1
NASH
FAMED BAD BOY ROCKER STEALS CAR, DRIVES IT INTO LAKE, THEN STANDS ON ROOF OF CAR AS IT SINKS, ASKING WHAT A PIRATE’S FAVORITE LETTER IS
While the Award-Winning vocalist for FILTHY LINE may have been making a joke and crying out ‘argh!’ as the car sank into the water, it was everyone else around him that was making a different sound.
More like ‘ugh’ or perhaps ‘when will this end?’
Toby folded the paper in half and gently placed it down in front of me.
“That’s why I needed a flag.”
“Excuse me?” Toby asked.
His shit brown eyes were wide, blood shot, and he was in dire need of a drink. Or maybe something else. But the word excess did not collide well with the word leftovers.
“If I had a flag, it would have made more sense,” I said. “You know? Going down with the ship?”
Toby slammed his hand off the table in the hotel room, sending empty beer bottles and empty bottles of whiskey jumping and scattering to the floor. With the exception of one beer bottle. Which was full of piss. The tangy odor hit my nose.
“Now you made a mess,” I said.
“Is that piss?” Toby asked.
“Not mine.”
“That makes it worse.”
I turned my head and stuck my fingers in my mouth. I whistled as loud as I could.
Three women were suddenly brought back from the dead slumber of booze, drugs, and dick. Three topless beauties - blonde, brunette, black hair - all fought with their hair as they tried to sit up without feeling like a hammer was inside their heads. I chose one of each because I was a man of honor and integrity. Blondie was innocent but wild with her mouth. Brunette had a dirty angel tattooed on her lower back - target practice to make that angel look like she was crying milky tears. Black hair had her left nipple pierced. I offered to pierce the other with my teeth - and I even tried - but she was only interested in pretend. I wasn’t. That’s why her ass ended up on the floor.
I stared at the three sets of tits and licked my lips.
Breakfast was waiting just a few feet away.
“Which one of you pissed in a beer bottle?” I called out.
“You did, Nash,” blondie said.
“Not a chance,” I said. “You were swallowing my dick all night, babe. No way I could attempt to piss in a bottle like that.”
Blondie rubbed her jaw.
I grinned and winked at her.
She blushed.
“I held the bottle, Nash,” black hair said.
“Oh,” I said. “Yeah. Shit.” I turned and looked up at Toby again. “I pissed in the bottle.”
Toby curled his lip. He reached down and grabbed the piss bottle and threw it toward the massive king-sized bed.
Blondie had to duck and the bottle hit the wall and shattered.
There was a piss stain on the wall now, slowly dripping down to the bed.
I shook my head. “No need for that, Toby. Now we’re going to get charged more for the clean-up.”
“Have you seen this fucking place?” Toby growled. “It’s fucking trashed, Nash. And it wasn’t even your room!”
“It wasn’t?” I asked, tilting my head.
“We didn’t get a hotel room for this stop,” he said. “We were crashing on the bus on our way back to LA.”
“Oh,” I said. “Well, then whose room is this?”
Toby rubbed his forehead. “That doesn’t matter. It’s been taken care of.”
“How did I get in here then?” I asked as I slowly stood up.
“Apparently you’re famous, Nash,” Toby said. “So the front desk person gave you a keycard. Because you’re so fucking sexy. Her words, not mine.”
“Aw, come on, Toby,” I said. “You can admit how fucking sexy I am.”
“Put a fucking shirt on and meet me in the lobby in five minutes.”
“Five? That’s not enough time for these beautiful ladies,” I said. “I don’t fuck and leave, Toby. I stick around.”
Toby laughed. “I’ll lighten the burden.”
He looked at black hair and nodded.
“Ah,” I said with a laugh. “Black hair, nipple ring… wait until you see where she has a butterfly tattooed.”
“You don’t owe them any money, do you?” Toby asked me.
“I don’t pay,” I said. I looked back at black hair. “Hey, babe. Toby’s going to show you the way out. Take good care of him. If it wasn’t for him, there wouldn’t be a Filthy Line. He’s our manager. Treat him the same as you’d do for me.”
“I’m going to rot in hell for this shit, Nash,” Toby said.
“At least it’ll be warm,” I said. I grabbed his shoulder and shook him. “And I’ll be right there with you.”
Toby groaned. He blessed himself and looked up. “Forgive me.”
“Quit looking up,” I said. “Because black hair will be on her knees. Always look down.”
“Christ, Nash, you don’t even know their names, do you?” Toby asked.
I winked.
“Five fucking minutes,” Toby warned.
Toby and black hair left the hotel room.
I opened the paper and read the headline again.
You know, it sort of pissed me off. Because I didn’t steal the car. It was a rental. Paid for through Toby. And, yeah, it was at the bottom of a lake, but so what? It wasn’t like it was the last car in existence.
I shook my head.
Some writers just couldn’t help themselves. Making a story out of nothing.
“Nash, we’re down to four minutes,” brunette said as she ran her long, pointed, bright pink nails up my back.
I smiled, remembering the way those deadly points dug into my back last night.
I spotted a bottle of whiskey that was on the floor and I reached for it.
I smelled it first to make sure it wasn’t piss.
Then I took a drink.
Fuck coffee.
I had whiskey.
And I had blondie and brunette.
For four more minutes.
I took another big gulp of the whiskey and let out a long sigh.
Then I leaned in and kissed brunette on the cheek.
And I had some romantic words for her.
“Babe, it’s not going to suck itself.”
My sunglasses made it so the sun didn’t dig her vicious fingers into my eyes.
A few fans screamed my name as I walked toward the tour bus. I gave a wave and flicked my cigarette in their direction. They scrambled to go get it. A half-smoked cigarette from me. And they were ready to kill each other to pick it up off the ground.
Music, huh?
I never thought it would matter that much to the fans.
But it did.
Whether we were writing fast, partying hard or writing slow, sad love songs, the Line Whores were everywhere. They brought their boyfriends and husbands too. Guys who sang our lyrics back to us, dreaming of a time in their life when they thought for a second they could take the stage and command the hearts of twenty thousand a night. And the real die-hard guys had no problem with their girlfriends and wives showing off their tits or having us sign their tits or taking the risk of letting their ladies backstage.