I had this one huge weakness.
Seriously, in the face of it I was fucking powerless to resist.
Sour keys.
If any man I’d ever slept with had any sense they’d have given me sour keys instead of flowers, I might have stuck around longer.
On the other hand, I wasn’t an easy one to get along with so it was probably easier that I’d never been given sour keys, because I was liable to marry the man that gave me them. And that was coming from a woman set in the ideal that marriage was an archaic construct. It had to mean something.
That was what lead me to standing with the bag of sour keys in bulk at the grocery store, waiting impatiently for the checkout line to hurry along.
I’d found that in a town this small, there were very few places to buy things such as sour keys. And that got me to the single grocery store in the town, one that was quite quaint to the ones I habited in the city.
There had been a sweet shop that I’d spotted one day walking down the main road, but I’d opted out of a visit to that store quite yet. I could only imagine the man that would be behind the counter, all white hair with a moustache the quirked up at the ends, rosy cheeks and a blooming smile with a red apron. If I walked into that store, I wasn’t sure whether my childhood dreams would be crushed or inflated if that was truly what awaited in there.
One thing was certain though, I would start laughing.
Moving up the line diligently, I let my eyes wander about until they fell upon the magazine rack in front of me.
It was a habit to see what the newest shit being said about me was since I’d first started been splashed across tabloid covers if the option was in front of me, at least now I had a thicker skin about it. I suppose there came a time when you realized that the people who mattered to you wouldn’t believe the lies, and those who do don’t matter.
Sure enough, I didn’t have to look long until I found myself gracing a cover.
However it wasn’t the photo of me that had me raising my eyebrows.
Seriously, I just wasn’t going to be allowed to escape them even for a minute anymore, was I? I couldn’t even go to the fucking grocery store without a run in. Even if the run in was just a magazine cover that the Harrison brothers and I shared.
My photo was on the right side of the magazine. My dark hair had been pulled into two separate braids with a red bandana tied about my head and a smirk along with some dark red lipstick and a low cut grey v-neck that I had written Red Riot across in a black felt. I knew for a fact that there was an original photo floating about somewhere that head the rest of my band not a step to my side, it had been snapped backstage at a gig in Korea, but apparently someone was skilled at cropping.
The Harrison brothers took up the left half of the page. They were back to back, both with their typical dark sunglasses on though the photo had obviously been taken in a studio with a plain backdrop. Cam was leaning his head back against his brother’s, his hair had been just a tad shorter in the photo and he looked almost bored as he stayed facing away from the camera with his focus on the ceiling wearing a plain dark green cargo jacket that had an Union Jack patch on the sleeve.
Logan was an entirely different deal altogether, though. Whereas his brother was disposed to ignore the camera, Logan seemed to be eating up the attention with the dark hood of his sweater pulled over his head, his long hair coming out the side. He had his attention right on the lens, something resembling a snarl on his mouth with a cigarette caught between his lips. I was struck once again by the sensation that he was always looking for a fight.
Although there were a few stories advertised on the sides, I really only had the time to bother for the top one that had the biggest boldest lettering. “They’re Back!” My gaze slowly slid to the writing just beneath of it, reading, “Our Favorite Rock Stars Have Returned, and They’re Holding Nothing Back!”
“Excuse me?”
Blinking, I glanced towards the voice that had grabbed my attention only to find that the line had moved on without me. And that left a rather wide-eyed clerk staring at me, looking horrified that I might jump down her throat at any moment.
“Oh, yeah, here,” I said, feeling a little slow as I tossed the bag of sour keys on the black little conveyer belt. After a moment’s hesitation I grabbed the magazine and tossed it on afterwards. After all, just buying a bunch of sour keys had to be ridiculous, right?
Ah, and who would dare say I was in denial?
Just me.
The clerk was apparently as slow as me because he held the magazine in his hands before staring at me again. Then he repeated the process.
Growing more than a little weary with the waiting, I huffed out a breath and raised an eyebrow at him. I know. It seemed a bit bigheaded to buy a magazine that had my face on the cover, but he could fuck right off at the moment.
When he still didn’t react, I decided to take matters into my own hands.
“How much do I owe you?”
After some more halting on the part of the cashier – where I considered leaving him with the fifteen dollars change just to get out of the place – I was finally sent on my way, stuffing my sour keys in my bag as I went, though not before I grabbed a handful and dropped them into the pocket of the faded jean vest I had on.
Slipping my sunglasses down over my eyes, I pushed out of the supermarket door with my hip, flipping the magazine open and searching for the page.
As I searched for the page with the article, I pursed my lips in thought as I walked, not bothering to look up. I’d already memorized the streets back and forth across town with my motel right in the midst.
Maybe it was the fact that I had never had the best luck at keeping secrets – not just concerning fame, it had been going on my entire life. Or maybe it was the fact that I had been forced to grow up very fast in a cramped van with half of my company being boys. Whatever it was, I had a feeling that if I brought this magazine straight into the studio with me there was no way it was going to go unnoticed.
That was one thing I didn’t want to be caught with.
Being charged with possession? That was nothing. I’d only had to spend a night in jail before Carl bailed me out. No big deal.
However, being caught with a magazine with my biggest musical rivals on the cover by those particular rivals? No way in mother fucking hell, thank you very much. I think I’d prefer to spend a few nights in jail.
Not too many nights, though. I wasn’t really that tough.
If it came down to that, I’d take the Harrison brothers catching me with the magazine and my reaction could be punching them both. Well, punching only if the moment caught me up in it. More probably I’d be slapping, my hands were worth way too much to be punching some annoying pricks in the face whenever the whim struck.
With those thoughts in mind, I peeled my eyes away from where I was flicking past some makeup ad and glanced to my left where the street lay. There never seemed to be many cars driving here, though there were plenty parked about and none ever went fast down the main road. But from a few nights walking back to the motel in the dark I could see the blur of headlights in the distance as cars raced down those open stretches of desert road, unhindered and untouched.
Leisurely, I dragged my very scuffed up converse shoes across the sidewalk to the curb, taking one more glance about. As ever, the only cars were taking their time cruising far away.
I swear I was going to take that for granted one day and step into the street to meet the only teenager that sped in this town. Well, I’d be meeting the hood of his car. That would be a very un-rock and roll sort of death, I needed to go down in a blaze of glory or something.
It was just as I walked into the parking lot of the motel that I finally found the story.
There were more pictures on the title page of the story, though this time they were just obviously from where The Bends and I had been partying, at separate places of course. All the photos were separate, created into some sort of montage that created the false idea they had been taped together on the page.
I could say one hundred percent honestly that I didn’t recognize the picture that was of me nor did it bring back any memories. But that wasn’t very uncommon, how many times had I woken up with no memory of the night before? And I looked pretty damn smashed, though so did every member of The Bends. At least it wasn’t a story that painted only me in a bad light, we were all given the partying rock star image in this article for all appearances.
Flicking my gaze to the next page with the tiny black writing punctuated as well by photos of their band and me, I started to read.
Finally they’re back with a smash of brawling, bickering and rock and roll!
Our favorite girl is back, swaggering back into the limelight with the ease of a smirk and the arrogance of a champ, though this time she’s without a band. But who’s surprised? We’ve all been waiting on the edge of our seats for a solo Jude Turner album for years. This is the first time we’ll be able to judge her to see if it’s true genius or by chance as she has no strings attached to hinder her creative madness.
Letting out a snort, I found myself biting the inside of my cheek. That was nice. To judge her? I mean, what the actual fuck was wrong with people? I may have grown the toughest skin that seemed possible, but that wasn’t the most enjoyable thing to read.
And with the fact that the bassist and drummer of Red Riot have just had a baby together, the timing is perfect for the album we’ve all been waiting for.
Yet what makes it all the more exciting is the return of the those two brothers that everyone loves to hate.
Frowning at that, I glanced upwards.
Since when were they coming back?
It had been Red Riot that was on a hiatus, not The Bends… right?
Well, I’d be the first to admit I had never been the best informed – even when it came to my own band – my information about anything to do with gossip usually came from reporters shouting at me and asking what I thought. That was usually why I sounded so bad in the press, I just said the first thing that came to my mind when blindsided with questions.
But even though I’d been laying low over the past year, spending all my time relaxing away from the press and the stress that comes along with it, shouldn’t I have known that The Bends were on hiatus too?
I couldn’t say why but I felt a flare of annoyance rise up in my stomach at the thought. They were forever doing whatever we did, was it some sort of a plan of theirs? Did they sit around in band meetings planning this shit out? Because we sure as hell didn’t. It had been them that had released their first album on the day after ours, which had started this entire ridiculous feud! And they’d released their songs to coincide with ours back then too! Were they going to put out their new album at the same time as me now too?
Even as the rushed thoughts flashed through my mind, I was about to drop back to continue reading the article as I moved to the metal staircase. However as I was doing so I caught sight of something that had me frozen in my tracks.
What in the hell?
There was a television lying only ten feet away from me, by all appearance having been tossed from the highest story of the motel. That wasn’t saying much since there were only two floors, though. Yet the result was still the same.
Dark shards of glass were lying in disrepair across the pavement while the actual television had snapped in half during the fall, the back of it having plopped of to the side.
Seeing the smashed television set in the middle of the parking lot of a motel had only one thought crossing my mind, Keith Richards. It even put a smile to my face. However that smile slid away fast.
Oh, jesus fuck.
What other English rock stars were residing in the town? Because I didn’t think Keith happened to be hanging around here at the moment since The Rolling Stones were touring, something I knew first hand.
I had just managed to stuff the magazine in my bag with a sudden rush of energy I didn’t think I possessed when I heard my name being called.
“Hey Jude.”
Forcing down the ball of tension that had been created at almost being caught red handed with the magazine; I swallowed once before slipping on a despairing look and turning around to meet the lazy voice that had spoken. “Do you really think that’s witty?” I asked witheringly, making my voice pointedly bored.
The tone didn’t affect Logan Harrison, but had I really expected it to? I was starting to believe that those brothers share something in their genes that allowed things to simply bounce off them.
And just to prove my thoughts, he continued in his almost swaggering stride towards me, his sense of self worth seemed to be rolling off of him in waves, almost smothering my own and I thought I’d had a big ego. He was wearing that shit-eating grin that I was beginning to associate with him as much as his just having woken up sounding voice. Although there were no sunglasses yet, and that was a shock on its own. I wasn’t sure I liked it, though, since this way I was able to see the glint of smug amusement in his eyes.
“Your name is just begging for it,” he responded.
Raising a scornful eyebrow, I countered, “And you think I haven’t heard that about a billion times before?”
When he pulled up to a halt in front of me, I had to resist the urge to step back; did the guy have concept of personal space? But I refused to retreat, allowing myself to tip my head up look at him, giving silent thanks for the sunglasses I was wearing so that I didn’t have to squint at him with the sun that was fixated behind him.
Vaguely I had the thought that if someone had taken a photo of him in that moment from my perspective he would have looked like a bastardized version of an angel. The sun creating the false sense of a halo behind him, but the image was ruined by his almost harshly set features even though he remained handsome, that ever ready confrontational energy he possessed and though he was grinning at this moment I couldn’t help but think that it would only take a split second for his trademark snarl to come back.
I pushed the thought from my mind quickly, however, blaming it on my songwriter side of me combined with caffeine and sugar.
“Were your parents Beatles fans or something?” asked Logan, oblivious to the thoughts that were running through my head.
“If only,” I answered with a scoff, casting my eyes to the side. And once again catching sight of the smashed television. “And are you a Guns N’ Roses fan or something?”
“What?” he returned blankly.
Ha, I thought smugly, not bothering to conceal the expression to mirror my mood. I could throw one Harrison brother off their game at the least. Easy as pie. “Appetite For Destruction,” I explained in an aloof voice even I found annoying. I couldn’t help but enjoy the comparison; Axel Rose pissed me off as much as Logan did and that was saying a whole bloody lot. “What did the poor television ever do to you?”
Gaining his wits back about him, Logan fixed me with a lazy grin that matched his drawling voice perfectly. “Haven’t you ever smashed a telly?”
“It’s only exciting when you can drop it out of a building with more than two floors,” I replied, not able to deny it. What? I’d been very drunk or on some kind of substances and it was rather fun.
“Or if you have golf clubs.”
“Or baseball bats,” added I thoughtfully.
“It’s still fun with only two floors,” said Logan with a self satisfied grin as he ran his hand through his hair as if purposefully trying to mess it up. But whereas his brother couldn’t seem to flatten his hair, Logan couldn’t seem to make it untidy if his life depended on it. It just fell back to its original style.
Blowing my hair away from my face with a huff, I shifted my backpack slightly, thinking to the magazine that I’d just stuffed in there. Had I even closed it? Absentmindedly I replied, “I don’t think it’d be as rewarding.”
“And do you only do things for a reward?”
The words had me snapping back to give him my full attention. There it was. The devastating similarity between the two brothers that didn’t have to do with their looks or the general theme of arrogance. I could have sworn those words could have come out Cam’s mouth just as they had from Logan’s.
There was a double meaning to the words, but I suppose I wasn’t perceptive enough to pick up on exactly what it was, even though I narrowed my eyes closely on him. The only change I received from my obvious look was the quirking of his dark eyebrow to go along with that expectant expression.
“Depends on the reward,” I told him, weighing my words carefully.
Apparently he was just waiting for his turn to speak, because without a sign he’d even listened me at all, he asked, “What are you doing tonight?”
Now it was my turn to be thrown off my game. Fucking hell, how did these brothers manage to do this to me? I wasn’t the kind of person that was shocked to speechlessness, at least not in ordinary situations. Although I suppose this wouldn’t be considered an ordinary situation on any account, even if held in comparison to a rock star’s life. I felt like I’d be knocked over the head. I even opened and closed my mouth stupidly.
However as the words and their meaning sunk into my mind, speechless was the last thing I was. Well, that depended on someone’s definition of speechless. I wasn’t exactly capable of speech, but I was completely capable of sound as I burst into laughter, unable to take in breaths through it.
Gasping in between laughs, I shook my head, throwing the hair from my eyes as I brought my gaze back at him.
And I found him waiting patiently without a change in expression.
Swallowing my laughs, I stared incomprehensively at him for a long moment before a horrible thought occurred to me.
“Oh my god,” I said, horrified enough to raise a hand to my mouth, though only for a moment. I wasn’t going to be some cliché at the least. My nose even crinkled in disgust for dramatic effect. “Are you being serious?”
“Deadly,” Logan stated in a matter of fact tone.
“Are you brain dead?” I asked, my tone not deviated in the slightest.
That changed the solid look he’d been fixing me with, even if it was only slight, the corners of his mouth twisting into a smirk. “It’s up for discussion; I’ve lost my fair share of brain cells to be sure.”
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I asked in wonderment.
“There’s bugger all to do in this town.”
I was sure my eyebrows were going to disappear into my hairline during this conversation. In fact, I don’t think they’d ever been his high before. “That’s what this is about?” I scoffed, regaining my earlier scornful attitude. “The hot young blonde turned down a fuck with you so you turned to the next option?”
Not insulted by my words in the slightest, Logan let his gaze settle on me – the way he was looking at me reminded me of his brother as well – in fact he almost seemed interested, and that wasn’t an expression I’d been expecting from this Harrison brother. I’d been lead to believe he was as thick as a post. “Has anyone told you that you swear like a sailor? Not very ladylike, love.”
The use of the word love had my annoyance bristling even more sensitively. “Oh, go fuck yourself, Harrison,” I told him dismissively. “Are you really stupid enough to think I’d have sex with you? First of all, my ego is too big to let me be second choice. Not to mention, that we fucking hate each other.”
That smirk was only widening.
Add the ability to annoy the shit out of me to the list of similarities between the two Harrison brothers.
“And what gave you that idea, love?”
The repeated use of that word did nothing in his favour. I bet he believed that if he called me love enough times in that accent I’d just become some helpless puddle on the floor. Well, guess what, I have a little more backbone than that. “Call me love one more time and I’ll castrate you,” I warned, “And what gave me that idea? Hm, let me think,” I mocked, “What about the fact that you’ve been calling my music shit for the past six years?”
“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong, though,” Logan corrected, raising a finger to make his point. However I just slapped it away. He recovered from that without as much as a blink, letting his hand fall casually to his side. “I only said that we’re better, and it’s true. Doesn’t mean your music is shit, only that ours is better. I don’t think we could have called it bollocks with Cam playing it all the bleeding time.”
At any other time, that information would have been given more of a pause than the one I graced it with of a blank blink. Cameron Harrison listened to my music? The Bends listened to my music? After all the back and forth through the press, the bickering and the hate, he listened to my music? I knew it was pretty damn brilliant, but it was almost an inconceivable idea. Actually, almost didn’t cut it, it was. The idea of it happening was mind boggling. I felt like a cartoon character that had an anvil dropped on my head.
Yet, as it was, I couldn’t give the new revelation the reaction it deserved, only that mere second of surprise before I bounced back. I’d save the effect of it for later. In the meantime, I shot back, “The things you’ve said about me all over the press and television could make a hooker blush.”
“I was probably drunk or high,” dismissed Logan with a wave of his hand.
Seriously, I was beginning to consider that this was all just a dream. It would make more sense that way. I couldn’t imagine something that could have come more out of the blue than this conversation. “And that’s supposed to make it okay?” I returned incredulously.
“Didn’t you once say that if The Bends won an award over Red Riot you’d have lost all faith in humanity?”
Narrowing my eyes on him, I rose an eyebrow challengingly. “And we won, faith in humanity officially restored. The better band won as we always will.”
Whatever Logan had been expecting out of this conversation, I don’t believe this was it. He was looking increasingly caught between aggravation and incredulity, as if he couldn’t believe where we were heading with the sharp words. Really, I had an amazing knack at making people hate me, didn’t I? And it was in an exasperated voice that he asked, “You’re a piece of work, you know that?”
Now that didn’t exactly sound like a compliment. I raised an eyebrow at his proclamation, replying calmly, “Newsflash, I’m not some fucking groupie of yours, alright? My clothes don’t just fall off at a word.”
Regaining the arrogance that had possessed him so fully at the beginning of this twisted conversation, he wore a smile that would have been considered charming in any other situation as he drawled, “How about for a wink?”
And then he sent me a wink that was so theatrical and conspiratorial all at once I’m surprised there hadn’t been millions of articles written about that action. That one simple action. I found it was of no shock that there were woman all around the world that flocked to his egotistical self when he did something such as that. Woman love an asshole, don’t they?
I, on the other hand, just rolled my eyes. “You need to work on your approach if you’re going to try and get other famous people to sleep with you,” I notified him, my tone coming out in an almost matching drawl, spelling it out that I was bored with the conversation already. “It’s not all that impressive to me. First off I don’t want an STD, and, I mean, I’m not one to have heart to hearts, but even I would want to have a minute talk before I slept with someone.”
“We’ve talked,” said Logan, his voice coming out shorter. The annoyance was starting to overcome the overconfidence.
Good.
“Only long enough for me to tell you to stop scaring the poor eighteen year old.”
“You’ve talked to me brother.”
And there it was.
In those five simple words, I found all the answers I needed. His tone betrayed it all with the potent mixture of annoyance, jealousy and frustration. His expression didn’t help him either, the snarl was almost there.
“Oh my god,” I groaned theatrically, “That’s what this is about?”
“What’s what about?” he asked aggravated.
Ignoring his words, I shook my head, running my hands wearily over the side of my face. I really was going to be dead by the time I finished making this album, and it wasn’t going to be because the Harrison brothers had hatched a conspiracy to murder me. It was going to be because I wouldn’t be able to deal with their childish squabbles that were already starting to involve me. Apparently those articles weren’t lying when they talked about their relationship, it was absolute bullshit, wasn’t it?
What was it going to be next? If I got involved in some fight about which one was taller I was going to resort to my lesser used violent side.
“It’s all about sibling rivalry,” I muttered irritated. Running my hands back down so they rested on my neck, I changed my gaze up to him. “Who cares about six years of complete hatred and you being a dumbass, right? If your brother so much as has a conversation with me, than you have to beat him by sleeping with me. And I’m just supposed to jump on the band wagon quite literally? What the hell is wrong with you two?”
“That’s not what it’s about,” rebutted Logan defensively. But he didn’t meet my eyes.
That dumbass, that’s exactly what it’s about. What was the point in trying to lie to me when he was shit at it?
“So what do you say?”
He was just angling to get a slap in the face, wasn’t he?
“About what?” I returned, forcing my uninterested voice to come back as I shifted my weight lazily to one leg. It was time to go back to my uncaring bitch face instead of angry bitch face. I found that the former succeeded all that much better. “You, your fucked up relationship with your brother or the chances of me hopping into bed with you?”
Apparently Logan was gaining his composure back as well – something I was hoping he wouldn’t – and he just sent me an indolent grin that made my bored expression want to twitch into something akin to anger. “Well, obviously me, that’s the most important.”
Although the last thing I’d wanted to do since the beginning of this twisted conversation was to retreat, I found myself backing up a step.
“Frankly, Mr. Shankly since you asked, You are a flatulent pain in the arse.”
Pleased with the comeback, I spun around on my heel, feeling no need to stretch out the conversation any further. All my opinions seemed to be summed up neatly in the couplet from Morrissey and Marr. There wasn’t much that could follow a proclamation such as that was there? Nobody follows a killer.
However as I walked away, I heard the sound of laughter from behind me. Gritting my teeth, I refused to glance over my shoulder, knowing full well who the sound was coming from.
I figured with that exit the point was in my column after this interaction, but I didn’t like the laughter that always seemed to be coming from right behind me when it came to those two brothers. At the very least it was easier when there was only one.
“Do you need any help?”
Unable to stop the slight grin that appeared with the words, I just busied myself momentarily with the position of my microphone, getting it in a better position. It might have been nothing more than a demo, but the whole point of recording was to put down something that lasted, not just the ghostly sound of a guitar and singing from the background in something that was mostly silence. Now that would be creepy shit.
Shifting more comfortably on the hard wooden seat of the stool, I hooked my foot on the rest while my other remained flat on the ground and I settled my hands back on my acoustic. “Now, why, my dear,” I started, my voice slightly mocking, “Do you sound desperate?”
“I’m not desperate,” Sarah denied indignantly.
Making a tsking sound in the back of my throat, I shook my head, asking, “Is that any way to speak to a client?”
The reaction that I predicted from a mile away came on in a flash of vehemently apologetic words that came tumbling from the girl behind me. “Oh gosh, I’m so sorry, Jude. I didn’t mean, I guess, well, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have –”
It was my laughter that cut off the senseless stream of apologetics. She really was incredibly innocent, wasn’t she? She even said gosh. “Man, Sarah,” I chuckled, glancing over my shoulder to where she stood in the doorway between the control room and the studio. “Do you really think so little of me. I was joking. C’mon, keep up.”
In response her youthful tanned face puckered into a scowl. “You’re a horrible person, you know that?”
“Ain’t that the truth,” I agreed whole heartedly, still chuckling slightly. “So what are you so desperate to avoid, you sweet naïve girl?”
“Bitch.”
That just renewed my laughter. “It comes with the territory,” I assured her. “So is Logan trying to get into your pants again? I can kick him if you want, I think that’d be good therapy for both of us.”
“Not even close,” said Sarah with a great heaving sigh. She finally took the definitive step inside the studio, letting the door to the control room shut with that ghastly creak to leave us alone in the room. Leaning against the wall wearily, she only continued the story at my impatient look. “The water stopped working again and Simon’s on a rampage trying to get someone in to fix it.”
My eyebrows rose dramatically. “Again?”
A hint of red flushed her cheeks instantly at the word I repeated, and she replied simply, “Yeah.”
Biting the inside of my cheek, I stared at her for a long moment, watching as the blush deepened and she looked at the ground at her shoes. Was she seriously embarrassed about that? It wasn’t like I cared, I couldn’t say how The Bends felt about a lack of running water, but I’d dealt with much worse. Like the heat not working in the middle of winter in Michigan because my mother didn’t have the money to pay it.
Yeah that was definitely worse.
“Huh,” I said simply, not voicing my thoughts. Instead I diverted my attention to moving my hand from where it had been resting comfortably with the six strings against it at the sound hole and grabbing the water bottle I had set carefully on a stool just beside me.
As if just to confirm my suspicions from before, Sarah piped up, dragging my gaze back over to her. “It really doesn’t happen all that much,” she said in a voice that wasn’t all that persuasive.
“I don’t really care,” I told her honestly, taking a long swig from the chilled water bottle. Well, if water wasn’t coming out of the pipes in the building there was always bottled water in the fridges. It wasn’t exactly a hard life. The fact that there was no water wasn’t something that bothered me, the question that niggled in the back of my mind was why was the water continuously not working?
However I didn’t get the chance to ask that question, at least not yet, because the glum expression that was gracing Sarah’s face wasn’t what I’d have labelled as swayed. In fact, I’d say it was about the opposite.
“It’s not a big deal, seriously,” I told her, trying to use a more believable tone.
Even as I spoke, the regular ringing of my phone piped up, breaking the moment and successfully ruining my convincing her. I don’t know why I even felt like I needed to assure her that I wasn’t going to stick up my nose and demand to go to some fancy studio that had a gym and a massage parlour or some shit like that.
Giving a little shake of the head, I abandoned my water bottle in order to dig the phone out of the pocket of my wrinkled shorts. As I’d been instructed by everyone from security to AR reps at the label, I checked the caller ID. Some stalkers I enjoyed talking to, but it was usually the terrifying ones that got a hold of my number.
Cringing when I saw the words: Mandy (the bitch from hell) written across the screen, I set aside my guitar with my free hand.
Standing up, I sent her an apologetic look. “I’ve got to take this, but you can stay in here and pretend that you’re helping me to avoid the chaos,” I offered, pressing the answer button. Yet even as I raised the phone to my ear, I added to Sarah, “And I honestly don’t give a fuck. There’s a lot worse.”
“I wouldn’t go through the front if I were you,” Sarah advised me, “That’s where rampage is going.”
I only had time to send her a short smile before I heard a voice in my ear.
“That’s a pleasant way to begin a conversation: “There’s a lot worse.” You always were an optimist, weren’t you?” came Mandy’s amused voice through the phone, managing to do an insulting mimic of my voice straight off the bat.
“Oh, hey bitch from hell,” I returned the greeting, pushing out of the studio with my hip against the glass door, leaving Sarah back in the studio without a thought as I walked through the control room.
Easily she replied, “I had to add that on your phone. It’s a warning.”
“A pretty fair one.”
“Hey,” she warned, though my manager didn’t sound all that insulted, “Don’t be sassy.”
“Isn’t that my job?” I asked her in a pondering voice as I got into the hallway.
“Oh, yeah, I forgot,” she countered in a dry voice, “All you’re supposed to be is arrogant and sassy. Music? Psh, what’s that matter? And talent, who even cares anymore?”
Raising an eyebrow, I shoved through the door out of the control room and into the hallway, my Chucks squeaking across the linoleum and creating scuffs of their own. But that was the last thing on my mind, even though I had spent at least ten minutes the week before staring down at them in amazement, wondering which famous musician had made the scuff marks years ago that were now beside mine.
That well hidden fan girl side of me had a tendency to come out when faced with such things.
It was hidden by that arrogant face that I could slip on in a heartbeat when the door opened at the end of the hall.
“I don’t like this anymore,” I decided, referring to where she was going with the joke. “So, my bitch from hell, why are you calling me? Do you have an order from the devil? I mean, I already have sympathy for him.”
“You’re in a better mood since the last time we talked,” she pointed out, I could even hear the smile that was causing a slight tension in her voice. “Are you drunk?”
With a roll of my eyes, I replied, “Is that always your assumption?”
“Pretty much. Or you’re high. Either one works.”
“You have so much faith in me,” I said, my voice coated in sarcasm. I had a moment of hesitation as I started down the hall, seeing the door that would lead to the front foyer. However I ended up taking Sarah’s advice, gripping the door that lead to the courtyard. I would prefer to avoid the chaos.
Not bothering to wipe away the sardonic edge to my voice, I pulled open the door as I asked, “So what do I owe the pleasure of this phone call?”
“You always make me feel so loved. But there was a reason, not just a chat. The press has gotten a hold of the fact that you and The Bends are recording at the same studio. They said “a person close to the parties” gave them a tip, but I call bullshit. I bet someone from their management called it in for publicity,” ranted Mandy, almost spitting by the end of her stream of words.
However I was only listening with half an ear, and it wasn’t because when I opened the door I was hit by a blast of heat despite the fact it was almost eight at night and I could feel the sweat starting to glisten on my skin.
No, it was because as she ranted about The Bends, I found myself face to face with them.
Well, two of them.
Rob and Logan were slouched in the courtyard, looking as lazy as possible, sunglasses on in defense against the beating down sun. For a moment I couldn’t help but wonder how they were dealing with this heat. From my visits to the UK – though they’d pretty much been in and out tours – it wasn’t even close to this hot.
The thought left my mind rapidly, though, because both heads snapped to me when the door opened. And the slow smirk that came to Logan’s face grated on my nerves instantly.
Not wanting Mandy to realize what I’d just walked into, I kept my tone as even as possible, it wasn’t that hard. “You’re just pissed because I won’t let you do the same,” I said, sending a curt nod to the boys lounging about, hoping desperately that they wouldn’t pipe up.
“You’re right,” Mandy retorted grumpily, “You’re a bitch, you know that?”
“That’s the second time someone’s said that to me today,” I informed her, skirting around the side of the courtyard. I wasn’t about to stay in here to talk to Mandy in front of them. “Tell me something I don’t know, sweetheart.”
Ignoring me, she continued on as if I hadn’t spoke at all. She’d really gotten good at that over the years, I gave her huge props for that. Although it was understandable, she’d been our friend back in Michigan, she wasn’t going to treat me any differently now than she did then. “So, the question is, what do you want me to tell the journalists that are calling me at every moment of the day?”
I didn’t even have to think of an answer, it was on my tongue the moment I walked around the corner, deciding I might as well head for the parking lot around the side of the building. “Don’t confirm it or deny it, seriously, it will drive them fucking mental. It’ll be wonderful.”
“Ah, you’re devious, my friend,” she chuckled on the line, “But are you okay out there?”
“I think I might end up in a mental hospital by the end of this, you have no idea.”
Even though she was thousands of miles away, I knew she rolled her eyes at my words. She didn’t like The Bends as well – it came from being an indispensible though non-musical member of the band since the very beginning – but she wouldn’t understand unless she was in my place. “That’s not what I’m talking about, Jude. I’m talking about real problems like stalkers or a deluge of paps.”
“So far so good,” I admitted, “Nothing much seems to happen in this town. I haven’t had the paparazzi lined up outside my motel room, so that’s always a plus.”
“People are sending pictures in of you to the tabloids and gossip sites.”
With a sigh, I shrugged even though she couldn’t see it, edging around the corner of the building to the parking lot. “The damn age of technology, right? Oh well, it was bound to happen, I guess.”
This time as I stepped around the corner to the parking lot, staying carefully on the tiny amount of curb that I supposed could be called half a sidewalk, I heard the words that Mandy said but I didn’t understand them. It could have been nothing more than gibberish crap for all I knew. My hand even went slightly slack as I went around the corner.
The first thing I noticed was the smell that was wafting like a gentle touch across the air. The overpowering of a fresh cigarette, much more inviting than the musty scent that accompanied the inside of the building. After fifty years of smoking, the stale smell was never going to go away now.
But it was the person leaning against the brick wall that really caused my distraction.
Hadn’t I been told by Simon the first time I met him that it would be easy to stay separate from the other band if there was someone in the second studio? Because I was about to yell bullshit. I just couldn’t escape them, could I?
In a dark grey polo shirt that looked more than worn in and a pair of jeans, he wouldn’t have been that out of place besides the fact he had a world famous face.
“Sorry, what did you say?” I asked, finding silence settling over the line.
My words announced my presence to a what had been oblivious Harrison brother. His head snapped in my direction, the smoke in between his lips. When his eyes locked on me across the dozen or so feet between us, he reached up to take the cigarette between his fingers, letting out a long breath of smoke.
Sucking in a breath, I rolled my lips together against the instant need for a cigarette, although I didn’t walk away. And that might have been the intelligent thing to do.
“I was asking if you were sure you weren’t drunk,” sighed Mandy, “And I’m just getting more convinced that you are by the second.”
“Clean as a whistle,” I promised, but added, “Well, kind of.”
“Not surprising. But I had another reason to call you.”
Still not looking away from Cam who raised his eyebrows at me, I watched as he brought the cigarette back up to his lips and leaned comfortably back against the wall again. Wrapping my free arm across my middle, I asked vaguely, “Oh the joys, what now?”
“I’ve not only been fielding calls from the press, but from your mom and Lizzy,” she informed me.
With a wince, I finally looked away in order to stare at the baking pavement beneath my feet, giving it a light kick with the toe of my sneaker. “Really?” asked I in a flat voice.
“Your dad has been calling your mother nonstop and since you’re not answering her anymore, she’s been calling Lizzy and me. And in response Lizzy has been calling me in order to get in touch with you. Not to mention that your dad has the number to the record label and has been hounding them.”
Clenching my jaw, I started walking forwards and when I glanced upwards, I found that Cam was still watching me, an amused half grin on his face. I didn’t care who he was at the moment, now was the time for a bloody cigarette if I was going to have this conversation right now.
“Tell Lizzy that she might as just fucking call me not you,” I told her.
As I spoke, I dropped back against the wall beside Cameron with a sigh, and without so much as asking, snatched the cigarette from his fingers. He didn’t show even a sign of shock at my action, though I suppose it had happened before. And he didn’t even bother to resist. Instead he just let the barely touched smoke go, digging in the pocket of his jeans to grab the pack he had on hand.
In an insulted tone, Mandy retorted firmly, “I’m not passing anymore messages between anyone.”
“Well, that’s good to know,” I countered.
The first breath of the cigarette was calming, and I swore even my chest starting moving up slower in relaxation. I let out the breath a bit too quickly, but that was alright because it was deep and soothing. Thoughtlessly, I let my gaze tip to the man beside me as he raised the lighter to the cigarette he held between his lips, lighting it expertly.
“Jude, he’s your dad –” started she.
Yet I had her cut off within seconds, sacrificing the long drag of the cigarette to do so. “Don’t call him that,” I snapped, “He wasn’t any kind of father to me.”
“Can I at least give him your number?”
“No,” I said shortly, “If I want it I’ll let you know.”
With those words, I quickly ended the call, stuffing the phone back in the pocket of my shorts. Feeling the fury that pulsed through my head whenever my father came into conversation, I dropped my head back against the wall, closing my eyes and bringing the smoke to my mouth. Anything to get it out of my head.
All I could hope for was that they’d all get the fucking point already. If I wanted to get in touch with my father, I would do so. I couldn’t care less what he wanted right now, he had no right to just waltz back into my life whenever he felt like it. Or whenever he needed a bit of money more likely. And people that I had been friends with for almost more than half my life should know that. The person that should understand the most, though, should be my mother, she’d lived through it all and had to despise him more than I did.
Yet as I once again calmed down, I realized what had just happened. I wanted to cringe, but I refused to let the emotion grace my face, instead I just shifted idly against the wall.
The last thing I needed was for any member of The Bends – least of all Cam – to hear that part of my conversation with Mandy. Yet that was the part that I let myself broadcast to him quite openly without a though. I was such an idiot.
Pretending like I didn’t want to hit my head repeatedly against the brick wall, I slowly let my eyes flicker open. It was only a mere half second later that my eyebrow was raising just as I sucked in a long breath from the smoke between my fingers, looking at Cam as his eyes ran up my bare legs from where he was standing just mere inches away from me. That at least gave me something in defense, I figured.
Finally bringing his eyes from their long travel up my body, Cam met my gaze. But instead of looking abashed at my raised eyebrow look, he just sent me a cheeky smirk. “You need to buy your own bleeding cigarettes,” he notified me.
For a moment I didn’t even have a response.
I’d expected every word he’d heard from that conversation to be brought up, and I just found myself staring at him when he didn’t. In response, Cam leaned his head against the brick wall, looking down at me. He had an almost expectant look gracing his face as if he was daring me to be the one to bring it up.
“But this is so much easier,” I returned in a idle voice, blowing out a long breath of smoke towards him.
Although I turned my gaze forwards, I still didn’t walk away, I was blaming it on the fact that he was the one who had the pack of smokes. However as I did so, I took in what was in the usually empty – except for Simon’s car – parking lot. There were four motorcycles at random through the little tiny parking lot, all of them in top shape (though it wasn’t like I knew that much about them) and glinting in the sun.
About where my knowledge ended in the world of cars and motorcycles was the colour, and I was okay with that. I wouldn’t have bothered to get my driver’s licence if it wasn’t for the fact I had to take a turn when we used to drive our own van around the country.
“Let me guess,” I started, tucking my hair behind my ears, “Those belong to you lot?”
“What gave you that idea?” Cam returned in a dry voice.
Rolling my eyes, I just took another deep drag, noticing then that the smoke was already depleting. Maybe he was right. I was going to have to start buying my own, it wasn’t like I was bouncing up and down to spend time with him, let alone every time that I got the urge for a freaking cigarette. “Why am I not surprised?” I asked rhetorically. “Did you get them sent over with your tea from old Blighty?”
“Yes,” he answered me easily. Although I’d been hoping to hear some, I wasn’t surprised at the lack of shame in his voice. Like I’d thought before, shame wasn’t a word that could be connected with no difficulty to him. “We didn’t nick them or something, I think we’re past that phase.”
The words had me glancing back to him, waiting for him to elaborate on the last part of that sentence. They were past the phase of stealing motorbikes? Yet to my frustration he just left that admission hanging there without any explanation.
Decidedly looking away before I could question him about it – my curiosity was a giant pain in the ass sometimes – I closed my eyes.
Maybe when I opened them he would be gone.
However I heard the words said in a voice that was almost trembling with laughter straight from my side. “So Frankly, Mr. Shankly?”
My eyes flew open instantly.
“Yeah,” Cam chuckled, “He told me about that.”
“Did he tell you he was trying his “fuck me I’m a rock star” ploy?” I asked, angling my body towards him with only one shoulder was pressed against the brick so I could watch his reaction closely.
He didn’t look surprised at that information in the slightest. In fact, he just gave a shrug and scratched the back of his head, averting his eyes for a moment to focus on the concrete before he pulled the cigarette from his lips so he could speak. “I figured he’d at least try once,” he told me, sounding as amused as ever.
“And,” I continued pointedly, deciding to ignore the words because it wasn’t the answer I was looking for, still watching him shrewdly. “It’s just because I had one conversation with you.”
“He’s a knob,” agreed Cam, “But he’s me brother.”
Giving an all too dramatic sigh, I fell back against the wall, but kept myself angled towards him. Hauling in a puff from the smoke, I eyed him even as I brought it away from my mouth. “What’s with the brotherly love all the sudden?”
“Oh, don’t worry, he’s still a wanker,” he assured me.
Despite the greatest of my intentions, I found a grin working its way onto my mouth. Huh. How odd. “So now that we’ve had three full conversations, what do you think he’ll do?”
“Propose?” Cam suggested, surprising a loud laugh from me.
That was even odder, but it wasn’t like I was one to hide, anyways.
“But using The Smiths against him, fucking ace,” he congratulated me, shifting so he too was angled towards me. The only difference was whereas I had my chin tipped upwards, he was looking down.
Once again I was struck as if by lightening by the thought that his eyes were deep enough to fall into and then get lost inside for years, the bright sun highlighted the green, but they remained bottomless and dark. However I pushed the thought away, refusing to break the gaze in case it gave my thoughts away to him. I blamed the songwriter in me coming out to play, just as I had when I’d been talking to his brother this morning.
“It’s probably one of the few musical references he actually remembers,” continued Cam.
With a shake of my head though I remained grinning, I slicked the ash from the cigarette before dragging in that one last grotty puff I could get from the stick. “Why am I not surprised you approve of The Smiths?” I wondered aloud.
Although the question was meant to be rhetorical, the words had a smirk turning up Cam’s lips. “Have you been stalking, then, darling?”
“I think it’s the other way around, I can’t seem to escape all four of you,” I snorted easily, “And to think I’d just had a quiet year.” As I tossed the cigarette butt away from me, a memory from just this morning presented itself to me in my head, making me glance at him smugly. “And like you can talk.”
“What?” returned Cam, sending me a blank look, disarmed by the sudden accusation.
The superior grin on my face didn’t even flicker as I flicked my head, moving my hair away from my face. “Your brother told me something interesting this morning.”
With a groan, he rubbed a hand over his face and asked in a flat voice, “Did he?”
“He did,” I confirmed, unconsciously leaning in towards him as I crossed my arms over my chest. “I just found the first secret Red Riot fan.”
He let out a relieved sigh at the words, asking, “Is that it?”
When I replied silently with nothing but a raised eyebrow, he casually sucked in from his cigarette, dipping his free hand in the pocket of his jeans and saying easily, “It was never a secret.”
For a moment I stared at him, wanting to find an ounce of embarrassment in him so I could call out bullshit, but of course I found nothing of the sort. I really had stop waiting for some. I grinded my teeth together slightly at the casualness he spoke. Never a secret? That was utter crap, of course it was a secret.
I was beginning to think I’d bypassed the amount of Harrison brother interaction I could handle for one day. “Seemed like one to me,” I countered.”
“I never said your music was bad, I just said mine was better –”
“Bullshit,” I snapped, interrupting him instantly, my ego coming out to play in a big way in the conversation. My level of arrogance was really starting to shine now. It was on par with his, and that was saying something.
Cam just ignored my words. “See, you can say someone’s music is alright –” I scoffed at the word. Alright? It was better than alright and we all knew it. It was damn well near brilliant, and millions had said so, not just me. “– but you call them an ignorant, stuck up American bitch once and no one forgets it.”
I raised an eyebrow, countering dryly, “I wonder why.”
“I’d watch out, though,” Cam advised me.
His words caught my attention solidly, making my eyes snap to his with a warning expression written all the way through them and across my face. That didn’t sound good to me. In fact, it sounded like a threat. It did, didn’t it? Would this be a good opportunity to just kick him in the balls?
“If Simon finds out that you like The Smiths, he’ll trap you for hours to talk about the Morrissey concert he went to.”
I almost sighed.
So it wasn’t a threat.
Well that was good to know. For both of us, little did he know it saved him from some serious pain.
“I’m okay with that. I can talk to him about meeting Morrissey backstage last year,” I replied smoothly. And it was true. If anyone was willing to listen, I would go on forever about the icon. I’d tried not to get star struck when I’d met him, attempted to prepare myself, but sadly it hadn’t worked. That happened when I got the chance to meet childhood heroes of mine. Same thing had happened with Neil Young and countless others.
My response only made Cam grin. “I just told him about meeting Johnny.”
I swear my eyes went as round as tennis balls.
“You’ve met Johnny Marr?!”
Nodding, Cam pulled the pack of his cigarettes out, flipping it open and offering me another one, which I gladly took. “The guy is top, seriously.”
Placing the cigarette in my lips, in jealously I moaned, “Fuck.” I kept my eyes focused on his as he held up the lighter to the cigarette, letting my hands fall to my side. I only looked away when I breathed in the first crisp deep breath, closing my eyes. When he dropped the lighter, I took the cigarette from my mouth, holding it between my two fingers and letting out a deep breath before telling him, “I literally bought a Gibson ES-335 just because of him.”
With a light in his eyes that I didn’t recognize, Cam opened his mouth to speak. But the voice that rang through the parking lot from only a few steps away didn’t belong to him.
“Now that’s something I never thought I’d see.”
Gasping, the smoke dropped from my fingers but I didn’t even save it a moment for a care. I’d know that voice anywhere at any moment in time. And it felt like it had been way too long since I’d heard it.
Without even taking the time to speak, I spun on my heel away from Cam and the building before half throwing myself half bounding at the man who had just spoken. My arms fastened like a vice around his neck and I used the momentum combined with excitement and pushing off the curb to jump up, twining my legs tightly around his waist. Instantly his large hands cupped my thighs, securing me in place so I wouldn’t drag us both down to the pavement in a bloody mess even as he laughed at the greet.
And without further ado, I swooped down and kissed him firmly on the mouth.
- I thought I'd dedicate this to closet_anarchist because she won the fight lol. -