She-Rox: A Rock & Roll Novel (15 page)

Raven showed up sans friend, doing her best to make a horrid situation seem insignificant. But Todd was no dummy. Besides these dames trying to write themselves a hit single, cat fighting was the other headache. How to effectively handle she-musicians in the same band was a complete mystery to him. Female solo artists were all right, but a whole band of them? Having never been married, Todd’s longest running relationship was six months, because after all, he was in love with his job.

He forgot about the whole thing until his cell phone buzzed a week later. It was Vince on the other end.

“Hey Vince, what’s up?” Todd asked, hoping this to be a short conversation.

“Well, I’ve got a situation. This new girl, Eddie, she’s threatening to leave the band. I’m going to assume you know about the pool thing?” he asked, annoyed and out of breath.

“Kind of, why?” As soon as he asked, Todd wished he hadn’t.

“We’re booked to go into Sunset Recording Studios next week. We’ve been in preproduction for almost a month and I’m getting a message through the grapevine that she’s gonna split and go back home. I’ve dumped way too much money, time and effort into this band and she’s the writer for ninety percent of the music we’re going to record. Without her, I have no songs. I need her to stay,” Vince groaned.

Todd heard the desperation. He understood all too well about the musician “crash and burn.” It ate up money at an alarming rate. Sighing into the receiver, he asked, “What’s all this got to do with me?”

“C’mon buddy, you took her to the party. Can’t you talk to her—you know—tell her how fantastic life is going to be, the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow stuff?”

“You’re their manager,” Todd griped, “Why can’t you do it?”

“Oh, I’d be happy to but, see, I’m way too close to Gretchen, and she’s the one who, well, you know.”

Yes, Todd knew. Raven had given him the sanitized version, but he got the picture. Almost feeling Vince squirm at the other end of the line, he offered, “Okay, I’ll take care of it.” The real reason Todd agreed to doing such an out-of-the-question favor was that he, too, wanted to see if these Katz could supply him with a money bath.

Vince, once again, kissed Todd’s royal ring and hung up.

Todd flipped back open his phone and called Slade. He explained Vince’s predicament, knowing Slade would understand.

“Todd,” Slade whined, “I’m leaving in three days for Belfast and I’ve got a million things to do. I can’t play nursemaid for Vince.”

“Slade, are you hung over?”

“I wish it were that easy,” Slade said. “Bebe is threatening to go on tour with me and I need her to stay here and watch the house.
She doesn’t want to
. She says she wants to be with me in Europe on holiday. I’ve told her a hundred times that I’m going to be
working
—
this is what I do
. But no, she’s got to be the Queen of England right before I leave and I
need
her to stay here in Los Angeles.” The narrative was code that Bebe would get in the way of groupie action.

Smelling an opportunity, Todd asked, “If I can get Bebe to stay, will you talk to Eddie?”

“You got it.”

As soon as he got off the phone, Todd fingered his Rolodex and got Herb Reardon on the line.

“Herb Reardon,” the voice answered.

“Herb, it’s Todd,” he announced. “Hey, remember last week when you told me you were looking for girls to audition for that new reality show?”

“Yeah, you got somebody?”

“Bebe Bemire. She’s one of the wrestlers at the Hollywood Sports Bar.” Todd dangled Slade’s sweetie like a carrot.

Hearing the words “mud wrestler” was more than enough for Herb. “Tell her to come by tomorrow and we’ll do some video.”

“There’s just one catch – I need you to do this in four days. Is that possible?”

“Sure, today, four days—doesn’t matter. We aren’t casting for a couple of weeks,” Herb explained, happy to up the “sex pot” factor for the project.

“And Herb,” Todd mentioned, “If Bebe is even barely tolerable, I would take this as a personal favor if you could give her the gig.”

“Sure. There ain’t much she’s gotta do other than look hot, show a lot of skin and talk dirty. Can she do that?”

“I believe she can.”

“Great.”

“Oh, and one last thing,” Todd pushed, before he hung up, “I’ll need your assistant to call her and make the appointment. It can’t come from me.”

“No problem.”

He got Slade back on the line and gave him the news.

Eddie sat in a tiny cubicle with her face pressed up against a computer screen putting together a statistical report of international classical CD sales. Slade warned he was coming to pick her up after work.

Getting into the Aston Martin, she asked, “Aren’t you supposed to be in Europe somewhere?”

He turned the motor on. “Three days, we start in Belfast.”

“Aren’t you busy getting ready?”

“I’m always busy, but I wanted to buy you dinner before I left. Give you a proper farewell,” he flattered just a bit too much.

“Isn’t that what the party was for?”

“I hardly remember it. I got awfully wrecked.”

“So, you just decided to take me out . . . right now . . . three days before you have to leave on a huge tour?”

“Esther,” Slade objected, “most girls would be charmed out of their knickers to be having dinner with moi, you ninny.” He drove the few miles to Beverly Hills and pulled into an exclusive restaurant that was well known for its privacy. Having been to the establishment many times, they were taken immediately to Slade’s preferred table, tucked far in the back corner. “Good evening, Mr. McAllister. Can I start you off with your usual?”

“That would be perfect,” he clipped.

“And for the lady?” the waitress asked, looking to Eddie with heavily veiled eyes, full of curiosity. Slade usually came in with Bebe, and this girl wasn’t Bebe.

“And for the lady,
she
wants to see the full dessert cart.”

“Right away, Mr. McAllister.” Aubrey was gone in flash.

“I want to see the full dessert cart? I didn’t know that,” Eddie remarked, dryly.

Slade leaned over. “In this place you get dessert first. If you don’t, the cart shows up and you wish you could have done it the other way round.”

“Slade, you are such a charmer. How do the girls ever stay away?”

“Oh, they don’t.”

Aubrey brought Slade his two shots of whiskey and a German beer. As she set them on the table, a waiter wheeled up with the cart. Slade looked them over and said, “We want that one, that one, that one, and mmm, that one.”

As the waiter plated the desserts, Eddie whispered, “I only need one.”

Slamming down one of the shots, he said, “You will have
all
of them—and what’s more, you’re getting a dinner that will add a good five pounds to your bones.”

Hungry and not wanting to argue, Eddie dutifully picked up her fork and dug in to a cake so chocolaty and moist, she was in heaven. “Ooh,” she said with her mouth full, “this is
good
.”

“Yeah, I know—I’ve had it before. It’s their ten-layer Rum-For-Your-Life Chocolate Cake. I knew you’d like it.” Eddie devoured the cake and Slade decided it was a good time to get down to business. “I hear your band is going into the studio next week.”

Eddie slowed her eating, not certain of her own plans, and shrugged her shoulders.

“Isn’t the band in preproduction right now?”

Her mind whirred into action, thinking,
What does he care? He’s leaving to go out of the country.
“Yeah, so?” she replied, as she swallowed the cake.

“Your management is extremely concerned that you are going to quit the band before the demo even sees the light of day, ergo, losing quite a bit of scratch, you follow?”

“So that’s why the cake and by management, you mean Vince.”

“C’mon, Eddie . . . this is fun. This is us having fun.”

“You’re going to need a few more of those shots before this little gathering can qualify as fun.”

Slade gave her a look that said, “That hurt, man.”

“All right, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it and yes, we’re having fun, okay?” She tried a bite of the cheesecake, which was equally as tasty. “How much do you remember about the night at the Chateau?”

“Let’s see,” he said rubbing his chin with concern, “Gretchen stealing your mail which included the money from the studio gig, her crashing my party uninvited and coming on to the host like a common slut, her disturbing my very special guest and then shoving said guest in the pool ruining a gorgeous dress, not to mention her pride and everything else that goes with it.”

“You’ve been a far busier man that I realized, Slade, to have all that information.”

“Eddie, be smart. Don’t let Gretchen ruin everything. She’s nothing but a common housefly.”

“No she’s not! She’s a hot blonde who plays rock guitar in a Hollywood band.”

“You can’t apply for a driver’s license in Santa Monica unless you’re blonde . . . and blondes like her . . . all over the place . . . dime a dozen.”

“Bebe’s a blonde.”

“Yes, she is. Bebe is . . . well . . . I like Bebe. I like having her around. She’s good company.”

“Um hmm.”

“Do you want to upset Raven?”

“No,” Eddie answered honestly.

“You can trust her.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Your band’s recent write-ups have been pretty good. This demo might be just the thing you need to get your music career on track. You’ve been practicing for an opportunity like this since you were how old?”

“Three,” she said.

“All right then. Don’t get emotional at a critical time. So, you’ll do the studio gig then, right?”

“Who is it that sent you to handle me like some spoiled little starlet gearing up to land in rehab, anyway?”

“Does it matter who?” he shot. Slade regretted the remark. He leaned over and searched her face. “Then, just do this for me, please.”

Powerless to shake off his heart-felt sincerity, Eddie said, “I’ll do the demo, Slade.”

“Ah, that’s all I wanted to hear.” Taking a long pull from his beer, he motioned for Aubrey. “Can we get some dinner now? I’m ready to eat. And bring me another one of these,” he ordered, shaking his beer bottle.

During dinner, Slade regaled Eddie with stories about how, at times, he’d wanted to kill his own band mates, and that dealing with their horseplay, whether it was dirty pool or not, was part of the job. “If you can’t get along with your drummer, then you just end up getting another one. And who’s to say you’ll like the next one any better. You have to have a drummer, Eddie, at least, if you want to rock and roll ya do.” Cutting into his steak, Slade motioned with his utensils. “If you can keep your trap shut, I’ll tell you a little secret.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m not being totally honest with you.”

“What? I thought this was our Come-To-Jesus moment?”

“The real reason I want you to go into the studio and cut the demo is that if it’s any good,” he stopped to take a swig of his third beer. “If it’s any good, we plan on doing the North American side of things and I need a warm up band, you understand?”

She did, indeed, bobbing her head up and down, chewing on dinner. Her mood had changed quite a bit since they had entered the restaurant. She knew Slade had her back and his appraisal of Gretchen was on target, calling her ‘common’ not once, but twice. And her belly was full. It was enough.