Rock Angel (Rock Angel Series Book 1) (47 page)

He even called Dr. Taylor, who was sympathetic. “There’s so much focus on perinatal drug use these days, such an increase in fetal alcohol syndrome, crack babies, and so forth, that a lot of people have adopted a zero-tolerance policy. They want to see the mothers off methadone, even though we know it’s often not possible or even advisable. There’s no point in trying to educate those people,” he added, “because, when we try, we hit a brick wall.”

Ms. Prout was clearly one of those people and it seemed to Quinn like Shan was being punished for getting help. The woman was mining for a reason to nail them, but after three months of visits to their pristine home, squeaky clean drug tests, and excellent reports from their pediatrician she reluctantly closed the case and they rejoiced to have an unsullied opportunity to enjoy each other and their child.

It was short-lived, as the release of their third album was imminent. It was highly anticipated, Cardinal having poured significant resources into the promotion of
Quinntessence: Questions,
and the band members were gearing up for the tour, another six months on the road.

For the Marshall family, the preparations were more extensive this time. Quinn was working with Jeff to secure another vehicle that didn’t need to be as huge as the tour bus, but had to accommodate the two of them, Angelica, Sugaree, and the nanny they were planning to hire. They were interviewing scores of people for that position, each of whom was rejected for one reason or another. Quinn was ruthless in his determination to unearth any flaw, but even the few who passed his muster were nixed by Shan.

“We need a special kind of person. Angie’s difficult, sometimes,” Shan said as they pored over yet another set of applications.

“She’s adorable,” Quinn said, bristling. “The most beautiful baby in the world.”

“Of course I think that, too,” she assured him, because he worshipped his daughter and refused to hear even the slightest criticism, “but she still needs a lot of comforting. I want someone restful and soothing, and very responsible. They need to like dogs, too,” she added.

The departure date was looming when Quinn struck on the perfect solution. He made some calls and, a few nights later, their doorbell rang.

“I have a surprise for you,” he told Shan.

“Oh?”

“Yes.” He took her by the arm, propelled her down the hall, and positioned her in front of the door. “I hired a nanny,” he said. “She’s here.”

Shan’s eyes widened and her face went bright red. “
What?
” But he’d flung open the door and her anger was throttled when she saw the bright white smile in the very dark face.

Shan’s mouth dropped open and she stared at Quinn. “You hired Oda?”

Oda laughed, a wonderful, deep-belly rumble that Shan didn’t realize how much she missed until she heard it, and it broke her paralysis.

“Oh, Q!
You hired Oda!”
she squealed, throwing her arms around her friend.

“You said you wanted somebody soothing, restful, and responsible, and who liked dogs,” Quinn said. “I thought it would be good if it was somebody who liked
us
, too. Besides, she makes a mean Bloody Mary.”

“And we both figured you wouldn’t have any objection to rooming with me again,” Oda added with a laugh. Shan hugged her again, beaming over her shoulder at Quinn.
I love you,
she mouthed and he smirked, clearly pleased with himself as he reached for Oda’s bag.

They had barely enough time to get Oda settled before it was time to depart. Jeff had engaged a luxury coach with enough sleeping compartments to accommodate them all on the odd occasions when they’d have to spend the night on the bus.

They set off on the road and the band was a little less enthusiastic than they’d been about their previous tours. Dan was never happy to be separated from Denise. Dave had just bought a house in the Hollywood Hills and grumbled about having to leave it. Ty was all hot and heavy with a model he’d begun dating and was glum about his new relationship being put on hold.

Shan was down, too, as they departed, even though she knew Quinn had made an enormous effort to make the trip bearable for her. Their coach was beautiful and she had her best girlfriend on board, not to mention her baby and her dog. They even had driver Fred at the helm, since he’d refused to give up his canine copilot.

The shows were just as packed as the last tour, especially when
Quinntessence: Questions
was released with great fanfare. Once again the media was everywhere and they were interviewed by
Creem, Keyboard,
and MTV, but the most exciting press by far was a cover story for
Good Vibrations.
It was one of the biggest music magazines in the world, second only to
Rolling Stone
in the United States. To be so highly featured, Lorraine told them, was a signal of impending superstardom.

During this tour, she’d arranged for them to be joined by Max Archer, one of
Vibration
’s top rock journalists. The reporter and his camera crew dogged them for more than a week, particularly Shan. Although she was uneasy at being the focus of such attention, she capitalized on the opportunity to cast some light on the challenges faced by female musicians.

“So you’re a rock feminist?” Archer asked.

“That’s not the point,” she told him. “Calling me that just makes me a nonman. What I’m saying is that the hard rock landscape needs to be wide open to everyone, not just men, because gender doesn’t have anything to do with making music. I’m sick of people acting like testicles are a requirement for playing a hot guitar lick.”

“Case in point,” he laughed.

“It’s about talent, not balls,” she said. “Right, Q?”

“Right,” Quinn said, but his smile looked forced.

They were in Houston when the issue with the story was messengered to them, arriving the day before it broke on the newsstands. When Quinn pulled it out of the envelope, Shan gasped.

The picture on the cover was of her, only her, clad in tight, faded jeans and a lacy tank, confronting the camera with a challenging stare, hair flying wildly around her face and white Strat shielding her body like a talisman. NO BALLS HERE proclaimed the caption.

“
What?
” Shan said. “That is so
not
the message I was trying to give! And where’s everybody else?” Dan didn’t reply. Dave shrugged and Ty looked downright annoyed. Even Quinn’s face was tight as he flipped open to the story.

“‘It’s no secret that rock music is under the dominion of men,’” he read aloud. “‘From Mick Jagger, Jim Morrison, and Led Zeppelin right up to today’s hypermasculine heavy hitters like Guns N’ Roses and Mötley Crüe, the male mojo has been an essential ingredient in the hard rock crucible. But Quinntessence has changed all that. Their highbrow fusion of hard rock with a progressive edge, acid jazz, and hard-hitting blues delivered through the dynamic guitar stylings and silvery vocal chops of a supremely talented female rocker has birthed something entirely new, every bit as powerful and aggressive as cock rock, but without the injection of semen. All hail Twat Rock—the new sound of the nineties!’”

Quinn’s smile vanished.

“Twat rock?” he said.

He raised his head and looked at her. “
Twat—fucking—rock?
” he repeated in disbelief.

Shan just stared at him, speechless.

“It isn’t my fault,” Shan insisted later that night when they were in their hotel room.

“You spent the entire fucking week shooting your mouth off about how women never get a decent break in the rock world,” Quinn said. “It’s no wonder that’s what Archer zeroed in on.”

“It’s true,” she declared. “Haven’t you always said I should blaze a trail for girl rockers?”

“Yes, but not at the expense of the rest of your band. That article made it sound like we’re nothing but your fucking backup, for Chrissake!”

That wasn’t entirely true. The piece had devoted considerable space to Quinn’s virtuosity on keyboards, his flawless technique, and unique musical vision. Every band member had been singled out for praise; in fact, Dan’s expertly articulated drum syncopations were described as ferocious and huge, Dave’s inventive, grooving rhythm style was extolled, and Ty was pronounced a master of intricate jazz melody. The article was about Quinntessence as a whole, not just her, although she had to admit that both her musicianship and her opinions were front and center.

“Well, I’m the lead singer,” she said. “When they write about Guns N’ Roses, they focus on Axl Rose. With Nirvana, it’s Kurt Cobain. It’s what the media does.”

“Guns N’ Roses and Nirvana are not categorized as twat rock,” he pointed out icily.

“That’s because they don’t have a twat fronting them!” she shot back. He rolled off the bed, jerked on his clothes, and stormed out of the room. Shan glared at the closed door, steaming.

When he returned a few hours later, she’d worked her way into a righteous anger. She’d heard Valentine referred to in a misogynistic manner, and also Heart, Hole, and the Indigo Girls. The presence of vagina always seemed to overshadow the talent of the artist in the eyes of the rock press. It pissed her off and she was right to speak out about it, and she was more than ready to fight with Quinn about it, too.

When he appeared, though, she took one look at him and held her tongue. She could see he was still angry,
really
angry, and he reeked of gin. She knew there was no chance of a reasonable conversation until he cooled down, so she kept quiet as he paused to peer in Angie’s portable crib. He dropped a brief pat on Sugaree’s head, then stripped and fell into bed without a word to Shan.

He was still fuming the next morning and opted to join their bandmates on the tour bus for the next leg of the trip, a lengthy one from Houston to Jefferson City. “I guess this is the designated twat bus,” Shan said to Oda, stroking Sugaree’s soft ears. “I can’t believe he’s acting like such a dick.”

“I can,” Oda replied. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor, dangling a plush ukulele for Angie to grab at. “He’s always seen it as his band and all this focus on you is threatening to him.”

“It’s their fault,” Shan said. “Dan’s and Ty’s and Dave’s. They’ve let him think that all along, when this band is about all of us, not just Quinn. Let them listen to him bitch.”

“Well, in some ways, it is his band. He’s the one who brought all of you together. Even now he picks the producers, approves the content. He’s always been the leader.”

“What are you saying—that his behavior is acceptable?”

“No, he’s acting like a dick,” Oda conceded. “All I’m saying is that it’s understandable. Just leave him be and he’ll chill out. He always does,” she reminded Shan, who sniffed.

Quinn remained on the other bus until the show. When he accompanied her back to the hotel Shan was relieved, as she’d missed him dreadfully once she got over her annoyance. She’d grown so accustomed to having him constantly at her side that a full day and night without him left her needing him, hungry for his touch and the sound of his voice.

And he was clearly suffering from a jones of his own, which he demonstrated when he insisted on stopping at Oda’s room to retrieve Angie after the show. “I missed her last night,” he said, picking her up for a cuddle. She still rarely slept through the night, but with their schedule it made little difference.

“I missed
you,
” Shan said, “and I’m sorry we fought.”

“Me, too,” Quinn said, “but that doesn’t mean I’ve changed my opinion. The band is not the proper forum for your feminist issues.”

“I don’t agree,” she said sharply. He moved Angie to his other shoulder, shooting an annoyed glance at Shan as he did so. “This business is loaded with misogyny,” she continued. “Female artists don’t get one-tenth of the respect that the men do.”

“
You’re
getting some respect,” he said.

“Yes, being referred to as a twat rocker makes me feel all kinds of respected.”

That wrested a smile out of him, finally. “I see your point,” he said, settling Angie back in her crib. She was falling asleep, finally.

“This is a tough industry for women,” Shan said, continuing their conversation in a lowered voice, “and I think I have a responsibility to speak out about that.”

Quinn came to the bed and snagged the waistband of her sweats. “You can keep speaking out about twat rock or we can fuck and make up. Your choice.”

After they finished, he snuggled his hand between her thighs. “Talk about rocking a twat,” she whispered and he cracked up, burying his face in her hair to muffle his laughter.

After Missouri, they headed to Indianapolis, Baltimore, and Philly, then into the Northeast. They played Boston, then Albany, Columbus, and Fargo, then drove into Canada, to Winnipeg, Saskatoon, Edmonton, and Vancouver. Then back to the United States, to Spokane and Boise.

Quinntessence heaved a joint sigh of relief when they arrived in Vegas, which signified the beginning of the last leg of the tour. They proceeded next to Reno, after which they’d perform in Seattle, Portland, and finally California. Once they fulfilled their commitments in San Francisco, Sacramento, and San Diego, they were finished, at least until the next time.

Shan hoped a return to normal life would have a positive impact on Quinn’s state of mind. His irritability had persisted through most of the tour, keeping her on edge, as well. She kept catching him eying her resentfully and she wondered what she could do to jolly him out of it.

After their performance, they went back to their hotel to find a screaming baby and a worried Oda. Angie was red faced and wheezing. She’d been battling a cold for the past few days so she was crankier than normal, but now no amount of consoling worked, Oda reported. When she’d taken her temperature it was 103 and she had a call in to their pediatrician.

When he called back, he instructed them to get Angie to a hospital. At the emergency room they feared meningitis or pneumonia, but it was finally diagnosed as acute bronchiolitis. The ER doctor kept her under observation for a few hours and when the fever broke he released her, instructing them to keep her quiet and watch her for breathing difficulties.