She-Rox: A Rock & Roll Novel (14 page)

“Hey, let me introduce you to my girls for the evening. This is Eddie,” Todd said, “and this is Raven.”

“Are you by any chance Dante Sparks?” Eddie asked.

“Do we know each other?” Dante had a notorious reputation for dragging large amounts of anonymous snag home from parties.

“You did the mastering for the band “Skull,” there last CD, “Back From the Dead,” right?”

“Yes, I did. Why, are you a journalist?” He turned to Todd, complaining, “Todd, you didn’t tell me she was press, man.”

“She’s not.”

“How do you feel about these sound engineers pre-mastering?” Eddie asked.

“Is this an interview?”

“No,” Eddie said. “I mean all that compression? Everybody seems to be doing it now, so is it quality or loudness with you? Because these loudness wars—they’re outta wack. Seriously, don’t you care when your baby that you’ve been mixing goes over impersonal wires like an internet connection and it’s dead. Cold M-P-Three files are just that --D.O.A., flat lined. It’s got to be wholly unsatisfying, really, it’s gotta suck.”

“Like I said, she ain’t press,” Todd told Dante, “not even close. You aren’t going to get one of those addle-brained she-journalists from Spin to ask you that.”

“Well,” Dante responded to Eddie, “if you’re asking me, and I gather that you are, yeah, it does suck. Personally, I hate M-P-Three’s.”

“Me too, it’s like they think we’re all deaf out here.” Talking face to face with the ears that mixed “Back From The Dead,” made for an excellent contact.

When Dante finally excused himself, she was beaming from ear to ear. “”That was Dante Sparks. He does great work.”

“He does indeed,” Todd agreed.

A bungalow had been reserved for the party. The three went inside looking for a spot to sit down. It was crammed due to Slade and his band holding court. Slade caught sight of Todd and waved him over. The crowded couch didn't stay that way. “You there,” Slade commanded pointing to some of his crew, “Go get me something, anything, I don’t care. Give these Katz a place to rest their lovely bones.” As the three sat down, Slade uttered, “Miss Esther, I’m so glad you accepted my invitation. I was afraid you’d find yourself above this uncultured fray. Now we have all The Katz here tonight, in one place,
meow.
” Laughing among his bevy of females, he apologized, “Sorry, darlings,” holding up his glass, he slurred, “I’ve been at this for a while.”

“
All The Katz?
” Raven asked.

“Yes, the other two . . . the blondes.”

“You mean Gretchen and Ginger?”

“That’s them. I’m not sure where they ran off to, though, naughty kitties.”

T.J. and Eddie jumped off the couch and excused themselves.

As they walked down the hall of the bungalow, pushing through Slade’s minions, Raven wailed, “I thought you said they didn’t know.”

Eddie, flummoxed, cried, “I didn’t tell them!”

“How could they have possibly gotten through security? There’s an army out there.”

“I don’t know, unless they came with Vince.”

“Vince went to the House of Blues this evening. Gretchen told me so this morning.”

Eddie stopped in her tracks. Bringing her hand to her head, she started breathing a little faster.

“Eddie, are you okay?” Seeing the wild look on her face, Raven asked, “What’s the matter?”

“The invitation from Slade—my mail—That’s why there’s a pile on my bed! She stole my invitation from Slade to get in!”

“You mean Gretchen? You don’t know that, Eddie.”

“Oh, yes I do. Where is she?!” Eddie began walking further into the bungalow, around corners. “When I find her, I’m going to
kill
her.”

Raven held Eddie by the arm and looking into her face, admonished, “Hold on a second. This is not the time or the place to get into a bar brawl with Gretchen, because, trust me, she’ll give you one.”

“Raven, I have been going to bed hungry for almost two months! I haven’t received any of my money! I haven’t put in
one day
of exercise in the gym because I haven’t had the strength to do it!”

“Okay, I hear you—I really do, but you can’t afford a personal meltdown at Slade’s party. There are paparazzi swarming the place. Don’t make a scene, Eddie.”

“This is
not
the end of it. I’ve got to get out of here.” Eddie found the nearest exit as Raven went to tell Todd they were heading over to the hotel bar.

Dante showed up, taking a seat next to Todd. He said, “I didn’t know I was going to be pounced on this evening by your girl. I should have worn a cod piece.”

“Oh, you mean Eddie? I invited her just for you. I figured you’d need somebody to talk to since the rest of us only bore you to death.”

“What are you talking about? I’m at the Chateau, livin’ large,” Dante shared.

“Sounds like Dante got the famous hit and run with Eddie. Guess it was his turn to get a Kat-up-the-ass,” Slade remarked.

“Slade,” Dante replied, “you know I don’t do dogs.”

“Eddie’s definitely not a dog, but that other blonde in her band . . . that Kat is a dog.”

“Are you bragging or complaining? I thought you liked dogs, Slade?” Dante jeered.

“Oh, I fancy a purebred once in a while, but mongrels? That one’s been sniffing leftovers and eating out of trash cans.”

“You prefer a pedigree?” Dante wondered.

“It’s always helpful if I know where the bitch has been, know what I mean?”

“Why did you invite her then?” Todd asked, confused.

“I didn’t, she came here with you,” Slade stated.

“No, she didn’t. I brought Eddie and Raven.”

“Why, that little weasel,” he muttered.

Raven searched the hotel bar for Eddie. Finally, she gave up and headed back to see if she was with Todd, playing stump-the-chump with some record exec. Crossing the pool area, she ran straight into Eddie and Gretchen, a heated discussion well under way.

“How could you do such a lousy thing?” Eddie lashed out at Gretchen. “I’ve been
broke
for months. I also don’t have a pathetic boyfriend band-manager who I
screw
to conveniently get what I want, ‘cause I don’t work that way. But
you
,” she poked, while huffing, “are a skanky, lowlife wannabe who will do anything, except practice guitar, to get
whatever
she wants,
whenever, however.
You’re nothing more than a celebrity whore—a pathetic fame junkie who’s happy to be some second rate rock star’s bed warmer.”

“Well, we can’t all be born with the hots for Mozart. If we did, then overhyped sock puppets like yourself wouldn’t ever be born,” Gretchen seethed.

“Yeah—At least this sock puppet can craft a decent song.”

“In your dreams, bitch!”

“Gretchen, ‘Dead in Bed,’ —is so plebian, it’s suffocating—oh, but that’s too
big a word
for you.”

“Then get out of my band and go work for Hallmark. I don’t need you
.
”

“You definitely need something—Todd Rivers wasn’t too impressed—so, own it, slum queen,” Eddie taunted.

“God, you’re boring.”

“On my worst day, sick with a fever of a hundred and two, walking backwards in five-inch heels, and keeping my
legs closed
, I can write you under the table. And speaking of Todd,
don’t you have something of his?
”

“
Shut up, Eddie
,” Gretchen spat.

“And what if I don’t . . . what’re you gonna do about it? Might that mess with your plan of subjecting me to more of your rock-bottom bourgeois songwriting? You’re overflowing font of mediocrity—you’re reckless stab at greatness—or should I—”

Kerrrssssplasssshhhhhh!!

Gretchen shoved Eddie into the pool, white dress and all, keeping the Grammy story under wraps.

The guests surrounding the pool gasped as the nice girl in the white dress broke the calm of the water, sending it lapping and spilling over the rim. Swimming to the stairs, she slogged up. Her long hair, once neatly pinned, had flopped to the side by her ear. Up on deck, she yanked her dress down, covering her exposed rear, her shoe missing. It was held hostage at the bottom of the pool. Taking the other heel off, she dripped her way out of the party, walking towards the bar because that was how one exited the posh surroundings. The crowd quickly parted to let the soaking wet mermaid walk past.

Raven retrieved Eddie’s clutch out of the water and followed the wet trail left by her dripping dress. Eddie had gone to the front desk and asked a clerk to phone her a cab. He was more than happy to accommodate, as she was making a real mess.

The clerk cupped the phone with his hand and said, “Oh, Miss, I’m afraid with it being New Year’s Eve, the cabby won’t be here for at least a half an hour.”

“That’s fine. I’ll wait for him out in the front. Sorry I got your floor all wet.”

Walking out of the famed chateau, Eddie found a concrete bench under an awning. She sat down, shivering.

Raven ran out of the hotel looking for her.

“I’m over here.”

Slowing her pace, Raven met her at the bench and sat down, letting the water ruin her vintage Leger. She handed Eddie her ruined clutch and whispered, “I’m
so sorry
. Is there anything I can do?”

“Like what? Got any dry clothes? Can you turn back the clock? Can you kick G-Force out of the band? Maybe
I’ll
just leave the band.”

“That’s exactly what Gretchen wants you to do. Don’t tell me, you, of all people, are going to give in to a rodent like her.”

“I don’t know. They’re a lot of bands out there. This is L.A.”

“Please don’t leave the band, Eddie. Don’t leave me with those barracudas. That would totally suck. It would suck like M-P-Three files. You know, all that nasty compression and pre-mastering.”

“Yeah.”

The cab arrived. Raven asked, “Do you want me to come home with you?”

“No
,
you have to go back inside and let Todd take you home. I need you to pick up the pieces for me.”

Raven nodded, put her friend in the cab, and headed back to the party.

When the cab dropped Eddie off at the house, she heard sirens, car horns, and fireworks explode off in the distance, signaling the midnight hour had come.
“Happy New Year to me,”
she thought. Unlocking the door, she took the pool fiasco on the first day of 2007 as a bad sign and went downstairs to take a shower, hoping to scrub the bad karma and chlorine off.