Gauge: Rockstar Romance (The ProVokaTiv Series Book 1) (5 page)

My head hurt more than just a little by the morning, and I was aggravated at myself for not being at my best. Thankfully, I’d demonstrated that I was serious about what I was doing all summer long thus far. It didn’t represent me well, and while I liked to let loose, I didn’t like to risk someone questioning my professionalism. A hungover journalist was too cliché, hardly something that would distinguish me from the others the way I wanted.

I was walking down the hallway to Simon’s room, and I glanced over at Gauge’s door when I walked past. It made me smile. I was glad that my aspirin was kicking in and it didn’t hurt to move my face the way it had when I first woke up.

It was time to kick it into gear. I took a drink from my bottle of water, enjoying how its coolness quenched the dryness in my throat, and knocked on Simon’s door, waiting patiently for him to answer.

“Hi,” Simon said, swinging the door open. I looked at his expressive blue eyes and saw that he was well-rested, a bit too alert for my liking. He was a smart guy in a different way than the others were. The business of the industry and all its nuances were something he paid a lot of attention to.

“Good morning,” I said in fake cheeriness. “Ready?”

“Yes. Come on in.”

We sat down at a small table that had two chairs in the corner of the hotel room. I pulled out my recorder, setting it off to the side. I remembered what it was like when I interviewed Hunter and didn’t want to be find out Simon was the same way with a recorder in sight, although it seemed rather unlikely.

“Won’t you capture my voice easier if that’s on the table?” Simon asked, pointing to the side.

“Your call,” I said. “It’ll pick up your voice from there, but some people get nervous about seeing a recorder.”

“I’m not one of those people,” Simon said matter-of-factly. “So, don’t worry.”

“Great.”

“Are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah.” There was no way I was going to confess that I was anything less than at my best. Simon stared at me, evaluating if I was being truthful. He reminded me of the first interview I ever had with a celebrity. It had been Bob Mould from Hooskerdoo, a Twin Cities psychedelic band that was popular before I was even born. The guy had these crazy, intense eyes, and he wasn’t trying to make me uncomfortable, but he just did. I’d vowed to get over those feelings back then and had for the most part. At the moment, Simon made them come back alive.

“One of your musical inspirations growing up was Tommy Lee. How did he inspire you?”

“His drumming skills were dope, obviously,” Simon began. “However, what I found fascinating was how he managed to make himself stand out without having to be the main guy on stage. He did it so smartly, and I was impressed by that. My personality isn’t one that really needs to be the center of attention. Tommy gave me a blueprint of how I could take my tool—the drums—and make the most of it.”

“You have to be comfortable being the center of attention if you’re going to be front and center. Talk about how Gauge and Hunter do with that.”

“It’s pretty apparent that Hunter has no problems with that at all. Gauge is kind of unique in that way. He’s the lead singer and guitarist, but he’s pretty casual with it all. We’re not the same in many ways, aside from how we both use our instruments to create that small buffer between us and the audience.”

I was enjoying how decisive Simon was with his statements. We hadn’t tapped into anything really revealing yet, but I sensed that he knew how to maximize an interview as much as I did.

“You’re known for being the analytical one, always thinking about something and exploring new ways of making the ProVokaTiv brand stronger. Why?”

“This is a damn great opportunity we’ve been given, that’s why. It’s likely not going to last forever. That means you have to make everything count and not assume you’ll be on the joyride forever.”

“In your opinion, do all of you subscribe to that belief?”

“Doubtful, but we can all do whatever we want with what we get out of this, financially and opportunity-wise.”

“What do you see in your future after ProVokaTiv is done?”

“I see using what I’ve learned and the connections I’ve made to help others.”

“Like being on the Voice, AI, or one of those types of shows?”

“No, nothing like that. It would be cool, but everyone’s vying for those jobs in the industry. I want to seek out new talent and help them develop it, take the right path, that kind of thing.”

“The role of an agent, that’s what it sounds like you’re describing.”

“Maybe, but I was thinking of my own label, something like that. Also a non-profit part to it, something to give back. That’s something I’m interested in.”

I looked at him and smiled, his words reminding me of how Jessie would talk. Shit! That reminded me of something.

“Sorry to veer off course, but before I forget, could I get your autograph for my friend Jessie? She’s been bugging me for it.”

“Okay,” Simon said. “You’re full of surprises.”

What did that mean? “How so?”

“Didn’t picture you as someone who’d request an autograph, even for a friend.”

I was starting to feel a bit uncomfortable, which I shouldn’t have. “No big deal, if you don’t want to.”

“I don’t mind at all,” Simon said. “I’ll get a headshot to you later, okay?”

“Great.”

“By the way,” he said. He got up and didn’t finish his sentence. Boy, I hated when people did that. He walked over to the mini fridge in the room and grabbed a newspaper from the top and carried it over.

“Good night last night,” he said after coming back.

“It was fun,” I said, looking at him oddly.

“So I see.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. “Just say what’s on your mind and stop your bizarre little innuendos.”

I was feeling defensive and I had no clue why.

“You might find this interesting,” Simon said. He tossed the paper at me. I opened it up and started to sweat.

My eyes blinked, trying to focus on what I saw. Yes, it was me, in a rather provocative position. I was gyrating on Gauge’s knee with my ass bouncing against his crotch. To make it more horrifying, my tongue was hanging out just a bit, and I was biting on the tip of it. Was that something I always did? I was, for one of the few times in my life, speechless.

“Do you think you can write a sound piece about ProVokaTiv if you’re doing things like this with one of the subjects of the story?”

I stood up, feeling the need to justify my behavior, and frowned. “Having some fun last night has nothing to do with the integrity of the article, and to suggest otherwise is ridiculous.”

“I have to make sure,” Simon said. “I’m not judging. What either you or Gauge do isn’t my business, technically.”

“Good. I’m glad you realize that.”

“I’m also looking out for you, Brynn. I don’t want The Rift to think you can’t be taken seriously because of something like this.”

My face dropped. Simon had a point, and his words stung like I’d just had alcohol poured over an open wound.

“It was just a fluke…someone who knew how to take a good picture that would draw attention.”

A smile spread across Simon’s face, and I didn’t know how to read it. If it had been Hunter smiling at me, I would have gotten it.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Simon said. “So, let’s get on with the interview, shall we?”

“Okay,” I said.

We started talking again. My response seemed to appease Simon, but it got me thinking about Gauge and whether the flirty, energetic games we were playing were truly worth it for me. He had nothing to lose, but I had substantially more at risk.

“Did you see the newspaper?” I asked Gauge, watching him from the hallway. He was standing just inside the door to his room. “I did. Simon didn’t hesitate to show me.”

“Me either. I feel like an idiot about it.”

“Why is that, Brynn?”

“It didn’t look good.”

“But it felt good, didn’t it?” Of course it had felt good, and seeing that Gauge didn’t seem to put much into the picture made me feel better. Then he added, “It’s on Gawker, too.”

Now I was anxious again.

“Well, I’ve got to go. I have a Skype with my editor from The Rift in a hour. I’ve got to prepare.”

“Are you going to be watching the show tonight?”

“I am,” I said. “See you then.”

“Later, then,” Gauge said.

I walked away and went into my room, pulling out my tablet and pulling up Gawker.  Apparently I was into torturing myself. Just over a month ago I would have looked at those pictures when I was doing my research and laughed at the women who immortalized themselves in revealing pictures like that. Yet there I was. Talk about karma kicking me in the ass. The real kicker was that I wasn’t really feeling as guilty as I thought I should. I’d had a great night.

I went to my email and saw that I had quite a few messages, but two of them were of immediate interest. One was from Jessie and the other was from Trinity. I opened them up and read Trinity’s first.

Wow girlfriend!

That is one hot picture. No need to ask if you’re having fun. I’ve seen the proof. Fill me in on the juice when you have a minute.

~T

Next I read Jessie’s.

Brynn,

I wanted to check in with you and make sure you were good. It’s hard to believe you wouldn’t be from the looks of the Gawker. You were definitely having a good time. Miss ya,

Jessie

I sent them a joint message. A few short sentences took me about ten minutes to write. I kept writing, editing, and revising.

Hey,

I sure know how to make my mark in the world, huh? It goes without saying that it was a great night and I enjoyed myself. Do I really do that tongue thing when I dance? All is good here and I’m definitely good. Hope we can talk soon.

Ciao for now,

Brynn

An average quality, slightly-distorted Skype image appeared before me and I saw Laurel Freemont, my editor for The Rift, staring at me. Her black, square reading glasses were on, pulled down on her nose halfway, and accented the bright red lipstick. The girl picked a shade and stuck with it! Her short pixie cut framed her thin face in an ideal way.

“How’s the progress?” Laurel asked. She didn’t waste time or words.

“I have so many things, lots of fresh content. I’m excited.”

“When will I have a bit to look over?”

“I know you’d like to hear it today, but that’s not going to happen. It’s still a bit raw, not ready for an editorial review.”

She leaned forward and stared into the camera of her computer, and then beyond that, to my eyes. “You’re not having troubles, are you?”

“No, no troubles.”

“Good, because you’re good, but there’s a fair amount of pressure for this article. I just want you to realize I know that.”

“You’ll have a draft in two days, end of day my time, for review.” As the words escaped my lips, I wanted to suck them back in. There was nothing more stupid than a journalist giving themselves a deadline. It was almost always less favorable than the one their editor would give them.

“Great, glad you’re good. I’m not really into that ‘rah-rah you can do it’ schtick.”

“And I’m glad for that,” I said.

“So, how are the guys?” Laruen asked.

Whoa! That was a quick topic change. I wasn’t sure if she was asking me because she’d seen the pictures or she was just curious. “They’re good and definitely interesting. Lots of personality amongst those three.”

“Yeah. Who’s your favorite?”

“I’m not allowing myself to have one. Need to stay impartial for the article.”

“I’m calling bullshit,” Lauren said. She had a wicked grin spread across her face. “I saw that picture, and it doesn’t take a hell of a lot of investigating to know who your favorite is.”

I couldn’t say anything immediately, feeling like my tongue weighed a hundred pounds. Laurel let me off the hook. “Don’t sweat it. Journalists fuck around with musicians all the time, it’s part of the game.”

“Well, I didn’t do that,” I said.

“What are you waiting for?”

“Out of curiosity, don’t employers usually frown on that type of thing?” I asked casually.

“There’s nothing typical about our industry, and I know you know that. It’s why you’re there, and I’m here in this office ready to live vicariously through your words.”

“I think I’ll stick to journalism and not try to be an amateur groupie—not sure I’d be good at that schtick, as you put it.”

“Honey, don’t even try to pull off Jewish lingo. It took a very authentic grandmother to teach me that one.”

“Got it.” I was silent, not having much else to say. It was my fingers that needed to start doing the talking.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it. Looking forward to receiving the goods. Everyone’s eager.” Then her phone. She put her finger up to the camera, reached down and answered her phone, then looked at me and waved before signing out.

I estimated that I had two hours to get started before getting ready for the concert that night. If my time went ideally I’d be able to get an outline complete. Then, after the show, I’d come back, get a good night’s sleep and start burning the oil first thing in the AM.

There was one aspect of my assignment that I’d been avoiding since getting to know the guys of ProVokaTiv a bit better. That was the fact that I just didn’t respond to their music the way most everyone else did. In fact, when I tried to find data on poor reviews or negative critiques, I came up with only eight credible sources. When it came to finding positive feedback, I found more credible sources than I could even add up. I reached the conclusion that there must have been some sort of subliminal messaging in there that brainwashed the followers like a cult.

Staring at my tablet’s blank page, I wrote the start of my first sentence
: I don’t know when ProVokaTiv became a synonym for ‘contagious.’
I put some strikes through my first sentence immediately afterward, staring at the tablet closer, more enamored with the reflection of the rising sun on it then the sentence I’d written.

“It’s going to be a long damn life if I’m already getting stuck for the right words,” I muttered. I looked to see it was 8 AM. Liquor stores opened at 8 AM in the Twin Cities. Risking some speculation and raised eyebrows from the hotel staff, I picked up the phone and dialed room service. “Blueberry muffin, fruit, oh, and a bottle of Pinot Noir…no just once glass…10:00? Oh, okay,  just bring it all up then.”

I had two hours to kick it into gear. I could do it! I started to type out my thoughts, diving into everything that had been happening over the few weeks. I still had three weeks to go before my ‘research’ was complete, and this draft was the best way to fill in the blanks about what I still needed to get; my interview with Gauge being the main one. I’d been putting that off, feeling like it was easier to get to know him through other means. Who would have thought that dirty dancing was one of them? Go figure.

“Room service,” a thick Italian accent called out from the other side of the door.

I jumped, not realizing that 10:00 had arrived, and opened the door. A middle aged man was standing there behind a wheel tray with four items on it: a small silver platter with a lid, a bottle of wine, a corkscrew, and a single red wine glass.

“Come on in,” I said, smiling a bit sheepishly. I wasn’t sure why I felt awkward showing that I needed some morning vino. It was common in Europe, right? Plus, I’d never see these guys again, so why not do what I needed to do? I was the one with the self-imposed deadline, after all.

“Shall I uncork this now, signora?”

“That will be fine.”

He smiled at me and did as I asked, lingering by the front door with his silver cart until I signed the room service bill and added his tip in there.

“Thank you,” I said, holding the door open for him.

He walked out and I dove in, pouring a glass of ‘the nectar of journalists.’ Then I got back to work, feeding my fire with a muffin, a juicy peach, and a tasty glass of wine. The words began to flow from my fingers more freely. I got to that sweet spot in my mind, the place where I thought about the emotions and message and kicked the editor to the curb. That could be done afterwards, by me and then Laurel.

I was starting to feel good, and by 3 PM, I had a thousand fairly brilliant words written and was ready to flesh them out. I’d been willingly edited and critiqued on my writing my entire life, but I had to be honest; no piece of writing was more important to me than the one that I was working on. I also noticed that when my fingers were moving their quickest, I was most likely to misspell Hunter’s name, turning him into a Huntre, until my auto correct switched it around for me. Gauge and Simon were no problem. It went to show that Hunter found a way to get attention even when I was in the privacy of my hotel room and involved in an affair with MS Word.

The phone rang that was on the desk right by me. I didn’t even look over as I picked up the receiver and nestled it under my chin.

“You okay? I haven’t seen you all day.” It was Gauge.

“I’m good. Doing some writing, because I have to get a partial draft over tonight.”

“Can you take a break?”

“Sorry.”

“Alright, catch you later.”

We hung up, and I realized that something very unfamiliar had happened. I didn’t have the tingles from Gauge’s voice or the distracting lusty thoughts of him that bombarded my mind at all the wrong times. I was in the zone. In fact, I couldn’t even figure out why he’d call me just to check on me.  He’d grown less ominous over the past few weeks, but it wasn’t like him.

Needing some invigoration, I’d just taken a shower and put on my pajama bottoms and a tank top. My hair was piled up high on my head, still wet, and I was getting ready to read through my draft one last time before I sent it off to Laurel.

There was a knock at my door. It was already 11 PM and I thought it might be a wrong door. Then there was another knock.

I walked over to peer through the hole and a piece of paper slid under the door. “Open up. I can hear you typing.”

I swung the door open. “Sorry, wasn’t typing.”

“Well, I had a good chance,” Gauge said. He wore a serious expression and was holding a small brown sack under his arm. I stared at it and waited for him to talk. “Thought you could use a break. I got a six pack of Peroni.”

“Well, why not. I should take a break from the piece for a bit so I can look at it with a fresh set of eyes. Hopefully you don’t mind my attire.”

“Why would I?” Gauge asked. I think he was serious, too. Intentionally complex, like the description for the bottle of wine I’d enjoyed throughout the day.

“I’ll read it if you want.”

“Not on your life,” I said.

We sat down on the couch. Gauge asked if he could turn on the sports quick to catch the soccer scores. “Torino just played Manchester United.”

“You like soccer?”

“I do.”

“I never knew that.”

He didn’t say anything to that. I’m not even sure why I thought I should have known that. After all, millions of people loved soccer.

We turned our attention to ESPN Italy. I barely understood any of it, relying on the scores on the ticker for me to keep pace with what was happening.

“Can you understand Italian?”

“Enough to get me by. I can’t speak it good.”

We sat there in relative silence, enjoying the cold, crisp beer, and staring at the television. Every time our bodies brushed up against each other, I remembered how his hands felt on my hips when we were dancing. It was odd to be so comfortable in relative silence, but I was ready to talk. I’d been quiet all day aside from the occasional rant to myself.

“Is it hard to get into the music industry when you’re so shy?”

“You think I’m shy, Brynn?”

“Well, yeah, you’re so quiet most of the time. It seems…”

He cut me off. “I can talk when I want to.”

“I’ve never been too shy. Insecure once in awhile, maybe, but I had to get over that in order to become a journalist. Insecure journalists don’t get too far, or so they say.”

“I don’t see that in you,” he said.

“I’m not really a fan of letting my imperfections show through.”

“There is nothing more rare, nor more beautiful, than a woman being unapologetically herself; comfortable in her perfect imperfection. To me, that is the true essence of beauty.”

My jaw came unhinged. “Did you make that up?”

“No, it’s Steve Maraboli.”

“The motivational speaker guy?” It wasn’t that Gauge was dumb, but I never would have guessed that he’d even know who a guy like that was, much less quote him.

“Yeah, don’t look so startled, Brynn. My mom is into that sort of thing, and thought one of his books would be good to read in my downtime.” He smirked.

“Keep you out of trouble, keep you grounded.”

“Something like that.”

“She’s probably had a heart attack if she’s seen the picture.”

“When you don’t want to know something, you don’t go looking for it. That’s her motto.”

“It’s a good motto.” Then I remembered that I had to get over the draft. I had a debate to go through. Cut off the nice little surprise with Gauge to read through it once again before sending it over or wing it? I winged it and walked over to my tablet and pressed
send
. Then I went right back to my spot next to Gauge on the couch, popped open another beer, and continued the conversation.

Our talk turned to fun memories from when we were kids after that, talking about what we liked and the adventures we had. I admitted that I was rather clumsy, which made me prefer reading books to running around. It was only out of necessity and a desire to not get Aunt Betty’s goat that I started running, something I hadn’t done at all since starting the summer tour gig.

“I was always active, out of the house as much as I could, and at the skate park.”

“I can see that.”

“Everyone always says that.”

“Everyone’s right in this case.”

Gauge went on to talk about his younger sister and I saw nothing but serious big brother love in his eyes.  It was so sweet, so protective.  She was clearly someone that Gauge gave more leeway to than others in his life.

“Your friendship with her sounds great,” I said.

“It is.  She’s an awesome kid, well, not kid anymore, I guess.  She’s twenty-two.”

“My age,” said.  I’ll admit that it made me wonder if he thought of me in that protective big brother way.  God, I hoped not!

“Yeah, I guess so. Hadn’t thought about it.”

“Is she a good singer, too?”

“Hell no,” Gauge said with a huge grin. “She sucks, to be honest. Imagine how a cat fight sounds in the middle of the night and you’ll get the idea.”