But it was all in fun.
We weren’t out to fucking fall in love.
Another night, another city, another show, and that was that.
I climbed up on the tour bus and Bill sat there with his boulder sized fist sticking out at me.
“Morning, brother,” he said in his gruff voice.
I laughed. “Bill. Do you ever sleep?”
“Nah,” he said. “I just drive you assholes around.”
“Don’t crash and kill us today,” I said.
“Never,” Bill said. “My record is perfect.”
I turned and was faced with the rest of the band, all with makeshift eye patches.
“Argh!” they all shouted at the same time.
Sab held a bottle of vodka up, covering his right eye.
Reed used his right hand to his right eye.
Dex had a shirt tied around his head and pulled up to uncover his left eye.
And then there was Jay. With a fucking thong wrapped around his head, the little cloth part covering his eye.
“You can catch something that way,” I said, pointing.
“Catch what?” he asked, ripping it off his face.
“Eye infection,” Dex said.
Jay put the thong to his nose. He took a deep breath. “Oh, not her. She’s clean. Fuck, she’s clean.”
“Nothing you’ve ever touched is clean, man,” Reed said.
“Did Toby rip you apart?” Sab asked. He put the vodka bottle down and traded it for his drumsticks. He started to warm up his wrists, playing right there on the table.
“He tried to,” I said. “I don’t remember much of it. I really don’t give a shit either.”
“Hate to say it, but we probably should,” Reed said.
“Why?” Dex asked.
“You know why,” Jay said. He rubbed his thumb to his pointer and middle fingers on his left hand.
I stretched my neck and ran a hand through my hair. “Yeah, yeah. It’s always about money.”
“Money and pussy,” Sab said. “That’s why we’re doing this.”
“Fuck that,” I said. “I’m doing it for the music.”
Jay lifted an eyebrow at me.
I grinned. “And the money… and the pussy…”
“I don’t get why these execs have their assholes puckering so much,” Dex said.
“Just the way it is now,” I said. “But any news is good news.”
“Yeah,” Jay said, running a hand through his famous long, blond hair. “I mean, the lead singer of the baddest band in the world with his dick flopping all over the place, standing on the roof of a car, drunk as fuck, pretending to be a pirate… how is that a bad thing?”
We all started to laugh.
I leaned forward and buried my face into my hands for a second.
“Radio show today, boys,” Toby’s voice announced as he got onto the bus. “And Christ does this bus smell like sweat, socks, and pussy.”
“Keeps the heart pumping,” Sab said as he patted his chest.
I looked at Toby. “Your fly is down, man.”
Toby grabbed at his dick and jumped back.
We all laughed harder.
“Asshole,” Toby said.
He always wore nice clothes. Borderline fancy. Because he was the last line of defense to those who wore suits for a living, and those who made the big decisions about the life and fate of Filthy Line.
But the truth was simple.
The fans loved us.
They loved the music.
The wilder the better.
And as Bill started to drive and I looked out the window to see the fans holding up shirts, posters, signs… and a few holding up their shirts… I slowly nodded.
And for the record, a pirate’s favorite letter is R…
… but he also has a thing for the C.
2
OLIVIA
“How did the meeting go?”
Eve had the prettiest brown eyes ever. I hated her for it. Which was funny because she hated me for my blue eyes. That was actually our first fight. Way back in second grade. The first time we both realized that maybe a boy could be cute and not booger-picking-licking freaks. We said we would grow up and find a way to switch eyes.
That never happened.
Eve dropped out of nursing school when she got pregnant with Jerry. And I insisted on chasing the dream of becoming a famous writer.
I had another rejection slip in my bag, and the so-called meeting didn’t make it out of the lobby.
I promised myself I would do this the right way.
Use a different last name.
And never ask my father to use his connections.
There was one small slip of judgement that came after a night of drinking and a one-night stand that was so horrible that I waited for the director of the stupid romcom I must have been living in to call CUT. I called my father while drunk and told him I wanted a book deal. And I wanted it now.
He laughed me off, reminding me that his expertise was in music, but if I wanted to do something with my writing, he would help. But it wouldn’t be in writing fiction novels. He wanted me to get involved in the business of it all. Contract writing. Marketing. What he called spinning some good press.
None of that really interested me though.
“You’re not answering me,” Eve said.
I looked down at my phone and saw her blinking fast at me.
“Don’t do the fast blinking thing,” I said.
“Then tell me what happened.”
“It went fine. It was fine. It’s all fine.”
“Damn,” Eve said. “I’m sorry.”
“No. There’s no sorry.”
“Liv… I know-”
“Ma,” a little voice said. “Bidding?”
“Hey, Jerry,” I said in a squeaky voice.
Which I didn’t get why my voice did that when it came to talking to Jerry.
He was a little over two.
He was obsessed with trains and buildings. And each time I was talking to Eve, he was right there demanding I show him some buildings.
Jerry’s face filled the screen. His pudgy cheeks, leftover grape jelly on the corners of his mouth, and his mother’s bright blue eyes.
It brought a smile to my face instantly.
“Bidding?” he asked again.
That was Jerry talk for building.
“Here, look,” I said.
I turned my phone around and tilted it so Jerry could see the tall building.
Somewhere up there was where my father worked.
Boardrooms galore. Deals made. Lawyers ready to sue. Nothing about that made me scream happy. Neither did the fact that everyone assumed I was just going to live off of his money and his life. I wasn’t my mother. I wasn’t going to be face down in thousand-dollar sheets, waiting for an overpaid personal chef to make breakfast, so an overpaid personal trainer could pretend to get me into shape, just to wait for the really overpaid pool guy to show up and skim the water… among other things…
It made me cringe.
That’s why I lived in my own apartment.
I did my own thing and wanted to keep it that way.
Even still, I promised my father I would meet up with him for lunch.
Which was fine because nine out of ten times he would cancel at the last second.