Rise From Rock City: A Lesbian Rock Star Romance (Revolving Record Book 1) Read online

  “Holy cow, your words can no longer hurt me,” I sung on, feeling the energy of the crowd, feeling the heat of the room. I was totally sweating under my cardigan, under my shirt, but it was magical. “I have learned what it’s like to be… on… my own!”

  “Now are they all gonna see me?” I sung. “I don’t need them anyway! Leave them all behind… me… this time!”

  But three and a half minutes for a song isn’t very long and after a few more moments of musical bliss, our tune came to an end. The crowd was clapping, screaming, fists in the air. The four of us up on stage were smiling, even Paul revealed a demure grin. We all bowed and basked in the applause.

  “Thanks a lot,” I said cutely into the mic. “Stick around for the whole New Year’s hoopla. We’re Cast Party. Goodnight!”

  Even more cheering. I didn’t want to get off the stage but I knew that would have looked strange, me standing up there grinning like a fool. As he walked behind me, James put a hand lightly on my shoulder and gave me a warm smile. I looked down to the floor and followed his lead off the stage. I heard people calling my name. I was shaking.

  It was about a month later and I was sitting across the booth from my friend Nikki, the two of us nursing black coffees at our local diner. We spent a lot of time there together, working on our projects, talking about life or whatever, living off of the free refills and french fries. Nikki was a punk chick. She had some piercings like me, her nose, a whole bunch in her ears, and her hair was dyed white. Yeah, you read that right. She had bleached the hell out of it and through some weird chemistry she’d come upon in her life as a hair stylist, Nikki was able to make her hair completely white.

  And thanks to her, I had moved on to blue hair. It was still pretty black at the roots, but Nikki was able to get most of the rest of my hair a manic shade of dark blue. I loved it.

  I held my notebook in my hand, a pen in the other, and I furiously scribbled down new lyrics that came to my mind. I never really worked in a linear fashion. Rather, I wrote down things that sounded good to me and when it came time to construct a song, I’d piece things together. Most of my thoughts had the same theme anyway, so it wasn’t very difficult to build a song from snippets.

  Nikki also had a notebook and in hers she drew weird, ugly faeries. She had even gotten one of her faeries tattooed on her chest, right between her breasts. Although she really loved being a stylist, she also had ambitions to be a tattoo artist.

  “What do you think?” she asked, turning her notebook around and showing me her latest creation.

  “That’s fucking strange,” I said. It was one of her typical faeries, sitting atop a mushroom, looking evil, holding a riding crop. “What does it mean?”

  “I don’t know,” said Nikki, looking down at her drawing. “Just something that popped into my mind.”

  “Some sort of S&M thing with the riding crop?” I asked. “Are you into that?”

  “Yeah, sure,” said Nikki with an impish grin, her face looking almost like one of her faeries.

  “You’re hilarious,” I said. We grinned at each other and returned to our work. My notebook was a mess of scribbles, just haphazard etchings of disjointed phrases and concepts. It was how I thought best. I had a hard time with linear. My brain just didn’t work like that.

  “Do you have any shows coming up?” Nikki said absently, her wrist moving back and forth as she shaded something in on the page.

  “Yeah,” I said. “We’re playing in Pontiac this weekend.”

  “At Clutch Cargo’s?”

  “Yep,” I affirmed.

  “I’ll be there,” said Nikki.

  “Thanks, doll face,” I said to her with a warm smile.

  “I will say this, though,” she said. “Your shows are getting way more expensive.”

  “I know,” I said with some shame, my head rolling back.

  “It used to be I could come see you for, like, $5,” said Nikki. “A ticket at Clutch Cargo’s, that’s going to be $25. That’s a lot, Layla.”

  “I’ll see if I can put you on the list,” I said.

  “Now that would be a fine gesture,” Nikki said teasingly.

  “I can’t help it,” I said, looking down into my notebook. “I mean, Cast Party can’t play some of those smaller venues anymore. Too many people want to come out.”

  “I know,” said Nikki reassuringly. “I was just giving you shit.”

  “But I’m not a sell out or anything,” I said. “It’s just nice to make a little bit of money from shows and to see all those people in the audience singing along with me.”

  “Layla, I was just teasing,” she said. “You don’t have to defend it. I think it’s awesome how great you’re doing. I’m super jealous.”

  “I know,” I said longingly. It was difficult to reconcile what was happening with Cast Party against my normal, expected life. I knew I could come here, to the diner, with Nikki, and I wouldn’t be recognized. Nobody would give a shit. But if I was out in the Detroit music scene, I was somebody, I was like a local celebrity. It just made me feel odd. It made me feel… different.

  Just then I heard a bell at the front door of the restaurant jingle and my eyes darted up. Strutting in with his usual gangly swagger was James. He was dressed in an oversized and filthy looking beige parka, shoulders covered in snow. His dark hair hung stringy down from underneath a navy blue baseball cap with an orange old English ‘D’ emblazoned on it. James ambled over toward Nikki and I with a smile on his face.

  “My people,” he said with a satisfied sigh. He sat down on Nikki’s side, just about bouncing her from the middle of the seat. She gave him an exaggerated angry face but scooted over nonetheless, sliding her drawing supplies further down the table.

  “Can’t you see we’re working?” scoffed Nikki.

  “Drinking coffee, and…” said James, leaning closer to Nikki and peeking inside her notebook. “Drawing stoner faeries. Yeah, that looks like work to me.”

  “James,” I chastised with sweetness. I knew that James had always had a thing for Nikki, and his way of showing affection was to tease her. Unfortunately for James, Nikki did not reciprocate the feelings.

  “I’m cool, I’m cool,” he said, holding up his palms. “But I’m glad I found you girls here,” James continued on. “I’ve got a little news.”

  “You figured out how to work the shower?” asked Nikki. “That is news!”

  “Better,” said James. “Some A&R guy reached out to me about Cast Party.”

  “What?” I said in a low voice, feeling like the floor had dropped out below me.

  “Yeah, some dude from Municipal Records in New York,” said James. “He called and left a message with my Mom.”

  “What did he say?” I asked urgently. “Did you talk to him?”

  “I called him back, yeah,” said James. “They’re, like, interested in Cast Party.”

  “Shut up,” I said.

  “Dude,” said Nikki. “That’s… fucking… crazy!”

  “Real crazy,” said James with a grin, reaching up and adjusting his cap. “They’ve heard a lot of good things about what we’re doing here in Detroit,” he went on. “They got ahold of our burned demo CD. Dude said Detroit’s real hot right now and they’re eager to work with bands like us.”

  “Oh my God,” I said, sinking down into the booth. I felt almost like I could throw up. My stomach was tying itself in knots.

  “And they’re coming to the Clutch Cargo’s show,” said James finally.

  “People from Municipal Records are coming to see us play?” I said. It just didn’t feel like real life to me. I could feel some tears building up in my eyes but I forced myself to stay strong.

  “You got it,” said James, making a popping sound with his mouth and pointing at me.

  “Have you talked to Renee and Paul yet?” I asked.

  “Not yet,” said James. “I figured my lead singer and co-writer should know about it first.”

  “This is unreal,” I sai
d. “This is big.”

  “It’s big,” James confirmed.

  “What do you think?” I asked in Nikki’s direction.

  “It’s big, Layla,” she said. “Municipal’s the real deal.”

  It was one thing to know you had the eyes of your own little music scene on you. That was stressful enough. But knowing that you had national eyes on you, the eyes of one of the biggest record labels in the country, it was a whole other level of anxiety inducing. You can never be prepared for something like that.

  “Labels are signing Detroit bands left and right, trying to find the next star,” said James. “This, like, garage rock punk thing that we’re doing around here is different. Real different.”

  “It’s a throwback,” said Nikki, scrunching her nose up.

  “Well, whatever,” said James. “Old is new again and we’re riding that wave. I’ll fucking take it!”

  “Excuse me,” I said suddenly, quickly slipping out of the booth. Without another word, I speed-walked across the restaurant and toward the women’s bathroom. Pushing open the swinging door with some force, I ran toward one of the stalls, slammed the door behind me, and I knew what was going on. I found myself down on my knees and vomiting into the toilet. I’ll spare you the details beyond that.

  Lifting my head back, I felt the cold sweats. I blotted my hand against my forehead and tried to maintain my composure — regain it, rather — but I was just shaking. My heart was trying to break through my chest. I wanted to cry and I did. Tears started streaming down my face and it was one of those blubbering cries. It just came out of me and I couldn’t help it. It felt good to cry.

  “Layla?” I heard said softly behind me. Turning, I saw Nikki looking in from outside of the stall. Her face conveyed her concern. “Are you okay?”

  “Come in,” I responded weakly.

  And she did. Pushing the stall door open slightly, Nikki came in with me and shut the door behind her. She leaned back against the door, giving me as much space as she could in those tight quarters.

  “You puke?” she asked. It was quite obvious that I had.

  “I did,” I said.

  “James said you probably were,” said Nikki.

  “It’s a lot to handle,” I said, feeling the tears work back up.

  “This is the sort of thing you always wanted,” Nikki said with a motherly intonation that she didn’t often have. “This is your dream… isn’t it?”

  “It is,” I chirped.

  “I know this kinda shit is hard for you,” she said. “But just remember how you feel on stage. Whenever you feel anxious or whatever, maybe just think about being on stage. Not the lead up to it all. But the actual moment. You know?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “That’s when I feel right.”

  “I know,” said Nikki. She reached her hand down and I took it, pulling me up off the stall floor.

  “Thank you,” I said, sniffling and pushing my knuckle against my nose.

  “Do you want to go have a smoke?”

  “Sure,” I said.

  “Okay,” said Nikki, opening the door back up and ushering me out of the stall. “First, though, let’s get some of this puke off your lips.”

  “And we should flush the toilet,” I said.

  “Right,” said Nikki. She put a paper towel under the faucet and then handed it to me. As I began to clean my mouth off, Nikki walked back to the stall and flushed.

  “I might have to get used to this,” I said. “I just feel it. I’ve been feeling it for a little while.”

  “You’re going to be okay,” said Nikki, slinging her arm around my shoulders. Together we walked toward the door. I was feeling a bit better but I could still sense my brain freaking out.

  “Thank you,” I said once more. “Let’s have a smoke.”

  “Let’s,” she said.

  All four of us, the members of Cast Party, sat around at our small rehearsal space in an old industrial building in downtown Detroit. It was a building that had been bought up, barely renovated, partitioned off into little compartments, and rented to artists and bands. Although it wasn’t built out to be inhabited, I knew that some people actually lived there too. It could be a wild place and it was a bit of a secret. A lot of Detroit bands had spaces there.

  I sat behind a keyboard, while James sat in a chair next to me with his guitar. Paul sat across from us, his bass on the floor with the neck leaned up against his leg, and Renee just had her drum sticks. We weren’t actually rehearsing then, just talking. There was a lot to talk about.

  “So we should just do the same set as the New Year’s show,” said James. “That’s a good progression of songs.”

  “Don’t you think the audience might not want to hear the same songs in the same order?” asked Paul. “It’s probably going to be a lot of the same people.”

  “Yeah, but whatever,” said Renee. “If it’s a successful set list, all we care about are the Municipal people hearing it. The audience will still enjoy it either way.”

  “I agree,” said James. “It’s tight, we got the transitions down. Fuck it. Why mess with what works?”

  “Okay,” said Paul skeptically.

  “Layla, what do you think?” James asked.

  “Huh?” I said. I was listening but I also had been in my own little world.

  “Did you hear what we were talking about?” James said.

  “Yeah,” I affirmed. “The set list. I, um… it’s fine,” I said finally. “I think it’s good.”

  “The order of songs?” said Renee. “That’s good with you? Like the New Year’s show?”

  “Yeah,” I said again. “That’s a good order.”

  “Are you gonna be able to do this?” asked James with empathy in his voice.

  “Me?” I said. “Yeah, totally. I’m excited.”

  “You look pale,” said Renee. “Are you sick?”

  “No,” I said. “Maybe a little. This cold weather, you know, it always screws with my immune system.”

  “Well, okay,” said Renee. “Just make sure you’re rested up and your voice is ready for the show.”

  “It will be,” I said.

  “Layla will be fine,” said James. “She’s always fine.” He smiled over at me.

  “We really gotta make this happen,” said Paul. “I want this so hard.”

  “We all do,” said James. “And that’s why the show this weekend is going to be our best ever. No fucking around this week.”

  “Agreed,” said Renee.

  “It’s not just going to be this A&R guy,” James went on. “Arnie, is his name. It’s him and his assistant Micah, and a PR chick from the label named Daisy.”

  “Daisy?” repeated Renee incredulously. “How adorable. Barf.”

  “Daisy,” I said. “I like that name. It makes me feel warm… and yellow.”

  “Like urine,” said Renee. Everybody laughed but me.

  “Her name doesn’t matter,” said James. “It’s the three of them. I had to put them on the guest list at Clutch Cargo’s.”

  “You’d think record execs could afford to pay for a ticket,” said Paul.

  “Yeah, I don’t think we’re going to make them pay,” said James with snark in his voice.

  “Are we going to know if they don’t show up?” asked Renee. “Like, what if they bail last minute and we’re shitting ourselves for no reason?”

  “I’ll talk to the door guy and figure something out,” said James. “Don’t worry about that. We’re just going to do a great show and we’re going to make these record people love us. Okay?” He looked around to each one of us. “Like, animated and happy and rocking the fuck out. Okay?” he asked again.

  “Okay,” we all said together.

  “Sweet,” said James.

  “So are we going to play now, or what?” asked Paul.

  “We’re going to play now,” said James, standing up and bringing his guitar with him. “Layla and I have a new song to show you, just to get your wheels turning, but we
’re doing the same ol’ set at the show. This one’s just for fun.”

  “Awesome,” said Renee, hopping up and spinning one of her drum sticks around her fingers. Paul, too, stood and hefted his bass up, guiding his body through the strap.

  As Renee made her way to the drum kit and Paul headed to his amplifier to plug in, James looked over at me and leaned down.

  “You cool?” he asked in a hushed voice.

  “Mm hmm,” I said.

  “You don’t gotta be like this around us,” he said with a winning smile. “You know this is a safe space.”

  “I know,” I said.

  “You know you’re gonna crush it this weekend.”

  “I know.”

  “So there’s nothing to worry about,” said James. “Right?”

  “Right.”

  “So let’s fucking rock!” he said, pulling away from me now and pointing the headstock of his guitar into the air. I took a deep breath and pulled the microphone around, positioning it in front of my face, and then played a quick scale on the keyboard. It wasn’t a very nice keyboard, just something that James had bought at a pawn shop, but it did the trick for writing songs.

  “Show us what you guys got,” said Renee eagerly, grinning from behind the drum kit, absently repositioning her snare drum as she kept her eyes on James and me.

  “This one’s in G major,” said James. “Ready Layla?”

  “Ready,” I smiled.

  “Go,” he said.

  Clutch Cargo’s was an old church that had been converted into a music venue. A beautiful stone facade outside, while inside the pulpit area had been transformed into the stage. It wasn’t a huge place, though you could squeeze a thousand people in there if you tried hard enough. I had seen so many bands there growing up, so many punk rock bands that helped form my identity. And now it was me who was helping form the identities of the fans of Cast Party. Or maybe that’s a silly way to look at it. I just wanted to make people happy. I wanted to go out there, sing my songs, and feel like I was good enough. I bet if some of those people looking up to me knew what I was really like, they wouldn’t want to have anything to do with me.