June 22, 1985
"I didn't even call them, Haley!" My roommate, Haley Marks, drags me down the sidewalk until we're standing outside of a house. The 'house' Haley hangs out at almost every night, the one where Guns N' Roses lives.
It's a twelve by twelve storage unit type room with a roll-up aluminum door, various Los Angeles party-goers spilling throughout the parking lot as the music I heard at the Troubadour last week blasts from the place.
Haley stops in her tracks, turning around to face me. "Do you really think they have a phone," she screams over the music, gesturing toward the storage space. I shrug, not wanting to agree with her.
She grabs my arm, pulling me through the crowd of people to where the band is playing. I don't think they mean to play for this crowd of people, honestly, I think this is just a rehearsal everyone has shown up to.
I watch as the band rehearse a song they played that night, the one about the jungle. Axl shimmies in a Serpent like motion, his bandmates playing their hearts out.
"You come here every night?" I scream into Haley's ear, the music still too loud to have a civil conversation. "Why the hell would you do that?"
She rolls her eyes, shaking her head. "We can't all have daddy's money to fall back on, babe. These guys, they're the real deal."
Just the way these guys can handle their instruments, it's impressive. I've lived in Hollywood my entire life, and never have I ever seen this much dedication.
"Hey, look who it is," Axl smirks after the band's set ends, taking a few steps toward Haley and I.
"Hey, Deanna," Duff says, leaning his bass up against the wall of the storage unit. "Didn't think you'd actually get in touch, it's been awhile since we got back."
"Yeah, I, uh, accidentally sent your number through the washing machine," I lie, not wanting him to know that the real reason I haven't called is because this whole rock scene thing intimidates me.
"Well you're here now," he smiles, tossing an arm around my shoulder. Duff is tall, really tall, probably about a foot taller than me. "I'd offer you something to eat, but all we have is a cheap wine and stale biscuits."
"You live here?" I gasp, my eyes widening as I look around the tiny room. No kitchen, no bathroom, no air conditioning, how did they do it?
"Sorry," Haley interjects, her eyes widening at the five piece band. "Deanna isn't used to struggle."
I resist the urge to punch my blonde roommate in the face, quite honestly. Instead, I decide to change the subject. "So, how did the gigs in Seattle go?"
Steven groans, standing up from his place at the drums. "It was horrible," he answers, tossing his drum sticks into the corner of the storage unit.
"They promised us two-fifty for each gig we played, we ended up making fifty bucks for the two gigs that weren't canceled." Axl adds, shaking his head.
"Wait," Haley's jaw drops at the news. "They canceled on you guys? Why would they do that?"
"Portland, Eugene, and Sacramento canceled on us," Duff corrects, his arm still around my shoulder. "At least we got our music out in Seattle and San Francisco." I feel for Duff, he went through the trouble of booking these shows for the band just for the venues to cancel.
"They didn't give a fuck about us," Slash sits on the floor, absentmindedly strumming his guitar. "Our car broke down a hundred miles out, had to hitchhike the way to Seattle. That was the fucking Hell Tour."
"When's your next gig?" I ask the guys. I can see them slowly losing hope in getting that record deal that they've been aiming for, and I guess I have my father's eye for talent. I know that Guns N' Roses will be big one day, I can feel it.
"Not until July twenty-sixth," Axl says, pulling a half bottle of vodka from the hands of a passed out girl on the floor. He opens it, taking a swig.
"Give me a couple days," I nod, earning the six pairs of eyes before me to begin to stare. "I may be able to get you a few more."
"Could you?" Izzy, the rhythm guitarist, hasn't said a word to me since we met, besides his name. Him talking to me is kind of what I needed to solidify my plans to help them to the best of my ability.
"I'm gonna go home, make some calls. Where is your gig on the twenty-sixth?" I turn back to Axl, a red bandana around his head with sunglasses covering his eyes, despite the fact that it's dark out.
"The Seance," he replies, pushing his sunglasses up so they rest on top of his head. "You really think you can do this?"
"Not making any promises, but I'm gonna try my best," I shoot him a smile, to which he returns. "I'll come back when I have something to share with you."
A/N
Kinda sorta really wanna be a band manager so instead of making the main character a stripper like usual rock n roll fanfics, this bitch is gonna be the band manager of Guns N Roses