WOW! I was completely floored by the response to the prologue! Y'all make my heart smile! My plan had been to get this to you all on Thursday. However, Mother Nature laughed at my plans, sending an earthquake, three major thunderstorms, and a hurricane to visit me, resulting in several days with power problems. While I can type in the dark, once the battery dies, its all over!
This is slash, that means boys playing with boys, and I ain't talking Monday night football (though I do like the tight pants). If you aren't old enough to vote, hit that little red X and go back to listening to Justin Bieber on your iPod.
My eternal love and thanks to nails233, butterflybetty, KM525, rathbonejunkie, Touchstone67, and Mrs. Agget. All you ladies rock my socks, though mine arent nearly as cool as Edward's socks in owenic's 65 hours! If you aren't reading it yet, RUN! NOW! I can wait. …..Back? Good! Now I hope you enjoy my rock and roll fantasy.
Stephenie Meyer owns it all, I just like to play to watch boys kiss.
CHAPTER 1
Three years earlier:
"Jasper, you've got backstage tonight. Keep the trash up, don't bother the bands, and make sure they have everything they need. You got it?"
I nodded at my boss Marcus, letting him know I heard him, while struggling to contain my excitement. In all the years I'd worked at the Terra Amphitheater, I'd never worked the backstage run before. It's the slot most of the musicians who worked there would sell their souls for. The buzz had been traveling through the crew for weeks; the execs from the recording company planned to be at the show, hoping to get a read on the crowd. I'd be in the perfect position to pass on the demo I'd devoted all of my free time on for the last six months. The gig at the amphitheater paid decent, and I needed the cash to keep myself afloat, but this wasn't the life I wanted.
I'd written every lyric, worked out the music, and played most of the instruments. I'd even mixed it myself, in the shithole basement apartment I lived in. In my gut, I knew the disc was good, damn fucking good. I'd been doing sound for enough bands around South Jersey and Philly for the last few years to know what fans were looking for. If I played my cards right, I'd get it in the right hands.
I'd been at the amphitheater for a little over five years, starting right after my sixteenth birthday. What I hadn't spent on instruments and equipment, I'd socked away. I'd done the same with the cash I pulled in running sound and filling in with other bands when someone didn't show. In less than two years, I'd played in five different bands. Other musicians might be content working construction by day and playing a few nights a week, but not me. I wanted more; I'd always wanted more. My mom had seen it and loved me enough to turn a blind eye. She also protected me from my dad's wrath when I brought home shitty grades and slept all day because I'd been out at the bars until two o'clock in the morning. Some nights, I didn't even bother coming home, falling asleep at the storage unit where the band practiced. I'd slept through more school than I'd been awake for my senior year and I'm pretty sure I only got a diploma because they knew making me stick around for another year would be a waste of everyone's time. They thought right. I didn't have time for that shit. All that mattered was the music. My music.
o.O.o.O.o.O.o
Good damn thing I'd been saving all those years, too, because the shit really hit the fan two months after graduation, when my dad found my collection of gay porn. He'd been snooping around my room, convinced my shitty sleep habits were the result of a drug problem. I'm pretty sure he'd have been happier if he'd found a couple of rocks and a crack pipe. My being a musician had been hard enough for my dad to swallow; a faggot musician for a son proved to be too much. When he confronted me and I didn't deny it, he'd tossed me out that night. My mom cried, begging him to change his mind, but my being gay became the last straw in a big frigging haystack of what he considered my many fuck-ups in life.
That had been three years ago. Luckily, he didn't ban me from the house, just told me he wouldn't tolerate me living under his roof anymore. I still saw my mom at least once a week. If I happened to still be there when he got home from work, he'd merely grunt, before walking into the other room. It could've been worse, though. The friend I'd stayed with until I found my own place had been disowned by his entire family when he came out. I'd live with the silent treatment any day over that. I mean, hell, it wasn't like I planned to bring someone home for Christmas dinner anytime soon.
So, yeah, the job at the amphitheater fed my body, but I spent the rest of my time feeding my soul. Occasionally, some nights, I'd get lucky enough to take care of both at once. After work, I'd head straight to The Viper Room. My buddy Jake had called me to ask if I could help them out; their lead singer had gotten busted again, leaving them stuck for the gig they had that night. I'd told him I'd make it in time for the set; I had to take care of real life shit first.
Jake was one of the few local guys that understood me and my passion. Even with a wife and kid, not acquired in that order, he hadn't given up on his dreams. His wife Leah stood behind him one hundred percent. He was a lucky bastard and he knew it. They were also among the few friends who knew the truth about my being gay. Let's face it, when you're running around in mini campers with four other guys, changing in the back of cars, or shoved into dressing rooms smaller than the average closet, it's generally a good idea to keep your sexual orientation to yourself, especially when that orientation runs to dicks and not tits. While Leah had tried setting me up with a few guys she knew, none had held my interest long enough to put the effort into getting to know them better.
o.O.o.O.o.O.o
While I took my break, Fallen Angels performed their sound check. The record company had touted them as the next big thing, signing them onto Den of Thieves' U.S. tour to garner some much needed exposure. Rumor had it, a shit ton of money had been sunk into the band, but the recording company wasn't seeing a return on their investment I'd only heard one song by the group; he late night DJ on KJAM had played it earlier in the week, during his preview show for upcoming concerts. I found it left much to be desired. It was all right, don't get me wrong, but if the band didn't have anything with a bit more legs to it, they'd be one hit wonders on VH1, no matter how much the recording company pushed them on the unsuspecting public.
The energized crowd had already begun wending their way through the turnstiles, filling in the sold-out seats, when I returned to the run. I stood in the wings watching them, guys and girls sporting band t-shirts and homemade posters, all eager to see Den of Thieves. I closed my eyes, imagining they were here to see me, to scream for my band. Yeah, I know, it's every musician's dream and I had about as much chance as Joe Blow off the street of snagging a contract, but I wasn't willing to give up. At twenty-one years old, my whole life stretched in front of me, with the only constant I could see winding through it being music. Lost in my inner musings, I didn't hear someone walk up behind me.
"Hey, kid, you got a light?"
Turning, I saw an older, dark-haired gentleman. Of average height, with long, dark hair clubbed back at his neck and a diamond stud winking in his ear, he exuded an air of confidence. Dressed in a black Armani suit, I pegged him for one of the execs.
"Uhm, yeah, sure, but you can't smoke back here. Marcus will have a shit fit. He doesn't care if it's in the dressing rooms or outside, just not on the run." Gesturing behind him, I continued, "Here, I'll show you a great place where you can snag a smoke and some fresh air."
Pointing the way, I led him over to a small, hidden door tucked off to the right side of the long walkway running behind the stage. Before bands started hauling in trailers full of equipment, it had been used to get the talent backstage. I propped the door open for him, then stood aside to let him precede me outside. The area was secluded, completely surrounded by trees, accessed by a narrow alley that hugged the side if the amphitheater.
"Nice." Sticking his thin cigar in his mouth, he accepted my lighter. He lit up and passed it back. "Name's Aro Volturi; I'm with Sun Music." He extended his hand and I shook it.
"Jazz Whitlock, musician." I pulled a smoke out of my pack to join him.
"A musician, huh? So you ever hear of Fallen Angels?"
"Nah, not really. One of the local stations played a song the other night. I heard it while heading home from a show."
He lifted an eyebrow. "Really? So what'd you think?"
I shifted from one foot to the other, not sure if I should be honest or not, especially since a golden opportunity had fallen right in my lap. I figured what the hell. The worst he could tell me was to piss off. He certainly wouldn't be the first and I wasn't in the mood to bullshit someone.
"Honestly? They're okay, but I wouldn't invest the farm on 'em if I were you. Their style is popular now, but if what I've heard is the norm for their music, they'll be old news before the year is out. That shit doesn't have any substance." I took a drag of my cigarette, watching the smoke curl from the tip, rather than meet his stare.
"Hmmmm, and you think you know what'll sell, huh?"
"I wouldn't say that, but I've listened to a lot of music, seen enough bands come through the area, that I'd say I've got a pretty decent handle on what'll stick and what won't." I turned my head to gauge his reaction. "Those boys ain't got it."
"Yeah? Well, I guess we'll see." With a shrug, he stubbed out his cigar, before looking at me again. "What about you, kid? What's your sound like?"
"With all due respect, sir, it's nothing like the stuff you're producing now, I can guarantee that." I leaned against the brick surround, bringing one foot up to leverage my body. "It's hard, melodic, with riffs that'll grab you by the throat and lyrics that'll steal your soul."
He lifted an eyebrow, an amused smirk crossing his lips. "Well, I'll give you this, you got passion. You got a demo, Jazz Whitlock? I'd like to give it a listen. I'm intrigued."
I masked my shock with a low cough,"Seriously? Yeah, I got one in my locker. I can grab it for you after the show." I couldn't help the tinge of regret that snuck into my voice, "I gotta get back to work, though. I can't afford to lose this job right now. I got bills to pay, ya know?"
"Yeah, I get it kid. Bring it to Fallen Angels' room after the show." He slapped a hand to my back, lingering a little longer than I felt comfortable with. "We'll talk then."
Nodding, I headed back inside, with him on my heels. Aro walked off toward the dressing rooms, while I took up my post again in the wings. My hands shook like leaves in an autumn wind; I was scared shitless. I knew my stuff was good, I wasn't worried about that. If Sun didn't want it, someone else would, eventually. I'd been shopping it for months now, though. I had a pile of rejection notices almost as high as the stack of delivery confirmations from mailing the discs out. Letting Aro Volturi have a copy would be the closest I'd gotten to putting it in the right hands. Maybe my honesty hadn't turned him off, after all. Pull it together, Jazz. This is what you've been waiting for. Don't fuck it up now. I shook off the doubt that plagued me. Worrying wasn't gonna get me anywhere. I had four hours to reclaim the confidence I'd had ten minutes ago. It was time to nut up or shut up.
o.O.o.O.o.O.o
I'd been busy taking care of Den of Thieves' need for more beer in their dressing room when Fallen Angel took the stage. However, it didn't take three songs into their set for me to know my assessment had been dead on. If they had the right look, though, the screamers might keep 'em around a little longer. Well, at least until the next group of pretty boys came along. Don't get me wrong, they didn't suck, but they sounded like every other band in rotation on the radio. If they didn't get some depth, they didn't stand a chance. They needed to find a hook, something to make them stand out from the rest of the pack.
I had to say, though; the singer had a great set of pipes. Even with the volume of the speakers and the screaming crowd, his voice rang out over it all, clear, with no signs of the strain I'd gotten used to with the club bands. The guy had obviously had some training. When the band went belly up, he'd have a great shot at a solo career, anyway. The more I listened, the more his vocals drew me in, mesmerizing me. Bluesy and heartfelt, his voice gave depth to the otherwise mediocre lyrics of their songs. In a different group, with better musicians, it'd be worth spending the time listening to him.
I stayed busy backstage, clearing up trash and funneling bottles of water to the roadies. Time passed quickly, leaving me little time to think, much less agonize over talking to Aro again, later that night. I smirked when I overheard one of the roadies bitching about the band's "shit-tastic bubblegum pussy rock." Yeah, that pretty much summed it all up. When he saw me looking at him, he shrugged his shoulders.
"It's a job, dude."
Oh, I could so fucking relate. Isn't that why I was wasting time, scrambling around to gather up empty water bottles and sweep up the trash that blew around backstage? It certainly wasn't my dream job, but until I achieved that, it was a damn sight better than starving to death. Lost in my own thoughts, I didn't notice that Fallen Angels had finished their set. Kneeling at the bottom of the steps to retrieve a water bottle that had rolled underneath, I felt someone kick my leg, followed by a string of profanities.
"Stupid fucking kid! I almost broke my God damn neck! What the hell's wrong with you? Don't you have enough fucking sense to get out of the way when someone's coming down the stairs?"
Shoving my hair out of my eyes, I stood up, biting back the smartass retort that rose in my throat. He wasn't worth the trouble. I wasn't losing my job over some asshole that'd obviously had his Cheerios pissed in. Besides, the guy stood six foot five, easy, and I didn't have a death wish. Mumbling an apology, I stepped off to the side so the rest of the band could get by. Glaring at the big guy's back, I heard someone clear their throat behind me before speaking.
"Dude, ignore him. Ever since Sun signed us, Paul's had a God complex. Like if his ego wasn't big enough already." It was the voice I'd been admiring for the past hour.
Turning, I understood why all the chicks had crowded the stage, screaming their lungs out. The man standing in front of me redefined gorgeous. The residual smoke from the flashpots swirled around his head, haloing him in its sulfuric haze. A shock of his messy, burnt umber hair had fallen across his forehead and he restlessly shoved it back from his face. Deep green eyes were hooded by thick brows and shimmered from the caustic vapors, lighting their depths with an emerald fire. I couldn't stop myself from dragging my eyes down his body. Long lean legs were tightly encased in dark denim that molded him like a second skin and rode low on his hips. A sweat soaked, cut-up CBGB's t-shirt strained across his well defined chest, before tapering into his waistband, accentuating his taut abs. My eyes flicked back to his face in time to see his tongue dart out, moistening his full lips. I watched his Adam's apple bob when he swallowed hard, his nostrils flaring at my blatant admiration.
I didn't miss the widening of his eyes or the flame of desire in their depths, before he dropped his glance from my face. He mumbled something about needing to get a shower, then blushed, before walking away. Following him with my eyes, I found the view from the back just as enticing, his tight ass on display in the fitted denim. I muffled a groan, my dick twitching at the sight. Pretty boy could run, but I'd be seeing him again soon - real soon.
o.O.o.O.o.O.o
Songs that rocked this chapter:
Crying, One Night Alone, & Hell Raisers by Vixen
Standing in the Shadows by Whitesnake
Jukebox Hero by Foreigner
Come Play the Game & Bad Reputation by Heaven's Edge
On the Line by Tangier
If you've never heard of Tangier or Heaven's Edge- check them out on YouTube. They were club bands from New Jersey back in the 80s-I was fortunate enough to see them play live in the clubs before they were signed to recording contracts. Awesome music and great guys, too!