Page 11 of Filthy Rock Stars

We had a couple of explosive fights about our sound after the second album, when they decided to go more commercial, but with the label firmly on their side, it became clear I wasn’t going to win. I’ve never been a songwriter, anyway. So when our music took a nosedive into boring radio trash, I resigned myself to hang back and try to enjoy the ride.

I play guitar for a living, hang out with rock stars, tour the world, and pad my bank account with millions of dollars. Like I told the sweetheart from the park, I think about walking away from it all sometimes, but this life is no hardship. I’ve built a damn fine career for myself.

It’s just that when Adrian and Elle get bossy and start trying to control my hair or whatever, I shoot my mouth off.

Pisses me off.

“We did an interview,” Adrian says, excited.

Elle smiles, and I can tell she’s pleased. “That’s one piece of business.” She walks over to the counter and grabs a glossy magazine, which she hands to me first. “We’re starting a feud with Kissing Dirt.”

“Excuse me, what?” I scan my eyes across the article, then catch the name of Kissing Dirt. Their sound isn’t really anything like ours, but we’re arguably the two biggest rock bands in the country right now and both located in Seattle.

I read from the article, quoting Elle. “Kissing Dirt aren’t real rock. They’re just a bunch of DJ tricks, grunge rip-offs, and cheesy songs about nature.” I look up. “What the fuck, Elle? Their grunge sound is awesome.”

Cutter snatches the magazine from my hand. “Fuck,” he grunts, reading. “Adrian trashed Mare’s voice, too?”

Adrian tightens his brow. “I didn’t trash her. I just pointed out that Elle is a better lead vocalist.”

I lean back. “Damn it. I like that band. Now I’m going to feel like an asshole when I inevitably run into them again.”

“Hey, it was a good idea,” Adrian growls. “A rivalry is good for sales.”

“Yeah, please. At all costs, let’s make more money.”

Elle’s nose twitches. “Sorry someone writes hit songs that make you millions of dollars, man.”

I stand, mad not just at the band, but at myself for landing straight here again, bickering about annoying shit. “Whatever. Start a rivalry. Plan another global tour. Decide we should become a polka band.”

“Polka band it is,” Adrian says.

Cutter looks bored, which I sympathize with. The three of us have been doing this routine since we were teenagers, and he’s been watching it for nearly as long.

“Anything else?” I ask.

Elle shrugs. For a second, I see my old friend. I’m not sure what it is that brings back the memory. Her red hair falls to the side, and she brushes it back in place with this casual flip that reminds me of being a young nobody, dreaming big in a basement, before we all got devoured by fame.

Back when I thought Elle and Adrian were the only two people in the world who even kind of understood me.

Then she sighs, and the moment is gone.

“Not really,” she says. “Some contract stuff, but the lawyers will take care of it.” Maybe she’s having a sentimental moment, too, because she summons a smile. “You don’t mind me and Adrian taking the lead again? I’ve already got a couple ideas for songs.”

“Just let the rats in the cage know when you need a guitar solo worked out.”

“Cool,” Cutter says. “Ping-pong?”

We split up in the massive loft, and I realize the good mood I was riding since I met Park Guy has come to a crashing end.

A rivalry is so pointless. It would be one thing if Kissing Dirt were assholes, but they aren’t. They make good, interesting music, and Adrian and Elle are probably just jealous.

Now I feel like a dickhead by association.

My thoughts dart ahead. Thursday is almost here.

Maybe my guy will show up. Maybe I’ll get another chance with that beautiful, intoxicating man.

His words echo in my brain.You’re a regular, good guy. He doesn’t know me, but I still hold onto that, hungering for someone to see me the way he sees me. To be someone else and not Shadow from Forbidden Destiny.

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