Broken Strings (A Rock Star Novel) (4 page)

Someone taps me on the shoulder.
I turn around and it’s the bands manager Stewart.

“Are you the two who won the
passes in the DVD’s?” He asks.

Brand and I hold up the
evidence.

“Congratulations, you
actually
get
to talk to the band. Follow me.”

Before coming backstage, I
assumed talking to the band was a given. After being backstage five minutes and
surveying the competition I’m pretty sure I wasn’t going to meet the band after
all. Now I’m totally excited. I try to think of something cool to say as we
walk over, but my brain fails me.

Stewart stops. “I’m sorry, I
didn’t get you guys' names.”

“I’m June, this is my friend
Brand. He’s actually the one who bought the DVD with the passes.”

The manager nods and turns to
Hammer and the guys. “Hammer, these are the two who found the passes.”

“Oh shit, cool.” He holds out
his hand and I wonder if I should kiss it and curtsey. He is rock and roll
royalty after all. Instead I shake it.

“I’m Hammer,” he says,
stating the obvious. “But you already know that right?”

“I had you pegged for a nail,”
I begin, “but Hammer works too.” And I have no idea where that came from. I’m
still looking around and I don’t see the new guitar player. Did he get canned
on his opening night? I thought he was phenomenal. It bugged me that I couldn’t
make out his face. I was at this weird angle and there was a light that was
shining in my direction the entire night so I was half blind. I was far too
close to the stage so the huge TV screens that were set up to so that audience
members in the back of the arena could see what’s going on, were actually
behind me.

This had to be the worst
position I have ever been in for a Fringe show. I either should have been about
forty feet to the right or about forty feet back, and then I would have had a
much better view of the show.

Given that they didn’t even
make a formal introduction of the new member I’m wondering if the guy never
really was hired and they just had a stand-in once more. All the previous shows
they didn’t introduce the stand- in’s except for when Disturbed’s Dan Donnigan
filled in. Oh well, I got tickets to the next ten shows so…

Suddenly the hairs on the
back of my neck are standing attention; attention to what? Hammer has just
cracked some joke and everybody is laughing; everybody but me. I felt this
feeling before and it’s really confusing me. My heart is actually racing and
I’m beginning to feel light-headed.

“Hello June.”

I nearly drop dead in my
tracks. I know that voice, and no other voice can make my body respond like
this except for…that voice. My head is turning slowly while my mind is spinning
a thousand miles an hour. Entire conversations are taking place in the space of
my stunned mind.

I am a stunningly elegant,
beautiful orator, witty and self- effacing, all in my mind. My whole life has
flashed before me; my life with the owner of the voice that has a death grip on
my soul; and I love it.

Standing in front of me is
Sam from the coffee shop.

“Hi,” he says again, when I
fail to form words.

I don’t understand this. Sam
wasn’t a Lunatic. In fact I don’t even think he was going to the show…but he’s
back stage and standing in front of me holding a black flying V, one hand on
the neck of the guitar and the other extended towards me.

I don’t know what to do.

“Sorry,” he says. “I guess I
should have told you.”

“Told me what?” I ask, then
it hits me. Oh shit…oh shit!

I’m mad, and I’m not. I mean,
who could be mad at the man standing before me? How can I be pissed when his
voice alone has me hostage to the strange desires of my body.

My right hand is reaching out
to his, almost like it’s acting on its own accord. When his hand grasps mine I
practically jump out of my shoes as a jolt of electricity starts in the tips of
my fingers as my hand slides into his. It’s all I can do to just stand there
and not react as an electrical charge runs up my arm and straight to my heart.

“How are you June?” He asks.

The way my name rolls off his
tongue it makes me tingle in places long since dormant. It makes me wish he
were doing something else with that tongue of his, and the way those lips pout
slightly when I fail to acknowledge him? Wow. His left hand absentmindedly
stokes the neck of his guitar and I find myself imagining that hand stroking my
thighs, from the inside of my knee all the way up to my-.

“You okay?”

I think I better respond.
“Uh…hi Sam…” Well that was certainly eloquent.

“It’s actually Silas. Silas
Mann.” He says, his mouth caressing every word that forms on his tongue.

“Y-yes, I-I know who you
are.” More witty words from number one Lunatic, June Cho.

“You know you talked a lot
more back when you just thought I was a…how do you put it, a Lunatic? This has
got to be the first time being a rock guitarist has been a bad thing when it
comes to women.”

“Well I’m not your typical
Lunatic.” I manage to say. I don’t mean to, but I’m pretty sure I'm succeeding
in pissing the guy off.

“No you are not…and that’s
good. In case you didn’t already know that.”

I’m having a real hard time
concentrating on his words when his very presence puts my body on edge. I can’t
be having these feelings about a rock star; it’s not practical. I could never
date one. I could never handle my boyfriend being gone for long stretches at a
time and all the groupies and Lunatics that surround him wanting sex…No, he is
definitely not boyfriend material. And if that’s the case, then why am I
standing here fantasizing about being his girlfriend?

I look over at Brand for
help, but he’s lost in conversation with Hammer and Marcus. He’s waving his
arms about in a very animated conversation about something or other.

“So you found the backstage
passes…” He is saying.

I look back to him. Why does
he have to be so damned handsome?  “Actually my friend over there found them
when he bought the DVD. He invited me to come with him.”

“Must be a pretty good
friend.” Silas remarks.

“Yeah I guess…I mean, before
today I’d never seen him before.”

“Oh…so he wants to sleep with
you then.” Silas replies.

“No! Believe me, if he was
looking for sex, he had plenty of offers from a lot better looking girls than
me. He’s just a good friend; nothing more.”

“If you say so.” Silas says,
unconvinced.

“What’s that supposed to
mean?” I ask, getting a little hostile, in spite of myself.

“There may be a lot of women
around here, but not a lot that can compete with your looks.”

“Look," I say, "if
you’re trying to talk your way into my pants, I’ve had a lot better offers.”

He looks at me funny for a
moment. That didn’t come out the way I intended.

“So you’ve had a lot of
offers from rock stars, have you?”

“I didn’t mean in that way.”
I find that if I remain hostile I can keep my body in check. Otherwise I can’t
hear myself think over my screaming hormones! “I just not the type to date rock
stars or models, actors, anybody famous…no thanks.”

“So you go for the poor and
downtrodden…kind of a mercy dater then are ya?”

“Whatever…” Just keep talkin’
Silas; it makes it easier to not like you. “So you’re Fringe’s newest guitarist
then?”

“Yeah…it’s not a bad gig for
a scoundrel, don’t ya think? How long have you been a fan…I guess I should say,
Lunatic?”

“Oh wow, uh since their first
album actually. But I never had a chance to see any of their shows until their
last tour which was what, three or four years ago I guess.”

“So you like, go to every
Fringe show then?”

“Pretty much, but now that
I’ve met you…I might make this my last one.”

“Oh come on…Am I that bad?”
He says with a wink.

“You are a rock guitarist…” I
counter.

“You know, not every guy that
plays a guitar is into the whole sex drugs and rock-n-roll stereotype.”

I look at him through the
bluish haze of marijuana smoke. I can feel the effects of a contact high coming
on and the longer I stare at him the stronger he’s coming through. I find it
incredibly difficult to look into his emerald green eyes. When he looks back
into my own blue eyes I feel naked, like he’s looking right into my soul.

Most guys undress a girl with
their eyes, but Silas, he’s standing there undressing my soul. There’s a depth
to him that I’ve never encountered in anyone his age. The term old soul really
does fit. Maybe he isn’t such a bad guy… I can feel my body beginning to relax,
and my heart that was going a mile a minute is finally humming along lazily now.

My head is spinning
pleasantly and I can’t seem to take my eyes off Silas’s mouth. He’s got the
most kissable lips I have ever seen on a guy except for Brand. Brand? Where the
hell did that come from? This guy’s way hotter than Brand; I think. But Silas
has something else I’ve never encountered in a guy before, but I can’t quite
put my finger on what it is; I just know he has it and Brand doesn’t.

I watch Silas’s lips forming
words but the words don’t seem to be reaching my brain and I wonder if he
thinks I’m this empty headed Lunatic like the drugged ones dancing a few feet
away from us. I certainly hope he can tell the difference between them and me.

Without thinking I look over
at Brand again. He is handsome, but in a different way than Silas. Brand is a
little too pretty. Silas is too, but then he’s got this rugged bad boy thing
going on.

He is more than easy on the
eyes. He’s like the male version of the Mona Lisa. He’s got this quirky grin
plastered on his face now and there's a mysterious look in his eyes and it
makes me wonder what’s going on behind those emerald green mirrors to his soul.

I suddenly realize he is
talking again.

“I’m sorry, what were you
saying?” I ask.

I don’t remember how long we
end up talking but when Brand finally tugs on my arm it’s nearly 2:30 in the
morning and we have at least an hour drive back to Berkeley. I say my goodbyes,
grateful for having the chance to actually meet the whole band.

The rock star thing takes the
edge off the insane feelings that have been fermenting in my body since we met
at the coffee shop. Now maybe I can forget about him and return to reality.

Maybe that reality will
include Brand. He's definitely a looker and he’s not a rock star; or a Lunatic,
both are big pluses. He hooks his arm in mine and we make our departure. The
parking lot still has a lot of cars in it. Probably Lunatics reliving the show.
If past shows are any indication, half these cars will still be here when the
sun comes up. I on the other hand will be tucked away safely in my bed dreaming,
and since I don’t have to work tomorrow…sleeping half the day away.

Brand gives me a hug, and I
give him a quick peck on the cheek. It’s the least I can do for the backstage
pass he gave me. He looks a little surprised, but smiles warmly as he turns to
go. Then a thought pops into my head.

“Oh hey, did you get your
dirt? I saw you talking to Hammer and Marcus.”

His face brightens. “Oh yeah,
I got the dirt.”

I’m genuinely happy for him.
“Oh great, I told you, you should be talking to Hammer. He’s a trouble maker.”

“When I say I got the dirt, I
mean I got the dirt, not on Hammer though.”

I’m confused. “Well on who
then?”

“Silas Mann,” he says, and
walks away leaving me stunned and alone.

Chapter 4

The Dancing Zebra

I so need this cup of coffee!
I’m sitting at my favorite coffee shop east of the bridge sipping a large
coffee with a double shot of espresso, getting geared up for the San Jose
shows. The Arco show had to be the loudest concert I have ever been to. My ears
only just stopped ringing and the show was two days ago…almost three.

And to make matters worse, I
somehow failed to get Brand’s digits or his email address so I have no way of
contacting him. I would seriously love to get some pictures from him for my
blog. He had a continuously running video camera so he’s bound to have some
really great candid shots of the band; especially the new guitarist.

My only hope is to run into
Brand at another show but I’m not sure if he’s going to anymore Fringe shows,
especially if he got everything he needs already. He did mention something
about tickets for Disturbed and…and Godsmack I think; or maybe it was
Shadowsfall? I don’t even know if he lives around here or was just here for the
shows.

“Is this seat taken?” I hear
a man's voice behind me.

Holy crap! Prayers do get
answered. I look up as Brand slides into the booth opposite me.

“Have a seat,” I offer, after
he has already seated himself.

“You’re not going to believe
it-” we both chime in at the same time.

“But I was just hoping to run
into you.” He finishes.

I have to laugh. I really
like the guy, even if he is a little bookish…being a writer and all…

“What?” He asks when I stop
laughing.

“I was just hoping to run
into you.” I say.

“You wanted me-”

“Don’t get your hopes up
Brand," I tease, "I was just hoping to get a picture or something I
could post on my blog.”

“Oh…hey didn’t you have a camera?”

“Died before I could get
backstage.” I say with a pout.

“Oh…bummer, because I was
hoping to get some from you.”

“What happened to your pen
thingy?”

“It actually was a pen. I
grabbed the wrong one when I walked out of the house to go to the show. I
didn’t realize it till we got backstage.” He says shaking his head.

“Oh crap. But you remember
everything right? When we were leaving you said you got the dirt on Silas. So
what’d you get?”

“I said that?” He looks at me
quizzically.

“What, you don’t remember?”

“No man, most of the nights a
big blur. You find out anything?”

“No…I was just there to meet
the new guitar player.”

“Yeah I remember you were
talking to Silas the whole night.”

“Oh yeah, Silas Mann." I
say trying to save face, "Yup, I talked to him. Talked lots in fact.”

“So what’d you learn? Is he
your typical rock star or is he different?”

“I don’t know, I was hoping
to ask you that.”

Brand laughs. I laugh, and
before we know it, we’re having a really good time. I love the way he laughs.
It’s unrestrained. He laughs with this wild abandon like he doesn’t care what
he sounds or looks like, and it’s refreshing. His laugh is like suddenly
opening a window in a stuffy room and having a blast of cool fresh air come in.

“Damn we’re pathetic,” I
begin. “We both had the chance of a lifetime, spent hours with our favorite
band. Well, my favorite band, and neither of us remembers a single thing. Are
we really that sad?”

He gives me a mischievous
grin. “Well…I’m not, but I’m not sure I can say the same for you…” he trails
off, still smiling.

“Really? So what’s your big
excuse for blowing the interview of your lifetime?” I ask him, smiling back to
take the sting out of my words. He looks really nice today. He’s wearing a pair
of army type pants with a desert camouflage pattern on it. He’s got on a tight
fitting black AC/DC tee that shows his six pack nicely. Now if I could just get
him to get up, turn around and let me get a look at that tush...

I watch as he brings the cup
of coffee he’s nursing to his lips. They part slightly to let the liquid in
then close. As we sit here drinking a comfortable silence falls over us, and
it’s actually nice. Most people are usually not comfortable with silence and
try to fill every minute, every second with conversation whether they’ve got
anything to say or not.

When Brand runs out of things
to say, instead of just rambling on about a lot of nonsense, he just falls
quiet. I try to match is peaceful posture and expression but as usual, I am
just too amped up to relax.

The more I sit with Brand the
more I like the guy. His handsome looks have nothing to do with the attraction
I’m feeling here, and truth be told, I really don’t know what’s going with me.

Brand is talking again and
I’m totally not paying attention. I use the age old technique that people use
whenever they don’t understand what the other person is talking about. I smile,
not my head and mimic his expression. It works right up until the point where
he asks me a question.

“June! You weren’t even
listening to me were you?” He says, smiling at me.

I look down at the table
shamefaced. “Guilty as charged.”

“When did I lose you? What’s
the last thing you remember?” He asks earnestly.

I look at my watch. “Uh…I
think it was when you said, ‘is this seat taken?’”

He looks at me aghast. He
looks so genuinely hurt it makes me laugh.

“Why are you laughing? It’s
not funny." He says, clearly annoyed. "I was bearing my soul just now
and the people in the booth behind you probably heard more of it than you did.”

“If you want I could switch
places with them?”

“Well of course. Do you even
need to ask that?”

I move to get up and he
places his hand on my arm in an uncharacteristic display of…of something.

“Have dinner with me.”

“Really? No wait, are you
asking me, or the couple in the booth behind me?”

He shoots me a dirty look.

“Of course I will,” I say
hastily. I don’t want to carry the joke too far. Despite my apparent
inattention, I do like the guy and it will actually be nice to have dinner with
him.

He looks down at his watch. “I
got a couple errands to run first. How about we meet at Zebra’s at eight?”

The Dancing Zebra is a trendy
Mediterranean eatery in Berkeley. You nearly always have to have a reservation
well in advance so I can’t help but wonder, was he planning on asking someone
else and just decided to ask me instead, or does he know someone there? When I
don’t respond right away he guesses my thoughts.

“I know the owners and they
owe me a couple favors. See you at eight?”

“Sure, I'll be there at eight
sharp. I'm bringing the couple behind us too.”

He laughs at my lame joke and
gets up to leave. “Bye for now June.”

“Later Brand.”

~~~

Three minutes past seven…

I’m standing half naked in
front of my closet looking for something appropriately trendy that doesn’t
scream
fuck me
. I’m looking for more of a,
feel me up
dress; sexy
but not too sexy. I really don’t want anything to happen between us at this
stage in the game ‘cause it always wrecks things for me the moment things get
really intimate.

After spending way too much
time deciding I finally settle on a little white body hugging number that
flairs sexily at the hips and is short, but not so short I have to worry the
whole night about exposing my booty. It definitely says
lets fool around
without saying
I’m easy.

Twenty minutes later I’m
working my way through traffic in my Prius and listening to Fringe’s new CD
Straight Jacket. The song
Bound
is making my mirrors vibrate with the
drums and base.

"...Gagged and bound

You got me where you want me

So put down your rifle, call off your hound.

You got me where you want me

Gagged and bound..."

I decide to crack the windows
and let the wind play with my long black tresses. It won’t hurt to look a
little windblown tonight. The traffic is worse than I anticipated and by the
time I pull into the parking lot it’s a twenty past eight. I really hope he
isn’t mad.

I hate it when people are
late to meet me and I really didn’t want to be late to meet him tonight. I walk
in just as U2’s
Walk On
is getting underway. I love the song, and they’re
definitely in my top ten when it comes to bands; especially their older stuff.
They’ve kinda gotten soft over the years, but they’re still hot.

The maître de approaches as I
walk in. I can’t help but notice the way his eyes roam my body. Most nights I’d
be offended, but tonight it feels more like a compliment. I smile and tell him
I’m looking for Brand. I’m just about to launch into a description of him when
the guy stops me.

“Ah yes, you must be June. He
said a very pretty young lady would be joining him tonight and he wasn’t
mistaken.”

I smile warmly and let the
man take my arm and lead me to one of the best tables in the restaurant. Color
me impressed. He must have saved the owner’s life or something to rate this
kind of respect.

When I repeat my thoughts to
Brand he just smiles mysteriously and says,
it’s a long story.

“I hope you didn’t think I
wasn’t coming,” I say as I sat down.

“Oh no, I just figured the
couple from the booth were coming instead and just couldn’t find the place.”

Brand looks pretty darn
handsome this evening. He cleans up well. He’s got on a trendy, expensive pair
of designer blue jeans and a nice white button down shirt sans tie, and a dark
blazer; very classy.

“You look amazing,” Brand
says as he hands me a menu. “If you’re not familiar with this place I can tell
you what’s good. Well, it’s all good, but there are things that are
exceptional.”

“Okay…give me exceptional.”

“If you’re a red meat kinda
girl I recommend their fillet mignon. It’s like, three inches thick and tender
all the way through. And, if you happen to like your meat cooked through and
through, they do it without drying it out or making the top and bottom too
crispy.  There’s a definite science to cooking a 3 inch steak like that and
they have it down to a 'T'.”

“Sold.”

“Great, what size?”

“You know what, give me a
twelve ounce and if I need to I’ll take it in a doggie bag to go.”

“Wise choice, I’m going with
the same. How do you like yours cooked?”

“Hmmm medium I guess. I like
to see a little pink in the very middle, but not much.”

After placing our orders we
share a bottle of wine while waiting and chit chat about Fringe and the
upcoming concerts in San Jose.

“So you’re going to Friday’s
show?” I ask.

“Yeah, and I managed to snag
a GA ticket so I’ll probably show up pretty early.”

“Me too! It’s my turn to hold
our spots; Gabby’s and mine, so I’ll probably be there around five. Hey, I can
hold a spot for you too if you like.”

“I was actually thinking of
coming in earlier, like lunch or something like that.”

I have to laugh. He thinks
I’m talking about 5pm, not 5 in the morning. When I clarify my position he
agrees to let me hold his place as well. It’s gonna be one long ass day. I'll
have to leave the house around three because of the nearly two hour commute to Silicon
Valley.

Dinner is excellent. He’s
right about the meat, it is superb.  I don’t know how they cook a piece of meat
that thick in such a short amount of time and have it cooked all the way
through without burning the outside.

We end up talking about
pretty much everything under the sun. Turns out Brand is quite the comedian.
There’s not much he can’t turn into something witty. He’s got a very quick wit
and has to be very smart. I really should check out his articles on the web; I
bet they’re pretty good.

It’s a quarter to ten when we
finally decide to call it a night. For a first date, it rates pretty high on my
scale. Although that's not saying much; I’ve had some pretty horrible first
dates…and second and third dates… I don’t know if he did this on purpose or
not, but us arriving in separate cars eliminates the, at the door, should I
kiss him or not drama.

We’ll just say bye and wave
to each other as we walk away. At least that’s how it was supposed to go in my
head. Instead he walks me to my car putting the,
should I kiss him or not,
drama right back into the equation. Damn him.

“Look,” I say, leaning up
against my car door. “I had a pretty great night. Thanks.”

“Me too,” he replies. “Hey
uh…I know it’s kind of forward, but do you think I could come up for a drink?”
He asks, pointing to the interior of my car.