On the Road: (Vagabonds Book 2) (New Adult Rock Star Romance) (17 page)

Barbie snorted and then said, “Actually, yeah.  Why don’t we do ‘Give It to Me, Baby’?  I fucking love that song.”  She turned and pointed to the audience before yelling into the mike.  “And they will too!”

Liz rolled her eyes and then looked at Vicki, nodding for our drummer friend to cue us up.  In a few seconds, we were playing a new song.  This song was never intended to be a single, so we’d always placed it near the end of the set.  By that point, non-fans would already either love or hate us and so wouldn’t be turned off by the suggestiveness of the lyrics in that song, and fans wouldn’t care when we played
any
of our songs, just so long as we entertained them.  But if it made Barbie focus and behave, then it would be worth it.

But there were problems right off the bat.  She started singing the second verse instead of the first.  Liz was seething, but my thought was at least the girl was singing—and doing it consistently now.  Sure, the meaning of the song was diluted because there had been no build up, but it wasn’t like people could understand her anyway.  She sounded at times like her mouth was full of gumdrops.

Because of her misstep, Liz mouthed the word
solo
to me, indicating we’d take Barbie’s cue and skip the second verse that she’d already sung.  But—at about the spot where I was going to launch (and we’d already built to it)—she started singing the second verse.  Again!

Holy shit.  I’d never seen Liz so furious in all my life.  We fumbled but managed to get back on track, once more playing the verse.  I wondered if Barbie had any idea how angry we were with her…but I knew she wasn’t—or, if she was, she just didn’t care.  That, too, would have been typical.

We managed to make it through the song but Barbie paused and asked “what the fuck” the rest of the band was doing.  I thought I could hear a little fomenting dissent in the audience, and it made me nervous.  The vibes were definitely
not
good, but Barbie, normally good at reading and leading an audience, couldn’t pick up on it because she was too damn numb.

We stumbled, much like a drunk person, through three other songs, and Liz and I exchanged more glances.  We were ready to take her offstage, because she was beginning to do us serious damage.  We started getting
boos
and even had a couple of audience members throw plastic cups onstage.  When Barbie finally realized it, she said, “Fuck off, you assholes!”  She slurred then, saying, “If you’re gonna throw cups up here, they better have Budweiser in them.”  All that did was draw more angry noise from the crowd.  Liz shook her head and walked offstage.  I didn’t blame her, but I was almost frozen in place, wondering when this train was going to crash.

Barbie proceeded to call the audience all manner of names, ranging from
motherfucking cocksuckers
to
cum-guzzling skanky white trash hos.
  Dear God in heaven, we’d be lucky to have a single fan after that.  Kelly and I were yelling at Barbie to stop, and after another half a minute, the power was cut to her mike.  Once the sound of her voice was muted, I could hear the drone of negativity coming from the audience.  It was then that I realized Liz hadn’t just walked—she was talking to key people (who had evidently been sleeping or just didn’t give a fuck), asking them to cut off sound to Barbie’s mike and, as I saw upon Liz’s return, quietly escort our drunken friend from the stage.

But before they could, Barbie had already taken up residence at Liz’s mike, once she’d realized that an entire minute of her rant had been wasted on her bandmates and the front two rows (who likely didn’t hear her because of the noise coming from the crowd).  Barbie said, “Aw, fuck you all,” and then dropped to the stage.

I thought she was messing around at first.  Liz had Bad Dog and TT in tow (I once more wondered where our wonderful producer and manager were).  We all huddled over Barbie (and I couldn’t help but notice a smattering of cheers passing through the audience) and Dog held his finger under her nose.  “She’s breathing—she just passed out,” he said.

Liz still looked pissed.  “Thank heaven for small favors.”

“We’ll take her backstage where she can sleep it off.”

Liz’s words were firm and unmistakable.  “Under no circumstances is she allowed to be back up here.  Understood?”

Dog nodded.  “But we have to be here in a bit to break it down.”

“Then find that worthless fuck Andrew to babysit.”

TT said, “On it, oh, mistress.”

Liz didn’t appreciate the title but was far too focused on our current dilemma to give a shit.  She urged me and Kelly to join her by the drum kit.  “We’ve got a lot to salvage here.  This could ruin us if we don’t take care of it.  Listen to that.”  Yeah, it sounded bad.  “I’ll sing.”

“You still playing?”

“Yeah.  I trained to sing and play, remember?  No problem.  And these are
my
words.  Anyway, let’s pick up mid-set with ‘She’s Okay (She’s with Me).’ Sound good?”

I laughed.  “Oh, God.  Just don’t tell them the name of the song.”

Liz managed a wry smile before we got into place.  Liz said a couple of words but then waited for the audience to simmer down so they’d actually hear her.  “Guys, we’re really sorry about that.  We’re not quite sure what happened to our vocalist, but she’s going to get the rest she obviously needs.  We are not going to let you down, though.  We came to rock, and we’re .not leaving the stage until we do.”  There was a mild ripple of cheers and applause throughout the crowd.  Most of them were clearly not convinced.

But as we began to play and found our rhythm (a little rough because we were shaken and also doing something new), the audience joined in and we ended on a high note.

It could have left us in ruin, though, and I think that’s why that day will forever be etched in my memory.

Chapter Twenty-seven

BARBIE WAS STILL passed out when we left the stage, feeling like we’d repaired all her damage, and it was a good thing she wasn’t conscious.  I think Liz was as close to murder as she’d ever get.  As much as I loved the band, the Vagabonds were Liz’s blood, guts, and soul, and Barbie had just taken a huge shit over all of that.

Kelly asked Peter if we should take her to the hospital in case she had alcohol poisoning.  He said he’d keep an eye on her during the night and make sure she was okay.  He promised to get the medical folks involved if she took a turn for the worse.

Yeah—he wasn’t exactly inspiring my confidence.

Liz and I were alone later, taking a walk around the city.  “Man, I thought Vicki was gonna be the one to crash and burn spectacularly.  I never expected it to be Barbie.”

“God.  Me either.”  We turned a corner.  “I don’t suppose you have a smoke?”

“What?  You want one?”

“Yeah.”

I pulled the pack and lighter out of my pocket and handed them to her.  As she was fumbling with everything, I said, “You did a kick ass job tonight, by the way.”

She lit a cigarette and started coughing the smoke out of her lungs.  “Thanks.”

“At least you saved the day.  That could have so ended in disaster.”

She handed the cigarettes back to me and I lit one.  “I’m still not convinced it hasn’t.  Only time will tell.”

I hoped she was wrong but she was right about one thing—we wouldn’t know for certain until later.  We found out the next day that we had lots of new followers on Twitter and Facebook after that—everyone was looking for a glimpse at the self-destructive drunk girl.

The next morning, I half expected Barbie to apologize; instead, she said nothing.  It was evident that she felt like shit, and I wasn’t surprised.  But I thought she owed Liz an apology even if she dismissed the rest of us, so, as we stood outside on the sidewalk before we got in the van, I asked, “Do you remember anything about last night?”

She shrugged.  “I remember that I didn’t nearly get enough to drink.”

I closed my eyes and listening to my breathing for a moment.  “Are you ever serious?  Or no…better question.  Do you ever think about anyone other than yourself?”

“What the fuck kind of question is that, Kyle?”

“A serious one.  Last night, you nearly destroyed everything we’ve been working for.”

She rolled her eyes.  “Oh, God.  Don’t be so damned melodramatic.”

I hadn’t heard Liz approach us from behind.  “She’s
not
being melodramatic, Barbie.”  She came around so there was no mistaking her anger.  It was all over her face.  “You pull that shit again, I will make sure you’re kicked out of this band.”

“You can’t do that, you stupid cunt.  I’m the
face
of this band.  To our fans, I
am
the Vagabonds.”

Liz’s voice sounded like the growl of a mama bear protecting her cub.  “You are the face of the band, but you are
not
the band.  We all are.  And those are
my
words you’re ripping to shreds up there.”

“I’m sorry you’re jealous of me, Liz.”

Liz shook her head.  “You’re on notice.”  She brushed past her and walked into the back of the van, taking her usual seat.

Man—cool as a cucumber.  And it was that dismissal, that failure to feed into Barbie’s emotional drama that made the girl fizzle that morning.  I could tell she was itching for a fight, and I think she was just trying to poke and prod someone into it.  Liz refused to get in too deep.  She spoke her piece and then got out—like a grenade.  And I think it worked.  Barbie kept her trap shut for most of the trip to the next city.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the only Barbie incident. As far as being drunk onstage, Peter must have had a talk with her, because she didn’t drink like that before a concert again.  The first week or so after that, we were all on pins and needles, but she was okay, and audiences—aside from the first one after the incident—seemed to like us just fine.

However, Barbie and I weren’t done.  Sometime in March, I’d partied a little too hard, had way too much to drink, and my head was throbbing the next morning.  I don’t know if she’d stayed up all night or had gotten up early, but I woke up to her inane giggle and chatter.  As she pulled me out of my dream cocoon with another giggle, I rolled over, trying to figure out what the hell was going on.

I closed my eyes again, because the room was too damn bright and I wasn’t ready to deal with it yet.  Giggle.  “Oh, you’re just saying that.”  Pause.  “You’re so sweet.”

It took me a minute to realize I was listening to a one-sided conversation.  I forced one eye open and looked over at her.  She was sitting at the little desk in the room in front of her laptop and she was wearing earbuds.  I sat up a little and saw that she was Skyping with someone—a young Latino man, by the looks of it.

“Oh, God, now you’re talking.”

I sighed.  “Shut up, Barbie.”  Either she couldn’t hear me or was ignoring me, because she didn’t acknowledge me and she definitely wasn’t going to be quiet.

“You have no idea how bad I want you right now.”

My head wouldn’t stop pounding, so I lay back down and grabbed the extra pillow off the bed and held it down over my exposed ear.  Unfortunately, there was no blocking out her inane giggle.

“What exactly would you do to me?  Would you touch me
here
?”

I sat up, regretting it because it felt like an earthquake was shaking my brain pan, but it had to be done.  My voice was as loud as I could handle.  “
Shut up, Barbie!
”

“‘Scuse me a minute, lover boy.”  She turned to me.  “Listen, bitch, I’m busy entertaining a fan—I’m
working
here.  Fuck off.”

“It’s—”  I glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand between our beds.  “It’s fucking four-thirty in the morning, Barbie.  Normal people are asleep by now—so shut the fuck up.”

“
You
shut the fuck up, bitch.”

That was it.  I was done.  I was hurting, and I was tired of her attitude.  “You have got to be one of the most selfish, self-centered, egotistical,
inconsiderate
people I’ve ever met.  You don’t give a shit about anybody but yourself.  Working, my ass.  You’re working yourself into a frenzy.  You want to be worshipped by all our fans, and if you can get special attention for yourself, you’re all over it.  But don’t pretend like you’ll be promoting the band if you decide to cyber this guy.  Come on, Barbie.  Don’t be fucking stupid.  I wasn’t born yesterday.  And I’ve pretty much had it with you.  We
all
have.”

“You’re just jealous.  I’m so tired of you girls and your petty jealousy.”

“We’re not jealous.  We’re over it.”

“I think you fail to realize how important I am to the band.”

“You’re not
that
important.  Liz can cover for you any day of the week.”

“Yeah, she can, but she’s not that great at it.”  Barbie turned back to her computer.  “I’m gonna have to call you back, babe.  I’ve got a drama queen on my hands here.”

As she hung up the call, I felt myself getting angrier. 
I
was the drama queen?  Seriously?  “Barbie, do you know what a narcissist is?”

“Duh.  I know the general meaning.  Don’t expect me to start quoting the fucking dictionary, though.”

I ignored her, steamrolling ahead, spurred by the beating drum in my head.  “Let’s just be clear.  A narcissist is someone who is conceited and selfish and is so goddamned absorbed with herself that she is her own biggest fan.  Sound familiar?”

“Yeah.  You think you’re God’s gift to the guitar world. 
Oh, look at teen phenom Kyle Summers.  Isn’t she so great?
  Yeah, Kyle, we fucking
know
you can play the guitar.  We
know
you started young.  We
know
—”

“Seriously?”  If my head hadn’t been hurting so badly, I probably would have started laughing.  “Jesus, Barbie.  You’re so fucking narcissistic, you can’t see the forest for the trees.  Do you really think I feel that way?”  If she’d ever get outside herself, she would know that I might have been proud that I was good, but I wasn’t egotistical.  Maybe I should check myself, but now was not the time.  Right now, I was fighting a battle.

“Of course you do.”

“You’re so high.”

“I just want you to admit—just for once—that I’m more important than you.”

Then I did start laughing—and immediately regretted it, because my head began hammering again.  “Do you really think so?”

“I
know
so.  I don’t see guys slobbering and drooling over
you
.  I don’t see girls begging their parents for guitars so they can imitate
you
.  They
all
want to be me or be with me.  You don’t matter.”

The girl was clueless…and entitled to her opinion, no matter how much it was based on faulty perception.  “Whatever.  Just shut up and let me sleep.”

“Fuck you, Kyle.  You’re just jealous that I’m worshipped and adored.  You?  You fuck our white trash old fart roadies and pine over a stupid ass bassist just ‘cause he looked at you once.  You’re pathetic.  And then—”

“You have done nothing but confirm that you
are
a narcissist.  You can say and think what you want, but this band can and
has
gone on without you.  In fact, I bet we’d be better without you.”

Something snapped—I could see it in her eyes.  The idea that we could and would dethrone her must have touched on her insecurities.  The fact that Liz had threatened her before was probably also playing in the back of her mind.  I saw her eyes blaze before she brought her hand up and slapped me hard.  I hadn’t been expecting her to lash out physically, probably because she never had before.  But there it was.  And the sting of her hand on my cheek, combined with the jolt to my already aching head, angered me more than I would have expected.  I exploded then and reciprocated.  I wasn’t even thinking as I brought my own open palm across
her
cheek as hard as I could.

It escalated from there.  She grabbed my hair and pulled, and she wasn’t going to let go.  I began punching her in the stomach, but my head was twisted so I couldn’t see my target very well.  I swung a couple of times not effectively connecting but I finally got her with my third swing, and I hit her hard.  She groaned and loosened her grip on my hair enough that I was able to pull it the rest of the way out of her hand.  Then I shoved her away and she fell backward onto her bed.  But she jumped up, screaming, and tackled me so I fell on my bed.

“Dammit, Barbie.  I just wanna sleep and you’re making it fucking impossible!”  She wrapped her hands around my neck and I felt my airway tighten.  I didn’t panic but I did realize I needed to fight more seriously.  I bucked my hips up off the bed and made her a bit unbalanced so that I was then able to grab her, but she still held my neck.  I finally grabbed her boobs in my hands and squeezed until she let go, screaming at me again.  I could still feel where her fingernails had broken the skin on my neck.  She started scratching at me, so I balled my hand into a fist and hit her hard in the jaw.  “Knock it off.”

She fell backward on her bed, holding onto her face and crying.  I didn’t know if she was faking it or if tears were really dropping from her eyes, but I didn’t care anymore.  She’d exhausted me, and I was tired of dealing with her childishness.  “I hate you, Kyle.”

“Feeling’s mutual.”  No way could I try sleeping now.  Yeah, I was tired enough, but I couldn’t trust her.  I packed my bag and, without putting shoes or pants on, walked out in the hall with all my stuff, wearing nothing but a t-shirt and panties, and tried to remember which room Bad Dog was in.  I knew he’d gladly share his bed with me, with or without the promise of sex.  I couldn’t remember and figured I could find a chair in the lobby but, as a last resort, sent him a text.  I didn’t want to wake up my bandmates; otherwise, I would have called Liz or Kelly, the two bandmates who didn’t deserve to lose any sleep.

Barbie stuck her head out the door just as I sent the text message.  “I’m locking the door, Kyle.  Don’t you dare even
look
at me today, bitch.”

“Whatever.”

If she tried tackling me again, she was gonna regret it.  But I felt my phone vibrate and looked down as she slammed the door as hard as she could.  Wow.  Dog was fast. 
I told you my bed’s always open to you, babe.  210.

At least some of us on tour were halfway sane…