-1I don't own rent. I'm just renting it right now ;
I hope you enjoy the story. I don't know where its headed, its not planed out.
Everything will just start out.
This is dedicated To my best friend Alysha
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Chapter 1
The loft had that musty, yet sweet home sweet home smell, the morning of Novemember 10th. Beep Beep Beep Beep, went the sound of Roger's alarm clock. He looked down at his bare chest, and reached his hand up to put it over the female much smaller hand, which belonged to Mimi Marquez. He moved it off him as he slowly got up, being careful not to wake her. He let it lay on the bed, as he snuck out of bed. She made movement, she didn't wake up, just changed postion. He snorted a little. He smiled, she always did that when she changed positions. He picked some clothes and went into the bathroom. He got a shower, and got dressed.
He came out into more of the kitchen area of the loft. He made some coffee. As he was waiting, he saw the time. It was four in the morning. He hadn't been up this early in the morning. He grabbed yesterdays paper, only thing he could find, and sat in the couch. Even though he had the newspaper open, to a random section. His mind was thinking of what today could have in store for him. He was going to Erie, all the way in the state below, Pennsylvania. Collins had gotten him connections to meet with a man to talk about a record deal. And Roger, needed to make money he had something he was saving up for. It was no new car, or guitar. It was something more.
His thoughts were interrupted by a soft beep. His coffee was done. He got up and got some and poured it into his usual mug. He took a sip, and realized he better get going if he wanted to be there by noon. He made his way out to his, car. He put his mug down in what he hoped would be a secure spot. He put the key in the ignition, and turned to the radio. I hear that train a commin' its rollin' round the bend. And I aint seen the sunshine since I don't now when. The voice of Johnny Cash, lingered in the car, and around Roger Davis. He put both hands on the wheel and took off, he had a long trip a head of him.
A few hours later, Roger pulled to a sign, Erie 5 miles away. He was so close yet so far away. It was a little before eleven . He only made one or two stops. Batahroom stops, each were 5 minutes. If that long. He wasn't wasting time. He had turned the music off, when he got out of New York, so he could focus more on where he was going, then the sounds around him. He looked at the small paper, that was slightly dingy and crumbled. With the address on it. He had pulled up to the parking lot of the place. It was like an old night club it seemed like. It closely resembled the cat scratch club. He went around the back like the note said.
He went in, feeling lost. He coughed a little. The club wasn't exactly too clean. Some guy came up to him. He was Italian , he had black hair and a black beard. "You must be Roger?" The guy, with a smirk, that made you want to call the cops and claim you had the real Charlie Manson, questioned him. The much less shaggy-looking rocker replied.
"yeah and you're?" He repeated the same smile as before.
"Edward, but call me Eddie" Roger, fake smiled.
"Ok..Eddie"
"So you are the guy Tom, told me all about, voice like an Angel."
"I guess you could call it that" Roger wanted to laugh, almost, but didn't.
"Right."
"So…"
"Well, aren't you going to sing for me? I cant sign ya, if I didn't hear ya yet."
"Here?…Now? Are you sure?"
"Yeah, there is music coming from the stage already, but its not my fault I was expecting you earlier"
"Yeah. Um ok"
Roger closed his eyes as he sung, and he took a deep breath. He began to sing one song glory. He sang the whole thing without opening his eyes, he almost teared a bit. The thoughts of his old girlfriend April coming to mind. How he had missed her, but knew he would never see her again, and he learned to control his actions. He opened his eyes slowly, and looked at the man, who he was supposed to recall to as Eddie.
Eddie nodded and smiled. He didn't say a word but he kept nodding.S
