Chapter Five…
Marzi burst in through the front door of the café with an announcement before settling herself at an empty table. “Oh my God, I just met my mother’s boyfriend in her new loft… well, new to me loft. Saylor, you would love it.” I watched Saylor shake her head with a sigh. Not sure what that meant. “He’s young and from one of her reality shows.”
“People! Listen up you have got to read the gossip rags! Marzi, sorry hun, but that’s old news.” The Gossip Gal, otherwise known as Vivienne had spoken. She was always up on the latest and why I steered clear of her with my personal information.
“Wow! Things have really changed for you Marzi,” Saylor said walking over and handing her a plate of orgasm cookies. They were one of Marzi’s baking sensations, only we didn’t publicize the big O part of the name in the bakery case.
“Yes, our Marzi here has been gracing the pages of a few la la magazines.” I watched Vivienne pull her tablet from her oversized Singer Summerfield purse as she spoke.
I knew that handbag line because I secretly have a thing for online fashion magazines and have a zillion photos pinned on my Pinterest account.
As Vixen watched Vivienne pulling up sites, she told us about her own internet experience. “I saw my ex on a naughty site. He and his big boobed play toy post themselves having sex for money. My lawyer is having a field day with the videos. There are other celebs on their too,” Vixen announced, shaking her head.
Poor Vixen was having to battle for her child from her ex, but the porn-site could be good news for her since her ex and his new wife were trying to say that Vixen was an unfit mother. I guess watching porn had more benefits than just pleasure.
Of course Gossip Gal had something to say about that. “Some celebrities are celebrities because of sex tapes.”
“Shouldn’t you be reading beauty… hair and makeup magazines… maybe even fashion?” Pansie asked walking over with a cup of coffee.
“Of course not! People come into the salon saying they want so-an-so’s la la haircut. They want to look like celebrities. Wear what they wear. Eat and vacation where they do. Weigh what they weigh. It’s all there in the gossip rags. I have to keep up!” Vivienne had a point there.
I could only imagine her getting wind about my parents. She undoubtedly knew about their semi-private island in the Bahamas and how they were photographed nude via a long-range lens from a supposed vacationing yacht cruising by. If I had to hear about my father’s junk again I would scream. It was bad enough to have your mother call you and tell you to steer clear of the internet because your father’s huge packet was everywhere.
Again, Vivienne tried to sway everyone to the ways of gossip. “Drop the interior design mags, Saylor. Marzi, there is more to life than baking. And Pansie, if you are going to read gourmet food mags get a tablet instead of caring that canvas bag full of them—everything is a swipe away. Vixen and Evie, what do you girls read? Please tell me one of you likes a little gossip.” She sat waiting, stealing one of the cookies Saylor had delivered.
Vixen confessed to only reading steamy romance novels while I just shook my head.
Vivienne seemed disappointed in me. “Not even music, entertainment ones like Variety or Rolling Stone?” Again, I shook my head, silently saying to myself, but my parents have been on the cover of Rolling Stone—a few times.
Always on the road on a bus or plane, I was homeschooled by my parents until I needed to be taught subjects outside of their level of expertise. Then I shared a tutor-of-sorts with a few other kids that traveled with us. But before that time, is when I got my first taste of fashion magazines. They were everywhere my mother went; on our tour bus, on private planes, in dressing rooms—my mother could be seen flipping through them on her down time. I remember opening up one of the magazines when I was first starting to get the hang of reading. I was fascinated that I knew so many of the words and the ones I didn’t I sounded them out. My mother was blown away by my reading skills and immediately shouted for her crew to come listen to me read.
Listening to the great Raine Winter’s request, they all flocked and my eloquent reading turned to sputters and stammers. My first taste of stage fright; my mother mentioned that everyone got it, but you just moved through it. I never have gotten over that moment and thankfully I was never put on the spot again. She just delighted in my reading fashion articles to her and I loved reading them. The other thing that the magazines inspired was what I labeled as my Fashion Rhymes and I wrote them in my school notebooks along with my studies.
Kelly green shoes oh so fine
Kelly green shoes all mine
Hated by some
Kelly green shoes fit like a glove
All mine to love
My love of writing never faltered and apparently my mother noticed it too. When I turned thirteen my mother gave me a bright pink vinyl book along with a chain with two keys on it. Every teenage girl should have a locking diary. Funny that the book had a strap that fastened it close with the lock—scissor cutting the strap could easy allow anyone to gain access. I guess it was a trust thing. If it was locked no one was to open it unless they had the key. And so began my quest into journal writing. I wrote little poems along with what I did during the day at first. Then as I began to notice other teen boys that were traveling with us, my entries changed. Adding my thoughts first and then words flow into poems, only these were a bit different.
Flow of the fabric on her hand
The sway of her hips in suede
She saw him watch
She moved again
Oh it felt so good
Wanting him, loving him
Mine all mine
He would never be hers
Wanting her, loving her
His all his
She would never be his
Another set of sentences followed and then back to the same set of words. I did that about three times in my poem and realized that I had written a song with a repeating chorus. That became my passion along with fashion. My songs always had something to do with fashion. I even went back and expanded my Ugly Kelly Green Shoes poem into a song, using the original words for the chorus.
I had thought about trying one of them on an open mic since I had managed to sing on two more Wednesday night events—only one song each night, always a popular new Country tune. Once with Nate and once alone. I still found it difficult even after we returned to the elder home for one more practice round before taking to the café’s stage. The night before had been my first time going solo, and I was thankful for Marzi bursting through the door, taking away the possibility of someone commenting about my performance. It wasn’t that I thought I had been bad or sang off-key, it was just that I still wasn’t comfortable and in the back of my head I was worried that someone would recognize me. I want to continue my quiet lifestyle, out of the limelight.
Caught up in my thoughts, I didn’t notice that a flower delivery had been made from a local shop called La Belle Bloom Floral Studio. For me from Nate, a bouquet of bright pink, orange and yellow gerbera daisies greeted me with a card that invited me to come out to a concert with him. “Meet me! Let’s celebrate your triumph,” was all the card said along with an address, the time the show began, and the name to give at the will call booth so that they would give me a backstage pass. No details about who was playing, just be there.
Running late, I tried to text Nate, but he never responded, so I got to the theatre as quickly as I could. With my backstage pass from will call, I made my way to a holding area where there was booze and food set out for guests and performers. Along with the refreshment spread, girls scantily clad to semi-nude draped themselves all over band members. Not a surprising sight to me, at all. I remembered my first time seeing that and my mother’s hands coming over my eyes before lifting me and storming out. I knew that it came with the territory, but I didn’t expect Nate to be in the middle of the shit-show. Maybe he thought I wasn’t going to show because he looked a bit surprised to see me standing just mere steps away, staring at him.
Finally coming to my senses, I turned to walk right back out the way I entered the room and felt a hand grasp my forearm. “Hey, it’s not exactly what it looked like… I was…” I cut him off, I really didn’t want to hear his excuse, if he had one. He could’ve just been going to tell me that it’s no big deal—we’re not committed to each other.
“…Listen, I know we said this would just be fun but I thought that meant between us, the two of us. Not you and me and you and whoever throws themselves at you. Fun for you, not fun for me and I’m not willing to be a part of a threesome or foursome or orgy. So, have your fun. But you cannot have me. No hard feelings, continue your night and stay in Cali. Peace out, as I heard you say earlier.”
“Evie… Evie…” I heard as I walked away to a back door that was being guarded by a monster of a guy with massive arms, that let me out to an alleyway where another equally big man watched me walk safely to the sidewalk.
I am not sure when the waterworks started but they didn’t stop. I didn’t need him. I did want him and I was fine knowing it was going to end. It seemed that we weren’t in sync with the status of our relationship. Mine might have meant I was his, but apparently it didn’t mean that he was mine as well. Yet, somehow, I hadn’t thought of Nate as being the kind of guy that was into the groupie scene. But who was I kidding, I had seen it a million times—pussy thrown into the face of musicians and even roadies. Not many men turned it down. So why would he given the opportunity? Except that I was giving him plenty of me; denying none of his desires—I said no to nothing. I was adventurous in between the sheets, in the shower, on the floor, up against the wall, fridge… anywhere.
The only thing that I thought may have swayed him was that maybe he was feeling what I was—a real connection—intimacy. Did it scare him like it did me? Did he want me to see him draped by half naked women? Some giving blow jobs while other got fucked right out in the open. Thankfully, he wasn’t engaged in either of those activities or another act equally as graphic. But two women were snuggled up pretty close to him and perhaps if I had been a little later I would have witnessed a hell of a lot more. It was enough for me though, I couldn’t stay and listen or watch the smirking faces of the groupie girls, knowing that they had struck a nerve in me.
It was obvious to me that the backstage-music-world-drama never changed and why I had avoided it, and mainly avoided all musicians altogether. Nate, I wasn’t even sure was fully immersed in it—still not knowing exactly what he did. Maybe I had my answer.