Phone Calls From a Rock Star

Phone Calls from a Rock Star

JL Paul

Copyright © 2013 JL Paul

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved
worldwide.

No part of this ebook may be copied or sold
or distributed without prior written permission -- if you have
this file (or a printout) and didn't pay for it, you are depriving
the author and publisher of their rightful royalties.

All characters in this book
are entirely imaginary and any resemblance to persons living or
dead or actual events is purely coincidental

Chapter One

“
You’re lucky to have me as
a big brother.”

I ignored Seth as I concentrated on the
energetic rock band jumping around the stage on VTV, my favorite
music channel, and spooned chocolate chip ice cream in my mouth.
The scream of their guitars reverberated off the walls thanks to
the surround sound system my dad had finally installed earlier that
summer.

“
Don’t you want to know why
you’re so lucky to have me?” Seth persisted, leaning over the back
of the couch and invading my personal space. I licked my spoon
clean and dropped it in the empty bowl before sliding it across the
coffee table. I sat up so I could listen to his latest
lecture.

“
Yes, dear brother,” I
began in a sarcastic tone. “Do tell why I am so
fortunate.”

“
Because I am about to
rescue you from boredom. It’s your last weekend home before the
parents ship you off to that snobby boarding school of yours and
I’m going to make sure you enjoy it.”

I pointed at him, narrowing my suspicious
eyes. He was three years older than me and looking at him was
almost like looking in a mirror – our resemblance was so great. We
both had blond hair, green eyes and slim builds. He, being male,
was more muscular and towered over me. Of course, I had inherited
my mother’s height, so it wasn’t much to brag about when he pointed
out how much taller he was.

“
You graduated from that
so-called snobby boarding school, so don’t get on your high horse.
Besides, who said I was bored? Maybe I
want
to waste away in front of the
television.” I huffed, crossing my arms over my chest to illustrate
my point.

He rolled his eyes, hopped
over the back of the sofa and dropped beside me. His lips curled
into a smug smirk as he shifted so he could pull an envelope out of
his back pocket. He handed it to me, and I peered inside
cautiously. Seth usually
was
a good big brother, but he’s been known to pull a
prank or two - especially on me.

My eyes grazed the contents of the envelope
and I gasped, immediately growing lightheaded. He couldn’t be
serious! “Seth…how…no way…” I sputtered, causing his smirk to
widen. “I mean… how? Who did you have to kill?”

He snatched the concert tickets out of my
hand and carefully shoved them back inside the envelope. “Easy.
Pete has connections. And since Pete can’t go, I thought I’d take
you.” He smacked his palm with the envelope, a look of superiority
on his face.

“
What do you
mean,
‘since Pete can’t
go?’
I
should
have been your first choice!”

He laughed and chucked me under the chin
like a cute little kid. “Didn’t you just say last week these guys
were a bunch of hopped up Neanderthals who probably savaged
innocent girls for kicks?”

Okay, so maybe I did. But that didn’t mean
their music wasn’t fantastic. “That doesn’t matter,” I quickly
amended. “I love baseball even though I think a lot of the players
are overpaid jocks.”

“
You are such a hypocrite,”
he muttered, taking the tickets out of the envelope to peek at them
again. What, did he think they suddenly changed into tickets for…I
don’t know…Julio Iglesias? If that was the case, he could
definitely count me out.

“
I am not a hypocrite; I’m
a music fan. Big difference.” I refrained from sticking my tongue
out at him. I was about to enter my senior year of high school so I
figured I’d act a little mature.

“
Whatever,” he grinned. “So
are you going or what?”

“
Are you serious? Of course
I’m going.” For someone with a high GPA, he sure seemed pretty
dumb.

“
The concert is tomorrow
night. Pack a bag because we’re getting a couple of rooms.” He
leapt from the couch and bounded up the stairs, laughing at my
slack-jawed response. “For safety purposes,” he called over his
shoulder.

“
Safety purposes
my butt,” I mumbled as I slumped back into the
sofa.

***

“
So tell me, dear Isabella,
am I or am I not, your favorite brother?” Seth grinned as we made
our way to our front row seats. When I say front row, I mean front
row
balcony
and
not front row as in right in front of the stage. I mean, I know
Seth is good, but he’s not
that
good. Still, the seats were pretty
awesome.

“
Let’s forgo the clichéd
‘you’re my only brother’ and just say, yeah, Seth, you are my
favorite brother.” I took the concert shirts he handed me and
frowned. Just because he bought them didn’t mean I had to lug them
around all night. Did it?

“
I’m going to get us
something to drink. I’ll be right back.”

I just nodded and gazed at the crowd below
me. I loved to people watch. My roommate from school, Annie, always
says I’m weird but I prefer the term ‘observant’. After all, if I
hadn’t been so observant, no one would have ever known Dean Gold
spiked the punch at the Fall Festival. Okay, bad example. No one
really cared who spiked the punch because obviously they all liked
to have their good judgment impaired with alcohol. I guess it gave
them an excuse to act like idiots - or more so in some cases.

Me, I prefer not to drink. Not only am I too
young, but the stuff tastes nasty. And, I like to keep a clear head
in most situations.

I watched the ladies line up in front of the
stage. ‘Ladies’ was probably too polite a term, as most of them
were dressed in scanty tops and tight jeans and motioning wildly
for the roadies to throw them something; guitar pick, drum stick,
chest hair, whatever. I rolled my eyes and leaned forward to get a
better look. One lady in particular caught my attention. I pressed
Seth’s binoculars to my eyes and focused on her. She was dressed
similar to the girls around her but she was old as in
I-left-the-three-kids-at-home-with-the-hubby old. Didn’t she watch
VTV and see that the guys in this band were young? I mean early
twenties young? Talk about your desperate housewife!

“
Stop glaring jealously at
the girls in the front row,” Seth said as he handed me a plastic
cup full of alcoholic no-no. I winced at the smell and handed it
back. Didn’t he remember I was underage and not a drinker? He
rolled his eyes but placed the cup on the floor near his
seat.

“
And I am not jealous of
the bimbos in the front row,” I pouted, crossing my arms over my
chest. “Look at them! How disgusting. Do they think one of the guys
from the band is going to pluck them from the crowd and make them
their wife?”

“
You’re too funny, Bella,”
Seth chortled. He took a long drink from his cup, and I laughed at
his foamy mustache. He wiped it on his sleeve and scowled at me
just as the house lights went down and the crowd roared.

The opening band had one hit—period. They
played the video over and over on VTV, and it was a decent song,
though I was personally getting tired of it. I gave them the
benefit of the doubt and listened, deciding their other songs
weren’t too bad—but I couldn’t get into the music. I was too
excited for the main act; Controlled Environment.

I watched the front row bimbos jump up and
down in excited furor. Even the mommy was jiggling, trying to
attract attention. It was comical, to say the least, and I hoped
I’d never behave that way. Maybe they all had consumed alcohol or
maybe their blood sugar was low. Who knew, and frankly, who cared.
The band finally finished, and the house lights came back on. I
watched the roadies converge on the stage and take apart the
equipment while the bimbos called out to them, begging for
souvenirs.

Seth struck up a conversation with a couple
sitting next to him. He could be blindfolded, standing in front of
a firing squad, and before a single assassin could squeeze off a
shot, he’d make lifelong buddies out of them all. He made friends
very easily. Me, not so much.

He mumbled something to me about getting
more drinks with his new friends and promised to bring me back a
soda. I hoped he’d return before Controlled Environment came on
stage. I was afraid he’d get wrapped up in some kind of weird
conversation and forget all about the concert. And my soda.

But he didn’t forget. He
made it back just as the house lights went out and the crowd jumped
to their feet, screaming wildly. Yes, I joined them - I couldn’t
help it. I love music, especially live music. And especially if it
was done well. Controlled Environment did music
very
well. They hadn’t been around
for a long time but as soon as they emerged on the music scene,
they exploded. Their first album had gone platinum and their second
was well on its way.

The band came out on stage and burst into
their first song. The crowd screamed hysterically. Did I say they
were good? They were awesome! And okay, they were a little cute.
None of them were Orlando Bloom or Johnny Depp hot, except for
possibly Nick, but they weren’t hard on the eyes. Jake Johnson, the
lead singer, had black, and I mean jet black, hair gelled into some
kind of organized mess. In his videos his eyes always appeared so
piercing blue, you wondered if he wore colored contacts. He was
tall and lean with a slight build as though he tried to work out
when he had time.

Nick Collins, the drummer, was the best
looking. He was built better than the others and wore his bleached
blond hair spiky. He had sweet green eyes and a sweet smile to
match. And his drumming skills were often compared to some of the
great legends.

Ronnie Stone and Matt Wenslow were tall and
thin, like the others, with messy brown hair. They weren’t overly
attractive but you’d never know by the crowd reaction. Just strap a
guitar around their necks and they suddenly became Mr.
Universe.

Jake strutted up and down
the stage in torn jeans, a white t-shirt and a brown leather
jacket. Leather jacket? On that hot stage? Typical bad boy attire
if you were James Dean maybe. But then, they
were
labeled the bad boy band.
Tabloid reporters followed their tour bus around practically
drooling. Rumors circulated like wild fire that they even trashed
an entire floor of some posh hotel in Boise, Idaho. I didn’t even
know they
had
posh
hotels in Idaho.

Some of their lyrics didn’t help this bad
boy image either. Don’t get me wrong, they didn’t throw the F-word
around in their songs just because it’s America and they have
Freedom of Speech. No, they used explicit words tastefully. Well,
as tastefully as possible when using explicit words. See, that’s
one of the reasons I loved this band. Not only was the music superb
but the lyrics were remarkably clever. Jake and Nick did all of the
writing, so of course, they were pegged as tragic, angry young men
taking out their miserable childhoods in their music. Did they
actually have miserable childhoods? I didn’t know. Were they angry?
They seemed pretty well-adjusted to me.

Seth and I screamed, clapped and stomped our
feet with the rest of crowd until the house lights came back on
following two encores. Seth took firm hold of my arm as we wrestled
with the crowd. I glanced over my shoulder and laughed as the front
row bimbos tried to wrangle something, anything, from roadies.
Preferably Jake’s boxers.

Seth’s grip began to hurt, but he wouldn’t
loosen up. Sometimes he took the big brother role a little too
seriously.

“
I’ve invited a few people
up to our rooms,” he informed me. My stomach fell to my feet.
Wonderful. A mass of strangers drinking who knows what until all
hours of the night. So much for sleep.

“
Oh, joy,” I muttered
sarcastically.

***

My stomach rumbled as I brushed past a guy
with long, greasy hair standing in the doorway of our connecting
rooms. I was grateful I’d left all my valuables at home as Seth
insisted I keep the adjoining door open to give our guests more
room.