Strings (9 page)

I shuffle the pages. Where
are the jobs for uneducated lowlifes? Athens is a fucking college
town. Surely, there’s
something
available for high school grads. There has to
be.

I scan farther down the page. More of the
same. On and on it goes. There aren’t even any decent waitressing
jobs for higher-end restaurants.

I toss the paper aside. I am so fucked.

My cell flops weakly across the table like a
fish out of water. The thing produces more of a sporadic cough than
a vibration, and I can’t afford another one. Hell, my mom took over
monthly payments on this one until New Year’s. It was her Christmas
present to me last year. No idea what I’ll do when January 1 rolls
around. The way things are going, I’ll have to either live without
a blasted phone or not eat.

I snatch up the infernal device. “Hello?” I
growl into the speaker.

“
Hey, Letty. It’s Jinx.”
She’s quieter than usual.

My anger quells, and I sigh. “Hey, girl.
How’s it going?”

“
It kinda
sucks.”

“
Yeah. Same
here.”

“
You talk to Kate or
Jillian?”

“
Nope.”

“
Me neither.”

“
Why’d you call, Jinx? I
gotta leave for work pretty soon.”

“
I—I don’t really know
why. I guess I just missed you.” Her voice trembles.

My vision blurs unexpectedly, and I choke
up. I plug my nose between finger and thumb to stop the sudden
tingling there. Doesn’t work. Stupid tear ducts decide to go into
unauthorized mass production. The bastards. “I miss you too.”

“
Is it really over? I
mean, are we…broken up?”

I wipe the drops away with my sleeve. “I
don’t know what we are, but I think it’s safe to assume we’re
broken up until we hear otherwise.”

“
Okay.” Jinx says the word
so softly, I almost don’t hear it. A long pause follows. “I guess
I’ll talk to you later. Bye.” The line dies.

I pull the phone back at stare at it for a
solid minute.

Who really got screwed in all of this band
drama? Jinx. I’ve known her forever, and I understand how her mind
works. She holds shit in and takes it out on her drums. Now she
can’t even do that because the goddamn drums are what brought her
down in the first place. She must be devastated. An innocent kicked
to the curb by her insensitive pimp Jillian.

Fuck Jillian. Fuck Kate. And fuck that
asshole Shades for making me doubt myself.

Now I’m pissed. I guess it’s better to be
pissed than a quivering blob of delicate emotion in desperate need
of a maxi pad.

I stomp to my tiny
bedroom, dig through the dirty clothes pile for a work uniform.
Naturally, I haven’t been to the Laundromat this week
because—
gasp!
—I
ran out of quarters. I drag out my least stained Fat Johnny’s
T-shirt and a pair of khaki pants and put them on. No underwear.
Who needs the shit? With a quick stop in front of the mirror, I
twist my hair and tie it into a ponytail on top of my head. Red
swishes across my shoulders as I shake the topknot hard. I throw on
makeup, brush my teeth, and swig some mouthwash.

Coat, purse, keys. Off to work I go,
thinking about Jinx the whole way.

I hate feeling helpless. But what else can I
do? Yes, I could call Jillian or Kate and try to smooth things
over, but I’m sick of playing the negotiator. People in my life
need to start pulling their own fucking weight. I can’t be
everything to everyone. I have to look out for myself.

Still, I can’t help wondering whether Jinx
is okay. She’s always been quiet, but today is different. What if
she’s depressed? Suicidal? Shit, what if her call was a cry for
help, and I blew her off?

I feel like I’m at a crossroads—for both my
personal and professional lives. Two choices flash before my eyes
in gaudy neon: Stay where it’s safe and comfortable but uninspired,
or go and risk everything to make my dreams come true, even though
the odds are stacked against me.

Rob’s advice on the night
of my birthday pops up like a footnote:
If
you can’t beat ’em, join ’em.

That shit goes against my core principles,
but some rules were made to be broken.

For the good of The Rock.

At a stoplight, I grab my phone and dial
Jillian. She answers after two rings.

“
Is it too late for us to
change our minds about the tour?” My heart pounds, and I’m
breathless. I might be having a mini panic attack.

“
Yes. No. I don’t know.”
Frustration laces Jillian’s voice. “Where are you?”

“
On my way to work. Can
you set up a meeting with Jinx and Kate tomorrow night?”

“
I can try.”

“
Call Jinx first. Tell her
it was your idea. I think she’s pretty down. It would help if you
told her you support us, even if you don’t.”

“
What the hell kind of
shit is that?” Jillian assumes her mama-bear tone. “You think I
don’t support you?”

I think you feel sorry for
us,
I want to say, but I don’t. “I think
you’re brown-nosing Killer Dixon because they have money.” Let
Jillian infer whatever she wants from that comment. It’s better
than telling her I know the truth. “But it’s okay. I get it. You
can’t make money without spending money, and Cherry Buzz Float has
none. So, I forgive you for being a bitch to us and taking their
side.”

“
I do
not
take sides. You know how I feel
about you.”

I snort. “I do?”

“
If you expect me to
coddle you and hold your hand during every single rainstorm, you
hired the wrong manager. You want to know the real reason I went
out of my way to organize this tour for you?”

“
Yeah, I do.” This ought
to be good.

“
I did it because I
believe in your music and your message, despite the cat fights, the
paranoia, and bitchiness. How many all-girl rock band trios are out
there today? I can’t think of a single one that’s had more than
marginal success.

“
Letty, your voice…it’s
like estrogen-steeped gravel. So rough and raw, yet so feminine.
And it actually sounds melodious when you sing. You’ve got a
fucking gift. And Jinx…I don’t have to tell you how amazing she is.
She’s better than ninety percent of the guy drummers I’ve heard,
and she’s by far the best female.
Nobody
tops her. Kate’s equally
talented on guitar, and her ability to write quality music with
perfect hooks is unmatched.”

Wow. Just wow. I’m speechless for a few
seconds.

“
I had no idea you felt
this way about our music, Jillian.”

“
Then you should pay
closer attention.”

“
You’re not exactly
forthcoming with the praise.”

“
When I’m not criticizing
you, consider it praise.”

I laugh. I really do love to hate this
bitch.

“
The truth is—and so help
me Christ, if you ever repeat these words, I’ll deny them until I’m
on my deathbed—I view Killer Dixon as the means to Cherry Buzz
Float’s end. They’re good. You’re better. But they have testicles
and money. You don’t. A supporting tour is the best I can do for
you in this situation. When you start selling out shows and making
money for yourselves, we’ll talk about headlining. Until then, this
is the way it’s gotta be. If you refuse, I’ll
understand.

“
But before you make any
decisions, I want you to remember something. You’re not the only
one making sacrifices here. I quit my decent-paying job with
benefits to manage this tour, these bands. I’m in it for the long
haul. Are you?”

I feel like I’ve been climbing a mountain
with anvils chained to my back. I’m nowhere near the top, but I can
see the peak up there with the sun shining behind it. Taunting me.
Daring me to defy it. With a rush of adrenaline and determination,
I give it all I’ve got, throw off those motherfucking shackles, and
smile as they fall.

Good riddance.

Opening for Killer Dixon may not be the
optimal solution to our problems, but it’ll give us an advantage we
didn’t have before.

“
Yes. I’m all in. Balls to
the wall. I’m pretty sure Jinx is too. You get Kate on board, and I
swear I’ll channel every bit of The Rock I have inside me. Every
show. Every night. Every town. I want to
make
it, Jillian.”

I feel her smile through the pause. “That’s
what I thought. Rehearsal tomorrow night. Tour bus leaves Friday
morning. Your first gig is that night in Columbia, South
Carolina.

“
Pack your bags, Letty.
Your real life is about to begin.” Jillian snickers and hangs
up.

Fuck, yeah.

Need a Hand?

I have no idea what line of bullshit Jillian
used to sway Kate, but Queen Bitch agreed to come on tour.

Tensions were at DEFCON 4 during rehearsals
the last few days and rose steadily as the week wore on. Today as
we wait in Jillian’s dirt driveway, surrounded by big-ass drum
cases, freezing our tits off, we’re on a collision course with
DEFCON 3.

Killer Dixon is late.

Kate’s not the only one who’s pissed. Every
time Jillian blinks, the friction from her lids scraping her
corneas produces sparks. I stand way clear while mentally
snickering.

My thoughts haven’t given
Shades the pleasure of my company since we parted ways a week ago.
He made it pretty clear I was nothing more than a fuck doll to him,
which makes us even-Steven. Besides, I don’t need the distraction
of his hotness to prevent me from reaching my goals. The next few
months are all about The Rock.
Long live
The Rock!

Jillian flicks the ash off the end of her
cigarette and squashes the glowing red cherry into the gravel with
the toe of her sensible black Oxford. She glances at her watch for
the umpteenth time. “Ten thirty.”

Not just late. Thirty minutes late. I smile
inwardly because an outward smile would indicate I’m pleased, and I
don’t want to suggest I have anything but angelic intentions toward
our motherfucking touring buddies. But damn, I hope Jillian gives
it to them. She runs a tight ship, and tardiness is her number-two
pet peeve, after incompetence.

Jaw rippling, Kate looks like she’s about to
bite clean through her tongue.

Jinx sits on her bass drum case, drawing
pictures with the heel of her boot in the dried red clay. I smile
at her. She smiles back, then looks away.

A loud engine rips open the silence like a
chainsaw, and a big, honkin’ bus barrels down the drive. It’s ugly
as sin with huge, tacky blue flames painted down both sides burning
up Killer Dixon’s poor attempt at a hard rock band logo.

Wow. Just wow.

The hunk of metallic penis envy rolls to a
halt. The door opens, and the members of Killer Dixon swagger
out.

“
You’re late.” Jillian
gathers her bags and shoves them into Rax’s open hands.

“
We had to stop
for—”

“
No excuses. I don’t want
it to happen again. Are we clear?”

“
Yes, Mother.” Rax rolls
his eyes and makes a blow job motion when she turns
away.

Shades is dressed in faded jeans, a black
leather jacket, and of course, the sunglasses. There’s a haughty
air about him today. He oozes confidence. He’s on the prowl. Maybe
knowing this tour wouldn’t be happening if it weren’t for him gives
him an extra shot of confidence. And something to hold over my
head.

I thought for sure I was done with him, but
he’s still tripping my goddamn trigger. Even harder than
before.

Fuck.

I give him a quick nod, pretending to be
cool while my sex drive approaches a meltdown. He totally ignores
me. I feel like a dickhead cricket rubbing my legs together,
chirping for a mate who ain’t interested.

Yeah? Well, fuck that. I’m not interested,
either. Nope. Nada. Forget it.

He leans against the bus. His tall frame
taunts me. The cute messy hair, the piercings, the tattoos call to
me. His ambivalent attitude grabs me by the tits and squeezes.

Motherfucker.

A rotund bald guy climbs down the steps and
shakes Jillian’s hand. “I’m the driver, Freddie. Nice to meet
you.”

“
Jillian Frost. That’s
Letty Dillinger, Kate Pickens, and Jinx Hardwick.” She gestures at
us in turn. “Are you ready to go?”

Freddie nods. “Yep. I’ll help you get your
gear loaded.”

He walks around back to a trailer humping
the bus’s ass and opens it. We move the cargo—with no help from
Killer Dixon—and then head for the door. I’m anxious for a
distraction from Shades’s hotness. Let’s see what the setup is like
inside.

Shades hops up the steps first. When
everyone’s on board, he turns to us. “Guys are on the left. Dolls
are on the right.”

My eyeballs bulge at the scene before me.
Directly behind the driver’s seat is a communal area with two
floor-mounted tables on either side and black leather couches
hugging the walls. There’s seating for four at each table, and the
couches are big enough for sleeping or fucking on.

Next is the kitchen. It’s small, but it
utilizes space well. Cupboards above, refrigerator/freezer below.
Microwave and hot pot on the counter separating them. A little
pantry to the left.

Behind the kitchen are bunks with trundles
for storage. Stacked two high, with four to a side, each has a
black privacy curtain. Not much room for bedmates. Oh well, my
prospects are shit right now anyway. I peek at Shades again. Still
hasn’t so much as faced my general direction since he and his
buddies arrived. Jerk.