Above the Noise (2 page)

“Honey, what’s your name, again?” Mr. Barnes pointed at me with his pen as he stood and walked around the back of his chair. I hated that he called me that, but I decided to ignore it, so as not to add to the stress level in the room. He nodded in my direction, and that proverbial pin dropping against the silence in the room would have split my eardrums.

“Becki.” My name came out of my throat like it’d been dragged across sand paper first. I hated that this cocky man had me so worked up.

“Becki, you’re Alternate Tragedy’s manager.”

I nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Which means you must be a fan of their music, correct?”

“Of course.” I nodded again and rubbed my hands on my knees to try and keep my body from shattering from the nervous energy that ran through it.

“Are you also a fan of their look?” He raised his eyebrow at me and slowly turned his head to Calon as if he was drawing an imaginary line between us, challenging me.

I took a slow deep breath and gathered my thoughts before I spoke. I stood and walked toward a bookshelf where a framed photo of Mr. Barnes and the members of his company sat. Mr. Barnes blinked a couple times as though I caught him off guard with my decorum. I made it obvious that I would use that photo as a means to turn the table on him. I nodded in the direction of the well-dressed, exclusively male executive team posed around a boardroom table in the frame.

“Mr. Barnes, image sells, you’re right. So, we can agree that people may not take your company seriously if your trademark photo had been taken on a beach and you were all shirtless and in Hawaiian swim trunks. Correct?”

“Sure.” He remained behind his chair, an obvious comfort zone. He only looked a little nervous. But I told myself I
made
him nervous as I tried not to pass out.

“There is no doubt in my mind that women will fall in love with these guys, as they have for years, for their music and what it does to them while they listen. I’m sure they’ll each have their very own groupies.” I heard a loud slap and looked over my shoulder at Spider, who threw a dirty look at Bones then rubbed his arm. Bones looked up at me like a scolded child. Dork.

“That’s exactly what—”

“Excuse me, I’m not finished making my point, Mr. Barnes.” I nodded when he motioned with his hand to continue, and I walked back over and stood behind the guys on the couch, next to Calon, who’d stepped out of my way when I stood up to go head to head with Mr. Barnes. “As an avid music fan and former ‘groupie’ myself, I have to stand behind my clients and support Calon’s concerns. There needs to be an authentic match between appearance and music. If there’s even a slight shift, it will appear orchestrated and unnatural to the fans, who’ve followed them for years, just as it would if the professional reputation of your company was challenged by a beach bum photo. Do you see what I’m saying, Mr. Barnes?”

Mr. Barnes folded his arms across his chest and reached up with one hand to rub his chin. He walked around the front of the table and sat on the edge.

I took my phone from my pocket and scrolled through my music while I struggled to keep my trembling under control. I pressed play. The acoustic guitar that sprung forth would not only prove my point, it would help to calm my nerves immediately.

“Mr. Barnes, you know this artist.” The guys instinctively kept the beat with their feet on the expensive oriental carpet under their shit-kickers.

“Chris Cornell.”

“Yes. When you close your eyes and picture him performing this song ‘The Keeper’ live, can you feel the vibe he has?”

“Of course. The man’s an icon.”

“But that’s not why you can picture him. You can picture him easily because he wears his music. Everything about who he is, what cuts his soul, how deeply he loves, and how passionate he is about his fans is externally evident in his image. If I saw Chris perform in anything other than his signature combat boots, jeans, and t-shirt it would be a distraction. If he walked out on the stage in a pair of Justin Bieber’s saggy leather dance pants, a flat brim hat, and a wife-beater I wouldn’t appreciate what he had to offer that night. It would seem contrived. I would feel cheated out of what I should’ve received from him in the form of an artistic experience.”

I looked at Calon for approval of my calm rant. He smiled his crooked smile that never failed to cause the bottom to drop out of my stomach. But he tried to hide it by scratching his forehead. Then he nodded.

“Mr. Barnes, what you see in front of you, how these guys dress and how they wear their personalities, is what you get on stage. Calon couldn’t take a handful of short hair in his hands to show the ache in the words he’s singing. Spider couldn’t throw it down on the drums the way he does if he wasn’t comfortable in his own skin. Manny and Bones light up the stage with those guitars if you asked them to morph into something they aren’t. They wouldn’t suck the crowd in like they always have. Listen, it’s smart marketing. You can look at a photo of Alternate Tragedy and know the kind of music you’re getting, just like you can with Chris Cornell. Asking them to become something they’re not, would be cheating everyone out of what they have to offer. And, in my honest opinion, that would be a huge mistake for you and this tour.”

Mr. Barnes looked a bit stunned, but kept his eyes locked on mine. He wasn’t going to admit that I’d just put him in his place. “Becki, you raise a good point. Let me mull this over, and we can get together tomorrow to discuss my thoughts. Sound good?”

“Sounds great.” Calon’s voice was calm and relaxed. However, I was about to throw up, but I plastered a classy smile across my face and nodded. We all shook hands and left Mr. Barnes’s office in a single file line; Calon right behind me, bringing up the rear. We walked silently to the elevator, and once we were in and the doors closed, all four of them let loose. Whoops and yells that I’m sure could be heard two floors away were showered down all around me. All I could do was laugh. My very first official day as Alternate Tragedy’s manager, and I rocked it like nobody’s business.

Calon turned his body to mine and crowded me into the corner of the elevator. He pressed his hips into me and slid his face next to mine until his lips touched my earlobe. I could feel his hot breath on my neck as he spoke. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, Becks.”

“Oh, here they go again. Good grief, get a room, would ya!” Bones was always the one to complain about me and Calon. The other guys didn’t seem to mind all that much, and it’s not like we were all PDA all the time. We’d been stuck in a van with all of them since we left Knoxville for Los Angeles. Calon hadn’t gotten anything from me in all that time except a few stolen kisses.

“Becks?”

“Yeah.” It was the breathiest word I’d ever spoken, but the sexual tension between the two of us turned me inside out.

“I can’t wait until we have our own room.” Calon spoke loud enough for everyone to hear.

“We can’t wait either.” Bones’s voice was harsh. “God, you’re making me horny. Would you put your dick away, man? All this sexiness is really starting to be a problem for me.” He grumbled something else under his breath. Calon chuckled and turned toward Bones in the cramped space.

“Bones, man, I’m sorry my dick is such a problem for you.”

“Shut up, jackass.”

The elevator erupted into celebratory laughter. When the doors opened on the ground floor of the posh LA office building, we stepped into the glass atrium and the late afternoon August sun stung our eyes. Manny spoke the words forming in the back of my mind.

“Let’s go get some drinks.”

THE FIRST TIME
Calon and I drank together was after one of their shows when he walked me back to my dorm. The guys didn’t usually drink during a show, but a big storm rolled in that night just as their first set started. The atmosphere inside Mitchell’s unexpectedly turned from a slamming rock sound to an acoustic vibe when the lights went out. Gracie ran around and gathered as many candles as she could from the back room, and we all helped her light them and place them on the silent speakers all around the stage. Calon and the guys enjoyed beer after beer and did a show like I’d never seen from them. It was rustic with a little folk-funk. The bar’s patrons sang along in the glow of about forty container candles of all different sizes. Calon sat center stage on a stool and sang away the hours with his guitar resting on his thigh. The whole night was ethereal and quaint and very fucking sexy.

He asked if he could walk me home again, which was exactly what I’d hoped for. When we crossed the road right outside of Mitchell’s, Calon grabbed my hand, and we ran for the opposite sidewalk that led across campus and up to my dorm. Electricity ran through the hand he held, I was sure he could feel it because he didn’t let go.

He told me groupie stories for the entire length of our walk to my room. I was laughing when I pushed my door open. Being a little tipsy, I tripped and fell into him, pinning him against the open door. My hands landed on his chest, and, in an attempt to keep up both upright, his strong hands grabbed my hips. My mind shot back to the thoughts I’d had earlier while watching his deft fingers move on the strings of his guitar.

His t-shirt was damp from sweat, and his curls tickled my forehead when he laughed. It was one of those moments you see in movies when the couple finds themselves in a compromising position and they freeze; chests heaving, mouths agape, and hearts racing. His eyes searched my face, but for what I didn’t know.

I pushed off his chest and, a bit shaken, walked to the mini fridge and grabbed the bottle of vodka from the top freezer portion.

“Shots?” I spun around and took in all of him; dark curls, sultry green eyes, an intense stare, and lips I could entertain for days.

“Absolutely.” He let the door close, plopped down on my bed, and leaned back against the wall, his legs so long they hung at a weird angle not quite touching the floor. He had a hole in his jeans just below his front pocket, which puckered when he sat. I had a hard time diverting my attention from it.

I was completely oblivious to what my heart was capable of at that point, so the alcohol was an attempt to loosen up before we started making out. This was the token third time he’d been to my room, and that’s just how it typically worked. The guy comes back the third time after not getting laid the first two, you know they want it, or they’d have given up after the second night of blue balls.

We did a couple shots and laughed about random shit, and then there was the uncomfortable silence; it was deafening. I decided to make the first move before it got really awkward. I turned on the twinkling lights that hung above my bed and turned off the overhead fluorescents. I climbed onto the bed on my knees facing Calon and reached for his face to pull him in for a kiss. He stopped me and held me still by the wrists.

“Becki, I’m not here for that.” He loosened his grip on my wrists, and I dropped my hands in my lap.

“Oh.” Fuck. He wasn’t interested. It was one thing to be turned down by the conceited freak from my study group, but to be turned down by a hot rock star who probably hits every piece of ass offered to him sliced a little deeper. I brushed it off like it didn’t bother me, but it did.

“No, no. Listen.” He took my chin between his thumb and finger and pulled my face a little closer to his. “I am extremely attracted to you, Becki. I love your personality, and you’re gorgeous, so my comment wasn’t a rejection.” He smiled, and I felt like a complete idiot, a slutty idiot.

“It’s okay, I get it. It was stupid for me to—”

“Shh. No regrets, Becki. You’re attracted to me, too, and I’m glad. I’m just not one to rush into that kind of thing.” He dropped his hand from my chin, and it joined my hands in my lap. I held his hand with both of mine.

“Wow. I’m pretty sure you’re the first rock star in history to turn down a groupie.” I rolled my eyes and got up to pour more shots. Calon followed me over to the mini fridge, put his hands on my waist and spun me around. His thumbs touched my skin when my Marilyn Monroe tank flounced with my spin.

“I don’t see you as a groupie, Becki, and I’m technically not turning you down. I can’t explain it, but I feel like there’s more here between us, a connection that we should pay attention to.” He rubbed the outside of my bare arms with his warm, strong hands. Those fingers…

I didn’t know what to say. I suddenly felt mute. He had all the right words, and I didn’t have a single word in my head. He left me speechless, which was no easy task.