The Lonely Kings: Hard Rock Arrangement Part 25

Yes. There. That was his band name. I tried to not think about it because I was embarra.s.sed that I'd ever thought that it was a decent name. I mean, The Lonely Kings of Lifeless Things is a mouthful, but at least it can be shortened to The Lonely Kings and evokes something. Sweet Lobotomy sounded like a high school band that never made it out of the drummer's mom's garage. Which was kind of the case. Oh well.

So. Sweet Lobotomy opening for The Lonely Kings.

I hadn't seen them yet. My whole body vibrated with nervous energy.

Backing away from the curtain, I hurried around the guys setting up and glaring at me and half-walked, half-ran to the room where the band waited. The back stage area was plain and white and dull except for the signed posters of the bands that had gone before, and it made me think of a high school. The backstage area had obviously been thrown together when the Snake Pit had opened up, converting whatever had been here first into a concert venue.

Now, when I entered the cramped little 'green room,' it was weird to me to see the band in such dingy circ.u.mstances. I mean, I'd seen them in dingy circ.u.mstances before-the rehearsal room came to mind-but they'd all been dressed like regular people then. Now they were dressed up like rock stars. The contrast between Sonya's colorful peac.o.c.k clothing and the white walls of the musician's lounge was startling. She wore a black leather bustier and a frilly neon pink skirt with black netting and neon pink PVC platform boots. She looked like a psychotic Barbie doll who'd just discovered the S and M scene, and even I had to admit she was smoking hot. Manny was the least dressed, in a white t-shirt with black capped sleeves, a backwards baseball cap over his wild curls, and ripped jeans and Chucks. Carter was in the bog-standard white t-shirt, jeans, and black leather jacket. And Kent...

Well. Like always, he was cool as a cuc.u.mber in his normal clothes. Black v-neck t-shirt that showed off his full sleeve tattoos, dark blue jeans, boots. Silver and diamond earrings glinting in his ears, and dark kohl liner around his eyes.

My whole body lit up with desire just looking at him, cutting through the fear and anxiety that had been building up all day, and with a start I realized I hadn't seen him since last night.

They all looked up when I came in, but only Kent held my eyes. The rest went back to talking about whatever it was they'd been talking about-best ways to get groupies in bed, I think. Well, Carter and Manny were talking about that. Sonya was telling them they were gross.

Kent was silent, and I could see in his eyes that he was tired, but the little smile on his lips when he saw me eased my heart more than I could have thought.

"Hey, Rebecca," he said. "Come over here." He was sitting on an old beat up couch that had probably seen more than its share of groupie s.e.x. I ran my tongue over my teeth and tried to get over my internal squeamishness. Then Kent held out his arm and I was flitting to his side like a trained dog. When he touched me, my cares melted away and I sank down next to him. He pulled me close and I laid my head on his shoulder, reveling the feeling of being next to him, of the warmth of his body seeping through his clothes and into me. I just wanted to close my eyes and stay there with him. I wanted time to stop, just for us.

"How are you holding up?" he asked me.

I shrugged. His arm around my shoulders was a sweet weight. "Fine," I said.

"Have you eaten anything?" he asked.

I nodded my head. It wasn't a total lie.

"Are you looking forward to the pre-show?"

Hooboy. That was it. Even the thought of it made me stiffen, and when I did Kent's arm tightened around me slightly. "No," I said at last. "I'm really, really not."

"What? You don't trust me? I said it would be fine."

"No, I trust you. But I don't trust Jason to not somehow pull it out and get what he wants. He did it last time." I shuddered thinking about it. It was just as well that Kent had been working himself like a dog for the past few days, because every time I thought about ripping his clothes off and riding him until sunrise, Jason's leering face flashed across my brain.

He'd been watching. He spoiled it. I couldn't be with Kent again until this problem was well and truly handled and I couldn't stand the thought that it might not be handled by the end of tonight.

On the other hand, I knew Kent had probably made Jason sign something huge and legally binding. That was his thing, after all. One way or another, the Jason thing would be over after tonight.

I just hoped Jason's career wouldn't suddenly take off. I couldn't think of a person who deserved it less.

Again my nerves spiked and I leaned in to Kent.

"Relax, Rebecca," he said. "We'll take care of this. You don't have to do a thing."

A knock on the door drew my attention. A guy I recognized as one of the pit crew stuck his head in. "Excuse me," he said, "but the opener is about to go on stage, and they wanted to drop in first."

The opener. Jason's band. Fuuuuuck me.

"Of course," Kent said. "Show them in."

My whole body went cold and still. I barely heard Kent say, "Relax," but I felt his warm arm tighten around me, a rea.s.suring squeeze. I licked my dry lips and tried to nod even though I felt vaguely sea sick.

The door closed, and not a minute later it opened again, and in trooped Sweet Lobotomy.

First came Jason. Of course. He was the lead singer and guitarist, he loved to be up front with everything. He strolled into the room, giving us all a once over. I knew he wouldn't have told anyone about his public humiliation in the hotel lobby, but the fact that he'd managed to get one over on us gave his smile a smugness that I wished I could punch out of him. He nodded to each of us, though he skipped over Sonya, and when his eyes met mine he grinned.

Behind him followed Ricky the drummer and Sean the ba.s.sist. I didn't know them very well since Jason was the only constant member of the band; he'd been through at least two drummers and several ba.s.sists since the band's conception, and he'd stopped inviting me to rehearsals long before I got to know Ricky and Sean. Mostly I knew them from parties where they would do blow and get incredibly f.u.c.ked up. They were both spineless burnouts that let Jason shove them around, and I suspected now that when Jason had stolen from our friends and blamed it on me, that he had been buying drugs for himself and then dealing to the rest of his band.

Not that I was much better than them. Just breathing the same air as Jason made me feel like I was falling backwards in time, spiraling back down to the days when I worked myself to the bone to keep us in food while he f.u.c.ked around and stole money and pumped himself full of toxic chemicals.

I took a deep breath and reminded myself that things were different. That Carter and Manny and Sonya were my friends. That Kent was next to me, a warm weight in the world, anchoring me in the here and now.

I clenched my fists in my lap, and I saw Jason take me in. His grin grew wider. He'd come to lord it over me.

He turned to the band and leaned forward, extending his hand to shake toward Carter, who was sitting nearest to him. "Hey guys!" he said, chipper and cheerful as though this were the first time we were all meeting. "Great to meet you. I'm Jason Davis."

Carter looked at the proffered hand as though he'd never seen anything like it before.

After an uncomfortable silence, Jason cleared his throat and pulled back. "Anyway," he said. "This is Sean, and that's Ricky. We wanted to drop by and thank you for this opportunity."

My teeth clenched. As if he'd earned this opportunity. As if we were giving it to him of his own free will. The worst thing about Jason was that he probably thought that he had earned it.

Then Manny laughed. "Oh, it's no trouble. Are you guys ready?"

Ricky gave him a little nervous smile. "Been waiting our whole lives for this opportunity."

"Well," Manny said, "don't you worry too much about it."

Jason's band exchanged quick glances. "Uh," Ricky said. "Worry too much about what?"

Manny raised his brows. "The press," he said. "Everyone's out to rip us a new one. People love a winner, and they love to watch a winner fall, too. Got like five or six of the harshest bloggers out there looking for mistakes." He waved the drink in his hand. "Don't worry about that, though. They probably won't notice you."

A small, awkward silence reigned. "Oh," Ricky said. "Thanks?"

"Don't mention it."

Jason cleared his throat again. "Well, thanks for having us," he said, and took a step back, but Sonya stood up and pointed at Sean. "Sorry," she said. "Which one are you?"

He licked his lips nervously. I didn't blame him. Sonya looked magnificent. "Er, Sean. I play the ba.s.s." He gave her a big smile.

She looked him up and down. "Oh," she said. Then she sat back down, pulled out her phone and started texting.

"I think we'll be getting ready then-" Jason started.

"Have you ever played such a large venue before?" Carter asked. His eyes were wide, all innocence.

Ricky shook his head, staring around the room as though he thought he were dreaming. "No, never."

"Oh, well then can we give you some advice?"

Ricky and Sean nodded. Jason's smile was going a little gla.s.sy.

"Okay, well, the first time at a place like this, you might get stuff thrown at you," Carter told them. "Like, I don't know, ice, shoes. Someone threw a shoe at me once and gave me a b.l.o.o.d.y nose."

"Oh G.o.d, yeah," Manny said. "You hear about the panties, but you never hear about the gla.s.s tumblers when someone's had too much to drink. Had to have five st.i.tches in my scalp because of one of those."

Ricky's hands twitched. "Oh," he said. "Does that happen often?"

"All the time," Manny told him. "The best is when you can tell the crowd is slipping away. It takes just one wrong note and they'll turn on you like dogs. It blows. Oh, hey, you guys want something to drink before you go out? Loosen yourselves up a little bit?"

"Yes!" Sean and Ricky said together.

Manny smiled and leaned over, opening the little minifridge that sat next to his couch. He pulled out a bottle of chilled vodka, poured out two large plastic cups full of vodka, and pa.s.sed it over to the band. "What about you?" he asked Jason. "You want some? It's smooth, none of that furniture stripping s.h.i.t."

"No," Jason said. "I think we need to go warm up, not get too much to drink..."

But of course it was too late. I don't think I've ever seen anyone try to shotgun an entire red plastic cup full of vodka, but Sean and Ricky sure did give it the old college try. They were only able to finish half the cup before handing them back, spluttering and coughing.

"Thanks," Sean said through the tears. "That'll help."

"Help what?" Carter asked. "You're not nervous, are you?"

"No," Jason said quickly.

"I am, Ricky said.

Carter frowned. "Well, try not to be nervous. If you're nervous you're probably not ready for the big time. Are you sure you want to do this? You've practiced enough?"

Ricky looked sick.

"Because you don't have to do it if you don't think you're ready." Carter's voice was all concern and thoughtfulness. Everything about his demeanor suggested that he was only concerned for the welfare and future of Sweet Lobotomy. He was going to make his mark on the acting world someday.

Then Sonya looked up from her phone. "Wait," she said. "Is this the opener?"

"Yes," Carter told her.

"Oh," she said, and laughed.

Jason's face was growing darker and darker. "Yes, well, thanks for your advice," he said, the words coming out in a rush as he glared blue murder at Sonya. She didn't even spare him a glance, just went back to texting.

I watched all of this, first with dread, then with a sick, growing fascination. This was psychological warfare, blatant and yet still completely effective.

"We'll be going now," Jason continued. "See you onstage."

"Break a leg," Manny said. "Or your skull, I dunno." He gave a cheery wave and Carter laughed as though Manny had just made a funny joke.

Sean and Ricky laughed hollowly, and then Sweet Lobotomy left the room.

Silence descended. Then Manny giggled.

"Well, that's the best I could do," he said. "With any luck one of them will p.i.s.s themselves on stage."

"Jesus," I said. "I'm nervous and I'm not going on stage."

"I wouldn't count on that," Kent said. "Would you like to go out and watch?"

"Should I?"

He smiled down at me, a devastating, devilish grin. "I think you should."

He stood up and helped me to my feet, then led me into the hall. Together we wound through the cold, white, corridors of the backstage area before reaching a dingy door. Kent pulled me through it and into the club proper.

I was certain we'd be noticed. Kent was not the sort of guy who went incognito easily, but to my shock no one looked twice at him and I realized that no one would be expecting to see him in the crowd at his own concert. Besides, the inside of the Snake Pit was so dim and dark that I could barely tell who he was, and I was holding his d.a.m.n hand.

We circled around the back of the crowd, as un.o.btrusively as possible, before Kent found a spot against one of the pillars holding up the roof that remained unoccupied. Leaning against it, he pulled me to him, dragging my body into the cradle of his own, curving around me. My a.s.s pressed against his crotch, and as we stood there in the dark, waiting for the show to start, he ran his hands over my body with a lazy, deliberate air, and I felt him begin to harden against my backside.

My breathing picked up. We were out in the open, out in public, and yet shrouded in anonymity. Rough fingers slid under the hem of my shirt and skated over the skin of my stomach, dipping into the waistband of my jeans. My back arched, pressing my a.s.s against his erection, and he leaned down and hissed in my ear.

"If you don't stop that, I'm going to take you out back and f.u.c.k you in the alleyway, and you'll miss the whole show." His hot breath sent shivers down my spine.

My knees turned to jelly and the s.p.a.ce between my legs ached. It occurred to me that I would probably prefer that outcome.

I circled my hips, grinding into him.

Behind me, his body rippled, thrusting against me, and I felt more than heard his groan as on the stage, Sweet Lobotomy filed out and picked up their instruments.

Even the sight of Jason couldn't destroy the hot, crawling desire clawing through my body. Kent's teeth were at the crook of my throat, sc.r.a.ping over the sensitive skin, and my brain was fogging over, blocking out everything that was happening outside of the circle of his arms.

His mouth traveled up to my ear and he bit my earlobe, hard. "Pay attention," he said. "You won't want to miss this."

I wanted to say it was hard to pay attention to anything that was not Kent Hudson at that moment, but his hand stealing up to cup my breast sort of divided my attention. I was still shocked we hadn't been noticed, but all eyes-most of them tipsy-were riveted to the stage.

The first thing I noticed was that Ricky didn't look so hot. His face was pale as a sheet of paper and had a waxy sheen to it. Sean was looking the same way, except slightly worse. He stumbled and moved like an old man. Only Jason exuded confidence and star power. I prayed they would see through him. Star power can make people forgive a lot.

Jason leaned into the mic as he adjusted his guitar around his neck. "Hey there, San Diego," he said. "Good to see you guys. We're Sweet Lobotomy, and we are here to rock your world!"

The crowd sort of milled about and didn't pay attention.

Oh G.o.d, I thought. Please don't do this.

But Jason seemed perfectly content to play the role of rock star rather than the role of lover who had to prove himself. He started noodling on his guitar before Sean even had his ba.s.s on, and Ricky sat at the drums looking confused.

Music picked up. The same music I'd heard him practicing for the entire time I'd known him. It was astonishing how little he had changed it or altered it in the past few years. I knew it by heart, too, or the first few bars anyway: it was the song that was the ringtone on my phone. I couldn't even remember the name now, it had changed so many times.

Of course he would choose that song. The worst song. I hated it so much. I prayed that the set would be over quickly.

The crowd stood fairly still, some of them watching the stage, others talking, but gradually the noise died down to a soft little susurrus of whispers as Jason wandered on, through the long, winding intro. People started getting anxious, waiting for the song to start.