Rock Star (16 page)
Thaddeus gave her a bewildered look. He obviously had no clue as to what she was talking about, but was so mesmerized by her striking beauty that he really didn’t care.
Unaccountably disturbed by Thaddeus’ openly besotted gaze, Twist spoke up, pointing out the guitarist’s obvious youth. “Hey, kid. What was your name again?”
“Thaddeus.”
Twist rolled his eyes. “Mind if we call you Thad?”
Thad nodded his consent. “That’s what everybody calls me, except for my mother. She always calls me Thaddeus,” he said, nervously looking down at his watch. “Uh, guys, it’s getting late. I’ve got to go home now and tell my mom I got a job.”
As the rest of the band looked on in amazement Thad packed up his gear and left. They couldn’t restrain their laughter as they anticipated the fun they would have on the road with this naïve young innocent. Twist was particularly happy to have someone in the band who was younger than he was. Some of the ribbing he’d received could now be directed towards the neophyte. He smiled to himself. Young Thad would definitely be a welcome new addition. Of course, there was the issue of his mother. He hoped she didn’t have to come along on tour. It would definitely put a damper on their less wholesome activities. He’d also have to keep an eye on him around Naysa. Not that he was jealous or anything, he told himself smugly. Maybe he’d be able to introduce him to a nice girl who was more his type. If the poor lad got tangled up with a hellcat like Naysa, there wouldn’t be anything left to go on tour with.
Callie looked out over the crowd, shaking her head in bemusement. The event looked more like a madhouse than anything she’d ever witnessed. She and Bryan were attending the pre-tribute publicity party, and it seemed that every reporter and photographer in the world was in attendance. Callie had tried frantically to convince Bryan that she shouldn’t go, but he had been adamant that he needed her there. When she’d packed back home, she’d had no intention of attending the gala, so she hadn’t brought any dressy attire. With the whirlwind schedule of rehearsals and auditions there had been no opportunity to shop, and she was concerned that her clothes weren’t suitable. Naysa allayed those fears by advising her that dressing casually for all occasions was one of the fringe benefits of being a rock star. Bryan was dressed in his standard all-black attire, right down to his seedy-looking boots. Callie breathed a sigh of relief when she realized that her over-dyed boot-cut jeans and simple white cotton wrap top were not at all out of place. There were plenty of people there who wore dressier clothes, but according to Bryan, they were mainly wannabes, hangers-on, and groupies. The people who were regulars at such events had a look of studied insouciance. Others attempted that same practiced indifference, but somehow on them it came across as an almost sad desperation. This was especially true of the celebrities who had not had a hit in a while. Their eyes overly bright, collagened lips pried apart into smiles that were more like grimaces, they worked the room with a near fiendish intensity.
Though she’d seen a lot of celebrities on television and in magazines, somehow they looked much more synthetic in the flesh. Most of the women, and a sizable percentage of the men, seemed to have had “work” done. Of course, the scant amount of clothing the women wore made going under the knife an absolute necessity. Callie and Bryan spent a brief moment on that chicken and egg discussion. Did they get surgery to accommodate the nearly nude fashions? Or were the women dressed so skimpily to flaunt their new bodies? Either way, they wore so little clothing that Callie wondered why they even bothered. Never in her entire life had she seen so many immobile bosoms. She couldn’t believe that people actually did that to themselves on purpose. Bryan had to nudge her several times when she was riveted by a particularly preposterous endowment.
Members of the press and music industry insiders inundated Bryan. Callie was relieved when he gave the brush-off to two unctuous-looking men who tried to talk him into a new management deal. Though B.T.’s practices were unorthodox, Callie knew he had Bryan’s best interests at heart. These other men didn’t look to even have hearts, at least none without stakes driven through them. Others approached him about becoming a solo artist. Jon and Twist were particularly attentive during those conversations because rumors were circulating rapidly about a solo project for Bryan. Despite his constant denials, people assumed the stories were true, and everyone wanted a piece of the deal. The interactions had all the complexity of a minuet. As one group drifted away, another swooped in. In their attempts to isolate Bryan, the various toadies simply ignored Callie or tried to brush her aside. It amused her that no one bothered to ask her name. Most of the people acted as if they didn’t see her. They had a way of quickly assessing her status and then dismissing her. Callie didn’t mind, because being a nobody in this town definitely had its benefits. Bryan held onto her like a lifeline and only relinquished her to B.T. or Jon when he absolutely had to for a publicity photo. She didn’t want to appear in the type of stories she usually read about celebrities. Bryan soothed her anxiety by assuring her that the focus would be on him, and though she’d be included in the photo, she’d just be dismissed as another “unidentified girlfriend.” Hearing this, Callie breathed a sigh of relief.
Callie struggled to maintain a casual demeanor while being introduced to the dizzying array of celebrities, some of whom were legends in the music or film industry. She didn’t want to embarrass Bryan by acting like a star-struck country yokel. Anthony Kiedis lingered to talk to Bryan. From their hushed tones and solemn expressions she assumed that they were discussing Brodie. Anthony had tried desperately to intervene with Brodie, who had been one of his closest friends. He’d also tried to stop Bryan’s self-destructive downward spiral after Brodie’s death. The enthusiasm of his embrace with Bryan demonstrated his joy in finding his friend in a better state of mind and back in the fold. Callie could tell that some of the celebrities were true friends of Bryan’s, and shared his grief about Brodie. They generally maintained a low-key manner, and tried to approach when the paparazzi were not present to avoid creating a scene. Others, however, were patently seeking publicity and a boost for their own careers. Bryan’s graciousness with the latter surprised Callie. She thought it was rather ghoulish to attend such an event just for publicity, but upon reflection she realized it was not much different from people back home who attended funerals for an opportunity to gossip and wear nice clothes. Bryan apparently accepted such behavior as being an innate part of the entertainment industry and wasn’t taken aback by it.
Not to her surprise, an amazing number of the half-clothed women approached Bryan, and just in case he hadn’t seen their best assets, struck artful poses that displayed their charms in a favorable light. Bryan coolly introduced her to each of the women, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on their faces. Callie picked up on the subtle body language differences that indicated which women Bryan had slept with. It quickly became obvious that he hadn’t lied when he said he didn’t discriminate. If there was a racial group not represented in the bevy of beauties, Callie didn’t know what it was. After watching the little impromptu rainbow coalition for a while, she couldn’t resist taking another dig at Bryan. “So you’ve been basically having yourself a little rainbow orgy, haven’t you?”
“Not on purpose,” he replied with a brow deeply furrowed with concern. “And calling it an orgy is a bit much. They were mostly threesomes.”
Callie gave a disbelieving snort.
“Okay, foursomes, at the very most,” he conceded.
Callie left the topic alone for the moment, but she had every intention of revisiting it. She didn’t intend to miss this marvelous opportunity to put Bryan on the hot seat.
With so many groupies trolling for new celebrities present, the whole room vibrated with sexual energy. Bryan had made snide references to the type of activity common at such events, but Callie was somewhat skeptical. Why would people risk behaving so scandalously with all these reporters and cameras around? Time and time again, she’d seen celebrities rant against the paparazzi and their invasive tactics. Bryan explained that their protests were a ploy, that most of those people would kill their own mothers to be on the cover of People. Later, when she briefly left Bryan’s side to go to the ladies’ room, she accidentally opened a closet and found one of the lovelies Bryan had introduced her to earlier performing a lewd sex act on a well-known movie producer. She rushed back to Bryan’s side and breathlessly shared the news. Bryan merely grinned at her and advised that the young lady in question was legendary for her technique and carried the nickname “Miss Goodhead” proudly. He likened her to the infamous groupie Cynthia Plaster Caster, except that she lacked the talent to make plaster casts of her partners’ penises. Instead she confiscated their underwear as a trophy of her conquests. When Callie inquired as to his level of acquaintance with the young lady in question, Bryan gave her a mock salute and responded, “Ma’am, all my underwear is present and accounted for.” Afraid of what else she might encounter, Callie didn’t leave Bryan’s side again.
Despite their attire, most of the women were cordial, though some couldn’t resist making remarks about her outfit or obvious lack of surgical augmentation. One even slipped her a business card and encouraged Callie to hurry on over to North Roxbury to see the “plastic” who did “her work.” It didn’t take long for Callie to determine that 435 North Roxbury housed some of the most legendary plastic surgeons in town. Callie pursed her lips. She really had to wonder about people who carried a surgeon’s business cards with them. However, Bryan didn’t seem to think it was odd at all.
Watching the women brought to mind the comments her mother had often made about the importance of maintaining a healthy diet and eating heartily with family and friends. According to Edith, people who didn’t eat properly ended up cannibalizing each other. Watching the bared claws tonight, Callie was convinced that there was more than a grain of truth in her mother’s comment. The women weren’t trying to be mean, or at least most weren’t, but in this impossibly competitive society, they used every tool available to gain even the slightest edge. And cattiness seemed to be the weapon of choice. Towards the end of the evening, Bryan introduced her to “a friend” with the unlikely name of Chasdity, with a “d,” no less, a tall, leggy redhead who Callie suspected was his most recent girlfriend. Callie had never met anyone who spelt their name when introduced and wondered idly if the “d” stood for dingbat.
After the introduction, Chasdity exclaimed, “Oh, I just love your accent! I’ve never met a Southerner. Say something else!”
Callie pointedly ignored her order, pretending to be engrossed in another conversation. She had no intention of taking commands and performing like a trained seal. When Chasdity didn’t take the hint and repeated the request and Callie again didn’t respond, she asked Bryan where they’d met. When Bryan explained that they had met in Alabama, Chasdity expressed disbelief and then waved her hand towards Callie. “Alabama! Well, that explains your outfit. Oh, you poor thing, it’s so like Bryan to rush a girl away from home without giving her a chance to pack or even do any shopping. I can’t tell you how many times he’s done that to me!” She then lapsed into her best attempt at urban black speech. “Give me a call, girlfriend, and I’ll give you the hook-up. Can’t have you running around looking all ’Bama, now can we?”
Callie sucked her teeth. Nothing irritated her more than white people who felt they needed to “talk black” to her. She pointedly gave a once-over to Chasdity’s obscenely short, low-cut dress and dryly commented, “No, I don’t think so. My taste is a little bit different from yours. I only dress like a stripper for costume parties, but if I ever decide to do it again, I’ll be sure to give you a call.”
Chasdity gasped indignantly, and Bryan shook with laughter as he choked out an excuse to move them to another group before she could respond.
“I can’t believe you ever dated that woman!” Callie hissed at him.
Bryan shook his head, sure that Callie didn’t really want to know how little “dating” had actually transpired. “I wouldn’t exactly call it dating. We only went out for a couple of weeks, but I don’t know how I put up with her either.”
* * *
Callie sat in the audience, transfixed by the band’s performance. Bryan, Jon, and Twist sat on a stage illuminated only by a lone spotlight. They were the last performers in an evening that had been taut with emotion. Bryan’s voice was even huskier and rawer than usual, and Callie couldn’t stop the tears as he wailed out an exquisitely painful rendition of “Wish You Were Here.” On her right, Maria had her head on B.T.’s shoulder, and he comforted her as tears ran unabashedly down his face. Callie couldn’t get over B.T.’s open grief. Given his usual gruff manner and fixation on the bottom line, she’d had no idea that Bryan and Brodie were anything more than just a column on his balance sheet. This was yet another dimension of their extraordinarily complex relationship.
She had heard Bryan’s CDs, and he had even performed for her in her home, but nothing compared to seeing him in his element. Bryan made each person in that audience feel as though he were performing for them individually. Callie was moved beyond words that he would be this open and honest, especially as she knew what that openness cost him in terms of his own vulnerability.
When the band finished, it felt as though everyone was collectively holding their breath, the tension as taut as a bowstring. Then, as if someone had thrown a secret switch, a clamor arose as the audience jumped to its feet en masse and applauded thunderously. The earsplitting applause continued until the band consented to an encore, and then resumed again. If there had been any doubt as to the stability of this band, they were allayed in that instant. Storm Crow was back and better than ever.
