She-Rox: A Rock & Roll Novel (25 page)

“Yeah, and
somebody
tore into it already. That wasn’t you guys, was it?” T.J. alleged.

“Ah, c’mon Friskie, do we look like the kind of guys that would deliberately do that?”

“Yes, and don’t call me that.”

“Sorry, man, it’s done. Who’s your friend with the birthday cake, then?” Tsu was full of questions.

“Eddie
.”

“Eddie who?”

“The new member of the Katz,” T.J. said.

“Katz . . . you mean those chicks that stole the Grammy?
That’s you guys!?”
Tank cried. Pulling his camera out of his pocket, he stated, “I gotta get a picture. My buddies overseas will love this!”

Gretchen, wandering off into a private section of Slade’s home, needed to get a closer picture of how the other half lived. It felt like wandering through a museum of Slade’s life with all the photographs of him and other famous people on the walls, juxtaposed with his gold and platinum albums. Each room had pieces of decadent medieval type furniture upholstered in leather while the windows and bedcovers were in heavy brocades and burnt-out velvets. It was luscious in its jewel tones, set against the heavily painted and mosaic walls, and deep carpet. The place screamed rock star and Gretchen wanted it all very badly.

Walking down a hallway, she figured the master bedroom would be at the end, and as she made her way down, she stopped at a photo of Slade receiving a Video Music Award from MTV for Best Rock Video, 2005. She contemplated his smile as he took the Moon Man presented to him.

Putting her hand up to touch the glass over the picture, her trance was shattered.

“That was quite a night.” It was Slade. His arms were folded over his chest and a tight smile was on his handsome rocker face, as his dreads fell forward, covering the annoyance in his eyes. But he loosened up as he took in the sight of her turquoise floor length halter dress and the white blonde hair that fell down her bare back. If he hadn’t known the real truth about this girl, he could easily see himself not necessarily falling for her, but definitely trying her on for size.

Putting her hand back down to her side, Gretchen sputtered, “I’m just, I was just—you’ve got all these great awards and credits on the walls, I was checking them out.”

“I was looking for you.” Putting his hand out, Slade said, “Come with me, I have something I want to show you.”

Escorting Gretchen back downstairs through his crowded house, he led her into his office. Gretchen couldn’t have been more honored holding Slade’s hand than if she were going to meet the Queen. Entering the well-appointed study, Slade smiled, saying, “Take a seat,” pointing to one of the purple velvet arm chairs opposite his desk. Gretchen did as she was told, watching him shut the door to block out the noise. Thrilled with her turn of good luck, Gretchen got up out of her chair almost as soon as she’d sat, and instead, placed her shapely booty on the corner of his desk, leaning over to give him a good shot at her now world-famous cleavage.

Sitting down, Slade leaned back, picked up a large manila envelope off the console behind him. Holding it, he told Gretchen, “I have a little something for you.”

Trying to keep from squealing, Gretchen sang, “A present for me?”

Still holding the envelope, he stated, “Not exactly.” The wide smile fall fell off her face. “Now, Gretchen, dear,” he consoled, “it’s not your birthday today, its Eddie’s.” Eddie’s name made her face turned to stone. Cocking his head to one side, he asked, “Do you have something for her already, then?”

“No
.”

“That’s what I thought.” Handing the envelope over, Slade offered, “But now you do.”

“What is it?” Gretchen asked, quickly losing interest.

“Open it.”

Her index finger did a poor job with the envelope and Slade, ever the gentleman, produced an ornate brass letter opener, handing it over.

Snatching it, she slid the top open and looked inside. Seeing the contents, Gretchen contested, “What is this supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re going to apologize.”

“In your dreams, pal
.”

Dropping the envelope, it landed with a thud. Slade picked it up and putting his hand inside, he pulled out a white strappy high-heeled sandal -- the one Eddie wore to his New Year’s Eve party.

Waving the shoe at Gretchen, he said, “You know, I should have sent you the bill I got from Chateau Marmont. They charged me for sending somebody down to dig this out of the pool drain.”

“Maybe we could work out some kind of trade,” she bargained, but Slade’s eyes were filled with strong ambiguity. Sliding off the desk, she quipped, “Not my problem, Slade.”

“Not only did I pay that bill, but I talked Esther into staying with the band – doing the studio CD
after
you shoved her in the pool. She wanted to leave and find another band, but she stayed and—”

“There is nothing you can say to get me to
apologize
to Rockzilla, got it? I swear to you if I could press charges for somebody
stealing my band
, I would.”

“Let’s break this down shall we? Eddie did not steal your band. If anything, she’s made
your band
, The Katz—getting a deal within reach. You are the face of the band, but she’s the talent and without her, nobody wants to touch you.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“I’m talking about a contract. You want fame, you want a tour? It’s possible . . . you want to be difficult—I can play that game, too. You might as well head back to Tennessee.”

“It’s Nebraska.”

“Whatever—”

Curving her lips into an acidic smile, Gretchen drawled, “Why, Mr. McAllister, I do believe you’re blackmailing me.”

“I thought you’d appreciate me speaking in your native tongue.”

“You’re just hot for Eddie because she’s a member of the Celibacy Club. There’s nothing more tempting to a man than the forbidden fruit he can’t have.” Folding her arms, Gretchen argued, “What makes you think Lady Virtue is gonna bend over for you anyway?” She wasn’t getting through. “I don’t get it . . . what do you find so attractive about her?”

“You’ve got this all wrong,” Slade corrected. “I’m not after a piece of tail—Eddie’s a friend, a fellow musician, that’s it,” he emphasized sternly. “And I’d like to see your band prepare for a tour.”

“You’re going to get us booked on a tour—like with a bus and everything?”

“That depends entirely on you,” he said waving Eddie’s shoe in her face.

Grabbing it, Gretchen scoffed, “A page full of lyrics, however poetic they might be, isn’t what a man wants.”

“That’s not what I’m after.”

“Sure, Slade
.”

Gretchen marched out to look for Ginger. Maybe she could get her to do the “apologizing” for her. Passing the table of champagne and cake, she stopped. Ginger was going for another glass of the bubbly. Grabbing her glass, she slammed it down on the table, as the contents spilled over.

“Hey, I was gonna drink that,” Ginger wailed, looking up into the face of an austere Gretchen. “What’s up, sis?” Ginger was loaded and helping her reach the point of no return was Tank, his hands clutching her waist.

“Ah, the other sister,” he smiled, “we finally meet.”

“Oh, thissss my sssister, Gretchen,” slurred Ginger. “Thisss Taaaank. Tank’s in the armeeee.”

“Ex-military, actually—I roadie for Slade now
.”

Tank and Gretchen gave each other opposite looks.

“Looks like someone had a little too much to drink.” Taking Ginger’s hand, Gretchen apprized, “I’m taking her upstairs to lie down. Anymore fun and we could have an accident.”

“Ah, c’mon—okay, no more champagne how’s that?”

Gretchen took hold of Ginger’s arm, but Tank kept a firm grip on her waist. “Do you want to leave the party?” he asked.

Gretchen hissed, “Ginger, you’re smashed. Now I’m taking you upstairs to Eddie’s bed.”

“I don’ wanna go,” she whined.

The clutched white sandal hindered Gretchen from getting a good hold on Ginger, and after setting it on the drink table, T.J. spied it as if she’d struck gold. “Hey, my shoe!” she gasped.

Seeing T.J. pick it up, Gretchen snatched it back, contending, “That’s mine.”

Keeping her own grip on it, T.J. replied, curtly “No, it’s not.”

“
Yeah, it is
. Now, let go.”

Seeing the pale blonde hair and ice blue eyes, T.J., surmised, “You’ve gotta be Gretchen.”

“And who are you?”

“I’m the owner of this shoe,” T.J. stated.

“Where did you get it?”

“
Where did I get it?”

“Yeah.”

“They’re the shoes I gave Eddie to match her New Year’s Eve dress.”

“That would make you T.J.”

Not drunk enough to keep her mouth shut, Ginger cried, “It don’ madder—the shoesss gone.”

“It’s gone?” asked T.J. “Where’d it go?”

“The pool . . .” offered a hazy Ginger.

“The
pool
?”

“She’s really out of it,” Gretchen said.

Giving another snippet, Ginger revealed, “When Eddie fell in.”

“
Eddie . . . Eddie fell in the pool?”
T.J. cried.

“No, not tonight, it was at Slade’s New Year’s Party,” Tank corrected. “That was a Katz that got thrown in?”

“Eddie got thrown in the pool at Slade’s New Year’s Eve Party?”

A smirking Tank nodded his head.

“In my white dress . . . who the hell threw her in?”

Pointing at Gretchen, he suggested, “I think she did?”

“You threw Eddie in a pool on New Years . . . in my white dress? I designed that dress. It was her Christmas present. You ruined it?”

“If that’s the best you can do, then maybe couture isn’t exactly your forte,” Gretchen glibly provoked.

“The best I can do? Oh, I can do a whole lot better than that. In fact, I think that dish towel you’ve got on is in serious need of a makeover.” Taking a huge handful of cake, T.J. smeared it, heavy black frosting and all, in Gretchen’s face and rubbed it down the front of her dress.

“
Aaaaaah, YOU BITCH!!”
Gretchen screamed, scraping the cake out of her eyes.

“
Oh,”
T.J. cheered, “
that’s an improvement for sure! I wasn’t really crazy about the whole monochrome color scheme you had goin’ on. It needed to be broken up!”

“I’m gonna break your face, you.”

Noting the long knife next to the birthday cake, Gretchen went to arm herself, but, Tank surmising her intentions, quickly dropped Ginger, and seized Gretchen before things got violent, tightening his arms around her, lifting her off the ground.

“You think you got carte blanche around here”
T.J. fumed, “
Just do whatever you want to whoever you want?!”

Slade’s exclusive guests stared at Gretchen, the blonde bombshell, her once beautiful face distorted with heavy black icing, thrash about in Tank’s constricting grip.

“Put me down!” she ordered.

“You done?” Tank asked, not wanting Slade’s party to disintegrate into a full blown cat fight.

“I’m fine,” Gretchen seethed. “Now set me down or I swear I’ll head-butt you!”

Tanks slowly lowered Gretchen, releasing his grip. As Gretchen stormed out of the room, Slade’s guests watched, full of amazement and ridicule, their laughter muted. Stomping up the stairs to Eddie’s guest bathroom, she hurried as her throat tightened, her regret complete, choking back a sob.

She slammed the door, locking it. Tearing off the turquoise gown, Gretchen madly wiped with a damp washcloth, but the more she rubbed, the worse it got. Frustrated, she looked up and saw her reflection. Embarrassed, she asked herself, “
Is this how people see me?”
She didn’t like the image staring back. Any fight she had left wasn’t worth losing her band, losing a deal. And if she were being really honest, she’d call up Jeremy as well and break it off.