.” I argue gently. “Trust me. I’ve offered for her to come and help me in the kitchen a hundred times, but she’s not interested. The only time she wants in here is when I’m gone.” “That’s because your menu is as boring as my white, granny underwear.” I laugh. “Shut up.” “It’s true.” Janice chuckles. “You bring another dish into that house, and Mylee will be the first to make it.”

“Fair enough. Maybe I’ll punch it up a notch or two.” “Speaking of punching it up a notch or two…can we go clothes shopping?” “Sure, what did you need?” A scoff. “It’s not for me, it’s for you.” Janice is matter-of-fact. “Hilary isn’t off the mark with your wardrobe, honey. You need to get some new rags, and I’m sick of seeing you going dancing with those sorry-ass jeans and that tattered tshirt. No man’s ever going to pick you up in those.” “Since when do you think I’m looking for a man?” I ask. I’d be more offended by her comment if Janice wasn’t the best friend in the whole world and had a bone in her body capable of malice towards me. “Debbie, you’re thirty-four years old, girl. You got together with Bryan when you were a freaking zygote. This whole celibacy thing isn’t healthy for you.” “Gosh, Jan, you really need to learn how to form, and speak, your opinion.” I say facetiously. “It’s been three years.” she says, as if I need reminding. “God, your thighs must friggin vibrate to anything these days. I couldn’t survive three weeks let alone three years.” “Yes, and that vibrator you bought me for my birthday was very tasteful… especially when Georgia found it and I had to explain what it was to her.” “You survived.” She says casually. “Fine. I’ll plant it in your house and let one of your kids find it, then we’ll talk.” I hear Georgia slam the door, having returned from checking the mail. I turn around to address her. “What are you slamming the door for?” She pouts, tossing the mail on the counter. “I still haven’t heard from my pen pal yet.” “Well, relax, honey. I’m sure she’ll write you back. Maybe she’s busy.” I say, scrunching my face at my bitchy daughter. “Dinner will be ready soon, okay? Go

finish up your homework so we can maybe watch some television together later.” “You’re always writing.” She sours, walking away from me. “Wow, did she get her period yet?” Janice asks, having overheard the exchange. “No, but I’m sure it’s coming. She’s been like this for weeks.” I answer, rifling through the mail, after turning the pork chops over. “Poor kid. I when Zoey went through that. Bitchy for months.” “You don’t have to remind me, I heard just about all of it.” I remind goodnaturedly. “I know it.” The mail pile is just a few bills, a letter from my insurance company for my renewal date, and a letter from Oaks Children’s Hospital. “Hm, I got a letter from Oaks.” I state. “Georgia’s okay, right?” Georgia was once at Oaks Children’s Hospital because she broke her leg very badly and required surgery. They treated us so well there that ever since, I’d been donating to them. “Yeah, she’s fine. I give to them pretty regularly. I think I’m late with my donation if I recall.” As I read the letter, I’m pleasantly surprised. “Oh, wow. They found out about my book.” “The one about the kids?” “Yeah. They’re asking me to donate some for auction and to give away to the hospital.” “Oh yeah? Hey, that’s pretty cool.” Janice is impressed. “They must have heard about you hitting the list.”

“Maybe. Oh, they’re also offering a table or seats for a big fundraising dinner they’re having.” “I’ll go if you want company.” “Thanks. Yeah, I might do that. I’ll have to speak with my publisher about getting copies of the book ahead of time. I’m not even sure if I’m allowed to do that. I’ve only ever requested review copies, and they have that big ugly watermark on them.” “I know. That sucked. Even my copy has that. Maybe you can sneak me in a copy without that from the pile you’ll be requesting.” “Sure.” I pause, still perusing the letter. “Hey, look at all the stuff that they’ve garnered so far. Time shares in Florida, art, a week at some cottage in Italy, Jesus, why in the hell do they want my stupid little book?” “Probably because your donation will be more family-oriented. They probably want a well-rounded supply of donations, especially if they’re doing a silent auction. Want to appeal to many audiences for optimum return.” I chuckle. “Can you tell you’re in PR?” In the background, I can hear Janice’s radio on. One of my favorite songs comes on. “Hey, turn that up.” “Oh, God. You and your goddamn ‘Stop’.” “What…they’re a good band. I have a bunch of their records.” “Girl, don’t you think I know that? , I bought you most of them.” I’m dancing and singing along, and so is Janice. “When they come around on tour again…this time I’m taking you….no buts about it.” The last time they came on tour, Bryan had just died, and the time before that, I had to sell my tickets because Mylee was sick. It just seems like every time they tour, something always comes up. They’re a local band, and don’t always do local concerts. “What’s sad is that they’re from here in LA, and we’ve never seen them.”

“Yeah, I know.” She says. “And it’s not like I haven’t tried. Just…something always happens.” “Well, the next time, unless you’re dead…we’re going.” “You got it, sister.” “There’s my girl.” A pause. I switch the stove off and start pulling plates out of the cupboard. “So, hey, when is this dinner shindig, anyway?” I look at the letter and tell her. “Okay, we’ve got a couple of weeks. What’s the dress code to one of these things?” “It says black tie.” I read further. “Oh…shit!” I chuckle. “They want me to read a few ages from the book, too! Oh, god…this…this is how I’m going to die.” “Stop being so dramatic.” She whines teasingly. “You’ll be fine. It’s not like you have to get up there and read a line from an erotic romance or something.” “Yeah, but, you know me in front of crowds. I’ll…die.” “So say no.” she argues kindly. “Tell them you don’t want to do it.” I consider that for a moment. And then I something that someone once said to me that moved me. They said that when you crawl out of your comfort zone, that that’s where the magic happens. “No, I’ll do it. If nothing else, for the kids. That hospital was so good to us in the past. It’s the least I can do.” “Debbie, you owe them nothing. Hell, you don’t even have to donate the damn books. You’ve given them well above your fair share in the past. I’m surprised that you still give to them to begin with.” “Well, it’s a children’s hospital.” I state, as if that requires no further explanation. “I’m just thankful that that’s all we’ve ever needed them for…minor surgery on a broken appendage. I can’t even imagine what some of those other parents must go through. I just…I feel like it’s my duty to give.”

“So, do you want me to drag my hubby and a bunch of friends, so you can buy a table?” “No, I’ll just buy us seats at a table. I don’t want to piss anyone off.” “Me excluded.” She says, feigning sarcasm. “Hey, you offered.” I point out. “I can go alone.” “No, I’m just teasing.” She says, relenting. “I’ll go with you. But on one condition.” I sigh, wondering what on earth she’s going to lord over me this time. “What condition?” “Just agree to it…I’ll tell you tomorrow night when we go shopping.” “Why do you do that? “Because I can.” “You…suck.” “Yeah, but you still love me.” she chuckles. “Is it a deal?” “As long as you aren’t going to get me involved in something ridiculous.” She pauses, drawing in a deep, teasing breath. “You’ll find out…soon enough.”

Chapter 3

Tommy “I stepped on it.” Terry explains simply. “Was so fucking wasted when I walked in the door last night, the fucking thing fell over and I stepped on it.” he adds, lifting his annihilated guitar into the air. “Believe me, I’m so pissed about this. That was my favorite guitar, too.” “Serves you right for leaving it off the stand, stupid.” Russell chides. “Hey, leave him alone. It happens.” I argue. “You’re one to talk, dipshit.” Russell snarls. “You were about to puke all over your amps and your guitar…not, what, five minutes ago?” “I wouldn’t have been ready to toss my cookies if it weren’t for you and your fucking loudness, asshole.” I point out, pissed off. I’m so not in the mood for his bullshit today, but as usual, I have to suck it up so we can get a recording session in. “Ah, fuck you.” Russell sneers. “Fuck you too.” I retort back. Lou can tell that we’re fighting, even though he can’t hear us. His expression turns sour as he presses the button for the loudspeaker. “Are you guys finished bickering? I’d like to get this song recorded before you guys get all ploughed again.” If Russell doesn’t stop it with his bullshit, I’m going to be tying another one on pretty soon, so I grab my guitar and plaster on a motivated smile. “Let’s do this shit.” After tuning our instruments and running through a round, we record the song, giving it our all, despite the room full of hungover rockers. The song turns out pretty good, but like the true perfectionist that I am, I’m not entirely happy with it. “Yo, let’s run through that second verse again with vocals.” “You want a better backup with that one?” Terry offers. He’s our bassist, but he

also does backup vocals along with me. He sings the higher notes and I do the lower ones when we do harmonics. “Yeah, we need…something. It’s not quite right. And my riff…I need to rework the last chord.” “You want me to play it back raw, boys?” Lou offers over the loudspeaker. I motion to him no and give him a signal for recording another track. We go through it again and add things, and hours later, when we’re half trashed, we finally have a workable edit of our newest release. Now we just need to make the rest of the album. “I put together some shit last night after you left.” I offer. “You want me to run through it?” “You mean you managed to do more? You were so fucking shitfaced.” Russell comments. “I took a hit.” I explain. “Works every time.” “After what you had while we were here?” Paul asks. I nod. “Yeah, just one more.” Paul’s eyes bulge slightly, as if he can’t believe that I put away that much blow. Like he hasn’t done the same himself. Lou comes into the pod and listens, while I run off an intro and then the first verse of a song I was working on over the keyboards. It’s a catchy little diddy, not a ballad or anything hardcore like the last song we just recorded. “You don’t want to do this on keyboards, do you?” Russell whines. “Yeah. Why not?” I ask. “Yeah. It sounds hot.” Paul says and Terry nods his agreement. “Fuck…whatever.” Russell relents, shaking his head. “What are you getting so pissy for?” I ask. “It’s something different. We don’t

have hardly any keyboards in any of our other music, and nothing in that first song we just did.” “But that’s the point.” Russell stipulates. “We don’t do keyboards. And how the fuck are you going to play guitar if you’re on keyboards, when we’re live?” “I can do it.” Terry offers. “Yeah, and you can do it, too.” I say to Russell. “You know how to play guitar, too.” “Fuck, I’m not the guitar hero here, man.” Russell lifts his hands as if to say, ‘forget that shit’. “Well, neither am I. I’m just a little shit who plays guitar in a band.” I say modestly. “It’s not about labels and who does what, it’s about making enjoyable music for our fans, man. Get a grip.” “I don’t like it.” Russell flattens his palm, slicing it through the air. “I’m not doing it.” “Fuck you, what about the rest of us?” I argue, motioning to the others, who were by my side a moment ago. The blank looks on their faces are telling me that perhaps they’ve gone to the other side. I take a sip of my beer, trying to calm myself, and Russell rolls his eyes. “What the fuck’s your problem, man?” “You.” He says, as if it requires no further explanation. “You’re already half fucking corked.” “I am not. And I wouldn’t have to drink if you’d get the fucking pole out of your ass.” “That’s classic.” He snuffles, making me want to punch him. “Guys, take it easy.” Paul whines. “Come on, we’ve only got one song recorded and Carl’s going to be on our ass pretty soon for the rest.” Carl is our manager, and he has liaised with us and our record label, coming up with a deadline for our new album, which is fast approaching. “Fuck them.” Russell blurts, surprising me.

“Uh, buddy…we can’t.” I say. “A deadline is a deadline. We miss it we’re toast. It’s in our contract.” “Well, fuck, what if we want to do other things, too, you know?” Russell refutes. Paul is interested. “Other things like what?” “Like…making videos and doing movie collaborations and shit like that.” “We’ve done videos.” I point out. “And we’ve never been asked to do a movie collaboration.” Russell shrugs. “And what about collaborations with other artists and shit. Like Aerosmith and Run DMC.” “You know something we don’t know?” I ask snidely. “Because to my knowledge, nobody’s been calling me to do any kind of collaboration on anything.” A smooth, snarky look crosses his face. “You’re such a fucking liar and you know it.” “What the fuck are you talking about, man?” I ask, feeling the hairs on my arms stand up. There’s this up and coming artist, whose producer is friends with Lou, and he asked me to do a guitar riff for his song. Lou and I exchange a look. He’s the only one who knows about it. Russell shakes his head. “You got something to say, then say it, man.” I fold my arms across my chest. I don’t fucking care anymore. I didn’t say anything because it’s part of our contract not to go outside of the band to do any artistic collaborations without written consent from the record label and from the band. The artist is such a small guy, and it took ten minutes for me to do the solo, I didn’t think it was going to be such a big deal. The song was only released a week ago, and nobody has said a word to me about it until now. “I heard about you and Billy Noon, you asshole.” He seethes. “So what?”

“So, we’ve got one song recorded for our release, and yet you’re out fucking around with Billy Noon? What the fuck is that? Where’s your fucking loyalty, man?” I look at the other guys, and they’re staring at the floor. Suddenly, I feel like a pile of shit for betraying them. “Look, I’m sorry I did it. Larry Gumshaw called me up,” I look at Lou, and he gives me a ‘thank you’ look for not throwing him under the bus, ratting him out for being the liaison for that deal. “and he said that they had a great bass guitarist for this song, but it needed a punch. The kid’s got no hit singles yet, and he’s drowning. Larry asked as a favor, and the only reason why I didn’t say anything is because I figured nobody would find out. There was no money exchanged or nothing for it; not even credits on the album with my name on it. I did it for fucking free, man. I didn’t think it would be a big deal.” Paul shrugs. “It’s cool, man.” “Thanks, man.” I nod. Terry looks up at me, speculatively. “Does Carl know?” “No. I was afraid he’d squeal to Flamboyant and get me in a heap of shit.” Flamboyant Records is our label. “Why didn’t you just tell Larry about our contract?” Terry asks, nervous. “Because he called like…ten other guitarists…nobody else would do it.” “Probably for the same reason why you shouldn’t have done it.” Terry states fairly. “Look, that’s one thing I fucking hate about this business.” I seethe, tossing my beer back. “You want to do something, you have to have permission from fucking everybody. It’s stupid. I can’t help a fucking newbie out if I want without getting my balls nailed to the fucking wall. I wish to Christ that I never signed off on that fucking recording contract with that clause in it.” I shake my head. “Look, I’m sorry, guys. I’m sorry if I busted anyone’s balls doing that. It wasn’t meant to say ‘fuck you’ to anyone. I did it to help out a friend. I’ve had many friends help me out in the past, and I’m sure I’ll need someone’s help in the future. I figured I wasn’t hurting anyone.”

Terry gives me a tight smile. “Hey, I’m cool with it. I just don’t want any flack for it from Flamboyant.” I notice that Russell isn’t running off at the mouth for a change. And I feel like it’s the calm before the storm. Which is usually the way it is with him. “Yo, are we cool?” I ask him. “Yeah…whatever.” He says half heartedly. “Let’s just get this fucking record cut. And I don’t want any fucking keyboards from you, got it?” he almost threatens. I’ve taken enough shit from him today and I don’t have the energy to fight him on it. “Whatever, man.” I run through the riff again, this time with my guitar, and we play around with the tune some more, before Russell pipes up again. “Hey, what about doing some cover songs? You know, since we’re under the gun.” Paul interjects. “We’re not really under the gun. Not by our standards.” We usually cut an album pretty quickly. After years of playing live in bars, we don’t have to rehearse a lot, or run through songs repeatedly, to get the sound right. Plus, we don’t use many overdubs, keeping our sound natural, because we like our live performances to mirror our albums as closely as possible. “But what about throwing a couple in there?” Russell repeats. Terry interjects, even though a refute is on the tip of my tongue. “We’ve never done covers before, man. Aside from when we played in bars.” “But junior here,” Russell says, gesturing to me, and I can’t help but feel like his use of the title ‘junior’ is derogatory coming from him. “says that he wants to do something different. A cover song or two would be different.” It’s my turn. “To be clear, I meant a different sound, not doing a cover song.” “Yeah, but a cover song would be a different sound. Our sound.” Russell urges. “I just…I don’t like doing those.” I argue. “I’d rather do our own stuff. We have so much material, plus some of the new stuff I’ve been working on.” I have enough songs recorded, minus lyrics and rhythm, to fill another two albums at least. Some of them we’ve gone through and decided they weren’t for us yet, and

some I’m hoping we’ll revisit for this album. But our M.O. has been to do a single at a time, or we get marred and overwhelmed, and lose production time. We’ve recorded five albums, so we’re not new at this. “But maybe a cover tune is what we need to hit platinum.” Russell challenges. “Lots of other artists have done that.” “Well, we’ll get there. We’ve hit gold on all of them so far.” Terry says. “But we’re going to lose our momentum soon, man. We’ve got to hit platinum with this one.” Russell says, as though hitting gold on all of our albums is some kind of affliction. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of hitting gold, man. Especially with all of our albums. We’re doing our best.” I state. “Are we?” Russell asks rhetorically. “You don’t think we are?” Paul asks. “I definitely think we’re slipping.” Russell says honestly. “What with the fucking benders almost every time we get together. And junior here can’t cut the fucking licks without ten hits of blow. It’s getting ridiculous.” I love it when Russell speaks as though I’m not here. “Look, we all do the blow, man. Don’t point the finger at me.” “I’m just saying that if we cleaned up our act a bit, that we might actually cut a good enough album to hit platinum.” He states with a cold edge that rubs me the wrong way. I’m getting so pissed off with him that I feel my temper start to blow. Taking my guitar in my hand, I storm out of there, heading towards the house. I’ve had enough shit for one day. I’m tired, hungry, hungover as fuck, and now that this shithead’s done nothing but cause me grief since the second he walked into the recording studio room, I’m creatively stunted. There is no way that I can even dream about writing anything good today thanks to that asshole. Sitting in my living room, smoking a cigarette in silence, I pick up my guitar and start playing a ballad that I always play when I need to unwind. It’s a song that

my mother used to play for me when I was little. She played the acoustic guitar a bit. Enough to sing Kindergarten type songs to me, and I play them when I’m having a rough time. It reminds me of her. My mom died when I was sixteen years old. Too young to see me form a band, and ions away from when we made it big. I hear the front door open and I don’t even bother to lift my head. It’s been about a half an hour since I walked out of the recording studio. Long enough to calm down and feel more level-headed. The tune I’m playing, I hear Terry singing from behind me. He has such a great voice, and I start singing with him, in harmony. We finish the song and sing another one, while he takes a seat next to me. When I take a break to take a drag of my cigarette, Terry speaks. “Hey, man, you missed all the shit out there.” “What shit?” “Russell.” “Yeah…what, does he want to tear my heart out again, or is he not finished from the first time.” I say as more of a statement than a question. “He wants to do something solo.” My heart drops, my mouth opens wide. Terry raises a hand. “He’s not leaving the band or anything, he just wants to do something on the side.” “What the fuck.” I whisper, shaking my head in shock. “And he’s going on about me doing a fucking riff, yet he wants to cut a fucking solo album. What an asshole.” I shake my head again. “He’s such a fucking hypocrite, man. He was all over me about this. Worrying about getting in shit with Flamboyant, and look what he’s had up his fucking sleeve the whole time.” “The deal is with Flamboyant, actually. That’s why he doesn’t see the problem.” “What the fuck are you talking about?” “He struck a deal with Flamboyant. He’s allowed to do a solo album and still maintain a contract with us.” “Isn’t that fucking convenient.”

“Yeah.” Terry scoffs. “He wanted me to tell you because he says he doesn’t want to piss you off any further.” “So he sends you in. Fucking coward.” “Look, if we let him do it, maybe he’ll back off of you, you know?” I give him a look. “If we let him do it? It sounds to me like the ink’s already dried on that deal, man.” “Yeah, kind of. But what I mean is if we don’t razz him about it. Let him do it without giving him trouble for it.” “Yeah. Maybe you’re right.” I agree. “Maybe all this pent-up anger inside him is just proof that he needs to release some of his own creative energy. What kind of shit is he planning on doing?” Terry smirks. “Cover tunes.” I laugh out loud. “You’re shitting me.” He shakes his head. “Yeah. You want to lay bets now…or wait until it fucking flops.” I point a finger at him in jest. “I’ll tell him you said that.” “You wish.” “How did Lou take it?” “He doesn’t know. He split right after you did.” “Shit.” I look at Terry. “Look, I gotta tell you something, man, and you gotta promise you’re not going to say shit to Russell.” Terry smiles. “I’m all ears.”

Chapter 4

Debbie I’m trying on a pair of jeans that I wouldn’t dream of wearing in public because they’re so tight, while Janice, stuffed beside me, refusing to use separate change rooms, gives me an evaluating up and down glance. “I know what you’re thinking.” She says to me. “What. That this is a waste of time? That these jeans looked better on the rack?” “No. I was thinking that you have way too hot of a body to be wearing the rags that you do. You work hard to look like that. I don’t see why you don’t reward yourself by wearing things that complement your body shape, not hide it.” “Because I’m a thirty-four-year-old mother of two, and I wouldn’t even let my teenager wear these.” “There is nothing wrong with these, Debbie. I don’t know why you have such a pole up your ass today.” “Well, they’re too tight.” “You got your ass in there, didn’t you.” Her tone is borderline snide, but it’s also warm, so I know that she means well. “Barely.” “They’re slim fitting jeans. They’re supposed to be tight.” She pulls at the waistband, proving that there’s breathing room. “See? I think you need to get out of this mindset, girl. Seriously.” “I like wearing loose things.” “Why don’t you just try it and see, hm? Believe me, once you start walking around in a hot pair of pants like this, and you can fit into them, you’ll have a whole new outlook on life.” “I don’t need a new outlook on life.” I argue, looking at myself in the mirror. Turning around to get a decent view of my butt. Luckily, the staff at this clothing store were genius. They put a tri-mirror in each changeroom, so you can get a

perspective from all angles. “I just need new jeans. And that isn’t even according to me; it’s according to one girl who hates me and another girl who can’t seem to find enough pleasure in dressing herself, so she has to move on to her friends.” “Are you saying that you’re my barbie doll?” Janice chuckles, finding way too much fun in this. “Well, I didn’t drag your ass in here with a pair of jeans one size two small. It was the other way around.” Janice ignores my point. “And Hilary doesn’t hate you. She’s just jealous of you, in case you didn’t know that already.” “I kind of did, but I don’t want to seem conceited.” Janice waves. “You’re not conceited. Not even a little bit. You’ve worked way harder and had much better returns. The only thing that girl has put effort into is laying on her back.” I bark out a laugh. Janice looks at me. “Well? I can see you’re able to laugh in those comfortably.” “Especially when you just insinuated that Hilary, Miss Thang, is a whore.” Another wave. “That’s not what I was insinuating. I just mean that making babies is all that girl knows how to do. I would be suggesting she was a whore if I added in that she did it with a different guy each time. Luckily, you and I don’t mix with those types of girls. Hilary has her faults, but she’s certainly not a whore.” Janice and I take our purchases up to the counter and pay for them. Then we walk outside the doors of the store. “Where to now?” I ask her. “Well, we’re not finished yet. We still have more to buy.” “But I already got a new pair of jeans.” “And you’ll need something to wear to this benefit, too, so let’s hop to it.”

“But, I already have a formal dress that I can wear.” Her face scrunches. “Not that godawful purple thing you wore to your company Christmas party last year. No way. Forget it.” “What’s wrong with it?” She sighs, exasperated. “I don’t have time to tell you what’s wrong with it, but for starters, it makes you look like an eggplant.” “It is eggplant.” “Precisely. It’s hideous, and it’s bad enough that I saw pictures of you in it, but I’m not going to be seen in public with you in it, too.” “Fine. There’s a nice formal dress store upstairs.” I relent. When we get upstairs, Janice heads to a rack with backless dresses, and I hit one that has dresses with sleeves and taste, or so I think. She chooses one, thankfully it isn’t backless, and she brings it to me. “Here, you take this, while I find something for myself.” I look at the dress. It’s cherry red, which is my favorite color, so that’s a plus, but it looks short. There is a tasteful shrug that goes over the spaghetti straps, so it has promise. Moments later, Janice returns with a dress, and then we repeat the same process we did at the jeans store, where we both stuff ourselves into a lone change room. To my chagrin, not only is this red ensemble short, but it also has a hidden zipper on either side, with a tiny pull tab in cherry red, so the wearer can make it even shorter. “I am so not wearing this.” I almost laugh. “Well, love, that’s your end of the deal.” “What deal?” “? When you first asked me to accompany you to this thing? I told you that there was a condition?” “And this is the condition? That I dress like a whore.” My tone is flat.

Direct and full of conviction, Janice looks at me and forces me to turn around and look at myself in the mirror. I’m guessing she’s hoping that by some stroke of miracle, that my glance will be through a fresh set of eyes. “Look at yourself. You’re…beautiful. Those legs, that ass, and Christ, look at the ponch I have in front thanks to the pair I held for safekeeping for nine months. If anyone didn’t meet Mylee and Georgia, they would never believe you squirted out two kids. You should be damn proud and show it off. Hell, I pull it off, and I haven’t got half the body you do.” “But look how short it is.” I state, pulling at the fabric, which falls just above my knee. “You’re being ridiculous, Debbie. It’s not that short. Shit, look at some of the skirts you see out there, even today. Some of them might as well not wear anything aside from a shirt.” “And what about this zipper, hm?” “You don’t have to use it.” she points out fairly, using the same chiding tone. “Come on. It comes with a little jacket and everything. It’s perfectly tasteful and respectful for a formal event.” “But I’m not…used to wearing something like this.” I whine. “I’ll feel so out of place, especially if I have to get up and read in front of everyone. Come on, you understand, don’t you?” Janice gives me a chiding look. “Deb, this dress is not that short. You’re being a big baby. I mean, look how beautiful it is.” She turns me around to face the mirror again. I do love the color. And the shrug adds a pinch more taste. The fabric is a stiff linen, so it won’t make me look like a sausage by the end of the night. Plus, Janice is right, the zipper might as well be invisible, because I don’t have to use it. Overhead speakers play music from a local radio station, and another ‘Stop’ song comes on. We exchange a look and start dancing, like we’re rehearsing for the big shindig itself. “There’s supposed to be a party after this dinner thing, right?” “Yeah. It actually sounds like it should be a lot of fun. To be honest, I’m really excited.” I say, grooving to one of my favorite bands. “But they probably won’t play good stuff like this, I bet.”

“Why not?” “Ah, it’s probably going to be all easy-going tunes, nothing energetic like this stuff. But I could be wrong.” Janice lifts a brow. “There a bar?” “Of course.” I laugh. “And I got us a room, too, so you can get ploughed if you want.” “So, it’s at a hotel?” “Yeah, one of the conference rooms in that big hotel downtown.” “Are you serious? And you got us a room?” she’s very impressed. “Well…yeah. It’s the least I can do. How often do I get requested to do something like this, anyway?” “So, we’re celebrating.” She plays along. “Kind of, I guess.” “Okay.” She says. “Then this dress is on me. My gift to you.” “Oh, you don’t have to do that.” “Hell, you got us a room at that fancy hotel, girl. I’m sure that cost you a bundle.” “Not really. They blocked off a bunch of them for the event and gave me a discount.” “Still.” “And you’re going to have hubby and the girls watch my girls for the night, right?” “Of course.” “Then, consider it even.”

***

Glenda lost the bet. She’s the DD for tonight, although I might as well be, seeing as I drink so seldom. Okay, I’ll it it. I’m liking these new jeans. Janice is right. I really need to let loose a bit, so to speak. It sure feels different dancing and having fun with the girls when I’m not shrouded in rags. Instead, I’m wearing what Glenda calls ‘good ass jeans’ and a tank top, of course, it’s cherry red, and I have a short-sleeved blouse over top, just to keep it respectable. We’re doing more talking than dancing, and that sort of irritates me. ittedly, the music blows here tonight. Glenda picked the bar and it’s kind of old and dingy. There aren’t too many people here, either, which makes being on the dance floor all that much more awkward. There’s one guy who keeps staring at me, but he’s twice my age and has a huge ponch in front, so big that it looks like he’s one more beer away from falling forward. “So, Deb.” Glenda calls to me over the din of music. “I hear you were asked to donate a bunch of books to some fundraiser?” I nod. “Yep. You heard right.” “And there’s a big dinner and to-do that she has to do a reading for, too.” Janice adds. “I’m going with her.” “Oh yeah?” Glenda is impressed. “You should have asked me. I would love to have gone.” “It might not be too late. I can ask to buy another seat at the table.” I offer. “Sure, if it’s not too late.” Janet leans in, as if to tell Glenda a secret. “Do you want to bunk in with us, too? Debbie got us a room.” She winks. “Oh, this sounds like a real hoot!” Glenda squeals. “Do you have a dress? Are

you getting your hair and makeup done and everything?” I nod. “I’ve got a dress. Hair and makeup are still in the works.” Janice lifts a finger and slides it across her face and back again. “Oh, no.” her tone is flat, almost chiding. “We’re getting hair and makeup done. I’ve already booked an appointment at my hairdresser.” “It was nice that you told me about it.” I scoff, good-naturedly. I would never have thought to do that, so it’s nice that she took the liberty. “Well, if I know you, shit, you’ll have a good dress, but you’ll leave your hair all out in a wad and not put an ounce of makeup on.” I feign insult. “I do not wear my hair in a wad!” I do. Glenda raises my long brown mane, which is wavy and curly, and yes, in a bit of a wad behind my back. “It’s so beautiful, Debbie. You should really do something with it.” “You’re getting an up-do for this thing. I’m telling you that right now.” Janice stipulates. “I already got you this beautiful clip.” She reaches behind her, to her purse draped over the back of the chair, and pulls out a beautiful red rhinestone banana clip. “I so don’t know how to use one of those.” I point out. “Well, you won’t have to. The hairdresser knows what to do with it.” she demonstrates, lifting the clip up. “She’ll pull your hair up like a chignon and clip this off to the side. It’ll look really elegant.” I’m liking this. “Wow. And the color matches the dress perfectly. How did you manage that?” Janice shrugs. “I found it in this accessories store. I took the sample swatch from inside your dress with me. It’s perfect.” “Wow, I have to hand it to you, Janice. You sure know what you’re doing in the fashion department.”

“I do try.” She its. “Having two teenage daughters who are elbow deep in fashion tends to help, too. I got their seal of approval on this little ditty.” She places the clip back in her purse. “Is it just me, or does this place blow chunks?” “Yeah, it kind of does.” I agree. “You girls want to get out of here?” Glenda suggests. “My house is empty. Let’s go there and drink some wine and watch a trashy movie.” “Sounds good to me.” Janice and I say simultaneously.

***

My hair is so tight I can feel my pulse at my ears. Janice insists that it’s just my nerves, but I can literally feel my temples pulsing. The hairdresser did a great job on my hair, but I didn’t say anything about a facelift, too. Thank God the makeup artist did a fantastic job on me and on Janice, too. Unfortunately, Glenda came down with the flu, so she couldn’t make it tonight. So the seat next to us is empty as we sit at a table together. My publisher was very gracious and donated one hundred books to this charity, so I had to sit down last night and sign all of them. My fingers are still numb. If it had been up to me, I would have donated more like a thousand, but they couldn’t produce more given the time frame, so instead I bought us three seats at the table and called it a day. The podium where I’m to give my reading is lit and ready for me, and I feel my palms sweating. There are only about a dozen books on display, plus a small poster on an easel, done up by my publisher’s PR department. It’s a lame media photo of me holding my book. The effect in the background makes it look like I’m a wax version of me. Truth be told, I look like shit in the photo, and it makes me look at Janice in a whole new light. She has a point that I need to take my appearance up a notch. I think we hit the nail on the head tonight though.

The place is packed. It looks more like an Italian wedding is about to happen than a dinner benefit. All the items up for auction are way in the back, on a presentation table, and I want badly to go check it out and make a wager, but I’m so nervous that my feet stay firmly planted in place. My eyes won’t leave the podium, where I’m to do my reading in about an hour’s time. After the opening speech, it’s my turn. For a hospital benefit, the place is happening. It looks like these local doctors and nurses are here to party. The lineup to the bar is astounding, considering dinner hasn’t even been served yet. The dance floor is being used right now as a snack area, with a trail of tables lined up in sets of four, holding various pristine finger foods normally reserved for the elite. Janice can’t get enough. She’s gone up three times already, and I watch her waddle back to the table, holding two plates this time. “What, you figure you’re getting tired of walking up and down, so you’d stock up?” I chuckle, taking one of the plates for her and placing it at her place. “No. One’s for you.” She states. “You need to eat something, or you’ll out when you do your reading.” “I’m too nervous to eat.” “How about a drink then?” I scoff. “Oh, sure. I’m going to go do a reading from a book I wrote about my kids…drunk. Good play.” I put my thumbs in the air facetiously. “I didn’t say you had to get drunk, Debbie. I’m just suggesting that you have a little wine or something to take the edge off. Seriously, you’re as white as a ghost.” “No, really, I can’t.” I rest my hand on my stomach. “My stomach is in knots. I’ll puke. I’ll eat a little when dinner is served, but that’s it.” “Okay.” She says, not convinced. There is an ocean of people in here, and I don’t think I’ve ever spoken in front of more than ten. My hands are shaking so bad I’m glad that my hair is tied up. I’d be playing with it nervously, pulling on it, probably. Janice sees how shaky I am. “Come on, sweetie. Keep it together. Seriously, have a tiny sip of wine. It’ll help.”

“I…can’t.” “Well, you’re going to be a huge ball of nerves then. Trust me. A little wine won’t hurt you. And you’ll be eating shortly, anyway.” All the hours I spent practicing the ages that I’ll be reading, and I can’t any of them. Thank God I had the sense to bring a copy of my book with me. Sticky notes are hanging out of the paperback, and inside I’ve highlighted each quote that I’ve chosen to share. But my hands are shaking so bad I can’t even open the damn thing. “I can’t do this.” I say, feeling a lump in my throat. Janice inches her chair closer to mine. There isn’t anyone at our table yet, and I’m so nervous for when they fill up. I can’t talk to anyone. “Yes, you can do this. Debbie, you’ve done book gs before, you’ll be fine.” “Yeah, book gs in bookstores, which there’s not even a lineup for. I only got on the NYT list a couple of weeks ago. And even then, nobody knows who I am. I feel like an ant in a sea of tigers here.” “Come.” She says, patting my leg. “Let’s go see who else donated to this thing. It might help make you feel more at ease.” I don’t know if my feet will hold me up. “Okay.” I say reluctantly. We by the snack area and I eye a cheesecake that I’m for sure going to mow down on later, and a whole other stack of tables full of people on the other side of the dance floor. This place is so huge it can probably hold a couple thousand people. I’m betting there’s at least five hundred here tonight, maybe more. The tables with all the donated items is beautifully presented with the in-kind donation and a laminated plaquette above it with some details about the item and the person or organization that donated it. We come across a plethora of things. Jewellery in a plexiglass case, plane tickets to some exotic place set in a locked case with a map of the destination above it, a getaway at some posh resort on an island that I can’t pronounce, a set of golf clubs, a large television, various electronic devices, and an assortment of other valuables. Then we walk past a section of autographed memorabilia, including another book by a household name author, some vintage records signed by the original artist, and then we see a trio of electric guitars, and I hear Janice gasp.

“Oh my God! These are Tommy Stopliewicz’s guitars!” “You mean…the guitarist from ‘Stop’?” I ask, growing more impressed by the minute. “Yeah! Oh, how cool is this!” she says, and I’m surprised by how excited she is. Maybe I’m really that nervous that my emotions are tamped down. I close in on the photo above the signed guitar collection. “Oh, so that’s what they look like.” Janice gives me a look. Her voice is flat. “Seriously.” “What? I don’t pay much attention to pop culture.” “They’re only like…one of your favorite bands, and you don’t even know what they look like?” “Well, I don’t look at the album covers other than to know which one to choose when I’m listening to them.” “And you’ve never even looked them up in a magazine? You have no idea how freaking hot Tommy is?” “I don’t pay attention to that. I like their music.” She points to the photo, zeroing in on the lead guitarist. “Look.” I frown. The picture is a little dark. It’s hard to tell what he looks like, other than to see that he has good hair. “Not bad.” “Are you blind?” she blurts, and a couple standing next to us, stares. “Would you calm down?” I ask, lowering my voice, wishing that she would follow suit. Then I change the subject only slightly. “You don’t think they’ll like…be here, do you?” “I don’t know. Are any of the other people who donated here? They might have bought a table just like you did.” “Holy shit!” I let out a little squeal, but then regain composure quickly. “Na, they

wouldn’t come to a place like this.” “Probably not.” Janice agrees. “They definitely aren’t performing, so I can’t see them coming. Especially for something so…local.” “And it’s nothing to do with the entertainment industry, either.” “True.” Janice glances at the photo again and squeals. “Oh my God! I can’t believe one of his guitars is here!” I grab her arm. “Would you calm down?” She loses her temper. “Fine. We’re getting you a drink.”

Chapter 5

Tommy Terry looks at me with a blank expression. “Shit.” He’s a little shocked. “Yeah. I just…I didn’t want to throw Lou under the bus, you know? If it wasn’t for him putting up with all this shit, we’d be sunk.” “So, he told you about the guitar gig?” Terry clarifies. “I’m surprised he did that.” “Yeah, well, Carl doesn’t know, but I’m sure that after this, he’ll find out.” “I wonder how Russell found out.” “Who knows who he’s fucking on the side, man. Nothing in this business is ever kept a secret, clearly. It fucking burns my ass.” I say snidely. “Man, I was given the word of a lot of people over this, but obviously somebody squealed.” “Tommy, you can’t trust anyone, man. You know that. That’s why you have to stay transparent or tell nobody at all. It’s one or the other.” “That truth, my man, has come to bite me in the ass more times than I care to it.” “Don’t I know it.” he agrees. Terry changes the subject. “Hey, which guitars are you going to give to this benefit?” I shrug. “Haven’t really had time to think about it yet.” He pats my leg. “Hey, man, don’t sweat all this shit. It’s not worth it.” “I’ll try.” “Hey, who knows, maybe this shindig will be really cool. You might even get laid.” He winks. I smirk and scoff, and then I smile at him. “Leave it to you to look on the bright side. I don’t know what I’d do without you, man.”

He rises. “I’ve got to go get my guitar fixed.” “Yeah, you should. That’s one hell of an instrument. It’d be a shame to toss it.” “Neither one of us has ever tossed a guitar, man. It’s bad karma.” “It is. I’m going to put that in a letter when I donate my guitars. I’m going to say that if they don’t want them anymore or want to dispose of them, to give them back.” I laugh, but I’m totally serious, and he knows it. “I’d do the same.” He smiles, walking towards the door. “I’ll see you later.”

***

It’s funny. We all look like fucking penguins. Sitting in the back of this convention hall that has the worst acoustics ever. Thank God we didn’t offer or get asked to play here. Soundcheck would be a fucking nightmare. We’re used to playing in venues that hold up to ten thousand or more. Hell, our main speakers would blow the roof off this place in a heartbeat. I’m sitting here, thinking about this kind of twisted shit, while the others are trying to figure out the easiest way to get to the smoking section. We’re usually in tattered jeans and shirtless, so nobody should recognize us all dressed up like Dapper Dan in this place. I don’t notice anyone looking twice in our direction yet, and besides, most of these people probably don’t even listen to our music, anyway. They all look like over the hill doctors and stuffy ants or lawyers. Many of them seem to be in tailored suits. A few chicks have caught my eye, but I’m careful not to leer like I would if I were any place else. There is nobody here that interests me in that department. My guitars are in the back, so I’m careful not to go there, looking for trouble. There is little security here, so that’s the last thing I need. Russell is so quiet it’s like he has laryngitis and I’m glad for that. Despite the din of noise in this place, it wouldn’t be tough to figure out that we’re fighting if it ever came down to that

in here. Luckily, the bar is open, so I go help myself to a beer and sit down, waiting for dinner. We start talking about mundane shit when dinner is served. It’s out of this world. Best meal I’ve had for as long as I can . The guys devour what’s on their plates and we can’t wait for the next course. A couple of people from other tables are mingling, and they come over to introduce themselves, so we chat for a bit. They’re not fans but have heard of us, so that’s pretty cool. It doesn’t end up being a gushing or squealing occurrence, which often happens when a fan catches up to us. We’re so not used to the local scene anymore, so I feel right out of my element here, too. And then one of the hospital blow hards comes up to the podium to say a few words. The guy has so much cologne on I can smell him from way in the back here, where we are. He’s stuffy and rigid, but efficient. He’s off in two minutes, and then a girl who vaguely resembles the image of her in the poster next to the podium, stands up. Her hands are so shaky I almost want to go up there and assist her. I know how that feels. She’s an author. Looks like an important one, too, from the sounds of the yahoo who spoke of her beforehand. Her book looks like a children’s novel, but she explains that it’s a memoir, and I’m intrigued. She wrote about her kids, which makes me smile. I could see someone thinking about doing that, but never getting around to it. Not this mama. Her outfit is red and tasteful, but she’s not stuffy like the rest of them. She has an endearing smile that lights up the room as she speaks. Her hair is tied tight in some kind of fancy bun in the back, and her suit is buttoned up taught in front. This is a woman who would not be caught dead at a rock concert. Eyes glistening under the lights, she starts reading from her book, and it’s like there isn’t anyone else in the room. She starts. “As Georgia was crying, Mylee was trying to tell me something and I couldn’t hear her as I picked Georgia up. So I told her, “Honey, I can’t hear you.” When Georgia stopped crying, I then asked Mylee what she wanted to tell me. She answered, “Mommy, I wanted to tell you that Georgia is crying.” I can’t help but smile. Even chuckle a little. There is an even din in the room of laughter. She continues. “Georgia lifted up my shirt and poked my belly button. Mylee shouted, “Don’t, Georgia, someone might be in there!”

I laugh out loud and look around. The boys are laughing, too. It’s not only what she’s reading, but how she’s reading it that makes it funny. And cute. This woman clearly adores her kids. The room is laughing, and I think I even hear a muted whistle. She visibly calms as I watch her hand rest on the podium, rather than being clenched, and her smile seems to brighten as she starts to feel a little more in her element. It always helps when you have a receptive audience, as I’ve learned. “Thank you.” She smiles. “The book itself is titled from a small cutesy thing my daughter said.” Another smile. “My eldest daughter, Mylee, woke up one morning, and I asked her if she needed to go pee. And she answered, “No thanks, mommy, I peed yesterday.” She holds the book up and points to the larger photo of it on the poster beside it. “Let’s hear another one!” one heckler says from the back. “Sure, certainly.” She says with a grin. Her face colors further. “I bought one of those ‘Countdown to Christmas’ chocolate calendars for Mylee, and I gave her the chocolate to correspond with the day, the 24th day before Christmas. I explained to her that she can have another one tomorrow. I left her to go upstairs. As I came back downstairs a little while later, she came running up to me with her face so bright and covered in chocolate. I noticed there were about ten chocolates remaining in the calendar. She enthusiastically screamed, “Mommy, look! I took out the chocolates all by myself!” I find myself wanting more. This girl could read from her book all day. The audience is captivated, and she doesn’t even have a guitar. What a woman. Best part is that she’s not being pretentious or overly talkative. Although nervous, she seems like a natural, at least when she talks about her kids. I want to know more. Is she married? How old are her kids? Where is she from? And I think to myself, why do I care? This girl would likely run in the other direction if she knew who I was. A swanky author would never bat an eyelash at a rocker like me. Chicks who go for me are rockers themselves, groupies, fans and sometimes even business associates. But I draw the line there. I never shit where I eat. With this knowledge, that a girl like that would never go for a guy like me, it makes me see her as some kind of an enigma. A challenge. And suddenly I can’t take my eyes off her. I know she can’t see me from where I’m sitting, because the lights are shining too close to the podium, so I stare as she takes questions.

“When did you write this book?” Some lady on the other side of the dance floor asks. “Well, it was a work in progress for many years, as you can imagine.” She pauses. “I kept a little notebook in the kitchen and made notes all the time when the kids would say something noteworthy. I didn’t actually start writing it until Mylee turned eight, which was about five years ago.” Another hand goes up. “Do you still write memoirs?” She licks her lips. “No, I write romance novels now.” “How did you go from memoir to romance?” Someone else asks. A smile. “It seems extreme, I know. But I always liked reading and after I wrote that book, I found myself writing more and more. My first book…well, I’ll be honest….my first three books were not great, but after that, I found a particular genre and niche within that genre, and I fell in love, no pun intended there.” She chuckles softly. “I was hooked.” A hand goes up right in front of her. “What does your husband think of the book?” The man looks around, as if her husband should be here, and he should. I credit the guy for asking such a veiled question. Anyone with half a brain should be able to figure out that he’s asking if she’s married. Her eyes go to the podium quickly and I feel the hairs on my arms stand up. “He thought it was cute. He saw me writing things down voraciously for so many years. The girls love it. They have their own copies of the book and I sometimes find them reading it in their rooms or to each other.” I like how she sidestepped her answer. She’s clever. But it still begs the question. “Where can we find your book?” another person asks. “At all retailers.” She nods. “It’s available in paperback and hardback. You can also find it in some grocery stores.” A round of applause as the same guy bathed in cologne approaches the podium. “Debbie Branscombe, everybody!” he says as she takes her book and walks off the stage. Following her with my gaze, I watch her head to a table where another

girl is seated, who stands and gives her a big hug. The din in the room returns but my eyes stay on her. No signs of a partner at her table, unless you count the chick, but she did mention a husband during her question and answer period, so I know that she’s straight. Cologne guy talks about housekeeping rules and reiterates that there is no smoking in the building other than in the designated areas, which pisses me off, but I’m getting more and more used to that. My beer is almost empty, but I leave it alone, still watching this Debbie person. The smelly dude finishes with his shpeel and leaves the podium, and the DJ begins setting up while the soft prerecorded dinner music switches to more of a light rock. Office music. Between watching the dipshit DJ put his cheap sound system in place, and watching Debbie converse with her friend, the guys rise and go for a smoke. I decline following them even though I’m dying for a stick. The music starts up, but Debbie and her friend stay put. I’m kind of glad. Where I’m sitting, the vantage point I have to see her is pretty good. She isn’t looking my way, which makes it all the better. Her lips are soft and full, and her face isn’t covered with makeup. With her hair up it’s hard to tell how long it is, but I can imagine that it’s beautiful and curly, based on the tendrils that have fallen out of the bun in the back. Her friend coaxes her to drink the three-quarter full glass of wine in front of her, but she scrunches her face, pushing it back. God, I hope she’s not one of those Mormon type chicks or Hamish or something crazy like that. But then I that she writes romance novels, and that whole idea goes out the window. The guys return from having their butt, and Terry follows my gaze. “I knew it.” he smirks. “What, is he checking out the hot little nerd over there?” Paul teases. “Looks like.” Terry answers. “She’s married, man.” Russell says. “Forget it.” “Never stopped him before.” Terry scoffs. “Like you’re a saint.” I point out. “Besides, she never said that she was married. In fact, if I correctly,

she spoke of him in the past tense.” I observe. “She could be a space case, man. Writers are all a little bit out there.” Paul says, winding his finger around his left ear, demonstrating that she’s crazy. “Why? Because she’s artistic?” I bark. “Well, what does that make us then?” Paul shrugs. “Writers are more…introverted. They’re odd.” His face scrunches and he shudders. “Since when are you the expert?” I ask snidely. “Hey, when can we crash this t, man?” Russell asks. “I’ve got better things to do.” “I’m sure you do.” I don’t hide the snark in my tone. “But I’d like to stay at least for a little while.” “To check out little Debbie over there?” Paul chuckles at his own pun and elbows Terry, who is sitting next to him. They both laugh and I want to punch both of them. As the music starts, I watch her friend try to coax her onto the dance floor, but she’s not moving. The first song comes and goes as they sit there talking at the table. The next song comes and it’s a catchier tune, so the dance floor fills up more. Soon, the table that the girls are sitting at is empty save for them. “Yo, why don’t you go ask her to dance?” Russell teases. My voice is flat. “Because I don’t dance.” “Well, if you want to meet her, it looks like that may be the only way, stupid.” Russell states. “Maybe I don’t want to meet her.” Terry pipes up. I haven’t seen you check out a chick that intently for a while, man. You like her.” A waitress comes around to the girls’ table and takes all the glasses, including

Debbie’s untouched wine glass. Her friend then rises, leaving the table, and leaving Debbie alone. Terry elbows me. “Here’s your chance. Go over and talk to her.” “And what am I going to say, dipshit?” I snarl. “Hey, I couldn’t tell by your answer earlier, but are you hitched or what?” “She’s not wearing a wedding band, man. I think you’re safe.” Paul says. “What, are you checking her out, too?” I ask, irritated. “No.” he chuckles. “But you sure are.” “Fuckoff.” Her friend returns with two fresh wine glasses and sets one in front of Debbie. She takes a sip and winces as she swallows. I can’t help but chuckle. Lightweights. They’re a lot of fun. Surprising me, she takes another sip, and swallows, and then draws in a deep breath, letting it go, and making a ‘woohoo!’ sound. “Oh, man. She’s getting down with it.” Russell says. The next song comes on, and it’s one of those ones where everyone fills the dance floor. Debbie’s friend takes her by the arm and drags her out to dance. Debbie effectively disappears from my view. Rising, I say. “I’m going for another beer. Anyone want one?” “Sure.” Russell teases. “You just want a better view.” “And a beer.” I say, not taking the bait. “You want one too?” I ask, eying the guys, giving them all the same offer. “Sure. Thanks.” Russell says, but the other guys hold their hands up, saying no. After I grab two beers from the bar, I stand at the mouth of the hall and watch. Debbie and her friend are dancing towards the end of the dance area, closest to the tables on our side. I can see her plain as day. It looks like she’s having a lot of fun. She likes to dance. It’s an older tune, so the guests are keeping their moves muted. Debbie is, too, and it leads me to wonder if that’s how she dances

to everything. Well, even if she does, she’s one up on me. I can’t dance for shit. Aside from the small moves I use when we’re playing, I wouldn’t know what to do if I didn’t have my guitar in my hand. “Hey, aren’t you that guy from that movie…?” Some guy, half drunk, asks, as he es me. “Sure. Yeah.” He smiles and says that he loved me in that movie. That it’s his favorite, and I give him the thumbs up, not really caring who he’s mistaking me for. He’s too drunk to make a fuss anyway. I stand and watch for another moment, until I realize that the guys are all over at the table making fun of me, and I decide to cut it out. I approach the table and hand Russell his beer. “Thanks, man. Did you get a good look at her?” “Not bad.” I frown, playing along. I toss back a sizeable swig of my beer and have a seat. The next song is kind of lame, but Debbie is still out of sight, so I assume that she’s still on the dance floor. And then I see her and her friend come back to the table. Debbie takes a healthy swig from her water glass, and then she takes off the little jacket that covers her arms…and my head spins. You wouldn’t think that by removing a small garment that it would make such a difference. But it does. Then she does something that makes my jaw drop. She reaches on either side of her skirt and pulls on what appear to be zippers, opening up the sides of her skirt slightly. A wink to her friend tells me that they had some kind of kinky bet going on that. She downs a slug of her wine and then proceeds to pull the clip out of the back of her hair. I’m almost picturing her inside a phone booth, the way that Wonder Woman and Superman transform, only this transformation is from librarian to goddess. But she hits a snag with the plastic thing in her hair. As she unravels her long, luscious locks from their plastic prison, the cheap clip gets caught in her hair. We watch as she wrestles with it. Her body is turned slightly, as she pulls it out of her hair, to her shoulders, and tries to free her locks. Her friend tries to assist, but the thing is caught from the center of the clasp. Debbie tries to break it in two, but for a cheap piece of crap, it’s pretty strong. Her friend intercepts, and they’re both trying to bust the thing, when I can’t stand it any longer.

The boys don’t say anything as I rise and walk over to the girls’ table. Her friend is red in the face from exertion, trying to free this thing from her friend’s hair, when I approach. “Can I help?” I ask. “Be my guest.” Her friend says, exhaling, exasperated. Debbie looks at me, half with embarrassment, half with horror. I pull at the thing, grasping it from both sides, giving it a decent pull, and it breaks in half, dropping the rest of her locks to her shoulders. Visibly relieved, Debbie smiles. “Oh, thank God! That thing was killing me!” she laughs. “Thank you so much!” “Hey, no problem.” I offer her a thin-lipped smile. “I saw you struggling over there, and I couldn’t stand to watch anymore.” I hand her the two separate pieces of the broken hair clip. “I wouldn’t consider gluing that thing together and reusing it. Throw that shit out.” “I plan to. Thanks again. My hair thanks you.” She jokes, clearly bubbly from having her hair saved from utter ruination. “You’re welcome.” I nod. I want so badly to introduce myself, but I’m terrified. It’s something that I’ve had to live with for as long as I can . Unless I’m somewhere where everyone knows who I am, and the introductions are simply perfunctory, this part of meeting people has always been intimidating. Instead, I skip it, and simply nod again and walk away. They don’t seem to recognize me, so that’s a plus. Debbie is too busy observing the damage to her hair to watch me as I walk back to the table. “She didn’t recognize you?” Russell asks. “Nope. Thank God.” And just as I think I’m in the all clear, one of our songs starts playing. Debbie’s face lights up like a Christmas tree and the girls both exchange excited expressions before getting up to dance. Debbie looks like she’s just won a million dollars based on the expression on her face. She starts gyrating and dancing even before they hit the floor. It’s like this is her all-time favorite song.

It makes me smile. And I can’t figure out why. Until I see her dancing. Her moves are hot yet tasteful; an odd combination that she pulls off well. Debbie’s body responds to the music as though it’s flowing through her veins. And I can’t keep my eyes off her. Her lips mouth the lyrics word for word as her body makes all the right moves in time with the music. If I didn’t know better, I would think that this girl has practiced, or that the number has been choreographed. This is definitely her favorite song, and I love it that it is. When my guitar solo approaches, her body sways to the seductive rhythm, and I can picture her taking her clothes off in time to the chords. Debbie is hot and sweet, and she has no idea that the guy who is playing that solo is standing mere feet away from her, watching. It’s heady. The ending of the song has serious attitude, with high notes being reached and Russell’s voice literally screaming in time with a smoking hot guitar and drum beat, and I watch Debbie walk seductively, in time with the rhythm, and I picture her at the end of the music video, replacing the hot model we chose for it, and truthfully, I think Debbie’s moves trump the model’s as she sways her ass and hips perfectly, while walking with her back to her friend, looking over her shoulder teasingly, as if to say, ‘fuck you’. It’s awesome. Debbie’s hair is down to her ass, and her skirt is hiked up halfway to her thighs, yet her look has taste. She doesn’t have nine-inch nails or six-inch heels, and she doesn’t have makeup caked on, hiding shameful blemishes or a natural beauty that most conceal in an effort to look like someone else. No, Debbie seems to be the type of girl who keeps her cool but lets loose when the time is right. And I like her. A lot. What’s more is she’s not giving bedroom eyes to the men who are leering at her while she dances. She’s not easy, and that makes her even hotter. …but is she?

Chapter 6

Debbie The last five minutes are a blur. I standing up to read my bit, answering a few questions afterward, and then the haze starts to thin, but then my five minutes of fame is over, and I return to my table. Janice hugs me, so bright with iration that I almost have to laugh. It’s ridiculous. I just stood up and read from my book, and she’s acting like I just recited an acceptance speech for my first Oscar. But it’s sweet. I take a gulp from my wine and sit down, but not long afterward, Janice drags me onto the dance floor, where I thankfully start to feel the wine kicking in. “Loosen up, girl! Let’s shake things up a bit!” Janice encourages. She’s had at least two glasses of wine to my half a glass, and half of me wants to catch up with her, while the other half of me feels like I ought to slow down since I may be babysitting her over the toilet bowl later. Ah, she’s a mom, too. She can handle it. “Go get me more wine.” I say, shrugging. She looks me up and down in mock defiance. “Who died and made you God?” I just laugh. “You said you wanted me to cut loose.” She shrugs. “Okay. Be right back.” I sit there and look over at the podium where I stood a little while ago. Man, if Hilary could see me now, I think to myself. Looking around, I see lots of people talking and some on the dance floor. The song is a little boring, so I’m kind of glad that we’re sitting this one out. Janice returns with two glasses of wine and she looks at me expectantly. “What?” “Drink.” She says, lifting her wine glass. I take a sip and it burns down my throat, but I take another and suck it up, as Janice looks oh-so impressed, half corked, sitting next to me. I even throw in a little ‘woohoo!’ to the mix, impressing her further. “You go, girl!” she encourages. Feeling my courage, whether in the liquid form or otherwise, I remove my jacket. Janice whistles and I can’t help but giggle. Suddenly I feel

like I’m doing a strip tease. As I’m standing, draping my jacket over the back of my chair, I decide to throw in a little more excitement, just to get a rise out of Janice, so I unzip the zippers on the sides of my skirt. Janice all but blushes, covering her face. “Oh, man, I’ve created a monster.” Sitting back down, I decide that I’m done with my hair being so tight my temples are throbbing, so I pull the clip out, or at least I try to, but the thing gets caught in my hair. “Shit!” I swear as the thing snags my hair by the center. “What’s wrong? Is it stuck?” she asks, and I have to roll my eyes at her. I struggle with it as my hair starts to become matted. I have very tangly hair to begin with, and this is not helping. I start to worry that I might have to cut the thing out, when a very handsome man appears as if from nowhere and offers to help. His hands are larger than average, especially for his stature. He’s tall but not basketball player tall, which I would expect given the size of his appendages. Grasping the cheap plastic thing, he tears it with one big pull, freeing my hair. It pools in front of me, and I pray that it doesn’t look as bad as it feels. My scalp is already singing the praises of being cut loose from the thing. “Thanks so much.” I say to him and he just smiles, kind of shyly, and walks away after about ten seconds of small talk. My hair is in a heap, and as I loosen it with my hands, my all-time favorite song comes on. I look at Janice and she looks at me, almost like our expressions mirror each other, and I squeal. This could not be more perfect. Dragging a hand through my hair, I follow Janice to the dance floor, mouthing the words and swaying my shoulders, feeling the beat of the song. It’s a ‘Stop’ song, of course, and it’s one of those ones where no matter what I’m doing, if I hear it on the radio, it gets cranked up until people stare. We dance like nobody’s watching. I bump and grind with Janice, using my hair in all its glory, swaying it and sweeping it with my hands as I feel the music and mouth the lyrics as though I’m possessed. I’m so glad that they’re playing this song. It makes it so that this night is worth it no matter what. I’m not even thinking about the slits in my skirt or the fact that I feel eyes watching me as I dance, rather seductively, to my favorite song. All I can concentrate on is the endorphins running through my veins, or the wine, whichever is filling me with

such euphoria. When the song ends, the DJ cuts in and asks us to play some lame game that Janice and I want nothing to do with, so we leave the dance floor, to the DJ’s chagrin. He actually makes a comment, trying to sway us to stay, but Janice bluntly says that we need a drink or else we won’t dance anymore. I shout out that he should play more ‘Stop’, and he says that he will shortly. Normally I wouldn’t dare stand out in public like that, but I suppose that the wine is doing its magic. I down the rest of my wine like it’s water and Janice gives me a look. “What?” “Take it easy, sister. There’s only one toilet in that hotel room, you know.” I wave. “Oh, relax. After that huge dinner we ate, and the dessert forthcoming, I’ll be fine.” “Well, okay. You did just use the word ‘forthcoming’ without effort, so that I’ll give you.” I wink. “Okay, now it’s my turn to get us refills.” “In a minute. I want to take some pictures of you at the podium before you get sloshed.” “You didn’t get any before?” “Just a few of you reading, but I want some more.” “Okay.” “Shoot. Where’s my camera?” Janice asks, rifling through her purse. “It’s in there.” I urge flatly. “You’d lose your head if it wasn’t screwed on.” Janice is famous for losing things, or thinking things are somewhere else when they’re right where she put them. “I’ll go sit there and get myself ready.” “Fine. Thanks for the help.” She says snidely. I scrunch my face at her in jest and she rolls her eyes at me. Walking towards the

podium, I’m thankful that there aren’t many people around. Most are on the dance floor or at the bar or milling about. The tables are almost empty, save for one or two at the back. I keep my eyes pinned on the podium, being careful not to give direct eye to anyone, God forbid anyone asks me any questions. I’m feeling the wine and afraid I will say something stupid. The same guy who helped me with my hair I can see off in the distance. We lock eyes for a second as I adjust the poster, planning on removing it the second we’re done with this brief photo op, and I see the ghost of a smile on his face. He rises from his seat with his friends and approaches me. My gaze goes to Janice, who has left, I’m guessing looking elsewhere for her camera. His hands slide into his pockets as he reaches me. “Is that picture supposed to be you?” he asks me with a very cute smile on his face. “Because it looks nothing like you.” “I agree.” I say, nodding, lifting my brows. “It looks like a wax replica of me.” “I was going to say.” A pause. “So, you’re Debbie Branscombe?” he asks, being careful on the pronunciation of my surname. “Cheater.” I tease, which gets a little smile. “But yes, that’s me. I was asked to donate books for this, and then they asked me to do a reading.” “Yeah, you did a good job. I see you downed that wine straight afterward. Can’t say I blame you there.” “I’ve only done a few book gs, but no readings, so this is uncharted territory for me.” “I get it. I could see you shaking from back there.” He says, pointing to his table. There are four other guys sitting there, all staring at us. I can’t help but giggle. “What’s so funny?” “Your…friends. They’re gawking. Do they get out much?” He looks back and I can’t see his face, but I’m guessing that he gestures for them to lay off, because they seem to turn around and begin engaging in conversation amongst themselves right after. “I take it you bought a whole table for this.” I say, not knowing where else to go with this conversation.

“Yes. I made these guys come with me, too, but I’m not sure why.” Janice comes back into the room, carrying her camera. I gesture for her to come here. “I should let you go. It was nice meeting you.” I nod, although we didn’t actually meet. He walks away before Janice reaches me, even though her gaze stays with him, and I’ll note that her gaze is on his behind. “Wow. You go girl.” She murmurs, fussing with my hair. “Go girl, nothing. He just came over to say hello. The guy didn’t even introduce himself. He’s not interested.” She gives me an ‘ah-ha’ look. “And you’re disappointed.” “No.” I lie. He is very cute, especially in that suit. His rear end looks like two scoops of butter pecan ice cream. Sighing, she stands in front of me and takes a few shots. “Would you smile?” she asks, exasperated. “Fine.” I huff, but then I paste on a smile. I hate having my picture taken. I saw some dude taking shots for a newspaper, I’m guessing, while I was doing my shpeel, but I wasn’t looking at the camera, so I’m hoping I didn’t look too stupid. “Where did you find your camera?” “Bathroom.” My brows knit together. “What the hell did you take it in there for?” “It was on my wrist.” I laugh out loud. “Did you get any good shots in there?” “Hardy har. Go get us more drinks while I take shots of the podium and the books.” “Fine.” “Well, it’s your turn.” I walk to the bar and stand in line. Mister Nice Ass comes up behind me, but I

don’t see him until he’s right behind me. “You know…if you want to get some shots of you and your friend up there, I can do that.” I turn around. “Oh, no, that’s fine. Thanks. She’s starting to get under my skin, so I better lay off her until I get more into her.” I joke. “Yeah, I know what you mean.” My liquid courage is at work. “So are you going to make me go back to my seat without knowing your name again? Because my friend was razzing me about that earlier.” He looks at me. “Tommy Stopliewiecz.” I guffaw. “Yeah, right.” “I’m serious.” He smiles, his voice raising an octave. “Sure, and I’m Mother Theresa. I’m not that drunk, you know. Not falling for it.” He laughs. “Okay. No, I’m serious. Those are my guitars up for auction back there.” “Sure.” I nod, pasting on a ‘you’re so full of shit your eyes are brown’ look on my face. “Well, you should know. It looks like ‘Funked’ is your favorite song, and I did write it.” I tilt my head back. “You were watching me?” “From a distance.” “Sure.” He reaches into his back pocket and pulls his wallet out. After he flips it open to the window portion in front, he shows me his driver’s licence. Sure enough, it’s Tommy Stopliewicz, well, Thomas Stopliewicz. My face falls. “Is that a fake?” He scrunches his face, but he’s smiling. “Of course not.” He tucks it back into his seat pocket. “You believe me now?”

It doesn’t hit me who he really is. “Maybe.” “Well, you should know, anyway, seeing as it looks like you know ‘Stop’.” “I love the music, I just don’t…pay much attention to the faces. My kids buy the magazines, but I don’t read them.” “And you’ve never seen a concert?” “A couple of times. But I had nosebleed seats, and when I say that, I mean that even the Jumbotron was far away.” “Well, that’s a crying shame. Next time I’ll make sure you get a seat in the front row.” “Sure.” It’s still not hitting me. We move forward in line. “So, you’ve got kids. Are you married?” “I was.” I answer honestly, but I don’t divulge any further. “Divorced?” I look at the floor briefly. “No.” His face falls. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry.” “It’s okay.” I nod, pinching my lips into a smile. An awkward silence. “How long?” he asks softly. “Three years.” “Oh. Okay.” Another awkward silence. “You ever…um…think about dating again?”

I look at him. Does he want to ask me out? “Well, if you’re going to ask me out, you better do it while I’m loaded, because likely sober, I’ll say no.” “You had a glass of wine. How are you loaded?” he chuckles. “That’s all it takes, I’m afraid. And I’m about to have a second one, so do it now, my friend.” I can’t believe how forward I’m being. So unlike me. “Actually, technically it’s your third.” He states like a smartass. “Do you want to go out or not?” “Sure.” He says. “I’ll give you the address of my recording studio. You can pop by tomorrow if you want. We can chat, and if you want to go out for dinner or something, we can go from there. Sound cool?” “Why wouldn’t you just ask me to dinner? Why all the red tape?” “Because if you’re as loaded as you say you are, and you still don’t believe who I am, you’re likely to chicken out. This way you can have an out if you want it. Also, this way you won’t think I’m so full of shit if you come to my recording studio.” “Fair enough.” Someone has taken our spot in line, since we’re too busy chatting and not paying attention, but it doesn’t faze Tommy. “I’d go out with you, anyway.” I say, feeling my liquid courage again. “Oh yeah?” “You’re too cute to say no to.” I add. He smiles. “You must be loaded.” “Why do you say that?” “You don’t look or seem like the easy type of girl.” “Point for you.”

He lifts a brow as we reach the front of the bar. “Can I buy you and your friend a drink?” “It’s an open bar.” He chuckles, slightly embarrassed. “Oh yeah.” I laugh at him. He’s trying to be so smooth but failing miserably. My turn is next in line. I order two white wines and Tommy orders a beer. He gestures for me to go on ahead to my seat, so I can put the glasses down. Janice is still fighting with her camera. As I approach the table, Janice looks up and smirks at me. “Ah…I wondered what was taking you so long.” “Janice, this is Tommy. Tommy, Janice.” I say by way of introduction. He holds out his hand for her to shake. “Nice to meet you.” He says. I set my glass down on the table after taking a mouthful of it and he takes a sip of his beer. And, like cupid is here to bite me in the ass, a slow song comes on. Wouldn’t you know it, it’s a ‘Stop’ song. Another one of my favorites. I look at Tommy and he smiles. “I suppose you’d like to dance.” “If you’re up for it.” I frown, trying to be cool. He snuffles a laugh, grabbing my hand. “Come on.” His hand is mostly soft, but rough in a few spots. And it hits me that maybe he is a guitar player. When his arms are around me, I turn almost rigid with nerves, as he pulls me closer to him, but at a conversational distance from my face, so our bodies aren’t completely touching. “So I take it the guys at your table are from the band?” “Yes. Plus our producer, Lou. I figure I paid for a table, so we might as well enjoy it. The food was great, wasn’t it?” He’s rambling and it’s adorable. “It was. Except I didn’t eat much. Too nervous.” “I hear you there.” He says, looking towards his table. I can’t tell if he’s wishing this song was over or if he’s just lost for words.

“Is it weird hearing your own stuff?” “Sometimes.” He its. “But to be truthful, this DJ’s equipment is so lame, it doesn’t even sound like us.” “Really?” “Yeah. That, and the acoustics in this place are a nightmare.” “He is playing it a bit loud for my taste. And I did notice that with ‘Funked’, it sounded a little bit distorted.” “You didn’t seem to mind.” He smiles. “I saw you kicking ass out here on the dance floor.” “Well, that’s my favorite song.” “It’s pretty evident.” “I didn’t look like a loon, did I?” A ‘v’ forms between his brows. “Na, you’re just having fun.” “Not like a go-go dancer or something?” He chuckles. “No. Not at all.” “Why are you laughing?” “I’m not laughing.” “Yes, you are.” I smile. “Well, I’m not laughing at you. I’m laughing at you.” He says, as if there’s a difference. I scrunch my face but I’m still smiling. “You know what I mean.” He grins. His eyes slide down to my lips for a second, but then they go right back to my eyes. He changes the subject. “So, you mentioned that you have kids.”

I nod. “Yes. I wrote a book about them, didn’t you know.” I tease. He smiles. “I recall something to that effect. How old are they now?” “Mylee is thirteen and Georgia is twelve.” A ‘v’ forms between his brows. “How old are you?” he asks, as if no matter what I tell him, it’s going to be unbelievable, like I couldn’t possibly have two daughters that age. “I’m thirty-four.” “Wow.” “How old are you?” “Well, you saw my driver’s licence.” He jokes. I tilt my head, giving him a look. “I’m thirty-five. But I’m sure you knew that.” “Like I said earlier, I don’t pay attention to details like that.” “Right.” He nods once and glances at my lips. I look at his for a moment, too, and we both smile softly at each other. “You’re very cute.” I crane my neck slightly. “Am I.” “Yeah, you’ve got that schoolteacher kind of look going on.” “Well, you don’t look like the rock star you claim to be, all dressed up in a suit.” I look downwards, as if looking at his attire for the first time. “But it’s a good look for you.” “Thanks. It’s rented.” He says, feigning gallantry, tugging at his lapel. When he places his hand back on my waist, he strokes my side with his thumb, giving me a little thrill. I chuckle.

“Janice bought this.” I comment. “I would normally not be caught dead wearing something like this.” “It’s nice.” He lifts his brows flirtatiously. I play along. “Did you see me hike up the zippers?” He smiles adorably. “I did.” “And is that when you decided to hit on me?” He says something so sweet I have to fight the urge to kiss him right there. “Na, it was when you were reading…about your kids.”

Chapter 7

Tommy It’s too funny. She doesn’t believe that I am who I am. Never encountered that before. Usually it’s girls squealing and gushing over me. Sometimes it’s cool, other times it’s just annoying. This I’ll take. I can’t tell if it’s because she’s half blitzed or if she really doesn’t believe I am who I am, despite seeing my driver’s licence herself. It’s just…funny. Either way, she’s cute as hell. I’m being careful not to be a pig or anything while we dance. Keeping her at a respectable distance from me is paying off. Sometimes girls will be all over me, but not this one. And I like it. Debbie’s not forward, but she’s also not an ice cube. Her dress is smoking hot but classy, and her hair is a guy’s dream, long and silky. It brushes against my hand as I dance with her. I love the way she looks at me. It’s a combination of shy yet professional, with a hint of ‘what I would do to you if we were alone’ tucked in the back of those twinkly eyes. The fact that she’s widowed doesn’t bother me. If she didn’t want to go out with me, she would never have given me an in. Also, we wouldn’t be dancing together or have this mild flirtation going on. “So how come there aren’t droves of reporters or photographers after you here?” she asks in the middle of the song. “I guess my PR people didn’t alert them to it. Also, this fundraiser was kept on the Q-T from what I understand. Not every event that we attend is clogged with the media.” I grin. “Is that why you don’t believe me?” “No, I believe you.” She lies. “Bullshit.” I snuffle a laugh but keep my smile. “No, I do. Really. I just…I guess it hasn’t hit me yet.” “That’s fair.” I frown. “Do you want to meet the rest of the guys?” I offer. She shakes her head quickly. “No. No.”

I’m confused. “How come?” “Well, then, that would make it real.” I search her eyes. Could she be any sweeter? “You are something else.” “Is that a good thing?” I pull her closer, so our ears touch. “It’s a good thing.” Her arms wrap around my shoulders tighter, and I feel her relax a bit. “I won’t bite.” I whisper softly. “Am I that tense?” she chuckles. “I feel like I’m going to break you in two.” I slide my arms around her tighter. “Come on. Relax. It’s cool.” She draws in a deep breath and pulls her arms up, so her hands are on the back of my neck. “That’s better.” “You have really soft hair.” She says. “So do you.” “Thank you.” A little giggle. “See? That’s not so hard, is it.” “No. I suppose not.” A pause. “How badly do you want to grab one of those guitars back there to play?” “Truth be told, I’m lost without my guitars. Rarely does anyone see me without one draped over my shoulder. I swear sometimes people think that I all but shower with a guitar in my hand. There are some photos out there of me sleeping with my guitar.” “Well, I suppose there are worse things that you could be sleeping with.” She says and chuckles.

I pull back to look at her. “Oh, look at you! She’s quick, ladies and gentlemen.” We both laugh. “And nobody here has recognized you?” “I’m dressed like a fucking penguin. I might as well be in disguise.” I state. “I’m sure that if I pulled on a pair of jeans and pulled off my shirt, that I’d be recognized.” “Or if there were a bunch of PR people here.” “That too.” “Do you get a lot of that? I mean, is your life disrupted a lot?” “Kind of. I live in my recording studio a lot though. And if I’m not there then I’m on tour.” “What’s it like? Being on tour?” “Crazy. Fun. You blink and it’s over even though you’ve been on stage for two or three hours and then three or six months. It’s a whirlwind and difficult to describe unless you’ve actually been on tour.” “Well, you did a good job. I can understand based on what you just said.” “Cool.” I snuggle into her neck a little. The song is coming to a close, and I pull back to look at her. “What else do you do for fun? You know, besides writing?” “I love music. I’m always listening to something. And I do a lot of stuff with my kids. They’re a lot of fun.” “Are they into music, too?” “Oh yeah. They’re the ones that told me when your last concert was coming.” “So, they like ‘Stop’, too?”

“Sure.” She says with conviction. “Well, that’s tough to beat. Usually kids hate the music that their parents enjoy.” “Not my girls. But to be fair, we keep it a good mix of stuff. I usually put the radio on the second that I get home. I have to listen to elevator music all day at work.” I look at her, confused. “Work?” She smiles. “Yes. I do still have a day job, you know.” “What?” I’m flabbergasted. “I’m raising two kids alone with a mortgage. My royalties don’t pay enough to all that.” “Are you serious?” I’m in shock. “But you’re a…a New York Times bestselling author.” “I know.” She grins. “I’m not saying it’s far off, but I certainly wouldn’t quit my day job yet.” “Unbelievable.” This girl is an enigma. Hard working and honest and… beautiful. “How do you find the time to raise your kids, write and work fulltime?” She shakes her head slowly. “I don’t know. I’ve just…always done it. My television has dust on it because that’s how often I watch it, and my house is usually a disaster, except on Saturdays when we all pitch in and clean. Maybe that’s how I cut corners.” “It sounds like tonight was the perfect night out for you.” She shrugs modestly. “I get out enough. My girlfriends are pretty good at making sure of that. Even before my husband died. I’m pretty lucky that way.” My eyes are searching hers. It’s taking everything in me not to kiss this woman. The magnetism between us is almost palpable. Just her voice alone is speaking to things inside me that have never been spoken to before. Then she hits me with

a question that I’m never sure how to answer. “So, did you ever marry?” I go for cute. “I’m married now.” I can’t keep a straight face. She punches me in the shoulder playfully, not buying it. “No, I…” I shrug. “I don’t know. I guess it just…never occurred to me to settle down. Never really met anyone that I wanted to settle down with, I suppose.” She’s impressed. “That’s a very fair answer.” The song finishes and I kiss her cheek. “Thanks for the dance.” She smiles, looking at my lips, and I’m guessing that she was hoping I’d kiss her lips, but I don’t have the balls to yet. I gesture for her to go ahead and we leave the dance floor. Surprising me, the guys have come over to talk to her friend, Janice, who gives me the once-over. “So…you’re the Tommy. Not just ‘Tommy’.” I look at the guys, giving them a glance that says, ‘thanks for hanging me out to dry’. “Thanks, guys. I appreciate it.” Janice waves. “Oh, never mind, this is the highlight of my night for sure!” “Down, girl.” Debbie chides, good-naturedly. “You’re married.” I place my arm around Debbie’s waist, at her hip, and give her a squeeze. Testing the waters, I leave my hand there, feeling like I don’t want the spell to break. Having physical with this woman feels right. She looks up at me and gives me a cute little smile. It’s contagious. Janice glances at us and smirks. “So, now that the cat’s out of the bag, do you think I can get a picture of you holding up one of your guitars?” “I suppose I can manage that.” I answer, even though I’m reluctant to do so. Once I do that, anyone in viewing distance is going to know who I am, and the night will be ruined. “Just…give me and Debbie a minute here, first, if you don’t mind.” “Sure.” She looks at both of us.

I take Debbie’s hand in mine and we walk outside of the hall, where the bar is, and where it’s much quieter, just for a moment. “I hope you don’t mind, but, I wanted to get your phone number before the pandemonium starts.” Her face falls. “Oh, shoot, I didn’t even think about that.” she raises a hand. “You don’t have to do the picture if you don’t want to. I’ll just explain to Janice.” “No, it’s okay. It might not be so bad. I just don’t want to miss the opportunity is all.” The look on her face is priceless. She feels bad. “Okay. Are you sure?” I can’t help it. I cup her face with my hands quickly. “Of course I’m sure, sweetheart.” My eyes go to her lips, but I don’t kiss her, even though I want to so badly. Her eyes go to my lips, too, and if it weren’t for the loads of people surrounding us, I would plant one on her, but I have a little bit of class. Reaching for the paper napkins at the side of the bar, I grab two, and I ask the bartender if he’s got a pen handy. He hands me one and I write down my home and studio phone number, plus my address, and then I hand her the pen and a napkin. “Here.” I hand her mine and she looks at it. “Can you read my writing?” I ask, because I’ve been known to scratch unreadable things down. “Of course.” She says, and then she writes down what appears to be her work and home phone numbers. “Your work number, too, huh.” “I’m there all day five days a week.” She states with a little grin. I wink at her. “Oh, wait.” Something occurs to me. “Hand me that napkin back.” I say, and I write down the directions on how to get to the studio on the back of it. “Almost forgot about that.” “And you’re sure you want me to know where you live?” she teases. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll go and sell my knowledge to the media?” I slide my thumb down her cheek. “Na. You’ve got an honest face.”

“Strange thing is, so do you.” She says, as if she can’t believe it herself. “Well, I am an honest guy. Sometimes you might not want to hear the truth, but I’ll tell it like it is.” “I’m the same way.” I take her hand in mine. “Let’s go get that picture for your friend.” “Only if you don’t mind.” “It’s fine. Let’s go.” I give her hand a squeeze. It turns out that there are a bunch of people back there making bids for the auction items, so what was initially a quiet, low-key event, quickly turned into an autograph g, posing for pictures extravaganza. Word got around, and we all ended up basically doing meet and greets to almost every fucking guest there. Thank God I already got to spend some time with Debbie, because I barely got to see her after that. At least she got a good taste of what my life is like. But that’s the part that freaks me out the most. There’s always that chance that she could walk away, not wanting to be part of this portion of my life, but only time will tell. When I finally break free, she’s on the dance floor, dancing to a disco tune with Janice. She sees me walking towards her and invites me to dance, but I smile and shake my head no. I don’t dance. Especially to disco. I’m not even remotely drunk enough to do that tonight, but that could change. As I walk past her, I grasp her hand in ‘hello’, and release it, walking to the bar. The boys follow me. “Hey, dude, I don’t know about you, but I think we’re all ready to crash this t.” Russell states. “Oh, come on, man. Just stay a little longer. We can get fucking trashed and have some fun now that the hoopla is over.” He sighs. “Fine. But if I don’t get laid tonight, I’ll be super pissed.” “You want us to hook you up with that Janice chick?” Terry teases, nudging his head towards the dance floor, where she and Debbie are. “She’s married.” He scrunches his face.

“Never stopped you before.” Terry shrugs. “Find out how big her husband is.” Paul suggests. “See if you can take him.” “Piss off, man. This place is crammed with women.” Russell looks around. “Too bad we don’t have any of our roadies here to pick their way through the throng for us.” “Quit being such a baby, dumbass.” Paul chides. “Half the chicks in here know who we are now. I’m surprised they’re not hitting on us already.” I grab a beer from the bartender and the guys grab theirs, too. And the girls appear from the other room, carrying their drinks. Debbie looks winded but content, not to mention a little more drunk than she was a half hour ago when I saw her last. Battling with myself, I finally say. “Hey, you guys want to get out of here?” Addressing the girls. “We’d love to, but we have a room here for tonight.” Debbie answers. “You guys want to come up and party in our room?” Janice offers, and Debbie gives her a look like she just offered to perform a strip tease. “Sure. I’m up for that.” Russell guffaws. “Let’s blow this t.” “I just have to pick up all my stuff from the podium.” Debbie says. “I’ll help you.” I offer. “Okay, I’ll take these guys upstairs to the room.” Janice says, and the sly little smile on her face says that she’s having way more fun that it looks like she is. “I think I may have to put Janice on a leash tonight.” Debbie says as we walk, hand in hand, to the podium. “She’ll be fine. The guys know that she’s married.” I say, only half lying. We’re all guilty of fooling around with married women. It’s not a rule in our camp. “Janice tends to forget about her wedding ring when she’s had a few in her.” She says, as though she’s read my mind. When we reach the podium, she rolls the poster up, while I pick up the few copies of her book that lay on the receptacle.

The place is desolate by the tables as everyone is on the dance floor, mingling, or at the bar. Debbie slides an elastic band she had around her wrist over the poster and we head for the elevators. When we reach the floor where the girls are staying, the second the door opens, we can hear the noise. “Oh, man. This should be good.” Debbie chuckles. “I’ve never been kicked out of a hotel before. But there’s a first time for everything.” I look at her and smile, lifting a brow. “I have.”

Chapter 8

Debbie The look on his face is priceless. It’s cocky and sexy as hell. He’s so proud of himself. “Somehow I’m not surprised.” I say flatly, even though my smile matches his. “We actually used to trash hotel rooms a lot when we first started out.” He says semi-proudly, but I can tell that he’s blushing under all that pride. “Sounds like something a rock and roll band would do.” “Well, it’s not like they didn’t earn it.” he says, trying for righteous but failing miserably. “Something tells me that the missions there were only half earned.” He relents. “You may be right…but only a little bit.” We reach the room and I slide my key through the reader. They have pushed the center table out from between the beds and have pushed the beds together. It’s like Noah’s Ark as they all lay sprawled across the beds. “What the hell is this?” I snuffle a laugh. “I thought we were partying, not having a sleepover.” “Well, we’re doing both, it appears.” Russell says. “We ordered room service.” Janice squeals, like it’s the best thing she’s done all year. “Booze and pizza, and an x-rated movie on the television!” “You’re kidding me!” I laugh. She shakes her head, laughing so hard her face is red. Janice is laying between Russell and Terry. Paul is at the foot of that bed, and Lou is on the other bed, alone. “So, where’s this movie?” Lou says. “I haven’t seen a good one since we were in Amsterdam.” “That wasn’t a movie, Lou.” Russell points out. “That was a strip club. Only you were too wasted to know the difference.” “Please. Like that time you made out with a guy and were too wasted to tell the

difference.” Paul says. The whole room roars with laughter. Russell lifts a hand. “In my defence…fuck it, she was hot. That was no guy.” “She had a pretty deep voice for a chick, man.” Terry laughs. “And I could see the hard on through the pants.” “Believe me, that was no hard-on, dude.” Russell defends. “That chick was hot for me.” Paul is laughing so hard he almost can’t speak. “Well, that’s what we’re saying.” There is a knock at the door. Janice leaps off the bed. “It’s our booze!” I’ve never seen her so excited. I’m not sure if she needs any more to drink. She’s flying pretty high. I’m not the only one to notice. Tommy addresses the guys under his breath, as Janice’s back is turned. “Yo, did you guys pop her a ‘lude or something?” My heart leaps. Janice has never done drugs. Neither of us have. “No, man. But do we want some? I’ve got some shit with me.” Russell says. I lift a hand. “Please. No, thank you. It’s one thing if we get kicked out for being noisy. An entirely different thing getting arrested for drugs.” I say, feeling myself sober fast. “Janice and I both have kids.” Tommy’s hand is on my back. “Relax, honey. He’s just fucking around.” A ‘v’ forms between Russell’s eyes. “No, I’m not.” “Yeah, you are.” Tommy says with conviction. I can hear Janice rifling through her purse, and I go to her. “Do you need some help?” “I can’t find my credit card.” “I’ll get mine.” I say.

“No, I’ve got it.” Tommy says from behind me. “This is our treat. We’re invading your room here, after all.” The concierge at the door lifts a hand. “Actually, it’s been charged to the room.” Tommy reaches into his pocket, pulling out a one-hundred-dollar bill. “Here, man, pay for it with this, and take a tip for yourself as well.” “Thank you, sir.” The gentleman tips his head in thanks, while a bag loaded with small, hotel-sized bottles of liquor is handed to Janice. I close the door as Tommy takes the bag from Janice, giving her a hand. There is a teepee of plastic cups by the bar fridge. Tommy grabs a bunch. “Alright, who’s having what?” he names off all the stuff we’ve had delivered. We all pick our poison. Janice and I decline the hard stuff, and suddenly I see Tommy using our phone. He calls down to the concierge desk, ordering a bottle of white wine from the bar. “You didn’t have to do that.” I say to him, but I smile in thanks. “Well, I know you girls won’t want liquor, and it’s not fair for us to all be partying up here while you two dry up.” He tips my chin up with his thumb and forefinger, smiling at me warmly. “Okay, what’s this trashy movie we have?” Terry asks, finding the remote. I sit on the side of the bed and Tommy sits next to me. Janice is over, sitting next to Russell, and I catch her combing her fingers through his long, shaggy hair. “I don’t know. Pull it up on the main menu screen.” Paul says like a pro. Not a second later, there is another knock at the door. “Pizza!” Janice squeals again. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her this excited. “It could also be the wine.” Tommy says, answering the door. Correction. It’s both. Tommy hands over another hundred-dollar bill from his back pocket and closes the door. “Do you make a habit of only carrying hundreds?” I ask.

“Not usually. But I knew we were coming here tonight. I didn’t know what to expect. I figured if there were a bunch of things asking for donation money, that I better have a decent supply. Normally I just carry twenties.” He answers honestly. “I carry thousands.” Russell brags, joking. Terry punches him in the arm. “You do not, loser. How come you’re always scoffing money from me then?” “Because I don’t want to break my thousand.” Russell answers sarcastically, and then he addresses Tommy. “Come on, man, bring the grub over here, I’m starving.” I take the pizza from him and he takes the wine and pours two plastic glasses full, handing me and Janice one. The boys each take a paper plate from the lid of the pizza box, which is now laying in the center of the bed and begin mowing down on it. I’m a little bit hungry myself, since I didn’t eat much earlier on of my nerves, so I take a slice. And then I don’t know what’s cheesier… the pizza or the porn. It’s a story about some disgustingly hairy guy with a really huge penis, who likes to screw every woman that comes his way…pun intended. Tommy is laughing so hard he almost chokes on his pizza. Janice is dying, face red, almost crying real tears with laughter. What a great choice to watch. I didn’t realize how hilarious porn is. Tommy sits next to me on the bed while we eat. The pizza is so delicious I have two slices. On the screen, the scenes are so lame and fake, it’s not until I actually see the guy’s penis that I realize it’s real. “That can’t be…” “What?” Tommy chuckles. “That’s a penis. I can vouch. I have a little bit of experience in that department.” “No,” I laugh out loud, setting my empty plate in the garbage. “What, you think he’s got a larger sized instrument, do you.” He smiles, enjoying my reddened face. “You can only fake it on stage, man.” Russell interjects. “Hard to put a sock down there when you’re in the buff.”

“You would know.” Terry jokes. “Please, at least I don’t wear a cup.” Russell plays along. “If anyone puts a sock in it, it’s Tommy over here.” Paul jokes. “Haha, sure. You want me to prove it right now?” I put my hand on my zipper, acting like I’m going to pull it down. “Well, we’re not on stage.” Paul shrugs. “What would be the point?” “I don’t do it there, either, man.” I chuckle. “But I’ve seen Terry do it.” Terry scoffs, shaking his head, talking with his mouth crammed full of pizza. “I don’t fucking think so.” He turns to Lou. “Lou? Hey, you ever seen me stuff a sock down my pants, man?” Lou lifts his hands. “I’ve never seen it and if I did, I’d close my eyes. That’s way too much information for me. I’ll stick to producing your records and checking out the odd show.” “I’ve stuffed my bra.” Janice its. I nearly spit out my wine. I start coughing and Tommy, although laughing with the rest of the room, he’s patting my back. I’m laughing so hard I almost wet myself. “Tonight?” Terry asks between belly laughs. “No.” She waves. “When I was in high school.” “Well, we all did it then.” I chime in. Tommy’s eyes go to my chest for a moment. It gives me a thrill. “Oh, shoot! That reminds me, I forgot my jacket downstairs!” “You want me to go get it?” Tommy offers. “No, that’s okay. I’ll go.” “I’ll come with you.” He says, setting his drink down on the console table. He addresses the guys. “Touch this and die.” He warns the guys.

“Are you sure you want to leave us alone with your little friend?” Russell wiggles his brows, looking at Janice, who is falling deeper and deeper into drunkenness. I point at Janice and mirror the warning that Tommy just used with his drink. “Touch this and die.” The whole room breaks into laughter and I lift a finger in mock warning as Tommy takes my hand and leads me out of the room. “You’re a spitfire.” He says, impressed. “Well, I’m just kidding around. I know the guys are just teasing.” He smiles in a way that says he likes my naivete. “I’m not so sure about that.” a chuckle. “You mean that they would honestly like…what is it called? Gang bang? Attack her?” More smiling. “Well, I wouldn’t go that far, but they may convince her to have an orgy.” I laugh out loud. “Please.” His hand is still in mine. It’s so sweet. As he calls the elevator, he releases my hand, and it takes everything in me not to squeeze it, so he doesn’t let go. Never been a hand holder, but this is so nice. When we get downstairs, into the room, I see my jacket still hanging off the back of the chair where I sat earlier, and just as I’m about to grab it, a slow song comes on. It’s, of course, another ‘Stop’ song, and I realize that they’re doing that for Tommy’s benefit, as a nod to him and the band for the donation. We exchange a look. “You want to dance?” he asks, among the thinning crowd of people. Some have retired to their chairs or elsewhere, and many are milling about by the bar, looking as wasted as we feel. “Sure, if you don’t mind listening to it over the shitty speakers.” I comment, feeling brave as the wine starts to take effect. He’s impressed. “Ooo, ladies and gentleman, this woman curses when she’s ploughed.” He winks, taking my hand again, giving me shivers up and down my spine.

“I’m not ploughed.” I argue, with way less conviction than I’m trying for. He leads me to the floor and snakes his arms around my waist, swaying softly to the music. “You’re lucky I’m a gentleman. I’d be taking advantage of you right now.” I decide to play along. “What would you do if I was…a groupie?” He chuckles, embarrassed, and he looks up at the ceiling, as though an appropriate answer should be etched in the tiles. “Come on. I want to know.” I coax, good-naturedly. “Alright, alright, take it easy.” He smiles. His tone says that he’s joking as much as I am. “Would you…take me backstage and fuck me against a wall or something?” His eyes widen but his smile is just as wide. “Holy shit. You’re only a little bit blunt.” I’m eying his lips, feeling so brave. His eyes are on my lips, too, as he answers. “If you were a groupie, yeah,” his voice is low and seductive. “I would so… do…things to you. Maybe I wouldn’t fuck you up against a wall, but I would definitely want to get to know you better.” His eyes move from my eyes and back onto my lips. “But you’re no groupie. Groupies never come in a package like this.” His glance is divided between my lips and my eyes as we dance to his song. “Groupies aren’t nearly as beautiful or smart, and they’re usually only in it for money or sex or both. It’s never the real thing with them.” “Have you had sex with a lot of groupies?” I ask, not caring what the answer is. I’m too drunk to care. “If you want an honest answer, yes. I’ve been in this business for a long time and I’ve never had a solid relationship.” “Have you ever had an STD?” “Once.” He licks his lips. “But I was super young. It was even before the band started. My mom actually took me to the doctor.” He chuckles.

“Oh my God!” I snuffle a laugh. “I bet you would rather have died of the STD than have your mother find out about it.” “She was just glad that I didn’t get the chick pregnant.” “So, you don’t have any kids, either then.” He shakes his head no. A thought occurs to me. “Do you want any?” “Yeah.” He answers softly. “I always did. The guys razz me about it. But, yeah, some day I’d like to have kids.” My face falls. My kids are already grown. We had them young; in fact, I was pregnant with Mylee when Bryan and I got married, and I didn’t even know. It wasn’t until I started throwing up on our honeymoon that I realized what was going on. He sees my expression waver. “What’s wrong?” “I know this is a little deep, considering we just met, and we haven’t even gone out on a date yet, but, my kids are grown. We might as well get that out on the table right now.” He hesitates, but his eyes are searching mine. “Sweetheart, one step at a time, okay?” A pause. “There is a lot about me that you might not like, and you may want to walk for your own reasons, but neither of us are giving the other an equal shot unless we can see past them and get to know each other first.” I nod. “There is a lot about the rock and roll lifestyle that many people can’t handle, especially if you’re not in the business yourself.” “I get that.” I say. “I just…want to make sure that I’m fair to you.” That gets a warm smile. “How about we go on a date first before we decide anything?” “That sounds good.”

He pulls me close, and the warmth between us is so nice. It’s not like our first dance, when I was so nervous. The alcohol has loosened me up, and I feel my body melt against his. His neck is almost at my lips and it’s taking everything in me not to kiss it. I can smell his aftershave mildly, and his hair smells like a cross between his aftershave and a tiny hint of cigarettes. I haven’t seen him smoke anything here yet, so I’m guessing it’s from the guys. “You smell good.” He whispers in my ear, making me shiver. “I was just about to say the same thing to you.” “Mmm…” he murmurs softly, letting me know that he’s enjoying this every bit as much as I am. We hold each other comfortably as we listen to the rest of the song. He even sings a little of it in my ear, and I find myself singing with him. When the song is over, he pulls back and looks at me. “Shall we go rescue Janice from the orgy?” I smirk at him, knowing full well that he’s just teasing me. “Let’s go, smartass.” He holds my hand as we leave the dance floor, and then he releases it as I grab my jacket. His hand is on the small of my back until we reach the elevator. “You want to lay bets?” “For what?” I smile. “What they’re doing up there. I say they ditched the movie and are getting trashed on the bed.” “I say they’re still watching the movie and getting trashed on the bed.” He holds his hand out. “Deal.” “Well, what’s the bet? Who wins what?” He places his finger on his chin as the elevator door opens. “Whoever loses buys dinner tomorrow night.” “That sounds fair.” I frown. Turns out, we both lost the bet. As I open the door, I see that someone has found a shot glass, and they’re shooting quarters into it, or trying to, by pinging them

off a coffee server on the bed and bouncing them into the glass. “Oh, man! You know how many quarters I’ve swallowed on of this game?!” Tommy says as he sits next to Russell on the bed. Russell and Janice, who are playing against each other, are sitting cross-legged on the bed, using the coffee server as a platform for the shot glass. Janice shoots and misses, forcing her to take a drink of what’s in the glass. “You know this is the worst drinking game on the planet, right?” Tommy says, filling the shot glass and getting a quarter in on the first try. “Play this much?” I ask him sarcastically. He frowns but winks. “A little.” “Just wait until he gets a hit into him.” Terry says, wasted. “He’ll kick ass.” “A hit?” I ask, confused. Tommy gets a fleeting look on his face, and he’s about to say something, but Russell cuts him off. “Coke…you know? A line of cocaine?” “Oh.” I nod. Suddenly I’m standing there waiting for the punchline. When it doesn’t come, I start to wonder if Tommy’s just silenced because he doesn’t want to start a fight with his bandmate in front of us. But then I realize that this is what rock and roll bands do. It’s sex, drugs and rock and roll, and before I right him off as a drug ab, I need to give him the benefit of the doubt. So, I decide to leave it alone. Russell looks at me like the joke’s on me. Tommy decides to change the subject. “Alright, who’s up next?” I hear a few snickers in the room, as if they know I’m in for a surprise, when Janice raises her hand. Her face is flush with drink, and her speech is slurred. “I want to try it.” “What? Coke?” Russell asks, pulling his wallet out. “I got some right here, babe.”

“No…she doesn’t.” I say firmly. “She’s too drunk to know what she’s talking about.” “You look like you could use more hooch, yourself, babe.” Russell says, leering at me. His eyes are glassy and his speech is slurred. “Russell, dude, you’ve had enough. Time to hit the bricks, man.” Tommy says. “You’re one to fucking talk, man.” Russell refutes, and then he looks at me. “Man, I picked this loser’s sorry ass off the fucking floor so many times your head would spin. He’s worse than I am. In fact, I think the only reason why he’s half as fucking sober as he is tonight is because he’s trying to impress your ass.” “Which is more than I can say for you, shithead.” Tommy argues. “Okay, guys, it’s time to go. I think we’ve invaded these ladies’ space enough for one night.” “No, don’t leave.” Janice whines. “I was just starting to have some fun.” “The only fun you’re going to have tonight is kissing porcelain.” I say to her. “Danny and the girls are not going to be impressed when I take you home tomorrow and you’re so hung over you can’t lift your head.” “Then the damage is already done.” Janice smiles. Impressed with herself. “Because I’m already drunk.” “You’re so beyond drunk it’s scary.” I chuckle. “No more for you. The boys are welcome to stay, but you’re officially cut off.” Terry intervenes. “You wouldn’t be saying that if you were drunk, too.” “I’m a little drunk.” I it fairly, still feeling a bit fuzzy in the head. Terry motions for me to take a turn at the shot glass with the quarter. I scoff. “I’m doomed to lose. I’ll be worse than Janice.” “Take a turn, babe.” Russell says, and Tommy shoots him a look that I take as jealous or guarded. Reluctant at first, I look at Tommy and he gives me a warm smile. Something

about his smile tells me that the man is trustworthy, and anyone who is in his company must be, too. Bearing this in mind, I squat on the bed, pick up the quarter, and try my damndest to hit it at the perfect angle so I get it into the shot glass. Surprising myself and everyone else in the room, I get it in on the first try. “Holy shit, man! Did you see that!” Russell slurs. “That was fucking awesome! Any woman who can get it on the first try is in my good books!” Tommy nudges me in the shoulder. “You should make him drink to that.” With a triumphant smile on my face, I hand Russell the glass. He winks and downs it, tipping his head back. …I’m not so lucky on my next turn. …and the turn after that. …and the turn after that….

Chapter 9

Tommy It looks like one of those Buddhist camps in this room. Except for the girls, we’re all shirtless, after having played a round of strip poker once we were all wasted enough to do so after playing quarters. Only part is the girls ed out on the bed first, and it was like a game of dominoes after that, as we each protested that we were only resting our eyes, only to fall into something akin to a coma in retrospect, including myself. There isn’t a square inch of room on this bed as it’s covered in bodies. Seven of us crammed on two queen-sized beds, drunk out of our minds, almost fully clothed, and not an ounce of puke to be found, either, which surprises me after how much we all consumed. Fortunately, I didn’t get nearly as drunk as I normally would, as I didn’t want to give Debbie that impression of me. I could have easily, but I didn’t. Had we been on my turf, that would have been a whole other ball game. The phone startles me awake. I’m so used to being in a hotel room when we’re on tour, so I answer it, forgetting that I’m not in my room. “Hello?” I answer with a gravelly voice. A male voice is on the other end. And he sounds very unimpressed. “Errr…Hi. Is Janice there? This is her husband, Daniel.” “Sure, man. Hold on a sec.” I say, and then I clear my throat, thinking I better clarify who I am, in case he thinks that I banged his wife. “Hey, dude, just so you know, I didn’t touch her.” I shrug, not knowing if that’s the right thing to say, but I’m still a little buzzed from last night. I look at my watch and see that it’s only seven o’clock in the morning. We only partied until a few hours ago, so technically I’m still drunk. Daniel is curt. “Fine. Can I speak to my wife, please?” “Sure.” I nudge her, but she doesn’t move. “Hey, Janice. It’s your husband on the phone.” I get a groan.

“Janice.” I chuckle. “Hey, McFly. It’s your old man on the phone.” “If I lift my head I’m going to puke. Need sleep.” This awakens Debbie. She turns over and reaches for the phone. “I’ll take it.” she says softly, her voice still sleepy. I give her the phone and make note of how hot she looks with her disheveled hair. “Danny?” she says, her voice gravelly. “Yeah, no, that’s Tommy. It’s a long story.” A pause. “Hey, calm down. Nothing happened. I was here the whole time.” her voice raises a little, but she grabs her head. “Look, Danny, it’s fine. She’s just severely hung over. I’ll get her up and get her home as soon as I can, okay?” A huff. “Fine. Thanks for your understanding.” She hands me the phone and adds ‘asshole’ under her breath. I hang up the phone for her. “Is he pissed off much?” “Well, I can’t say that I blame him, really. I mean, it’s not every day that he calls, looking for his wife in a hotel room, only to have some strange man answer the phone. And the fact that she’s too hung over to talk to him doesn’t help. He’ll never trust me again, that’s for sure.” “Why was he looking for her?” “Zoey, Janice’s daughter, woke up sick.” She explains. “Evidently he doesn’t know how to take care of a kid with a fever.” Janice lifts her head slightly. “Zoey? What’s wrong with Zoey?” she’s so out of it, she can barely her own kid’s name. “She’s just got a fever. Danny’s freaking out though. I better get you home quick.” “Honey, nothing quick is happening here, unless you count me hurling.” She says, laying her head back down. We’re lined up like pancakes on the bed. There are some feet going one way, opposite to a head. The girls are essentially next to each other, and I’m on the end. Janice’s feet are at my head, while Debbie’s head is separated from my head by Janice’s feet. Technically, we slept together, but with the other five bodies in this bed, all scattered like twigs in a campfire, it doesn’t count. “I should get these shitheads out of here, so you girls can freshen up and head home. I’d hate

to be the one responsible for Janice’s divorce.” “He won’t divorce me. He can’t take care of twin teenage girls alone. They’ll eat him alive.” Janice says, raising her hand. The only part of her that she’s capable of lifting at the moment. “Will all three of you ladies shut the fuck up!” Russell whines. I know from experience that he’s not a morning person. Even sober. He hates mornings. Which is why we almost always have our jam and recording sessions at night. When he showed up the other morning, finding me on the recording studio floor, he was in a bad mood, which is why he tortured me then. But I’m not in that situation at the moment, so I decide that it’s my turn to torture him. “Oh, are we being too loud?” I ask, loudly. Moans and movement is heard all over the bed. Hell, even Debbie gives me the evil eye, warning me to keep it down. “If you want to live, I suggest you keep your voice down.” Debbie seethes with a half smile. “Sorry.” I chuckle, getting up. I go relieve myself in the washroom, and the moment I open the door, Janice shoots in there like a cannon, and barely makes it to the toilet before emptying the contents of her stomach into it. “Geez.” I comment, grabbing a face cloth out of the stack of linens on the counter, and soaking it with cold water, before placing it on her neck. “I think I saw a boot come up.” With that, she wretches again, and I hear Debbie come into the washroom. “You okay, Jan?” she asks her friend softly. “She’s fine.” I wave. “Once she’s finished, she’ll feel better.” Debbie walks out. “You okay with her? I’m better with blood and gore and stuff. No good with puke.” “I’m fine.” I answer, flushing the toilet for Janice. Then she rises, lifts her dress, and plants her butt on the toilet. “What the fuck. I’m still in here.” I say, covering my eyes. “I don’t care. I was about to pee my pants.” Then she finishes and proceeds to stick her head inside the bowl again, retching.

I can hear Debbie patting the boys on the back, waking them up. “Come on, guys. We have to get out of here. I’ve got to check out and get Janice home before her husband blows a gasket.” She steps into the washroom. “Have you guys got a ride home?” I nod, handing Janice a tissue. Her head is out of the bowl again, so things are looking up. “Yeah, we carpooled. My car and Lou’s.” “Deb?” Janice calls. “Yeah?” Debbie is still standing in the doorway. “I want to go home. Like…now. Before I ralph again.” “Okay. Can I go pee first?” Debbie smiles. She’s still in her outfit from last night, and aside from slightly smeared mascara, she still looks like a million dollars. “I’ll…let you two do what you gotta do.” I stammer, exiting the washroom. I hammer on the guy’s backs and get more movement. “Come on, boys. Party’s over. It’s time to go home.” Five minutes later, I’m standing at the door, saying goodbye to Debbie and Janice. I give Debbie a knowing smile. “I’ll see you later?” “Yeah.” She smiles back, sliding her arms inside her jacket.

***

“I’m too wasted to drive home, man. Mind if I crash on your couch for a while?” Russell says as we pull up to the recording studio. “Yeah, sure. I’m going back to bed myself.” I answer. “Dude, what did you mean when you said ‘see you later’ to that Debbie chick?

You really going to see her again?” I scrunch my face at him. “Yeah. Why?” “I don’t know, man. I don’t think the chick’s for you.” “Why would you say that?” He lifts his brows. “Did you not see the fucking shock in her face when I mentioned blow, man?” “So?” I scoff. “Well, you do fucking blow like it’s a food group, man. And your drinking… shit, last night was like you were at fucking church, man. She ain’t seen nothing out of you yet.” “What are you saying, man? That she’s going to hate me?” I’m getting pissed off. “Well, she’s sure in for a rude awakening.” Terry, who’s in the back, ed out, lifts his head. “Quit fucking stressing over it, man. Maybe he just wants to bang her.” he rests his head back on the seat. “Fuckoff.” I spit back. “I like her. I don’t…just…want to bang her.” Terry lifts his head again. “Dude, since I’ve known you, you’ve never been capable of having a relationship. Don’t kid yourself.” “Thanks for the fucking faith, asshole.” I snarl as we pull into my place. I make sure to come to a full stop abruptly, forcing them both forward. My door slams before either of them exits the car, and I don’t care if they’re behind me or not. They can both go fuck themselves for all I care. When I get inside the house, I’m too pissed off to sleep, so I make some breakfast first. Nobody comes inside the house. I figure Russell and Terry either ended up driving themselves home or Lou did the honors. Sleep comes after my belly is full, and I get about three or four more hours of rest, until I wake up to my phone ringing. “Yeah.” I answer tersely.

A female voice is on the other end. “Mister Stopliewicz?” “Yeah.” I repeat, slightly softer. “This is Melanie calling from Oaks Children’s Hospital.” I lift my head and look at the time. It’s noon. “Hey, hi. How are you.” I say as more of a statement than a question. “I’m good, sir. I was just calling to tell you what the results for the silent auction were.” She tells me and I’m pretty impressed. “That’s pretty cool. I’m glad that my axes raised that much cash. Thanks for letting me know.” “Oh, no, thank you, Mister Stopliewicz. We appreciate the donation. Your guitars raised more than all of the other donations combined.” “No kidding.” Now I’m really impressed. “Well, you’re a well-known band, and there are many guitarists as well as many people who view you as quite an innovator.” I’m never sure how to respond when my ego gets padded like that. “Hey, thanks. It turns out that a lot of people recognized me last night. Of course, it didn’t help that I pulled one of my guitars down and had a friend take shots of me, but whatever. It is what it is.” “Thanks again, sir.” She says. “My pleasure. Have a good one.” “You, too, sir.” I’m awake, so I decide to get up. Debbie and I never agreed on a time that she would be at my place, so I figure I should get at least a few hours in of jamming or something before she arrives. After I shower and get dressed, I call Chas, one of my roadies, to have him take my rented suit back, and then I head down to the studio. My cleaning lady is coming today, so I don’t bother to fuss over the house. She has keys to get in and out, so she comes without notice. After

working on a few riffs that I’ve had in mind since last night, I hear the phone ring at the back of the studio. “Yeah.” I answer, less terse than before. “Hey, Tommy. It’s Debbie.” “Oh, hey. I wasn’t sure what time you were coming today.” “I was going to leave now, but I wasn’t sure what your plans were, so I figured I should ask what I should wear.” In the back of my mind I’m thinking ‘a floor length trench coat and nothing else’. “You can wear whatever you like. I hadn’t really thought of anything. No points for me for creativity in this department.” “That’s okay. We can come up with something when I get there.” She says, almost apologetically. “Sounds good. I’m just in the studio, so whenever you’re here, I’m in the first building when you get here.” “Okay. See you soon.” “See ya.” I say, and suddenly I feel like a girl. My stomach does fucking flip flops with excitement. So weird. I’ve never reacted to a girl like this since back in high school when I had a huge crush on this chick, but she ended up dumping me because I was too busy playing with my guitar than gushing over her and her fucking huge tits. Whatever, I got a lay or two out of her, so what’s the difference? Looking around the studio, I notice how much of a fucking mess it is. And just like that, I’m a goddamn housekeeper. Two bags of garbage later, I’m sweeping the floors, dusting, even cleaning the goddamn windows. The place looks good enough to eat off the bloody floors when I open the door and shoot to the house for another shower. Gladys, my housekeeper, is just finishing up in there. “Hey, Gladys. How much do I owe you?” She shrugs. The woman is as casual as a guy who just smoked a fat one. “The usual. You can pay me next time if you want.”

“You gonna be here for a bit?” “Just got to take the garbage out.” “There are two bags outside of the studio, too, if you don’t mind. I’ll leave a cheque on the table.” “Sounds good.” She nods and leaves. I dash upstairs, shower and change, and write a cheque for Gladys, when I see headlights heading towards the studio, as I look out the glass doors in the front. It isn’t a car that I recognize, so I assume that it’s Debbie. Another stomach flip flop. Checking my hair in the mirror by the door, I see that my mop is still soaking wet. I look like a fucking drowned rat. Running a hand through it, I walk out the door, and I see her look up from the driver’s side door. She gives me a wave and I wave back as I walk up to her. “Hey,” I say, and I can’t help the shitfaced grin on my face. Her mouth splits into a smile that seems infectious. “Hey yourself. Still hung over?” “No, not anymore. I just spent the last two hours cleaning this place.” I gesture towards the studio. “I pay a chick to clean my house. Never thought to get one to clean the studio, too.” “You probably have way more valuables in there.” She guesses. “Yeah. All my equipment and music.” I scoff in agreement. “Hey, you want a tour?” “Sure.” She says, closing her door. Her car is a pure shit box. An old sedan. Probably as old as her kids. A line of rust runs along the bottom. The car is begging to be put out of its misery. I almost feel bad with my fancy cars parked behind me. “So, did your kids give you the third degree when you got home?” “They just asked how the night went. I managed to get inside and get showered before they noticed how shitty I looked.” She chuckles.

“How do you feel now?” I ask, taking her hand, leading her into the studio. “Fine. I drank about a gallon of water, I’ll it, but I took a nap for a couple of hours, and ate something. Haven’t been hung over in a very long time.” I hesitate to make a comment. I’m hung over pretty much daily. We reach the inside of the studio and she smiles, looking around. Clean, it looks just like it should, like a recording studio, with a soundboard, three recording rooms separated by soundproof glass, with various musical instruments in each, depending on what room you’re in, and I have several storage areas and shelving units in each room, too. “Wow, I’ve never been to a recording studio before.” “Yeah, I built it after our second album. It needs to be upgraded, but it’s served us well.” “I bet it isn’t usually this clean.” She smirks. I feel my face heat. “I spent the better part of the afternoon cleaning it. My cleaning lady took away all the garbage for me, otherwise I’d die of embarrassment.” “You should see my house. You want to talk about messy?” she snuffles. I decide to change the subject. “Did you, um, tell your kids where you were going?” “No.” she its, disparagingly. “I haven’t seen anyone since my husband died. I’m not sure how they’ll take it. Although they have alluded to it once or twice.” She smiles. “But I think if I tell them who I’m dating I’ll be golden.” I go for flippant. “Oh, we’re dating?” Her face colors and she speaks shyly. It’s adorable. “I thought we were.” My hand, which is still in hers, gives hers a squeeze. “I’m just teasing.” A pause. “Come on, you don’t want to see all this stuff. Let me show you the house.” “Are you sure? I wouldn’t mind seeing this. As I said, I’ve never been in a studio

before.” “Okay, sure.” This impresses me. I figured that within ten seconds that she’d be bored out of her mind. After showing off some stuff on the soundboard for a few minutes, and then taking her into one of the recording rooms where I keep my guitars and my amps, the one where Russell found me ed out that morning, I play her a couple of riffs, while she sits on the couch in awe. “You like that?” I ask honestly. “Yeah. It’s very…surreal.” She nods with a warm smile on her face. “What would you classify this riff as? A slow song? Fast? Edgy?” “It would make a good intro to a more fun song.” She gives me an example of one from our previous album. “Oh yeah…that. Yeah, you’re right. I’ll bounce this off Russell later.” I put the guitar in its stand. “You had enough here? Want to go see the house?” “Sure. We can come back here later if you want. I don’t want to take you away for too long.” I wave, frowning. “No worries. We live by the seat of our pants around here.” “That was my guess.” My hand is in hers as we walk out of the studio and into the house. Gladys has done a fantastic job here, which is why I keep her. She went as far as to put a bouquet of flowers in a vase on the kitchen table as a centerpiece. Someone must have tipped her off that I was having a girl over, because she’s never done that before. I see it as soon as we open the front door. The foyer has gleaming cream marble flooring, which leads to wood flooring into the open concept living and dining areas. As we walk inside, a winding staircase with an iron handrail is overhead. “God, this is beautiful, Tommy.” She compliments, looking around, her gaze following the handrail to the second floor. “How long have you lived here?”

“I bought the land after our first album went gold. This place was finished being built about a year after that.” I explain. “The studio was built after the second album, as I mentioned, but the plans were already done from the same architect for the house.” “I love it. It’s not too big, which is what I had figured. Most stars have houses big enough for ten families.” “No. I wasn’t into that. It’s just me, after all. I actually dabbled with the idea of having the studio as part of the house, but then I decided against it.” “How come?” “Well, in case I ever want to open it up to other bands. I don’t want anyone traipsing through the house. Everything is secure; both the house and the studio, but it’s a lot better this way, to keep it separate.” “Also, the noise, that’s probably a factor.” I smile. “Are you calling my music noise?” She smiles and her gaze goes to my lips. Debbie is wearing a simple pair of faded blue jeans and a short-sleeved blouse, with a navy-blue chemise underneath. Her hair is out, but with a clip at the side. Even dressed simply, she’s gorgeous. Not a scrap of makeup is on her face, but I could look at it all day. “No, smartass.” She says, sliding a hand down my cheek. Allowing my eyes to go to her lips, I smile at her. Normally I wouldn’t waste my time conversing with a girl. We would be upstairs already, making miles on my mattress, but with Debbie, I want to take my time. Let her steer the ship. She’s the one who is going to call the shots here. “Come on. Let me show you the rest of the place.” “Do you cook?” she asks as we reach the kitchen. I nod. “Yeah. Well, it’s either that or starve. I live alone.” “My kids cook a lot for me. I love this age.” “Are they good at cooking?”

“Cooking, yes. Cleaning, not so much.” “I can relate. That’s why I have Gladys.” I take her hand again and lead her into the living room. There isn’t much in here except a couch, a love seat, and two armchairs by the fireplace that’s against the wall. My living room is almost never used. The couch in the recording studio gets more wear and tear than anything in this living room. “No television?” she asks, confused. “Na. I have one in one of the bedrooms upstairs. I never use it though.” “Somewhere, my kids’ heads are exploding.” She comments. “Take television away from them and you might as well shoot them.” “I’m like that with my guitar, actually.” She smiles. “But of course. You’re a guitarist.” I wink at her. “I’d show you my basement, but it’s just full of old instruments and records and crap. It’s a mess. I’ll show you the second floor.” I say, being careful to measure my words. The last thing I want to say is ‘upstairs’, for some reason. I don’t want to be presumptuous. “This bannister is gorgeous.” “Yeah, my architect knows this local iron artist who did it. I have an archway in my backyard like this.” “Very nice.” Upstairs is an oversized spare room that I use for entertainment, heir go, it never gets used. It has a couch, a coffee table, and a television that’s older than I am. Gladys keeps it dusted, of course, but it’s the least used room. One of my other spare rooms I use for working out. I have free weights and an incumbent bike, but I prefer to bicycle anyway, so I usually only use this room for weight training. It’s important to keep my upper body strength in check, since I use that the most when I’m playing. The bathroom has double sinks, but that’s about the only thing that’s impressive

about it. Aside from the fact that my house is relatively new and built from scratch, it isn’t a lot to brag about. No moat, no life-size sculptures of Greek gods, and certainly no fountains or other adornments that scream how rich I am. My house is pretty simple. Sure, I have a recording studio basically in my back yard, but that’s the only extravagance. That and my cars, which I normally keep tucked away in my triple car garage. There are two other spare rooms, but they’re empty aside from some beds and dressers. They’re actually used as spare bedrooms when I have out of town guests. They never get used. Usually if we jam late in the studio, or if the guys are too hammered to drive home, they crash on the couches or on the floor. I almost never invite them to come up to the house. As we reach my bedroom, which I save for last purposely, I try to show her inside casually. But she’s mesmerized by the skylight and the large, black and white framed photograph I have hung over my bed. It’s a picture of me on stage, on bended knee, under a spotlight, squealing my guitar. A friend of mine, who is our main photographer, gave this to me as a gift after our first world tour. She made me promise to hang it in my living room, but I feel like a show-off doing that, so I decided that this was a decent compromise. “God, that’s so beautiful.” She says, stepping closer to it. “It was a gift. Jane, a photographer for one of the rock and roll magazines that I’ve been featured in a lot, took this shot.” I take a step towards her and point at the signature at the bottom of the photograph. “See? That’s authentic. She signed it herself, as if it’s an oil painting. Kinda cool. One day this photograph could be worth a lot of money.” “One day.” She scoffs. “Don’t be modest. This photo is breathtaking.” “Yeah. It made it on the cover of the magazine that month. Lots of other media have tried to buy it, but she said that that was the only print she would use.” “How come?” I shrug. “Jane has a lot of integrity. That’s why she’s our favorite photographer. She’s never in our faces or taking shitty shots. Her eye is impeccable, and she has class. There are others, too, but this one is my favorite. I told her that, and that’s why she gave this to me.”

“Does she just do bands?” I nod. “Yes. That’s her specialty.” “I can see that.” My bedroom is large. I had it designed so I could accommodate some basic equipment. Since my basement is all but useless, as it’s full of crap, I thought it would be ideal to have one room with good acoustics and enough room that if I needed to record something rudimentary, I could. There are a couple extra guitars in here, plus a tape recorder and a small keyboard. Other than that, my room is just like anyone else’s. Except for the ensuite bathroom. I almost never use it though. I don’t like how it carries the humidity into the bedroom when I have a shower in there. I’m afraid it’s going to fuck up my equipment, so I never use it. My hands go in my pockets, showing my nerves. “So, what do you feel like doing now? Do you want to go sightseeing or something?” my eyes are on the floor. Her eyes are still on the photograph, and she looks over at me. There is something in her eyes that magnetizes mine to hers. We are standing next to each other, her closest to the wall. When my eyes go to her lips, I find myself leaning in, doing exactly what I told myself I wouldn’t do. Only, she’s staring at my lips as I slowly lean down to her, tilting my head slightly. Her lips part enough to let me know that she’s game, and I plant one on her. A good one, but without tongue, not wanting to receive a slap in the face in return. After the first kiss, I take a step back, surveying the damage. After all, this girl is widowed, and I don’t want to fuck up the first kiss she’s had since her old man died. “Sorry, I…I just felt like kissing you.” Her soft lips shimmer a little from my mouth touching hers. Her voice is low with what I’m guessing is need. “Don’t apologize.” Her hands go to my shoulders and I pull mine out of the pockets, carefully placing them on her waist. “I just…I don’t want to overstep here. I know you’re…” “I’m what.” She says softly.

“Well…you’re a widow. I’m not sure what rules apply here.” I say honestly. Her eyes search my face. God, I want her so bad, but man, I don’t want to fuck this up. I really like this girl. Something about her just…speaks to me. Something says that she’s everything I ever wanted. I just never knew it. “I didn’t know there were rules.” She says simply. “You can…make them up then.” A look crosses her face, like she’s both confused and a little annoyed. “This may be a stupid question, but, do you even like me? Or is this just some means to an end here?” “Do you mean…are you just my next lay?” She nods, that look is still there. My face turns serious. Like I’m about to tell her that I’ve only got six months to live. “Believe me, if you were just my next lay, we would have done the deed already. I just…kissed you. That’s all. Maybe I shouldn’t have done it in my bedroom, that was kind of stupid, and I’m sorry for that.” Her hands are still on my shoulders, so that’s a good sign. “I do…really like you. I’m not used to liking…anyone…like this. It’s new territory for me.” “And I’ve never dated anyone outside of my husband, so this is new territory for me, too.” She says fairly, and that look disappears, a small smile replaces it. “Well, that looks better.” I smile back at her softly, sliding a finger down the side of her cheek. “Look, Debbie, you call the shots here. If you’re not ready for something, then you say so. I didn’t invite you here just to fuck your brains out, okay?” Her expression breaks as she stifles a giggle. I can’t help but smile. “What?” “What does that even mean? Fuck your brains out…” she chuckles. “It sounds ridiculous. How do you fuck someone’s brains out, anyway?” I go for cocky, lifting a brow. “I could show you.” My smile lasts half a second, as she says two words that harden me instantly.

…“Show me.”

Chapter 10

Debbie My head is pounding, both from lack of sleep and from drinking, as I unlock the door, after having poured Janice into her house, with Danny shouting at her in my wake. Poor Janice, I feel really bad for her. Danny is a great guy, but sometimes, when the chips are down, he can be a real dick. This is the first time since she and I met that she’s left the house for the night. Granted, a strange man answered the telephone in the hotel room this morning, but God, doesn’t he trust her? Doesn’t he trust me? I’ve been best friends with her for as long as I can and I’ve never steered her wrong, ever. Danny dropped my girls off earlier this morning, not wanting to have any further responsibility. It’s ridiculous, her kids are older than mine, yet he’s having a cow because one wakes up with a fever. Big whoop. If I had a dime for how many times my kids woke up with fevers, I’d be rich. The girls are in their rooms, so I slip inside, get undressed, and take a shower, before they even notice I’m home. Thank God for earphones, where unless you scream directly at them, they can’t hear you. That saves me a conversation with them as to why I’m still in the same clothes I left in yesterday, and why I look like a raccoon, with mascara and eyeliner smeared across my cheeks. After I shower and dress, I go see the girls. They are nonplussed, as usual. The only thing they care about is that they’re hungry, so I make breakfast, and then I go back to bed for a couple of hours. When I wake up, I realize that I have to tell them that I’m going out again tonight. And I wrestle with myself, trying to decide if I should tell them the truth, or sugar coat it for now. With the sour looks on their faces today, I’d say that the latter is best. “You guys mind having Zoey and Xandy over tonight?” “As long as they get to come over here instead.” Mylee says. “Danny was really mean this morning. I bet Zoey didn’t even have a fever.” “You think she wasn’t actually sick?” “No.” Georgia is adamant. “She said she got her period. She didn’t have a fever. Danny was in a really bad mood, that’s all. He didn’t want to deal with that.” “Are you going out with Janice again?” Mylee asks.

“No, I’m doing something for work, for my writing work.” I say, half lying. Well, I guess it is a lie. I mean, I met Tommy through a work-related event, but tonight has nothing to do with that. I feel like a shit for lying, but I’d rather see where this goes, before causing any stress with the girls, especially if it’s unnecessary. This could bomb before it even starts. “Can we get a pizza for dinner? We had to eat something Danny cooked last night. I don’t even know what it was.” Georgia’s face scrunches. “It was gross.” “Certainly. Yes. I’ll leave money for dinner and I’ll order it ahead. Just make sure that one of the twins answers the door.” I always stipulate, seeing as Zoey and Xandy are older than my girls. “I’m going to go lay down for a while, okay? I had a very late night last night.” “Okay, mom. Do you want me to wake you up some time?” Mylee offers. “No, that’s okay. I won’t sleep too long.” I kiss her on the head, and she tries to dodge it, but I get her, and smile. Three hours later I’m awake and feeling much better. Fluttering with nerves, I manage to make it through the next couple of hours, getting dressed and ready for my first date since…well, never mind since when. When I arrive at Tommy’s house, I’m in complete awe. Part of it is because I can’t believe I’m at the house of the guy who plays guitar in one of my favorite bands, but it’s also because it actually is very impressive. His recording studio is very high tech, especially from the perspective of someone who knows nothing about technology aside from how to power up a typewriter or dial a phone. As I sit in his recording studio, the man plays guitar for me, wowing me unlike any other man has in my life. It feels like I’m floating as he takes me up to his house and shows me his modest yet gorgeous home. And when we get up to his bedroom, Tommy seems to be the classiest rock star around, as he does nothing but give me a soft kiss on the mouth. It was perfect timing, too, because I felt like I could die if I had to wait until it was time to say goodnight to get a kiss from him. Just being this close to him, with his hand gently holding mine, is making me feel things I’ve never felt before. His kiss is soft and gentle, not vulgar, and his eyes are so honest it’s unnerving. But something inside me says that I need to make sure that he doesn’t treat all

women this way. That I’m not just about to become another notch in his bedpost. Things are stirring inside me that I’m having trouble controlling, and I want to make sure that I’m not making a big mistake if I listen to those things, and give in. His hair is still wet from a recent shower. It’s curling in spots framing his face, and there’s something about his neck that begs me to kiss it, to suck on it. Full, pouty lips get licked by his glistening tongue as he says the expression ‘fuck your brains out’ in jest. Why, I don’t know, but him using the ‘f’ word in the sexy tone that he’s using, makes me nuts with desire. I can’t help but giggle, but inside I’m smouldering, and when he lifts his brow and speaks softly, all bets are off. “Show me.” I say to him, as I comb my hands through the hair at the sides of his head, open my mouth, tilting my head sideways, and he slides his tongue in my mouth so smoothly that it makes my underwear soak instantly. Never in my life have I felt such a strong urge to be with someone before. Not even with Bryan. The sex was good, from the first time to the last, but this, I don’t know, Tommy has this way about him that makes the blood in my veins sing. His lips are so goddamn soft, and his tongue is so deft as he glides it in and out of my mouth, that I’m ready to tear my clothes off and let him have his way with me here and now. His hands are all over my back, pulling me close to him, and my body is picking up on so many things that it’s almost like sensory overload. He’s hard already and pressed up against me, making my heart beat so fast from exhilaration. His hair is so soft I can’t help but tangle my fingers in it. I want to wrap my legs around him and straddle him so bad, as my thighs are burning for him, and I’m so wet that I can feel my folds practically dripping with desire. It’s like I’ve been starved for sex since Bryan died, and I guess, in a way, I have been. His fingers pull my blouse out of my jeans, so he can gain access to the skin under my shirt. I’m about to do the same, but he takes the hint and pulls his shirt over his head, and I’m dying. Just…dying. I’m sure many women have seen him with his shirt off, but this is a first time for me. Fuck… he’s so beautiful. Biceps that are just ample enough to lift me without effort, but small enough that he doesn’t look like Tarzan, and lean, underrated muscle all over his abdomen, but not quite washboard-like. He’s…perfect. I pull my blouse over my head while his eyes are on mine. The smouldering look

is so sexy on him. He wants me as badly as I want him. Maybe more. The second my shirt is over my head, his lips are on my neck, and I slide my hands, palm down, over his chest and down to his abs, and then back up again, until they’re on his neck, which I’m dying to kiss. My head tilts slightly so he can get his head right in there, kissing me in all the right places. His hands skate down to my ass, where he cups it, pulling me tighter into him, so I can feel his hardness, and it pulses. He feels like a goddamn Adonis in girth, and the anticipation kills me. His fingers pull my chemise out of my jeans, and I’ve lost all modesty. I pull it out and over my head, hoping like hell that I’m not being too forward, but his eyes tell the tale. Fingers find the tops of my breasts, as he skates them over the flesh, painfully missing my nipples, that are dying to be touched. Eyes dark, and a serious smirk that only Tommy can pull off, he’s as sexy as hell as he glances at me, watching as his fingers slide down my body, stopping at the waistband of my jeans. He opens them, looking at me as if for permission, and as the zipper descends, he drops to one knee, gently forcing my pants down. Thankfully I am not wearing granny panties. No, my friends, I’ve got some sexy number on today, complete with a little bit of lace and a high thigh. He buries his face in my belly, kissing my flesh along the elastic, lining my body with his lips, and then his lips make a trail down each of my thighs as he pulls my jeans all the way down. I’m dying to do the same to him, but I’m also terrified. As he lifts, I can see the outline of his penis through his jeans. God, he’s huge. Yes, I’m excited… and terrified. I mean, Bryan was big enough, but Tommy…holy shit. It’s so big I can see it creeping down his leg, and I wonder how he’s not crushing it inside those pants. Our lips smash together, and his tongue finds mine, making me lose all fear, and I find the courage to undo his pants. I go one step further, too, and plunge my hand inside his pants, only to discover that he’s not wearing underwear…holy fuck. He chuckles and inhales. “Fuck, your hand is…a little cold.” I pull it out, snuffling a laugh. “Shit…sorry.” He takes my hands in his, warming them, finding my lips again, deftly placing my left hand at his bulge, and I give it a squeeze.

“Man, you are not shy.” He breathes against my lips. “Is that a bad thing?” I ask, thinking that I know the answer. “It’s not what I expected. It’s a very…pleasant…surprise.” He comments between kisses. Then he lifts my hands to his lips and kisses my fingers, eying me with each kiss, making me melt with his searing glance. God, he has the sexiest expression on his face, it’s going to be imprinted in my memory forever now. “Touch me wherever you want to now, baby.” I try for sultry. “That goes double for you.” With that he reaches back to the closure on my bra and unhooks it, freeing my breasts, as he skates his fingers down my arms, removing my bra, as if he’s trying to avert his attention and take care of removing the garment first. Then his eyes are on me, and I suddenly feel a little self-conscious. “I don’t have the perfect body, Tommy. I’ve had two children.” His eyes are on mine for a second before speaking. “That’s where you’re wrong.” He says before leaning in and kissing the fleshy part of my breasts, and then moving to my nipples, sucking them so they bead, making my head rear back as I dig my fingernails into his shoulders. As he licks them, making me moan involuntarily, he’s removing his pants, and I’m dying to look, but I can’t focus. When he pushes against me, sliding his arms around me to guide me down onto the bed, I can feel his body on mine. His girth is something to behold. As his body covers mine, and all that stands between us is my panties, I feel my heart beat so fast I think it’s going to explode. Lining our bodies up, he slides his hands down my thighs, removing my underwear, and suddenly we’re naked, and his penis is right on me…there. That’s when my nerves kick in. Tommy feels my body go rigid and my chest stop moving and he looks at me, stilling himself. “You say stop we stop.” He says softly. I nod too quickly, as if talking myself into it. “Breathe, Debbie.” He says, his voice soothing, as he skates a finger down my cheek.

ing that my lungs need air, I inhale while he watches me. He waits until my eyes go to his lips, and he gently kisses me without tongue, letting me decide when we resume, and I feel myself unclench. Our kisses change from semi-chaste to voracious as I realize how patient this man is, which to me, translates to care, and that, in my books, is the kind of man I want to be with. We quickly become a mess of sucking tongues, smacking noises in the silence, and soft groans as we kiss like we’re making out in the back seat of his car. Our breathing is ragged as he begins gliding his penis up and down the length of my folds in a way that’s making every nerve ending down there wake up suddenly. I’m so wet it’s lubricating him on , making the movements delicious, making me moan with each , making me climb as he touches the tip of my clit, hitting it at the perfect angle, and I know that he knows what he’s doing to me. He knows that it’s been a long time for me, and he knows that it won’t take much to get me there. As his mouth finds my nipples, I can feel what he’s doing in every cell of my body. He’s barely touched me and I’m already there. My legs are locking as I feel my insides start to quicken already and Tommy knows that I’m going to come because he grasps my hands in his and picks up speed. Five seconds is all it takes as I at first hold my breath, but then as my body starts pulsing, and I feel that delicious release, I let it out, crying aloud, in glorious orgasmic pulses, the way my body is reacting to Tommy’s touch. As I start to come down, Tommy’s lips find mine, and the moment my legs unlock, he slides inside me slowly, carefully, and as I feel him filling me, another wave of pleasure stirs inside me. With slow, deep thrusts, he moves inside, and his hands leave mine to go to my rear. As he cups it, he’s moving my body into an angle that hits a spot inside and simultaneously also hits my clit. With his head tilted slightly, my lips finally find his neck, and I suck it enough to get an outward gasp from him. Now it’s my turn to make him squirm. As I’m sucking his neck, I’m also kneading his nipples, and I can feel him harden further as his breathing becomes heavy. And suddenly it becomes a pleasure tug of war. His thrusts become faster and more targeted, hitting spots both inside and outside of me, making it hard for me to concentrate, even though I’m dying to make his eyes roll into the sockets, too. When my lips find his nipples is when that finally happens. He bows his head as if in surrender, and I feel vindication, finding his sweet spot, or at least

one of them. While I suck one and gently squeeze the other, he’s effectively losing his mind, and it’s exhilarating. He pushes deeper inside me, making me dig my nails into his back, making my insides clench and pulse as I climb right back up there again, this time with him. He angles up more, hitting that sweet spot inside and outside better, as if it could feel any better, also enabling me to suck and lick harder. When I hear him moan I know we’re in sync. He’s on the edge with me. And then I feel it. As my body starts to pulse, it’s like a domino effect, and he becomes like a rock inside me, and I can feel him shuddering as we both reach heights that only two ionate lovers can, together. A sexy little groan comes from him as he lowers himself on me, wrapping his arms under me, pulling me close. We lay there, catching our breath, enjoying warm afterglow, until he raises his head and rubs his nose on mine. His lips curl into a sexy little smile but he says nothing, which is even sexier. It’s contagious. We’re silent, but kissing softly, intermittently, sensually, taking turns sucking first the top and then the bottom lip of the other. It isn’t until he takes a cleansing breath that he speaks. “Well, we didn’t even make it to dinner. What do you think of that, huh.” The way he says it he could have said that I’m the most beautiful woman in the world and it would have the same effect. His tone speaks more than his words. “I wasn’t hungry.” “Bet you are now.” He kisses me again. I lift a brow. “I’m quite satisfied.” A sexy little chuckle. He rolls onto his side, removing himself from me, and he grasps my waist, pulling me close to him. His eyes are so blue it’s mesmerizing. They seem to have gotten bluer since, well…you know. “I’m pretty satisfied, too.” He slides a finger down my cheek and looks at me like I’m a unicorn or some sort of precious gemstone. “I bet I don’t measure up to a lot of the women you’ve been with.” I say, only half in jest. “That…is not true.”

“Really?” He nods. “Something about you is…different. I knew it since the moment we met.” “Yeah?” Another nod. “Yeah.” I kiss his lips. “So, do you want to do this again sometime?” He smiles. “What, are you leaving?” “Do you want me to?” I ask, not sure if he’s joking. He can’t help the smirk. “Well, sure, I mean, we’re done here, right?” I shrug. “Okay.” And when I get up, he grabs me and pulls me back on the bed, snarling, growling and kissing my neck. “Get back here.” He says, snorting into my belly. I’m laughing and he’s laughing, and it’s the funnest time I’ve ever had after sex. “You…you’re not going anywhere.” “No? You don’t want me to leave, so your next groupie can come over?” He kisses between my breasts. “First of all, you’re not a groupie.” He kisses the fleshy part of my breasts. “Second of all, I like you a lot, and not in the way that I like groupies, either.” I lift his head with my hands, playing along. “Is there a third?” He rests his chin on my belly and frowns. “Well, you’re a much better lay.” I smack his head playfully and he rubs it, chuckling. “Come on, Smoochie,” he kisses my belly. “Let’s go get you fed.” “Are you allowed to go out?” I ask naively. “Am I allowed?” he asks, craning his neck.

“Yeah, like, don’t you have safe places to go, where you don’t get recognized?” He scrubs his forehead into my belly. “I went out last night, didn’t I? I didn’t die from it.” “Oh yeah.” I giggle. “Forgot about that.” He exhales into my belly, making a fart noise, making me laugh. Then he pats my bum twice. “Come on. You laying there naked is going to get you in trouble again.” I lift a brow and he smiles, snuffling a laugh. “Smoochie Pants. Let’s go. I’ll feel like a shit if I don’t at least feed you after…that.” I sit up and look for my underwear. He gestures to where it is, jokingly, like it’s a sexy scavenger hunt. He’s so goddamn cute it’s hysterical. “Do we have to go out? Can’t we order in?” “Is that what you want to do?” “Well, do you enjoy going out to dinner? Most men hate it.” I say honestly. “And most women love it.” “Well, I’m not most women.” I shrug. “Frankly, I’d rather cook something here. We ate out last night and that’s pretty much my limit.” “I have some food here.” He frowns, pulling his pants on. And I don’t know what’s sexier; him taking them off or putting them on. He leaves the top button open and I bite my lip just looking at it. “What do you have?” “Why don’t you put some clothes on and I’ll show you.” He winks. And I notice that he doesn’t put any more clothes on. When I have my pants and bra on, I slide my chemise on and reach for the blouse. “No, leave that off.” He says, taking me in his arms. “You’re wearing too much as it is.” “I thought you said that I’d get in trouble if I wasn’t dressed.”

He ignores me. “In fact,” he reaches back, sliding his hands up my chemise, and he undoes my bra. He pulls it out deftly and leaves it with my blouse. My nipples are sticking out and he touches them. “Very nice.” “Are we actually going to make it to dinner, or is this just a prelude?” He kisses my lips. “We’ll make it to dinner, Smooch. But then all bets are off.”

Chapter 11

Tommy Hands down. Sexiest woman alive. Debbie rattles me in ways that no other woman has. Strange thing is that I can’t put my finger on what it is about her that does it. Just…the way that I feel when I’m with her. She’s herself. There is no front. Her body spoke to me honestly. She speaks to me honestly. There is no pretense. No act. And hell, we even had a little bit of fun. I’ve never messed around with a woman in bed after…messing around. What puts the cherry on top is that she wants to stay in and cook. What woman would want to do that? The woman standing next to me, that’s who. Turns out Gladys brought in a bunch of food, so we’re in luck. As I pull the wok out of the cupboard, Debbie grabs the butter and makings for a nice stir fry. There is some shrimp in the freezer, so I defrost and start peeling that, while Debbie cooks the peppers and boils the noodles. I sneak a couple of kisses out of her here and there, and I even plant one on her neck as she’s stirring the stuff in the wok. When I walk away, intending to grab some plates out of the cupboard, she grabs me. “Hey, come here.” Her lips are on mine, and we start French kissing right in the goddamn kitchen. My hands immediately go up her shirt, knowing full well that she’s braless, and I’m hard instantly. It isn’t until the food pops loudly in the pan that we’re startled and stop making out, chuckling. “Jesus Christ, I thought the Commies were coming for us.” I joke. She’s laughing, turning the food in the pan, as I sneak up behind her and fondle her breasts. “Tommy.” She breathes. “We are not going to make it to dinner if you keep doing that. You’re making me really hot.” “I know.” I kiss her neck. “I’m making me hot, too.” She turns the burner off and tries to focus. “What do you do around here for privacy, anyway? I mean, don’t the guys come around often?” “We usually have a schedule. They don’t often just show up.” “But they do.” She says, reiterating.

“Yeah, they do.” “So, us frolicking in the kitchen is probably not a great idea.” She smiles. “Frolicking?” I chuckle. She grins. “Fucking.” “Hey,” I lift a finger, but my face is soft. “That was not fucking, Smooch.” Snaking her arms around me, she kisses me chastely. “No, I like it when you say ‘fuck’. I never thought I’d like it, but I do.” “You’re naughty.” I murmur, kissing her lips. She snuffles a laugh. “I am naughty…around you.” “Let’s eat so we can fuck.” I say, playing along. I have a shitfaced smile on my face and my eyes are dancing. She lifts her brows, impressed. “Mmm…” her finger is on my lips. “Fuck again, you mean.” “You are so right.” I kiss her sweetly. “Get used to saying that.” I laugh and it’s contagious. “Ain’t that the truth.” Dinner is actually very good. We eat like we worked up the appetite that we truly did, and Debbie, I’ve learned, is a healthy eater. “Where are your kids tonight?” I ask her. “They’re with Janice’s kids. Evidently they didn’t have such a great time hanging out with her husband last night.” “Was he pissed when you brought her home this morning?” She gives me a look. “That’s putting it mildly.”

“She and him on the rocks at all?” “No. I guess he reacted the same way that Bryan would have. I mean, put yourself in his shoes.” She says fairly. I think about it for a second and frown. “True.” I change the subject. “So, tell me about the stuff that you write.” “Please.” She smirks. “You don’t want to hear about that.” It’s time for me to give her a look. “Sure, I do. If I didn’t want to hear about it, I wouldn’t have asked.” “Like I said last night, I write romance novels.” I lift a brow. “The good kind?” She tilts her head speculatively. “It’s not smut, no. It’s just…steamy.” “Did I give you some good material earlier?” She just laughs. “I thought I did pretty good.” I frown. She’s about to say something, when the phone rings. “Hold that thought.” I say, lifting a finger. “Yeah.” I answer the phone on the kitchen wall. “Tommy…dude,” It’s Carl, our manager. “Hey, Carl.” I chuckle. “What’s happening?” I see Debbie rise and gesture to me that she’s going to go into another room and give me privacy, but I shake my head and kiss her lips, letting her know that it’s okay to stay. “Tommy, I saw your picture in the paper from that event that you and the other ass cracks attended last night.” he has a twisted, self-deprecating sense of humor. I’ve gotten used to it over the years. He tends to make back-handed compliments but then in another vein, he insults you to your face. With Carl, you better have a strong stomach, because he tells it like it is, whether you want to hear it or not. There is no sugar coating of anything with him. “It was nice to see you not

shitfaced for a change. What’s up with that?” I chuckle. “You didn’t see the pictures from later, that’s all.” “How come you’re not slugging it out in the studio? I tried you there first.” I look at Debbie. “I’ve got company up at the house. What’s going on?” “Oh, shit. Sorry, man.” He cackles. “Did you manage to get your dick back into your pants before you answered the phone?” “Never mind that, man. What’s going on?” “Russell tells me you were pretty pissed off about him doing a solo album.” “Well, wouldn’t you be?” “Ah, artists do solo shit all the time. You did some on the side, too.” “I did a riff, not an entire album, Carl. There’s a difference.” “You did it in secret, though, man, that’s the difference.” “Did you call to tear a strip out of me, man? Because I’m kind of busy.” I’m getting pissed off. “No, no, man. I didn’t. I just wanted to make sure that you were cool.” “I’m cool, man. I was a little taken by surprise, but whatever. Russell’s going to do what he’s going to do. As long as he keeps writing and singing lyrics for ‘Stop’ to the best of his ability, I’m fine.” “Cool. Hey, is she hot?” he asks. “Yeah.” I answer, smiling, looking at her. Her eyes are on my chest, and then they go down below my belt. She’s thinking the exact same thing I am. “Anyone I know?” “No.”

“It’s not another fucking groupie, is it?” “No. God, no. Look, I gotta go.” “I’m sure you do. Go get laid, man. Call me tomorrow.” “Yeah.” I hang up, but my eyes don’t leave hers. I take her hand in mine, and she rises from the table, coming directly into my arms. We last half a second, looking into each other’s eyes, before our lips meet. I waste no time attempting to be chaste. My tongue is in her mouth, gliding in and out, feeling her breath on my cheek, and her breasts pressed up against my chest, and I can’t figure out where the closest place is to take her down. And just as my hand goes up her shirt, the fucking front door knocks. Our lips part and I rest my forehead against hers. “I’m so sorry about all this. I swear to God I don’t normally have this many interruptions.” There are only so many people who have the security code to my front gate, so I run down the list of people whose ass I’m going to kick as soon as I open the door. It knocks again before I reach it. “Fucking hold on, man. I’m coming.” I growl. When I open the door, I see a drunken Russell on the other side of it. He’s fucking wasted beyond recognition. I look him up and down. “How the fuck did you drive here, man?” “Very…carefully.” He answers, slurring. He sees Debbie standing in the kitchen. Her arms are across her chest, and I feel like a shit for taking her bra off. She probably feels naked now. I want to hit Russell for leering at her like he is. “What are you doing here? Why didn’t you call first?” “I called the studio, man, but you didn’t answer. Couldn’t the fucking house number. You’re always at the studio.” “Why are you so hammered, man?” He looks at me like I just asked him how big his dick is. “And why the fuck aren’t you? Damn, Tommy, you’re usually as drunk as I am by now.” He looks over at Debbie. “Oh, you two were just about to fuck, weren’t you.”

“Watch it, man.” I say, feeling irritated. “Hey, let me call you a cab. What the fuck are you doing here?” “I wanted to jam, man.” He says, snapping his fingers, as if he’s about to break into one of his colorful stage moves. “I was hoping you’d help me with this new album. Fuck, the other guys won’t help me.” “Yeah, there’s a good reason for that. I won’t help you, either.” He cranes his neck. “After all I’ve fucking done for you, you won’t help me, you selfish motherfucker?” “Take it easy, Russell.” I warn. “If it weren’t for me, you’d be nothing, man. You fucking guitar geek!” Spittle is coming out of his mouth as he speaks. “Russell, I’m going to ask you to take it easy once more, and then I’m going to lay into you, man. Now, I’m warning you.” My jaw is working as I can feel my fists ball up. Debbie intervenes. “Russell, hey, why don’t you tell us where you were earlier? Were you talking to someone?” she talks to him like he’s a child, taking steps towards him. Her arms are still crossed over her chest, but his eyes go right there. “Well, hey there, little lady.” He says, his eyes sliding up and down her body, making me want to punch him. “Aren’t you a sweet thing.” “Who were you with earlier, Russell? How did you get so drunk?” she asks again, using a slightly more direct tone. “I was just…I was with Gary, man.” He its, and his face changes. It looks like…disappointment. “And what happened with Gary?” she asks, as though she’s a therapist. I love it how she’s calming him down and seemingly making headway with him. “He…he told me that I needed something.”

“Wait, Gary Feldman? The producer?” I ask. He looks at me and nods half-heartedly, like his attention is completely on Debbie, and I’m old news. “Who’s Gary?” Debbie asks honestly. “He’s my producer…for my solo album.” He takes a step closer to her and angles his hand over his mouth, as if he’s going to tell her a secret. “Tommy told you about my solo album, didn’t he?” She plays along. “Yes, he did. Congratulations.” “Thank you, sweetheart.” He looks at me, thumbing towards Debbie. “I like her.” He’d like a rottweiler right now if it showed interest. Debbie continues. “So, how come you’re so upset?” “Well, because I knew I had to come over and ask Tommy if he’d help me.” he speaks as though I’m not here. “But I know that Tommy is mad at me, even though he did something he shouldn’t have done, too.” “Tommy isn’t mad at you, Russell.” She says, nodding. If I’d known that all I have to do is talk to the guy like he’s a Kindergartener this whole time, man, life could have been so much easier. He looks at me. “He’s not?” It’s like I’m a wax figurine of myself. “No. Tommy loves you, just like you love him.” she explains. “What do you need his help for, Russell? Why don’t you tell him?” “I…I need him to play the guitar for me.” I shake my head. “Russell, I’m sorry, but I can’t.” “But…but you did a riff for Billy. How come you can’t do one for me?” “That was different, Russell. It was a small piece in a song that I did as a favor. I’m not even getting any recognition for it. It’s like it never happened.”

“So, you can’t help me?” as he speaks, he’s swaying on his feet. Debbie takes a step towards him, acting like she’s putting her arm around him as a gesture of friendliness, but we both know the real reason why. “No, Russ. You’re going to have to find someone else to do it, okay buddy?” Debbie intervenes for good measure. “Hey, you know what, Russell? Maybe this could be your way of introducing some new, up and coming guitarist. Or someone who is way underrated, you know? You could be their hero.” She suggests, nodding emphatically. He smiles, as though picturing it. “Hey, yeah, you’re right. I could do that. I know lots of guitarists. I just thought of Tommy first, you know, because he’s… he’s like my brother.” “I appreciate that, buddy.” I say. “I’m just going to call you a cab, okay? We’ll figure out the rest in the morning.” I walk two steps to the phone on the wall in the kitchen, as Debbie stands there, talking small talk with Russell, helping to hold him up. Just as I’m about to pick it up, the fucking thing rings. “Yeah.” I answer, frustrated. “How come you’re not in the studio, man?” Terry says. “What the fuck? Do I always have to be in the fucking studio?” He scoffs. “Yeah. That’s where you always are. I had to look up the house number. Hey, you seen Russell?” “He’s here. Smashed out of his own face, man. I was just about to call him a cab.” “Don’t, man, Paul’s on his way over, too. Thought we’d jam for a while. I’ll drive the shithead home after.” “Fuck, Debbie and I are just on a date, man.” Debbie lifts her hand and shakes her head. “It’s okay.” Can this girl be any cooler? “But Russell’s fucking drunk as a skunk.”

“We’ll catch up to him.” Terry chuckles. “Never stopped us before.” Russell catches on. “Terry and Paul are coming to jam?” I nod. “’Kay, man. See you shortly.” I hang up and then address Russell. “Yeah, they’re on their way over.” Russell sniffs, looking at me, forgetting for a second that Debbie’s standing right next to him. “Yo, you got a hit, man? I need a pick me up if we’re gonna jam.” I’m pretty sure Debbie hears and understands exactly what’s been asked, but she’s so cool, she just goes upstairs, probably to get her bra and blouse. I lower my voice. “Russell, man, heads up. I don’t want Debbie getting creeped out over that shit. I’ve got some at the studio, so just be cool, man.” His eyes are glazed over he’s so blitzed. “Sorry, man.” He whispers like a child. “It’s okay.” I pat his back. When she comes back downstairs, it’s just as I thought, she’s got her bra and blouse back on. “You want to us in the studio?” I ask, taking her hand in mine. “Sure. For a while. I don’t want to leave the kids alone all night like last night.” “That’s no problem. Stay as long as you want. We don’t usually jam all night, anyway, unless we’re about to record.” “Hey, you never know, man.” Russell says. “Sometimes we come up with our best shit ever when we’re fried.” I give him a look, but the comment seems to roll off Debbie’s shoulder. We head to the studio, my hand in hers, and get set up. After the boys arrive and we have a couple of beers, Debbie seems to blend in nicely. While she’s not drinking, she seems to be having just as good a time as we are. Until Russell blatantly asks for coke again. “Dude, where’s yours, man?” Terry asks. “I was so fucking drunk, I left it at home, man.” He answers, and then he thumbs towards me. “I asked dipshit over here for some of his stash, but it looks like Tommy’s not sharing tonight.”

Feeling a little buzzed from the beer, I’m less conscious of Debbie’s facial expressions. “Get your own shit, man.” I lean in and give her a kiss and she kisses me back, so I’m guessing that all is well. We start playing more, and Debbie seems to melt into the background, listening to the music, and when I do a solo, I can feel her gaze on me. “You like that, Smoochie?” I ask her as I finish. “It was very nice. Mellow. But I picture it as an intro to a harder tune, kind of a juxtaposition. I like those kind of surprise songs where they start off seemingly slow but then rip into something harder. That really gets the blood flowing.” “Yeah.” I agree, kissing her. “You really dig music, huh.” “I love it. There is always a radio on when I’m around.” Every minute that I’m with this girl I feel more and more at home with her. I feel like she accepts all the other shit in the background, especially since I’m getting pretty hammered and it doesn’t seem to faze her. I kiss her again, almost forgetting that the guys are still here. “Hey, Paul, hit me with a beat!” I shout over to him in the drumming pod. He smashes the drums at a fast pace, and I rip into a riff that perfectly matches it. Russell, miraculously, starts singing a tune, making it up as he goes along. It amazes me sometimes how this guy can put together lyrics when he’s so fucking wasted. With few stumbles, he sings a verse. Debbie eyes a pen and paper over on the side table, and she starts writing madly, as we continue the song. “Hit the fucking tape recorder and do it again, man!” I shout, biting my lip with anticipation. It always moves me when we make progress, no matter how futile it is. Terry pushes the record button on the recorder next to him as we take it from the top. Debbie is grooving and writing as we go, and Russell keeps the lyrics going, leaving blank spots where he can’t think of stuff, and we do that a few times, adding more rhythm and Russell adding lyrics. Debbie actually gets up from the couch and stands next to Russell, helping him what lyrics he came up with by showing him what she wrote on the pad. When we get to my solo again, I add more balls to it, and I watch the expression on my girl’s face. I can’t help but smile. She’s so into it. When we end the song, she whoops and whistles, and I decide that that makes a perfect ending to it, too. I want her to do that at the end, when we record.

“Hey, yo, let’s call Lou, man!” Russell states, excited. “Sure, I’ll get him over here now.” I say, grabbing the phone. “He won’t mind being called this late?” Debbie asks, looking at her watch. It’s almost ten o’clock. We’ve been out in the studio for hours. “Smoochie, he’s all about this. This is his life. If we have a song that’s ready to cut, we call him. That’s the name of the game.” Terry lifts a brow. “Smoochie?” I’ve dialed the number. The receiver is on my ear. I nod, winking at my girl, wiggling my finger so she’ll come to me. When she does, I kiss her once, twice, three times, chastely, and pull back, winking at her again. “Yeah. I love kissing her. I can’t help it.” Her face colors but she smiles shyly. God, could she be more adorable? “Well, at least she’s not a fucking whore, like what he’s usually with.” Russell says bluntly. “Thanks, asshole.” I say, before Lou’s voice comes on the other end. “Lou, man!” He knows who it is. No need to tell him. “You got something?” “Yeah.” “On my way.” I hang up the phone, pleased, frowning at Debbie. “Wow.” She giggles. “When you’re right, you’re right.” I rise and hold her close to me. “All the right moves. All the right words.” I kiss her again. “Alright, get a room.” Terry whines. “Go fuck in the back room before Lou gets here.” Debbie slaps him upside the head, but she’s smiling. Terry rubs his head, looking at her, impressed. “Man, you’ve got a mean right hook!”

“And don’t you forget it.” She states. I love her. I can’t help kissing her, so I do it again. “Hey, why don’t you guys run through it again, before Lou arrives?” she suggests, excited. I nod, grabbing my guitar. “You heard the lady. Let’s hit it.” We go through it two more times before Lou gets here, and he walks in when we’re right in the middle of my solo. The look on his face says that he’s impressed. We record it, doing a couple of overdubs, just to make the verses a little thicker, and we adjust a couple of Russell’s lyrics to fill in and add more character to the rhythm, and before we know it, we’re at the end. “Yo, I want Debbie to end the song, man. What do you think?” Her face brightens. “What do you mean?” “That…whistle and whoot thing you did the first time we ran through it. It’s a kickass song and I think that little bit of emphasis at the end punctuates that.” “Yeah, yeah, I like it.” Russell agrees. Lou nods. “Let’s give it a go. Debbie, you want to do your thing and I’ll record the track?” “Sure.” She’s so excited it’s palpable. She does her thing and nails it on the first try. I actually high five her she does so well, and Lou gives us the thumbs up, that we did it. I pull her close, actually lifting her feet off the floor, and kiss her with just a little tongue. “Would you excuse us?” I say to the boys, kissing her once again. “We need to go finish our date and celebrate.” “Oh, fuck…we just lost our guitarist.” Russell says. “Hey, you guys work on the next one. I’ll be back.” I say, not waiting to hear a response. We reach the studio door, and as soon as I close it, we’re all over each other. Kissing her hungrily, I lift her feet off the ground again. “Wrap your legs around my waist.” I whisper against her lips. She does what I tell her, and I carry her into the house, locking the door behind me. “God, that was exhilarating, wasn’t it?” I murmur in between kisses.

“So exciting. I can see why the ‘sex’ part is included in the whole ‘sex, drugs and rock & roll’. It’s such a turn-on.” She breathes, kissing me back. I carry her upstairs and she giggles. “I thought you were really drunk. But you must be okay if you carried me all the way from the studio, up the stairs and everything.” Pulling my shirt over my head, I say. “My tolerance is pretty high, Smooch. Especially when I want you so bad.” My arms are around her waist, as we kiss with tongue, and then I pull her shirt out of her pants, and she lifts it over her head; both shirts at the same time. “Efficient.” I comment. “Let’s hope you’re not.” She jokes, combing her fingers into the hair at the sides of my head, while she slips her tongue in my mouth, making my dick stand up ninety degrees. “That will go down in history as never being a problem, Smoochie.” I say, matter-of-factly. She’s practically panting. “Prove it.” God, she makes me so fucking hot. “I’m gonna take you down and make you come so hard, you’re going to wonder what hit you.” Her eyes are on my lips. “Not if I take you down first.”

Chapter 12

Debbie That. Was. So. Cool. Nothing quite like that experience. I actually watched a song being born. Or recorded, depending on your perspective. Not only that, Tommy let me do the ending to it. That was the coolest. I love him. He’s so fun to be around. And he surprises me, too. For a guy who’s been packing away the beers for the last three hours, he’s as hard as a rock. I didn’t think that guys could do that. Hell, Bryan used to fall asleep before I even touched him. Tommy, oh no, he’s ready for me. So ready it’s…hot. I want him even more than I wanted him earlier. It feels like it’s been days since we last touched. His arms around me alone is making my body throb. I want to do so many things to him I can’t stand it. I’ve never had such a response to a man before. My libido is in overdrive and I think that Tommy’s sex appeal is to blame. He’s incredibly sexy and warm and kind…and so easygoing. He’s very easy to be with. His hands travel up and unhinge my bra, and it’s like we can’t get our clothes off fast enough. My fingers grab his zipper and pull down, and I force his pants off, while he reciprocates. When my pants and underwear are at my ankles, he bends down, kissing and sucking me…there. It feels so goddamn good I groan loudly. It’s been such a long time since someone’s mouth has been…there. When his tongue touches my clit, I clutch his hair with both hands, and cry out, making noises that I’ve never made before. He lifts my leg over his shoulder, and I just…about…die. “God…Tommy… you’re going to be the death of me.” I pant, feeling my eyes roll back into the sockets. His mouth covers my entire package, and he’s doing things with his mouth that I can’t even describe. It’s like he’s French kissing it. Sucking and licking with just the perfect rhythm and pressure that literally within a minute, I’m screaming, like, screaming it feels so good. And when I come, it’s so intense I feel lightheaded and my ears ring, but I can still hear myself bellowing uncontrollably with each exhale. As I come down, he lowers my leg and gently pushes me on the bed, so I bounce on it, breathlessly. He hovers over me and I pant. “Okay, you win.” My chest is rising and falling quickly, and his smile is so cocky I can’t help but

pull him towards me, by the hair at the sides of his head, and kiss him like it’s the last kiss I’ll ever get from his lips. He kisses me back, but then his mouth is on my breasts, making me writhe under him. But I’m dying to show him my chops, too. I want to hear him scream and moan and beg for mercy the way he did to me a moment ago, so I lift, and push him onto his back, and begin trailing kisses up his neck and down his chest, making sure to pay special attention to his nipples, which I know drives him nuts. “You are so up to no good, Smooch.” He says with a knowing chuckle, his voice is low with need. His chest is so goddamn yummy, and his abdomen I could kiss all day, but I have better plans. A hardened cock awaits me, and I’m dying to make my man squirm. The second my mouth touches the head, Tommy sucks in air. On exhale, he speaks in a grunt. “God, you just get better and better every moment I know you.” This comment spurs me on. Fisting my hand, I wrap it around the base and tuck his penis as far into my mouth as I can. All my life, my gag reflex has been weak, so I have a unique ability when performing this particular pleasure. Tommy’s fingers grasp the sheets as I begin sucking while artfully pushing in and pulling him out of my mouth. His chest is now rising and falling, and some of his exhales are heavy, when I see his mouth open and a laugh/moan comes out, as I feel his cock harden inside my mouth. He’s so big it’s like trying to shove a baby python in there, but I’m managing. …and he’s loving it. When I pick up speed, taking him in almost all the way, and then out again, his pelvis is moving in time with my rhythm, and he’s telling me how to finish him off with his movements. I can taste salt, so I know he’s getting there, and it’s so exhilarating, almost as fun as making that song earlier, but different, of course. And I can’t how long it’s been since I’ve had this much fun in less than a twenty-four-hour period. Probably never. “Oh, God, Smoochie.” He grunt/breathes, lifting his back off the mattress. His chest rises and falls quickly. “Fuck, I’m gonna come.” Two seconds later, his eyes squeeze shut, and his knuckles go white as he practically rips the sheets, grasping them so tight. His mouth forms a large ‘O’ as

he exhales heavily in short, incremental breaths, with a slight cry in each as his body shudders, feeling his release. Swallowing quickly, I can feel and taste his seed rupturing from the tip, and his cock is twitching rhythmically as he comes like a champion. As he starts to come down, he makes lots of ‘oohhh’ noises, while his pelvis continues to move slowly, until it stops and he strokes my head with his hand, letting me know that he’s done. Lifting my head, I look at him. His eyes are closed. He’s completely spent. I giggle. He smiles but his eyes are still closed. “You did me in, Smooch.” He says softly, sleepily. “Well, I did you, alright.” I tease. “That you did.” He strokes my head again, brushing my hair with his fingers. He looks over at me, so peaceful. “You okay after that? Man, you went deep.” I explain to him about my weak gag reflex. “I’ll say. That was…fucking…awesome.” He stretches, completely satiated. I snuggle into the crook of his neck. “You want to stay the night?” The way he asks is so sweet, like he doesn’t want me to leave. “I can’t.” I kiss his neck. “I have to go home to my kids.” “You think you might ever let me meet them?” I lift my head. “You’d want to?” “Well…yeah.” He says, and the way he looks at me is so precious. “I love kids.” “Well, they’re not exactly ‘kids’, they’re teenagers. Whole other animal there.” I warn jokingly. “Any age. I love young ones.” He’s fingering a lock of my hair, and then he looks at me again. “You think maybe you could bring them over to the recording studio? Let me wow them a bit before they start to hate me?” “You mean like let them meet you as Tommy from ‘Stop’, and then break it to them that you and I are sleeping together.” I state as warmly yet as poignantly as possible.

He’s silent for a moment, and I can’t help but wonder what is going on inside that head of his. “I hope you don’t think that…you know…that’s all you are to me.” he says carefully. “Don’t mean to be a sap here or anything, but I find myself…you know…really liking you…a lot.” “I really like you a lot, too.” I give him a kiss. “Okay. Whenever you’re ready to tell them that you met me, you know, however you want to tell them that. Then bring them over.” “I’m not sure when I’m going to tell them. Is that okay?” He frowns. “You’re their mother, Smooch. This is about them, not about me. I don’t want to fuck up what you have with your kids. I know how important that is.” “How about I just tell them that we’re friends for now?” “If you think that’ll help, sure. It might make them feel uncomfortable if they know that it’s more than that.” I kiss him again. “Okay. I should go, anyway. And you should get back to the guys. It’s already bad enough that they know what we’ve been doing.” “You think maybe on the weekend you can stay over or something?” the way he asks is so cute, like he’s lonely. “If I can get someone to sit with the girls overnight, sure. Maybe I’ll arrange a sleepover with some friends.” He wiggles his brows. “So we can have a sleepover together.” I chuckle. “Sleepover. Haven’t had one of those in a while.” “Me neither.” A scoff. “You mean you don’t let your conquests stay overnight?” “I did…once. Never again.” He states. “She got all weird and started acting like

she lived here. Couldn’t get rid of her.” I wince, but my tone is sarcastic. “Did she like…cook you stuff, and give you a blow job after?” He chuckles. “You’re such a bitch. I love it.” “A bitch who just gave you head.” I kiss him again. “And don’t you forget it.” “Oh, I won’t. Not anytime soon for sure.” He says, rising. “Come on. I don’t want the girls worrying about you. It won’t bode well for me when they find out where you were all night.” We get dressed and he walks me down to my car. He kisses me softly but tenderly, and lets it linger. “So, I’ll see you soon?” “Definitely.” I kiss him. I could do this all night. “Are you busy tomorrow night?” Another kiss. “Aside from having dinner with the kids, no. I can come over for a while.” He kisses me like a hundred times, until I start chuckling. “Do we need to go in the car?” “No.” he kisses me once more. “Okay, you go. I’ll see you tomorrow night.” “Okay.” He sneaks in one more before I get into the car. As I turn on the engine, I roll down the window and he sticks his head inside, copping another kiss. “Wow, you must have really liked that blow job.” I joke. “I really like you.” He says, kissing me once more. “Okay. I’ll see you.” He pulls his head out, but then, just as I put the car into gear, he tells me to hold on another second, and he sticks his head in once more for a kiss. I’m chuckling as he pulls his head out and I back out of the driveway. I watch him stand behind my car as I wait for the gate to slide open for me. He’s waving as I pull out into the street. I honk once and wave, and he waves back. As I drive home, there is a warm glow throughout my body. Man, am I in trouble.

When I reach my house, I expect to walk in the door and see the girls, all four of them, huddled on the couch, watching a movie. Instead, as my key turns in the lock, I hear footsteps coming toward me, thumping like a herd of elephants, and my heart starts to pound. Something is terribly wrong. I don’t even get the key turned when Mylee whips the door open. Her face is alight with glee. “Mom!” “What? What’s wrong?!” I gasp, looking her over for marks, or other proof that someone has viciously attacked her. All four girls are huddled around me. Their faces all carry the same expression: delight. “Did you know that Tommy Stopliewicz was at that event where you were last night?!” Mylee squeals. I have to bite my lip to keep from smiling. “Yes.” Their eyes widen. “Oh my God! Did you get to meet him??!!!” I sigh, thinking it over. “Yes, I did.” Evidently, knowing Tommy, is earning me major points with my kids. “Oh my God! Did you like…talk to him??!!” And about a dozen other questions come out all at once, as they fuss and gush over me. God forbid I tell them what’s really going on between us. They’ll die. “Well, yes, if I met him, I think talking would have been a requirement.” I say flatly. “Did you meet the band, too?” Xandy asks. “Yes, actually, so did your mom. They hung around in our hotel room with us. In fact, Tommy is the one who answered the phone this morning, and that’s why your dad freaked out.” Screams. “Easy, girls.” I chuckle, motioning for them to calm down. “Mom,” Georgia smiles, as if the question is just too delicious to ask. “Do you… like him?”

I shake my head, smiling and rolling my eyes. Well, if they’re going to find out, there’s no time like the present. “Yes. We like each other. I didn’t want to tell you, but that’s where I was tonight. I was with Tommy.” Her face is blank but there is a ghost of a smile on her lips. “Oh my God. My mother is dating Tommy Stopliewicz. I may faint.” She crosses her eyes and I shove her in the forehead with my hand. “Do you have any idea how popular we’re going to be?” Mylee says, and both Xandy and Zoey are nodding fast in agreement. I sigh. “Well, you’ll be even more popular after tomorrow.” I say, teasing them. “We’re going over to his recording studio tomorrow night. He wants to meet you.” Mylee and Georgia face each other and scream. I can’t help but laugh. “And here I thought you guys would be weirded out by me dating someone.” “Uh, mom, this is not someone…this is Tommy Stopliewicz.” Georgia can’t even say his complete name without squealing. “Oh my God! Can you imagine if he becomes like…our stepfather?!” Another scream. “Okay, okay. We’re getting way ahead of ourselves, here. Tommy and I have known each other for twenty-four hours, girls.” I walk inside the house, taking off my shoes. “How did you guys hear about this, anyway?” “Duh. Paper?” Mylee says. “I didn’t know you read that.” I tease. She shrugs. “I was working on something for school.” “Ah,” I smile. “You girls should be in bed. It’s late.” They ignore my suggestion. “So, are we really going to go meet ‘Stop’ tomorrow night?” Georgia asks. “Well, I don’t know about the whole band, but certainly you’ll meet Tommy.”

Mylee sandwiches her hands together in prayer. “Can we meet Russell, too? Please?” “I can ask when I call him tomorrow.” Her eyes widen. “You mean you have his phone number?” I scoff, chuckling. “Well, of course I do, silly.” Xandy nudges her. “They’re going out. Of course she has his number.” “Can I see it?” Zoey asks, excited. I roll my eyes. “Fine.” I pull the napkin out of my purse that he wrote his phone number on. They examine it like it’s a precious stone. “Mom, oh my God, can you like…call him now?” I scrunch my face. “I just left his house. He’s jamming with the band.” They all sandwich their hands together and say simultaneously and repeatedly. “Please, please, please.” “Oh my God! Fine!” I’m exasperated. I go to the phone and Mylee presses the button to put me on speaker. “You’re kidding, right?” The look I get is pleading. “You kids owe me big time.” I say, dialing the number to the studio, where I assume they are. He answers after four rings. “Yeah,” I can hear a scuffle in the background. “Tommy? It’s Debbie.” “Oh, hey, Smoochie. Miss me already?” The kids look at each other and smile. I’m not sure if it’s embarrassment or excitement or just the fact that they’re all enthralled. I exhale quickly, grinning. “I have you on speakerphone. It turns out my girls are

dying to meet you. And they would like to meet Russell, too. Is it okay if I bring them tomorrow night?” “Oh…hi girls!” Tommy says, playing along. “Sure, bring them. I’ll tell the guys to come on over. We’ll likely be jamming anyway.” “Okay. You don’t mind?” “Na, of course not. If it was up to me, I’d tell you to bring them anyway when I asked you earlier.” “Okay. We’ll see you tomorrow then.” “Okay. Bye, girls!” “Bye!” they all call in unison. I hear him laugh before he hangs up the phone. I turn to the girls, and they all look like they’re going to burst. “Alright, now it’s time to get ready for bed.” My voice is direct, but my eyes are dancing. I’m so glad the girls are okay with this. It’s been a fear of mine for a while. “Okay.” I hear them whispering and gushing as they go into the bedrooms and get ready to go to sleep. If I know my girls, they aren’t going to sleep now.

***

My phone rings at noon while I’m at my desk. “Debbie Branscombe.” I answer politely. “There’s my Smoochie.” I smile. “Hey. How are you?” “Good. I just wanted to call and say hello.”

“Hello.” “Hi.” He chuckles. “I’m not bothering you, am I?” “No, I’m just eating lunch at my desk. I was hoping to get out of here a few minutes early today, so I can get a few things done before me and the girls come and invade your studio.” “They were really excited, huh.” “Surprisingly, yes.” “Well, that’s a good thing, Smooch. The last thing I want is for them to hate me. Even if they do only like me because of who I am. It’s all the same to me.” “They barely slept last night, and they couldn’t wait to get on the school bus so they could brag to all their friends.” A chuckle. “That’s sweet.” “How come you’re not jamming with the guys?” “Are you kidding? It’s noon. They’re not even up yet.” “And you are?” “Well, I’ve got things to do. When my leading lady is coming over with her kids, I want to make sure that everything is in check.” “You don’t have to go to any trouble.” “Na, it’s fine. I just want to show them some things and I need to make sure it’s all set up is all. Plus, this place gets to be a pigsty in no time. I only cleaned yesterday, and it already looks like a hole.” “You should come and clean my house next. God forbid if you were ever to come over here.” “I can send Gladys over.” He offers, and I’m sure he’s serious. “No, that’s fine. I can handle it. My house is a shoebox compared to yours.”

“I’ll have to come check it out some time. Hey, before I forget, I wanted to give you the code to get into the gate.” “Oh, okay. Go ahead.” I say with a pen and paper at the ready. He reads is off, just as another call comes in. “Tommy, I’ve got a call coming in. I’ll see you later?” “Sure, Smooch.” He hesitates, and I swear to God he’s going to say, ‘I love you’, but he doesn’t. My stomach is aflutter. “I’ll, um, see you later.” “Bye.” When I answer the call, it’s a wrong number, and I regret picking it up. Somehow, it feels like my life is about to change dramatically in short order, and I know that Tommy is to blame for it.

Chapter 13

Tommy I hear the front door open as I’m taking another bag of garbage out of the studio. It’s Terry, here for another jam session. We didn’t get very far after we recorded the song with Debbie last night. It was just some noodling around and drinking, more or less. I did manage to record some new riffs after the guys left, but that’s as far as I got. Terry has a brand new guitar in his hand and he’s beaming with pride. “Check out my new baby!” he holds it high in the air. “Oh, man. It’s smoking hot!” I say, looking at it. It’s beautiful with all the new bells and whistles, plus a sexy black flame down the center of the honey golden body. “Yep. Just picked it up.” He takes a sniff in the air. “What’s that smell?” “I don’t know…clean?” His eyes widen. “You cleaned?” “I cleaned yesterday, too, dipshit. Shows how much you pay attention.” I lay the garbage bag by the door and take the guitar from him, inspecting it. “You’re fucking in love, man. It suits you.” “What? It’s a nice guitar.” “No, fuckhead. I mean with Debbie.” I look up at him. “What the fuck are you talking about? I just met her.” “Yeah, but you banged her, that I know, and you’re cleaning, which tells me that she’s coming over again. Plus, you’ve got that stupid, shit faced grin on your face since the other night. You’re in love, man.” He says it almost teasingly, trying to spur me on. “I like her. A lot. But I don’t think I love her.” “Oh, you do, man. Trust me.”

“And what makes you the goddamn expert?” “Well, you didn’t take a hit last night. And I’m not coming in here scraping you off the fucking floor like I usually have to at this time of day. Instead, you’re fucking cleaning.” “Well, so what. Maybe I’m not in love. Maybe I’m just growing up for once.” “Same shit, man. It suits you.” “Good. Now shut the fuck up and help me finish this place up before the other assholes get here. And I don’t want you guys leaving your filthy shit around here all day, either. Debbie’s bringing her kids over tonight, and I don’t want them thinking I live in a hole.” He chuckles, shaking his head. “Oh, you’re in it bad, man.” “Shut up.”

***

Paul, Terry and I are in the recording studio, jamming it out, putting together some serious ideas, and I don’t even notice the time. “Yo, where the fuck’s Russell, man? He was supposed to show up today.” I say. “Fuck, I don’t know. Maybe he forgot.” Paul says. “Maybe he’s too busy with his solo album he couldn’t squeeze us in today.” I notice his tone is dripping with irritation. “You know the fucker asked me to play guitar for him on the album?” “He what?” Paul shrieks. “Man, that guy has balls as big as fucking dump trucks.” He’s shaking his head. “You said no, right?” Terry says.

“Hell yes.” I state firmly. “I ought to call the fucker and tell him to get his ass over here. What time is Lou showing up?” Terry asks. “I didn’t call him.” I say. “How come? I thought we were going to finish recording that one we did last night and work on another one.” Terry says. “We’re only halfway finished this album.” Paul adds. “Yeah, I know. I know. I’ll call him.” I say, picking up the phone. When he answers, there’s a bunch of yelling going on in the background. “Lou? Are you there?” “Yeah. Look, Tommy, this isn’t a good time, man. I’ll call you back.” “But I thought you were coming by today. We’re all here, we’re just waiting for you and Russell.” “Russell’s here with me and Carl.” “Carl? What the fuck’s going on over there?” “Look, Tommy, I’ll explain when I get there, okay?” He’s annoyed and the hairs on the back of my neck are standing on end. “Okay, man. What the fuck’s all the yelling going on?” “I can’t talk about it now. I’ll be there shortly.” The phone clicks dead. That’s the first time Lou has ever hung up on me. I stare at the receiver. “What the fuck was that?” Paul asks. “I don’t know.” I say, hanging the phone up. “Carl and Russell are there with Lou. They’re scrapping it out over something.” We continue shooting the shit for a while, noodling around with beats and riffs, when Lou comes storming in. For the first time in I don’t know how long, the recording studio is silent. “Where’s Russell?” I ask.

“He’s not coming.” Lou says tersely. “Why not?” Terry interjects. Lou purses his lips together. His chest is heaving. He shakes his head and speaks in a seething tone. “Why the fuck Carl couldn’t do this, and I got stuck doing this, is beyond me.” he wipes his mouth, as if buying time. His face is reddening by the second. Lou is normally a very level-headed guy, so this is uncharacteristic. “Russell’s out.” My jaw drops. “What?” Paul and Terry rise. “What the fuck are you talking about?” Paul says. Lou laughs mirthlessly. “You’re going to have to talk to Carl about this one, man. I’m out of it. It’s bad enough I got dragged in it this far. I’m a producer, not a fucking manager, for chrissake.” I rake my hands through my hair. My hands are shaking. We’re halfway through a fucking album and our lead singer decides to quit. We’re fucked. Beyond fucked. We’re…done. So fucking done. I knew this was going to come back to bite us in the ass. This whole goddamn solo album bullshit deal. Bet you a million dollars if I hadn’t turned Russell down last night, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. “I’ll fucking kill him.” I seethe, speaking into my fisted hand. “I don’t believe this.” Terry says through gritted teeth, looking like he wants to punch the wall. And then he does. His fist ploughs right through to the drywall, leaving a gaping hole in my fucking wall. I’d get pissed off, but I feel like making one to match where I’m standing. “What are we going to fucking do now?” Paul says, looking at Lou. He lifts his hands in defeat. “Don’t look at me. I’ve got nothing to do with this. This is between you guys and Carl. Keep me the fuck out of it.” He walks towards the door. “Hey, where the fuck are you going?” I demand, standing upright. He gestures towards the soundboard. “How the fuck are you going to record anything without a lead singer, huh?” he says it fairly enough, but the fact still

stings. “I can…run tracks for you and you can overdub the voice in if you want, but tell me, Tommy, is your heart really going to be in it right now? I don’t think so. As far as I’m concerned, you’re wasting my fucking time.” “Why are you so pissed off at me?” He rakes a hand through his hair. “Look, I’m sick of this fucking political shit, man. I didn’t sign up for this. Russell says that you tore him apart last night. You were all fucking wasted and fried and…well, what you usually are, and Tommy, I’m sick of it.” I crane my neck and my eyes widen. “That’s a fucking line of shit! Ask the guys! I was drinking, yes, but I wasn’t fucking fried, and I never tore a strip out of that motherfucker! I should have!” He lifts his hands in the air. His face is a tomato. “And this is why I didn’t want to get into this with you, Tommy! I don’t need this fucking bullshit in my life! I’ve had it!” he looks around. “I’m outta here.” I lift my hand to stop him, but Terry intervenes. “Just…let him go, man.” “What? What the fuck is Russell trying to do? He’s trying to fucking cream us, man!” I kick the couch in anger. “Look, let’s just…calm down.” Terry says. Paul is right behind him. He looks like someone just told him that his best friend died. I take a step away, interlacing my hands over my head, staring at the ceiling. “Man, what the fuck.” I say, and then I scrub a hand down my face. “He’s trying to fucking sabotage us. Do you see that? He waited until we’d be so fucking screwed without him, to pull this, didn’t he.” I say as more of a statement than a question. “He knows that if we don’t have a lead singer we’re screwed, and to make sure we’re screwed, he pulls some shit with Lou, too, so he’s too fucking pissed off to work with us.” “You think his album will fly?” Paul says speculatively. “Maybe he wants to make good and fucking sure that we’ll sink so he can climb the charts instead of us.” “Depends on who he has in his band.” I say.

“But nobody can write the shit like you do, man.” Terry says. “And fuck, nobody can cut the axe like you do, either. That’s proven. Just look at all the fucking accolades you have.” “We can find another singer, man. It’s going to take some time, but we can do it.” Paul says. I look at them. “We don’t have any fucking time, that’s the thing. Don’t you get it?” my voice has raised an octave. “We don’t need to start turning on each other, man.” Paul says. “Let’s just… relax. Have a beer, man.” He goes to the fridge and pulls three out, handing us each one and keeping one for himself. “Scarf that down and take a breather, then we’ll take a look at what we’ve got.” We end up drinking about three more each. Just enough to take the edge off. “So, first thing’s first.” Paul says. “We need to take it easy on Lou. I think we can salvage him, but we’ve got to level with him, and figure shit out without involving him.” “Yeah. That’s fair.” I nod. “I think he was more pissed at Carl and Russell for throwing him to the lions than he was at us three.” “Yeah.” Terry agrees. “And I think we need to talk to Russell, if you want my opinion. Find out what’s up his ass. It does us no good to sit here and figure out who we ask to replace him unless we get to the bottom of this. It’s possible that more shit is going on that we don’t know about.” “That’s bullshit.” I argue. “That guy’s up to something. For him to lie like that to Lou and Carl?” “Find out why he lied then.” Terry suggests. “What the fuck for? It’s pretty obvious what’s going on here.” I retort, raking a hand through my hair, when I peer at my watch and notice the time. “Shit. Debbie’s going to be here soon with her kids, man. We have to get all these beer bottles picked up. That’s the last thing I need.” “Then you better dust your nose off too, man.” Terry jokes.

I round on him. “What the fuck’s that supposed to mean? I didn’t take a hit.” He raises his hand. “It’s just a joke, man. Relax.” “Well, it wasn’t fucking funny, asshole.” “You want to fucking start with me, dickwad?” he rises. “Hey, look, guys.” Paul rises and stands between us. “Maybe we should just chill for the night. Take a breather. Let’s go home, man.” He says to Terry. Then I something. “Fuck…man, Debbie’s kids wanted to meet everyone, including Russell.” “Too fucking bad, man. We have bigger problems to worry about.” Terry scoffs. “Thanks a lot, asshole.” I mutter, picking up the beer bottles. “Ah, fuck you.” Terry says, storming out. “Sorry, man.” Paul says. I nod but I don’t look at him. “Yeah. It’s cool.” But it’s not. They leave and I finish picking up the bottles and tidying up again, when I hear a knock at the door. My smile is pasted on until I see her face. “Hi.” She says, beaming. Two beautiful teenage girls, mirroring their mother’s appearance, look up at me. “Hi, girls.” I stick my hand out for them to shake. “I’m Tommy.” “Yes, they know.” Debbie chuckles. “This is Mylee and Georgia.” “I love the names.” I comment, shuffling out of the doorway so they can get inside. “Come on in.” Their faces are so stunned. Mouths open wide enough to catch flies. Eyes so open I can see all the whites in them. “Wow. This is so cool!” Georgia gushes, awestruck. “It is. Kind of.” I agree. Mylee turns to me. “Is…Russell here?”

I purse my lips together. “No, unfortunately, the rest of the band couldn’t make it. They were here earlier though.” “They probably have so much to do, girls. The boys are busy recording an album.” Debbie explains. “Yeah, and your mom helped us with one of the songs. Did she tell you that?” Georgia looks at me like I just told her she won a million dollars. “Really? What did she do? Mom can’t even sing!” “Thanks.” Debbie mutters. I can’t help but laugh. Georgia is sweet. She looks just like Debbie. Mylee, I’m guessing, has a few more features that are maybe her dad’s. They both have long brown hair like Debbie, and the same eyes, same stature. Georgia is slightly plumper than Mylee, but she makes up for it with her gorgeous glossy, straight hair. They’re beauties. Just like their mother. “Come on. I’ll show you around.” Starting at the soundboard, I show off a bit to them, and I even let them listen to the end of the track where Debbie finishes the song. They’re faces are alight. Then I take them into the guitar pod and show them some of my guitars. Debbie immediately notices the hole in the wall where Terry punched it in earlier. “What happened here?” I can’t lie to her. “Terry…got upset earlier. We all did, as a matter of fact, but I don’t want to talk about it right now.” Her face falls. “Oh, okay.” The girls are too busy checking out my guitars to notice our conversation. She’s lost for words and I feel like a shit. “Look, I can’t talk about it right now. Not until we get it sorted out.” I nod. She looks at me and my gut wrenches. She’s not stupid. She knows that something is wrong. Like, bad wrong. We barely know each other, but I can feel it that she senses my nerves. “Tommy, if there’s anything I can do to help.” “I appreciate that.” I kiss her temple.

I give the girls a crash course in how to handle a guitar, and I give them a few picks to play with a couple of older guitars that I pulled out earlier for the occasion. They’re tuned and ready to go, but they’re ones I haven’t used since I was a kid. We converse as they noodle around with the things, and I ask them about school and what kind of music they listen to. Of course, they gush because evidently, they love ‘Stop’, and it’s really cool. After about a half an hour, Debbie says to the girls that they should get going. “You girls have homework to do and I have some work to do. I’m sure that Tommy has a lot to do, too, and we don’t want to hold him up.” “You’re not holding me up.” I say. “But if you guys have things to do, then that’s cool. Come back any time.” “Maybe next time we can meet Russell?” Mylee asks, and it breaks my heart the promise in her eyes. Debbie rises and the girls follow, carefully setting the guitars back on the stands, impressing me. “I’ll see what I can do.” Is all I can think of to say. “I’ll walk you girls out.” It pains me to see the worried look on Debbie’s face when she’s sitting in the car, looking up at me. I know I absolutely can’t kiss her in front of the girls. But it’s not that. “It was great meeting you girls.” “Nice meeting you, too.” They both say. “Thanks for showing us around.” “Hey, any time.” I wink at them both. I’m surprised that they didn’t ask to take pictures with me, but I’m thinking that Debbie coached them beforehand. I’ll insist the next time. Girls are all over that kind of stuff. I look at Debbie. “I’ll call you tomorrow?” “Sure. I’m free tomorrow night if you want to do something.” “Sounds good.” I’m dying to kiss her, but I keep my eyes on hers, since I feel the girls staring at me. “Safe driving home.” “Okay.”

I watch them pull out and wave as they leave the driveway. Two hours later, I’m shitfaced and trying like hell to write another fucking song, but all I can think of is lyrics that are so not us. I’m so angry and not in a good place, and I usually refuse to write when I’m in that mindset. That’s not what ‘Stop’ is about. We’re feel good music. Stuff you can sing and dance to, but with balls. Not goddamn angry, dark shit. I’m so frustrated that the only thing I can think of is to do a hit. That’s what pulls me out of the funk usually. I play back some riffs that I recorded when I wasn’t so pissed off while I pull out a vile and separate it with a razor blade on the tiny mirror that I keep behind one of my speaker cabinets. And just as I take a good, healthy snort, I look up and see Debbie standing right there. “Fuck.” I say, and I’m not sure if she hears me, but her face is blank, like she’s just been slapped. Rising, I turn the tape off, regretting turning the thing on now. Had it been quiet in here, I would have heard her come in. So much for my stupid thinking earlier, giving her my entry code. Hindsight is twenty-twenty, as they say. When it’s quiet again, I speak. “Look, I’m not in a good place right now, Smooch. I didn’t know that you were coming by.” She’s quiet for a moment, mulling that over. When she speaks, it’s slow and measured. “You’re right. I should have called. I was worried about you. You were a million miles away earlier, and now I can see that you’re at least two million miles away now.” The coke is hitting fast. I get a boost of energy, feeling my eyes flutter completely open, versus being half closed and fighting for strength. My vision is blurry, but I feel sharper. It’s a weird combination but it works, especially when I need a pick me up after drinking too much, case in point. “I told you that you might not like the lifestyle, Smooch. This is it.” I push my arms out, indicating the room around me. “I’m fucked. More fucked than you think I am right now.” “I can see that.” her tone is facetious. “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on.” I look at her, defeated. “Russell fucking bailed on us.” I rake a hand through my hair. This is me. This is it. This is how it is. “He quit the band?” she says, making sure she heard me right, and maybe a little bit to make sure that I’m not talking through my ass. “Yeah.”

“Are you sure?” I scoff. “Smooch, I may be lit, but I know what happened. That’s why Terry punched a hole in the fucking wall. Fifty bucks says that he and Paul are home and as fucking lit as I am.” “And this…this is how you deal with things? By getting high?” “No, I get high because I can’t think straight when I’m fucking drunk. Drinking is how I deal with things. So, I dealt with it and now I’m trying to focus again.” “Seems like a pretty bent way to get back in between the lines to me.” “Well, it is what it is, Smooch.” I’m too lit to care, but I know that deep down I do. I care what she thinks of me. I never did care about what anyone else thought of me before. Truth is, if I’d known she was coming back, I wouldn’t have done half of what I did. But here I am. It’s done. “Did Russell say why he was giving up the band?” “He’s…” I gesture around the room, as if searching for the right words. “Fucking off in his own band. You knew that. You were there when he asked me to play guitar for him.” “Yes, I . Although I’m not sure that he does. He was pretty wasted.” “That’s the name of the game, sweetheart.” I’m being facetious. “You have choices, Tommy.” She points out. I look at her. “Yeah. I know.” I look down at the floor. “I fucked up.” She takes a step towards me, which I don’t expect. This whole time she’s stayed in that same spot. It’s like she’s afraid. I don’t blame her. I probably look like a fucking freak right now. I sure feel like one. “Tommy, I don’t want to make things worse, and I don’t know if you’ll even me saying this, but I…can’t have you in my life if you’re going to deal with things this way. I have children. And I…I wouldn’t want to expose them to this. They’ve been through enough.”

My voice is low. “I figured you’d say that. It’s fair.” “What’s scary is that it seems like you’re so used to doing this, that you can actually comprehend what I’m saying.” “I had a lot to drink, but I only took one hit.” I say honestly. “I have no idea what that means, but I’ll take your word for it.” We’re silent for a minute. The bottles of beer that I’ve drank are strewn across the floor. I count at least six, not including the ones I drank before she showed up the first time. I look at her and she doesn’t reciprocate. “Do you want to see me again?” I ask so low that I’ll be surprised if she can hear me. “I…need to think about it.” “I can quit.” I say quickly, and my voice betrays the conviction I want. “Can you?” she says it like it’s a statement. “I’ve never tried. But I can give it a shot.” “Have you ever gone to rehab?” “No.” I shake my head. I feel like there’s a ‘will you?’ in there, too, but she refrains from continuing on that tangent. “Maybe we should just put the brakes on until you figure out what’s going on with the band. Then maybe it’ll be easier for you to…stop doing this.” “Well, that’s better than goodbye.” “I’m not making any promises, Tommy. I’m raising two kids on my own and they are my first priority. I’m a good mother and being that doesn’t include bringing my children around drugs and alcohol.” “No, I get it.” I raise my hand. “Your kids are great. I mean it.” There’s that conviction I wanted a minute ago. I’ll take it.

“Okay. I should go.” My heart is breaking. I don’t want her to leave, but I get it that she doesn’t want to stay and see me like this. I rise, not listening to that voice inside my head that says ‘fuck her. I don’t need her’, because my heart is telling me to go to her. I do, and I expect her to step away, afraid, but she doesn’t. I look at her eyes, all four of them, and sway towards her, opening my arms. She actually leans in and lets me hold her for a minute. “I’m so sorry, Smooch. I never meant for you to see this.” “I know. I should have called.” She says it like it’s her fault that I’m like this. “I know it’s hard. I can’t imagine what you must be feeling. You must be terrified.” “Yeah.” I say, and suddenly I feel a lump in my throat. “I am scared.” She looks up at me and I almost can’t look at her. I’ve never felt shame before, but I’m guessing that this is what it is. “Maybe what’s meant to be is meant to be, you know, with Russell. But only you can figure that out. Maybe this is God’s way of pointing you in the right direction.” “I’m not sure what God is trying to tell me, Smooch, but I do know that he sent you here, so that counts for something.” She combs a hand through my hair. “It’s such a shame, you know, that this industry leads you into these monstrous things. But I want you to know that even if I can’t be in your life as a romantic partner, I will certainly always be here as a friend. I don’t believe in throwing people away because they have flaws. We all have them. I’m here for you, Tommy.” I kiss her forehead. “You are one in a million.” I say and mean it. “And this is the last time. I’m not doing this shit anymore if it means losing you.” She nods. “Okay.” But I’m not sure if she believes me or not. And as much as I’m high as a kite right now, I know what my heart is telling me. “I…I’m in love with you. I know that sounds crazy, because we just met, but I am. And I’m not too high to tell you that, either. I…probably should have waited until I was straight to say so. I wanted to tell you before, but I thought I’d scare you off.” I’m rambling, because I’ve never told a girl my true feelings for her, and I’ve never felt love for anyone like this, either.

“I love you, too, Tommy.” She says, looking up at me. I kiss her softly on the mouth, and then I hold her tight, and realize that this feels a thousand times better than any fucking drug. “I never thought I’d say that to anyone ever again, especially so quickly, but I do.” She looks at me. “I think that what we have has great potential, but…not like this. I need to think of my kids first.” I nod, looking at her with as much conviction as I can. “I know. I’ll try my best, Smooch. Really, I mean it. I need you in my life. I want you there, too. And I really like your kids. I don’t want this to end.” “Me, neither.” She says softly. I take her in my arms and hold her tight against me. And she holds tight, too. For a girl who has no experience with this type of behavior, I give her credit. We hold each other for a long time, and it feels amazing. It’s like she knows I’m hurting. It must be the motherly thing coming out of her, and I love it. When she finally pulls back, she kisses my lips tenderly. “I should go. I need to get some sleep, and you have things to do, too.” “Okay.” I nod, speaking softly. I don’t want to let her go, but I know I have to. My eyes search hers. “I love you, Smooch.” “I love you, too.” She says, kissing me tenderly again. She forgives me for tonight. That I’m thankful for. …but soon I’ll test her forgiveness.

Chapter 14

Debbie I’d coached the kids before we left, threatening that if they acted like squeaky teenagers, which they are, that I’d kill them. No asking for anything, I stipulated, only take things if they’re offered. And we don’t overstay our welcome. Tommy is a busy man and the last thing he needs is to have my kids pulling at his pantlegs all night. He’s not used to being around kids and I didn’t want to inflict stress on him, especially in the way that my girls can inflict stress. Turns out, they were on their best behavior, and I’m proud of them for it. Considering how much they flipped out when they found out that I’d met him, I give them credit for keeping their composure. But it all came crashing down when I lay in bed at ten o’clock, unable to go to sleep, worrying about that pained look on Tommy’s face while we were there. He couldn’t tell me what was going on and that makes it worse. I can’t help him if I don’t know what’s wrong. Giving up on sleep, I’d climbed into my car and driven to his house, feeling guilty for it but using the code he’d given me. I had no idea that I’d walk in on what I did. For a second, I considered bolting out of there like a bat out of hell, but my feet stayed planted firmly on the floor. My heart won’t let me just plunk him out of my life as fast as he came into it. His gaze is downward as he sniffs white powder up his nose. His curls cover parts of his face, so I can’t see exactly what he’s doing, but I know. One of his solo riffs is playing from a small tape recorder next to him, so he can’t hear me. That also explains why he didn’t answer the knock at the door a couple of minutes ago. I knew he was in here, because I could hear the music, otherwise I’d have just gone up to the house. When he looks up, he utters an expletive, and the look on his face is defeat. His eyes are half closed and glassy, and his cheeks are flushed. He’s beyond drunk, and now, adding insult to injury, he’s about to get high, too. Part of me feels pity on him, because it’s like I caught him with his pants down, when he’s at his worst and vulnerable. But the other part is thinking that this is the kind of thing that I have to get used to if I want to continue being with Tommy. And that part outweighs the other. This is a mother’s worst nightmare and I don’t want my kids ever getting involved with something like this. But something in his eyes tells me that there is a world of hurt behind them, and it’s unfair that I just showed up spontaneously at what could very well be the worst

day of his life. The brief exchange that ensues I won’t hold him to. Though he says that he won’t use drugs anymore and that he loves me, as much as I’d love to believe it all, I’m no fool. But this much is true. Whether or not he truly loves me, I do love him. I’m a fool for falling so fast for someone, especially someone so troubled, but it happened. Tommy is very sweet and honest, and something tells me that he doesn’t hide anything, which is important to me. Those are cardinal traits of a strong relationship. Those are the same things that gave Bryan and I a successful marriage, before his death, and I’d always promised myself that I’d look for those same things in my next relationship. If I thought I couldn’t sleep before I left for Tommy’s house, I’m completely sunk for some shuteye now. Instead, I decide to drive to Janice’s house, to see if there is any life in there. Fortunately, the living room light is on, and I can see Janice laying on her couch. Pulling up to the curb, I toot my horn quickly, and she rises to see who is here. Waving, I walk up to the door. She opens it before I get there. “Hey, what the hell are you doing out this time of night?” she asks, whispering. She’s in her bathrobe and she walks onto the front porch, closing the door behind her. “I was wondering why the girls were still on the phone with Georgia and Mylee.” “Yeah, I figured the little brats heard me leave and would get up the moment I set foot out the door.” “Well, that was a while ago that they called here. Where were you?” “Tommy’s.” My eyes are on the wooden slats of the porch. “But it’s not what you think.” “I wouldn’t think that you’d leave your kids for a ten o’clock bootie call. Give me some credit.” She says with a facetious scoff. “What were you doing over there?” There is a wooden, two-seater Muskoka chair on her porch. I sit next to her and explain what happened, omitting nothing. She takes a moment to digest and then looks at me. “Level with me.” My eyes are on her.

“Do you love him?” I nod slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.” She shakes her head in disbelief. “Wow.” Another nod. “For him to trust you to give you his code to his house and studio, that’s saying a lot, Deb. He may not love you, but he certainly trusts you a lot. And the fact that he asked to meet your kids, that’s a clear indicator there.” A pause. “And what makes you question whether or not he loves you? Is it just that he said it while he was high? Or because it’s so soon?” “Both. I mean, I know what I feel for him, but men, they just…sometimes they don’t feel it like women do.” She gives me a look like she knows everything. “Girl, the only thing you should question is if he said it right after he blew his wad.” I chuckle. “Be serious.” “Okay, well, maybe he just said it so you wouldn’t think he was the devil’s child after catching him snorting coke, but only you will know that in time. If he quits like he says he will, then you know it’s genuine.” She shrugs. “Don’t be naïve, Janice.” I lick my lips. “There are lots of people out there who promise the ones they love that they’ll quit but they can’t. Not without help. It’s not just about me and if he can quit for me, if he loves me enough. That’s not fair.” She looks at me and smiles. “Look at you.” “What?” “All this…perspective.” She observes. “He must be a really great lay.” I elbow her in the ribs. “Shut up.” She chuckles and then is silent for a moment. “Well, tell me…is he? I’m your

best friend. If you can tell anyone it’s me.” Inhaling deeply, I think about whether or not I should divulge. As I exhale, I nod. “Yeah. It’s…the best I’ve ever had.” “And he told you that he loves you. Wow, you have what billions of women on this planet would give their right arm for.” “You have it, too.” I point out. “Honey, my husband does not look like that.” she giggles. “I mean, he’s no slouch, but holy shit, your man is so freaking hot I don’t know how you can stand it.” I just smile. Tommy is gorgeous. And I know for a fact that women all over the place would die to be in my shoes. Hell, even my kids seem to have a crush on him. “You’d be a fool to end it with him.” she adds. “I didn’t say that I did. I just…well, I have to think about my kids.” “Honey, he’d never dare do that in front of your kids. You know that.” “I wouldn’t let him, and I’d never let them see him in that state, either.” “Then…give the guy a break. Hell, you even said so yourself, his life is falling apart. Fine, if this is how he deals with it, then he’s got to figure out a new strategy, but don’t cut him off the first time. Give him a chance.” “I want to.” I say honestly. “I’m just afraid that he’s going to lose it when I’m in too deep, and then if I have to end things anyway, that’ll break my heart.” “Don’t forget about his heart, too, Deb.” “You’re not helping.” She pats my leg. It’s time to change the subject. “So, is Danny still pissed off with you? Is he ever going to let you come out with me again?” She waves. “He’ll get over it. He’s still not one hundred percent convinced that I

didn’t screw around on him. But I may be able to smooth it over if Tommy meets him, too.” “I’m not sure if that’s a good idea under the circumstances.” “I get that. Just thought I’d mention it.” “I think it’s time that Danny grew a pair, frankly. You’ve never done anything to breech his trust. Besides, that whole stunt with him not being able to handle a fever? Come on. Lame.” “That’s why I said he’ll get over it.” Drawing in a deep breath, I rise. “I should get going home. I’ve got to work tomorrow.” “Yeah, don’t we all.” She says, rising with me. “Hey, keep me posted, eh?” “I will.”

***

My desk phone rings at noon and I answer it on the first ring. “Debbie Branscombe.” “Hey,” It’s Tommy. “I’m not catching you at a bad time, am I?” “No, actually. I was just about to go on my lunch.” “Well, that’s perfect then. Can you get away for a half an hour?” “Err…sure. What did you have in mind?” “I’m at a phone booth up the street. I can be there in two minutes. Are you able to meet me in the parking lot? I’ll take you out for lunch.”

“Oh, wow, Tommy. Don’t you have like a—” he cuts me off. “A million things to do? Yeah. But I…need to see you. Can you get away?” “Sure. I’ll be outside in a minute.” “Thanks.” My stomach is doing flip-flops. I’m nervous and excited and I’m not sure what the emergency is. I’m so scared that he’s going to end it with me, even though, technically I ended it with him. Or did I? I’m not even sure anymore. Last night is such a blur. I pop my head into the washroom for a quick second to make sure that I don’t have any boogers hanging out of my nose or anything, and I trot outside. When a black Porsche pulls up into the driveway, I figure that must be him. I’ve never actually seen any of his vehicles, but I gather this is the type of transportation that suits him. He pulls up beside me and rolls the window down. “Hey, beautiful. Come on in.” Sliding into the enger side, he leans in and gives me a quick kiss. “Hi.” “Hi.” Revving the engine a little, he pulls out of the driveway, and suddenly I feel like I’m in a movie or something, sitting in a fancy car like this. There is a quiet little bistro just up the street from the office, so I direct him there, and we head inside. His hand is in mine the whole time, making me feel like this is kind of bittersweet. After we order, Tommy takes my hand in his. His voice is low, and his eyes are so sincere I want to cry. “Listen. I’m so…so sorry about last night. Really, I am. I was so fucked up in the head and I…I don’t know what else to say. I’m…sorry.” I lean in and kiss him. He grasps my neck, pulling me close to him, and he leans his forehead on mine. “I really don’t want to get off on the wrong foot with you, Smooch. But I can’t take it back.” “It’s not all your fault, Tommy. Like I said last night, I should have called. I had no right to show up like that, and it won’t happen again.” He takes his head off mine. “No, no, I love it that you wanted to surprise me

or…check on me…I love that about you. I don’t want you to feel like you can’t do things like that.” “But Tommy, that part of you…” “Is over.” He says with conviction. “No, I mean it.” He lifts a hand for emphasis. “I don’t know how easy it’ll be, mind you, but I’m going to give it a try. My best try.” “Are you sure it’s a good time for you to be saying this? What’s going to happen to the band?” “That’s a really good question. I don’t have an answer to it.” he says, and I can feel the trepidation in his voice. “You haven’t spoken to anyone since last night?” He shakes his head no. “I was going to. But I’m not sure if everyone’s cooled off enough yet.” “No, that’s fair.” I nod. Our food arrives and we eat, making small talk in between nibbles. The waitress comes over, just as Tommy has a mouthful of food, and asks if he is Tommy from ‘Stop’. He nods, chewing his food. The little nitwit gushes, asking him questions before he can swallow. Before we know it, a bunch of people are around him, asking for autographs and photos, and he obliges politely. He keeps throwing apologetic looks my way, and I keep waving him off, knowing that essentially this is his job. The fans don’t bother me, really, it’s the flirty little waitress who is oh-so-subtle with her chest pushed out so far that Tommy has no choice but to look at it. I’m looking at my watch, wondering if we’ll be able to have any time together before I have to head back to work, when the crowd around him thins and he res me. “Sorry about that.” he says, almost winded. “That’s another part of my life that you may hate. If I’m honest, I don’t enjoy it much, either.” “It’s okay. It’s part of your career. But, I do have to get back to the office, so we should head out.”

“Sure, okay. Yeah, the waitress said that our lunch is on the house.” He states, but he still pulls a twenty out of his wallet, tipping her. I feel like telling him that he should leave a note to suggest that she buy a proper undergarment with the cash, but I don’t. He takes my hand in his as we walk out of the restaurant. “Thanks for lunch. That was a nice surprise.” I say as he opens the enger side door for me. He kisses me softly on the mouth in answer and I slide into the car. “Maybe I’ll do it every day.” He suggests. “It works out great for me, actually.” “I may not be able to bust out of there every day.” I warn, good-naturedly. “There are some days where I do have to work through my lunch, like if I have to take the kids anywhere and I have to leave early.” He’s silent for a moment. “How far away are you from leaving that job…you know…to writing full time?” “Oh, God, Tommy…I don’t know.” I hesitate. “I make decent money from my royalties, but it’s so staggered. Each quarter is a different animal. I never know how much I’m getting. I wouldn’t want to rely on it. Probably another few years, at least. Once this series is completely released, I might be able to, but my production team at the publishing house is so far behind. It’s like a year’s wait until my books get published from the time that they’re complete.” “Wow.” He shakes his head. “And you get paid quarterly?” “Yes.” “Can I ask how much?” I tell him and he stares at the floor of his car as we sit at a stoplight. “Jesus, Smooch, it’s almost pathetic. No offence.” I smile. “None taken. A rock star and an author are from two different worlds, financially speaking. And that I’ve still got two kids to put through college, too. If I’m smart, I’ll keep working for a very long time, otherwise, my kids will be putting me through retirement.” “How about I help you out?” he says, taking my hand in his. “What’s left on

your mortgage?” “Not much. Bryan left me a bit of an inheritance from his insurance policy, and we bought the house before we were even married. It’s the day-to-day costs, too, and Tommy, I’m not taking your money.” “Smooch, look at this car.” He says flatly. “And I have two others that are just as expensive. If I can’t help you, I’ll feel like a shit. I want you to be able to be around more often, and you can’t do that working full time.” “Tommy, baby steps, please.” I say seriously. “Why don’t you get your ducks in a row first, before worrying about this. You need to focus on the band, not on me. Not that I don’t appreciate the offer, but this is not a priority. My bank is fine. We’re not starving. And as far as me having more time to be around you, if you’re focused on getting things worked out with the band, the point is moot.” He draws in a deep breath. “I guess you’re right. Fuck, this is half my problem, Smooch. I always bite off more than I can chew. I agree to production deadlines I can’t easily meet, to back-to-back concert dates that we have to squeeze in, and countless other things. You’re right. I need to focus on one thing.” “Yes, exactly. And if we want to make this work between us, there can’t be any pressure. It’s going to be a delicate balance, and I’m a very patient woman, so you can relax.” “Man, I think God finally sent me the woman that I’ve needed in my life for a long time.” “What, you didn’t like that busty little waitress back there?” I joke. He gives me a look and kisses my hand. “Geez, you know she actually asked me to take her in the back room and fuck her? She wanted to birth my first child for chrissake.” “You should have told me.” I say coldly. “I would have punched her.” He smiles at me. “God, you’re cute when you’re jealous.” He gives me a quick kiss, only taking his eyes off the road for a split second. “But you know that I’d much rather take you back to my place and have my way with you, right?”

I want to slide my hand down the inside of his thigh and caress him so bad, but I have to go back to work. So I just chuckle smoothly, sensually, letting him know that I’d much rather do that, too. When we pull up to the office parking lot, he undoes his seatbelt, leans in, and gives me the most thigh-melting, smouldering kiss that I’ve ever had in my life. I actually groan softly as his tongue sweeps the inside of my mouth. God, what I would like to do to him if we weren’t parked at my workplace. “Wow.” I murmur as he pulls back. I can feel my wetness against my throbbing female parts, and it’s difficult to focus. “Maybe we can finish that kiss later?” he suggests. We’re still nose-to-nose as he whispers while softly touching the skin on my face with his lips, making my toes curl. “I’d like that.” I say, but in my head we’re already in the back seat, fucking like nobody’s watching. “Okay.” He says, delivering a soft, butterfly kiss, that somehow is even more of a turn-on. “I love you.” He whispers between kisses. “I love you, too.” How I get through the rest of the day is another story. But when I do, I’m graciously rewarded.

Chapter 15

Tommy It’s so hard letting her go. I’m so head over heels in love with this girl that it hurts. Every time I’m with her I fall deeper and deeper in love with her. Let’s call a spade a spade; it’s scary as hell. I’m walking a fine line with her right now and I feel like I’m on a balancing beam challenge. All I can think about is choking back a couple of hits and sucking back the beers whenever I think about what’s happening with Russell. I’m still so fucking pissed off with him I don’t even know how I’m going to manage to talk to the guy, which is necessary, if we ever want to work this shit out. I’m in the studio only a half an hour when I hear the front door open and Paul’s face appears on the other side. If nobody else shows up to jam each day, I can always count on him. For a drummer, he’s very loyal and the guy who tries to be the peacemaker whenever there’s a fallout, which is often. Terry’s pretty decent, too, but we left it on bad last night. I think we were both to blame, but I’ll apologize first if need be. The one person I’m not apologizing to is Russell. That dipshit is trying to hang us out to dry and I’m having none of it. “Hey.” He says, and he comes over to shake my hand as a gesture of goodwill. “Fucking nuts last night, huh.” “Yeah. Ain’t that the truth.” I guffaw. “You want a beer?” “Sure.” We each drink a beer, sitting on the couch. “I spoke to Ches Lincoln.” Ches is the lead singer in a band of his own name. He’s a solo artist that was upand-coming for the last five years, but hit it big time with his first platinum record last year. Paul used to play drums in the band before he ed ‘Stop’. I look at him. “Yeah? How’s he doing? Does he still have a score to settle with you for leaving him before he made it big?” I half joke. “Na. We shoot the shit every now and again. He just happened to call and then he popped by. We got fucking wasted and I let it slip that Russell flaked on us.”

My face falls. “Shit. We have to be careful about that, man. Last thing we need is for the media to get a hold of this. They’ll eat it up and Russell will have a fucking field day.” “I know, I know, man. I’m sorry. But the silver lining is that he wanted to the band, anyway. That’s kind of why he was calling.” “Why would he want to leave a successful solo career, man? Makes no fucking sense.” Paul shrugs. “He’s hanging on by a thread. His promoter shafted him and blew their fucking budget out of the water. He’s got nothing. Spent way too much coin on everything. The guy’s fired, but it’s too late.” “Nobody was keeping tabs on the books?” “The way he explained it there was a bit of a conspiracy going on there. A bunch of assholes over at his record label got the shaft. He had dirt to tell me, too, evidently. So he won’t say anything since I’ve got leverage.” I grab two more beers, handing Paul one. “Heard anything from fuckhead?” Paul drinks his beer and then shakes his head, pursing his lips together. “Na. But he fucking owes us an explanation.” “Call the motherfucker.” Just as I say that, the door bursts open and Terry and Russell appear inside. They both look pissed off. “What the fuck’s going on?” I open with. “Why the fuck did you bail, man?” I address Russell. “That’s exactly what I intend to find out.” Terry says. “I got pissed off and went to this fucker’s house, only to find him on the phone with his new best friend and producer, fucking Lou.” “I knew it.” I seethe, looking at Russell. “You asshole.” “Oh, shut up, man.” Russell whines. “Lou was going to leave you, anyway, man.” He looks me up and down. “You’ve become a fucking addict and an alcoholic, and he’s sick of it. So am I. That’s why I’m leaving. I can crack

platinum without breaking a sweat, but this band will never get there, because you’re too fucking toasted most of the time to write decent shit.” Terry and Paul have to hold me back as I lunge at him. I work harder than anyone else in this band, and they all know it. There are days that I go without sleep, trying to create hits, and all they have to do is jam with me and help me with the mixes. Like a fool, Russell keeps on with the snide remarks. “We should have hit platinum years ago, man. But you and your fucking shit keep getting in the way.” Terry and Paul still have hold of me by the shoulders. I have half a mind to spit on him. “If I’m such a shitty fucking musician, then why the fuck do you want me to play in your new fucking band, huh?” I pause, feeling the veins pop in my neck. “And while we’re on the subject, why the fuck did you tell Lou and Carl that I tore a strip out of you? You’re a fucking liar!” He smiles, pleased with himself. “Yeah, that worked well. It kind of put the nail in the casket for Lou, I must it. Fact is, he was done with you, anyway.” “You sack of shit! I ought to plough you!” I growl, spittle flying out of my mouth. “Anyway, no need for a guitarist. I just thought I’d offer you the spot first, but since you’re too good to help me out despite the fact that you helped Billy Noon out, I’ve got the next best thing in my pocket.” Like an immature asshole, he keeps the name to himself. “Have a great time finding a new lead singer that can top me, guys. I’ll see you on the Billboard top ten, but, um, I’ll probably be number one looking down at you. Sorry for that in advance.” “Get the fuck out of here.” Paul says to Russell. “You were born an asshole and just grew bigger. Half the fucking reason why Tommy drinks and uses so much is because of you. This is you. You’re a heartless, two-faced cunt who uses anyone and anything around you to climb to the top. Now get out of here. I’d rather stay at gold honestly than hit platinum like a chump...the way that you will.” Russell just scoffs like Paul mispronounced something or accidentally spit when

he spoke. They have to hold me back as I watch the fucker trot out of the studio like he’s so pleased with himself. For the next hour I drown my sorrows in alcohol, not saying shit to anyone, until I’m numb and not pissed off anymore. “So, what the fuck do we want to do?” Paul addresses Terry. “Ches Lincoln wants to the band, man. I was telling Tommy about this just before you guys got here.” Terry looks at me. “What do you think of that.” he says it as more of a statement. “I don’t know. His music is a little more mellow than ours. And he’s used to working alone. That might be a problem.” “We don’t have a lead singer, man.” Paul says. “The least we can do is have him come over and jam with us. See if we can work together.” “His vocal range is worse than Russell’s too.” I add. “I notice on a lot of his songs that he screams a lot. It’s like he’s missing half the scale.” Paul shrugs. “That’s the way he sings, man. Always been like that. The charts don’t seem to argue with it. And his fans love him. I say we at least give him a go. He’s not actually screaming, it’s him hitting the higher notes.” “Fine.” I lift a hand. “Give him a call.” “You might want to sober up a bit, man.” Terry says. I scrunch my face and whine. “You too? Now you’re going to fucking rag on me, too?” “Dude, it’s fair. We all need to cut some of the shit out, you know. It’s fine when we’re just fucking around and partying and stuff, but when we need to work, we should be clean.” Paul nods. “Yeah, and I know that Chas is on his fifth year of sobriety, so he won’t put up with any of this kind of shit.” I squeeze my lips together, unimpressed. “Fuck that shit. I don’t need some fucking guy coming in my face, telling me how to live my life.”

“He’s not like that, man. He just won’t stick around if we’re doing more fucking around than working.” Paul clarifies. “He doesn’t give a shit what you do when he’s not around. He’s not like fucking Russell. He’s not going to come and storm in here, fucking you up and stuff.” “Look, I don’t need this shit.” I raise my voice. “It’s bad enough that I’ve got my fucking girlfriend ragging on me. I don’t need you guys doing it too.” As soon as those words escape my mouth, I realize I’m fucked. Debbie’s coming over later at my request, and I’m so fucking wasted. I lower my head. “Shit.” “What’s the matter, man?” Paul asks. “Look, you’re right. Fuck,” I shake my head. “I’ve got to fucking dry out or Debbie’s done with me.” “Really?” Paul asks in disbelief. “Did she say that?” I explain what happened last night. Paul scoffs, smiling, but he feels my pain by the tone in his voice. “Fuck. Hey, man, you want me to go and like, make you some coffee or something?” “Yeah, that would be great, man, thanks.” Paul walks out of the studio to the house. Terry looks at me. “Fuck, what do we do, man? You want to give Chas a try, or should we start calling others?” “Na, we’ll give him a go at it. To be honest, I don’t really like his voice.” “Well, who do you like?” I think about that for a minute and name off a couple of artists. “Some of those are doable.” Terry frowns. “We could give them all a call and see what happens.” “And what about fucking Lou, man?” I add. “We’re out a fucking producer now, too, thanks to that fuckhead.” “We’ll figure something out. Hell, we’ve done enough fucking albums, we can do it ourselves, man.” I can tell that he’s only half joking.

Paul walks back in, carrying a mug of coffee in his hand. He gives it to me. “Thanks, man. I appreciate it.” “Hey, no problem.” he says. “Hey, maybe Debbie’s going to be a good influence on you. You never know.” I look at him, unimpressed, like I’ve been told that this toothache should help me lose weight. “Yeah.” “Well, hey, if you don’t like it then tell her to hit the fucking road, man.” “I can’t do that.” I say softly, taking a sip. Terry says to Paul. “He’s in love with her.” “Bullshit.” Paul laughs. “She’s a good fucking lay, I’ll bet. But you don’t fucking love her already, man. It’s too soon.” I look up at him. “I’m ready to hand over my goddamn life savings to her, man. That’s how much I’m in love with her. And she turned it down, of course, which makes me love her even more.” His eyes widen. “Holy fuck.” Terry scoffs. “Yeah, you better be careful with that, man. You said you gave her the code for the gate, too, that’s pretty fucking scary. What if she’s not for real? What if she does intend to take you for everything you’ve got?” “I really don’t think so.” I say. “She’s…for real. She’s a widow with two teenage kids. And she says that she loves me, too.” “That doesn’t mean anything, man.” Terry guffaws. “Don’t be fooled.” “No, man. I offered to take her out to a fancy restaurant. She wanted to stay in and cook. She’s the real deal. She’s not a gold-digging skank like the rest of them.” “Whatever, man. Does she know about all this bullshit with Russell, too?” I nod. “Yeah.”

He shakes his head. “Fuck.” “Look, I mean it.” my voice raises an octave. “She’s not going to say shit to anybody. She’s not like that. I trust her completely.” He raises his hands in mock defeat. “Okay, fine. I’ll lay off.” Paul gestures with his chin. “You think she’ll chew you out for hitting the sauce?” “I think it’s more the blow that’s disturbing to her, but I’m laying off it all, man. At least, I’m going to try.” “No offence, but if you told her that last night, and now you’re hitting it again, you’re fucked.” “Thanks, Einstein.”

***

Fortunately, Debbie’s late showing up. After a shower and dinner, I’m completely sober, and as soon as she calls to say that she’s leaving, I go outside and wait for her. When she pulls up, I can’t help but smile. The second that she’s out of her car, I wrap my arms around her. “God, I missed you.” “I’ve got to say…you’re a really great hugger.” She gushes, holding me close. “It takes two, Smooch.” I pull back and kiss her lips softly. “How was the rest of your day?” “Busy but good. It went by faster.” She smiles. There is a certain twinkle in her eyes that I can’t stop looking at. “The girls begged me to bring them. They’re still dying to meet Russell.” She gauges my reaction, but it hasn’t wavered, because I’m not thinking about Russell right now. Only about her. “Has there been any progress with that at all?”

My face falls as I think of something. “Shit, you didn’t tell the girls about him, did you?” Her eyes widen. “God, no.” I exhale. “I didn’t think so, but Terry and Paul were a little worried that you know.” “I wouldn’t dream of it, Tommy.” She shakes her head. I kiss her and smile. “That’s what I told them.” Taking her hand in mine, we walk to the house. “So, how did it go today?” she asks. “You mentioned Terry and Paul. Did they come by?” “Yeah. Russell, too. It was ugly. If it weren’t for Terry and Paul, I would have clocked Russell.” “Oh, no.” The disappointment drips in her voice. “Yeah.” We enter the house, and I wrap my arms around her again. “I don’t want to talk about any of that shit right now.” “No. And I don’t blame you one bit.” She says into my ear, combing her fingers through the hair at the back of my neck, giving me shivers. I move her hair away and kiss her neck tenderly. She giggles because it tickles and that makes me chuckle softly into her skin. She pulls back. “I had a…little bit of trouble… focusing this afternoon, after that…monster of a kiss that you gave me in the car.” I lift a brow. “Yeah? You like that?” I play along. “And that wasn’t even my best work, either.” “Oh no?” she smiles, eying my lips. I kiss her softly at first, and then I tilt my head and go in for the kill. She moans against my lips and I feel it right in my cock. And just as I’m about to slide my hand up her shirt, the fucking phone rings.

I sigh, resting my forehead on hers. “Fuck. I’m sorry. I have to answer that.” “It’s okay.” She chuckles. “Maybe we should do this later.” I nod, and with one arm still around her, I pick up the phone. “Yeah,” “Tommy, I’m on my way over with Ches.” It’s Paul. “You cool with that?” “Yeah, sure.” I hang up. “You’re right. We have to put this on hold, Smooch. Paul’s coming over with Ches Lincoln.” Her eyes widen. “Yeah, he wants to jam with us. He wants to the band.” “Really?” she seems impressed. “But…Ches is very popular. Why does he want to quit his band, or is he?” “What, you mean you think he’ll run a duo role? Na,” I wave. “He wants to give up on his solo shit for now and us. I’m not so sure about him, though. I don’t know, do you think his voice is a little off for what we do?” She pauses to consider the question. “Well, maybe he’ll sound different mixed with your music. He is a little off beat to what you do, but that’s because you guys have a unique sound, as does he, right?” I frown. “That’s true.” I nod, and then pull her into my arms again. “Have I mentioned how perfect you are?” She smiles. “Stop. My head is going to swell.” I kiss her lips softly, even though I’m dying to make love to her, but it has to wait. I’m so lucky that Debbie is as patient as she is. Other girls would pout and put up a fuss. Not her. “Come on. Do you want me to stay, or should I head out and give you guys some privacy?” “No, no, you stay. I want your opinion on Chas.” I insist. “Are your girls nuts about him, too?” “Not as much as they are about ‘Stop’.” She says honestly.

***

Debbie has got to be the most respectful person I’ve ever met. After I introduce her to Ches, she simply fades into the background, watching us proudly, as we jam with him. His vocals are good and tight, I decide, after we run through the last song that we just recorded, and then a few more that we’ve been picking away at. But then he goes off on a whole tangent about how to change the songs, with suggestions that I don’t like, and I’m turned off. “Dude, no offence, but, these songs are how we like them.” Chas is a head taller than me, but he isn’t imposing. He speaks with respect, but I can tell that he’s a little bit on a high horse, given that while he hasn’t been in the business for as long as we have, he’s hit that coveted spot on the charts. “I get that. But this song could be so much better if you just make those few changes. Can we give it a try?” Terry intervenes. “Tommy, let’s just give it a go and see what it sounds like.” “Fine.” I say, relenting. God, I want to hit the sauce so bad. My palms are sweaty with nerves and I can feel Chas’s eyes on me. In the pit of my stomach, I feel like this is all wrong, but I go with it, because Terry and Paul think it’s a good idea, and God strike me dead for saying this, but I think we’re fucked if they want to go with him. He’s not our guy, but I humor them, and we run through the same songs, only with his take on them, and I’m inwardly cringing, thinking that we’re going to lose so many points with fans if we go with this. We break at about ten o’clock, and Debbie rises to say that she has to go home. She gives a respectful adieu to the boys and to Chas, and I walk her out. My hand is in hers, and once we’re out of the studio, she turns to me. “You’re not buying him, are you.” She states knowingly. “It’s not that obvious, is it?”

“I could tell by your jaw.” She explains. “The whole time you were jamming, your jaw muscles were clenched.” “Yeah. This guy, while he’s talented as shit, he’s not for us. His taste is just too… not ‘Stop’, and the changes that he wants to make are going to kill us. His stuff is more edgy, almost slow, where ours is upbeat and fun. We’re going to lose so many fans if we go with him.” “Or you’ll gain a whole new market of fans.” She says. “You have a valid point there, and I’d considered that, too. But man, I don’t know, he’s just…I don’t know. Maybe it’s just because this thing with Russell is still so raw.” “Maybe.” She says. As we reach her car, I wrap my arms around her. “I need to go home and get a couple of hours of writing in. My deadline is fast approaching and I still have to finish this manuscript.” “Oh, Smooch, I’m sorry if I kept you.” She kisses me. “Don’t be sorry. I was here because I wanted to be.” “I love you.” “I love you, too.” She kisses me again, and then I give her what seems like a hundred more, but it still isn’t enough, and I say goodbye to her. As I walk back into the studio, I see that Paul and Terry are working on the music, all with smiling faces, thinking that we’re set. That the whole search is over. And I don’t have the heart to tell them that I’m not on board…yet. …I wake up the next morning on the studio floor. Eight beer bottles and a vile of cocaine lay next to my head…all empty.

Chapter 16

Debbie The girls are so excited. Tommy suggested that we all go out to dinner, so he can get to know them better, without the hoopla of being in the studio. We pick this restaurant that is secluded, that offers outside patio dining, so there is minimal chance that Tommy will be recognized. He’s also familiar with the restaurant, and they know who he is, so they help keep his visits private. Part of me wonders how many other women he’s taken to this restaurant, but I digress. “So, how’s school, girls?” Tommy asks as we’re seated. The smile on his face could light up the sky. He loves kids. It’s very easy to tell the difference between a fake and the real thing. “Good.” They both answer, nonplussed. “You guys want to come back to the studio some time and see us play?” That hits a nerve. Georgia’s smile is a mile wide, as is Mylee’s. “And maybe next time we’re on tour, you and your mom can come to a concert. I’ll make sure you can sit close to the stage.” Georgia is trying not to scream. I can tell. The waitress delivers our menus and we order. Tommy grasps my hand in his from under the table, and we take turns sliding fingers down the insides of our palms. His warm smile could keep me happy all day. Watching him grin at my girls as they converse is very captivating. They were enchanted by their father at times, too, but let’s face it, Tommy is not your average person. There is a television on a stand in the corner, and the waitress turns it to a national new station, as it is the dinner hour. We had asked for a patio seat, but it started to rain, so we got moved inside, and as our food is brought to us, a headline comes up on the screen that I can’t read, but then a familiar face pops up: Russell’s. Tommy follows my gaze and we all sit as Russell is interviewed by some reporter who is all too enthused to learn of the demise of ‘Stop’ thanks to his recent departure. The content of the interview is to be expected, except for one thing. When the

reporter asks Russell why he quit the band, he answers, “Well, mostly because of the alcohol and drug abuse, mainly from Tommy. You know, I like to party as much as the next guy, but when it comes to working on the music, I’m serious. He’s not. That’s the difference. I want to be in a band that wants to strive to be number one, and you can’t hit that if you’re hitting the sauce and the drugs first.” “Dammit.” Tommy murmurs under his breath. We sit and listen more, and I watch my beloved’s face drop. The girls look almost as heartbroken as he does. “Well, it took longer than I figured it would.” Tommy states when the camera switches back to the news desk. “I thought he’d run to the media the second he had the chance. I credit him for holding out this long.” “I’m so sorry, Tommy.” Is all I can think of to say. My hand squeezes his. Georgia gets up off her chair and goes over to hug him. He’s so taken aback that he holds her tight, pinching his eyes closed, and then he kisses her head. “Thanks, sweetheart. That means a lot.” He says as she goes to sit back on her chair. “I’m sorry, Tommy.” Mylee says heartily. “No matter what happens, we’ll always love your music.” “You girls…” he shakes his head. “I don’t know what to say.” Tommy looks at me with such conviction that it draws me to him for a tender kiss on the lips. The girls don’t fuss over it, either, which helps a lot. As much as I think that Tommy’s lost his appetite, we try to eat. “Hey, we’re looking for a new lead singer.” He says, as though him cheering up my girls is more important than how he feels. “Are you? Anybody good?” Mylee asks. “Well, we did try Chas Lincoln, but he just…wasn’t the right fit.” Georgia scrunches her face. “The country singer?” That gets a laugh. “He’s not exactly country, but I get it.”

“I mean, I like him.” Mylee says, lifting a hand, as if finishing her sister’s thought. “But he’s no…Russell.” “Well, we’re going to have a hard time finding someone just like Russell.” Tommy says. “But we have other artists lined up to try.” “Can you tell us who?” Georgia asks, hopeful. “I’m afraid not, sweetie.” He says, tilting his head apologetically. “That’s okay.” She says, smiling at him kindly. My heart melts. The interaction between my kids and Tommy is profound. I never thought that they’d connect so well with someone so fast. It helps that he’s incredibly friendly and honest with them. And the girls can pick up on the fact that he likes them a lot. He’s not just here putting all of his attention on me. He’s here for all of us. After dinner, we head back to the house and play a couple of board games, and then the girls feel the need to go brag to their friends on the phone about how they went to dinner, and then hung around with Tommy Stopliewicz. We know, because as we sit on the couch snuggling, we can hear them giggling and bits and pieces of conversation from their bedrooms. “Teenagers.” Is all I can think of to say. Tommy is drawing lines up and down my arm with his fingertips as he drapes his arm around my shoulders. “They’re great kids. You’ve done a fantastic job, Smooch.” “Well, thank you. I can’t take all the credit.” “Hey, how come you only had two?” I kiss his lips. “That gets tricky. I found out I was pregnant with Mylee on my honeymoon, and then I had just finished nursing when I got pregnant with Georgia. Both kids were surprises, and then we just decided that we’d had enough surprises, so Bryan had a vasectomy.” Tommy winces, drawing his knees together, and I laugh. “Ugh.” Then he chuckles, but then he cranes his neck back slightly and his eyes widen for a moment. “Shit, then you’re not, like…on the pill or anything.” I shake my head no. “No. Never been on it.”

He scoffs, good-naturedly. “You do realize that we’ve never used birth control, right?” A hand goes over my mouth. “Oh, shit.” A ghost of a smile crosses my mouth, and my eyes are dancing, as if we’ve done something naughty and gotten away with it. He shrugs. “Oh, well. You’re obviously not pregnant. So, we can chill.” “Yeah, but we better think of something.” I chuckle. “Fuck, I hate condoms.” He says honestly, and then he lowers his voice to a murmur. “I like it raw, you know? I can’t feel anything with that fucking shrink wrap on.” “I can go on the pill, Tommy. It’s okay.” I say, wanting desperately to change the subject. “Are you sure?” I nod. “Yes. If you can’t stand the alternative, then sure.” “I can pay for whatever you need, Smooch.” He says, and then he kisses my lips. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll make an appointment with the gynecologist tomorrow and we’ll figure it out.” He looks at me, searching my eyes, giving me those famous bedroom eyes that I’ve grown to love. I swear he can get me in the mood just by looking at me. “So, can I stay the night tonight? Or are you going to shoo me back home?” his voice is almost a whisper. “I have to work in the morning, but you can stay over if you want.” “I don’t sleep much, Smooch. I can get up when you do and head back home.” “Okay.” He looks at his watch and then he gives me that sultry expression again. “Is it too early to go to bed?”

“The girls go to bed at nine o’clock. Can you hold out another hour?” I ask, my eyes are on his lips. “Sure.” He says. There is an afghan draped over the back of the couch. “Can we make some magic under this blanket in the meantime?” he doesn’t wait for me to answer. Sliding me down, he lowers himself on my side, resting his head on his hand, leaning his elbow on the arm of the couch. Carefully and strategically, he lowers the blanket onto us, so that anything we do under the covering will not be revealed. He’s an evil genius. I feel his hand skate up my shirt and under my bra, where he fingers my nipple until it beads, with his eyes firmly planted on mine and this intense gaze that is almost my undoing. My hand reaches down to his zipper and I pull it down, undoing his button, and I stuff my hand inside, knowing full well that he’s gifted me with no underwear again. His lips find mine as we kiss deliciously slowly, without losing , to keep the smacking noise down, and I feel him harden fast. His hand then makes its way down to my thigh, as he raises my skirt, and pushes his hand inside my panties, swirling his finger around my clit and then inside me. Thank God his lips are on mine, because the way that he’s expertly touching me, I’d be crying out. We’re careful to listen for the girls coming out of their bedrooms, as we make out like teenagers in the back seat of a car, only on my couch. With his expert touch, he keeps me on the edge, and I him, as we count down the minutes until we can find our release. The television is on next to us, illuminating Tommy’s eyes, which darken further as I touch him. His penis is rock hard, and it keeps wetting at the tip, so I know that he’s as hot as I am. When we hear the girls start getting ready for bed, we take a breather, as I know that they’ll be coming out shortly to say goodnight. Even though my folds are throbbing and the blood in my veins is singing, it’s only adding to the anticipation of making love to Tommy once the kids are gone to bed. They come out for their nighttime adieus and it’s the perfect moment, because Tommy rests his head on my shoulder. “Goodnight, Mom. Goodnight, Tommy.” They both say. “Goodnight, girls.” He says, smiling. “Goodnight. I’ll see you in the morning.” I say.

And as soon as the doors close, Tommy asks softly. “You want to finish what we started here or in the bedroom?” “We should wait if we want to go into the bedroom.” I say. “I don’t know about you, Smooch, but I’ve waited long enough.” He says salaciously as he rolls on top of me, sliding his pants down far enough that he can get to where he wants to get. He pulls my underwear down far enough so I can slide my foot out, and he lifts my knees up slightly, as he enters me, planting his lips on mine. Softly, slowly, deliciously, he makes love to me quietly on the couch. Thrusts smooth like silk, kisses quiet and tender, yet hungry enough that he sets my heart pounding. When his thrusts go deeper, I dig my fingers into his shoulders involuntarily, and his kisses become deeper, as I feel his breath heavy on my cheek, and it spurs me on, knowing that he’s close, too. His hand slides back up my shirt, but this time he pushes my bra up, and sucks my nipple, driving me to the edge. I come gloriously from under him, and I can tell by his ragged breathing that he’s coming, too. He lifts his head and kisses me softly as we come down, and then he rests his forehead on mine, as we feel our hearts beat together, and our breaths heavy. “God, that was fantastic.” He whispers breathlessly, and then he kisses me. “Never thought quiet sex could be so good.” “That’s all I ever had when Bryan was alive. You make the best of it.” “Yes, you do.” He agrees, kissing me again, and then he nuzzles his nose against mine when he says, “I love you.” “I love you, too.” “Is it safe to go lay in bed now?” “Sure. Even if they do come in, we won’t be doing anything, anyway.” He winks. “Don’t be so sure of that.”

***

Tommy We’re both startled by someone banging on the door at midnight. Debbie sound asleep, me contemplating what the fuck I’m going to do with the band, and trying to keep my hands off my girl so she can get a decent night’s sleep. Her back is to me, as we spoon in bed, and she jumps a mile when we hear the bang. “Who the hell is that?” she says sleepily, bolting out of bed in her pyjamas. “I’ll go see.” I whisper, grabbing my jeans and sliding them on quickly, listening to the door bang again. “I’ll fucking kill whoever it is.” “Get in line. They wake up my kids and I’ll kill them, too.” She says, throwing her robe on. I scurry to the door, shirt in hand, and open it. It’s the last person I expect to see. “What the fuck are you doing here?” I say. Terry shakes his head. “Your place is fucking crawling with reporters, man. They saw Russell’s interview on the eleven o’clock news.” I stuff my head into my shirt and pull it down. “It was on the six o’clock news, too, man.” “Yeah, that’s when I saw it. I don’t know.” He shrugs. Debbie comes in behind me. “Hey, Terry. Is everything okay?” “Shit, sorry for waking you, Debbie.” Terry says. “I…uh…had to look up your address in the phone book. I hope you don’t mind.” I turn to her. “He came to give me a head’s up that my place is being swarmed by reporters.” “Oh, no.” she looks at me and slides a lock of hair over her ear. She looks so goddamn sexy I nearly forget about the strife going on at my house. “What can you do? Call the police?” “Yeah, I can do that. It pisses them off and they give me a hard fucking time

later, when they interview me with permission.” “So what. Fuck them.” She says, impressing me. Then she looks at me. “You go, sweetie. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” She leans in and kisses me on the lips. “Okay. Love you, Smooch.” “Love you, too.” I kiss her again before walking away. Terry gives me the once over. “You seem relaxed, man.” He teases, alluding to the fact that I was spending the night at my girlfriend’s house and clearly had fun doing so. “I didn’t interrupt anything, did I?” “No, asshole. Why don’t you grow up.” “Hey, you’re the one who goes to your girlfriend’s house and doesn’t leave a fucking number.” “I’m sorry. I never thought that this would happen.” He gives me a look. “Please. One of the hottest rock bands ever is breaking up, news at six, and you don’t think every goddamn representative in the media is going to be at your doorstep?” A pause as I reach my car. “What I’m wondering is if you saw them at six, why the fuck didn’t you go home then? You know the goddamn paparazzi are vultures. They’ll break into your goddamn house!” “I don’t know…I just…I wasn’t thinking.” “Correction. You were thinking, just not with your head.” We pull over to a phone booth near my house, and I call Jenny, my PR rep and the cops, hoping to diffuse the situation before it gets ugly, as it has gone down in a bad way before. Once, I almost punched a reporter, because he got out of line. My temper gets out of control fast with these assholes, and the last thing I need is to end up in jail tonight, especially when I’m already on thin ice with Debbie. Not to mention, Russell would lap it up, I mean, isn’t this why he pulled all this shit to begin with? There is a hidden back road that leads into my house from the other side,

opposite the gate. I take that, avoiding the throng of media, and Terry and I head into the studio from the back. “Jesus Christ, that’s insane.” Terry says on exhale as we get into the studio. You can hear them shouting and the cops’ sirens and all kinds of noise akin to a set for a documentary feature on the Bronx. I walk to the fridge and grab two beers, handing Terry one. “I know. Thanks to fucking Russell, who couldn’t hold his wad any longer. You know, the guy could have given us a heads up that he was going public. He could have at least let Jenny know what he was doing, so she could at least set up some interviews to avoid this shit.” I down half my beer in the first go. Five minutes later, I’m on to the next, and so on. The phone rings at two o’clock, when Terry and I are three sheets to the wind, and it’s Jenny. “Hey, what the fuck’s the story?” I ask. “I had to make a deal with the motherfuckers.” Jenny has a mouth on her like a trucker, and that’s why I chose her as my PR person, because she’s got balls and I need them in my life when it comes to these assholes. “You’ve got a press conference at one o’clock tomorrow.” She tells me where. “Be ready to answer some serious shit, Tommy. They’re hungry.” “I’ll bet they are. It’s like a goddamn circus out here.” “How are you doing, anyway?” Jenny’s been my rep and close friend for many years. She was one of the first people I called after the dust settled with Russell. “You guys having any luck finding a new vocalist?” “Not so far, but we have more leads.” “Make sure you clear it with them before you mention any names, Tommy. Be careful about that. I know that this is new territory for you.” “Yeah, I know. I’ll just say what I just said to you. I’ll leave out names.” “You want me there for moral ?” Jenny went to law school but hated it. That’s when she started her own PR company, headed by herself. She’s in her fifties but she looks not a day over thirty. Tough as nails and repped many highprofile bands, and that’s all she does. That’s why she’s been my sole rep since day one. I pay her dearly for it, but she’s worth every penny. “Sure, yeah.”

“Make sure you guys all show up, too. That’s the deal.” She clarifies. “And a heads up that that asshole you almost punched out a few years ago will be there. And he’s got a score to settle.” “Ol’ Jacko is up, is he? I’ll be ready.” I declare. “Just don’t lose your head. But I’ll be there to make sure that doesn’t happen.” She pauses. “And let’s try to take the high road with Russell. It looks better with the fans than the cheap shots he took.” “Will do. Hey, thanks, Jenny.” “Stay cool.” She says, as is her trademark closing to all conversations. I hang up and Terry is looking at me inquisitively. I bring him up to speed. “Is it like a press conference?” I nod. “Yeah. I know, I fucking hate them, but if this is what we have to do to keep the vultures at bay, then I’m doing it. I don’t want to scare anyone off if you know what I mean.” “Like…Debbie?” “No, not so much Debbie. I think that she’s the type to kick anyone’s ass if needed. No, I’m talking more the other dudes we want to try out.” “Anyone who doesn’t have the balls to stand up to these idiots I don’t want in our court.” “True. But some of them lose their heads, you know?” “Got it.” I drink the last of the beer I started before Jenny called. “Hey, you want to jam it out a bit? Work on some of that other serious shit we had going? That way we have more material for the other potential ‘Stop’ dudes?” I’m sufficiently numb, and for a more creative edge, I need a hit. “Sure, yeah. You got any…?” he trails off.

“Yeah.” “Hey, let’s get Paul over here, man.” Terry suggests. “Sure, give the fucker a call while I get the shit.” When Paul shows up, he catches up fast, getting as shit faced and fucked up as we are in record time. We jam it out for hours, working on stuff for the new album, and even writing some of the music out, enough that with just the addition of lyrics, we’re ready to call Lou, or produce the damn music ourselves. “Yo, you think Darryl from ‘Losing Time’ would be a good match for us?” Paul asks. He’s never mentioned Darryl before, and my curiosity takes over. “Darryl? Are you buddies with him?” I ask. “Yeah. I never told you guys this, but he used to date my sister in high school, until I found out about it, that is, and then I beat the shit out of him for banging her.” “Your sister?” Terry smiles. “Darryl, the hard rock dude, used to date your little librarian sister?” “Until I found out about it. Stopped that shit quick.” He says with finality. “What did they see in each other?” I ask. “I mean, isn’t she married to a lawyer now?” “Yeah.” Paul scoffs. “I don’t know. I guess she started going down that path until I intervened.” “So, are you still in touch with him?” Terry asks. “Yeah. He called me up earlier. Found out about Russell. Asked what we were going to do.” “Why does he fucking care?” I ask, somewhat snidely. Paul shrugs. “Dunno. I didn’t ask. He’s working on a new album, just like us, so I know he’s doing okay.”

“He’s got a healthier voice than fucking Ches.” Terry states. “And he doesn’t have the fucking uppity attitude, either.” I punch Terry in the arm affectionately. “Thank you. I’m glad you see it my way.” “I always did, man. I just wanted to give the fucker a chance.” “Yeah, same here.” Paul agrees. I address Paul. “You think Darryl might want to take Russell’s place? I mean, why else would he call?” “Like I said, man, I don’t know.” He pauses. “I haven’t heard from the guy in like ten years and suddenly he calls out of the blue. He didn’t ask anything about Kayla, not that he would care or anything.” “Makes sense to me, man.” Terry says. “You got his number?” “Yeah.” Paul nods. “Fucking call the guy. Tell him to come over now.” I state. “Fuck you. We have a press conference in like…six hours, man. And none of us have fucking slept.” Terry laughs. “So? What the fuck.” I argue, good-naturedly. It’s the name of the game around here. We’re all basically nocturnal. And after the hits that we’ve had, we don’t need sleep. In fact, my heart is racing so fast right now, I could run a fucking marathon. “He’s a fucking hard-on rocker. He’s probably still up.” “He’s got a kid, man.” Paul informs. “And a wife.” “That…I did not know.” I back off. “When the fuck did he get married?” “I don’t know…like, a year ago. He knocked her up right after. You knew that, man. It was all over the fucking entertainment news and shit.” I chug back more beer. “Like I watch that shit all the time. Please.” I pick up my guitar and start noodling. “Call the fucker, anyway. If he’s asleep, fuck him. If

not, tell him to come the fuck over.” “Fine.” Paul scoffs, pulling a sheaf of paper out of his wallet, and grabbing the phone. Fortunately, Darryl is up with the baby, and he agrees to come over. When he arrives, he looks at me and laughs, giving me a high five. “You are so fucking fried, man. I knew it.” I smile, impressed. “What the fuck are you talking about, man? We’re just jamming in the studio here, and Paul tells me that you called him up, out of the blue. What’s that about, man? You want to the band or something?” “I thought about it.” he its. The quirky smile on his face is difficult to read. I’m not sure if he’s being cocky or if he really is impressed that we’re all fucking shit faced at four o’clock in the morning. “Well, enough thinking, man. Let’s jam it out.” I say, grabbing my guitar. He offers his hand to shake to both Paul and Terry, and then we start jamming. And it’s like pure fucking magic. …until it’s not.

Chapter 17

Tommy My eyes don’t want to open, even though I hear voices around my head. The hard surface that my head lays on says that I’m on the studio floor again. I know I was on the couch the last that I , but I have a habit of laying on the floor, playing, when I’m fried. Something about the acoustics when I’m on my back, and the couch restricts my fingers on the fretboard, so I slither my ass to the floor, and oftentimes crash there. “Yo, Tommy. Wake the fuck up.” Terry says. “Jenny just called to wake us up and remind us that we have to be at this stupid fucking conference in thirty minutes.” “What?” I mumble. My eyes flutter open. Although blurry, I can see my guitar laying next to me. “Conference? ? At noon? Today?” he chuckles, handing me a beer. “Here. Drink this. Get the edge off. Jenny’s driving. She’ll be here in ten minutes.” With a pounding head and a rolling stomach, I slowly sit up on the floor. I feel so shitty even the thought of the beer makes me want to retch. Paul sees me wince. “You need to puke?” “Na, I’m okay. Just…get the beer away from me.” I whisper. “Fuck, you’re in worse shape than me.” Paul comments. “I just blew chunks, but even I look better than you do.” “Thanks, asshole.” I look up at him. “Where’s Darryl?” “Gone home, man. He had to take his turn watching the kid so the wife can sleep.” Terry looks at him, confused. “Colic.” Paul answers. “What the fuck is that shit?” Terry asks. “Gas. Fucking awful gas for a baby. Painful. They fucking scream worse than

my guitar out of tune.” I answer. “How the fuck do you know that?” Paul asks. “I don’t know. Heard it from somewhere.” I shrug. “That’s probably why he was up at that hour, man. Baby’s scream day and night with that shit. Poor kid.” Terry gives me a look. “You lose your fucking marbles?” “No.” I grab my head. “Get me a hit, man. I need it bad.” “Sure.” Paul says. “You want one?” I offer Paul. “Na, man. I’m good.” I look at Terry, but he lifts his hand and frowns, declining. “Shit, you want a shower?” Terry asks me. “I just blew the stink off in yours. Paul, too.” I chuckle, feeling the hit a little. “You shower together?” “Fuckoff.” Paul laughs. “Go get a shower, man. You look like shit.” “Aren’t you fucking inspiring.” “Dude, we’re going to a press conference, not a fucking interview. Way different.” Terry retorts. “It’s bad enough that you look like the dog’s breakfast, but if you show up all greasy and shit, too, it’s going to look way worse.” “It’s not live, man. Chill out.” “Of course it’s not live, man, but they won’t cut out any of the parts where you look like shit. And since Russell’s not there to shoot off at the mouth, all the cameras are going to be on you, man. You’re the fucking guitar hero.” Terry chimes in. “Yeah, and you know how the media just fucking loves it when you say stupid shit and look like shit, too.”

“Fine. I’ll go blow the stink off.” “I’ll come get you when Jenny’s here.” Terry says.

***

It takes another hit to get my motor running, and I’m so pumped by the time the cameras start rolling, that I feel like my eyes are wide open. Sunglasses help, but Terry tells me to take them off, nudging me, murmuring to me under his breath, because it looks far too obvious, and one of the camera men actually makes a comment, which I don’t hear, thankfully, or I might have ploughed the asshole. Jenny sits at the end of the long table where we’re seated. There’s a microphone in front of each of us, and the place is so goddamn sterile, I feel like I’m at a hospital. No ‘Stop’ banner behind us, none of our music playing, and they didn’t even allow any fans in here, despite the fact that they’re lined up outside in droves. It feels like we’re being put on the chopping block, and we are, based on how the questions are presented. And once the first question is directed at me, I realize how right Paul was in saying that I’m the target now that Russell is gone. “Russell says that he left the band because of the substance abuse going on. Is that true?” a bald-headed loser asks me. “You’ll have to ask him. But we don’t do drugs. Sure, we drink, but not to the extent that some people allude to.” I lie, bold-faced. I look away, letting him know that I’m done with the question. “Do you have any prospects to replace him?” another loser asks, only this one could for Don Johnson in his casual suit and loafers. “Yes, we do.” I answer simply. “Who?” Don Johnson asks.

“We’re not able to share that yet.” I look around. “You say that you don’t do drugs, but sources say that you have your own personal dealer, and you’ve been found on your studio floor on many occasions, so high that you can’t function. Is that true?” I can feel Jenny’s eyes burning into me. She knows that I’m about to blow a gasket. “I’d like to know who these sources are.” I guffaw, feeling my head pound. “Is the band breaking up, or are you going to put another lead singer behind the microphone?” a fat man in a suit asks. He looks like a cartoon character he’s so ridiculous. “What did I just say, buddy? I said that we’ve got contenders that we’re working on, man.” “We’re not breaking up.” Paul interjects, shaking his head. “We’ve had a few artists through the studio, and they show promise.” “It’s rumored that your producer, Lou Garrett, has also quit. Is that true, and if so, what are your prospects for a replacement?” Terry interjects with this one. “We don’t have any prospects there. We’re considering producing our own record.” “Hey, Tommy. With the allegations from Russell, have you ever considered going into rehab?” Someone in the back shoots off. I scoff. These sons of bitches just don’t know when to stop. I’m in no mood to answer respectfully to this one, so I skip it. Jenny gives me a wink, letting me know that I did the right thing. “With all due respect, Mister Stopliewicz.” A very young reporter asks. I’ve never seen her before. She must be fresh out of college. “You don’t look very well. Are you ill?” “No, I’m not ill.” I answer simply, feeling lightheaded from the question. Suddenly the rooms feels like it’s spinning.

“When is your next album release?” Someone else asks. “Will you let us find another lead singer first, man? We can’t release an instrumental album.” I want to add ‘dickwad’, but I refrain. “What do you think of the allegations that Russell Bowman has put forth? Do you have any response?” “I think that Russell is up to no good. He was never honest with us, and we were always honest with him. If he thinks that leaving us high and dry is going to take us down, so he can climb the charts, he’s got another thing coming. We’re not backing down. We aren’t going to cheat our fans like he has. They’re worth more than that to us. We’ll put together an even better band and create way better songs, and as for Russell…he can eat our dust, man. That’s all I have to say.” I hear a whistle and some cheering going on in the back, which surprises me. I thought that all of these assholes were our enemies, but maybe there are one or two that are on our side. I’m done here. I’ve had enough. I need to puke so bad that I’m afraid I’m not going to make it to the bathroom, and my head is spinning. I rise and the boys follow suit. Nobody thanks us for our time, nobody says anything, they just spew out more invading and insulting questions in our wake. When we’re outside, I find the nearest bush and puke. Thank God there are no cameras out the back way. The guys have the decency to stand behind me, shielding me, just in case. Jenny goes to bring the car up close, and I stagger inside when I’m done. I don’t getting home. I don’t when my head hits the pillow. All I is hearing my doorbell ring hours later, and who is on the other side of that door.

***

Debbie The girls are making dinner for me tonight. It’s a treat that they do at least once a week, in exchange for a movie night. I don’t know who’s more excited. Both of

them have had mile wide smiles since Tommy and I started seeing each other. It seems that their popularity has increased exponentially, even to the point that Mylee was asked out on her first date. But she declined. She didn’t like the boy. I haven’t heard from Tommy all day, but I never count on it, because I know how busy he is and how much he has going on. ittedly, I am a little worried about what went on after he left last night. I hope he’s okay, but I’m sure he is. He’s handled himself well long before I came into the picture. As we sit down to dinner on tv tables, watching television, we flip past the news, and I tell them to stay there for a minute, despite their chagrin. “I just want to see what’s going on in the world.” Truth be told, I have a little crush on the anchor. He’s a little old man and he reminds me so much of my dad. I watch him every night and he makes me smile. But as the entertainment headlines appear, my smile quickly fades. “Mylee, turn it up.” I ask, seeing my beloved’s disheveled face appear on the screen. He looks like hell. Pasty, sour faced, glassy, reddened eyes, sallow skin. Even his voice doesn’t sound like him; he’s groggy and acting like the last place he wants to be is there. No smile. No sexy, cocky attitude. Just a run-down, highly intoxicated man, who looks like he hasn’t slept in days. What happened to the glowing, satiated, rested man who left my bed last night, I don’t know, but my heart wrenches as I watch him. “Mom?” Mylee asks. “What’s wrong with him?” I figure that she’s old enough to know the truth. She stopped believing in Santa Claus years ago, and she’s already pretty familiar with the birds and the bees. They’ve learned about drugs in school and a little bit, to my disappointment, in the schoolyard. “He’s…high, honey. And probably drunk, too, from what I know of him.” “Oh my God.” Georgia says in disbelief. Tommy looks and sounds so unlike himself. And as we listen, we grow more and more aware of just how far from the Tommy we know, he is. “Why did he do that, when he’s on television? Doesn’t he know that people are going to see him?” It pains me to talk about it, but I owe my girls an explanation. “I think he did it to drown out the noise, if I’m honest. He probably was told in a moment’s notice

about this, and he didn’t have enough time to sober up. There was an incident at his house last night, and this is probably how he’s dealt with it.” The girls both look at me with a combination of sympathy and disgust. I know what they’re thinking. I’m thinking it, too. “I told him how I felt about his drinking and doing drugs. He knows. He said he would try to quit, but I suppose, as he said, it isn’t as easy as it seems.” “Do you still want to…be with him?” Mylee asks. “Aren’t you scared?” “I am very scared…for him.” I answer honestly. “And, no. Clearly the man needs time to deal with things and get himself straight before entering into a serious relationship.” Georgia looks at the television, wincing as she watches the man stumble and turn greener by the second. “Are you in love with him?” she asks, as though the thought in her mind is, ‘How can you love that? He looks terrible’. “Yes. My dear, I am in love with him. But I love him too much to watch him do this to himself.” The phone rings, and I’m scared to answer it, but I do. Thankfully, it’s just Janice, it’s not Tommy. I need time to figure out what to say to him, and if he called now, I’m afraid that I would only fumble through words. “Hey, are you watching the news?” “Yeah.” “Holy shit. What happened to Tommy?” I explain. “Jesus. Are you okay?” “I’m fine.” I lie. “But I know that he isn’t.” “Clearly.” A pause. “Have you spoken to him today?” “No. Not yet.”

“Deb, I’m worried about you. This guy has serious problems.” “I know.” I look over at my girls. They’ve changed the channel and are much involved in something else. “Don’t even say it, okay?” “Sweetie, I’m not going to say anything. I already know that you’ll do the right thing.” “Thanks.” “Do you need me to watch the kids or anything?” “Let us eat our dinner first. They’re about to watch a movie, so send your girls over and they can watch it together.” “Oh, shit. I forgot about your movie night. Are you sure you want to give that up?” “They saw the interview. They know what’s going on.” “Shit. Okay, I’ll send the brats over shortly.” “You’re the best.” I barely touch my dinner, but I eat enough and wrap up the rest for lunch tomorrow, and call Janice to let her know that I’m leaving. I consider calling through the intercom when I get to Tommy’s house, but then I think better of it. When there is no answer at the door to the studio, and no music reverberating from it, I know that he’s at the house. I’m not sure what makes it worse. Knocking at the door, I feel my heart jumping out of my chest. I’m not even sure what to say to him, but I know what message I need to convey. He answers the door in a pair of jeans and nothing else. He was sleeping from the look of him. “Oh, hey, Smooch. Come on in.” he says sleepily. “Sorry to wake you. I should have called first.” He kisses my lips quickly. “That’s okay. It’s like…” he peers over at the clock on the kitchen wall. “…seven o’clock at night. It’s not like it’s seven o’clock in the morning.”

His pallor is pale and pasty still, but he’s smiling, which is a major improvement. His eyes are still red and glassy, but the bags are less pronounced. I cut to the chase. “I saw you on television earlier.” His smile fades and his expression falls. He rakes a hand through his hair and sits down at the table, leaning his head on his hands, as if in shame. “Shit.” He says softly. Drawing in a deep breath, he looks up at me. “I don’t know why I never even thought of that.” “Mylee and Georgia saw it, too.” The look on his face is shock, heart stopping shock, like he would give anything to take that back. I’m not sure what bothers him more; that I saw it, or that my kids did. He shakes his head. “Fuck, I don’t even know what to say.” He’s staring at me, as if our connection is enough. As if what I’m thinking will teleport inside his head and vice versa. A lump forms in my throat. “Tommy, I love you.” My voice cracks as much as I try like hell to stop it. “But I can’t watch you…do this.” He reaches across the table and takes my hand in his. Lifting it, he kisses my hand. “God, Smooch, please don’t cry.” His voice cracks. “I promised myself that I’d never make you cry…ever.” “I’m sorry, Tommy.” I gasp. “But I can’t be with you.” I sniffle as tears pour down my face. “I already lost someone I loved dearly, and so did my kids. I can’t put myself or my babies through that again.” He’s rubbing my hand on his face, and he whimpers. “God, no, Smooch. No. Don’t say it.” he gasps, and I see a tear fall down his cheek. “Please. I’ll do anything.” He rises, takes a step towards me, and wraps his arms around my middle, kneeling on the floor. “Smooch, I love you so much. Just…tell me what I can do to make you stay with me. I can’t…I can’t live without you.” He’s begging, crying, and it’s ripping my heart out. We’re both sniffling, whimpering messes together. “You need to go to rehab, Tommy.” I say after taking a cleansing breath. “That’s the only way. You can’t do this on your own.” My hands rake through his hair as he lifts his head, looking at me. His face is

soaked with tears. “Okay.” He nods, frowning, trying not to cry more. “Okay, I’ll go. I promise. Anything. Anything so you’ll stay.” He exhales and whimpers again, and then he embraces me tighter. My arms rest on his shoulders, and then I rake my hand through his hair, calming him. I kiss his head and hold him tight. “God, I love you more than anything in the world, Smooch.” He sniffles. “I love you, too, Tommy.” I kiss his head again. “You have the biggest heart. You know, in all the years that I was married to Bryan, he never once cried.” “Well, the thought of losing you, even for a second…man, I can’t even think about it.” he says, looking up at me with eyes like dinner plates, and then he burrows his head into my middle, as if finding comfort there. “God, even the thought of not seeing you while I’m in treatment. It just…drives me crazy.” “You can get through it, Tommy. For your health, you have to.” He pants. “I know.” He buries his head into me again. “As long as you’re here when I get back, it’ll be worth it.” “I’ll be here, Tommy.” I kiss his head again. “I promise.”

***

Tommy My face hurts from crying as I wave goodbye to my girl. She’s the best thing that ever happened to me and I’m going to miss her like hell while I’m away getting treatment. And I know in my heart that this is the right thing to do. Debbie loves me and to see her so upset like that over me…I don’t know how I’ll ever get past that. I never want to hurt her again. I never meant to hurt her at all. My fucking brain isn’t functioning right anymore. That’s the only explanation I can think of for forgetting the fact that that press conference would be televised, and the possibility of Debbie seeing it isn’t minute. I’m such a fool and after seeing her reaction to the press conference, I can only imagine what others must think of me. The only opinion that matters to me is Debbie’s, and I’m trying to hang on to that.

There are a few responsibilities to look after before I go. Jenny’s warm response helps a lot when I call her to let her know that I’ll be out of the picture for the next thirty days. I’m allowed visitors, but not until after fifteen days. Evidently, the first two weeks are the worst. Some addicts get violent and sick, so visitors aren’t allowed after that period is over. I tell her where I’m going, and she promises to come visit. She’ll also make sure that the press doesn’t find out about what’s going on, and that my house won’t be staked out while I’m gone. I call Carl and let him know, and he promises to let Dan over at Flamboyant know, while keeping it under their hat. With concern about our deadline coming up, Carl assures me that this will be taken into consideration, and that we’ll deal with that when I’m clean. The other major responsibility, of course, is letting the guys know what’s going on. So, I make the call and they come over right away, including Darryl. Even though Darryl has only jammed with us once, I feel like right now, he’s the closest thing we have to a new lead singer, and until I return, we won’t be able to pursue any other leads. He’s the first to show up. “Hey, buddy. How’s it going?” I say, shaking his hand. “Good, thanks.” I feel like he wants to ask how I’m doing, but based on how I look, he refrains. “How’s the baby?” His face brightens slightly, and it makes me feel better. “Oh, he’s great. Getting so big. He grows like a weed, man. Eats like a pig, just like his dear old dad.” He pounds his chest and smiles. “I’m almost jealous, man.” I say honestly. “A little boy to carry on the music legacy. Man, you can’t beat that.” “Yeah.” He chuckles. “The wife’s adamant that we let him choose what he wants to do in life, but there’s no harm in giving him an instrument or a microphone, right?” he shrugs. “I agree, man.” The door opens and Terry and Paul appear. We all shake hands and have a seat in the guitar room on the couch. “So, what’s the scoop, man? Are we going to jam again?” Paul asks. “I really

think that last tune we were working on is near ready to record.” Terry looks at Darryl. “Hey…Grant, your producer?…you think he’d be interested in cutting a record for us?” “I can ask.” Darryl shrugs. “But I know that he’s on the same page as me with you guys.” That comment stops me in my tracks. “What’s going on, man?” He tilts his head, almost apologetically. “Listen, man, I don’t want to come off giving you a hard time or anything, but I can’t help but think that Russell’s got a bit of a point.” A ‘v’ forms between Terry’s brows. “What do you mean?” “Look, I’ve got a kid and a wife, and sure, I’ve been down other paths before, but…you guys need to lay off the chemicals, man. No offence here.” He raises a hand. “I’m not judging you. I want to this band if you’re up for it, and Grant, he’s a really great guy, so you’ll have his complete if you need it, but none of this can happen unless we do it clean.” I can feel their eyes on me, and I don’t back down. “I hear ya, man.” I say fairly. “That’s actually why I called you guys to come over.” Eyes are still on me. I clear my throat, hoping like hell that I can hold it together, because I can still feel Debbie’s heartbreak in my chest. “The press conference,” I pause, drawing in a breath. “Debbie and her kids saw it.” Terry’s eyes widen. “Oh…shit.” He mutters. “Yeah, and she…” I pause, feeling a lump in my throat. I can’t even say it. My hand rakes through my hair, as I try to draw in a deep breath. “She what, man?” Paul asks. “Did she tell you to take the train?” Terry rises and sits next to me. “Hey, man, it’s okay.” His voice is soothing. His hand rests on my back. I swallow and spit it out quickly, but it’s too late. Tears are pouring down my

face. “I’m going to rehab.” Darryl gets up and kneels in front of me, while Paul sits on the other side of me, opposite Terry. My breathing is ragged as I shed more tears, thinking about how much I hurt everyone, but most of all Debbie. “I can’t…lose her. I can’t…” “We get it, man.” Paul’s voice is a whisper, dripping with comion. “There’s no need to explain.” My face is in my hands as I whimper. “I…want you guys to go through this place while I’m gone. Fucking burn it all…all of it. You know where I keep my stashes.” Paul speaks. “What about Mike?” Mike is my dealer. “I’ll give him a wad of cash to keep quiet…I…I don’t know.” “I’ll take care of that. You need someone to look after the place?” Terry offers. “Debbie said she would, but she’s got enough shit to worry about with the kids.” “We can do it, man. Besides, we’ll be jamming, too.” Paul says. “Are you allowed visitors?” “After the first two weeks, yeah. But not until then.” “When do you leave?” Darryl asks. “Tomorrow morning.” “Do you need someone to drop you off?” Paul asks. “Jenny’s coming to take me. Debbie offered to do that, too, but she’s got to work.” “Have you got all your shit together to take with you, man?” Terry asks. “Are you sure you gave yourself enough time to prepare?” “Fuck, I’d go tonight if I could, man.” I state. “I’m scared. You know. I’m scared that I’ll fuck up again being in this house and in this studio. I…promised Debbie I’d quit and it never fucking even occurred to me not to put the beer to my lips or

not to snort the fucking blow.” “It’s just become such a natural thing for you, buddy, that’s all. Being away from it for a month will help you set new patterns.” Darryl explains. “And when you come back, this place will be cleaned out, your dealer will be paid off, and the rest is just up to you, man.” I look at Darryl and crane my neck slightly. “You’ve been to rehab, haven’t you.” He nods. “You guessed it, man.” “And it…worked?” I ask. “Been clean two years. Never looked back. Trisha would never have married me if I hadn’t quit. Of course, she never said that, but she turned me down the first time I proposed. I figured that was why and I was right. After I got out, I tried again a couple months later, and here I am.” He pauses. “Now, don’t get me wrong, it’s no picnic. I won’t scare you with details, but how bad I was, they’re right in not letting visitors come the first two weeks. I thought I was going to fucking die. That’s half the reason why I never went back to it, because I know that I never want to go through the fucking withdrawal ever again.” “What happens, man? Level with me.” I say, wiping the last of my tears away. “The first day’s not so bad, you just crave the shit, but then when you start to dry out, your body revolts, kind of. Vomiting, shakes, sweating, hallucinations, weird fucking nightmares, and by that point you’re caught between a rock and a hard place; you know that taking a hit or downing the hard shit will take the pain away, but you also know that this is how you got there and you’ll only have to cross this path again if you want to get through it.” he licks his lips. “It’s a crossroads. Then they want you to eat and do shit and that’s when the problem starts. Food is the last thing you want when you feel like shit, and to hell with showering or brushing your fucking teeth, but they force you to, otherwise you’ll…well, I guess if you don’t eat or drink, you’ll die, and you can’t tell the difference, because you feel like you’re dying anyway.” He looks at me, nodding, as if asking if I want him to continue. I look at him levelly and he continues. “Then you start eating and drinking bits and that’s when your head starts to get all fucked up. You start thinking crazy shit and

blaming this and that and making absolutely no sense at all. It’s like you’re going crazy or something. But it’s your brain trying to process without chemicals. It’s like it’s rebooting almost, you know?” he pauses, and I nod, licking my lips, listening intently. “But then, slowly, thoughts start to become clearer and they give you books to read to help.” “Are you in like a rubber room or anything?” Terry asks. “No. It’s not a mental institution or anything like that.” Darryl explains. “You’re in a room, just like in a hospital. If you get out of hand, they just lock you in there. They call an ambulance if it gets bad, I heard, but I never saw it when I was in.” Another pause. “They have counsellors and therapists there, too, and you do see one or two in the third week. Or at least, I did.” “And do you have to like an AA or something?” Paul asks. “It’s recommended, yes. I go to meetings still.” He answers. “Wait, didn’t they tell you all this shit when you called?” Terry asks me. “They told me some stuff, but it’s a fucking blur, man. Debbie was there, and I couldn’t keep my head on straight. I’m scared I’ll never see her again, and I wanted to, you know,” I gesture with my hands for emphasis. “drink in every last second I could of her.” “I hear ya, man. I feel ya, too.” Darryl states with comion. “I fell hard for Trisha, I mean, like, bad hard.” “And she loves you as much?” I ask, feeling like I’m almost looking in a mirror. “Oh yeah.” He smiles. “Trisha’s great. The best. If it weren’t for her, I don’t know where I’d be.” Terry looks at him. “So…why do you want to leave your band, man?” “The boys are looking for an out. Been feeling it for a while now. Jason, my bassist, he’s got some personal shit going on, and Ben, my drummer, he’s caught up in the drugs, too. Only he’s going to end up dead in a ditch somewhere. He’s already overdosed twice, just nobody found out about it.”

“And you never did like an intervention or anything with him?” I ask. “Those things never work, man. Or, at least, rarely they do. Most of the time it’s seen as an attack. s need to see their abuse for themselves. Just like you and me, man. If you don’t go voluntarily, it won’t work. You’ll end up falling right back into the same habits.” “I get that.” I say. “This has been a real eye-opener. I can’t imagine what would’ve happened if I hadn’t met Debbie.” “Quit laying so much credit on her, man. It’s you who’s seen it.” Terry says fairly. “And it’s you who’s got to do the work.” “I know.” I nod. I look at Darryl. “What…got you through it, man?” He tilts his head, as if determining if he should tell me or not. “It’s…different for everybody, Tommy. But you have to have your own reason for doing it. Capture that and hold on to it, man. That’s all I can tell you.” The ghost of a smile crosses Paul’s face. “You don’t make it through, and we’ll tell everyone how you fucking cried, man. How’s that for motivation.” He laughs. I look at him and his face sobers, as if he thinks that I’m going to freak out on him for the comment. Then I smile and he loses it. We both start laughing, and then we’re all laughing, which turns into a playfight, which turns into me on the floor, too winded to fight back. …how will I ever find the strength to beat this?

Chapter 18

Debbie I miss him. So much. It’s only been a week, but it feels more like a year. I’ve gone over to his house a few times, just to feel closer to him. Gladys has done a phenomenal job cleaning his house, and I’ve run into the boys there once, as they clean the studio as well. The girls came along with me to the studio once, since Tommy insisted that I do that before he left, just because he’d promised them. The boys were there jamming, and even though it wasn’t the same without Tommy, it felt nice to be connected in some way. Darryl is amazing. He has a great voice. I’ve heard them playing a couple of cover tunes, and he nails them. The girls understand what is going on. I don’t believe in sheltering my kids. They were aware of everything that happened when Bryan died, and they’re better people because of it, in my opinion. They know where Tommy is and why, they saw it themselves, and they also know that I’m still with him and why, and they understand. It’s an important lesson to teach our kids, in my opinion, because nobody that we will meet in our lifetime will be perfect, and while we have to draw the line on flaws, we also have to appreciate when one tries to improve on those flaws. I also think it’s important that they know that just because they have flaws, that they aren’t worthy of love. What happens if my kids come home with an addiction some day? Am I going to kick them out and say I don’t love them anymore? No. Sure, if you keep beating a dead horse, and a person continues to make the same mistakes, then it’s time to set some boundaries, but Tommy had only tried on his own. Had he refused to go to rehab, I would have ended it with him, but since he’s there, getting help voluntarily, I feel that his love is worth putting forth the effort to try and make things work. The girls are out at the mall when the phone rings. “Hello?” I answer. “Hey, Smooch.” Tommy says, and he sounds so weak, but I’m so happy to hear his voice, I don’t care. “Hi, sweetheart. How are you?” I’m speaking so softly I almost don’t recognize my own voice. “I feel like death, but I’m surviving. It’s nice to hear your voice.”

“I was just going to say.” “I miss you.” “I miss you, too.” “The worst part about this place is I can’t play my guitar, and I’m bored as hell.” “How come you didn’t bring one?” “Smooch, think about how long it would take for someone to figure out who I am if I brought it and started playing?” “Well, so what.” I say proudly. “You’re getting help. I’m proud of you, and I think that your fans would be, too.” “Yeah. And Jenny can only hold the media off for so long.” He agrees. “With my luck, Russell will find out somehow and blab, anyway.” We both chuckle. “God, I can’t wait to hold you again, Smooch.” He murmurs. “I can’t stop thinking about you.” “Me neither. I was wondering if you were allowed calls or if you felt up to it.” “I’m not going to lie. I feel like shit. I’m shivering so bad it’s like I have fucking hypothermia. Every time I eat, which is not often, I puke. It’s like having a tropical flu or something.” “I’m so sorry you feel rotten. I wish there was something I could do.” “Hearing your voice helps.” He says softly. “I love you.” “I love you.” “How are the girls?” “Good. They’re at the mall, buying crap they don’t need. I’m going to pick them up soon. I took them to the studio yesterday. They loved it. Darryl’s got a kickass voice.”

“I’m so glad. Make sure you buy them something nice from me. I’ll pay you back when I’m out of this place.” “You’re so sweet.” “Well, you’ve got great kids. They deserve it.” “You sound so tired.” “I can’t sleep. I toss and turn like crazy. And then when I do sleep, I have wicked nightmares, and I wake up in a sweat.” He pauses. “This is fucking scary. I never knew I was so hooked on shit before. I think I took something every day for the last ten years, maybe longer. If I knew then what I know now, I would never have touched the shit.” “The important thing is that now you know and you can do something about it.” He changes the subject. “How are you? How’s work?” “Good. I…finished my book.” A notable burst of energy comes to his voice. “Oh, wow, that’s great, Smooch! I’m so proud of you. We’ll have to celebrate when I get home.” “We will. I think maybe that’s why the girls wanted to go to the mall…to get something for me.” “Oh, well, I hope so. You deserve it. You work so hard.” I chuckle. “God, I don’t want to let you go, but there’s someone waiting for the phone. You believe in this whole goddamn place there’s one phone booth?” “Oh, no, Tommy.” I chuckle. “Well, call any time you feel up to it, okay?” “I will, Smooch. I love you. Give the girls a hug for me.” “I will. I love you too, baby.” He air kisses me and I kiss him back, before he hangs up. Oh, my heart. Even

though it was so good to hear from him, I miss him more, and I could feel the anguish in his voice. He’s going through a lot and it likely seems like he’s on his own, but he’s not. I’m here for him. I’ve worn my prayers out over him, and I’ll keep it up. He’ll make it through this. I know it.

***

After staying up late, editing my completed manuscript so I can submit it to my publisher, I’m sleeping in late. The girls come in my room and wake me up, telling me that Tommy’s on the phone. I unplugged the phone in the bedroom earlier when a wrong number called, and now I’m regretting it. Grabbing my robe, I wrap it around me, and quickly scurry to the phone in the kitchen. “Hi, baby. How are you?” I answer sleepily. “Oh, Smooch, I’m so sorry I woke you. But I’ve been told that I can have visitors today and tomorrow only, so I wanted to let you know ASAP.” “That’s okay. I have to get up, anyway, and get some groceries in this house.” “Mylee said that you were up late editing?” “Yeah. I have to submit my manuscript to my editor on Monday. Hadn’t realized how long my book is.” “It looks like we have a little bit of role reversal going on, huh.” He chuckles. And then I notice it. His voice sounds clear. He doesn’t sound drawn out like he did when we spoke last week. “God, Tommy, you sound great.” “I’m feeling a lot better. Still a little shaky, but I’m eating more, and sleeping more, too. I still have my good days and my bad days, but today is a good day, so I wanted to see you as quickly as possible. Can you make it?”

“Absolutely. Did they give you a time?” “No, but I have an appointment with a therapist this afternoon, and I woke up feeling really good this morning, so I want to see you before the shit hits the fan, you know?” “Yes, I understand. Let me go have a quick breakfast and get cleaned up. I should be there in an hour. Is that okay?” “Smooch, I’ll take what I can get. I’ll meet you in the lobby.” “I can’t wait.” “Me neither. I love you.” “Love you.”

***

I make a quick call over to Terry’s for a favor, before getting ready to go see Tommy. The place looks like a hospital, almost too comparable to one, and when I walk in the front sliding glass doors, Tommy is sitting at a bank of chairs, reading a newspaper, which I’m not entirely sure isn’t just serving the purpose of a disguise, or if he’s actually reading it. When I walk inside, he rises and trots quickly over to me, and with open arms, he embraces me close. Aside from looking a little pasty and underweight, he’s the same old Tommy. We say nothing for a full three minutes. We just stand there, holding each other, like it’s been years. He takes deep breaths, as if inhaling my scent, and he kisses my head intermittently, while I grasp the hair at the back of his head and drink him in. Our bodies sway a little, tenderly, while a few guests stare. Finally, Tommy lifts his head and kisses my lips softly. “I missed you so much, Smooch.” He whispers between kisses. “I want to go home so bad, just to be with you.”

“I know. But, Tommy, you’ve only got two more weeks left. You can do it.” “With you by my side, Smooch, there’s nothing I can’t do.” He says with so much conviction, I’m speechless. “How are the girls? Shit, I was going to tell you to bring them.” “It’s Saturday, baby, they’re out and about. They don’t even know that I’m here.” “Come on. Let’s go to my room.” He says. “Oh, hang on a second. I…forgot something in my car. Why don’t you meet me in your room. Tell me what room number it is and I’ll go there.” “I can wait, Smooch. It’s okay.” “But, it’s a surprise.” I smile. He smiles. “I love surprises.” He tells me what room number he’s in. Five minutes later, I walk into his room, carrying his favorite guitar that Terry brought over for me while I was getting ready. The look on Tommy’s face is priceless. His eyes light up like a Christmas tree. “Oh, wow, this is great!” he smiles, walking over to take it from me. “I love you for thinking of this. It’s my favorite one.” “Yeah, Terry helped with that. I can’t take all the credit.” He kisses my lips. “That was so thoughtful. Thank you.” “You’re welcome.” I even brought a little portable amp that Terry had tucked away, so Tommy can play for real. “God, I’m going to get in so much shit for playing this here.” He chuckles playfully. “Are you kidding? They’re going to love it.” “Yeah, so much for keeping this on the QT. Jenny’s going to have my ass for this.”

“Stop worrying, Tommy. You’ve got two weeks left. You need something to do, right?” “Yeah.” He hooks up his amp and plays a tame song; a slow one. He even sings a little to me, making my heart melt. When he looks at me, I mouth ‘I love you’, and he winks at me, leaning over, still playing, and kisses me on the mouth. If we weren’t in a rehab center, I’d take him on this bed and make the sweet love to him that I’m dying to make right now. He plays for a while, and then we go for a walk outside, hand-in-hand, until he starts to get tired, and we head back. “I should let you go rest up before your appointment, baby.” I say to him. “I don’t want you to go. Stay.” He says, pulling me close. “I don’t want to go, either, but you need your rest, and I have to go finish my manuscript, sweetie.” He nods. “Oh, that’s right.” “You call me when I can come back.” “Weekends only, Smooch. And only during certain times of the day.” The disappointment drips in his voice. “Well, you’ve only got one more weekend left, and then you come home the weekend after that, right?” He nods. “Yeah. It feels like it’s years away.” I snake my arms around his neck. “I’ve got to go see my publisher tomorrow afternoon, and I’ll be pulling an all-nighter to finish it tonight. If I’m finished early enough tomorrow, I’ll come see you with the girls, okay?” He kisses my lips softly. “Okay.” Then he draws in a deep breath and holds me tight. “I love you so much.” He says on exhale. “I love you, too, baby.” Unfortunately, after staying up all night, editing my novel, and then all the

nervousness of meeting with my publisher, by the time I get home, I feel like garbage. Two nights with little sleep catches up to me, and I end up flopping on my bed, exhausted, good for nothing until Monday morning. Even then, I still feel gross. I almost call in sick but think better of it. I’ll just sit and obsess all day over my manuscript, and whether or not my publisher likes it. Georgia calls me from school, sick, and as the snowball effect happens, all three of us girls end up home sick all week, with the flu. Thank God for Janice and her kids. They take turns coming over, bringing us soup and other items one would need when feeling under the weather. Between me being sick and taking care of the girls, I end up missing the entire week, less part of Monday. Tommy calls once while I’m sleeping, and Janice lets me know, and I feel so bad, but this flu is a killer. While the girls feel better by the weekend, it’s still kicking my ass. The diarrhea has finally gone away, but I still can’t keep anything down. Finally, Saturday morning, I’m able to eat a little and keep it down, when Tommy calls. “Hey, Smooch, are you okay? I’ve tried calling you twice this week and Janice keeps telling me that you’re sick.” “I’ve been sick as a dog, baby. All of us. Some nasty flu swept through the house. I’m glad Janice and her gang didn’t get it, because they’ve been looking after us.” “How are you feeling?” he asks, and I listen to the real Tommy, sounding alive and vibrant, and almost better than he’s ever sounded. “Probably a lot like you felt a couple of weeks ago. Puking, sweating, shaking, fatigue, I even ran a pretty hefty fever there for a few days. What an awful bug we caught.” “I’m so sorry, Smooch. I wish I could have been there to help take care of all of you.” “Well, the girls are better, but I’m the oldest, I guess. I’m still feeling pretty sick.” “Have you taken anything?” “Well, I’m allergic to Gravol, so I’ve just been having ginger tea that Janice

picked up for me. It’s helping when I can keep it down.” It’s time to change the subject. “How are you doing? You sound fantastic. I’m jealous.” “I’m doing well. Been walking and eating. Been playing a little and nobody’s complained yet.” “That’s a good sign.” “Yeah. I’ve been talking to this therapist and it’s going great. I’m going to keep seeing her when I’m done here, I think. She’s the cutest little old lady, but she’s figured out who I am, well, I actually had to tell her, but that’s another story.” He goes on and on, so happily, and I can’t help but smile. I’m so happy for him that he’s finding his way home again. “Have they set you up with AA or anything yet?” “Yeah, I’ve been to a couple of meetings that they’ve held in-house. Actually, Darryl came to visit me this morning, and he’s going to be my sponsor.” “That’s…fantastic.” “I’m coming home Saturday, Smooch. I can’t wait to see you. I’m so bummed that you’re sick and you can’t come see me.” “Oh, Tommy, it would be a shame to come see you and give you this. You just got over some heavy stuff, so believe me, you don’t want this after having gone through what you have.” “No, and you probably get as far as lifting your head off the pillow, and you’re done.” “That, too.” “Hey, make sure you go see the doctor, will you? I don’t want anything to happen to my Smooch.” “I’ll be going if I don’t see an improvement by tomorrow. I’ve already called the nurse over at our doctor’s office, and she’s advised me the same.” “Okay, Smooch. I’ll let you go. Go get some rest. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

***

Tommy called me two more times this week to check on me. He couldn’t be any sweeter if he tried. Fortunately, I’m feeling much better. And as Friday rolls around, I’m so excited I can’t stand it. The guys and I have planned a little thing for him when he comes home. Nothing big, just, all of us, including my girls, are going to be at the studio when Jenny brings him home. Apparently, Jenny wanted to discuss some media matters with him, so she insisted that she drive him home, as I had offered. And it works out so we can throw this surprise for him, anyway. We got a bunch of decorations: welcome home banners, balloons, streamers, and I even got a cake with ‘welcome home’ written on it, and I made non-alcoholic punch, too, and ordered a pizza. And when Tommy comes in the studio door, we all yell, “Surprise!” while the girls blow noisemakers like it’s New Year’s Eve. Tommy looks like a new man. Literally. It’s like he’s turned back the clock ten years. The color in his skin is beautiful, his hair looks glossy, and his eyes are clear. I swear his eyelashes grew, too, because I can’t stop looking at his eyes. He needs a haircut, but with his hair a little longer, his curls are so sexy. I think I might suggest that he leaves his hair alone; I like it. “Heeeey!” he calls out, smiling, as he walks in. He looks at Jenny, who could for Candace Bergen, and says. “You knew about this, didn’t you.” “Kinda.” She shrugs, frowning. Tommy walks over to his buddies, while we stand off to the side, not wanting to intrude, and he gives everybody a quick hug, exchanging pleasantries. When he sees my girls, he smiles and gives them a high five, and then he looks at me. It takes everything in me not to cry, and I can tell that he’s struggling, too. He wraps his arms around me, tucking his head into the crook of my neck, and I

snake my arms around his neck, doing the same. No words are exchanged, we just hold each other, breathing deeply, and then he pulls back and kisses me softly on the mouth. “This must be the famous Debbie I’m always hearing about.” Jenny says. “Oh, shit, yeah, my manners.” Tommy chuckles. “Jenny, Debbie.” He says by way of introduction. I shake her hand. She has a warm smile but a handshake that warns you not to fuck with her. “Nice to finally meet you.” “Likewise.” Terry starts. “So, how do you feel, man? You look like you came back from the dead.” “I did, actually. I feel great.” His fingers are interlaced with mine. “You guys look well rested.” He looks around at the studio. It’s so clean you could eat off the floors. “Wow, this place looks fantastic.” Darryl chimes in. “Thanks, yeah. We busted Gladys’s chops and got her to help us, but we managed to scrub every square inch of this place down.” “It looks like it.” Tommy smiles, and then he looks at me, still smiling, and he gives me another kiss. “I’m starved. It smells fantastic in here. Let’s eat.” “Yeah, the pizza’s here, so we can dig in.” I add. The girls help serve the pizza and drinks, and then we cut the cake and serve that, as well. “Hey, you see Russell’s album was released.” Paul says. “Looks like it’s starting to climb the charts, but pretty slow.” “Good. Looks good on him.” Tommy says flatly, and I rub his back, sitting next to him. The girls are glowing, looking at all the band , in complete awe. They can’t believe they are amongst this crowd. Once we’ve eaten, Jenny rises, announcing that she’s leaving. “Hey, thanks for everything, Jenny.” Tommy says, rising with her. “I appreciate it.”

“Just…stay healthy.” She mock warns, lifting a finger, giving him a threatening look, yet her eyes are soft. “Oh, don’t you worry about that.” Tommy says, giving her a hug. “And you let me know what you decide.” Jenny adds, before leaving. “It was great to finally meet you.” She says to me. “And you as well.” I smile. After she leaves, Tommy pulls me into his arms for another hug and kiss, and the guys are showing the girls some of the instruments. “I missed you so much, Smooch.” He says, when he knows nobody is listening. “I missed you, too. It felt like a year since you left.” “It did.” He kisses my lips again. “So, what do you think about this hair of mine? Is it wayback cool or too grungy?” I comb my fingers through it, noticing how soft it is, and he closes his eyes at my touch. “I like it. What do you think?” “I guess I just need one photo out there in the world to find out how well it’ll be taken.” “Hey, Tommy!” Darryl shouts. “Come on in here, man.” Tommy takes my hand in his and we walk into the guitar room. “Yo, what’s up?” he asks playfully. “We were working on some stuff while you were away. You want to hear it? Maybe you can jam it through with us? The girls here are just dying to hear us play.” He winks at Mylee and Georgia. “Sure, man. Sounds good.” Then he pauses. “Oh, wait. I forgot my shit in Jenny’s car.” He chuckles. And just as he says that, she walks back into the studio, carrying a bag and his guitar, looking like she can handle the load all by herself. “Shit, thanks, Jenny.” He says, taking his guitar. “I completely forgot about my

shit in your car.” “I’ll bring the amp in a second.” She smiles, giving him a wink. Five minutes later, they’re jamming full-on, and me and the girls are in awe, like it’s our own personal concert. They pause here and there to adjust something, but when the tune runs smoothly, Tommy stops at the end. “Yo, I’m loving this, are you guys loving this?” he asks the room, including scanning over to us. We nod. “It’s great, man.” Darryl says. “I’m going to get Grant on the phone right now, man. This is awesome shit.” “Should I take the girls home, Tommy?” I ask, not wanting to intrude on the creative process. They all lift their hands. “No, stay. You’re bringing us luck!” Paul says. Tommy nods. “Yeah, Smooch. Stay put. Stay as long as you want to.” They end up recording two songs in the span of an hour, when Tommy suggests that they re-record the song that they had initially done with Russell’s vocals, and suddenly they have the beginnings of a new album. While Grant takes a moment to do some adjusting, Tommy pipes up. “What do you think, guys? Have we got ourselves a new lead singer?” “Yup. I think we do, man.” Terry says. “What do you think, Darryl?” “I’m totally in, man. This is rocking. We’re going to tear up the charts.” “I think so, too. The vocals are just meshing perfectly with everything, man.” Tommy says. “Even better than Russell’s, and that’s the truth.” “Yeah, I totally feel that.” Terry agrees. “Your voice is stronger, but even more so, it’s more versatile.” “And you’re not screaming, like fucking Chas did.” I add. It’s strange, but, I used to chide people for using coarse language around my kids. Somehow, maybe because they’re older, it doesn’t bother me as much. I’m sure the girls have been exposed to it at school, anyway, and also, Tommy uses it

more poignantly…and it’s sexy when he does it. They work on the previous song with Russell, and then I suggest that we leave these boys to do their job, as I’m sure they have things to discuss. Tommy’s been away for a month, and they need to catch up on things. “Okay, baby, we should go. You guys don’t need us around all night.” “Aw, Smooch, why don’t you stay?” he asks, and it’s so cute. “Why don’t you girls stay the night? I’ve got plenty of room.” He offers. “Why don’t you go home and grab some stuff and come back? Stay over.” The girls look at me with hopeful eyes. “Can we, mom?” I smile. “Why, so you can brag to all your friends at school on Monday?” “Aw, Smooch, it’s okay. Don’t tease them.” He slides a finger down my face. “They don’t mean any harm.” “Oh, alright.” I relent. “Let’s go get some things and come back.” “Take the Porsche.” Tommy offers. Both the girls’ eyes widen. “Now that’s where I draw the line.” I scoff, laughing. “I’m not driving your Porsche, Tommy.” “Why not?” he smiles, and then he gives me a kiss. “I don’t mind.” “Well, for starters…insurance.” “I’ve got it.” he shrugs. “Yeah, but my name isn’t on it, is it?” I giggle. “Well, no…but that can change.” “God, you have an answer for everything.” I smile, and then I kiss him. “My car will be fine but thank you.” The girls are all a flutter all the way home and back. They’re so excited they’ll never sleep tonight. This should be fun, trying to calm them down, sleeping over

at a rock star’s house. At Tommy’s place, they’ll have their own bathroom and bedrooms, too. Basically, their own quarters. They’ll be spoiled. But to see Tommy’s face light up with theirs just warmed my heart. I couldn’t say no. When we come back, Tommy tells us to make ourselves at home; that the girls can pick whatever room they want and it’s theirs. They make their way into the house and are gone, as I go back into the studio. “If they trash the place, I apologize in advance.” I say to him. “Na, they won’t.” he waves. “They’re good girls. Besides, there isn’t anything inside that house that isn’t replaceable…except them.” God, I love this man. It’s past midnight when Darryl calls it quits. “I’m surprised the wife hasn’t called looking for me. She must be having a good night with junior.” “Hey, thanks for staying so late, man.” I say, shaking his hand. “And thanks for being such a good sport about all this.” “Hey, no problem, man.” He claps Tommy on the back. “I’ll call you tomorrow.” “Sure thing.” Grant sticks around a little longer, doing some editing and mixing. I can tell that there’s an elephant in the room, and thank God Tommy has the grace to raise the subject. “Weird, huh.” He scoffs, shrugging. “We’d all be fucking wasted by now.” “Yeah, and we’d only have recorded one or maybe two. This way we’ve recorded almost half an album, and we have material for other songs, too, better ones.” Paul agrees. “Totally.” Terry nods. “I think pizza and punch parties are underrated, man.” He says, grabbing a cold slice of pizza from the box on the floor. “This way we’ll have to start working out more, too, man.” Tommy pats his belly. “I’m actually eating for a change.” “I’m sure you’ll find better ways to work it off, man.” Terry teases, winking at

him. Tommy has the grace to simply scoff a laugh, but he’s respectful enough not to add a cheap remark about our lovemaking in front of the boys, or in front of me, for that matter. “Speaking of which, we ought to get the hell out of here, so these two lovebirds can be alone.” Paul says. “You don’t have to leave on my .” I say apologetically. “Na, I think that’s enough for tonight, Smooch.” Tommy says. “We’ll pick it up tomorrow. Besides, Grant’s got enough material to edit now as it is. I don’t want to overwhelm the guy.” “He seems to be right in his element.” Paul comments, watching Grant from behind the plate glass, as he works away at the soundboard. He’s got a pair of headphones on and his eyes are intently scrutinizing a piece of work. Despite the comments, both Paul and Terry head out, and Tommy takes my hand in his, just as Grant removes the cans from his head. “You guys can head on to bed if you like. I’m fine here. Just finishing up.” He says. “Okay, buddy. We’ll be back at it tomorrow if you’re up for it.” “Sure thing.” He nods, frowning. We walk up the house, stealing a little kiss every few steps. “You think I’m back in your girls’ good books now?” Tommy asks. “You were never in their bad books, baby.” I say honestly. “I’d never let them think badly of you. Ever.” “And I love you for it.” He says, cupping my face, giving me the sweetest kiss on the lips. “I love you, too.” We walk in the house, and it’s quiet. “What do you think they’re doing up there?” Tommy asks with a quirky smile on his face. “I have a guess.” I answer as I pick the receiver up from the phone on the

kitchen wall. Voices are on the other end and I smile, hanging it up again. “Told you.” “On the phone, bragging to their friends.” He chuckles. “You know your kids well.” “I do.” He takes my hand. “Let’s go check on them.” We head upstairs and knock on the door to one of the spare rooms. Georgia opens it with a huge grin on her face. “What are you girls up to?” Tommy asks, conspiratorially. “Nothing.” Mylee answers with a reddened face. “Just talking to some friends.” “Well, it’s after midnight.” I state. “Time for bed.” “But it’s Saturday.” Georgia whines. “Fine. We’re going to bed.” Tommy says flatly but warmly. Mylee runs for the door, and as she closes it, she says quickly. “Okay, we’ll make sure that we knock first!” and they’re both giggling behind the door. My eyes are on the floor. I close them, feeling my cheeks heat. Tommy scratches his nose, chuckling and smiling in such a way that is so sexy. He rests his arm on my shoulder. “Come on, Smooch. They’re not stupid. I’ll give them that.” he frowns. “They may be a little cocky, but it’s cute.” “They’re both grounded.” I growl, jokingly. Another chuckle. “I don’t think so. Tomorrow, I’m going to teach them how to drive my Porsche.” “You do and you’re grounded, too.”

Chapter 19

Tommy Smooch is so cute I could die. Her kids are cute, too. The way they joke around is hilarious. It means the world to me that they’ve made themselves at home here. To tell you the truth, I kind of want to ask them to move in with me, but I know it’s too soon. Especially since I just got home from rehab. I know that that’ll be Debbie’s response if I dare to ask her. Her kids, I think, would be over the moon, but Smooch will refute for sure. But I love it when they’re around. I know it’s only been a couple of hours, but my house feels so full and warm with them here. It feels like I have a family. Always wanted one. Call me a sap. And it’s weird, because it’s the last thing you’d expect out of a guy in a band, to want a family, but I do. After closing my bedroom door, I see Debbie rifling through her overnight bag. “Why don’t you and the girls leave some stuff here? You know, that way whenever you want to stay over, you can.” “We’ll see, Tommy.” She warns. “You have some adjusting to do, baby. And you’ve only had my brats in the house for a couple of hours. At least give it a night and see what your threshold is.” “If you say so.” I draw in a deep breath and walk over to her. She’s bent at the waist, pulling a toiletry bag and a pair of pyjamas out. I wrap my arms around her from behind. “Hey, what do you need those for?” I ask. “Pyjamas?” “Yeah.” “Tommy, I highly doubt that me walking around naked in your house with my kids here, is going to go over well.” “Who says you’re going to be walking around?” “Well, I need to use the washroom to get ready for bed, and I know that you don’t like using the ensuite.” “Na, you can use it. I’m going to get someone to come in and install a better fan

in there, that’s all. I’m also taking all my equipment out of here tomorrow. There’s no need to keep it in here anymore.” “Are you sure?” I nod, turning her around to face me. “Of course, I’m sure. Are you cool with using this bathroom? Like, instead of the one in the hallway?” “Yes.” She nods, confused. “Why would you ask that?” “Well, if you want to change it at all, we can.” “Tommy, this is your house. You do with it what you wish.” “I know, I just…want you and the girls to enjoy being here.” She smiles. “My girls are in hog heaven, Tommy. Don’t kid yourself, my love.” I love hearing her say that. The ‘my love’ part. My eyes are on her lips and she takes the cue, leaning in. Our lips touch softly. Then I rub my nose on hers. “Are you feeling better, you know, since being sick this week?” “Yes.” She nods, resting her forehead on mine. Her voice becomes a low, guttural whisper. “And I’ve waited a month, so if you don’t make love to me in the next ten seconds—” I don’t let her finish that sentence. Tilting my head, I part my lips, taking hers in mine, as I swoop her legs up, draping them over my arm, carrying her over to the bed, kissing her slowly, deeply, noisily. Her lips taste like goddamn cotton candy and they feel like silk pillows. Laying her on the bed, we’re a mess of kissing, sucking, moaning, as her fingers tangle in my hair. In one tug, her little skirt is at her knees, and I kiss her belly, along her waistline. She pulls her shirt over her head and slips my shirt out from my jeans. As I pull my shirt off my head, I trail kisses up her belly, towards her chest, and her hands are all over my abdomen, skating down towards my jeans. My lips are on hers as she unfastens my pants and pushes them down far enough, until I lift and remove them. “I see rehab hasn’t changed you that much.” She says salaciously.

“What…the fact that I still don’t wear underwear?” “Uh huh.” She answers, fondling the head of my cock. “Just so you know, Smooch…I only don’t wear underwear around you.” “So I guess that means that you’re never wearing underwear again.” “Sacrifices.” I say, wiggling my brows at her. She grasps the sides of my head and pulls me to her, plunging her tongue inside my mouth, making my cock twitch. We can’t get her underwear and bra off fast enough, and then we burrow under the covers, in case the kids come in. It feels amazing being with her again. Her body feels a hundred times better, tastes a hundred times sweeter, and her kisses are a thousand times softer. Her legs are wrapped around my body from under me, as if she’s trying to pull every piece of me to her. It’s like our lips are glued together as our flesh and tongues glide around and around, drinking each other in. My cock is at her entrance, and I can already feel how wet she is, yet I’ve barely touched her. As my hands go to her breasts, she arches her back, lifting it up off the mattress, as if begging for me to touch her more. She’s so hungry for me, as I am hungry for her, and it spurs me on. “God, I want to make love to you all night, baby. Once is not going to cut it.” I breathe raggedly to her. “You better.” She pants. “Because I’m going to come in record time.” “I can fix that.” I say, as I rub my cock against her clit, buffering her moans with kisses. I gently massage her breasts, beading her nipples, catching them gingerly in the webbing of my fingers with each , feeling my cock become so stiff that it feels like it’s going to explode. Her legs lock against my body as my cock glides over her wetness, and I’m dying to bury myself in her, but I want her to come first, and I can tell by her breathing that she’s almost there. Her chest rises and falls quickly, stopping intermittently as she absorbs the pleasure. And then, as her nails dig into my shoulders, and her body shudders, I plunge my tongue deep into her mouth, as she rides her first orgasm. My cock is throbbing it’s such a turn-on experiencing her come, and I can’t wait to be inside her when she comes again, so I don’t miss the opportunity. I thrust inside her, grasping the final aftershocks, as she’s primed for her second orgasm. God, she feels so fucking good inside. With just a few thrusts, I’m already feeling the

urge. It’s been a fucking month. And somehow, without all the shit inside my body anymore, I feel her more. Much more. It’s…mind blowing. I slow, burying deeper inside her, sucking her nipples tenderly, as her fingertips skate down my back and ass, making me shiver. Her lips find my neck as she sucks up and down the length from my shoulder to my ear, making every nerve ending in my body wake up. “God, I never knew sex with you could be better than before. But it is.” I murmur as her lips envelop my earlobe, and then she sucks down the length of my neck again, this time harder, making me feel it in my cock, as if I couldn’t feel more. When her lips make a trail down my collar bone and find their place on my nipple, I just about lose my mind. My breathing becomes ragged as I lower my forehead down, as if in surrender, while she continues to suck my nipples, bringing me to the edge fast. I decide the only way out of this is to flip her over to her side and enter her sideline. And as I lift her leg over my thighs, my finger circles her clit, while I push my other arm under her, grasping her close, beading her nipples with my fingers. My cock pushes in and out of her, getting harder with each thrust, as I feel her clenching while my fingers work their magic on her clit. I can’t cushion her cries with my lips this way, but I figure that this is the lesser of two evils, since she can’t reach my nipples when her back is to me. And as much as I want her to make me come like that, I know I couldn’t hold out much longer, and I want us to come together this time. She’s losing her mind as I stretch her further while circling her clit, and I have to shush her softly, reminding her that we’re not alone in the house tonight. She turns her head to me, surprising me that she can stretch that far, and we kiss hungrily. Her cries turn into heavy, breathy moans, and then she holds her breath, as I feel her body lock up, and I realize she was crying because she was on the edge. Her body sucking me from inside drives me crazy, and I let go with her, plunging inside her deep as my cock empties into her in long, explosive pulses. We both grunt and sigh heavily as we come together, feeling each other’s pleasure simultaneously, until we still, breathlessly, and I release her leg, laying it carefully on mine. Resting my head on hers, we lay there in soft afterglow, until our breathing calms. I kiss her temple, stroking her belly with my hand, and gently remove

myself from her. As we spoon, naked, I can’t stop kissing her. Her breasts feel softer, fuller, and even though we’re finished making love for now, I can’t help but caress them. My voice is soft and tender. “God, you’re so beautiful, Smooch. I missed you like crazy.” “Me too, baby. I missed you every second, but especially every night.” “I can tell.” I chuckle softly. She slaps me playfully. “Like you weren’t hanging on for dear life there. I saw that deflection.” “What deflection?” I tease. “You can’t handle it when I suck your nipples.” “Yes, and yet you did it anyway, you vixen.” I kiss her temple. “I like to play, too, you know.” “I like it.” My hand is on her belly. She feels bloated. “You feel okay, Smooch? Belly not sore still?” “I think if it were sore, I would not have been able to do that…twice.” She snuffles. “You feel a little bloated.” I say, concerned, softly caressing her stomach. “Your period due?” “God, I don’t know.” She giggles. “I’m afraid I don’t pay much attention to that. You’d think that I would, considering that I’m constantly after the girls, looking after theirs. I tend to forget my own.” My hand slides up to her breasts. “Your breasts don’t get sore when it’s coming? They feel a little full to me.” “They are a bit sore, yeah, but also incredibly sensitive, which is why you doing…what you did…felt so good.”

Something occurs to me. “But if you went to the gynecologist while I was away, how come they didn’t check you out?” She sighs, exasperated. “That’s because I never went.” I lift my head. “You never went?” “Between worrying about you, running around with errands, and then being sick as a dog, I didn’t have time.” I turn her over slightly, so she’s facing me. My face is soft, full of concern for her. “Smooch, you have to consider the fact that there could be a baby in there, you know.” My hand is on her belly. “Don’t be ridiculous.” She scoffs. “We haven’t made love in a month.” “Yeah, but we also have never used birth control, and you were puking a mile last week.” “I had the flu, Tommy. The same as the kids.” “But yours held on a lot longer, and I know that you’re still not right, I saw you eat only half a slice of pizza and no cake, Smooch.” “God, you’re beyond observant.” She’s almost frustrated. As if all these things slipped by her. But she’s also a little irritated because I seem to be so overprotective of her. “Well, I see things. Especially in the ones I love.” I kiss her belly and then lay on her legs, stroking her below the navel. “What would you do if you had a baby in there, anyway, Smooch?” “Tommy, this is ridiculous. I’m not pregnant.” “Smooch, evidently, you’ve never had a period since I met you.” Her face goes blank. She raises her head off the pillow. “Oh my God.” I’m looking at her as recognition hits home. “You okay?” I ask, while I lay on her thighs, still stroking her belly, as if I already know. Got to it, below the

navel, there is a hard-ish bump. Not sure if that’s how it’s supposed to feel when her period is coming, or if there’s a little miracle in there for us. “Tommy, I have a twelve and a thirteen-year-old.” She says, as if reminding herself. “I can’t have a baby.” “Smooch, you’re thirty-four years old. Still plenty fertile from what I understand.” “But I have teenagers! How ridiculous is that going to look!” “Who the fuck cares?” I chuckle. “If you’re having my baby, I don’t give a flying fuck how ridiculous you think it looks. I think it’s fucking beautiful. Fill my house with kids, man. I’ll love it. I love having your kids around. I love having you around. And if you’re pregnant, I’ll love having a baby around, too.” “But you just got back from rehab, Tommy!” she pulls at her hair. “Shh…relax, Smooch.” I say, trying to calm her. “It’s okay.” I kiss her belly again. “Lay down and chill. We don’t know anything yet.” I sigh as she looks at me, trying to figure me out. “Having a baby isn’t going to make things worse… it’ll make things better.” I wink. “Sure.” She’s not convinced. “Debbie.” Using her first name shows the conviction in what I’m about to say. “I’ve always wanted a family. Until I met you, I didn’t think I’d ever have one. Whether it’s with just you and me and the girls, or us plus a baby that we made together, it’s all good.” I kiss her belly again, and she rolls her eyes, covering her face. “The girls. Oh my God!” I chuckle, rubbing my face in her belly, letting myself imagine that there is a tiny little son or daughter in there for me. “What about the girls? They’ll love it.” “No…they won’t.” she says flatly, almost laughing. “They’re at the age where it’s all about them, and god, how is this going to look? If I’m pregnant, unmarried, and we’ve only known each other for a couple of months or so! They’ll hate me! They just got popular and now they’ll be looked at as the

teenage freaks whose mother got pregnant by a rock star!” She covers her face. The more and more she talks and becomes hysterical, the more and more I’m convinced that she’s being so emotional and irrational because…well…you know. “Smooch, the only thing that matters is that we love each other. If you’d had a one-night stand with me and got pregnant, then that would be another thing entirely. And…people have babies at all stages of their lives. You’re still young. You had the girls when you were super young, so it’s not ridiculous.” “But it was an accident! Everyone’s going to know that this baby wasn’t planned!” “So?” I laugh. “Were your girls planned?” She sighs, deflated. “No.” “Well, then, what’s the difference?” “The difference is that I was married to a man that I’d been with for a long time. It’s expected that a couple would have children then.” “What are you so worried about? Is it because we’re not married? Because that can be taken care of pretty quickly, Smooch.” Her eyes widen. “God, you are not afraid of anything!” she’s in shock. “How do you do that?!” “Smooch, I’ve been in this business for a long time. Believe me, it doesn’t matter what you do, people will find fault in you if they want to badly enough.” She pauses to digest that statement. “I suppose you’re right.” Her eyes follow down to me. I’m rubbing her belly, smiling warmly at her. “God, you want a baby bad, don’t you.” She says as more of a statement. “Especially with you, Smooch.” “And you don’t think it’s too soon? I mean, aren’t guys supposed to, like, freak out if you get pregnant out of the blue like this?”

“I think you’re freaking out enough for both of us, Smooch.” I kiss her belly. “Besides. I’m not afraid of anything as long as I have you.” Her eyes become glossy. Her chin quivers. “That’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me.” I kiss her belly again and caress her bum cheeks with my hands. “Well, get used to it. I love you with every cell in my body, and I’m not afraid to tell you or anyone else.”

***

Dan, one of the big wigs over at Flamboyant, our record label, looks at us, after having heard our entire album. We wait for his response. Me, Paul, Terry and Darryl sit in suspense, while Grant sits, looking way too relaxed. Carl is next to me, wringing his hands together. Finally, Dan purses his lips together and says. “I can set you up on a tour starting next month in Los Angeles.” Terry and Paul look at me and Darryl, and in the corner of my eye, I can see Grant giving us a thumb’s up. The smile on my face goes from ear to ear. “So, you really like it?” “I think this one’ll be another hit for sure.” Dan states. “This is such a great turnaround from your other albums.” “Well, we have Grant and Darryl to thank for that.” I say modestly. Dan glosses over my statement and draws in a breath. “Tommy, I must say, you look great. Are you holding another press conference to erase the last bomb you had?” I’ll be pissed at him for his remark later, but for now I’m too goddamn happy to care. “Yeah, Jenny’s arranged one right after we’re done here.” I answer. Debbie promised to meet me at the press conference, so she could bring me luck, since the last time we had one, I screwed up so bad. The only reason she could manage

to do it in the middle of the day is because she has a doctor’s appointment and therefore booked a couple of hours off work. I made her go, finally, after another day went by and her period hadn’t arrived yet. That was three days ago. The doctor called her back to review the bloodwork with her, since, ittedly, she’s still not feeling well since being sick the week that I got out of rehab. She insisted she go alone, especially since I had this meeting and press conference. I know she’s pregnant. Not sure if it’s my hopes showing or if it’s an instinctual thing, but I feel it in my bones that she’s pregnant. Also, she hasn’t had a period in nearly two months, so that has to be it, unless, God forbid. No, I’m not even thinking that anything could be wrong with my Smooch. Not happening. I’ve not come this far to have that happen. We’re all grinning shitfaced grins as we walk into the building where the press conference is set to start shortly. I look around for Debbie, and when our eyes meet, the smile grows wider on my face. A woman who brings me nothing but happiness stands off to the side, mirroring the expression on my face. One of our security guards stops her as she’s about to take a step towards us. “Hey, she’s with me!” I shout to him over the din. He releases her and she walks to me. I give her a hello kiss, ignoring the camera flashes going on around us. Sure, the media will lap this up, but I don’t care. Debbie is a permanent fixture in my life. They might as well know about her now, too. I hold her tight and kiss her again, and her smile is hopeful. “So, how did it go with your record company?” she asks me, looking so excited, I can’t help but kiss her again. The flashes are crazy. “Great. We’re going out on tour next month. Carl thinks this album has more promise than the rest of them. He even thinks we could get our first number one hit from this one.” “Oh yeah? Is it ‘Changes’?” she asks. ‘Changes’ is a song we wrote as a group, about cleaning up and the experience we had making changes. It’s kind of a slow song, but it’s fast, too. One of those juxtaposition type songs that suits the mood of the lyrics perfectly. “Yeah. Totally.” I grin, searching her eyes. “You want to come on tour with me, Smooch?” She chuckles as I hold her close. The media is going nuts but they’re being

brought into the room where the press conference is happening now. “We can talk about that later, Tommy.” “Well, what happened with the doctor then?” She guffaws. “We’re definitely talking about that later. Not here.” “Okay, okay. You come in with us.” I say, but then I turn to Jenny. “That’s cool, right? Debbie can come in with us?” “Sure.” Jenny nods. “She can sit over on my side.” Two minutes later, I’m holding Debbie’s hand as we walk into the conference room. I give her one last kiss before bidding her adieu temporarily, and the cameras go ballistic again, but I realize that they’re capturing all of us, not just Debbie and I, because the flashes keep coming, even after I leave her. As I sit down, it’s like a twilight zone kind of deja-vous. The last time I was here, I was so wasted I couldn’t see straight. My thoughts were clogged and angered, and the last place I wanted to be was here. This time, I’m happy, with a sound mind, and I can’t wait to answer questions about our new album and pending tour. I say hello and smile to the first reporter to ask a question. She’s a young girl with hair so short it’s shaved at the sides. “Is Darryl Banks officially your new lead singer?” Darryl leans towards the microphone. “I sure hope so. Otherwise singing all those songs on the new record was a big mistake.” he chuckles and a din of laughter washes through the whole room. Another reporter raises his hand. His eyes are on me. He’s a young guy with a receding hairline. “We understand that you’ve been away. Rumors have circulated that you were in rehab. Is this true?” Jenny coached me on this beforehand. “Yes. Yes, I was in rehab. I’ve been clean for…well, a month or so, at least.” “How do you feel?” a reporter standing behind him asks. “I feel great. A lot better than the last time I was here, I’ll tell you that.” I say with a chuckle, and I get a few chuckles from the reporters, surprising me.

“We hear that you’ve just finished an album? When will it be released?” a tall female reporter who resembles Cher, asks. “Yes, we just finished our new album and actually, just before we came here, we went and saw our record label. I’m not sure when it’ll be released, but I imagine it’s soon, because they’re putting together a tour for us.” “When will the tour start?” Cher lookalike asks. “Err…we’re being told that dates will open next month?” Terry answers, chiming in. “We see that Russell Bowman’s album is climbing the charts. Do you have any comment?” a cocky-looking kid in a black suit asks. “Just that we’ll see him there shortly.” I answer, nodding, letting them construe that however they wish. “Fans would like to know about your new love interest, Tommy. Care to tell us about her?” A female with blonde hair tied up in a tight bun, asks. “Sure, she’s Debbie Branscombe. A bestselling author.” I look over at Debbie and wink. She just smiles at me but makes no movements. “Or, is that a New York Times bestselling author, Smooch? I’m sorry. I think that’s what she says her books are on.” I shrug and Debbie nods. “How did you two meet?” “At a charity fundraiser a couple of months ago.” “The one where you placed some of your guitars up for auction?” I nod. “Yes, that’s the one.” “Do you know what your guitars went for?” some guy in the back shouts. “Uh…I don’t know. You’ll have to check with the Oakes Children’s Hospital on that one. She told me, but I forget…that’s when I was…well, you know…still using.” I shrug as if I was just addicted to M & Ms or something benign. That comment gets a couple of chuckles.

“Last question please, guys.” Jenny announces. “How many hits do you think are on this new record?” a guy up front with a large belly asks. I look at the guys, and we quickly discuss how many. “I’d say four.” “Anything you think’ll hit number one?” the same guy asks pleadingly, trying to squeeze in another question. “I’d say ‘Changes’ will hit number one. It’s a great tune with lots of heart and balls.” I say, fisting my hand, accentuating the word ‘balls’. My comment gets a few laughs. “Thanks, everyone.” Jenny says, nodding for us to rise. When we do, the reporters, as usual, throw a bunch more questions our way, which we ignore, as hundreds of camera flashes reverberate through the room. I go to Debbie and take her hand in mine, giving her another kiss. The ride home is a little weird. Debbie’s car is a piece of junk. I make a mental note to buy her a new one right away. No girl of mine is going to risk death in a can like this. “What is this, anyway?” “I think it’s a…sedan? Just a Chevette or…I don’t know…it’s Janice’s old car. Mine died a year ago and I know nothing about vehicles, so I took this one, since she bought a new one.” “It’s a piece of shit, Smooch. I’m buying you a new one.” She gives me a look. “Are you going to start?” “Well, I don’t want you driving in something that shouldn’t be deemed road worthy. This thing isn’t safe.” “It’s perfectly safe.” She argues. “It’s a death trap. Now, I don’t like to argue, but I’m picking this one. I promise you if there are any further arguments about anything else, you win. But this one I’m winning. End of discussion.”

“Fine. But you’re not buying me a car.” “Then you can use one of mine. You can take your pick when we get back to my place.” “I’m not driving one of your cars suited only for Rodeo Drive! I’ll stick out like a sore thumb!” “Then I’m buying you a new one.” I repeat, this time with a flat voice, letting her know that I’m not kidding. She tries another angle. “Don’t you want to know how it went at the doctor’s today?” “Quit trying to change the subject.” I say firmly. “You’re not driving this thing anymore. Shit, there’s barely a floor up here.” I say, pushing on the floor mat, which feels so soft I could drive the car myself, Flintstone-style. “If I’d known what a trash can this is, I would have never let you drive it. This thing looks fine on the outside, but it’s falling apart inside.” “That’s because you only saw the driver’s side.” She says, and purses her lips, regretting the words the second that they come out of her mouth. The ghost of a smile is on her lips. “See? Now, that’s it.” I chuckle, taking her hand in mine. I raise it to my lips and kiss it. “We’re going car shopping tomorrow.” She’s silent for a beat. Then she looks over at me. “Don’t you want to know how it went at the doctor’s?” “Seeing as you’re dying to tell me, I’m willing to bet that inside here,” I place my hand on her belly. “Is our future daughter or son.” I pause. “Either that or this is a cruel joke and the Tomato Boat landed while you were at the appointment.” We’re at a stoplight. The smirk on her face I can’t decipher. Debbie has a quirky sense of humor. “Just for that I’m not telling you until we get back to your place.” She lifts her chin, so her nose is in the air. I wink at her. “Bitch.”

She blurts a laugh and we’re both laughing as the light turns green and the cars behind us start honking. We turn down my street and she pulls up to the gate, punching in the numbers expertly. As we park the car, the smile hasn’t left her face. It warms my heart how happy she seems, and I can only think of one reason why she’d be so happy. But I let her ride it out, making a meal out of it, because I know that she’s carrying our baby. When we get in the house, I let her steer the ship, since she seems to be having so much fun with it. “We should eat something, so we’re not late.” She finally says, and I can tell that she’s about to burst, based on the look on her face. “Late for what?” I ask. She’s standing about four feet away from me, by the kitchen sink, while I’m by the fridge. “Oh, didn’t I tell you?” she says, playfully. “No.” I chuckle. “As a matter of fact, you haven’t told me what I’ve been waiting to hear about.” “Well, my goodness, Tommy. You should pay more attention.” She teases. “We have an appointment to have an ultrasound to see our new baby.” My eyes widen. Ever since I thought I’d figured out that Debbie was pregnant, there was a part of me that thought I was just being cocky or presumptuous, but when reality hits, I feel a surge of emotion. My hands go to my mouth as it opens wide and I gasp. “Oh my God!” I bend my knees slightly. “Are you serious?!!” She nods, smiling, water filling her eyes. In one step I scoop her up by the waist, do a three-sixty turn with her in my hands, and then hold her tight, turning her again, as I scream into her shoulder, “Oh my God! I can’t believe it!” My voice is muffled in her shirt, and when I put her down, I start kissing her playfully, all over her face, neck, and then I kneel down, pull up her shirt, and kiss her belly. Finally, I rest my head on her stomach, wrapping my arms around her waist, as realization sets in that…I’m going to be a father…that this child is mine…and the tears start. She doesn’t know how emotional I am until my shoulders start to shudder. “Tommy? Are you okay?” she asks, combing her fingers through my hair soothingly.

I answer by sniffing, holding her tighter, and turning her from side to side, loving them both together. Finally, I rise, and cup her face in my hands. “God, I never thought one person could make me so happy.” My eyes search hers. “Marry me.” Her eyes are searching mine now, and they’re flooded with tears. “What?” her voice cracks. “You’re the only one for me. God, I love every…cell in your body.” I pause for emphasis. “I don’t want to miss anything or be anywhere or do anything unless it’s with you. I want you to be my wife. You’re…incredible…just…perfect. There isn’t anything about you that I don’t love, and since the moment you walked into my life, I’ve been nothing but happy. I don’t…you know…have a ring or anything right now, but, oh God,” I smile a mile wide, as if I’m just realizing it again. “We’re going to have a baby together! How perfect is that!” I kiss her on the mouth, and keep kissing her once, twice, a dozen times, all over her face and mouth, making her giggle. “Will…you…marry me?” I ask her between kisses. “Yes.” She giggles, and then she starts kissing my face all over, and it becomes a game of who can kiss faster, until I finally grab her and swing her in the air again. When I drop her feet to the floor, I say. “Hands down. Best. Day. Ever.” “I bet it was.” She chuckles. “It’s funny how things happen that way sometimes, huh.” “Bad days come like that, too, Smooch. I’ve had enough of those.” She purses her lips together, but her eyes are soft. “Those days are all gone now, baby.” I kiss her lips, holding her close. “Now that you’re going to be mine forever, you bet your ass they are.”

Chapter 20

Debbie We pull up to the radiology unit at the hospital, just as I’m ready to burst. All that water I had to drink before the appointment is getting to me. Tommy, already in full daddy mode, is fussing over me, not letting me so much as open the damn car door without help. “Tommy, I’m not dying, I’m pregnant. Know the difference.” I say, half frustrated, half comically. “I know, Smooch. But I also know what it feels like to have a full bladder and not be able to relieve yourself when you want. You have any idea how bad it is to be right in the middle of a set and have to pee?” “Alright, you win.” I relent. Thank God my prayers are answered, and I’m called in immediately. I’m given a paper gown and told to lay on my back, while Tommy slides down to my feet, and the technician lubes my belly up with gel before placing the applicator on the spot. She adjusts the screen and turns up the volume knob, and I know what’s coming next, but Tommy doesn’t. His face is priceless as a tiny, morph-speed heartbeat reverberates through the room. At first, he looks around, as though there is a fly somewhere, but then he looks at me and his eyes flicker. “Strong heartbeat.” The technician says. “Are you serious?” his eyes are wide. “Th…that’s his heartbeat?” “Or hers.” I correct. His hand is in mine as he leans in, so he can see the monitor closer. “Oh my God…that’s…him?” “Or her.” I do it again. “It’s too early to tell the sex.” The technician says. Then I think out loud. “Mind you, he knew I was pregnant before the bloodwork confirmed it or before I believed it, so it’s quite possible that this is, in fact, a boy. Tommy has a sixth sense I’m guessing.”

The technician just smiles as she takes still images for the technologist and doctor. “It looks like based on the measurements, that you’re about ten weeks along.” “Jesus, Smooch.” Tommy is in disbelief. “We probably conceived on the first try.” “It’s quite possible.” I agree. “That was one hell of a night.” he comments wistfully. “It must have been.” She comments, still smiling. “Is this your first?” “No. I have two daughters. Twelve and thirteen. I’m not sure how this is going to go over with them.” “I told you, Smooch. They’re going to love it.” Tommy insists, mesmerized by the baby on the screen. It looks like a peanut, but there are definite features evident for the head, nose, arms and legs. “Good. If you think so, then you can tell them.” I joke. “I’ve done my job.” “You want me to tell them, I will.” He says, and I don’t doubt that he would, with way better success than me. “No, we’ll tell them together. Do you think we should wait until I’m in my second trimester? A couple more weeks?” “Na, let’s tell them now. When they get home from school. We’ll take them out for ice cream or something. Break it to them like that. Go in my Porsche.” “That’s your answer for everything, evidently.” I chuckle. “Who doesn’t love a Porsche?” he says, kissing my hand. “Well, enjoy it now, because when junior comes, you won’t be able to ride with him in it.” He waves. “Not a problem. I also have a Land Rover.” “I’m sure you do. What else is in your fleet?” I ask facetiously.

He ignores my comment, and he should. It was out of line. Instead, he kisses my hand, staring at his baby. “Do we get a picture of him?” “Yes. How many would you like?” she asks. “Can we get three? I have an idea how to tell the girls.” “Sure.” “Man, I wish we could record that heartbeat.” Tommy says. “I have a great idea for a song.” The technologist looks at Tommy. “I thought I recognized you. I just needed a couple more hints.” She smiles. “You’re Tommy from ‘Stop’, aren’t you?” “Yes, I am.” He smiles. “You wouldn’t happen to have a tape recorder here, would you?” “As a matter of fact, we do. I’ll go grab it.” she says, rising. The sound stops, and the image disappears from the screen. Tommy looks at me. “Man, how cool is this, huh? We get to see him before he’s even here.” “You sure are going to be disappointed if it’s a girl, aren’t you.” “No, not at all. Just my gut tells me it’s a boy.” She returns and cues up a tape. When she’s done, she hits the record button and starts the ultrasound again, as we listen to the healthy heartbeat fill the room, making me glow with happiness. The grin on Tommy’s face is heartwarming. And it begs the question: how is he going to tell the girls? When we get a couple of minutes of the recording, Tommy says. “That’s great. Can I keep the tape?” “Of course.” She guffaws. “You know how cool this is going to be? Tommy from ‘Stop’ was here and took one of our tapes.” “If you say so.” Tommy says modestly, taking the tape. She even gives him an

empty case to protect it. “Thanks a lot.” “No problem. The records will be with your doctor next week. Do you have any questions?” she asks, printing off three copies of the ultrasound photo. “Nope. This is my third time around. Tommy?” I ask. “Can we get a video recording of that?” he asks. “Unfortunately, we don’t have that technology yet. Sorry.” “That’s okay. Thanks for the tape.” He says, and she leaves us, so I can get cleaned up. “So, how do we tell the girls?” I ask, slipping my pants back up. “We’re going to go home, and I’ll show you.” Ten minutes later, we’re at Tommy’s place. “What time do they finish school?” “Soon. We should get going.” “Just give me five minutes.” He says. “Let’s go to the recording studio for a minute.” “Okay.” I watch him make two copies of the tape and slide two copies of the ultrasound photo into two tape cases, writing something on the back of the photos first. “You’re going to make a great daddy, you know that?” I say, unable to stop smiling. He’s a genius. He looks at me and winks, and it makes my heart melt. When we’re home as they hop off the bus, they each give us looks, like we don’t live there or something. “What…are you two doing here?” Georgia asks, skeptical. “Well, I live here.” I scoff, like she should know. “Mom, you look weird. What’s going on?” Mylee asks, setting her bag down. “Get in the house and sit down, girls. Your mom and I have a surprise for you.”

Tommy says warmly. “Oookay.” Mylee says. They both sit down, and Tommy hands them the tapes, standing back. “The first one who figures out what’s going on gets to drive the Porsche.” He says, and then he feigns that I’m going to hit him. But I smile instead. But both girls are very competitive and take his offer seriously. They run for their Walkmans and shove the tapes inside. Georgia has a puzzled look on her face, reading the date inscribed on the inner jacket, on the back of the picture, but Mylee, being the older of my girls, looks like she’s figured it out. Her hands go to her mouth. “Oh my God,” she looks at me. “Are you—” she stops herself, because her little sister starts crying. Tommy kneels next to her. “Are those happy or sad tears, sweetheart?” he asks, combing his hand through her hair. “I get to be a big sister.” She whimpers and then gasps. “I always wanted to be a big sister.” Mylee’s eyes meet mine. “You’re pregnant, mom?” I nod, pursing my lips together. “How do you feel about that, baby?” “Well, I…I don’t know.” Tommy intervenes as he hugs Georgia. “And that’s okay. Take your time. There is no rush to figure things out, sweetie. The baby isn’t coming for a while yet.” “Well, do we get to live…at Tommy’s house?” Mylee asks, her face brightening. “We haven’t figured any of that out yet.” Tommy guffaws. “But I do need you girls to help me pick out a ring for your mom.” Mylee’s smile is wide. “You’re getting married?” Tommy jokes, his voice is casual, like we’re talking about ice cream here, not marriage. “If your mom says it’s okay.”

I smack him playfully on the head, grinning. “He already asked me, girls. And I said yes.” “Can we have like a big, huge wedding? With limos and all kinds of stuff?” Mylee asks. “Well, I can guarantee that there will be at least one helicopter.” Tommy states. “Because when the media gets hold of this, they’ll eat it up, and unless we allow them into the wedding, that’ll be the only way that they can take pictures.” Mylee’s about to burst. “Oh my God!” I giggle. “Relax. We haven’t even discussed plans yet.” “Oh my God, mom.” Mylee barks. “You have to get one of those fancy wedding dresses!” “Well, that depends…do they come in maternity sizes?” Her hand goes to her mouth as she gasps. “Oh, no! How are we going to fit you into a dress!” Tommy still has his arm around Georgia. “Well…we might have to get married before your mom is too big to fit into a dress. What do you think? Get married before or after the baby comes?” I love it how he’s involving the girls. I can tell it means so much to them, especially Mylee. Georgia, clearing her tears off her face, says. “I think you should do it before the baby comes. Because that way the baby won’t be confused when it sees pictures later. One of my friends from school, his parents got married after he was born, and he feels weird about that.” “Well, I’m going on tour soon, like, next month, and there won’t be time to get married once I’m traveling. So it’s either now or after the tour and after the baby is born.” I interject. “And if we get married now, we can’t have a big wedding. There’s no time to prepare.” Tommy gives me a look. “Smooch, I can hire you the best goddamn wedding

planner money can buy. You can have whatever kind of wedding you want.” “Well, what if I don’t want a big wedding? Maybe I just want you and me, the girls, the band, and our closest friends and family. Like thirty people, max? What do you think of that?” “Whatever you want, Smooch.” I tilt my head. “Tommy, what do you want, honey? I’ve been married before. I’ve done the big to-do.” “To me, if it were up to me, I’d hire an officiant and do it in the living room. You, me, the girls, a cake, and that’s it. You come with me on tour, we’ll see the world together, fly the girls wherever we are on weekends, and call it done.” “You’re forgetting one minor detail, Tommy.” “What’s that?” he asks, and his face is so warm, I take my unintentionally snarky attitude down a notch. “I have a job.” He looks me square in the eye and draws in a breath, as if exasperated. “Smooch, you have two jobs. And I don’t like that. You’re going to get so run down being pregnant, and I’m going to worry my head off about you if you stay back and work like a dog while I’m on tour.” He pauses for emphasis. “You don’t need to work…at all. You sell this house and you and the girls move in with me, and that’s it. Write, Smooch. Do what you love to do. Forget about the nine-to-five. The best part is, you can write while you tour with me. You can do book gs and other PR stuff wherever we are. I’ll hook you up with our tour manager, who can liaise with your publisher and work something out.” He looks at Georgia, who is listening intently to him. His arm is still draped around Georgia’s shoulders. Mylee is listening intently, too, for that matter. “What do you girls think of all that? Are you okay if your mom quits her job? Stays home more when we’re finished touring?” he looks up at me again. “And once the baby comes, Smooch, you’re going to have to take time off to be with him, anyway. Do it now. Or at least, just think about it for now.” A lump forms in my throat. “God, everything is happening so fast.”

Tommy eyes Georgia. “You okay?” She nods and he rises, stepping towards me. I love it how he checked on Georgia first before coming to me. He’s going to make a great father, I know it. His arms snake around my waist as he kisses my forehead. “Don’t cry, Smooch. I didn’t mean to pressure you. I just want you to know that you have options. Just think about it.” he kisses my forehead again. He won’t kiss me on the mouth in front of the girls and bless him for that. He doesn’t want them to feel uncomfortable or look away. I bury my head in his neck and he rubs my back. “Mom?” Mylee says. I lift my head. “Yes, baby.” “I think Tommy’s right.” She pauses. “I think that you work too hard. We hardly see you. And not just since you met Tommy, even before. You’re always writing or busy with your day job. And then, you know, like he said, you’ll have to stay home with the baby.” Georgia nods her agreement. I look up at Tommy. “You didn’t bribe them with your Porsche on that one, did you?” He smiles and rests his forehead on mine. “Nope.” “Mom?” Georgia says. “Yes, sweetheart.” “Maybe we should just have a little wedding. Just us, you know, like he said, in the living room. That way we can do it fast and maybe after the baby is born, we can throw a big party, like a baby shower and wedding party all together.” “I love that idea.” Tommy says. Mylee frowns, feigning disappointment. “No helicopters?” Tommy chuckles. “Tell you what. We can go for a ride in a helicopter whenever you want. I know a guy.” He winks.

Mylee’s eyes bulge. “Seriously?” “Well, yeah.” He shrugs. “I’ve been a musician for a long time. Travelled places. Some places required the use of a helicopter.” “You mean you’ve been on one?” Mylee shrieks. “Of course I have.” He says modestly. “You can, too.” “What is this new obsession with helicopters?” I ask Mylee. She shrugs. “I don’t know. It sounds cool.” “Hey, maybe she wants to be a pilot or something.” Tommy suggests, and then I look at Georgia, who is eying my belly. “Honey? Are you okay?” I ask her. “Mom, do you feel it yet?” she asks. “No, not yet. It’s still a little early.” Tommy interjects. “But your mom’s belly sure feels different.” He says, putting his hand there. “Come see what I mean.” Georgia places her hand on my belly once Tommy moves his. “See how it feels hard? Like a little ball is inside there?” “Oh yeah.” Georgia sighs heavily, focusing. “Mom, can you tell me when you start to feel it kick?” “Sure, honey.” “Tell me, too, eh.” Tommy mutters, feigning warning. “Oh, don’t you worry. Everyone will know when this little one starts to move.” Mylee looks around the house. “Do we really have to sell this house? Can’t we, like, rent it out or something? To a nice family that will take good care of it?” “Well, that’s what I was thinking.” I it. “That way it will still be around

when you guys are older. In case you need a place to live.” “Sure. That’s a great idea.” Tommy says. “And you can leave your furniture here, too. I’ve got plenty of stuff. Just bring what you want and the rest we can buy new.” “Mom, can we get new beds? Our beds are old and they suck.” Mylee whines. I laugh out loud. “This is the first I’ve heard.” “Well, I know we can’t afford it.” “Okay, enough talk of that.” Tommy lifts a hand. “No more ‘we can’t afford it’ talk. You need something, from now on, you say so.” “How about a car?” Mylee says. “Mom’s been driving Janice’s old car for like a year…and it sucks, too.” Tommy smiles and gives me an ‘I told you so’ look. “It’s already been discussed. We’re buying your mom a new car tomorrow.” “Wow! A ring and a car! Tomorrow’s going to be an awesome day!” Mylee gushes. Tommy looks at me and smiles warmly, searching my eyes. “For me, nothing tops today.”

***

Tommy picked the girls up after school to take them ring shopping with him. I insisted that I didn’t need an engagement ring, but he was having none of it. He also said that they were going to go look at a car dealership, and I made him promise that he wouldn’t get me anything flashy or expensive, that I’m not that type and I’d be too nervous to drive it. If I know my girls, they’ll talk him out of that rationale, but I’ll go with it. Tommy and the girls get along so well I

personally don’t care what I get. As I prepare dinner, the phone rings, and I pick it up in the kitchen. It’s my publisher. “Debbie?” “Yes, speaking.” “It’s Lilly.” “Oh, hi, how are you?” “I’m doing great, since that new boyfriend of yours told the world that you and he are an item.” “What are you talking about?” I chuckle. Lilly has a great sense of humor, which is part of the reason why we work so well together. “That press conference yesterday?” “Yes, what about it?” “Well, bookstores all over the continental United States have been calling, making orders for your books. It’s…insane. Sales have increased by like a thousand percent in the last twenty-four hours.” “Are you serious?” I blurt. “Yeah. It seems that Tommy just mentioning your name has made you an overnight celebrity…in the literary world, at least.” “Wow. Who would have thought.” I say. “Then they’ll go really nuts when they find out that I’m pregnant with his baby and we’re getting married.” I say too casually. Silence. “Excuse me…what?” her tone is flat. I giggle. “You heard me.” “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

Still giggling. “No.” “Are you serious, Debbie? Or are you just making sure that I’m paying attention.” “I’m serious. I just found out today that I’m pregnant, and then later, after things digested, he asked me to marry him and I said yes. The girls are out ring shopping with him right now.” “Fuckoff!” she blurts. Lilly never swears. At least, I’ve never heard her swear before. I snort a laugh, and a second later, she’s laughing, too. When we’re done with the humor, she draws in a deep breath. “So, you get knocked up by a rock star and now you’re having a shotgun wedding. Gee, Deb, are you trying to write your own romance novel there? Because it sounds like something you’d only read about.” “No, it took us both by surprise, I’ll it. But Tommy is over the moon.” “I can’t believe that you’re with him. Can I meet him some time?” “Certainly. I’m sure that he’d love to meet you.” “Am I invited to the wedding?” “Oh, it’s going to be a very small wedding. He’s going on tour next month so we kind of have to do it quickly. The four of us have decided that we want it to be a small wedding with just us four and an officiant.” “And you’re good with that?” “Lilly, I already had the big wedding, I’m done with that.” “Fair enough. So, it looks like your royalty check may rival your future husband’s income here. Of course, I’m being dramatic, but still…you should see quite a spike in the next quarter payment.” “Good. Because I’m handing in my notice at work tomorrow. I’ve already typed it up.” “You’re kidding! Good for you!”

“Thanks. I should go. I have a million things to do in short order.” “Okay. Keep in touch. By the way, the cover for this new book looks fantastic. I’ll mail you a mock-up.” “Sounds good.” We hang up and I run down a list of things that I need to do, when I realize that I need to tell people that I’m engaged and pregnant before the media spreads it around. They’re clever and I’m sure they’ll find a way to get the news out there, which my family and friends won’t appreciate, especially not having heard the news from me first. But just as I’m about to start dialing, Tommy and the girls walk in the door, with big smiles on their faces. It’s contagious. “You all look like you’re up to nothing but trouble.” I comment, as Tommy approaches me and kisses me on the lips, surprising me. He turns to Mylee and says. “There, is that better?” “Yes…geez.” “What is that all about?” I chuckle. “Well, mom, you guys are getting married and having a kid. The cat’s out of the bag. We know you…you know. I told Tommy that it’s kind of weird that he only kisses your forehead or your cheek.” Mylee says, rolling her eyes. He kisses me again. “Okay, once is good. Get a room.” She teases. He turns around and looks at her, shocked, but laughing. “See if I let you drive my Porsche again.” My eyes bulge. “Again?” He waves and then rubs my belly. “What have you been up to while we’ve been gone?” I play along. “I’m not telling.”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you, mom,” Georgia says. “Our friends saw you on television yesterday.” “Oh yes, evidently a lot of people caught a glimpse of me, and heard Tommy make mention of my name.” A ‘v’ forms between Tommy’s brows, but he’s smiling. “What’s up, Smooch?” “My publisher called. Apparently, there’s been an onslaught of orders for my books since you told the world yesterday that we’re an item.” “No kidding.” His smile gets wider. “Sometimes media leaks work to our benefit, huh Smooch.” “You had that up your sleeve, didn’t you.” I accuse, good-naturedly. He kisses my lips again. “I’ll never tell.”

***

As I hang up the phone to the girls, I look down at my swelling belly and sigh. This baby is growing a mile inside me. I’ve had to buy more maternity wear during this tour than I ever imagined. It has to be a boy, because this pregnancy is completely different from the last two. I’m huge, for one. With Georgia and Mylee, I was able to hide my belly all the way until practically my sixth month. With this one, I’m only in my fifth month, and I look more like I’m seven months along. My engagement and wedding rings glint under the lights in this somewhat dingy room. Surprisingly, the girls are doing well. They’re staying with Janice while I’m traveling with Tommy. There has been a lot of back and forth, with me going home for a week or two here and there, and the girls coming with us here and there on weekends. It’s been a mixed bag of traveling, but the tour is almost finished. We had our tiny wedding as planned, and it was perfect. We had one of Tommy’s magazine photographers come and take a handful of shots of us, and

we gave permission for him to use a few in an article, but the rest are for our personal collection. Tommy has been amazing. I’ve seen almost every show, except for the ones I missed when I had to go home for the handful of weeks that I did. But he called me the minute that the show was over and stayed on the phone with me until I was so tired, I couldn’t stay awake any longer. He hasn’t been able to go to AA meetings while he’s been on tour, but him and Darryl are keeping each other clean, and that’s fantastic. I don’t think that Tommy’s even thinking about that anymore. He’s so focused on the tour and the baby, I know that his mind is elsewhere. The past is in the past and staying there. Tonight is the last show before we head back home to do a couple of local shows. Tommy is so adamant to have me around so often that they actually changed the lineup so that he could take his break when I call the girls at night. If he doesn’t have to do any adjustments to his guitar, he says goodnight to them as well, but tonight his guitar has been giving him issues, so I had to go make the call alone. He appears in the room just as I hang up the phone. “Oh, shit, did I miss it?” he says, disappointment evident on his face. “Just by a second. Do you want me to call them back?” “No, let them sleep. I miss them though.” I can tell. He hasn’t seen the girls in a few weeks, since they flew out the last time. They’ve been so excited when they get to fly in a plane, just the two of them, and then a limo picks them up to bring them wherever we are. They feel like celebrities, and I guess, in a way, that they are. We never got a chance to pack up the house and formally move into Tommy’s place before we left for the tour. With Tommy and the band rehearsing for the tour, and with him not letting me lift a finger, we didn’t have time to finish what we started. “Yo, Tommy!” Tommy’s roadie, Chas, shouts. “Yeah.” Tommy answers, after giving me a kiss. His hand goes right to my belly, and I can’t help smiling at our matching wedding bands. “Carl’s on the phone, man! Says it’s urgent!” “Doesn’t he know we’re in the middle of a fucking concert!” Tommy shouts, frustrated. But the second that he feels the baby kick, we both smile. “He’s in

action, is he?” I nod, smiling. Tommy lifts me up so high, sometimes I have to look down at him from the clouds. He’s so incredibly happy to be a husband and father, and it only puts icing on the cake, the fact that we’re going to have another little one in a few months’ time. Chas shouts from the door, Terry’s solo playing behind us, creating quite a din, it’s difficult to hear anything. “He says it’s worth the interruption.” “Go take the call, baby. It’ll be fine.” I say to him. He takes my hand. “Come with me.” We walk to a room that Chas leads us to, and Tommy sees the phone receiver sitting on a table. He picks it up. “Carl, my man. I’m about to go back on in like four minutes. Terry’s just doing his solo. Make it fast, man.” I watch Tommy listen intently. He has to remove his hand from mine to plug his other ear, so he can hear him properly. “No fucking shit?” he says, half smiling. “You’re kidding.” A pause. “Yeah, I’ll tell them. Hey, thanks for letting us know, man. Yeah, I’ll call you later.” He hangs up the phone and draws me close to him, giving me a kiss. “What’s going on? Is everything okay?” “Since you set foot in my life, Smooch, everything is okay.” He smiles, kissing me again. “’Changes’ just hit number one on the Billboard charts.” My face lights up. “No fucking way!” I squeal. He laughs every time I swear, because it’s so rare that I do. “I love it when you talk trash, Smooch.” He rubs his nose on mine and then kisses me again. “Come with me while I go tell Paul and Darryl.” The guys are in another room backstage, and when Tommy springs the news, they high five each other, while Tommy’s guitar technician brings him his guitar back. Don, the road manager, walks into the room. “You guys better get your asses back up on stage, Terry’s wrapping it up, man.”

“Sure, hey, Carl just called and told us that ‘Changes’ hit number one, man.” Tommy announces. Don cranes his neck back. “Well, tell the audience that, man. It’ll drive them wild.” He pats them on the back as they head back on stage. Tommy, giving me another kiss first, and a pat on the belly. When the show wraps up, and the guys are in the back room, right before we gather up our gear and head to the hotel, another call comes in. Don picks up the phone, answering tersely. He listens and nods. “No shit. Okay. You want to tell the guys or shall I?” A pause. “Hey, man, for news like that, you should be on a fucking plane to deliver it, asshole.” He’s chuckling as he says this. “Yeah, I get it. Too busy. Yeah, I know. Okay.” Don hangs up with a smile on his face. The guys are all staring intently at Don. Tommy’s sweaty head is on my belly, while his hand rests on the swell of it. I’ve gotten so used to him keeping residence in that very spot, I’m going to miss him being there when junior arrives. He lifts his head to listen to Don. “Carl just got the sales numbers. You fucking did it boys. You guys finally hit platinum.” Darryl howls, standing up to high five the guys. Tommy rises, helping me get up, and we all hug each other. “Fucking aye, man. I knew we could do it.” Tommy says. “I felt it in my fucking bones that we were going to do it with this album.” “Yeah, you called it, man.” Paul says. “Since you’ve been sober, man, you’ve got this fucking insanely apt sixth sense about shit. It’s chilling.” He chuckles. “Tell me about it.” I agree. “He knew I was pregnant before the doctors did.” Tommy just smiles, taking it in his stride. “We’ll see how right I am.” Tommy smiles. “When this kid is born.” “Oh, right, because you say it’s a boy, right?” Terry asks. “It’s totally a boy. I know it.” Tommy confirms.

“Well, we’ll find out in a little while.” I say. “So, what now?” Terry asks. “Now that we’ve hit platinum?” Don chimes in. “More press conferences and interviews, and of course, more money in your pockets. And your next album better kick ass even more.” “Oh, I’m not worried about that at all.” Tommy comments. “I’ve already got a riff ready for the next one, and a few other ideas.” “Oh yeah? We’ll have to jam it out when we get back to LA.” Darryl says. “For sure.”

***

When we get back home, Carl has a press conference set up, but this one is a little bit different. The boys get plaques with their new record set in platinum, framed, plus a whole load of other accoutrements for hitting number one with ‘Changes’. The accolades are pouring in and between all the dates for the press, jamming out new tunes for the album, moving us into Tommy’s place, and getting things ready for the baby, we don’t even realize that months . “Here, Smooch…let me get that.” Tommy says, watching me struggle to bend down and fasten the buckle on my shoe. He practically runs to me from the kitchen, where he is drinking a glass of water. “Thanks, baby.” I say, combing my fingers through his hair as he does up my shoes for me. He lays his head on my belly, kissing it. We had a photographer come through here yesterday, taking family photos and pregnancy pictures of me and Tommy. They are stunning and will be published in some magazines. He rises, snaking his arms around my waist with effort, as I’m almost nine months along now, and he kisses me on the mouth. “Where are you going?” he asks.

“To pick up a couple of things at the grocery store.” “Why don’t I come with you?” “Well, aren’t the guys coming over to jam with you?” “They can start without me. I don’t want you going out alone.” I give him a look. “Honey, I’m a grown woman. I can handle it.” There have been a few instances where fans find me and berate me a little, but it’s nothing that I couldn’t deal with. “Yes, but you’re a very overgrown woman, with a baby coming any day.” “Thanks.” I mutter. He kisses my lips. “Oh, shit, I didn’t mean it the way that sounded, Smooch. I’m sorry. I just meant that…well, you shouldn’t be doing anything alone, it’s a struggle, and it’s because of the baby, not you, Smooch.” A lump is in my throat. Lately, I cry if the toilet paper roll unravels on me. Tommy discounts nothing. He holds me tight to him until the tears . “Come on. Let’s go buy some food to feed this monster.” He says, trying to cheer me up. I take one step, and a gush of water hits the floor, soaking both my feet and Tommy’s. He looks at me like it’s a good thing. The surprise and delight is all over his face. “Looks like we’re going to have to take a detour, Smooch.”

***

I’m laying on the couch in the recording studio, with baby Michael snuggled into my chest, as Tommy plays a beautiful song next to us, watching us with such happiness and contentment in his eyes, I could cry. He was right. I was carrying a boy the whole time. We should have laid bets. Michael came very quickly and surprisingly easily, without an epidural. Neither of my girls were like that, and

Tommy insists it’s because it’s his kid, because he never gives me any problems. Michael is the quietest, most content little baby, and thank God for that. The guys come over and they jam the rest of this song out, bringing Grant with them, so that they can record it. Tommy and Grant choose the perfect time to tuck the brief recording of little Michael’s heartbeat while he was in the womb, and Darryl created the most beautiful lyrics for the song, touched by his own infant son. And as they finish recording it, Michael, growing hungry, releases a huge wail aloud, and what I think is him interrupting a perfect run of the cut itself, ends up being the most poignant ending to it. Grant captures it perfectly, and once again, another song is punctuated with a personal touch at its ending.

*** Tommy sits on the floor with Michael and the girls, while they play an interesting game of Hungry Hungry Hippos. Instead of using the marbles that the game originally came with, they’re using Fruit Loops cereal. “What are you guys doing?” I ask, chuckling. “Did you break that game?” Tommy looks up at me and smiles. “Na, Smooch. I just took the little plastic pieces off. It’s not broken. Michael kept trying to eat the marbles, so we thought to use something that he can actually eat instead. He’s eating his breakfast and playing a game at the same time.” he shrugs. Michael watches his big sisters eating the cereal. Thank God Gladys is the housekeeper from heaven, and I know that the floor is clean enough to eat off of. Especially in the small area where they’re playing the game. “I suggested we use Corn Pops, so they’re closer in shape to the marbles.” Georgia says, sliding a finger down Michael’s fat little cheek as he sits up tall, wobbling only slightly on his diaper. “Yeah, but the little guy can choke on those, sweetie.” Tommy says, kissing Michael’s fat leg as he lays on the floor next to him. He pats Georgia’s leg, too, and my cup runeth over. I was afraid that Tommy would favor the baby over the girls, once he came, but not even a little bit. He’s taken both girls for a ride in a helicopter, brought them to many events, while I rest with the baby, and he

brings them into the recording studio all the time. Georgia is actually picking up a little bit of guitar, too. Later that night, as we lay in bed after making love, Tommy slides his hand over my breast, cupping it tenderly, and then down to my belly. He moves downward, kissing my belly where Michael once lived not long ago. I managed to survive the pregnancy pretty much unscathed, and Tommy doesn’t let that go unnoticed. But this time, he remains there, with a grin on his face. “What?” I chuckle. He gives me a look and kisses my belly again, tracing circles around my skin. My expression is hesitant. “Tommy…” Another kiss on the belly and a smile. “Smooch, you’re um…a little bloated, babe.”

World Tour

His fingers bled. Her body healed. It was more than a scalped concert ticket. It was a life change.

Diana Shaw is every parent’s dream. She’s a straight A student, loved by great friends, keeps her nose clean with boys, and sings in the church choir with her mother, while her father watches proudly from the pew. Diana is sunshine and happiness to most, until her life is torn apart over an eighteen month stretch of nightmarish treatment, which she tells nobody about. Until someone makes a gruesome discovery after a concert one night. Can she go against everything she believes in and lie, or does she tell a total stranger the truth and risk everything?

Danny Spellman is the lead guitarist for the popular and long-running band ‘Risk It’. Female fans adore him, male fans want to be him, and his bonds with his band are strong and fruitful. In the business ten years and running strong, on the last night of the band’s world tour, Danny meets a little wallflower that notices something about him that nobody else has. Intrigued, Danny pushes her, testing her limits, until he learns something about her that both terrifies and infuriates him all at the same time.

With a sudden shift of the testosterone level in his house, Danny finds himself comforting Diana, befriending her, and learning things about the female species that he would never have guessed. And just when Danny thinks that Diana’s innate strength is something gleaned through heartache, she invites him to church, to hear her sing. Feeling like he’s discovered the next big thing, Danny is feverishly on the phone with his producer and recording company. Little does he know that he’s stirring the pot with someone he least expects to be watching. And the gunshot is the telling tale.

Loaded with tons of emotion and inspiration, this rock star romance will leave readers looking at the music industry and the artists in a whole different light. Like in real life, things are not always as they seem in a rock star’s life. We sometimes forget that these people are human. This book reminds us of that.

HEA (Happily Ever After) Rock star romance Physical abuse (non-descriptive) Medium heat Violence Course language Fourth book in a standalone series Sneak peek into 'First Cut'

Smashwords

***See the end of this book for a sneak peek of ‘World Tour’***

Other Books in This Series

The tormented guitarist. The fearless security guard. The kiss that’s seen globally. The razor blade that threatens to end everything. Billy Nestor has everything he’s always wanted: a band, the best guitar skills, a creative edge like no other, a thick skin, and the chops to climb the charts. The one thing he’s missing is a ive father. While his mom is his biggest fan, his father has chided him since the day he picked up an instrument, slating that the boy would never amount to anything unless he applied himself to something other than heavy metal. Michelle Parsons has seen the world through the eyes of the battlefield. She’s determined, tough as nails, and has enough brains and drive to get her anywhere she wants to go in the world. Until she gets fatally shot in combat and has to take a backseat job as a security guard for a nothing band, and what’s worse, she gets the job after her dad calls on a friend for a favor. Despite the disappointment, she quickly learns that protecting a band is almost as exhilarating as dodging landmines behind enemy lines. In the band’s third month of touring as an opening act, the city that they play in is riddled with an unexpected, potentially life-threatening situation. Michelle has to put her life on the line once again, only this time, without her hard hat and camouflage. After getting the band on the stage safely, a certain band member seeks her out once the applause quiets, and a fast friendship evolves. Billy finds himself seeking Michelle out, escaping the sheltered life inside the hotel room, until Michelle and Billy come to an ime on a serious topic, one close to Billy’s heart. But little does Billy know that Michelle has also become close to his heart, and he doesn’t realize it until she climbs onto the shuttle bus to go back to the airport…out of his life forever. A heartbreaking, true-to-life story about the trials and tribulations of being a rock star, and falling in love unexpectedly, with someone you would never have expected to fall for. A story that covers sensitive subject matter, readers will see rock stars in a whole different light, and the people that love them, too. Dress Rehearsal has sensitive scenes, violence, course language, drug use and graphic sex, so please be forewarned. Billy and Michelle’s story is a standalone that will leave you laughing, crying, and rooting for the main characters as they take you through their journey of love, heartbreak,

success and triumph.

HEA (Happily Ever After) Rock star romance Military romance Best friends to lovers romance Drug use Attempted rapeViolence Self-harmMedium heat Course language First book in a standalone series Sneak peek into 'Opening Night'

Dress Rehearsal

A successful guitarist. Broken by one, made by another…and wrecked by the one person he’s trusted since birth. Jimmy Trent wasn’t born with a guitar in his hand, but his big brother Ken showed him the ropes at a tender age. Jimmy was hooked, and when the band Brainchild was born, he began to fulfill his childhood dream. With Ken by his side, Jimmy soars with his band, reaching milestones most rock stars simply get to witness from their parent’s garages. But when Mandy, Jimmy’s first love, comes into the picture, all bets are off. When the supermodel doesn’t bring him all the promises a proper wife should, the rock star finds himself in a hole that he can’t dig himself out of. Cindy Kilgore never thought her beloved husband would stoop to the level that fifty percent of men have, but when she receives the news that he’s warmed another woman’s bed, she packs her bags to move back to the hometown she’s missed. With her mother suffering from a recent stroke, it’s all the more reason for Cindy’s return. And with her two-bit a-hole boss driving a stake through her budding career, it gives her three reasons to move on. She never expects to find the job of a lifetime at a recording studio. But the job comes with strings attached that she’s bluntly acquainted with the second she sees rock star Jimmy Trent answer the door. With Cindy’s surprisingly apt skills, Jimmy quickly notices that Cindy is cut out for more than just an assistant’s position, and this realization could not have come at a better time, since they’re missing one head in the team. She quickly takes on more and more responsibility with ease and enthusiasm, until an unexpected visit to the emergency room threatens to bring Cindy’s new career to a grinding halt. Jimmy has a tough decision to make, and with the growing pressure of a new record and a recording contract’s ink that isn’t even dried yet, the rock star and his band need to make some quick, impossible changes. Jimmy finds himself unable to turn his cheek on Cindy. What’s worse, she doesn’t even know it…yet. Filled with heartache, heartbreak and a handsome helping of triumph, ‘Opening Night’ is the perfect complement to ‘Dress Rehearsal’. Get your tissues out, this one is a tearjerker! Fair warning: this story covers sensitive adult subject matter and has course language, violence, drug use

and explicit sex. Readers will see rock stars in a whole new light and find themselves with aching hearts.

HEA (Happily Ever After) Rock star romance Second chance romance Medical romance Medium heatDrug abuse Mild violence Course language Second book in a standalone series Sneak peek into 'Platinum'

Smashwords

Their first hit single. His first betrayal. And two women that make Randy question everything he’s ever wanted. Randy Jackson loves his life. He’s got a beautiful, hard-working celebrity wife, and a rising musical career as the lead guitarist in a band that just signed their first record deal. He has a great dog, and the best relationships with his band , namely his stepbrother, who is the lead vocalist. Little clues by him that things aren’t quite as hunky-dorey as they may seem, but Randy’s rosecolored glasses currently blind him. Darrell Tanner loves her job as a video editor for the music industry. She’s met all types of musicians that adorn the face of MTV, but none ever appreciate her hard work until the boys from Brave Face appear. Darrell is suddenly treated like royalty, and she basks in the accoutrements in a dream-like state, forgetting about her second-class boss who spends more time on vacation than he does in the office. But one day she realizes that she’s taken things too far, and it’s too late to do anything about it. Can she walk away and leave the best thing that’s ever happened to her? Randy’s wake-up call comes like a bat out of hell, and when he least expects it. The only thing that has kept his focus in such a tumultuous industry is the one thing that he’s about to lose for good, and the worst part is, he has to be the one to walk away from it. Until someone he least expects breaks his fall, and everyone else sees it coming, including Randy…but is he too jaded to do anything about it? A beautiful love story about survival in a tough industry that labels and points fingers in all directions at undeserving people, and the lies that they tell to get ahead under the spotlight. This is a rock star romance that underscores the betrayal that exists in Hollywood, and how stars either sink or swim through it, just like the rest of the world does. HEA (Happily Ever After) Rock star romance Celebrity romance

Second chance romance Office romanceMedium heat Mild violence Course language Fifth book in a standalone series

Smashwords

World Tour – Sample

Chapter 1 Danny There’s this chick in the front row on my side. She’s literally climbing onto the shoulders of this other girl, who looks like she’s about to tumble underfoot, and it makes me shake my head, smiling. Chicks are nuts. They will do anything to get any of us to look at them. I watch as I sing backup and get ready for my guitar solo, as she stretches her arms right out, almost touching the security guard whose back is to me, and I want to throw her a bone, but I’m afraid. Last time I did that, the chick nearly pulled me right into the crowd of screaming women. I would have been trampled. The nutty girl managed to smuggle her camera into the stadium, and I look right at her and smile as she snaps a shot of me, just before I do my solo. Kicking ass with my axe, my fingers tap down the neck of my guitar, and I can feel the vibe all over my body, and the fans love it. It’s such a rush. Guitar geeks are eying me from the side mosh pit, and I feel like I’m totally in my element. Like I have been since the moment I picked up a guitar at the age of ten. After my solo ends, it’s break time for me, and I sneak out the tiny door at the side of the stage, while Phil does his drum solo, as we do a little segue into the last leg of the performance. We’ve been all over the world this past year. Met a whole bunch of people, half I can’t the names of, but that’s my manager’s job. This is our last stop before the tour ends. I had my mechanic arrange to drop off my Lamborghini at the stadium, because I couldn’t stand another minute on a plane or tour bus. I’m driving my baby home tonight. “Yo, Danny!” Booker calls. He’s our lead vocalist. “Yeah,” I mutter over the din of the drums and the screaming fans behind us, as I walk into the green room and down an entire bottle of water. “Your roadie’s looking for you.” “His name is Tex, asshole.” I chide.

“What the fuck kind of name is that, anyway?” Booker whines. “Same kind of name as ‘Booker’, man.” I volley back. He ignores my jibe. “Yeah, but is it short for something?” “It’s just a nickname. I don’t know what his real name is. What’s the difference? He’s not your roadie, stupid.” Again, he ignores me. Sometimes Booker is really in his own little world. “Probably short for Warren or something equally nerdy.” “Nerdy? Don’t you think ‘Booker’ is nerdy?” I chuckle, as Tex strolls into the greenroom. I look at him. “Hey, man. I’ve got like two minutes until I’m back on stage. What’s up? Booker says you were looking for me?” Tex shrugs. “Yeah, man, I just wanted to know what chicks you wanted me to round up for you.” Typically, I have Tex or one of our security guys pick me up some entertainment for after the show. Since this is our last show, it’s a pretty special night, and I know that Booker and the other guys are doing the exact same thing. In fact, I know that Kramer, our bassist, is off getting a blow job in one of the camps under the stage right now. I know because I saw him picking up a chick that his roadie scrounged up for him during his solo earlier. “Yeah, first row.” I answer. “Two chicks are standing right there. One’s got a huge set of tits, no bra, white tank top, and the other one I couldn’t really see, but she’s got a red shirt on. Cute as hell. Young.” I say, wiggling my brows. “Got it.” Tex nods, trotting away. Roadies hand out backstage es to the chicks or sometimes the dudes at our request. Guitar geeks I throw a bone to here and there, especially when they’re younger, and they look like they’re totally fucking mesmerized by what I’m doing. I’ve been there. That’s one of the ways I got to where I am. Those are the kids who follow my every move and I owe them dearly for it, so I allow them backstage and pay my dues. No other guitarist ever gave me the same respect when I was a kid. But here I am, at any rate. And I don’t forget that.

“You gonna do her in your Lamborghini, man?” Booker asks, smirking, almost wistful, as if he wishes he’d thought of the same thing. “We’ll see how hot she is.” “You say there are two of them?” “Forget it, man. I’m not fucking sharing.” “I wasn’t suggesting that, jerkwad.” Booker scoffs. “I was going to ask if you’re going to do them together.” “Maybe. They’re both pretty young, though.” “Hey, this is a sold-out show, man. Think of what they already had to do to get up front. Assuming they aren’t celebrities.” “Nobody I know. Nothing like that here tonight, or we’d have already met them before the show.” Booker clucks his tongue. “Exactly.” He winks at me righteously. “How young do you think they are?” Booker has a penchant for younger chicks. I just figure if they’re desperate enough to form a human pyramid amidst a mosh pit mob, they earned themselves a visit backstage. I’m not partial to age, but both girls are pretty cute. If they’re game, hell, I am, too. “Dunno. Sixteen? Eighteen, maybe?” “Yo, fucking robbing the cradle tonight, my man.” Booker high fives. We’re both twenty-six. “Just make sure that they aren’t under sixteen. what happened to Jughead last year.” “Yeah, don’t sweat it, man. I’ll be careful.” Jughead, a former band member, got stuck with a statutory rape charge last year. Fucking ruined him. That’s one of the reasons why he left the band. Couldn’t take the heat from the press. That’s the trouble with some of our fans; they’re young. Too young. With us being in our mid-twenties, we tend to attract that market, especially females. Our type of rock music is catchy, sexy, and stuff that you can dance to, so we have a mixed bag of males, females, guitar dudes who get a hard-on over my playing, and chicks who seem to love me and Booker.

You would think that with a name like Booker, that he would be seen as a geek, but not our lead vocalist, oh no, he’s furthest from that. Buddy wears skin-tight jeans with holes in conspicuous places, he’s built like a brick shithouse with a six pack and everything. The guy’s been a kickboxer since he was ten. Sure, he was a choirboy, that’s how he picked up the pipes, but he also won a few titles in kickboxing while winning chick’s hearts over in the junior high choir and in church. Why the chicks come after me, I have no idea. I’m not built like Booker, that’s for sure, I mean, I barely work out, but I suppose all the muscles I use when I have to position myself to hit those chords during my licks is what caused the tone in both my guitar and in my body. And since I do everything except sleep and shower with a guitar in my hand, I can thank that for keeping me in shape. Plus, we don’t just stand there on stage and play. It’s a two and a half hour goddamn workout. We’ve been on a world tour for the past eight months, doing shows nearly every other night…so, active? Oh yeah, we’re nothing but active between shows, rehearsals and soundchecks. Nick, our road manager, walks in and whistles. “You’re up!” he says, reminding us that we have a show to finish, and that Phil’s solo is wrapping up. I forgot to piss, so I’m fucking mad at myself now. No more breaks until the end of the show and we’ve got another twenty minutes to go, plus an encore, and then meet and greets. Sighing, I jog back up the stairs with Booker in tow. The main lights are off, just the spotlights highlighting Phil are on, so the audience doesn’t see us climbing back on stage. Grabbing my other guitar from my technician off to the side, I sling it over my shoulder, as we break into one of our last songs of the night. As we sing one of our fan favorites, the crowd goes wild. Booker, with balls the size of dump trucks, goes to the center of the stage, right at the tip, as he gyrates and grinds his hips into the air, driving the chicks nuts. They reach out and try to touch him, and he lowers his fingertips so a few can actually make slight , as I continue with my riffs, and Kramer walks over to me, playing his bass alongside. When we hit a point where he breaks for a few seconds, he pulls a bra off my mic stand and hangs it around my neck. Smiling, I lift my head, still playing, and I hear squeals and screams of joy from the floor. Our encore is well received, and we all gather at the front of the stage, including Phil, who we bring down from behind his drum kit, ing hands and bowing,

while fans scream so loud, I swear the roof of this place will come down. They know that this is the last show until our next tour, and it’s bittersweet. We had a fantastic world tour, with almost no hiccups, which is great, considering it was our first world tour. To thank for that is the awesome team of about a hundred that we have on staff. Between security, lighting, stage, management and road crew, we all took our part. The next tour will be even bigger, and I hope to get started right after we record our album, which we’ve been jamming out between performances. Murphy, our producer and Leonard, our engineer, are itching to get us back into the recording studio. Murphy has ed us for the bulk of our shows on this tour, which is new. He had previous commitments with other artists for most of our other tours, but this one, he just about cleaned his slate, only flying back to LA here and there. Truth be told, I think he’s dialing down a notch, and not taking on more clients is a clear indicator of that. I still haven’t figured out why he’s come down a peg or two, but I’ll get into that later. Stepping off stage, we can hear the crowd still roaring, hoping for a second encore, and we look at each other, knowing that this wasn’t part of the plan. “What do you think, guys?” Booker asks, with a telling look on his face. The man can’t get enough of being on stage, and that’s why he’s our lead singer. Me, I love playing the guitar, day or night, so I’m game whenever he is. Kramer and Phil need a little coaxing. “Come on, man. It’s our last show.” I say, patting Kramer on the shoulder. “Let’s do ‘Leader’.” I suggest. ‘Leader’ is a softer tune, that will likely calm the crowd some, although, the same sentiment left the audience roaring last month, since the song hit number one. No matter, because the entire record hit platinum just before. “Fine. We’ll do ‘Leader’.” Phil says, surprising me. He’s usually the one who wants to hit the bottle right after a show, especially on the last night. I look at Kramer. “You game, man?” He shakes his head, pinching his lips into a smile. “Fine. Let’s do ‘Leader’.” Signalling to the head of our stage team, we let them know that we’re going back for a second encore, which isn’t necessarily unexpected. We like to give our fans

what they want. If they want another encore, so be it. It’s funny because they know it. They know that we’ll come back out if they scream loud enough, and man, they sure are. Laughing inwardly, I grab my other guitar from my technician off to the side, and he knows it, too. It’s funny how we’re all practically reading each other’s minds. But we’re veterans now, I suppose. Like they couldn’t get any louder, the screams go to yet another extreme as the lights come back up again and we start playing ‘Leader’. We meant to add the song into our list when it hit number one, but I suppose this is why we didn’t. It gives us our edge. Our reason to come back again, giving our fans what they want. Booker has the audience us singing the chorus by sticking the mic up in the air and letting them take over. The smile on his face is a mile wide and it’s contagious. When he claps high in the air, overhead, they follow along, and as the song comes to a close, they’re all clapping in the air, as Phil’s drum beat carries on, repeating the last verse of the song over and over, like it’s never going to end, making fans love us more and more, and I feel it. It’s such a great sensation, the love and respect that these people have for us. It’s wild and has become my reason for working as hard as I do. It’s no longer just for my love of music, but for our fan’s love, too. We lift our hands, waving, hearing them whistle and shout as we leave the stage, for real this time. And Nick throws us towels to dry off as we enter the green room for a two minute breather before the meet and greets. I’m soaked from the ass down, making it look like I’ve pissed myself, which I might as well have, since my bladder is still full. “Yo, I have to take a leak.” I say, not giving a shit if I get looks. There’s no point meeting people if you’re going to be standing around, dancing because you’re about to explode. When I get back, Nick is urging me along, as the other guys have already left. I throw a shirt over my head after drying my chest and back off, and running the towel through my hair, too. It’s like I took a shower, only I didn’t, and I have the body odor to prove it. Bearing that, I grab my bag and shove the deodorant stick in my armpits quickly, before tossing it back into my bag and running for the hallway, where fans await. The two crazy chicks that were making the human pyramid are in sight, both carrying backstage es around their necks. The one in the red shirt looks like

she’s a wallflower, cowering off to the side, as her big-busted friend takes pictures of her with Kramer, Phil and Booker. The wallflower sees me and smiles quickly, shyly, but turns her gaze back to the camera. Big boobs sees me after taking the shot and motions me to in on the photo. Tex offers to take a shot of all of us, and we oblige. Big boobs pushes the wallflower closer to me, and I rest my hand on her shoulder. She’s all but shrinking beside me, scared as hell, while big boobs has her arms around both Booker and Phil, like a rose between two thorns. I think she even pinches Booker’s ass, because he lets out a little squeal and then invites them backstage into the green room. And that’s when the little wallflower’s face turns pale as a ghost. “It’s okay. We won’t bite.” I say, wiggling my brows at her. Sometimes that little, subtle gesture is all it takes for them to loosen up. Not her. She looks the other way, but her friend catches on, and gives her an onishing look. Nick shows the girls to the green room, while we continue with the rest of the meet and greets. Turns out, an actor was in the crowd tonight, and he high fives me. Should I tell him that I have no idea who the fuck he is? He goes on and on, with ten times more ego than Booker, boring the shit out of me, but I keep my manners, and I notice that Phil takes interest in him, so I let Phil take the reigns. He asks for a picture of us all, and as we walk away from him, I ask Nick. “Who the hell was that clown?” He names the actor, who has been in several movies, none that I’ve seen. “Oh, okay.” I nod blankly. “You still have no idea who he is do you.” Nick chuckles. “Not a fucking clue.” I it, laughing. Booker confronts me before we head back to the green room. “Yo, I want the blonde, man, you cool with that?” A common question to ask after a show. I peek to the left, just outside the green room. There is a line up of girls. There is a din of conversation, but mostly it’s chicks touching up their lip gloss, fussing with their hair, and eying us from the door, in a way that says anything goes. There are at least a dozen blondes, but I’m guessing that he’s referring to big boobs from earlier. “Yeah, sure man. Whatever.” I answer, scanning the supply for tonight. The

trashy look doesn’t cut it for me, and most of them look just like that. Bleached hair, some with long, some short, some with jagged styles from a crimping iron. Almost all of them are in skimpy skirts, some leather, and it reminds me of a burlesque show. The only chick that really pulls any interest from me is the one who isn’t looking in my direction. Her eyes are trained on a poster on the wall of me, Booker, Phil and Kramer. It’s a promo shot that was done for the tour, caught behind plate glass, nailed to a sleeve on the wall, making it easy to slide out and replace with a poster of the next band to play here. She’s dressed in a jean skirt, not tawdry or tight, and a tasteful red blouse. Her hair is long and brown and flows down to her waist. It’s one length, and she has a comb holding up one side, while the other side softly sweeps across her face. Angelic, she’s wearing nothing but a smidgen of red lip gloss, with short, red nails polished red to match. When she sees me, she trains her gaze back on the poster. Her friend stands next to her, but quickly abandons her as Booker approaches. “I hate that poster.” I comment to her. “I like the one on the dust sleeve better.” “The one where you’re holding your guitar?” she asks, nodding. “Yeah. I always look better when I’m holding my guitar.” I say, as I slide my guitar strap over my head. Chris, one of my guitar techs, not the one that was on stage, takes it from me. “Thanks, man.” I say, nodding to him. Two other girls burst in next to us, interrupting, introducing themselves and basically drooling all over me. Trying to be polite, I pose for pictures with them, while the wallflower tries not to stare as she stands off to the side. I can tell that she has a crush on me, but she’s not making it obvious like these girls. She’s as cute as hell, but I’m not sure how old she is, so I’m reluctant to put my usual moves on her. These other girls are definitely over legal age, so it’s cool. But my gaze keeps going over to the wallflower, even though I know that I can bang these other two chicks, probably together, tonight. Big boobs walks over to the wallflower and whispers something to her. Wallflower nods, but her face is set, and as she watches her friend trot away with Booker, her expression slips a notch. She’s been ditched. While these two girls claw away at my chest, I notice that instead of getting a hard-on, it feels more like I’m catching a rash, and I paste on a smile. “Would you girls excuse me for

a minute?” “Sure.” One says, but the pout is obvious, and for some reason, tonight, it makes my skin crawl. As I approach, I see Booker creep out from the back room where he went with Big Boobs. He wiggles his finger at me, motioning for me to come here, so he can tell me something. I take steps towards him, as he leads me out of earshot. “What’s up, man? You need something?” I ask. Booker leans in. “Hey, man, this little nerd here is fucking in love with you. Her friend says so. She says that if you take her for a ride in your Lamborghini, that she’ll fucking blow you, man. She told me to tell you that.” I look the wallflower up and down. She’s trying to blend in with the other giggly girls, but failing miserably. “No, man. That chick’s as scared as a fucking rabbit, and probably like fifteen, with my luck.” “No, man, I asked. She’s nineteen. She just…dresses young.” I lift a brow. Usually girls in that age bracket dress to look older, not younger. “Are you sure?” “Yeah, man, it’s cool. Why don’t you take her for a spin and get some head, and then come back and see what these other chicks want to do?” I nod reluctantly. “Yeah, okay.” But after months on the road, all I really want to do is go home. If I head to my Lambo, I’m out of here. I just choose not to tell Booker that. “Oh, and they’re local, man. So don’t sweat it.” Booker adds, as if that makes a difference. We’ve fucked chicks from all over the fucking world and it’s never made a difference. I scrunch my face, but Booker ignores the expression, walking back into the room. The wallflower glances at me from the corner of her eye, but then averts her gaze back to the girls, trying to show interest in what they’re saying. I decide to go for nonchalant. “Hey, I want to show you something.” I say to the wallflower, and I take her hand in mine, as we walk away from the other girls. Her hand is like fucking ice, and she’s as tense as hell. There is no way in hell

that this girl is up for what Booker said. We walk out of the green room, to the hallway that leads to the back of the stadium, and she says nothing but follows me obediently. “Is your friend giving you a ride home?” I ask conversationally. “No, her…boyfriend dropped us off.” She stammers. “What time’s he supposed to be picking you up?” “I don’t know. She said that she would call him.” “Her boyfriend isn’t going to kill her for fucking around with Booker, is he?” “Not if she doesn’t tell him.” she says, matter-of-factly. “Does she fuck around on him as a rule, or is this just because we’re in town?” “Take a guess.” She scoffs, and it’s the first time that she shows any sign of loosening up. “You have a boyfriend?” I ask, smiling at her. She smiles slightly in return, but she doesn’t answer, and we reach the door leading outside to my car, so I leave it alone. “You like Lamborghinis?” I ask, gesturing towards my red baby parked outside. A nod. I unlock the door for her, and she slides inside. “Feel like going for a ride?” I ask, as I sit in my baby for the first time in months. You can’t wipe the smile off my face. Another nod. Her face is taught, but I can tell that she’s impressed by the wheels, because she keeps looking around. “Hey, what’s your name?” I ask, looking at her, trying to figure her out. “Diana.” She answers. “Cool. Named after a princess.” I comment. “You know that I’m Danny, right?”

She giggles and smiles. “Of course.” I shake her hand, almost in jest. “Nice to meet you.” Another nod. “Nice to meet you.” I slide my key into the ignition and turn the engine, leaning my head against the steering wheel. “Oh, man, that sound is almost as beautiful as my fucking guitar.” I kiss the steering wheel before lifting my head. “God…damn did I miss you, girl.” Diana giggles again. “You think that’s funny?” I tease. “I haven’t sat in this baby in over eight months. Aside from my red guitar, this is my favorite thing.” She smiles and I reach over and touch her face. Her gaze meets mine, but there is something behind her eyes that I can’t decipher. “Your friend told Booker that you were into some stuff…you know…that you wanted to do with me.” I state in a low, sultry voice, wondering if this whole shy thing is just an act. Some girls like to play shy, but then they’re animals in the sack. “I wanted to meet you.” She says simply, but her tone doesn’t match mine, and her eyes still have that…something…in there. “You did, did you.” I comment, moving in closer. My hand goes to her upper thigh and I can feel her freeze in place. Her chest begins to heave, and I take that as lust, but as I slide my hand further up her skirt, she winces. I look up and her eyes are wet, like she’s going to cry. My gaze goes down to my hand, and in all my life, I’ve never felt such terror. I remove my hand, and, almost protectively, I slide my hand up her other thigh, shake my head, and I look deeper at her face. Breathing in a deep breath and letting it out again, I stare at her, partly in fear, partly in pity and say. “Oh...fuck.”

Chapter 2 Diana It’s sad, really. Since my mom is officially two inches shorter than me, she has to be placed in front of me, not next to me, as the sound coordinator arranges us in order. We’re about to rehearse a song that we’ve been practicing for weeks, in church, and mom and I were both chosen to do the solo part in the middle. It’s one of my favorite gospel songs. Dad is in the audience, watching intently, with a look on his face that makes me ache. In my life, I hope I’m as lucky to meet a man who dotes on me as much as my dad dotes on my mom. Their love is so strong and wonderful, it often makes me jealous. When our solo part approaches, I watch dad’s eyes, beaming with pride, as his wife and daughter sing softly, reaching crescendos that only some opera singers can, and my heart swells. The gift I’ve been given I dare not squander. Mom and I have sung in choirs all over the state of California, and our voices mirror each other. We’re a team, and I love it as much as she does. With versatile voices, we can sing literally anything, from gospel to folk and anything in between. The performance is tomorrow, and it’s certainly in the bag. Even through high school, I’ve remained loyal to the choirs that mom and I are involved in, and since I’m planning on attending college locally, my loyalty will not falter. As our rehearsal finishes, mom walks up to dad and he takes his hand in hers, and grasps my hand as well. “You girls sounded lovely.” “Thanks.” Mom says, giving dad a quick kiss on the mouth. “Are we all hungry, because I’m starving.” “Sure. We can go out for dinner.” Dad suggests, and then he addresses me. “Where do you want to go, sugarplum?” “Anywhere. I’ll eat my own hand at this point.” I seem to burn a lot of calories when I sing. We go to my mom’s favorite restaurant and eat dinner. The music playing overhead in this casual restaurant is a genre I enjoy, and so does mom, so we

sing along while dad watches, grinning. Soon, the whole restaurant is listening to us, and we’ve attracted an audience. It happens sometimes. We even take some requests and get a few laughs. It’s a lot of fun. After dinner, we head home, and I have hours of homework to do before school tomorrow. As I study, reviewing notes for a test that I have next week, I hear a strange noise coming from my parent’s room. The noise turns into yelling, and my heart skips a beat. My parents never fight. Like, ever. Hearing it makes my chest thump, and then the door slams and I hear my mom crying outside of the bedroom. I’m frozen. I have no idea what to do as this is a first. Opening my bedroom door slowly, I see my mom standing in the hallway. Strange, she has a suitcase packed, sitting on the floor beside her. A concerned ‘v’ forms between my eyebrows as I figure out what words to say, since my mouth feels like it’s glued shut. “Mom? What’s going on?” Eyes full of tears, she looks up at me. I’ve never seen my mother cry. It’s… surreal. Even when my grandfather died two years ago, she never shed a tear. Sure, it was my dad’s father, but still, they were very close. Hell, I even cried at the funeral. Mom looks at me and wipes the tears away quickly. “I’m sorry, Diana.” Is all she says before walking away. I watch her continue, until she’s at the front door. She looks at me once more, pinching her lips into a smile, and repeats. “I’m sorry.” Before leaving. Feet cemented to the floor, I stand there in shock. Where did my mother go? What is going on? Why were my parents fighting? Taking a step towards my parent’s bedroom, I listen closely. Nothing. Silence. It sounds as normal as it always does. You can hear a pin drop in my parent’s room day and night. Feeling slight normalcy restored, I knock softly. “Dad?” “Come in, Diana.” He says. When I walk inside, he’s sitting at his desk. There are clothes thrown all over the bed, as if mom left in a hurry. Some of her toiletries have been left behind, too. “Dad, what happened? Where did mom go?” His back is to me. He turns to face me, and he says, as if he’s telling me what we’re having for dinner. “She left me.” he swallows, waiting another second to add. “For another man.”

My jaw drops. My heart practically stops, and I place a hand on my chest, wondering if it really did. How can he be so nonchalant? So callous? They loved each other to the moon and back. Dad would never say anything so cold and heartless about her, and she would never leave him. They love each other to death. “W…what?” He turns his back to me again, as if it should require no further explanation. Like he’s finished talking about it. “W…what? She…left?” “That’s what I said, Diana.” “Why?” He turns his head my way but his eyes don’t meet mine. “I told you, Diana. She left me for another man.” “W…where did she go?” “To live with him, I presume.” He says as if I asked him what color pants she was wearing. “What’s going to happen to me?” “You’re a grown girl, Diana. You decide.” I’m in my senior year in high school. College is around the corner. This is the house I have lived in since birth. “Did she leave a number? How do I even call her?” a million other questions are running through my mind, but I save them. “She said she would call.” He says, eyes pinned on some bills. He doesn’t even stop to address me. Instead, he takes the letter opener on the desk and easily slices it through the envelope, without missing a beat. I’m stunned. Confused. Devastated. My parents have been a steady foundation of love throughout my entire life. There has never been any indication that there were any issues at all. They’re like two peas in a pod. In love like they have been since they first married. It’s like my whole world is crumbling before my eyes, and dad is sitting there as though my mom just went out for milk and bread.

“Dad?” He turns towards me, and for a split second I see it. His eyes are red, like he’s fighting back tears. He turns back towards the desk a moment later. “Diana, you should get to bed. It’s late and you have school in the morning.” He pauses. “We’ll talk about this tomorrow.” I want to run to him and give him a hug. And as I feel my chin quiver, he turns to me again, but this time his voice is firm. “Diana, please do as you’re told.” With a stiff upper lip, I straighten and square my shoulders. “Yes, dad.”

***

It’s past ten o’clock, and I know that my dad is in bed sleeping, because I heard him brush his teeth in the bathroom. That’s what he always does right before he goes to sleep. He’s like a goddamn metronome with timing. The man is OCD all over. Lifting my head from my pillow, I stick my nose against the glass of my window, and I see that Amanda’s bedroom light is still on. Amanda and I grew up together. We’ve been best friends since Kindergarten, and, like me, she’s lived in that house since she was born. Tiptoeing out the front door, still in my clothes, I run to the backyard and hop the fence, the same thing I’ve always done when I want to go visit her or vice versa. I pull the lawn chair from the patio set over to her window and stand on it, so I can reach her window to knock. She’s got her music on, but it’s low enough that she can hear me. Her face appears a moment later, and then it disappears. She knows that I know to go to the side door so she can let me in. The side door opens, and I sneak inside quietly. We tiptoe to her bedroom and she closes the door behind me. “Hey, what’s going on?” she whispers, offering me a t, which I never take. Normally, she lights up and opens her window, smoking it while we chat, so I watch her search for her lighter.

“My mom left my dad.” I blurt, raking the hair at the sides of my head in exasperation. I’m pacing as I explain. Her eyes bulge. “What?” she hisses, her equivalent to shouting, only quieter. “She just…packed her bags and left.” I explain. “And my dad’s acting like she just went out for groceries. I think he lost it.” “Holy…fuck.” She says, concerned ed all over her face. “What happened?” “I have no idea.” I say, fingers clutching the sides of my head, pulling my hair, so it looks like I’m giving myself a facelift. Amanda bats my hands away. “You’re going to hurt yourself.” She says. “Here, you need this more than I do.” She hands me the t, but again, I decline. “Are you sure? Fuck, I would be beside myself.” She says, when she hears another knock at her bedroom window. Rolling her eyes, she says. “Fuck, that’s Mark. I told him to come over so we could fool around tonight. Hang on.” I watch her to go the window and open it. “Raincheck, babe.” Is all she says, and then she closes the window again, as if he’s old news. “You’re giving up a bootie call for me?” I scoff. This is monumental. Amanda has hormones worse than a guy. “I slept with Tommy earlier.” She shrugs. God, if I didn’t love her so much, I’d loathe her for being such a slut. In my family, nobody has sex before marriage, otherwise they’re shunned. She changes the subject. “So, why did she leave?” “I don’t know. All she said to me was that she was sorry.” I shake my head, still in shock. “Well, I can’t say I’m surprised, Diana.” She says, but even though her tone is nonchalant, her face is still laced with concern. “What do you mean?” I practically squeak. “My parents are so in love it kills me sometimes.” Pulling a cigarette out of her nightstand drawer, she lights up. “Diana, I love you,

you know that, right?” “Of course.” “Well, my parents fight all the time, and then they make up, and I know because half the time I have to turn my music up so I don’t have to hear them…making up, you know?” she tilts her head slightly, indicating how much she hates to it it. “Your parents are like fucking Fred and Wilma Flintstone. Sure, they’re all fucking lovey-dovey and shit in public, but I’ve known you all my life, and I’ve never once sensed any heat between them.” “So what? Lots of couples don’t have sex after a certain age. What’s the big deal?” “So, your dad is like a fucking stone.” She adds. “He’s never shown an ounce of emotion. He never gets pissed off, never laughs, never cries, and it’s…creepy.” “He smiles all the time, and he always compliments my mom and I. Lots of people don’t show emotion in public. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t have feelings. I swear he was crying when I went into his bedroom after my mom left.” “And that’s another thing.” She says, as if ignoring my last point. “He never talks…about anything. It’s like he keeps everything inside. Think about it. Every time you go to him with a problem, what does he say?” she pauses while I think. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.” She adds. “And do you ever talk about it? No.” I want to vomit. She’s right. That’s exactly what he said to me right before I went back to my room. “Face it, Diana. Your dad is a robot and your mom got tired of it.” she exhales and a puff of smoke clouds her face for a moment. “I bet you she left him for another guy, too.” My eyes dart to hers. She tilts her head and moves it from side to side, as if we both know that that’s exactly why she left. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be insensitive, Diana. But your father has raised you to look away from reality, and in a lot of ways, to lose sense of it. Shit, you’re fucking almost nineteen, and you’re still a goddamn virgin. Dammit, I lost mine four years ago.”

“We’re two different people, Amanda.” “I know that, but it’s valid.” She says, her voice raising an octave. “You’re not even allowed to have a boyfriend for chrissake. It’s like by sheltering you, your dad doesn’t have to deal with any of the realities of life. I’m surprised that you haven’t fucking rebelled like every other goddamn teenager on this planet who can’t do what the fuck they want.” “Yeah, well, your parents would let you roam the streets if you asked.” “Like hell they would.” She barks. “Why do you think I’m sneaking everyone in here after hours? My goddamn window is like a revolving door past ten o’clock every night.” “But they let you do whatever you want as long as it’s before ten o’clock.” “Yeah, and that’s when all the action happens.” She smirks. “But they don’t let me out past ten no matter what. That’s the rule. I can do whatever I want as long as it’s before then.” “And do they know that you smoke cigarettes and pot, and sneak guys in here?” “Well, I think they know about the cigarettes and pot, but I keep the guys under wraps. Hell, I don’t want to have to introduce them to my parents.” “Why not?” “Because my mom would be taking me shopping for bloody china patterns if I started bringing guys home!” “And you don’t want to get married?” She shrugs. “Some day. But not to these losers.” She thumbs towards her window, a sour expression is on her face. “I just want to romp around with them. I’m not looking for anything serious. Not until after college.” She changes the subject again. “So, what are you going to do? Are you going to stay with your dad, or go live with your mom?” “I don’t even know where she went, Amanda. Dad said that she would call.”

“Yikes.” She screws up her face, but then she takes another drag of her cigarette. A song comes on the radio and she cranks it up a notch. Her parents sleep on the other side of the house, thank God, otherwise I’m sure that they would hear us. “Did you hear that ‘Risk It’ is going on tour in the summer? You want to go?” she asks, as though that should be on the forefront of my mind. Even though they’re my favorite band, I’m not thinking about that right now. “I don’t know. Can we please focus here?” “Come on. You can’t tell me that you wouldn’t love to see them in concert.” “The point is moot, Amanda. You know that my dad would never let me go.” “See, that’s what I don’t understand.” She says pointedly. Her voice is flat. “You eat, sleep and breathe music. You have a kickass voice. Yet your dad won’t let you go see your favorite band.” “He lets me listen to them all I want. It’s the fact that they’re a rock band and he doesn’t want me exposed to drugs.” “Please.” She says, holding up her t, unimpressed. “Besides, it’s just him sheltering you from life, again. Jesus, you’re nineteen. You’re about to graduate high school. It’s criminal.” She takes another drag. “What’s he going to do when you go off to college? Is he going to follow you all over campus to make sure you don’t have a life?” “I think we’re getting off topic here.” “No, we’re not, Diana.” She argues. “This is likely another reason why your mom left. Not only are you not allowed to enjoy life, but neither was your mom.” “Yes she was. We toured all over LA with the choir, dad took us out to dinner all the time. We enjoyed life.” “Yeah, as a family, Diana.” She says firmly. “When was the last time your parents did anything just the two of them?” I try to think, but I can’t .

“Exactly.” She pauses for effect. “My parents are out all the time without me. They’re out more together than we are as a family. Sure, it’s different when we’re younger, but even then, you still need time as a couple. Plus, who knows what your mom missed out on. If she didn’t have the choir, she’d be holed up at home while your dad pays the bills and reads.” She pauses and then smiles. “I bet your mom met some hunk, and now she’s shacking up with him.” “Do you want me to throw up?” “Sorry.” She rises and comes over to give me a hug. “Do you want to sleep over?” “No. I better go home. My dad will worry if I’m not there in the morning.” “Okay.” She hugs me again. “Are you going to be okay?” “Yeah.” I nod. It feels weird, but I feel better since talking to Amanda. Even though we didn’t solve anything, at least she helped me to better understand the dynamics between my parents versus hers. We’d never spoken about that before. Our conversations are always about the typical teenage stuff: music, boys, and sex. “Okay. I’ll see you at school tomorrow.” “See you. And thanks.”

***

It took two weeks. Two weeks of dad and I speaking minimally, and avoiding the elephant in the room, for two weeks. And then the phone rang one night during dinner, and it was mom. The conversation was short, as dad answered the phone. He gave me no opportunity to speak to her at all. He simply took down the number where she was staying and left it at that. When I realized who it was on the other end, I froze. Dad spoke to mom flatly, like she was calling from a doctor’s office confirming an appointment or something. The only way I realized

that it was her, was that he looked over at me and said. “Diana is fine.” The way he said it was cold and unfeeling, not like when my grandmother calls and he’s warm and bubbly and he es the phone to me. He left the number on the pad by the phone, I’m guessing so that I have an opportunity to speak to my mother, but without his presence. It seems to me like that is the way it’s going to go down. I asked no questions when the conversation ended, and he offered no information. He just walked out the door, taking his keys and his jacket with him. I have no idea where he went, because he came back after I went to bed. He brushed his teeth, and went to bed himself. A week later, I got up the nerve to call her. As I dial the number, my heart is pumping out of my chest, which is ridiculous. I mean, it’s my mother. She answers on the second ring. “Hello?” “Mom. Hi, it’s me.” A pause. “Diana. Hi. I…I’m so glad to hear your voice.” She sounds…odd. Like she’s in a room full of people and has to watch what she says. “Is this a bad time?” “No. No, not at all. I…I wasn’t sure what to expect. I didn’t know if your dad gave you my number.” “He left it by the phone.” “I was afraid that he wouldn’t give it to you, and that every time I would call, that he would pick up the phone.” “No, he’s out right now, anyway.” She skips over that bit of information. “How are you doing?” “I’m okay. I was a little shocked, but I’m okay now.” “I’m…so sorry it went down like that, Diana. I never expected that to happen.”

“Mom?” “Yes, love.” “Can you…can you tell me what happened?” A sigh and then a sniff. “Well, Diana, I fell in love. I don’t know how else to put it to you. I met another man. A wonderful man. And before I knew it, I just…I fell in love with him.” “But what about dad? I mean…I thought that you two were so in love.” “We were, but it was…different. I never stopped loving your father, sweetheart, I just wasn’t…in love with him anymore. Does that make sense?” “Kind of.” I pause to let that digest. “How did you meet him?” “You know how I was going to a voice coach? Before Christmas? So I could do that solo for the concert?” “Yeah.” I catch on. “Oh, so it’s your voice coach.” “Not exactly. He was also being coached at the time.” “So, he’s a singer, too?” “Yes. He sings in choirs also. In fact, I’m surprised that we haven’t crossed paths before.” “And you’re living with him now?” “Yes.” A pause. “But I want you to know Diana, that I did not anticipate this happening. We only decided to move in together when your father…well…I don’t blame him, but he…he threw me out. Douglas and I only started to get serious just after Christmas. I tried to tell your father so many times, but…you know him…he never wanted to talk about anything. It was difficult.” “I understand.” “How are things between you and your dad, sweetheart?”

“Tense. To say the least.” “Well, Diana, I want you to know that you have options. Douglas and I have discussed this many times, and we decided that you are welcome to live with us, or live with your dad, or a combination of both. I just figured with college coming next year, that the point would be moot.” “But, I’m going to college locally, mom. You know that.” “Oh, Diana, you deserve to go wherever you want to. That’s…another thing that I never agreed on. But again, your dad didn’t want to discuss things. It was his way and that was it.” “I get it. But I still want to go to college here in LA.” “That’s up to you, sweetheart. I you no matter what you want to do.” Wow. I like this new version of mom. She’s…liberal. “And you can come and see me whenever you want, okay? I’m not far.” She tells me where she is. It’s like ten minutes away. “I wanted to buy you a car last year, but your dad wouldn’t let me, so you can have my car. Douglas has a spare car that I’m using for now.” “Really? I can have a car?” My smile is a mile wide. “You’re eighteen, Diana. And there are lots of things that you should have. I don’t mean to put your dad down, but you’re my daughter, too, and I could never voice my opinion until now.” “This is awesome.” I gush, but it’s short lived. My dad comes storming into the house a moment later. He sees that I’m on the phone in the kitchen, and he glares at me. “I should go, mom. I’ll call you later, okay?” “As often as you like, sweetheart. I love you.” “I love you, too, mom.” I say and hang up. Dad is standing there, and I see his chest is heaving. “That was…mom.” I say simply. “Um hm.” He says, and then he pinches his lips together. Something is different.

Off. His eyes are red like they were the night that mom left. But it’s not only that. And it isn’t until he approaches me that I realize what it is. …and the next five minutes change my life forever.

Chapter 3 Danny “Shit, what happened?” I ask, my voice soft and laced with concern. “Were you in like a car accident or something?” “No.” she answers with a gasp. My eyes search hers. My voice is flat but still soft, as realization hits. “Who did this to you?” “Please.” She pleads. “I just…I can’t tell you.” “Why not?” “Because.” Her cheeks are soaked with tears. “Please…I’m so sorry.” “Sorry for what?” I’m confused. I shake my head. “Because...I know you wanted me to…and…” “Shhh….” I say, placing my hand benignly on her elbow. “Look, I knew you weren’t going to do that, anyway. It’s okay. Don’t sweat it.” I add a little chuckle in an attempt to lighten things. “Look, if you can’t tell me who did it, that’s cool. It’s none of my business.” I sit back in the driver’s seat and put the car into gear. “Let’s just go for a ride, okay?” I look at her and she nods, wiping her tears. I’m a little rusty, so I grind the gears a little, and look at her. “You’d think I wouldn’t lose my touch, but it looks like I did.” “Don’t feel bad.” She blubbers, wiping her cheeks. “I don’t even know how to drive a stick shift.” “No?” I ask. “Do you want to learn?”

“Now?” she asks, as though it’s ridiculous. “Why the fuck not? We’re in the back parking lot. Nobody’s here. And at least this way you’ll cheer up, man. I feel bad that I made you cry.” “It’s not your fault.” She says, and then she looks around, as if seeing the interior for the first time…again. “You want to teach me how to drive in a Lamborghini?” “It’s just a fucking go-cart, babe. A hunk of metal.” “How many of these do you own?” she asks, probably thinking that I have a couple dozen to spare. “Just this one.” I shrug, getting out of the car. I stick my head back inside. “Come on. Switch sides with me.” “Are you nuts?” she asks, but she’s also getting out of the car. I pat her affectionately on the shoulder. “Only a little.” Grunting, I slide into the enger side. She sits in the driver’s seat and stares. “Well, are you going to drive the thing or what?” “How?” she’s looking at the dash, at all the lights and gadgets. “Never mind all that shit.” I explain, and point to the gear shift. “It’s an ‘h’, right?” “Uh huh.” “Now, look at the numbers. One, two, three, four and five, right?” “Yeah.” I reach up and turn on the interior light. “Now, there are three pedals, right?” She looks down at her feet. “Yes.” She says, as though checking it in a box. “Left to right; clutch, brake, gas.”

A nod. “Okay.” “Now, we’re in a parking lot, so you don’t need to worry about anything more than first gear. So you press down on the clutch, push the shift up, and slowly press the gas. Now try.” “God, you are nuts.” She laughs without a trace of mirth. “What is this car worth, anyway? What if I ruin the transmission?” I wave. “Don’t sweat it. I have the best mechanic in LA. Come on. Give it a try. If you fuck up, you fuck up. Who cares?” “Are you sure?” she asks, her eyes are like dinner plates. “Sure. Give it a go.” She gets it on the first try, and I smile as we cruise slowly in the parking lot. “There, see? That’s awesome. Look at you! Now you can tell all your friends that you drove a Lamborghini.” Her eyes are wide as she focuses, and then her expression softens as she realizes that she’s really doing it. “Oh, my goodness.” She mutters. “Look at you…now you can take over the fucking world.” I encourage. We get close to the end of the lot and she puts the brakes on. When we’ve come to a full stop, I explain how to put the emergency brake up. “Okay, now let’s switch sides again, so I can show you what this baby can really do.” I high five her as we cross paths on the way to switch sides. The smile on her face is genuine. As I get back into the driver’s side, I look at her. “Good for you. I’m proud.” “Thanks.” I take her up a few back roads, until I find the freeway, which is pretty desolate at this time of night. And I crank it up a notch, showing her this thing’s chops. She laughs as I speed up, holding on tight to the sides of the enger’s seat. “You’re not scared, are you?” I ask, to be sure, even though her face says that she’s having fun.

“No. If you were drunk, I might be.” She says honestly. “Stick around.” I tease. Since we’re going towards my house, I ask. “No strings attached, but, do you want to go to my house?” I lift a hand in the air. “I promise I’ll be a perfect gentleman.” She looks at me, but is hesitant. “Okay.” “You sure? I can take you right back to the stadium if you want.” “No, I’m sure that Amanda is still having fun with Booker. I’ll just be sitting around waiting.” “I’ll give you a lift home if you want.” “You don’t have to do that.” “Well, what’s the difference? I mean, I either take you back to the auditorium or home, right?” “Okay.” She nods. “Thanks.” “No problem.” I pat her leg, making sure that I keep any close to her knee, recalling that the huge welts were on her thighs. And I can’t help but wonder if she was raped, attacked, mugged, or if this is the work of a disgruntled boyfriend. Maybe she’s as frigid as she seems, and he didn’t want to wait. Either way, she’s got a laundry list of injuries, including a bruise on her face that’s just started healing. And the only reason I saw that was because when she started crying, whatever makeup she’s put on to hide it, faded away. Her life is none of my business, so I don’t mention her bruises again, even though it’s in my mind. My parents raised me to never hit a woman, like…ever. But then again, how do I know it’s a man who did it to her? For all I know, it could also be that she got into a fight with some other chick, right? I could speculate all night, but it isn’t going to do me any good, because she’s not going to tell me who did it. Whoever is responsible has some kind of hold on her, clearly. “Are you sure you want to take me back to your place? I mean, don’t you want to go back to some of those other girls?”

“I can go back later.” I explain. “Besides, you’re the only one I really wanted to hang around with, anyway.” I say honestly. “The other chicks were too…I don’t know.” “Slutty?” she supplies. I smile and pat her leg again. “Yeah, kind of.” A chuckle. “I know. Rock star. You’d think I’d be all over that, huh. Kind of lame, isn’t it.” She looks at me. “Not really. I bet you get sick of girls pawing at you all the time. I could see it in your face.” “You could?” “Yeah.” She nods. “I…I kind of felt sorry for you.” “You did?” I’m watching her as I switch gears. “Yeah. I mean, how many girls just want to hang around with you for genuine reasons? You must get tired of that.” “I do, sometimes. It’s a shit deal when you’re constantly fighting off chicks who only want to fuck around or cop money from you. I have yet to meet a chick who just wants to be around me for me, you know? Well, until you, anyway.” I look at her. “Hey, why did you want to meet me, anyway? I’ve never asked a fan that before. I always assumed it was an obvious thing. Maybe it’s not.” “I love your music.” She says simply, shocking me, finishing with a nonchalant shrug. “Ever since I heard your first song, I was hooked.” “You must have been like, what, eight?” “Around there, yes.” “And your friend has the hots for Booker?” That gets an eye roll. “Amanda has the hots for any male. Her bed moves faster than this car.” I laugh out loud. “Jesus.”

Her face turns pink and it’s adorable. “So, how is it that you two are so tight? You’re obviously not like that.” “Amanda’s great. She might be a bit of a slut, but she’s got great street smarts. She doesn’t let anyone mess with her or me, and she’s a genius. Plus, her sense of adventure is phenomenal. I never would have made it out here tonight if it wasn’t for her.” “No? How come?” We’re almost at my house. As we hit a light, I blip the throttle a bit, making her giggle. She likes this car, or at least what it can do. “My dad is very strict.” She says, but she doesn’t expand on that. “Ah. I get that. My folks were strict on certain things, too, but when they saw that I had a musical streak in me, they pulled out all the stops.” “You’re lucky.” She says. “I was allowed to do stuff with the school and church choir, but not without a chaperone.” “Oh yeah? You sing?” “A little.” She says modestly. “What kind of stuff?” “Just…gospel.” “You play any instruments?” “Piano…a little. And the bells.” I lift a brow. “Like…bells…you don’t know what I’m talking about?” “Actual bells? Like…bells?” She snuffles a laugh. “When was the last time you went to church?”

I take a second to recall. “Never mind.” She waves, still snuffling. “They’re bells tuned to the scales. You can actually play tunes on them. I can play those.” “Cool.” I say. “Hey, an instrument is an instrument, right?” “Exactly.” We pull up to my house. The iron gate is locked, so I hop out and unlock it, pulling it open enough to get my car in. After the Lambo is inside, I hop out, and lock it again. There is quite a stretch from the gate to my house, so I put the car into second gear and ride it out. Diana is smiling, enjoying the car, which surprises me. I figured with a shy little girl like she is, that she’d be afraid of a fast car. It can be intimidating to some. “So, how come if you love our band’s music, why didn’t you go ape shit over Booker? I mean, he’s the lyricist. That’s usually why chicks dig him. That, and he’s a bit of a slut himself.” She’s facetious. “A bit?” “Ah, I get it. So that’s why you weren’t hot for Booker.” “Exactly.” “Gotcha.” I wink at her as we pull up to my garage. After I hit the garage door opener and the hydraulics lift the door up, I watch her face light up. “Wow.” She breathes, looking at the fleet of cars that I have inside my garage. It’s my only indulgence. My house is relatively modest, aside from being built on a large parcel of acreage, but that was only for privacy, and it was a must with my status. In my collection, I have several older cars, some that need work, but my Lambo, Corvette and my bitchin’ baby 1967 Chevelle are my pride and joy. The Lambo is a hot car, but my Chevelle I keep hiding safe away, and I only take her out for really special occasions. My mechanic comes around regularly to check on her, and I love him for it. I actually loaned his daughter my Chevelle for her wedding, and for that, he’s done all kinds of repairs and maintenance for all my babies free of charge. “Yeah, my house is boring compared to my garage.” I it.

“I’ll say. My dad drives a Pontiac station wagon. My mom drives a Volkswagen.” I park the car and we disembark. We check out my other babies for a few minutes, and I give her the low down on why I bought them, where, and what needs to be done to them. “What do you drive?” I ask her. “A LeCar.” She presses her lips together, like she knows how lame that is. “But I’m buying a better one once I graduate college.” “What are you taking?” I ask, gesturing with my head towards the door at the side of the garage, which leads into the house. I close the garage door and watch it until it shuts tight before opening the door to the house. “I’m just in my first year, so only general courses right now. I haven’t decided what I want to do yet.” Opening the door to the house, I turn on the light in the foyer. My house is nothing special. The highlights are the cathedral ceilings and the skylights. My architect built it so the entire house would be sonically sound, and the basement is soundproof, so if my parents come to stay with me, I have a place to go practice and jam, without them going out of their minds. There are a few extra bedrooms, but other than that, my house is no different than the next house. “This is cute.” Diana comments. “I like the ceiling.” She says, looking around. I’ll it, it’s a bit of a mess with guitars and other instruments laying around. At least everything is all kept properly on stands, and not strewn about. My instruments are my assets, so I don’t throw them around, and my housekeeper is great at keeping things the way they should be. She’s been on a bit of a hiatus with me being away on tour, but she still comes in weekly to clean and check my mail and stuff. “Yeah, I can play in here all I want, and record the odd thing, too. It has great acoustics, so I sometimes get my producer to come out here and do a little bit of rudimentary recording. There’s no soundboard here so we can’t do mixing or overdubbing or anything like that, but it sure has a nice sound when you need it.” “Where do you do your recordings?”

“It depends on what sounds we’re looking for.” I explain. “Sometimes we go to a couple of studios right here in LA, other times we go to this other place in New York, and once we went to to get a different sound, but we try not to do that too often.” She has gorgeous eyes. Booker, if he were here, he’d be saying to me, ‘you’re looking at her eyes?...Fag.’ But I can’t help it. They’re so blue, and her eyelashes are really dark and long, so her irises stand out a mile. I can’t even notice the bruise on her eye anymore. “So, what are you thinking of taking in school?” I ask, trying to avert my attention from her eyes. “I’m not sure. I thought about doing something with history, something biblical, maybe. But the career prospects aren’t too promising in a field like that. Unless I want to become a priest or a historian. I do love history though, and I can site ages from the bible without blinking, and I know any gospel songs inside out.” “Can you read music?” “No. But I have written some song lyrics. Really crappy, girly stuff, that nobody would ever listen to, but I like it.” “You want something to drink?” I offer as we walk towards the kitchen. The fridge is nicely stocked as requested. “You drink alcohol, or do you prefer PG stuff?” “I don’t drink.” She waves. I didn’t think so. “You ever tried?” “No.” she shakes her head. “Not that Amanda didn’t coax me enough.” I chuckle. “That’s kind of what I figured.” “I’ll just have a glass of water.” “Ice?” “Sure.”

After I pour her a drink and myself one, we stand at the counter. She seems to have loosened up now that she knows that I’m not going to try to jump her bones again. I like it that she’s not asking me a million fucking questions about myself, like she’s a goddamn reporter. Sometimes, that’s even worse than when chicks are all over me. But she does ask me a question that floors me. “Do you believe in God?” “I do.” I say honestly. “Very much. I think he’s the one who gifted me with the feel for guitar.” “Me too.” “I wasn’t…raised perhaps the way that you were raised, you know. But certainly, I thank God every day for stupid stuff, like that I still have use of my hands and shit. And that I didn’t die when I went on stage. Stuff like that.” “That’s not stupid.” She corrects with conviction. “Amanda made me wear these high heeled shoes once. I prayed to God that I wouldn’t fall and break my neck.” I have to laugh at that. “You’re sweet.” She smiles, and it could light up the night. “You are too.” That petrified, nervous look in her eyes is gone, and what’s left is soft, honest, good-natured loveliness. “You want to see the rest of the place?” “Sure.” She downs the rest of her water, leaving just ice chips. I take our glasses and place them in the sink. My house is a bungalow, and it’s open concept, so I can have parties here or jam with anyone and we’re never short on room. With a skylight in each room, there is a lot of natural light, except for now, when it’s nighttime, but I do point out that I hardly ever have to turn on lights in this house. One spare room I keep for guests, and the bed is made up, ready for someone to stay over. The other room is an office, but let’s face it, there isn’t too much done in there, so I keep a desk and some workout equipment there. When we get to my room, I expect her to hesitate, but she doesn’t. She’s immediately drawn to a family photo of me and my parents. It was taken during Christmas right before ‘Risk It’ was famous,

when I was about fifteen years old. “Is this your mom?” she asks, pointing to the lady sitting next to me. I nod once, pursing my lips together. “Yeah, she has Multiple Sclerosis.” I explain, as Diana notices that she’s sitting in a wheelchair. “That’s why I had this house built this way; with open concept and no stairs.” A pause. “They don’t come to stay over often, but I’d like her to feel comfortable when they do.” She looks at me, searching my eyes. “How long has she had it?” “She found out just after I was born. Had a bad fall and the doctors couldn’t figure out why, until they did this special scan. It didn’t take long after that for her to be in a wheelchair.” I nod. “I can’t tell you how much money I’ve given to MS research, but it’s one of the reasons why I don’t have a huge house or several of them, or all of the other luxuries that the other boys have.” I lift a finger. “But I do have my cars, and those are my babies.” “Well, you deserve to enjoy some of your money, Danny. It’s very noble of you to do what you’ve done.” I slough over her comment. “I don’t like the media to know about my mom, just, because if they find out about all the money I’ve given to research, other charities will be all over me and I’ll never sleep at night.” “I can’t say I blame you there.” “That was my mother’s wish, too, by the way. She doesn’t want me hounded.” “I guess being that you’re her only child, she wants to protect you.” “Yeah. Something like that.” “Has she ever seen you in concert?” I shake my head. “No. That would be a dead giveaway. Can’t hide that.” Her jaw drops and her eyes turn into dinner plates. “You mean your mom has never seen you play live?”

“Well, she’s seen recordings, but just my dad has come to my concerts. Mom won’t. It’s not that she’s ashamed or anything, she just doesn’t want anyone to know. Only the boys know and our management, but everyone’s pretty cool about keeping that under their hat.” “Have you ever brought girls up here? Aren’t you afraid that they’ll squeal?” I look at her, searching her eyes, and I slide a finger down her cheek. “I’ve had a lot of girls up here, Diana. But none of them ever noticed this picture except you.”

Chapter 4 Diana He has cute little layers at the sides of his head that feather, and he’s crouched down so he’s level with his mother, and his father is on the opposite side, holding her hand. The wheelchair is metal, with polished chrome wheels, and white rubber accoutrements. There is a big Christmas tree behind them, littered with huge ornaments. Red and green silk balls, multicolored lights, and a layer of silver tinsel. I’m guessing that after her diagnosis, they never pursued more children, hence Danny being an only child like me. In the basement is an array of guitars, all on stands, arranged in some significant order that I’m trying to figure out. On one side of the finished area is a huge panoramic photograph of a stage alight with pyrotechnics and the ‘Risk It’ logo in the back. It’s set further back, but you can clearly see all the guys from the band, gathering at the front, holding hands up high in the air, and I’m guessing that this is right before their encore, when they say goodbye, only to bend and come back for one or two more songs. The other side of the basement has a beautiful black and white photograph of Danny’s mother again, with child, and another photo right next to it, set off a few inches further down the wall, of the three of them, including an infant Danny, in a white christening gown. “My mom has a copy of that picture, too.” He comments, looking casually at me observing it, as he walks towards one of his guitars and picks it up off the stand. “I’m thinking about getting a soundboard in here some day, but Murphy, our producer, thinks that this area isn’t big enough. I think it’s bullshit, but whatever. I think I’ll do it anyway, just to piss him off.” He chuckles as he tunes an amp and starts playing the guitar. The floor is so brilliantly polished, I can see my reflection in the wood. A fireplace is off to the side, and I that there is one in the exact spot upstairs in the living room. A couch is the only furniture down here, and a small coffee table, but the rest of the room is an assortment of guitars, amps, cables, and other musical things that I don’t know the names of. “Are you cold? I can put the fireplace on if you are.”

“No, I’m fine. Thanks.” “Come sit. I’ll play you something if you want.” He gestures with his chin for me to sit on the couch, so I take a seat, leaving a space for one between us. There are three doors in the basement. One is open and I can see a washer and dryer combo, plus a furnace. He watches my gaze and comments. “One room is for storage, and the other is another guest room and an ensuite bathroom.” “Ah.” I nod. “What would you like to hear?” I shrug. “Anything. Aren’t you tired from tonight?” He waves and frowns. “Na, not at all. I live for playing. I could play all day and night. And I have.” He says, feigning that he’s impressed with himself, which makes me smile. When he starts noodling around on the guitar, I watch him, mesmerized at his finger tapping and strumming of the chords. He plays a riff that is soft at the beginning, but then the tempo gets thicker and faster, and it morphs into a song that I feel like dancing to. He’s exceptionally talented, but then, I already knew that. “How is your dad, you know, with your mom sick and all?” I ask when he takes a break. “He’s fine.” He shrugs. “My mom’s a real trooper. She’s not one of those selfpitying types at all. That woman can do more than some people without a disability.” “What about your folks?” I swallow and my gaze goes to the floor. “They separated about a year and a half ago.” “Oh, shit. I’m sorry to hear that.” he says, and the conviction in his voice is disarming. He rubs his nose. “Any idea why they split?” “My mom met someone else.” I explain. “But I’ve since learned that they had somewhat of an empty marriage.”

“What do you mean?” I guffaw, thinking of not so long ago, when Amanda broadened my horizons on the subject. “Evidently my dad is a robot.” “Like…how?” I explain how he doesn’t like to talk things out or express emotion. “And my mom grew tired of it. Douglas, her boyfriend, is great.” “So, which one of them lined up to beat the snot out of the asshole who put those welts on your thighs?” he looks up at me when I don’t answer. Immediately. I’m frozen. “Oh, shit, I’m sorry, Diana.” Then he hesitates. “Wait a minute. Do you even have a boyfriend?” he’s confused, but I feel like he’s getting warmer. I say nothing, because I’m afraid to. “So, if you don’t have a boyfriend, and you weren’t in a car accident, and since you wilfully came to my place, I’d say you’re not a rape victim,” he looks at me and we lock eyes. “Shit, you said that your mom’s boyfriend is great, so that leaves….” I look away. “Holy shit.” He whispers. “Your fucking father did this to you?” He hisses. My eyes well up. The ball in my throat is so large it cuts off my breath and I gasp. Danny sets his guitar down and slides closer to me. He holds his arms out, as if offering his affections, but only if I want it. As I lean into him, he wraps his arms around me, and holds me. The warmth from his touch is so comforting that I melt into him. Never in my life have I felt so close to the opposite sex. My dad hardly hugged me, and if he did, it was so quick if I blinked it was over. When I was little, he’d hold me, but once I was too big to be carried, the hugs ceased. Danny strokes my back with his whole hand, lolling slightly for comfort, and I notice that he kisses the side of my head intermittently. “Do you still live with him, Diana?” he murmurs, his tone almost clinical, like he’s a therapist. “Yes.” “Why don’t you go live with your mom?” “Because he’ll come after me. And he said that if anyone finds out about this,

he’ll come after me.” “Fuck him. Live with your mom. Tell your mom’s boyfriend and he’ll pound the fucking shit out of him.” “You don’t understand, Danny. He said that if that happens, that he’ll go after my mom, too.” I sputter, blubbering fresh tears. “He’s turned to the bottle, and he’s a man, Danny. He’ll kill me.” “Then you need to go to the cops, Diana. Report this.” I pull back from him. “No, no, I can’t.” “Why not?” “He’ll kill my mom, Danny. You don’t understand.” “He can’t kill anyone if he’s behind bars, Diana.” “I…I…can’t.” I’m sobbing. “Does he know where your mom lives?” “No. But I’m sure that he could figure it out.” “How’s he going to figure it out? Does he know who she’s shacked up with?” “No. My dad…he doesn’t like to talk about anything. He doesn’t know anything except her phonr number.” “How big is this guy she’s living with?” “Bigger than my dad.” I nod. “But my dad, he’s, a monster when he’s been drinking.” “I know, Di, I’ve seen the marks.” He comments. “Look, if he doesn’t know where she lives, then, as long as he doesn’t follow you there, I don’t see how he can get to your mom. You need to get out of there, Di. Before he kills you.” I swallow, looking at Danny with my eyes wide open. “I’m scared.”

His tone says, ‘level with me’. “How long has this been going on?” “Since about a week after she left. It started with him just slapping me here and there, and then it escalated.” “Did he ever try to rape you?” I shake my head vigorously. “No, God no, nothing like that. He just goes out and gets drunk, and when he comes back, he’s so angry.” He inspects my face. His hands are on my chin as he moves it from side to side, looking at my eyes. “Did he give you a shiner?” “Yeah. That was a couple of weeks ago.” “And Amanda never picked up on any of this? I’m sure that she could take him down herself.” “No, she doesn’t know. I’ve managed to keep it from her.” I swallow. “And if you hadn’t…tonight…you would never have known, either.” “ how I said I believed in God, Diana?” I nod. “Yes.” “Well, I think God wanted me to find those marks on your legs.” He sits back and licks his lips. “Look, I’m not saying that this is permanent or anything, but, I’m home from touring now, and I’ve got a locked gate. If you don’t want to report this motherfucker to the cops, then why don’t you come and stay with me?” My eyes widen. “You have got to be kidding.” “No, I’m not kidding at all.” He pauses, licking his lips again. I’m guessing that he licks his lips when he’s biding time. “I’m this close to going and punching the fucking lights out of him myself, Diana. Now, you can’t go home, you said so yourself that if he finds out where you’ve been tonight, that he’ll kill you. So, don’t go home.” “But I have to.”

He chuckles without a trace of mirth. “No, you don’t.” He’s searching my eyes. “When was the last time he pounded you?” I swallow, ing last week, when he came home and pulled me out of bed by my hair. He punched me in the side, and I swear to God he broke a rib, but thankfully, he didn’t. Instinctively, my hand goes to my side, where he hit me. Danny’s gaze follows my hand. He doesn’t wait for me to lift my shirt, and for some reason, I let him. There is a big bruise in the shape of his fist across my ribs, just under my bra at my side. “Holy fuck, that’s fresher than the marks on your thighs!” he’s exasperated. “No fucking way are you going home, Diana. I… I can’t take you home in my right mind. He’ll fucking waste you.” Chin quivering, my eyes fill up with tears. Danny shakes his head and sighs as he pulls me close, cradling me in his arms. “God, I don’t know how or why he did this to you, but as God is my witness, he’s not doing this again.” “But, you don’t even know me, Danny. How can I live with you?” “I’d do this for a goddamn stranger on the streets if it meant saving someone, Di. Now, have some sense. If he’s beating you like this, and hell, sure, I’ve only known you for a couple of hours, but so far, you seem to be about as close to a saint as one can get, and if he’s finding fault enough to pound on you for nothing, then Lord knows what he’ll do to you if he finds out that you’ve come out to a rock concert tonight, against his rules.” I’m sobbing, blubbering into his shoulder. “You can take whatever room you want. And whatever you need, just tell me, and we’ll take care of it. Just…we need to keep you safe.” “But what about Amanda? She’s going to find out where I’m staying.” “Di, if you go back to that house, he’s going to kill you. And you’re worried about Amanda? Just…tell her that you and I are fucking around or something. She for sure won’t tell your father that.” “But she’ll ask how I’m getting away with it, without my dad finding out.” “Then you’re going to have to tell her the truth, Di.” His voice is even. “The same as your mom. You’re going to have to tell her what’s going on. Eventually,

this is going to come out, and your father has to pay for this. In fact, I have half a mind to take you to the hospital now and get you checked out. I mean, this type of stuff has lasting effects, Di. Who knows if you’ve got some serious injury going on.” “I’m fine.” “Keep telling yourself that, Di.” He says, with eyes like dinner plates. “But when your old man is beating the shit out of you, that’s going to catch up some time. And God be with you when it does.” We’re silent for a few moments. He chews on the tip of his thumb, and I can tell that his wheels are turning, because the muscles in his jaw are working. “Di, I think that you need to go to the hospital and report this. While there’s still evidence.” “I don’t want to make this your problem, Danny.” I state, feeling the guilt wash over me. “You just got back from a world tour, you’re tired, and I know that you have to get working on your next album. This isn’t what you need to be dealing with.” “Look, let me worry about all that shit, okay? I don’t want to wake up tomorrow morning, hear about some nineteen year old kid that was murdered, and know that there was something that I could have done about it and didn’t.” he rises and puts his hand out for me to take it. “Come on. Let’s go. I’ll take you to the hospital.” “But…this happened a couple of days ago, Danny. Isn’t it too late?” “Di, you’ve got two welts on your thighs, a shiner, and a goddamn fist-shaped bruise on your ribs. I think they’ll have enough shit to go by. All you need to do is tell them that your fucking sicko father did it, and that should be enough.” “But what if they think it was you?” I panic. “What if they think that you did this to me?” He tilts his head sideways. “Sweetheart, they’ll recognize me right away, and know that I was in concert all night. Plus, these injuries are not fresh. Let’s go.” “But…this is going to break my mother’s heart, Danny.” I feel a fresh batch of

tears coming on and I can’t stop it. Danny places his hands on my arms and pulls me to him, so our noses are almost touching. “Listen to me.” His voice is soft but direct. “Your mom is going to be able to deal with this a whole lot better than dealing with her only child being murdered by her estranged husband.” His eyes search mine. “I promise you that one day you’ll look back and thank God that I talked some sense into you. This has got to stop, Di. And your dad isn’t going to stop unless action is taken or until you’re dead.” He kisses my forehead tenderly. “Come on.” His voice is soft. “I’ll be with you the whole time. I promise.”

***

His hand doesn’t leave mine as we go into the garage. He chooses a less conspicuous vehicle; his Corvette, and we drive, hand-in-hand, to the hospital. Since it’s really late, the waiting room is desolate, but there is a family with a small baby that is crying his little heart out, and a man who looks white as a ghost as he holds his hand in a blood soaked towel. As we’re called to check in, an ambulance pulls up, bringing in a guy on a gurney with a cervical collar around his neck, laying on one of those boards, so I assume that he’s been in a car accident. “What can I help you with, dear?” the secretary asks. She doesn’t look at Danny. “Um, I have some injuries I need to have checked.” “What kind of injuries, dear?” she asks, punching something into a computer that’s as big as her desk. “Bruised thighs and ribs.” “And a black eye.” Danny adds, trying to be helpful.

She looks at me, confused. “Okay. Fill this out and come back.” She hands me a clipboard with a sheaf of paper and a pen attached. I do as I’m told with Danny in tow. About an hour es before I’m called in. When the nurse comes into the room where we’re waiting, she asks what the problem is, and I lose it. Danny rises, sighs, closes the door and sits next to me, rubbing my back. “You want me to tell her?” he asks me carefully. I nod, knowing that I’m a huge coward, and I can’t do it. He explains what happened in the most respectful and succinct way. Much better than I could do. The nurse looks at me. “Honey, do we need to press charges here?” I look at Danny like he has all the answers. “I think that’s best, yes.” He answers for me. “Okay.” The nurse nods. “The doctor will be in shortly. He’ll probably order a CT scan and some x-rays, but we’ll have to take some photos, most likely, depending on what the police say, okay, honey?” “Okay.” I answer. She nods and purses her lips respectfully, like she’s seen this too many times before, and it sickens me. The moment she leaves, Danny is combing his fingers through the hair at the side of my head. No words are exchanged. He wraps his arm around me, pulling me close, and I lean into him, feeling safe for the first time in eighteen months.

Smashwords

Keep in Touch!

my free newsletter and be the first to know when I have a new release out!

It’s absolutely free, there are no strings attached, your information is completely confidential, and you can unsubscribe any time.

All you need is an email address.

To subscribe to my newsletter, just click here and enter your email address.

Did you enjoy this book? You can make a big difference.

Do you know what the difference between an author that sells a few copies of their book a month and a New York Times bestselling author is?

The answer is clear and simple: REVIEWS

Don't believe me?

Take a look at any NYT bestselling author and a regular author (like me) and see the difference in the number of reviews.

The fact is clear: reviews lead to sales. Sales lead to bestseller charts.

One other simple fact is that many rs won't look at a book unless it has a minimum of 50 book reviews.

That's where you come in. I need your help.

Honest reviews of my books help bring them to the attention of other readers.

If you’ve enjoyed this book, I would be very grateful if you could spend just five minutes leaving a review (it can be as short as a like).

Thanks very much,

Sandra

Here is a link to leave your review on Smashwords

Author’s Note

Thanks so much for reading Platinum. A little background on this series. Since the death of Eddie Van Halen on October 6, 2020, I have suddenly found myself fully immersed in the life and loves of this artist. After growing up with the band’s music (my first .45 album was ‘Jump’ when I was just nine years old) and seeing them perform live at the Air Canada Centre in 2007, this loss has truly hit home for me.

Like my own father, who ed away in 1992, Eddie suffered from addictions, and so his death was relatable to me, even though ultimately Eddie died from cancer, he battled addictions all his life from the tender age of just 12 years old. Being a writer, I felt truly compelled to illustrate the heartache, triumphs, lessons learned and the loves of artists, so this series was born. I wrote this book in exactly one month, from February 6, 2021 to March 6, 2021, after reading several books about Eddie Van Halen and the band after learning about his death.

His life was truly remarkable, as was his irreplaceable talent, and so a part of me felt like I needed to explore that. If you’re a fan of Van Halen, I truly apologize if I’ve bastardized anything to do with Eddie, but I did try to learn as much as I could about the background and goings-on of rock bands before giving this genre a whirl. May Eddie rest in peace.

Want to know when I have a new release? Sign up here for new release updates.

Link to my website.

See me on Twitter See me on Facebook See me on BookBub

…or drop me a line via email.

Thanks so much for your !

~Sandra