She-Rox: A Rock & Roll Novel (8 page)

Band Rehearsal, Saturday, 3:00 p.m.

Ginger kicked the bass drum, feeling the vibrations underfoot and cranked on her drum heads till the snap was right.

Raven adjusted the tone of her amp head so the bottom end was thick and full while Gretchen and Eddie tuned up, plugged in and ignited their guitars with electric juice. Checking their mics, they sang out the gang vocals of “Dead in Bed.” Eddie picked it up and sang along.

Seeing that all four girls were registered and burning through the sound board, Ginger counted off, “
One, two, three, four,”
and the New Katz were born.

They progressed from one song to the next: ‘Dead In Bed’, ‘Guy Thing’, ‘Two-Timer’, and ‘For Real’.

When they got to 1-900, Eddie said, “Hang on a second. I worked on this one.”

She handed the charts out and Gretchen challenged, “What’s this here?”

“I added a bridge,” said Eddie.

“You added a bridge to
my
song? You got a lot of nerve.” She read the revision out loud, “‘
High-tech, phone sex, Money order, or a check, Anyway that
you can
pay.’
That’s totally stupid.
”

“It’s meant to be. You can’t possibly want to take this song seriously? It’s about
phone sex,
Gretchen. We have to make fun of it! It’s our duty as women.”

“It wasn’t meant to be funny
.
What else you got?” Flipping to the new song, she looked it over. “I’m not singing this either.”

“Why not,” Raven asked. “This is exactly what we need.”

“I just don’t like the song, that’s all.”

“We haven’t even tried it yet.”

“I don’t know?” Gretchen scoffed. “Maybe someone forgot to take their musicality pills before they sat down to write it. ‘Beauty’—what kind of song title is that? It’s vague and doesn’t say anything. But ‘Two-Timer’ . . . you know exactly what you’re gettin’.”

“Hold on—this isn’t about beauty, it’s about murder,” Raven stated.

“Irony,” Eddie said.

“We aren’t the kind of band that’s sings about crap like murder, Hawaii Five-O stuff,” Gretchen said, “or politics.”

“I kind of like the idea of doing somethin’ freaky. Gretchen, this could be totally cool. I mean, we don’t always have to sing about sex. We got that already.”

“Raven, sex works, but this piece,” she said, “needs to find another home ‘cause it can’t stay here.”

“Well,” Ginger added, “You may have to play something you don’t like to play. The rest of us do it all the time.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just do the song, Gretchen.”

“Ginger, you know, you have been getting really bossy with your demands lately, and it needs to stop.”

“
Me
, bossy . . . Are you kidding? I’m not the one playing school-the-tool with Vince so I can have my way all the time.”

“I hardly get my way all the time!”

“Gretchen, I do not want to end up doing gigs in my
thirties
at one of those skanky Holiday Inns by the airport. I want gold records on my wall, with my name on them. And if she can help us do that, then we are going to do these.”

“
Yeah, this has hit spelled all over it
.”

“Are you going to run everybody out of the band? Is that it? Because that’s what you did to Jane. You treated her like doggie crap stuck on the bottom of Queenie’s high-heeled boots. She didn’t play loud enough; she played too loud; she didn’t sing very well, she sang too much. She was flat-chested and needed a boob job, she was overweight, her boyfriend ate your leftovers out of the fridge, she was PMS . . . it was always something. It’s the end of the line.”

“You really want to do her songs? You like them that much?” Seeing Ginger and Raven nod, Gretchen, said “Okay, but if Todd or management don’t like ‘em, don’t blame me.”

Moonshine Records, Thursday, Noon

The sun shone through the windows of Todd Rivers’ posh Hollywood office. Slade was slouching in an Eames chair, his long leg swinging over the arm, contemplating nothing. He had a lunch appointment with Todd to discuss his pending CD.

Todd rushed in, making a string of excuses to his biggest money maker sitting across the desk. Dropping a press release packet on his desk, he apologized, “Sorry, Slade, I’ve got a million things to do and the deadlines are just piling up on me. If I could just quit with the meetings, I’d get more done.”

He tore the plastic wrapping off the press release packet, and came face to face with the photos of The Katz. With little enthusiasm, he flipped through them. Handing them to Slade he asked, “What do you think of these?”

Slade reluctantly took the photos and froze.

“What is it?” Todd asked.

“I’ve met this girl,” Slade answered.

“Which girl?”

“This one
.
”

“I think that’s the new addition.” Todd, griped, “Yeah, Vince at Astral Agency sent these over. He’s really pushing me to sign his new meal ticket, but I can’t bring myself to commit. I mean, they look great, but the music’s not there.”

“Seen them live, then?”

“Yes, but not with the new girl—apparently, she’s supposed to be some kind of virtuoso. They’re doing the Whiskey next weekend, so I promised I’d check ‘em out. How do you know her?”

“If it’s the same girl—she was working in the studio next door, down on Sunset.”

“Is she any good? Have you heard her play?”

“Never, but if you meet her at the Whiskey, do not get into any kind of musical debate.”

“Why’s that?”

“She will eat you for breakfast, Todd.”

“
That
little cupcake—I’m more jaded than Lou Reed. What’s she gonna do to me? Slade, please don’t tell you’ve bagged this one already?”

“No, it’s absolutely nothing like that.”

“Uh huh
.
”

“If that’s the girl I met at the studio, she’s what you American’s call “jail bait.”

“Then, what’s the big deal?”

“Do you remember last week when I called you up and told you I wanted to do a remix of ’Love Slave’?”

“Yeah, something about a Hindu thing
.
”

“That’s where the idea came from—from her.”

“Ah,
Slade,”
Todd whined, “don’t get mixed up with some brat that I haven’t even signed yet?”

“Fine, go to the Whiskey—then get back to me.”

“I’ll do that.”

“I’m keeping this,” Slade said, picking up the photo.

The Kat House

Eddie ran downstairs. Raven was on one of the bicycles, spinning.

Raven confessed, “My skirt was a little tight at the photo shoot.”

“That entire outfit is an assault on your intelligence. Where’re the other two?”

“Work
.
”

“Hey, this gig on Friday?”

“What about it?”

“How do you feel about doing another song? I finished another one.”

Raven grabbed a small towel off the handle bars. “Another song . . . we’ve got three days, Eddie. You haven’t even been in the band a month. What’s the hurry? And the outfit isn’t
that
bad.”

“If we want a record deal, we have to be better than average. We have to be better than the guys out there.”

“You think you’re going to scare a better performance out of me?”

“I believe there is no peace in our present state.”

“Where do you come up with this stuff?”

Friday night, Sunset Blvd., World Famous Whiskey A Go-Go

The name “Katz” had top billing at the Whiskey marquee along with “Blind Monkey” and “Death’s Door.”

The lights dimmed and Eddie, placing her hands on the keyboard, played the first chord as the backlighting from the stage shot up. The microphone close to her lips, she sang:

Locked in this closet

Speaking through a wall

Listen

I will tell you all

Fidelity betrayed me

Raven came in with Gretchen, strumming a good solid rhythm and when they got to the chorus, a three-part harmony was heard as the girls lifted their voices to fill the entire club with song that soared.

In the Confessional

His collar black and w-h-i-t-e

Dirty hands

I am to blame

But in my heart

I feel no shame

Can you help me

Oh saving grace

Unloading my guilt

To a darkened face

In the final chorus, Eddie wailed,
“Can you help . . . I said can you help, oh saving grace . . . or am I just unloading my guilt to a d-a-r-k-e-n-e-d face.”
The number came to an end and
BOOM!!
The full stage lights flashed going into “Beauty.” They entertained the packed room, playing a good set—no noticeable mistakes or dead spots. The energy in the room went up and stayed up.

But the real gymnastics began after the show, schmoozing the invited mucky mucks. Getting to the mezzanine, they pulled back a long curtain with a flourish and entered like Romans who had come before Caesar after battle. Vince, raising his voice above the house music, introduced “his girls.” He took Eddie’s hand and said, “I’ve got somebody who wants to meet you.”

At the center of the room was a maroon velvet couch.

“Eddie, this is Mr. Todd Rivers.”

A man with short, dark hair and wire-rim glasses, wearing all black, fitting the music mogul type, said “Miss Eddie, your reputation precedes you.” Patting the seat cushion of the sofa, Todd invited her to sit down.

“I didn’t realize I had a reputation.”

Todd leaned his head toward her and loudly whispered, “Our friend, Mr. Slade—he warned me about you.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Oh, I can just imagine what ill will he has charged me with.”

“None at all, in fact, quite the contrary . . . I believe he’s rather taken with you. And now, after hearing that performance this evening, I can see why. You’ve got quite a voice. Were you trained professionally?”

“You might say that.”

“By whom?”

“Giavenetta Constantini
.
”

“The opera diva—how’d you score that?”