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Excerpt from Misadventures with a Rock Star
Why was I here again?
I stifled a yawn. Watching a couple of women do each other while others undressed, clamoring for a minute of the band’s attention, wasn’t my idea of a good time. The two women were gorgeous, of course, with tight bodies and big boobs. The contrasts in their skin and hair color made their show even more exotic. They were interesting to watch, but they didn’t do much for me sexually. Maybe if I weren’t so exhausted. I’d pulled the morning and noon shifts, and my legs were aching.
Even so, I was glad Susie had dragged me to the concert, if only to see and hear Jett Draconis live. His deep bass-baritone was rich enough to fill an opera house but had just enough of a rasp to make him the ultimate rock vocalist. And when he slid into falsetto and then back down to bass notes? Panty-melting. No other words could describe the effect. Watching him had mesmerized me. He lived his music as he sang and played, not as if it were coming from his mouth but emanating from his entire body and soul. The man had been born to perform.
A true artist.
Which only made me feel like more of a loser.
Jett Draconis was my age, had hit the LA scene around the same time I had, and he’d made it big in no time. Me? I was still a struggling screenwriter working a dead-end job waiting tables at a local diner where B-list actors and directors hung out. Not only was I not an A-lister, I wasn’t even serving them. When I couldn’t sell a movie to second-rate producer Rod Hanson? I hadn’t yet said the words out loud, but the time had come to give up.
“What are you doing hanging out here all by yourself?”
Susie’s words knocked me out of my barrage of self-pity. For a minute anyway.
“Just bored. Can we leave soon?”
“Are you kidding me? The party’s just getting started.” She pointed to the two women on the floor. “That’s Janet and Lindy. Works every time. They always go home with someone in the band.”
“Only proves that men are pigs.”
Susie didn’t appear to be listening. Her gaze was glued on Zane, the keyboardist, whose gaze was in turn glued on the two women cavorting in the middle of the floor. She turned to me. “Let’s make out.”
I squinted at her, as if that might help my ears struggling in the loud din. I couldn’t possibly have heard her correctly. “What?”
“You and me. Kiss me.” She planted a peck right on my mouth.
I stepped away from her. “Are you kidding me?”
“It works. Look around. All the girls do it.”
“I’m not a girl. I’m a thirty-year-old woman.”
“Don’t you think I’m hot?” she asked.
“Seriously? Of course you are.” Indeed, Susie looked great with her dark hair flowing down to her ass and her form-fitting leopard-print tank and leggings. “So is Angelina Jolie, but I sure as heck don’t want to make out with her. I don’t swing that way.” Well, for Angelina Jolie I might. Or Lupita Nyong’o. But that was it.
“Neither do I—at least not long-term. But it’ll get us closer to the band.”
“Is this what you do at all the after-parties you go to?”
She giggled. “Sometimes. But only if there’s someone as hot as you to make out with. I have my standards.”
Maybe I should have been flattered. But no way was I swapping spit with my friend to get some guy’s attention. They were still just men, after all. Even the gorgeous and velvet-voiced Jett Draconis, who seemed to be watching the floor show.
Susie inched toward me again. I turned my head just in time so her lips and tongue swept across my cheek.
“Sorry, girl. If you want to make out, I’m sure there’s someone here who will take you up on your offer. Not me, though. It would be too…weird.”
She nodded. “Yeah, it would be a little odd. I mean, we live together and all. But I hate that you’re just standing here against the wall not having any fun. And I’m not ready to go home yet.”
I sighed. This was Susie’s scene, and she enjoyed it. She had come to LA for the rockers and was happy to work as a receptionist at a talent agency as long as she made enough money to keep her wardrobe in shape and made enough contacts to get into all the after-parties she wanted. That was the extent of her aspirations. She was living her dream, and she’d no doubt continue to live it until her looks gave out…which wouldn’t happen for a while with all the Botox and plastic surgery available in LA. She was a good soul, but right now her ambition was lacking.
“Tell you what,” I said. “Have fun. Do your thing. I’ll catch an Uber home.”
