Bad Boy Rock Star (5 page)

By the time the taxi pulled up, my head had cleared and I could walk on my own.

"Whose place is this?" I asked.

"
Mine," said Eric. "Mine and Jack’s."

If I’d thought about where they lived, I’d have exp
ected something much grungier than this. We walked into a huge, open living area with a pair of massive sofas and a large screen TV. To one side, was an open kitchen area and to the other side French doors opening out to a small courtyard. This definitely was not the type of place you could afford on a struggling rock star’s income. This was some prime industrial chic real estate. And they said they didn’t have the money to buy out the contract.

"
Want a drink?" Eric asked.

"
There was talk of coffee," I replied.

Then the doorbell rang and people piled into the apartment.
Eric disappeared for a while and came back with more promises of coffee.

I sat on the sofa, still feeling a bit out of it.
While I’d sobered up a bit, my head felt groggy and heavy.

There were about 20 people in the room with more coming in behind them.
Lots of noise and laughing. I didn’t want to move from the couch. Even if I wanted to go home, I still had no idea how to get there and now the trains would’ve stopped running.

I clutched my bag to
myself and hoped Eric would return soon with my coffee.

I did parties.
I did parties like nobody’s business. I made chitchat and air kissed and I could be fun. But I didn’t know parties like this. Full of strangers and conversations I had no part of. None of these people knew who I was. None of them cared.

The shrieking laughter made my head hurt.
I looked around and noticed two girls glimpsing at me and laughing.

People behind me talked about things that meant nothing to me, like they spoke some kind of foreign language.
I didn’t have to even attempt conversation to know that this year’s fashion collection would NOT be appropriate.

I searched through my bag for my phone.
Not that I expected anyone to call or message me, but it would give me something to do. Maybe I should message Angie and tell her to get over here. She’d be great at a party like this, for sure. But then maybe she wasn’t here for a reason. I didn’t know her well enough to just casually invite her to someone else’s party and, oh yeah, I didn’t know the address.

"
How are you feeling?"

Jack Colt
put a mug of coffee on the table beside me and sat down on the other side of the couch.

"
Fine. I’m totally fine," I said. I sat up straighter and pulled my dress down around my knees. I noticed I’d spilt something on it and tried to adjust myself to hide it.

He just raised an eyebrow.

I hadn’t said anything stupid, had I? I wanted to tell him how great he’d been on stage and how his music made me feel. If only I could get the words together right but, before I could say anything, a guy in ripped jeans sat down on the other couch.

I
picked up my coffee. Ah, coffee. My friend. Just the smell made me feel better. Then I took a sip.

Oh. My. God.

That was maybe the grossest thing I’d ever had in my mouth.

"
What the hell is this?"

Maybe Jack Colt had done it on purpose
. As a gag. Make the worst coffee ever then laugh at me when I drank it.

But he wasn’t laughing.
Not at me. He and the other guy kept talking.

"
What about that chick after the gig, mate? She wanted a piece of you."

"
Her and the rest of them. It’s always the same thing. ‘You were so great up there. The way you played touched me deep inside. No one’s made me feel like that’."

He imitated her in a high
-pitched voice.

Did guys really talk like that about women?
Guys like this obviously did. What pigs. I crossed "be nice to Jack Colt" off my mental to-do list. The bad taste in my mouth wasn’t just from that disgusting coffee.

"
The worst thing is, afterwards they think they own you."

"
It’s about the music, right," Ripped Jeans added. "Chicks just hold you back."

I gave Ripped Jeans a sweeping look. I don’t think many women would be in a hurry to hold him back.
Not in that way, anyway.

"
You coming?" Ripped Jeans nodded his head at a door near the kitchen. It looked like it led to the bathroom.

He got up and Jack followed him.

Whoa, he’s gay? Poor Angie. She had no chance. It did explain all the misogynist chat though. He hated woman and batted for the other team. Though no gay guy I’d ever met talked about women like that.

I curled up on the couch, hoping everyone would shut up and let me sleep.

Then it hit me. They weren’t gay. The bathroom thing plus rock party. I’d seen movies. I knew what went down.

No matter how badly I needed the money, I had no intention of getting mixed up with a bunch of
junkie rockers.

I marched
to the bathroom, expecting to see a scene of carnage. People lolling around in a drag crazed stupor with needles hanging out of their arms. Blank eyes and drooling mouths.  Razor blades and blood, all thrown together in a gritty black and white montage.

But Jack couldn’t be a junkie, surely.
He was far too buff and meaty-looking. Junkies were pale and pathetic. Kind of like vampires without the fangs. I’m pretty sure they didn’t have ripped six packs.

I smashed the door open, ignoring the voice screaming in my head for me to stop.
Nothing I saw in there would do me any good.

Someone clutched my wrist and I swung around.

"Hannah, I don’t think you want to go in there." Eric looked at me with concern.

I’d seen it though
. A chick with long black hair leaning over the sink snorting something; a few others including Jack standing around. There were definitely drugs being done in there but nothing like I’d imagined. No needles. No crazy-eyed stares. No black and white.

Eric pulled me away.

"It’s nothing, Hannah. It’s just a bit of party fun. It’s not like we do this every day."

I hadn’t said anything but I must have had disapproval all over my face.

"It’s cool. You guys can do what you want."

I folded my arms and thought about this.
Would it hurt me in anyway? Like if they got busted, would it wash off on me? Could I deny all knowledge?  I was only their manager.  Not even a real manager just a tentative one.

"
It’s just that?" I asked.

Eric nodded.

"What about you? Do you…"

Eric shrugged.

"Now and then but it’s not really my thing. But surely you’ve tried drugs before? I mean, everybody has."

Before I could answer, a girl ran over and threw her arms around him.
In amongst the hugs and screeching, I’d been forgotten.

I leaned against the wall, trying to process this.
Eric seemed like a pretty nice guy and he wasn’t at all freaked out. As I looked around the room, I realized I was the only normal one here. Someone had put on a DVD and the weird music from the concert pumped through the room. It wasn’t rock like Storm played and it sure as hell wasn’t pop. Just seemed like a constant wailing. A couple of girls in hippy dresses danced to it, writhing like snakes with the bracelets on their arms clattering.

And there were two guys helping themselves to food out of the fridge.
Just pulling things out and making sandwiches. Even though it wasn’t their house. Who does that? Had they been raised by wolves?

"
Hey, it’s the tortured princess."

The girl with the long black hair threw her arm around me.
I hate people touching me. And why was she calling me tortured princess? Had Jack called me that? I looked around for him but couldn’t see him. Maybe he was still in the bathroom. That was a nasty thing to call someone.

"
Having a good time, princess," she asked then glanced at someone across the room and they both laughed.

"
What’s funny?" I asked.

But the girl kept laughing.
She looked at me as though she was about to say something then doubled over laughing again.

I
squirmed out of her arm and headed to the courtyard, trying to get away from these freaks. I’d get the GPS working on my phone then I could work out a way to get home. I sat on the wooden bench to one side, trying to get a WIFI connection. I had some money in the bank. If I got a cab, I could stop at an ATM and make a withdrawal. It’d be short on money for food for the week but better that than suffering through this night.

The door slid open.
I wasn’t in the mood to socialize and I wished whoever it was would go away and leave me alone.

"
Hannah. Hey, Hannah." It was Spud. I think of the entire band, Spud hated me the most. Or maybe Jack hated me the most and Spud just copied him. I didn’t even know who hated me the most. I just wanted to go home.

I got up to leave but Spud pulled me back down on the seat.

"Don’t go yet, Hannah. We need to get to know each other."

If he even thought about
"getting to know each other" in any sense that involved his body coming into contact with mine, I’d kick him in the balls. This party was shit. I felt like shit. I don’t even know why I was here.

Spud didn’t move any closer though.
Instead he pulled a joint out of his pocket and lit it. He took a deep drag then handed it to me.

I waved it away.

"Oh, come on, Hannah. Don’t rich girls like you do pot? You into the good stuff, huh?"

I nodded my head.

Okay, now I might sound like I’m lame and all goody-two-shoes but I’ve never done any drugs at all. It’s not a moral thing. Well, maybe it is. See, growing up, going to parties all that, I’d had one idea planted in my head.

If you do drugs, you get caught.
And, if you get caught, you end up in the papers and that will cause a SCANDAL.

Of course, the
"you" in that sentence wasn’t a general "you" but a very specific me "you". See, when you are richer than most people, you are also of more interest than most people. So, I’d grown up thinking a scandal was the thing I had to avoid most. If you had your name in the paper, it had to be in the business section or the social section. Not the front pages.

"
Come on, a tiny tote won’t hurt you. Might relax you a bit, you are all tense."

I crouched on the edge of the seat, my hands fidgeting in my lap.
Through the doors, I could see Jack and the black-haired girl watching me and laughing.

Screw them.
Screw everyone. I took the joint from Spud and took a big drag on it.

Then I coughed.
And I coughed. I thought my lungs would come up my throat and splatter all over the ground. Spud slapped me on the back.

"
That’s the way, Hannah."

I stood up and walked into the kitchen.
I had to make my way through all those people but my legs suddenly felt so heavy that I was aware of each movement of each step, each section of my foot rising from the ground. I had to be walking in slow motion but I focused on the kitchen.

Suddenly
, everything just seemed so funny. The guy with an earring stretching a big hole in his ear. Hilarious. The girl talking in the high-pitched voice. Too funny.

The world had gone fuzzy and blurry around the edges.

I found a glass and poured myself a water and then wrapped my hands around it as though it were the most precious thing in the world. I made my way back to the couch and sat down very carefully, not wanting to spill my water.

A couple sat on the other couch drinking from teacups.
As I watched them pour from the teapot, I realized it wasn’t wine.

"
What are you drinking?" I asked, but my voice felt thick and heavy as though it wasn’t coming from me but from somewhere behind a heavy curtain.

"
Wine," they answered.

And I giggled because it seemed so clever yet at the same time so pointless.

Then I noticed the cup of coffee I’d not drunk sitting on the coffee table. It stared at me with evil intent. I couldn’t look at it. I had to avert my gaze. If I looked at the cup of coffee, it would know I hated it and didn’t want to drink it. It would draw me in and try to doom me.

Instead I watched the lights on the DVD player.
They looked so pretty. I’d never noticed how pretty lights on a DVD player were before. They spelt out words. If I kept watching them, maybe they’d spell out a message…