Songfic. It's been nagging at me for weeks.
It's just too perfect for Roger.
Roger, PostRENT and post Mimi's death, thinks about his life as a rock-star.
I'm not using the whole song, just some verses, and the chorus.
Disclaimer: I don't own RENT or Rockstar, great song by Nickelback.
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"Here you go, Mr. Davis."
Roger gave a drunken nod to waiter, taking a long drag from his cigarette. Leaning his head back, he gave a little chuckle.
His band had just finished a kick-ass set at the hottest bar in Manhattan. He wildly remembered trying desperately for months getting a gig here, but no dice then.
"This…is…the LIFE," he shouted to no one in particular, but of course, his two faithful groupies, Anna and Maddy, erupted into giggles.
I'm through with standing in lines at clubs I'll never get in.
It's like the bottom of the ninth, and I'm never gonna win.
This life hasn't turned out quite the way I want it to be.
"So, did you buy that new house in the Hills?" Maddy asked, placing a perfectly-manicured hand on his chest.
"Well…I think $10 million's a bit pricey. Besides, what do I need ten bedrooms for?"
"Maybe in case you have any…houseguests," added Anna. All three of them laughed.
I want a brand new house on an episode of Cribs,
and a bathroom I can play baseball in,
and a King-sized tub big enough for ten plus me.
"Well, you COULD invite some of your old friends," his manager, Chris, said as he walked into the VIP room, sitting down on the other side of the curved booth. "I mean, that'd be a huge press treat. You're back in your hometown…get to catch-up with your good-old buddies from yester-year, yadda, yadda, yadda, you're the boy next door."
Anna and Maddy giggled again, and Roger joined in, only half-heartedly. He had left his friends in crumbling Bohemia-land while he sped off to Hollywood. Afraid to return the few calls Mark had given him, he forgot about his old friends. It had been 5 or 6 years since he had seen any of them.
"Oh yeah, didn't you date some hot chic, too? Mary, Martha, or something…"
"Mimi," Roger cut in impatiently.
"Whatever. I bet the press would just eat her up, huh?"
Mimi. Despite loss of contact between him and the Bohemians, he had gotten word of Mimi's death a few years ago. Maybe it was because of the isolation or the suddenness of his departure (or maybe it was just the heroin kicking in), but the mention of her name still hurt. He couldn't say that there weren't times he missed her like crazy, wanting to stare deeply into those gorgeous, brown eyes of hers.
"She's dead. Long gone," Roger answered coldly.
"Ok, ok! Touchy, touchy. Well, that's ok. The reunion of friends will be good enough."
"Where's that fucking waiter?" Roger asked, wanting to change the subject.
"Yes, Mr. Davis?" The waiter had come into the room as though he had heard him.
"Get me a martini. Dry."
"Of course, Mr. Davis."
This is why he became a rock-star. This was the glamorous life, where you can swear at waiters and they magically appear a second later. Where you can pleasure yourself with smokin' hot groupies. Yeah, this was the life.
Well, we all just wanna be big rockstars, and live in hilltop houses, driving fifteen cars.
The girls come easy, and the drugs come cheap.
We'll all stay skinny 'cause we just won't eat,
and we'll hang out in the coolest bars, in the VIP with the movie stars.
Every good gold digger's gonna wind up there, every Playboy bunny with the bleach-
blonde hair.
Well, hey, hey, I wanna be a rock-star.
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Short and Sweet. Review, review, review!