Cora

“So, while most of the prom is going to be DJ'd, Mr. Gabineau thought that it'd be cool if there were a few different acts doing some live performance stuff too,” Rocky tells me as we chew our sandwiches inside the music room at Sequoia High School. I really don't know why they call the place Sequoia High, we're in Simi Valley. Ah well, I guess it's better than being boring old Simi Valley High, our rivals on the other side of town.

Rocky's looking at me like I'm supposed to respond to something he just said, and I realize that I've been daydreaming again. It's hard not to around Rocky. It's the only way that I'm able to keep my cool around him. Rocky Blake, best friend, and boy of my dreams, all six feet of him, with his longish black rock-star hair and ripped body that's not just the product of a lot of playing the guitar. We’ve been hanging out together ever since junior high school, mainly bonding over our love of music. Today, he's wearing jeans that hug his butt very, very nicely, along with a long-sleeved t-shirt that half tucked in on his right side. While I can't see the bulges of his shoulders and biceps in it, I still know they're there. In fact, the image of them, along with thoughts about his butt in those jeans, and those sensuous lips of his, have been dominant in my thoughts.

Too bad for me, Rocky seems to only think about his music. To him, I'm just a friend. “Cora? Earth to Cora Clearwater?”

I shake my head, chewing the next bite of my peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Don't knock them, they're cheap, they taste good, and best of all, I can keep crumbs off the stuff in the music room, which is important if Rocky and I are going to be allowed in here during lunch hours by Mr. Delgado, the music teacher. He doesn't like that 'rockers' want to use his music room. He thinks that music begins with the marching band and ends with the glee club, with no space for an electric guitar anywhere in between. “Sorry Rock, guess my head was somewhere else. So, Principal Gabineau wants to have some live acts?”

“For sure. Anyway, I'm so going to put my name in. The guys and I can do something, just a little three song set, but it's live work. Anyway, I could really use your help on this, picking out what we're going to play,” Rocky says, sipping his protein shake. Those and his constant working out keeps him looking like a model. However, he knows that his future isn't tied up in his attractiveness or the rigors of school. “So I was thinking… you want in on it too?”

“I don't know Rocky. I mean, me?” I ask, trying not to bite my lip. Of course, I want to hang out with Rocky! I've worked with him on a bunch of music projects since we started high school. The National Anthem for the football team's homecoming and helping the glee club to do a rock routine last year were just some of the highlights. Delgado hated that one, let me tell you. When the club started discussing what to do for the routines this year, rock was immediately and firmly taken off the table, end of discussion.

“Of course, you, Muse,” Rocky replies, unknowingly using one of the little nicknames that just makes my crush on him all the more difficult. To make it worse though, he plays with my hair, and when he does it, my heart starts racing in my chest. Rocky chuckles then continues. “Seriously, every time we work together, you end up kicking me right squarely in the butt, and I end up doing awesome. You were the one who helped us dial it in for the Christmas jam, and you did all the editing on the YouTube video, remember?”

“That was playing around with an equalizer,” I protest, but I'm still warmed inside. I never told Rocky, but I put a lot of my spare hours into these little music projects of his, leaving me too busy to have an after-school job. Not that I care, I love music as much as I love Rocky. I just have never let him know, and I feel too shy to take credit for my work now. “Seriously Rocky, it can't be all that hard. I just produce your stuff a little, that's all.”

“Producing is why Dr. Dre made a ton more money behind the boards than as a rapper,” Rocky says. It's one of the things that I give him credit for. He might be solidly in the American white-guy rock genre, but his knowledge of music is extensive. His iPod is like a library of good stuff, starting at ABBA and ending at ZZ Top. Rock, pop, jazz, rap, hip-hop, even classical, Rocky's found the best of it and studies it endlessly. He knows so much musical theory and history, and it’s all self-taught. “Come on, Cora. I need your help for this one. It's the last big jam before we graduate high school.”

I hum, not happy about that. It's been the main thing on my mind since the New Year's vacation wrapped up, our upcoming graduation. “I know, I know. Okay, fine. You got yourself a tuner and all- around gofer for the train-up.”

“And backup singer?” Rocky asks, maybe half-teasingly.

“No way in hell. I'm not freaking out in front of the whole school, and I'm not going to ruin your prom,” I protest, finishing off my sandwich. “You know what happened last time I tried public speaking. Seriously, Rock, I'd just screw it up for you guys.”

Rocky shakes his head and finishes off his shake, screwing on the top of the cup tightly. Rocky has gym last period, so he'll get a chance to rinse the cup out then. Until then, he doesn't want protein powder funk to soak into his locker. “You never screw it up for me, Cora. Someday, we're gonna make millions of dollars together; you working the boards for me while I make the magic on stage.”

The bell signaling the end of lunch rings, and I gather up my trash. I'm smiling, it's an old promise that Rocky and I have made to each other a thousand times over the past few years, but it still makes my heart flutter to hear him say it. “Right, millions of dollars, Rocky. Before I do that though, I've gotta get through trig class. Catcha later.”

* * *

The Shattered Dreams is probably not the worst name ever for a rock band, but then again there was a rock band that once called themselves Mookie Blaylock. Sure, they had to change it because there was a basketball player in the NBA with that name. But I’d say Pearl Jam was a good second choice.

The garage of the Blake home is perfect for practicing. Mr. Blake, Rocky's dad, has long time accepted that the two-car garage would be his son's private practice studio, and both of Rocky's parents park their cars in the wrap around driveway. The house has been in the family for like, thirty or forty years. It's one of the older houses in the area with a larger lot than the place I live. The garage is even semi-detached, and the open door opens onto Tapo Canyon, which means that when The Shattered Dreams want to crank up the volume, not too many people complain. Who knows, maybe we do the neighborhood a favor, there's supposed to be coyotes in Tapo, but the noise likely keeps them away.

“Hey guys, what about Dethklok?” asks Chris, the band's drummer. “I mean, 'Go Forth and Die' is fucking awesome! And it is all about school, you know.”

“Yeah, but Rocky can't do the death metal growl for seven minutes,” Tim, the bass guitarist, comments. “Fuck's sake, Chris, you know anything overly metal is going to be shot down anyway. Gabby's one of those true believer motherfuckers, he thinks that metal is the devil's music and that Bon Jovi is about as hardcore as students should be allowed to listen to. Edited, of course.”

“Guess that means no Semblant either,” Chris whines, giving me a look. “Even if we could get Cora here to sing female vocals.”

“I'm just here to run the computer and make sure you're in tune,” I defend myself, holding up my hands and hooking a thumb at my laptop. “Hey Rock, what're you looking at?”

Rocky, who's been absorbed in his phone while sitting on top of one of the boxes that are full of the Blake’s Christmas stuff, looks up. “Here. This can be one of the songs. It's definitely not what other people are going to be playing.”

Rocky gets off the box, his phone held out. He hands it over to me, and I see he's on YouTube, to one of the channels that I've listened to before. I see the song and plug the title into my laptop since I've got better speakers than a smartphone.

“Do You Feel Alive?” Chris asks, looking over my shoulder. “Hmm.... guitar, drums, male vocals.... but that sounds like a synth or piano in there, Rock. None of us play that. Also, the singer's doing that whole British accent thing. You sure you want to give that a run?”

Rocky gives me a look, and I feel my stomach flutter. How he doesn't know how I feel about him is beyond me, but that look basically stops me from any sort of protest at all. “I might be able to lay down a background track if they'll let you guys have that,” I say, and Chris throws his hands up, walking away in frustration. “What? You guys can use it as an instrumental backing.”

“We're a live band, not fucking One Direction!” Chris protests. “Come on, isn't there anything else that we can do? And don't tell me the fucking Beastie Boys. If I have to sing Fight for Your Right one more time I'm shoving a drumstick up someone's ass!”

“Chill, dawg,” Rocky says, his charisma cutting through everything. It's probably the strongest thing about him, even more than his body or his powerful vocals. Rocky's just the type of guy that when he speaks, people listen. It carries over to his stage presence too. “There's a lady in the room. Look, there's plenty of choices and ideas to draw from. Cora, can you pull that one up? Then this one next?”

I see what Rocky's pointing at, and select one of the other recommended videos from the list on the side. “Get Up? Pretty simple, three instruments needed only,” Rocky says, as we sit back and listen. The band's called All Good Things, they play pretty hard. “The lyrics are all positive Mr. Gabineau can't complain about that. Or maybe this one, but we'd need you, Tim, to drop the bass and pick up another guitar. Bring Me Back to Life.”

“You gotta do a slow song too, guys. This isn’t a rock concert, it’s the prom.”

Rocky nods, giving me his not-quite-duck-lips that say that what I said is making him think, and then grins. “Hey, what about us doing an arrangement of My Immortal?”

“You want to do Evanescence? Are you out of your fucking mind? Amy Lee's a soprano, man!” Chris, ever the pessimist, says before he stops, thinking. “Well, if we change the key a little, maybe....”

“Let me do a key search, I can play with the E-Q and see if we can shoehorn something together. That's still a hell of a reach for you, Rocky. You sure?” I ask, already downloading the song. I know that sometimes the record companies can go nuts about going after people, but still, it's helpful.

Rocky, despite my worries, nods. “Sure. I mean, we'll make it the last song, so I can go balls out if I need too and not worry about trying to actually being able to talk afterward. We've got four weeks still, we'll get it down. First, let's start getting the chords down for Get Up.”

Thankfully, Rocky plays pretty well by ear, and Chris can pick up the drums easily too. Tim takes a little longer to copy some of the opening electronic sounds, but by the time eight o'clock comes around, he's got the basics of everything but the opening. Finally, Chris puts his sticks down and pulls out his earplugs, he's really careful about keeping his ears good. “Okay guys, listen, I gotta jam. Spanish is kicking my ass, and I gotta go study.”

“You live in Southern California, and you struggle with Spanish? Isn't your girlfriend Mexican?” Rocky asks, and I have to smirk. He's right, Chris has been dating a girl who looks pretty Hispanic, I think her name is Elena even, although he's never brought her around any sort of practice.

“Ex-girlfriend, and we live in the whitest part of Southern Cali outside of Beverly Hills, man,” Chris protests. “Besides, it's not like I can't speak any Spanish, I can call soccer games like it's nobody's fucking business. I just can't conjugate 'I went to New York last week and saw a movie' properly.”

“Fui a Nueva York la semana pasada y vi una película,” Rocky says, causing Chris to flip him the bird. “Face it, man, you gotta be able to say more than just 'gooooooallll' if you want to pass the class.”

“Guess that's what you get from listening to all that Shakira,” Chris gripes. “Whatever, guys. I'm out, see you tomorrow.”

Tim decides that it's a good time for him to bounce too, and soon enough I'm left alone with Rocky, who's winding up the cords from his guitar to his amp. I grab the big broom and start sweeping the concrete, so the guys to have to deal with any dirt or dust on their equipment when recording their stuff for videos. “Nice job today, Rocky. That was good stuff.”

Rocky grins and comes over, ruffling my hair. “Thanks, Muse. Hey, I had a question for you. You got a date for prom yet?”

I think my heart skips a beat as I turn and look into Rocky's green eyes, trying not to blush. “Uhh... no Rock, why?”

“Well, I was thinking, I'm going to be focusing on the set, and I don't want to be taking someone who I can't chill with,” Rocky says, grinning that heart-stopping grin that I sometimes pretend he's reserved for just me, “so I figured taking my best friend would be the right call to make. What do you say? I'm not even saying we need to dance or do anything stupid like that, just we can buy our tickets together, do stuff like that. But you know--”

“We might get one dance in. You know, to keep the groupies off you,” I joke, trying to deflect the hurt. Best friend. Why not just shove a dagger into my heart some more, Rocky? “Someday you're gonna must learn how to deal with the groupies, you know.”

Rocky grabs my hand and gives me a kiss on the knuckles, and even though I know he's just being 'buddies,' I can't help but tremble inside as his lips rest on my skin. “Thanks, Cora. Seriously. So... you wanna help me study for math?”

“Sure,” I agree, trying to calm my pounding heart. Who needs to work out, I get all the cardio training I need just hanging around with Rocky. “But only a little bit, I gotta take a look at that E-Q for you guys if you want it to get done by this weekend's practice.”

* * *

Lying in bed after getting home, I can't get Rocky off my mind. My hand still tingles where he kissed my knuckles, and the rest of my body is feeling it too. My breasts feel heavy, and between my thighs is an ache that I've felt for years, ever since changing from a girl to a woman. Even when Rocky was still in his skinny boy phase, I've had feelings for him. But now that he's growing into a man's body... my body wants the same thing as my heart.

“Too bad Rocky can't see things the same way,” I mutter to myself. “Best friend.... fuck me.”

That's exactly what you want him to do, the naughty little voice in my head whispers. You want him to fill you up, to give you things you've only read about.

“Shut the fuck up,” I whisper, turning over and jamming my hand between my thighs. It's not much, but at least the warmth against my panties helps a little bit. I sigh and close my eyes, trying to get to sleep, but all I can see in my mind is Rocky, the way he looked tonight when we were working together.

My fingers twitch, rubbing on their own, and my sigh becomes heavier, the warmth spreading from my pussy and up to my stomach. For years I've wanted Rocky, and all I want is one chance, one shot to show him how much he means to me. One kiss...

“Rock...” I whisper, laying on my back and letting my legs part a little bit, giving my fingers more freedom. My panties are getting soaked, the thin 'good girl' cotton rubbing warmly against my skin, the ripples of pleasure rolling up my body while my toes start to curl.

My pussy is trembling, my fingers swirling in tight little circles around my clit and over my lips while I bring my free hand up, pinching my nipples until I'm gasping, glad that Mom and Dad's bedroom is all the way at the far end of the hallway. It's embarrassing enough that I'm an eighteen-year-old virgin who's masturbating about my crush of the past six years, but I don't need my parents walking in on it also.

Still, the knot of energy builds inside me, my mind filling me with images of Rocky, the Pacific water glistening on his skin during our trips to the beach, or Rocky jumping, his stomach muscles ripped and hard as he goes for a jump shot in the driveway... but most of all the way Rocky looks when he sings, the slow songs that sometimes he sings just when it's the two of us, karaoke tracks playing on my computer to give him backup, the 'cheese fests' that we both secretly love. The way he looks at me then, like he's actually singing for me, that he wants me the same way I want him...

“Ro...” I gasp as my fingers move faster, faster, and my body tightens before the wave of my climax rolls through me, my back arching a little and my feet digging into the blanket, lightness, and happiness filling me before the feeling fades, leaving me empty. My body is satisfied, kinda, but my heart isn't, and no amount of touching myself is going to cure that.

Rocky

“Man, check out the duds on this motherfucking guy!” Chris jokes when I come out of the dressing room at the store, showing off my rental tuxedo. “Damn near looks presentable!”

“It's hard work being this damn pre-tay,” I taunt back, doing a quick little half turn in my socks. I don't need to try on the shoes, this is just for the party part of the prom, not the important part. I've already picked out my outfit for performing. “But seriously guys, what do you think?”

“In that outfit, I think you're gonna have panties dropping even before we get on stage,” Tim comments, fiddling with his bow tie before he gives up in frustration. “Seriously, this is a fucking pre-tied tie. How the fuck can it be this difficult to get on?”

“Because you've got the neck of an elephant?” Chris asks. He goes behind Tim and adjusts something, then steps back. “There. How's that?”

Tim rolls his head a little and then tweaks his tie one more time. “Yeah, I guess that's going to work. I still think I'm going to need to stay as far away from Rocky here as possible until we get on stage. Yeah, wingmen sometimes get action, but fuck, compared to this guy here, I'm looking like a dog.”

“That's what you get for trying to make a name for yourself by being part of the track team and then deciding that you're better at the shot and discus,” I joke, patting Tim on his big shoulders. He's not really all that fat, he's just a big, compact guy. I've seen him shoot hoops though with a shirt off and while he's not ripped, he's just solid. He says he's part Samoan, so maybe that's it. “Maybe you should go with a no-tie option?”

“No way, dude, my Mom's too old fashioned to let me do that. I'm pushing it as it is going with the vest instead of the cummerbund. If Mom picked it out for me and I'd end up wearing baby blue with a fucking ruffled shirt or something,” Tim complains good-naturedly. “Besides, don't knock the track events. It helped me get into UCSD.”

I shake my head sadly. I mean, I get it that Tim has never wanted to be a bass player in a real band. He likes to mess around playing with me and Chris in the garage or around the school. But Tim is into more than just music. In addition to track, he's into engineering, and maybe get in with some of the different companies down near UCSD. They say San Diego's possibly becoming California's next Silicon Valley.

So in a few months, The Shattered Dreams are going to be just that, shattered. Tim is going to UCSD, and Chris.... well Chris' got a tough situation. He uses music to get away from his drunk Dad. After graduation, Chris' going to join the Marines, shipping out for boot camp a week after we get our diplomas. Chris also says he's going to use the GI Bill to go to college, and I hope he does. He deserves better than how he's living in right now.

But that leaves just me staying in the Los Angeles area. The fact is, I know that music is my thing. I've been working hard trying to live the dream, making it as an artist. Sure, they say that rock is dead, but that's just because rock's changed over the years. There’s been rock-a-billy, hippie-rock, folk-rock, protest-rock, hard rock, heavy metal with all its derivatives, glam rock, hair bands, nu-metal, rap rock, and the list goes on and on and on.

I know my sound though. I want good, gritty rock. Something like Springsteen used to do, when he just wanted to sing about real people with real problems. I want to put out songs that make you think but also can make you want to dance. Hell, I want to put out the next song that gets football teams fired up, or that strongmen listen to right before they decide to pick up a car and see how far they can carry the fucker. Whatever it is, I want it to be... honest rock.

For Chris and Tim though, we'll stay friends, but graduation means the end of the band. I'm already reaching out through Facebook and Craigslist to try and find a couple of new guys to jam with. There's a band that's looking for a new lead vocalist, they're based in Reseda, so that might be okay. I'll have to see later.

But tomorrow night is the last performance of The Shattered Dreams and my last chance to put together a demo video for sending out. I've been working with Cora, and the YouTube work is helping, but I need to show that I'm not just a guy who can sing along with a karaoke track on a video.

“Come on Tim, Rocky's getting all introspective and shit,” Chris says, taking off his jacket. “Besides, we still have to go pick out our corsages. You know, for our dates?”

“Aww-yeah...” Tim growls, and I gotta laugh. He acts like a total horn dog, but inside he's a total teddy bear, and he's been practically out of his mind with happiness since he somehow, scored a date with Hillary Kendall for the prom. Yep, that Hillary Kendall, all six feet of half-Chinese, half-Norwegian model looks and a body that has earned her a little bit of local celebrity for the way she fills out her volleyball uniform. Tim has been head over heels for her since freshman year, and finally, she's paying attention to him. I'm glad for him really, and I hope that he's able to show her that his insides are worth overlooking his less than surfer-ripped outside.

“Tim, you know that you gotta play a little hard to get, right?” I ask him as we get our tuxes bagged up and ready to take to the trunk of Chris' car. “Seriously, you pick up Hillary tomorrow with that sign on your forehead, and you're going to get nowhere.”

“What sign?” Tim asks as we leave the store. “I don't have a sign.”

“Yeah, you do. The one that says I'm yours, Hillary that everyone but you can see,” Chris jokes. Chris unlocks the trunk and we put our rented tuxes inside, slamming the back closed just as Chris goes on. “Speaking of people with signs... Rocky, you going to make a move on Cora?”

The three of us pile into Chris' old Ford and he cranks it up, Queen greeting us this time. Not bad at all. But what Chris said just before we got in bothers me. “What the hell are you talking about, Chris? That's Cora, not some girl.”

“Not some girl?” Tim asks. “Uh, Rock, you do realize that Cora's one of the cutest girls in school, right? Strawberry blond hair, those blue eyes. Let's face it, she's got a tight little body. And she's one of the coolest chicks I've ever met.”

“Drop it, Tim,” I warn him. “Seriously, Cora and I have been friends for like, six years, ever since she moved to Simi from Westlake. She's like my sister, man. Why are you talking about her like that?”

“Because it's pretty damn clear to me and to everyone else that Cora's not looking at you like you're her brother, dude,” Tim says. “I'm just sayin'...”

“Well, don't. Just don't,” I say with a shake of my head, staring out the window as Chris gets on the 118 heading back towards Simi Valley. I don't need this crap right now. It's the whole reason that I asked Cora to the prom. She and I have been tight for a long time, even before The Shattered Dreams started performing together. And we're just friends, that's it.

The fact is, Cora is just about the coolest girl that I've ever known. When I told her in eighth grade that I wanted to be a singer in a rock band, she didn't laugh or didn't call my dream stupid. She didn't say that I needed to give up on singing and instead focus on getting better grades. Instead, she just said that it was a cool dream, and then we talked for two hours, going over some good music.

But most of all, she's stuck by me, and she's been honest. When my singing's sucked, or I reached too far, she's told me. She's recorded and remixed at least two dozen YouTube videos for me, she's been the sound person and videographer on everything The Shattered Dreams have done. Hell, she even drove me and Tim all the way to Anaheim for an open mic night, supposedly someone from Sony Records was to be there. She gives me feedback and been my biggest supporter. There's a reason she's my Muse. No matter what, people can see what they want to see, but there's never been anything between us.

There’s a thousand and one reasons she's my friend. That's all she is, right?

* * *

The gym's been redone in that uber-cheesy style that's made up high school proms forever, but that's okay as I escort Cora inside. She's looking good in an ice blue party dress that highlights her eyes, and even though she's my friend... she's a very pretty friend. “Wow, they outdid themselves.”

“They did,” Cora says, taking my arm. She looks around, and I'm glad I invited her. Sure, it's cheese central, but I guess for Cora, the idea of our senior prom does have a little bit of magic to it, and she's feeling it. I'm glad that I'm here to share it with her. “So, where do you want to sit?”

“Who cares?” I ask with a laugh. “I already see Tim out there with Hillary, there's no way I'm gonna be able to pry him away from her until gig time, and even then, I might need a crowbar. We might as well find where the band’s sitting and get some drinks.”

Cora looks a little disappointed, maybe she doesn't like Tim as much I thought, or maybe she and Hillary have some sort of girl-beef going on. I don't think Hillary and Cora run in the same circles, Hillary's a pop-jock while Cora's into the whole indie-rock-music crew, but who knows, maybe they ran into each other in the library sometime and the claws came out over something. “Uh... Rocky, do you mind if we have at least one dance? You know... for form's sake?”

I look at her and smile, nodding. That's all it is, I got it. Duh. I was just thinking that Cora's kinda caught up in the magic of prom, and here I go forgetting that. She just wants a little bit of that magic too before I get to make magic on stage. “You know it. I one hundred percent promise you, Cora, that after the set, you and I will close out the night dancing together. And if you want, we can find something beforehand too. Just... man, I'm so twitching for this! You see that stage up there? That's going to be ours tonight, babe, ours!”

“You mean yours,” Cora says softly, so soft I can barely hear her over the music that's already playing. “You go out on stage Rocky, and it's always your stage.”

I turn and take Cora's hands, confused. “Cora, you know that I wouldn't be able to do what I've done without your help. You're the reason I'm going to be up there. You're the reason that tonight's going to rock, and I want you to be able to enjoy it. So, no, that's going to be our stage tonight. If you wanted, I'd find a way for you to be up there with us, singing backup vocals or whatever. But I respect your choice to stay out in the crowd.”

Cora bites her lip, and nods. “Okay. So... a drink, then maybe a dance?”

We only have a half hour before it's time for the Dreams to get ready, but I do my best during that time to make it a fun party for Cora. She's a little more mainstream than I am in terms of liking the prom, I just wanted to jam. But Cora's still a girl, and she enjoys dancing with me as we break it down some to Drake, and DJ Khaled, even if it was the radio edited version. Soon enough though, my phone buzzes in my tux pocket, and it's time to go change.

“Hey, you stay here,” I tell her, knocking back the last of the horrible punch. “I want you to be able to enjoy the show audience-side one last time.”

“Okay,” Cora says, and at least she's smiling when I get up, tugging Tim out of his seat where he's been trying his best not to fawn over Hillary, but she seems to be fine with it. Chris is already waiting for us in the boys’ locker room next to the gym, where we ditch our tuxes for our performing clothes.

“You guys took long enough,” Chris says, shaking his head. He's already in his standard jam gear, black jeans and a checkered shirt, grunge inspired but cleaned up to fit Southern Cali tastes. “What happened?”

“She kissed me,” Tim whispers, and we both stop, looking over at him, no wonder he's looking starry eyed. “During that little break after Work From Home. She said... well, she wished me luck.”

“Damn dude,” I tease, and Chris laughs. “But seriously, good deal. Now, let's get our heads right, and see if maybe we can put on a set that'll get you an upgrade from just a kiss. You got a clear head?”

Tim takes off his tux jacket and adjusts his pants, grinning in embarrassment. “I don't think I've got any blood in my head.”

“Well, maybe not the one on your neck,” Chris jokes, turning around to give Tim some privacy while he pulls his pants off to put on his own jeans. I'm going for the classic rocker look, black pants, white shirt, and a denim jacket but slightly upgraded in terms of look so I don't piss off Mr. Gabineau too much.

A quick run of a brush through my hair which I pull back into a ponytail, kinda loose. Checking myself in the mirror, I feel good. “You guys ready?”

“Yeah,” Tim says, while Chris fusses with his shoelaces. Tim and I can play in just about anything, in fact, my shoes aren't even tied right now, but Chris needs decent fit on his footwear for some of the drumming he does. “Hey, Rock?”

“Wassup?” I ask, popping a breath mint and grinning. “Just in case.”

“Whatever,” Tim laughs, rolling his eyes. I've been popping breath mints before going on stage since we first started getting together, it's kind of my lucky charm. “I just wanted to say... well, it's been fun. And to remember us when you're famous. I want tickets.”

“Fuck it, man, you and Hillary get married, I'll be the wedding singer,” I joke. “Now you just gotta find a way to convince her to marry your wannabe Bill Gates ass. Come on, let's rock.”

The crowd is buzzing as we set up, the DJ spinning some techno-dance to give everyone a break from what's to come.

Mr. Gabineau is at the mic in his suit, giving us a once over as we get our instruments on, but he can't complain too much. “All right Sequoia High, let’s welcome to the stage now, The Shattered Dreams!”

There's a decent amount of applause, we've done enough that the kids who like rock tend to appreciate us, and those who don't can at least say we play well enough that they don't hate us. I'll take that. You can't please everyone.

“Thanks, Mr. G!” I thank him, giving him my smirky-smile that I like to use on stage, it's wiseass enough that people think I'm getting away with something by calling Mr. Gabineau just 'G.' “All right Sequoia, here's a new one for you guys!”

Tim starts Get Up with his bass, and I'm soon behind working the notes that he can't mimic with his bass before switching to general chording while singing the lyrics.

It takes about half the song, but by the end, we've got folks rocking with us, and when the last distorted riff fades away, we get a good amount of applause, and I raise my hand, thanking them.

“Hey, guys, awesome reception. Okay, this next one goes out to Mrs... well, you know,” I joke, giving another grin and a wink that has lots of people laughing. “Thanks for all that extra... tutoring.”

Hot for Teacher might be nothing but a big pile of cheese, it might be thirty years old, but it's the only Van Halen song that I can play the guitar solo for, and it's upbeat enough that everyone is able to laugh and have a good time, dancing their asses off while the three of us sing about a schoolboy's crush on his teacher. There's a few of the faculty who are giving me dagger looks, especially Mr. Gabineau but come on, it's the fucking senior prom!

When Chris smashes his drum one last time, he's grinning, and he's able to chill for a few minutes at least. I'm a bit nervous though, run-throughs in practice have been hard on this one, and some of the note changes I must do with my voice are hard. The lights on stage dim, and I look out, seeing Cora though, and I smile. Okay, just like in the garage, when it was just the two of us, singing for her...

I'm just about to start my picking on the guitar when I see Duane Phillips walk up to Cora. I've seen him around at school and he's in a bunch of the same classes as Cora, all college prep there. He obviously asks Cora to dance, and when she looks up at me I see something in her eyes and on her face. Oh, I see. A little bit more of that prom magic. Okay then, Cora, this one's for you.

“We're going to slow it down for this last one, for all you out there who had a rough Valentine's Day,” I say before starting on the opening notes for My Immortal. I see couples start to form on the dance floor, it's a little bit of a downer song but it's romantic as hell, exactly the sort of song that I want to end The Shattered Dreams on.

I get through most of the first verse pretty easy, it's relatively flat in the vocal range, but when we rise towards the first bridge, I feel it in my throat. I rocked it out too hard with the screams in Get Up, and I got too caught up in Hot for Teacher. I don't have it left in me to take it up into that super high tenor that we practiced. But Cora's out there, dancing her dance, with a guy she likes maybe. So for Cora, I find the notes. I have to close my eyes, I can see Cora dancing by herself, her strawberry blond hair with the blue dress she's wearing tonight, just graceful and lovely. My Muse, and I sing for her.

Chris is caught a bit off guard when I hold my hand up to stop us from going into the hard-middle bridge, but as a backup, we'd practiced the 'all slow' version quite a few times, so he's not totally flailing. He adjusts well, Tim going with it to create something we'd never done before. Instead of being slow the whole time, or having the hard rock section, we kind of go with something almost soulful, and I find myself swept away in probably the best performance we've ever given. When the last note is picked on my guitar and it fades, I open my eyes, and I see Cora still looking up at me. She's smiling, and Duane's got his arm on her shoulder.

Maybe I do feel an instant of jealousy. I mean, she is my date, right? Sure, we're just friends, but she is my date. But... well, we had our dance. It was a good one, but we had a dance. So, I'll let her dance who she wants to dance with. I gave her my best, and that's what I've always wanted to give to my Muse.

Cora

Another great day in Southern California, and for that, I am grateful. Then again, May in Southern California is almost always perfect weather. The summer heat hasn't quite dropped in yet, and it's late enough in the year that we aren't getting the winter and early spring rain that sometimes comes in. We get enough that we're kinda green in May.

Graduation took place not in the football stadium that we share that with Simi Valley High, but instead in a nearby arena. Afterward, a bunch of people jumped in their cars, heading either to the beach near Malibu or to Disneyland. Me personally, I just want to kinda chill and reflect.

Thankfully, Mom and Dad understand, and after bringing me home, they let me change and just go off on my own. Which of course means I find myself here, at Rocky's house. Mrs. Blake was even expecting me and has a little gift for me when I showed up.

“Cora, congratulations,” she says, handing me a wrapped box. I'm slightly surprised, it feels heavier than I thought it would be for a graduation gift. “You know, it's been great having you come by so much over the past few years.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Blake,” I tell her, accepting her hug. “And thank you for being so cool about me bumming around with Rocky all this time.”

“Robert's been blessed to have you in his life,” Mrs. Blake says. She's pretty active in the local church, so I hear a lot from her that's sort of church-tinged, but at the same time, she's laid back enough that she lets Rocky be Rocky. Even if she does insist on calling him Robert, the only person I know who does so.

Mrs. Blake's probably known how I felt about Rocky since about the time I was a freshman, and she just smiles, nodding. “I know. I always thought you two were good together. I was hoping after prom... well, anyway, Robert's out in the garage.”

I thank Mrs. Blake and carry my little present out to the garage, where Rocky's sitting and watching the YouTube video I posted of The Shattered Dreams doing their thing at the prom. I was glad that I could get one of the prom committee to set up a couple of HD cameras around the gym, it's probably the best video I ever made for them. “Hey, Rocky.”

Rocky turns around and grins, getting out of his chair and coming over, hugging me. My heart flares, but when he sets me down, I can see it in his eyes that the hug didn't mean what I was hoping it would mean. Again.

“It's amazing, Cora. Seriously, it's blowing up, we've already gotten over a hundred thousand hits!” he says, tugging me over. I look at the read count, and Rocky's right, the video of the prom performance has been out just over a week but is now standing at over one hundred fifty-two thousand views. Scrolling through, there's a ton of positive comments too.

This is what rock should be! - 8 likes

I wanna ride the lead singer like a pony! - 27 likes

“Hmmm, that one wasn't really about the music,” I note, seeing Rocky blush. He doesn't realize it, but his self-consciousness over his good looks just makes him even more good looking, at least to me it does. “Hey, don't knock it, Rock. You know that the days of ugly rock stars are over. Video killed the radio star and all. You got the looks that make girls go weak in the knees. Come on though, let's take a walk, what do you say?”

“Sure, why not? You wanna go down through the canyon?”

“Got a flashlight?” I ask, knowing he does. It's a strong one too, one of those twelve LED jobs in case we need it. “Then let's go.”

The walk down the trail that starts about a quarter mile from his house is peaceful, the traffic blurring to near silence as soon as we start to drop lower, into the brush that makes up a lot of the canyon. The shadows stretch out, but the full moon's up, and between that and the flashlight we're fine. They say that there are mountain lions and coyotes up here in the canyon, but the worst that Rocky and I have ever found is a king snake one time that scared the hell out of me until we realized it wasn't a rattler.

“So... we've graduated,” Rocky says once we pass the big rock about halfway down that we've always kind of used as the gateway to allowing us to talk privately. “You feel any different?”

“I don't know,” I reply, wanting to reach over and take his hand, but too afraid to. “What about you? I mean, we're never going to go to SHS again, right?”

“Yeah, I guess. It's weird that way,” Rocky admits. “I mean, I guess it won't be quite as big a difference for you though, you're heading to college once summer vacation's over. You're still not done with school, you know what I mean?”

I nod, my heart breaking for the millionth time in the years that Rocky and I have been together. Why can't he see? “So, you've made up your mind that you're going to skip school and go straight to trying to make it with a band?”

Rocky nods and I can see him kind of half smile in the moonlight. “Let's face it, Cora, I'm not an idiot, but I'm not the type made for formal higher education, you know what I mean? But it's cool. You know, I may not be scrambling as hard as I thought I would be. That little channel you put together on YouTube? There's a band already reaching out for me, not to try out, but to invite me in. From what I know, they're better than the guys in Reseda that I told you about. They were even thinking that with their old lead singer jetting, that they could use a rebrand. I guess being called Hunky Limburger wasn't working for them.”

I laugh, the choices that some bands make for themselves in terms of names are just… damn. “Yeah, I can't see you being Hunky Limburger. So, you’ve got an in?”

“I think so,” Rocky says, and we start walking again. “I talked with their drummer, a guy named Ian, he says that they are pretty close to making it a full-time job for themselves. They're based in Huntington Beach right now, and if we click, he offered me a chance to crash at his apartment.”

“Wow... so, you're going to be on your way,” I say, shaking my head. “Well, we won't be that far apart, I guess. I mean, LA City U is close to Hollywood, as soon as you guys land a studio gig you're going to be getting pulled up there too, right?”

“Yeah, I suppose. Hey, speaking of LACU, isn't Duane Phillips also heading there?” Rocky asks, smirking. “I saw you two dancing at the prom.”

“Well, you know, he just kinda came up and since you were on stage, I was trying to be nice...” I stammer, but Rocky cuts me off.

“Any chance you and him might spark some?” he asks teasingly, and my heart shatters in my chest again. He just doesn't see me that way. He doesn't see that the whole time I was dancing with Duane, I wanted it to be Rocky in my arms. That it hurt me afterward when Rocky didn't want to dance anymore, and that the reason I was quiet when he took me home was because I didn't want to act like a total girl and start crying about it all. He thinks… he thinks I'm just a friend.

What the hell do I say to that? “No... I don't think so,” I finally choke out, glad that at least there are some shadows down here. I gotta roll the dice, try to be more forward. “You know Rock... you've been the closest thing I've ever had to a boyfriend all through high school.”

“You always are gonna be special to me, Muse,” Rocky says, but in that same tone, the tone that says pure friend zone. “Hell, you and I, you're my sister from another mister. I'm going to hold you to that promise. We're gonna make a million dollars together; you behind the boards, me on the mic.”

“Yeah... yeah, I guess so,” I whisper, giving up. He just doesn't see me that way, not now, not before, maybe not ever. And I won't have a chance to see him much after tonight. I want to force the issue and grab him by the cheeks and kiss him the way I’ve always wanted to… but I can't. “Hey Rocky, you mind if we start to head back? I guess graduation and all, it just took more outta me today than I thought.”

“Yeah, no problem,” Rocky says, turning around on the path. We walk up the trail in silence, I just can't trust myself to not start crying if I say anything, and Rocky's already thinking ahead to this meeting with Ian, whoever he is. We hit the sidewalk, and get to the front of his house, where the streetlights illuminate my car.

“So... Rocky,” I say, trying one last time. “Rocky... I don't want to stop seeing you.”

“You won't, you know that, Muse,” Rocky says lightly. “Come on, we're staying in LA County, it's nothing. But you don't worry about me, you just keep busting your butt. You're gonna be someone's dynamite producer, Cora. Just keep grinding, and being that super-smart chica I know you are.”

I swallow. “I... I want to be your producer,” I finally work out, trying to say what I want to say but I just can't, I don't have the guts. “I want to work side by side with you.”

“We will,” Rocky promises. “You just take care of yourself, Muse. We'll see each other again.”

He reaches out and gives me a hug, but I can feel it even in the way he hugs me... I'm just his 'sister' to him. We might as well have bro-hugged the way he feels about me. He pats me on the back even and steps back, letting me get in my car. “Hey, I'll give you a call tomorrow or something, as soon as I get a chance to talk with Ian, see how the connection is. We'll get together sometime before you start school, right?”

“Right,” I say, sniffling and starting my engine. I drive away before Rocky can see me totally break down, and start to head home. I'm about three-quarters of the way there before I can't do it anymore, and I see that I'm close to SHS. On a whim, I pull into the student parking lot, shutting off my engine and crying hard. I don't know how long the storm lasts, but when it ends, I feel empty. My heart is cursing me for being a coward, unable to tell Rocky that I love him.

“Coward,” I curse myself in the rearview mirror. I curse the blue eyes that are staring back at me in the parking lot lights, the eyes of the lost little girl who can't even tell the boy she loves how she feels about him. “Fucking coward.”

The words cause me to start crying again, but it's shorter, and I see something in my mirror again. It's my school bag, I never took it out of my back seat, and I grab it, pulling it open. It's pretty empty, but inside I see the pad of paper that I would use for writing music stuff in, a composition book that was useful for notes. I find an empty page about half way through, along with the Flair pen that I used, too.

I get out of my car and sit on the trunk. It's facing the school, and the light from the security lamp overhead lets me see better. I uncap my pen and focus. If I wanted to write to Rocky… what would I say? It takes me a minute, but then it comes to me, and my pen moves, almost on its own.

When I finish it, I think about tearing it up. It's cheesy, it's sappy, it's everything that Rocky and I have joked about being some of the worst rock in history. “Then again,” I whisper as I cap my pen and put the notebook away, “Jim Steinman made careers for Meat Loaf and Bonnie Tyler out of this stuff.”

I re-read it and recognize it for what it is. It's what I've wanted to say to Rocky for years, and it's honest. Maybe someday I'll be able to actually say it to him. Nodding to myself, I close my notebook and put it in my backpack, and start up my car. There's still the summer, right? Maybe there's a chance I'll find the guts to let him read this.

Rocky-Five Years Later

“Wasn't that a great show, folks?” the guest host of The Tonight Show asks the audience, who are applauding wildly. “Of course, tonight, let's give it up to our guests Emma Watson, Christian McCaffery, and tonight's special musical guests, Rocky Blake, Joey Rivera, and Ian Ivory, the Fragments! Rocky, would you and the Fragments play us out?”

I give the host a nod and turn to the guys, giving Ian a thumb’s up. “Okay guys, just like we jammed,” I say, turning back to the camera as Ian starts the beat on his drums. Joey picks up the classic theme on his guitar, doing the hard notes while I get to just look cool playing essentially the backing riffs while vamping a bit for the camera. It's just the closing credits theme, we're having a bit of fun, and when the director gives us the cut signal I take us out with a bit of flare for the live audience as Ian drops a short solo on his drums. “Thank you, New York City!”

The roughly two-hundred-person live studio audience applauds well, and while it isn't quite the normal crowd we play to, it was a good set. More importantly, it was our first national network television exposure, maybe pushing us out of the niche audiences that we've been playing for the past five years.

“Great job guys,” the guest host, a former NFL player, says as he shakes hands with all of us, which is cool. The names Ian Ivory and Joey Rivera might not be as well-known with the fans as Rocky Blake, but we're a band, and I'm not Diana Ross or Beyoncé.

“Thanks. And thanks for the little dance there during Slam the Floor,” I reply, laughing at the image of a formerly three-hundred-pound man doing the splits in an Armani suit while we jammed. “You sure you didn't pull anything?”

“Yoga. Lots and lots of yoga since retirement,” the host jokes. “Thanks again guys, I hope you can make it out to New York again.”

He leaves, and the three of us go backstage, where Martha Mellors, our publicist and manager, is waiting. “Nice job guys,” she says, giving all three of us hugs. “Joey, I already got three production assistants who want your phone number.”

Joey, who wears his near buzz-cut black hair slightly spiked up, is definitely the 'dark and mysterious' one of the group, but it's allowed me to be more myself too. I don't have to be anything other than myself, which I appreciate. It's not an act either, Joey's totally into his Puerto Rican goth look too, at least on stage. Off stage, he looks more like the sweet, nerdy kid you'd want to take home to introduce to Mom, honestly.

Totally Joey though, instead of being like most of the musicians I've met since joining the Fragments, he blushes and shakes his head. “Come on Martha, you know I just want to get back to the hotel and chill. After last night at CBGBs and now the Tonight Show, I just want to get some sleep.”

“All right, but two of those girls were certifiable nines,” Martha teases. She's in her normal professional gear, a fitted pantsuit that shows off her slender figure, her hair done in a bob, looking all dark, smoky, and intense around the eyes. She kinda looks like a prim Joan Jett in a business suit, and she's smart enough about the whole scene that she's been a godsend to the Fragments. Still, she likes to tease Joey, who is nowhere near the dangerous tatted up bad boy that he looks like. Of the three of us, I'm the one that went through the biggest 'bad boy' stage, until a year and a half ago.

“Well... yeah, but I think I'm going to go hang out or something a little,” he says, disappearing down the hallway. Before turning the corner, he stops and calls back. “Hey, Rocky, you wanna join me? I was thinking of going up on the roof, getting some shots with my new camera.

“Intriguing, but I'll take a pass Joey,” I reply. “I'm gonna hit up the fitness center. You know, the look and all.”

Joey shrugs, he understands. Getting back into good shape and not just depending on my genetics helped pull me out of my bad days. When we get back to Cali, he'll be right there next to me down at Equinox across from the beach, making sure he's looking the part too. But as the guitarist and not the front man, he's not as worried about his image. “All right compadre. Just don't forget to breathe in between gigs, you know?”

Ian's already gone back to the dressing room, he's probably gonna hit the bed back at the hotel even before I get my workout started. Maybe he gets his arms from all the damn drumming, but I do know that Ian Ivory loves his sleep. Soon, it's just me and Martha, and I turn around, looking at the now mostly empty studio. “So, you liked it?”

“I still wish you'd done a re-cap of Slam the Floor instead of that campy exit music, but it came off well,” Martha says, tapping at her tablet. The only thing she's missing from her power executive look is some glasses, but when I asked her about it, she said that glasses don't go with her eye makeup. Whatever. “Hey, did you see what TMZ is saying about you?”

“What is it this time?” I groan, my mood ruined. Two gigs in New York, two great receptions, that's what I want to focus on. Not something that the tabloid vultures want to publish. I don't quite get the press that A-listers do, but I get enough that I don't like them very much. “Did they mix up me buying a Coke at a convenience store with buying coke from a dealer again?”

Martha laughs and shows me her tablet. “Nope... apparently, you were a very bad boy last night.”

I look at the headline, groaning again. Fragments Heart-throb Slamming More Then the Floor! it reads, with a fuzzy picture of me being approached by a groupie outside the club as we were leaving. Martha's got a shark-like grin on her face. To her, the adage 'there is no such thing as bad publicity' is very, very true. “What do you think?”

“I think they misspelled 'than,' and it's total crap,” I say, passing it back. “Come on, Martha, you know exactly what happened. She came up mostly drunk, hit on me, and I blew her off. You were right there beside me, you'd be in the picture if it wasn't such a tight damn crop. It's not like I asked her to pull her top down and show me her tits.”

“They weren't all that impressive a tit job anyway,” Martha deadpans, trying to inject some humor. I'm not that easily swayed, and I turn around, shaking my head. “Come on Rock, I was trying to joke. You know that every single celeb rocker has groupies, and they gotta deal with shit like this. And with that little patch you had a while back, you're easy fodder. So, what are you stressing about?”

I don't answer her and head back to the changing room. Martha follows right behind, she has apparently no problems seeing me strip down to my underwear. I'd protest, except I don't think she'd stop, and she's at least professional the whole time about it, she hasn't hit on me in my skivvies ever. I'm only changing shirts anyway, I performed in jeans today. Although if it'd get her to stop, I'd try going commando under my jeans sometime.

Ian's stretched out on the sofa in the changing room, already chilling out with his eyes closed. I can tell from his body language that he's not asleep, while Joey's pulled on a sweatshirt and leather jacket, trying to look more anonymous. He's got his look down too, you'd never think with long sleeves, some baggier clothes, and the eyeliner off that the nice, normal looking Puerto Rican guy sitting down in front of the makeup mirror is actually Joey Rivera. Ian opens his eyes just as Joey gets up, looking him over. “Just make sure you keep that ID badge on your jacket man. Security's going to mistake you for some geek off the street.”

“Not everyone's six foot six like you, Ian. You sure they don't need someone to play the Predator in the remake they're doing back home?” Joey jokes, making Ian blow a raspberry. “Nah, it's no sweat. I asked. They'll call me a cab to get back to the hotel so it's all good.”

I flop down in a chair, causing Joey to stop. “Yo, what's wrong Rock? Figured you'd still be buzzing from the set.”

“Yeah… not so much the TMZ story,” I sigh. “Show 'em, Martha.”

Martha passes her tablet to Joey, who passes it to Ian before Ian sets it on the table, not bothering to actually sit up enough to pass it back to Martha. The guys say nothing, so Martha speaks up first after a few seconds. “Okay, well, I'll have to give the folks back in LA a call about it either way. And I've got a little bit of paperwork to get taken care of with the Lorne Michaels people, so I'll see you guys back at the hotel. Just remember, we fly back to LA tomorrow, so don't be out all night. I'd prefer to not have to chase you guys down.”

Martha leaves finally, and in the silence, I sit forward, rubbing at my eyes. “Fuck, I don't want this.”

“Want what?” Ian asks, sitting up finally. “It's the price of fame, man. And let’s face it, this is nothing compared to what Jagger or the others go through.”

“Yeah, well, we're not making Jagger money, and I sure as hell am not doing Jagger level bullshit,” I protest. “I just want to make good music, not this celeb scandal shit.”

“Not everyone can get by on just cute looks and a unique sound though,” Ian reminds me. “Hell, we're not BabyMetal.”

I laugh, thinking of the time we met the three Japanese cuties backstage at Rockfest in Seattle. “Those three are a trip, though. But yeah, we're not BabyMetal.”

“Thank Jesus for that,” Joey comments, grinning for a moment before growing serious and patting me on the back. “Hey, don't sweat it. Really, man. If you were actually doing half the shit that these pendejos say that you do, we'd be pissed. But we've been together for five years, you know? You've got your head screwed on right, so chill out. We got your back.”

“Thanks, Joey,” I say sincerely, giving him a grin. “Now, go get your photos or maybe talk to a cute assistant. You know, show her that you're more than just Rivera Dark.”

Joey gives me a smirk about his joke of a moniker and leaves the dressing room. I stand up and peel off my shirt, waiting for Ian to say something. He usually does, but he picks his spots. There's a reason me and Joey sometimes call him Yoda. “Well?”

“Joey said what needed to be said,” Ian says, stretching out again. “From day one that we met, I knew you had your shit together. A week after high school graduation, and you're not out there trying to slay pussy, you're focused on rocking. And since then you've tried to find real people to connect with as well, man. Every girlfriend you've had, you broke it off with her because you're not just looking for an easy fuck. I've tagged more groupies than you have, in fact. I still owe you for that Playboy girl who you turned down. Can I ask you a question, Rock?”

“Shoot, big man,” I reply, pulling out my Batman t-shirt shirt that Joey got me for my birthday and pulling it on. “What's on your mind?”

“This scandal, the others, why are you letting them get to you so much? I mean honestly, man. You know the game in LA, you get press any way you can. And if you don't have something for them to try and tear you down with, they'll make up some shit to try and tear you down with instead. You just happen to be the lead singer of the group, so you get the most press. Nobody gives a damn what I do, I'm just the drummer in the back. As long as I don't actually go out and murder someone, nobody gives a fuck about me.”

“I know, I know. Just... when I started dreaming about being a rock singer, Ian, you know what my dreams were? They weren't of groupies, or of scandals, or of any of the tabloid crap like that. I didn't care about the money. Well, okay, I liked the idea of being rich. But what I wanted to do was make music that made people smile. It was all about the music. I dreamed of playing at Wembley like Queen did, or at some of the big music festivals, not because of the paydays but because I wanted to entertain that many people. For me, the idea of gold and platinum records means we're reaching out and touching people, not that we're getting groupies or any of that extra crap.”

Ian nods before sitting up. He opens his eyes and sees that I've changed my clothes. “I know, Rock. And who knows, maybe we'll get to that point someday. In the meantime though, we gotta deal with the paparazzi.”

I shake my head. “That's the problem, man. Think about it. How many groups got a little bit of fame because of shit like this, and got derailed because of the drama? Where's the Verve now? What about The White Stripes? The Blood Brothers? The Black Crowes? Hell, those are some good fucking bands that got shattered by the stupid fucking scandals! And those are just the ones who really made it big once! What about the ones who never quite made it?”

“Not all that drama was external for them though,” Ian reminds me. “Rocky, the Crowes were killed internally, same with the Stripes. You, me and Joey, we're still copacetic, so you don't have to sweat it.”

“Yeah well, how long is that going to stay?” I worry. “What happens if one day you or Joey gets pissed because of one of these stupid scandals?”

“Then we'll deal with it then,” Ian says, getting up off the couch. “In the meantime, you've got some stress to work off, and I've got a Tempurpedic mattress to crash on. And Martha's going to think the two of us might not be interested in girls as much as the scandal sheets say if we stay in here alone much longer.”

His humor makes me smile, and I grab my bag and jacket. “Okay, okay. Back to the hotel, it is.”

* * *

Thankfully for me, the hotel gym is enough for me to get a sweat on and to lose some stress. Sure, it's not Equinox, but it's got a StairMaster and enough stuff that I can get a workout in. I'm about fifteen minutes into my cardio, sweat dripping down my torso and under the loose tank top that I'm wearing when Martha comes in, still in her pantsuit. I pull the bud out of my right ear and give her a once over. “Don't you ever change clothes?”

“Sure,” she says, coming around in front of the machine so I don't have to turn my neck, “I change clothes all the time. But I'm still working, you know. Anyway, I talked with the label, they want to capitalize off this spot on The Tonight Show\ and the gigs at Rock the Delta and CBGBs. What do you say to some studio time?”

I grin and pop out my left earbud, letting the electro-violin I'm listening to fade. “Studio work? They want another EP?”

“They want a whole LP album,” Martha corrects me. I'm stunned and miss a step on the machine for a second before catching my rhythm again. “Yep, they want to upgrade you guys to a premier act. And maybe a headlining shot on your next tour dates. No more opening for the acts who pack the stadium, but peaked years ago.”

“Whoa. I mean, we've got some material we've been head gaming on, but this is awesome. When do they want to start?” I ask, still pumping away with my legs on the StairMaster. “And where do they want to do it? Oceanside Studios again?”

Martha shakes her head, tapping at her tablet. “No, they're trying to get a hot new producer they want to pair you guys with. Apparently, she's been doing guest spots with various studio acts, to the point that she's getting the attention of the label itself. I listened to some of the stuff they sent of hers. She's got good chops. Nothing famous yet, action movie soundtracks, some padding work on pop albums, but for what she's been given to work with, she turns shit into shinola more often than not. They didn't gimme her name, but they're wanting to bring her in, giving her a shot with you guys, she has apparently been bugging to get work in the rock genre.”

“So, where?” I repeat. “And when?”

“Burbank, by the airport at the main Gashouse studios, and as for when... they said next month. They want the Fragments to finish up your concert dates in San Fran and Oakland; take a couple weeks off to get your heads right, and then hit the studio hard. What do you say?” Martha says, her smirk saying she knows the answer even before I say it.

“I say that it's the best news all day. I could kiss you.”

Martha laughs, walking away. “You know some day, I might just take you up on that offer. For now, get your sweat on, and I'll tell the other guys... if Ian's awake. Hey, have you said anything to him about not sleeping naked?”

I laugh and grab my earbuds, putting them to listen to music that gets my mind off the ache building in my calves as I go into the last five minutes of my StairMaster routine.

Cora

“B says buh and C says cuh, D says duh and E says eh....” Bella sings with me as we play with her dolls. I'm always shocked at just how intelligent my daughter is, just past three and a half and she's got most of the alphabet memorized both visually and phonetically. Knowing her, she's going to be reading by the time she turns four.

We finish up the song while putting clothes on Missy and Jazzy, Bella's two favorite dolls, and put them to bed in their little house. It's not a lot, the walls of each room are made from shoeboxes and the furniture isn't the right size for the two dolls, but Bella and I built it together, covering the sides with pink contact paper and decorating it with plenty of little stickers that make it unique and totally Bella. I sit back and give it a once over. “What do you think, honey? Think Missy and Jazzy are safe for the night?”

“Uh huh, Mommy,” Bella says, rubbing at her eyes and yawning. She's still got hair that is mostly blond, although I figure that she'll start to go brown soon enough. After all, her father was a brunette, not that I've seen him in four years. Once he found out that I was pregnant with Bella, he bounced pretty quickly. “I'm sleepy too.”

“Okay baby, then how about I read you a book while you get yourself comfortable in bed?” I ask, standing up and taking her by the hand. Our apartment is tiny, only a one bedroom, but that's okay, Bella doesn't mind sleeping with her Mommy still. “What would you like to hear tonight?”

“Elsa!” Bella immediately says, and I have to control the roll of my eyes. She's a little girl, of course she's going to love Frozen.

“Elsa, it is then,” I say, scooping her up and setting her in her spot on the bed. Not that Bella will stay there. It's the main reason I got rid of the box springs and we just have the mattress now, she can't hurt herself falling from eight inches up.

“Mommy?” Bella asks as I tuck the blanket around her, sitting down on the carpet next to the bed and opening the book. “Do you ever miss Daddy?”

“Daddy?” I ask, surprised. While I've never lied to Bella about who her father is, she's never met him. And I've never tried to demonize him, I just ignore him for the most part. “No honey, why?”

“Well, Lemondrop was talking about her Daddy the other day when you were at work,” Bella says, referring to one of her classmates at the daycare that's close to the studio where I'm working right now. Hollywood types, they never cease to amaze me with their ability to screw up names for children. “She says that she misses him while he's in Tanazia.”

“Tanzania, honey. And Lemon's got a different situation than us,” I reply. “Maybe someday we'll find a man who is good enough to be your Daddy, but for now… no, I don't miss your father.”

“Okay,” Bella says sweetly, smiling. “Maybe he can be like Kristoff?”

“Better than Olaf,” I tease, giving Bella a kiss on the forehead. “Now... let's see... Far away, in the kingdom of Arendale...”

Bella's asleep by the time that the snowman even makes an appearance, and I give her another kiss on the forehead. I make sure she's okay before I shut off the lamp next to the bed and go out to the other room of our place. I've lived here since Bella's birth, and while it's small, it's home. Mom and Dad understand, and they're more than happy to have me drop Bella off whenever I need to, but more importantly, they are supportive of me trying to make it on my own too.

The first thing I do when I get to the other room is to go through the mail. Electricity, gas, the Internet... I can pay those online tonight before I go to bed. Junk, junk, junk.... ah, I've been looking for this. “Well, hello again, Duane Phillips,” I mutter to myself, slicing open the envelope and taking out the money order inside. “Still doing it the hard way I see?”

I chuckle and set the money order on top of my backpack, I can drop it off at the bank tomorrow. As much as I love Bella, having sex with Duane Phillips has literally been the most disappointing experience of my life. After leaving high school, and seeing Rocky pretty much get caught up right off the bat with his new band, I was lonely and desperate. A chance meeting at LACU where he brought up the prom dance again, a little bit of drinking at a party, and boom... instant pregnancy.

I remember asking him explicitly to deal with it the time the burning issue of my virginity came up. And we did do it again, so I can't really be sure if it was the night I lost my virginity, or the night a week later when Duane fucked me in the back of his car that got me pregnant. We were trying to be a 'couple,' and that's what couples do, right? They fuck.

Not that Duane wanted to continue as being a couple once I missed a couple of periods and figured out I was pregnant. Duane was a drunken mistake, followed by an immature girl's attempt to try and put a band-aid on that mistake. Thankfully, his parents are high profile enough that all I had to do was threaten to go to the courts and get him labeled as a deadbeat dad before they signed a private child support agreement right away. Okay, so maybe if I'd fought a little harder, I could have gotten quite a bit more than I'm currently getting. But then I'd have had to worry about lawyers, custody agreements, and all that shit. Duane's off the hook, and if he wants to be a little childish himself by sending his thousand a month via certified money order instead of a simple electronic bank payment, I can still use the money.

I glance at the clock and see that it's only nine o'clock, I'm feeling just fine after getting some work done. I go over to my home computer setup and load up my current project. With Bella's birth, my hopes for a four-year degree were cut short, and I used a two-year degree from LACU to start getting unpaid internships with the local music and film studios. I spent a year scraping change out from between the sofa cushions, getting food stamps, and not turning down a single offered free munchie from anyone at any studio before I started making a name for myself. The money's still not great, but I'm starting to get better work.

Work like my current project. Sure, it's a cheesy action flick. Sure, the tracks that I've been handed were recorded in a total of two days by two different studio bands. But with a little bit of work, I've gotten something halfway decent out of the eight tracks of utter dogshit that I was handed. I managed to pull seven usable songs out, mixing it with some backing tracks from the studio sessions.A little mix-n-match, some tweaking, and I've got all but one of the ten tracks that the studio wants ready.

Best of all, I can do all the work for this on my home setup. If I turn in something that can be taken from a 128 kB/sec Mp3 compression and laid into the movie, the studio's more than happy with it. I even upgrade it a little, going with a better compression.

It takes a little searching, a little equalizing and some stretching, but by the time that eleven thirty rolls around, I'm happy with the results. I compile the song and save everything to the burnable Blu-Ray that I'm using for this project and back it up on my external hard drive. It’s a habit I picked up after I got stiffed by an indie studio for a project, saying that I didn't do what I said I did and disappearing with the data. Without data backups, I was out twelve hundred dollars, and Bella had to eat nothing but Grandma's leftovers and mac n’ cheese for a week. Never again.

I'm not tired as I stand up and I decide to turn on the TV. I don't watch much, but the cable is included in the deal for this place, so I sometimes catch the news or some of the late-night shows. I flip channels until I land on KNBC, where the guest host is in the middle of his introduction.

“All right folks, tonight we've got a killer, killer show lined up for ya!” the former NFL player says. “First, here to talk about her new movie where she's certainly showing a side of her that we've not seen before, we've got a sit down with the lovely and beautiful Emma Watson!”

The studio cheers and the host holds his hands up. “That's what I said too when I showed up for work today. In fact, I told my wife, and her reply was that if I didn't keep my hands to myself... well, let's just say there'd be a wizard short of his wand tomorrow morning.”

Okay, even I had to chuckle at that one. The host continues. “Also, straight off a season that has a lot of people comparing him to another handsome face who played in the NFL… seriously, I don't know who that could be... Christian McCaffery!”

Not as much of a round of applause, but I can understand. He played at Stanford, a lot of the New York audience probably wasn't familiar with him. Still, he's a good-looking, clean-cut player, the type of poster boy the League office loves. Okay, looking better.

“And finally, y'all, our musical guests tonight, taking over for the Tonight Show band while Jimmy’s on vacation. When I was asked to guest host, I asked NBC to line up something hot as you guys have seen. Something just a little bit different than what y'all might be used to. Something that rocks. And boy, did they deliver. So tonight, for one night only, our special guest band who has guaranteed me to play their hit single Slam the Floor, the Fragments!”

I sit up, nearly dropping the remote as Rocky and the other two members of his band are shown on screen. My God. Five years. Five years and barely a word from Rocky. I can't blame him really. After that promise to hang out all summer, he and the Fragments were working the roads hard. Not only playing gigs all over southern California but also out in Arizona, New Mexico... anywhere that they could get noticed. With all of that, getting together was impossible over the summer, and then once school started, I had classes. Daily e-mails became every other day, became every week or so, became... Well, the story's one that lots of people have told over the years, just the technology changes.

When I got pregnant with Bella, I wasn't even sure how to tell him. How do you tell the man that you wrote the best piece of work you've ever done for, that you went out a few months later, half drunk, and got yourself pregnant? So, after giving birth, I just kind of... stopped. But I didn't stop thinking about him. Every time he and the Fragments have gotten press, I've checked it out. A lot of it over the past two years or so have been scandals, Rocky's gotten himself a reputation, as one tabloid website calls him, of being 'rock's newest fallen angel.' There's something about all the press though that just doesn't jive with the Rocky Blake I went to junior high school and high school with.

Then again, five years can change people. The girl I was had been too afraid to show Rocky a sheet of paper with some poetry, poetry that in her dreams she wanted to set to music for him. I still keep that notebook in my backpack, in an inside pocket that I use to remind myself of who I was, to motivate myself to stick to my dreams. Also to remember the mistakes I made. The woman I am now, she's stronger and more cautious. Maybe Duane Phillips gave me a gift in addition to Bella.

“Up next guys, after the commercial break, Rocky Blake, Joey Rivera, and Ian Ivory sit down with us for a little bit before giving us a few songs off their latest EP along with their hit single Slam the Floor,” the guest host of The Tonight Show says, before Joey plays a little guitar riff that takes them out to commercial. Huh, I've been so focused on my reflection of the past, that I missed Emma Watson's interview. Ah well, I was never a Harry Potter fan anyway.

My phone buzzes and I'm glad that I've got it perma-set on vibrate. Music people run weird hours, and with that, they tend to forget that three-year-olds go to sleep when they're just starting work sometimes. At least I'm not in New York, I've heard that some of the West Coast people will call at one in the morning LA time, forgetting that on the East Coast that it's four. “This is Cora Clearwater.”

“Hi, this is Larry Olson, with Gashouse Records. How are you tonight, Miss Clearwater?”

Gashouse Records. I've heard of them, they're in the same 'cloud' as a lot of my projects. Despite the plethora of studio names running around Hollywood, the reality is that most of the studios, radio stations, movie makers, television and more are owned by the Big Six conglomerates. While I've never directly worked for Gashouse, we've shared 'clouds' before, a lot of the movies and the indie pop work I've done are under labels associated with the same cloud as Gashouse. I wonder what he wants?

“I'm doing okay, Mr. Olson. Just finishing up a movie project that someone asked me to do. How can I help you tonight?”

Olson's got a melodic voice, he sounds like maybe back in the eighties he used to be a radio deejay, although now he sounds like he's spent too many days sitting in an office and not behind a mic. “Are you watching TV right now, Miss Clearwater? An act of ours is playing The Tonight Show. The Fragments, have you heard of them?”

“You could say that,” I say, trying not to smile. I've never name-dropped Rocky in any professional conversation, but then again, you'd have to be pretty lazy to not recognize that I graduated from the same high school and in the same year as Rocky. “In fact, I've got the show on right now. Good group.”

“Well, we here at Gashouse think that the Fragments can be the next big thing in mainstream rock. Slam the Floor is good. It's gotten them noticed, but we really need to bring it and stop with this EP bullshit. I've greenlighted a full LP for them. And after listening to some the work you’ve done, I think you're the person that I want to produce the thing,” Olson says. “What do you say?”

“You... the whole thing?” I ask, shocked. “I mean, wow, Mr. Olson. How many tracks are you looking at?”

“Probably twelve to fifteen. The boys have two or three that they laid down over at Oceanside Studios, stuff that missed the cut for Slam, but they could be filler for the album. So, that means maybe ten to twelve tracks you might have a hand in. I'll be the executive producer of course, but it'll be your board, your name as the main producer. If you gel with them, of course.”

“Of course,” I say shakily. “Mr. Olson... wow. Sorry, I know I sound like an idiot, but this is a lot to lay on my plate at midnight. Gimme a minute to process. You want me to work as the lead producer for most of the album? Lead single too?”

“We'll make that decision later after the tracks are laid,” Olson says. “But basically, yeah. I know it's a lot to put on your shoulders, Miss Clearwater, but the word from some of my friends is that you're looking for work in the rock genre, you've got the skills, and you are hungry. What do you say?”

“I say when?” I reply, grinning.

“How's two weeks from now sound?” Olson says. “I want to give them a few weeks off to make sure their batteries are recharged to really get this going. If this album takes off the way that I think it can, they're going to be going balls to the wall for the next six months to a year or more, and I want fresh stars, not burned out supernovas. So, you got two weeks with some house musicians to lay the basic background and dubbing tracks, then the Fragments do their first sessions a month from tomorrow.”

“That sounds absolutely great, Mr. Olson. Send me the address for Gashouse, and I'll stop by tomorrow to talk details with you. Thank you very much.” I'm grinning ear to ear, and as Rocky finishes up his last verse on Slam the Floor, I can't help it, I'm excited. This is my big break.

“Call me Larry, and thank you, Miss Clearwater. I'll see you tomorrow.”

He hangs up, and I look at Rocky on the television. A month. “I wonder…” I muse, looking at Rocky's handsome face, still so much like the face that I loved five years ago. He's even got that same half-smirk when he wraps up a song, the smirk that used to make my stomach flutter and make me very conscious of the space between my thighs. Actually, that hasn't changed all that much, he's still sexy as hell. And my stomach is fluttering some. “I guess we're gonna find out.”

Rocky

The parking lot outside Gashouse Studios is, as always, about half full, with two types of vehicles there. On one side, what I've always called the money side, the vehicles of the acts or the people who have made their impact in music. Gashouse isn't quite as big time as some of the labels, so there aren't any Bentleys or Lambos, but still, the money side is rolling some pretty serious six-figure vehicles.

On the other side, you've got the 'hood. Used cars that look like they've got their mufflers held on with twisted coat hangers and rear windows closed with chunks of duct tape and clear plastic. These are the cars that belong to the folks who are just trying to make it, still hoping to make their impact. Of course, there's the third group, the folks who can't even afford a 'hooptie' at all and come in on the bus that stops a block away from Gashouse.

At least I'm good enough for the 'hood, my six-year-old Nissan which is solid, if not flashy. And it's got all its glass and paint still in working condition, although I can't say the same for the heater. Thankfully, Southern California doesn't need heaters in the car, the worst I had was one day I wore a sweatshirt and drove with the hood up over my ears.

I've spent most of the past month either back at home with Mom and Dad in Simi, walking through the canyon, or on the beach, watching the waves and just reflecting, recharging. I've been trying to lay low, and I've intentionally avoided everyone with the music business other than Joey, Ian, and once or twice Martha. I haven't visited any clubs, I haven't been to any jam sessions, and I've just been getting my head right after the good and bad of Slam the Floor.

Joey and I also did a lot of workouts over at Equinox and in Muscle Beach.

It was just what I needed, being able to reconnect with real people. Keeping a hat on, I could blend in most of the time, especially at Muscle Beach. Inside the cage, most of the homies don't do rock, rap is the name of the game, and a white boy from Simi Valley doesn't stand out around there except for the fact that I'm not from Venice. There were a few girls who recognized Joey and me at Equinox, but the staff there handled them well enough, and Los Angelinos have learned a certain sort of feigned nonchalance, most won't approach you in the gym unless you're in 'civvies'. Either way, I'm excited, and I'm ready to lay some tracks. I've got plenty of good ideas to add to the corporate-written stuff that they e-mailed me. Even that, some of it's good.

I find Martha in the lobby of Gashouse, amazingly not dressed in a pantsuit but instead in a skirt and fitted top. “Hey Rocky, how was the vacation?”

“Needed,” I reply, shaking her offered hand. “Where are the guys?”

“Got here early. Apparently, Ian's an early riser, no wonder he sleeps so much at night. They're in the studio going through sound checks with the producer. Larry was able to get the girl that he wanted. Were you able to go over the lyrics that I sent you?” Martha asks, and I show her the pile of printouts. “Great. What did you think?”

“There's some potential here. I really liked Gimme Danger and Pieces of Forever. What's the producer think?” I ask, walking down the hallway with Martha. A plane goes overhead, heading for the Burbank Airport, rattling the pictures on the walls, and I look up. “Jesus. They really record here?”

“The studios are totally soundproofed. If Godzilla decides to stomp around Los Angeles, the first sign you're going to get is when the wall explodes in on you,” Martha jokes. “But the producer said there's some decent potential. She wants to know if you've got some stuff, I told her you usually do, and Ian and Joey already said they have some ideas for composition too. Come on, let's get to work.”

She opens the door to the studio, walking in where I see Joey and Ian finishing up a little impromptu riffing, Ian nailing a pretty awesome double bass drum solo just as I step in. “Yo, guys.”

“If it ain't the Rock, back from the depths of hell,” Ian jokes. “Hey Rocky, meet our producer. Cora, this is Rocky, the ugly Fragment.”

I turn towards the producer's booth, shocked to see the same strawberry blond hair, pulled back into that high, sort of spunky ponytail I remember from five years ago. I drop my backpack and head towards the booth, Cora getting up from her chair to greet me. “Rocky... it's been a long time.”

I go with my gut, grabbing Cora's hand and pulling her into a hug, picking her up like I used to when things went right in the garage and swing her around in a tight little circle, squeezing tight. “Oh, my God. Cora, is it really you?”

“It's really me,” Cora says, pounding on my back. “Jesus, dude, you've gotten stronger. My ribs, my ribs!”

“What are you doing here? Martha said some young hotshot producer, but... really, you?” I ask, trying not to grin like an idiot. Our shot at the big time, and Cora's on board? This has to be karma.

“Really me,” Cora reassures me, then looks over my shoulders, blushing and grinning. “I guess you guys are wondering what the hell we're talking about?”

“Not really,” Ian grumbles, but his eyes are sparkling with amusement. “I wondered when you told me your name, but I wasn't sure.”

“Well, I'd like to know what the fuck you two are going on about,” Martha says indignantly, and I turn, seeing her standing with her arms crossed and her foot tapping. “I mean, that's one hell of an intro to a new producer.”

“Sorry,” I apologize, turning and putting an arm around Cora's shoulders. It's been five years, but damn if it doesn't feel like I had my arm here just yesterday. “Martha, Cora and I went to high school together. In some ways, you could say that she's the reason the Fragments even exists. Her promotion of my high school band on YouTube and a bunch of other stuff is the reason Ian invited me to hook up.”

Martha looks intrigued, but at the same time miffed. “You guys couldn't have told me?”

Cora shrugs, taking my hand off her shoulder. “Well, I wasn't really sure how to tell the label. Besides, just think of it like an old collabo remixed. Don't worry, I won't do the Sequoia High fight song anytime soon.”

I laugh, but Martha still looks unsure. “Seriously, Martha, this girl right here got some of the best stuff out of me when I was a teenager. You take her skills and put them together with Joey and Ian's licks and we're gonna have platinum on our hands and gold in our bank accounts.”

“All right, all right, I'll trust you,” Martha says, sighing. “Listen, I got some PR work to do anyway, I've gotta jet. If I find time, I'll stick my head in the booth to listen in some later.”

Martha takes off, and I give Cora a look, grinning. “Don't sweat it, Martha's almost always two inches short of bitch mode with new people. It takes time for her to warm to people.”

“Yeah, she just started warming to Rocky himself last year,” Joey jokes, and the four of us laugh. “So, Rock, what do you want to work on?”

“Well, Gimme Danger looked pretty simple, and it's a hell of a good way to start a session,” I reply, looking around. “Also, I had a few of my own ideas that I'd like to go over with you when there's some free time in the schedule. What do you guys say? Cora?”

“I've got the backing tracks on Gimme Danger already, so why not?” Cora says, totally professional but with that same smile, I remember on her face. “You think you can remember the words, Rocky?”

I laugh, it's so Cora. The music biz is strange that way. When the Fragments was starting out, we literally carried our own gear backstage, and everyone treated us like we were nothing. But when we did The Tonight Show, a bunch of production assistants and others were running around like I was made of lead crystal, liable to shatter and go off at any second. But Cora... she's honest with me. She's real, something that I don't get often enough.

“Let's see if I can string a lyric or two together,” I say. “You got the house singer to do some prelim work? Pipe it up for us.”

Cora taps at her computer, and we listen over the speakers as the clean party rock sounds of Gimme Danger comes over the speakers. The house band isn't great, Joey's gonna definitely improve on the guitar work, and later, I'll lay my own guitar track, but the vocalist is okay. It gives me something to work with, and I find myself nodding my head when the track's finished. “Nice. Let's get to work.”

It's the best morning of work that I've ever done with the Fragments. In only three hours, Cora's able to work with the three of us to get the lead vocal track, Joey and Ian's background vocals, and even my doubled track that'll maybe used just for the arena version. I think it'll sound better with a female backup singer, but either way, by noon we're all feeling it.

“Holy hell, guys, that's the way to get up in the morning!” Ian says, amazingly excited as he rolls out his wrists. His forearms are pumped, the veins on his biceps standing out he's been working so hard, but he looks ready to go another five hours. “Goddamn, Cora!”

“Thanks, guys,” Cora says with a smirk and a little bit of a blush. “But I think you three need a break. Just saying, I don't need you with carpal tunnel before we get through Rushing the Sky.”

Ian grins and gives a thumb’s up. “Great. Who's up for some lunch?”

“Sorry, I'm gonna stay here, I got a sandwich with me to let me get you guys ready for the afternoon session,” Cora says, smiling. “But thanks. Think you guys can be back at one thirty?”

“Great,” Joey says, and the three of us get ready to leave. As we leave, I hang back and stick my head into Cora's booth.

“Still PB&J?” I ask, smiling.

“Still. You laid it out good this morning, Rock. It's... it's good to see you again.”

Cora's looking at me in that same way she used to, and for some reason, I feel a little warm, and I smile back. “Same here. Hey, you mind if I rush lunch and get back to just catch up with you while you're getting stuff ready for the afternoon?”

Cora smiles, and I realize it's a very pretty smile. Has she always been this pretty? “Take your time, but if you wanna hang for a half hour or so after tonight's session, I wouldn't mind. I just gotta jet by six, there's some stuff I gotta take care of.”

At lunch, Joey and Ian keep giving me looks while the three of us chew our burgers. Finally, I can't take it anymore. “What?”

“You two work together well,” Joey says finally, chewing on a fry. “Seriously, she was making magic all morning.”

“It's just one song guys, come on. I mean yeah, Muse rocks, but you guys didn't look at me that way when we jammed RedPlayer that quick four years ago,” I reply defensively. “Besides, we aren't done yet.”

“Yeah right. Come on man, Gimme Danger is a filler track, maybe a third single if we catch on right, and RedPlayer was nothing but a quick jam that we did on limited studio time,” Ian comments. “She had you going at it like you're laying down a Grammy track. No complaints, no back talk like you did at Oceanside, just a comment, you nod, and you rocked it out. Hell, she practically had you tuned perfectly cold. You two are a good team.”

I take a sip of my tea, I try to limit carbonated or sugared drinks on recording days, and smile, nodding at the long-lost feeling. “We worked together for six years. Even if it was a long time ago, that's all.”

“Uh-huh. Hey, Joey, that's all he says,” Ian quips, turning to look at Joey. “What do you think?”

“Yeah... I'm smelling bullshit,” Joey jokes. “Seriously, man, Cora and you... you two were sparking the whole time, ese. You two ever hook up back in the day?”

“No way! Seriously dude, Cora and I were best friends, she was like a sister. Hell, it hurt like a motherfucker when I realized the two of us had dropped out of touch. But she was just a friend, guys.”

“Right. Well then, lemme tell you... your 'sister' is hot as hell, man. Those eyes of hers? Man, I dream of finding a good woman who'd look at me the way she was lookin' at you. But hey, if she's your sister, she's your sister,” Ian says, finishing off his lunch. “I'm going to grab another burger; you guys want anything?”

“Nah, it'll fuck my vocals if I do,” I reply, sitting back. “We've still got the afternoon session.”

The afternoon session runs a little slower than the morning, but we still make a ton of progress though. Cora excuses herself right at six, saying she can't break the appointment she's got, but that we'll pick everything up in the morning. The guys are good with it, although part of me wishes that we'd had that half hour to talk. Driving home to my apartment, I can't get Cora out of my mind, and when I get inside, I close the door and lock it, sighing as I sit on the couch. My apartment is my space, and looking in on the queen-sized bed, I realize that it’s really nothing more than a place that I sleep.

I've rented this place for two years, ever since I moved out of crashing with Ian, and in the entire two years, I've never had anyone over. No woman has ever been in my bed, I've never even had the guys over to watch a football game. In fact, other than the day that Ian helped me move some stuff in, nobody's been in this apartment. Every girlfriend that I had was over at her place, or in a hotel, or dates in public places. This place... it's been mine alone.

“Face it, man, this place is a fucking monastery cell,” I mutter to the walls, looking around. Hell, I don't even have a rock poster on the wall. White walls, cheap furniture that mostly came with the place, a bed that fits me alone. I think most of the money I've spent has been on the kitchen since I've learned how to cook healthy stuff to maintain my look.

One laptop, one table, and four place settings simply because that was the way they were sold when I picked up the whole damn kit at Target. This is no place for a rock star, that's for sure. But the reality is, being a 'rock star' hasn't been what I wanted it to be. Nobody I can trust, nobody I can really depend on, except for Joey and Ian. And Martha, she's not a friend, but I can depend on her.

But I want more than that. I want a family, a partner, someone I can trust and love. I lean back, just closing my eyes to let my mind play a game I've become too familiar with over the past month. My perfect woman…

Hmmm, while the hair isn't really all that important, for some reason blond is sticking with me tonight, with a sort of heart-shaped face, big ice blue eyes...

I sit up, shocked at where my mind is going. Cora? I mean, like Ian said she is pretty, the five years since we graduated high school has certainly allowed her to mature. She's a bit curvier than she was at eighteen, but still slender, her hips and breasts...

I can't help it, my cock stirs in my pants, and my hand cups my balls, massaging them gently as my mind starts to think of Cora. The way she looked at me, that sparkle in those pretty blue eyes, challenging and supporting and encouraging and amazing all at the same time. The little twist to her lips when we joked together, or the way that she bit her lip when I turned a joke into a little flirt, and the way that she would say my name. So much like when we were in high school, but a woman now, not a girl...

My cock is nearly rock hard and I figure what the hell, why not? She is a woman, and it's not like I'm actually hitting on her. I just need a little relief, that's all. I go to unsnap my pants, and I have my zipper halfway down when my phone rings, and I groan, sitting forward and grabbing it. Martha. “Yeah Martha, what do you want?”

“Hey, Stud, how was the recording today?” she asks, and I can tell she's in 'wheeler and dealer' mode, she never calls me Stud or any pet names unless she's trying to talk me into something.

“Great session, Martha. What do you need?” I ask, my cock wilting in my pants. She may be hot, but she just doesn't do it for me.

“I got you an interview tomorrow with a guy from Kerrang!. They wanted to talk about the new album and some other stuff,” Martha says excitedly. “Kerrang!, Rocky. That's the big time now, baby.”

She's right, Kerrang! is on the cutting edge of rock music. They're the magazine that picks out the new superstars months, if not years, before Rolling Stone or anyone else has the balls to say it.

“You say the new album and 'other stuff.' What other stuff do they want to talk about? The tabloid bullshit?” I ask my cock now totally limp and retreating at full speed up into my body. I really don't need this.

Martha though doesn't seem to get it. “Come on Rock, you know these guys are gonna be pros about it. I even scheduled it for early, eight a.m. You get in, do the interview, and you'll miss at most a half hour of session time. That'll give Joey and Ian a chance to lay their tracks down anyway.”

“I don't know, Martha. I mean, the Fragments is a band. I don't like being singled out like this. Can't we do it as a group?”

Martha sighs, and I can imagine her rubbing her temples on the other side of the line. “Rocky, they don't want to talk to Ian or Joey. You're the front man, you're the guy who gets the glory, you know?”

“Bullshit, Martha. Listen, I'll talk with the guy tomorrow, on one condition. He sits down and does an equal amount of time with Joey and Ian. I can't control what he and his editor publish, but let them know that if they try and twist the story into making me look like some sort of breakout star or other bullshit, I'm blasting them all over Instagram and Twitter and whoever the fuck will listen to me. Make that clear.”

“You're giving me gray hair, Rocky. And I'm only twenty-five. You realize that?” Martha asks, and I know I've won. She always bitches about her looks right before she's going to give in. I think I'm the only person she gives in to at all, so maybe she just bitches that way to me. “Fine, fine. I'll give the guy a call, he might want to make the sit-down time shorter with you because of it though. But he'll give Ian and Joey the same respect. Happy now?”

“Happier. You're the best, Martha,” I tell her, still not happy but I can live with it at least.

“See you in the morning.”

“See you, Rock. Get some rest, they'll probably have a photographer there tomorrow too. Goodnight.”

Martha hangs up, and I shake my head, looking at my phone. This is total bullshit. My mood's ruined, there's no way my cock is feeling frisky now. Well, it's only eight thirty, and Equinox doesn't close for another hour and a half. Joey's probably not up for it, but I could get a quick workout in, make sure I'm looking good for the interview tomorrow. Hell, I might even get to bed by ten o'clock, a record early bedtime for a rock star.

It's better than sitting around this place.

Cora

After only two days of working with Rocky, Ian, and Joey, I'm finding myself amazed at how awesome all three of the guys are. Two days, and we've got one and a half tracks finished. Not worked on, not practiced through... finished.

“Guys, you sure you aren't just yanking my leg over this, and have been playing these for a couple of years?” I ask as we wrap up the work for the afternoon. “Because you're jamming this like it's a normal set for you three.”

“Tag team us with a super producer, and it goes like that,” Rocky says, his smile making my stomach flutter in a once again familiar way. I've spent nearly every minute of the past two days aware of my femininity, or more accurately Rocky's masculinity, and not in a bad way either. He's not demeaning; he's not trying to dominate me or run me down like a lot of guys in the music industry do. It's just when I'm around him, I notice the little things, like the way he closes his eyes when he's really focusing on putting his heart into a verse, or the casual way his arms flex when he's moving.

And I'm noticing myself more too. This morning, Bella even noticed something, asking why I was putting on makeup for a studio session. “You look pretty today Mommy,” she said when I dropped her off at daycare, smiling. “I like your ponytail.”

“That's why you can have the same ponytail, baby,” I replied, giving her a kiss on the forehead and adjusting the band high on her head. “I'll see you after work. I love you.”

Now, coming towards the end of the afternoon session, I'm having the time of my work life. I mean, I'm confident in my skills. My first job as a producer is not to tweak sounds with my board or computer, but instead, to try and get the musicians to give me their best rendition. With the tools available to me, I can make a three-toed sloth on a keyboard sound like the New York Philharmonic's spotlight piano player. I can make a thirty-year-old recording of Barry White sound like Ellie Goulding.

But it takes away the soul, the real music.

And in this, the Fragments has been the greatest assembly of talent I've ever had the pleasure to work with. With Joey's guitar work, I don't have to go in and start trying to splice any notes or adjust the timing. Ian's the same, his drums are solid, in perfect beat, and real. When he unleashes a drum solo, he takes over the track, but then as soon as I need him to fall back to being the backbone again, he's there. When listening to the mixed tracks I've put together, you barely notice him... until you take his drums away, and you realize that the skeleton that Rocky and Joey's muscle hangs on is missing.

Of course, there's Rocky with a voice that stirs my soul, my heart, and yes, my libido. On Gimme Danger, he left me breathless. Today's track, Starlight, has me nearly crying in sadness and anger at the social message of the song. If there are another ten tracks like this, I'm going to be going through an emotional roller coaster by the time this is over.

That's the hard part though, I don't want it to be over. Last night, and again through today, I've felt that sweet ache between my legs that only Rocky could cause, an ache that isn't just horniness but more.

Yeah, I've got it bad for Rocky again... and again, he's not noticing. Or at least, he's just the same friendly, authentic guy that he's always been. He’s affectionate, but in that brotherly-friend way that says he likes me, but he doesn't lay awake thinking about me the way that I laid awake thinking about him. Nor in the way that I was thinking about him during my morning exercise routine, where I noticed every little flaw of my post-birth body; the few stretch marks, a few wrinkles. I'm not as thin as I used to be.

Still, it's been an amazing two days. “Okay, guys, how are you feeling?”

Rocky gives me a thumbs up, while Joey gives me that bashful grin that is so different from his onstage presence. He's a guy who black eyeliner does a lot for. “I think we can keep getting some stuff laid out.”

There's a knock on my door, and Martha comes in, today in her typical fitted pantsuit. I can't help it, looking at her model-like body and two-hundred-dollar bob haircut, I feel a surge of jealousy. Other than the fact I like being blond instead of her black, she looks like what I want to look like. I hold up my hand to the guys in the studio, and everyone sits back while I turn to Martha. I can still be professional. “Hey, what's up?”

“Larry wants to talk with Rocky. Apparently, there are some people from one of the big festivals in Japan that might be interested in the Fragments doing some stuff over there next summer. Larry's worked with these folks before, they're all about that face-to-face contact. Think you can spare him a little?” Martha says, in that way that says it's not a request.

I roll my eyes, shaking my head in frustration. She pulled the same crap this morning. Doesn't she realize that it's peeling the guys apart like this that leads to bands breaking up? But what do I know, I'm just a producer. “Yeah, we just wrapped his parts on Starlight. You want all the guys?”

“No, Larry said just Rocky. Larry's got a small office, between him, me, the three Japanese guys, and Rocky, we're already going to be rubbing elbows. Also, knowing the Japanese, they'll want to take Larry and Rocky out on a drinking party after this, it's the way they do business. So, you might as well just plan on getting Rocky back tomorrow.”

I nod, biting back a comment, and hit my intercom to the studio. “Hey guys, did you hear that? Rock, seems like you've got a couple of Japanese guys to wine and dine.”

For the first time, I see Rocky look frustrated, and he slams his lyrics sheets down on the table, shaking his head. “Really? Kerrang! wasn't enough?”

“Sorry, Rock, but put it this way, this deal goes through with the Japanese, it's big money. Last year, the band members walked away with a hundred thousand dollars in their pockets each. That was after Gashouse and the promoters took their cut. It's big bucks, Rock.”

Rocky nods in frustration and looks over at Joey and Ian, who wave it off. “Chill, man. We can lay some backing tracks or something. You go try some sushi, suck down sake, and try not to make an idiot of yourself with the chopsticks.”

Rocky grabs his bag and leaves the booth, waiting for Martha. As he does, he gives me another heart-stopping grin. “Sorry, Muse. You're not mad?”

“I'm never mad at you, Rocky. You know that. Go handle your business, I'll be here,” I reply, trying not to pour my heart out again. I'm more mature now, I know that if I get a chance I'll want to tell him how I feel, or at least how I felt in high school, but this is certainly not the time. Instead, I give him a smile and watch as he leaves with Martha, and I turn my attention back to Joey and Ian, who are still in the booth, Joey catching a sip of water. “Okay guys, if you want, Joey, we can get your backing vocal track, but that shouldn't take too long. Anything you guys want to also do?”

Ian jokes, “Hey, let the Butter Pican here lay his track, I'm gonna grab a drink then chill. I'm still getting used to this normal day work hours, I could use a nap.”

“You always need a nap,” Joey shoots back, but I can tell by the way he's saying it, he's just goofing off with his friend. They've been together since Joey was in high school, even before Rocky joined them. “You go do your thing, Yoda. I'll keep Cora busy.”

“Yeah right, Joey,” I tease. “You'll need more than your guitar skills to keep me busy.”

Sure, there's a lot of double entendre in what we're joking back and forth, but that's pretty normal in music. Music's emotional and sensual a lot of the time, people are going to be more in tune with that, and to hell with the politeness. Joey though blushes, and I know he's just a sweet and innocent guy in a lot of ways. I don't know if he has a girlfriend, but I bet he's a great boyfriend for the right girl. As long as she doesn't take advantage of him.

I guess that's what Ian is for, he's the sarcastic, protective mother hen of the group. He laughs softly as he leaves the studio, and Joey takes another sip of water. “Cora, you know that I....”

“Chill, Joey,” I cut him off with a smile. “You're turning red, honey. I know you were just joking, and I'm not upset. Now, let's see if we can get some dulcet tones out of that mouth of yours, and we'll call it a day again unless Ian's got something up his non-sleeves.”

Joey's hardly got dulcet tones, he's a serviceable backup voice that I can tweak for the album, and leave some notes for any live performance soundboard guys on what to do. But he's got his stuff down cold, he's been singing the backing to himself all day, so that when it's his time to lay down vocals, he gets it in three takes, giving me a huge grin when I give him a thumb’s up. “Really?”

“Really, Joey. You guys are making magic the past few days. You wanna give it a listen? I don't have the mix yet, but I can let you listen to your part with the basic instrumental,” I tell him, cueing up the right tracks. “Come on in, you can listen on my set.”

The speakers in my booth are more like what it would sound like in an arena, and Joey sits down in one of the other booth chairs, nodding along as he listens. Ian comes back in just as it wraps up, and I replay it for him, Ian's normal sleepy glower smooths out into something more approaching a calm smile. It's pretty rare on Ian, he either scowls or looks sarcastic, not much else. “Not bad, Joey. Not bad at all.”

“You nailed your drums too, Ian,” I comment. The guys relax, and I lean back, stretching. Okay, so Joey looks me over, but he's a guy. It's a rule, if a guy doesn't look over a woman who's stretching overhead with her boobs sticking out, he's gotta be gay. But Joey doesn't ogle, so it's all good. “Hey, can I ask you guys a few questions?”

“Sure,” Joey says, glancing back at Ian who just nods. “As long as you don't mind spilling the beans on what Rocky was like back in high school. Let me guess, total ladies’ man?”

“No, actually the opposite,” I tell them, smiling. “He was so focused on being a rock star, he never had a girlfriend in high school at all. Actually, I was his senior prom date, but it was... well, it was as friends. We joked that it made sure the groupies stayed away from him. Not that he ever worried about them.”

“That hasn't changed too much,” Ian rumbles, leaning back and closing his eyes. “I've never heard of any front man outside of some of the Christian rock bands who does less playing around with the groupies than Rocky does. And some of those church boys sure don't act that way backstage.”

“He's not innocent,” Joey contradicts, “I mean he's dated, he's tried to have girlfriends, but for most of the time, he was like you said, focused on the music and being a rock star.”

“Yeah, but he's reaching his limits,” Ian half growls again, and I hear the concern in his voice.

“What do you mean? He's still smiling and joking with me, a lot of ways it feels like five years ago,” I tell them. “I mean, I've read the scandals too, but in the studio, he seems like the same Rocky Blake that I jammed with in the garage back in Simi Valley.”

Joey shakes his head side to side, his hands in his lap. “Nah, chica. Those scandal sheets are nothing but lies. Little things blown up about ten thousand percent. Like that last one. I was there, he didn't even touch the girl at all. If that girl got laid that night, it wasn't by any of us. But it's not that.”

“What is it, then?” I ask, concerned. “I mean, it's been a while since I was over at his house, but Rocky's still my friend.”

“We noticed,” Ian says, his voice still gravelly. “The thing for Rock is that he's getting his dream, but he's realizing that the dream isn't what he really wanted. I mean, he still loves the music, he loves the rock... but he thought that rock was going to bring him things that he hasn't found yet. I've tried to tell him that the industry isn't going to bring it to him, but it's just starting to soak in for him.”

“What's he want?” I ask. “Money? Fame? He always knew there was a downside to it, at least he said he did.”

“Actually, I think what Rocky wants more than anything is acceptance,” Ian says, raising his head up and rolling his right shoulder in a sort of half-shrug. “He needs to be grounded, to have that person who he can be with. He's getting close to the edge, and it worries me. Too many guys get pulled like he's getting pulled. To hide the pain and emptiness, they start turning to groupies, drugs, and bullshit. An easy recipe for dulling the emptiness, but also…”

“Also, an easy recipe to killing your talent,” I finish, and Ian nods. “What about you guys? You three seem to be good friends.”

“You gotta have more than just friends, I think. His Mom and Dad are nice, but I think he needs that right person,” Ian says. “Hell, what Rocky needs is a serious girlfriend and one that doesn't want him just for his fame. Of course, as he gets more and more famous, the harder that gets.”

We talk for another half hour until I need to get going to pick up Bella, the guys and I swapping fist bumps as I take my data and head out. In my car, as I deal with the early rush hour traffic, I think about what Ian said. Someone who doesn't want him because of his fame. Someone who gets Rocky, who cares for him.

Maybe, well... what about me?

Rocky

The sun is pale and the air is still cool as I jog along the dirt trail of the canyon. It’s probably not the smartest idea for a six a.m. workout, with the risk of tripping and busting my ass, but with Martha insisting on another working breakfast, I can't deal with the morning rush crowd at a gym. Here, I've got privacy, a chance to clear my head.

The dirt is soft under my shoes. I’m going downward at a lazy, easy pace that lets my body warm up and stay safe before looping and running back up the same slope hard, getting my sweat going.

The session's going great, I love being in the studio with Joey, Ian... and most of all with Cora. We're laying tracks left and right, and I'm getting the feeling like things are going to be absolutely fantastic. Something that I've dreamed of my entire life.

Every once in a while, an album comes along. An album that just becomes iconic. Like Pink Floyd, Led Zepplin, Michael Jackson, and even Metallica. They made albums that you listened to, not for one song, not for two songs, but for the whole damn list of tracks.

Since the download era began though, artists are more worried about making their name with the next viral video song to fuel their ability to tour than making good albums.

But I think we've got a chance for that next big thing. Starlight was supposed to be some filler light prog-rock, something that Gashouse could show and say that the Fragments have a social conscience. But with Cora's help, a little tweaking from Joey on guitar and me going with the soul that she encouraged me to search for, it became a hell of a lot more. It had me believing in the whole song before we wrapped it.

We haven't even gotten to the guts of the album yet, I don't think. The idea of doing the first of the songs I wrote, Paradise Party, has my fingers tingling, and that's not scheduled until next week. Really getting to do some of our own stuff, things that Ian and Joey and I wrote, has me excited, especially knowing that Cora's not going to fuck any of them up. I one hundred percent believe that she's going to make them into gold, she's that damn good.

I wonder what happened to her? She's still sweet, still the same great girl I hung out with when we were going to high school, but her skills are through the roof. She's more private than she used to be too, and uber-professional. Every day, she bounces by six o'clock, taking work with her. Maybe she just likes her home setup better.

Hitting the bottom of the canyon, I do the quick little half-mile loop that brings me back to the trail up, and I start pushing the pace. The wind quickly starts to burn in my lungs, there are a lot of little switchbacks on this section which turns the run into a series of wind sprints, and by the time I hit the top, the air is sweet fire burning my throat as I gasp, my hands on my knees and a smile on my face. It's been too long since I did that and walking back towards Mom and Dad's house to catch a shower, I'm feeling good again.

“How was your run, sweetie?” Mom asks as I walk in the back door. Mom has always gotten up early, she likes to do sunrise yoga, and I find her sitting at the kitchen table, sipping a mug of herbal tea and reading her devotional. Yoga and the church, not two things that always go together well, but for Mom, it works.

“Good, Mom. Thanks again for letting me sleep over last night. I just needed to find a place closer to the studio to crash. It was great.”

Mom sets her mug down and smiles, looking at me. “You're always going to be my little boy, Robert. And that means you're going to have a room and a bed always available to you. Sit down, have some breakfast with me.”

I shake my head but sit down anyway. “Can't, Mom. I have a breakfast meeting with Martha at seven thirty, she wants to go over… well, something or the other. It's frustrating, really.”

“Why, honey?” Mom asks. “Can't Joey and Ian work their side of things while you take care of that stuff? I mean, they understand, right?”

“They do, but still... the way Martha said it. After that meeting with the guys from Japan went so well, they're trying to push hard to get us over to that festival near Tokyo or something this summer. And she wants to run hard on this too, she thinks that it'll get us a huge paycheck, but I think she wants to keep me out of the studio all day today. That part sucks,” I say, reaching over and grabbing a spare mug from Mom's tea cabinet and pouring myself a cup. “It's not fair to Joey or Ian either. And to be honest, I didn't like the Japanese guys.”

“Why?” Mom asks again. She's great with that question. In fact, growing up I think it was the word I heard most from her.

“They just... they were in it for the money, Mom. Like, the entire meeting and then the business dinner last week, they were all about two things. One, seeing how much beer they could knock back in the course of dinner without getting wasted. Also, they were all about the money, about exploiting us I felt. It was all about what ads we could do, what products they could stick our faces on... or my face, they didn't really seem to care about Joey or Ian. Mom, they were talking about me promoting natto! Do you even know what natto is?”

“No honey, what is it?” Mom asks, and I have to laugh.

“Fermented soy beans. Mom, it looks like snot! Smells about the same too, they had a sample for me. But apparently it's considered health food in Japan. When I told them I don't eat natto, they didn't care. They didn't care that I don't drink heavily, or that I don't like all sorts of things that they were talking about. Apparently, they don't care about music at all either, they just thought that the 'cute band' could pack it in with the girls over there in Japan, and that we'd be able to move a lot of merch,” I grumble, sighing. “Larry was even saying that the three of us going over for a two week promotional swing might be doable. Two weeks in Japan, living out of hotels.... selling natto.”

Mom chuckles at my dark humor and pats me on the forearm. “You knew when you said you wanted to be a rock singer that there was a dark side to the business. I'm proud of you for avoiding the worst of it so far. You've never done drugs, despite what those vultures say. I think you've been a good boy in other areas too. Not perfect, but I never expected you to be perfect.”

“Still Mom... this isn't what I wanted.”

“I know, honey. Just remember that you get the good with the bad, and you'll be able to handle it. Just think, you get to work with Cora some more after today. I know you two have to be having fun together.”

I nod, grinning. “She's awesome, Mom. Even more awesome than she was in high school.”

“She is a remarkable young woman, Robert. I'm glad that you're able to see that better now. But, I think you need to get a shower, unless you plan on showing up for your business breakfast smelling like you just ran through the canyon,” Mom says with a mysterious smile. She's always been high on Cora. Maybe Mom just saw how cool Cora was even more than the other friends I had in high school. Or maybe she's just wanted to play matchmaker. I dunno.

I shower and get changed quickly, something casual today. Not jeans, but just a pair of track pants and a t-shirt. Yeah, it's a business meeting, but dammit, if I'm going to be a rock star, then I can at least dress down for work occasionally. I jump in my car and drive to Gashouse, where I beat even Cora it seems. Martha's waiting for me by her Lexus. “Well, glad to see you're relaxing today.”

“You said breakfast, and then talking about stuff. Didn't think that called for a coat and tails,” I protest.

“Very funny,” Martha says, pointing towards the passenger side of her car. “ You look like you're heading over to Gold's Gym for fuck's sake. Glad I chose someplace casual.”

“Lucky for me I wore my fat boy pants then,” I joke, climbing in. “Besides, Cora and the guys wouldn't mind if I showed up today dressed like this. They just want me to sing.”

Martha shakes her head, huffing. “Whatever, business first. Climb in, at least the restaurant won't bitch about what you're wearing too much.”

She's right, the restaurant that she takes me to for breakfast is a pretty casual place, I don't even know why she booked reservations anyway. As we sip coffee, I keep looking at my watch, wishing I was back in the recording booth. Martha sighs after the third look and shakes her head. “You really don't want to be out with me today, do you?”

I turn my attention back to her, shaking my head. “Come on Martha, it's not that. You're cool. I guess I've just gotten spoiled, being back in the studio with the guys and Cora.”

Martha chuckles, giving me a raised eyebrow. “Cora, huh? You know, every time I've been in the studio over the past couple of weeks, you two are cozy as all hell. And her name pops up in every other sentence you've uttered it seems.”

I roll my eyes and take a little bit of milk, stirring it into my coffee to cool it down some. “What is it with everyone asking about me and Cora? Yeah, we were best friends back in high school. I told you, I owe her my career in a lot of ways.”

“Just friends, huh?” Martha asks, sipping her coffee again. “Riiiiight. Is that what you're doing when you've side-hugged her all those times? Being friendly?”

“Martha... come on. She was my best friend. Just... let it drop, okay?”

“Okay,” Martha says, holding her hands up. “Just let me say... you two work well together. Hell, maybe that's just part of it then. Em needed Dre. Janet needed Jimmy Jam. Loaf needed Steinman. Everyone needed Babyface... maybe you need Cora. Think about it.”

About halfway through breakfast, Martha looks up. “You mind if I just ask about Cora? Not saying how you two are.... just tell me about her? I mean, we haven't said shit to each other since the food got here, and you're not that hungry.”

I nod, setting my fork down. “Sure. She moved into my neighborhood during the summer before we started junior high school. Anyway, we met like the day after she moved in and my Mom had decided to be totally old-school and take over a welcome-to-the-neighborhood Tupperware. She can be like that. I was wearing a Chili Peppers t-shirt that my uncle got at a concert they did in Dallas. Cora saw it and said she liked it. But even cooler, she started talking about Californication, totally geeking out about it. That was the beginning.”

“So, music brought you guys together. How'd she end up helping you with the videos? I looked some of them up, there's a few still floating around YouTube. Nice production for a high schooler. You were really baby-faced in some of them,” Martha teases. “I liked the peach fuzz look of your sophomore year.”

“Yeah,” I laugh, thinking back. “Puberty treated me pretty well, except when it came to the facial hair. But it was music that got us together at first. When I told her that I wanted to become a rock singer in eighth grade, she was the only person who didn't laugh at me. She just nodded, told me I could do it, and then we got on her computer and started going over some cool videos. We had a silly...”

Martha gives me a strange look, smiling as my words peter out. “What?”

“We told each other, when she started doing YouTube videos for me, that we were going to make a million dollars together, making records. We promised each other we'd make the next big rock anthem together. Now, looks like we've got our shot.”

Martha's strange smile tightens a little, but she nods. “Yeah, I guess you guys do. You know, regardless of what you want to call it, you two have a bond.”

I think about it, Martha's words, the guys' words, and Mom's words running around in my head. Really, a bond? Cora and I?

You took her to the prom, you fucking retard, my inner voice says. And you were just about ready to beat your meat thinking about her, remember that too?

Yeah, that was weird. I mean, I don't feel guilty about it, guys can pretty much whack off about anything, but Cora... really?

Really. Face it, dumbass. You're lonely, and she's a hot single woman. Well, at least she's not wearing a wedding ring, and she's still going by Clearwater. And you do jive with her in a lot of ways. Why not find out?

Find out what? That we like spending time together? That she's someone that I feel at peace and calm around? That I... shit.

“Martha?”

Martha, who's pulled out her smartphone, looks up. “Yeah, what's up, Stud?”

“Please stop calling me that. But... well, can you score me some dinner reservations for tonight? Maybe... maybe I do need to have dinner with Cora. Just to figure some stuff out. And... well, we can talk about music.”

“Music,” Martha repeats, smirking. “Okay, lover boy. Let me work my magic, I know a few people who owe me some favors. I can't guarantee you Providence, but I might be able to score you a table for two at someplace nice. And I'll even go that extra mile, put all the charges on a Gashouse credit card, that way you don't have to sweat anything. Just save the receipts for me to comp back later. But on one condition?”

“What's that?” I ask, groaning inside when Martha gives me her shark-grin. “Uh-oh.”

“Yeah, exactly uh-oh. First, we're taking you somewhere to get some decent clothes, not only for what I have planned for today but also for tonight. The places I've got dibs with, they don't take Nike track pants and a t-shirt. So, we're going to get you looking like a star,” Martha says, grinning. “So, while you're getting outfitted, I'll make those calls. Deal?”

“As long as you only make me wear them during special occasions,” I sigh, giving in. “And I don't want to look like a douche bag.”

“Don't worry, you can still look rock, but you don't have to look like a bum,” Martha says. “Let's get a move on.”

Martha's already heading to the register, and I grab my bag, wondering just what the hell I've gotten myself into. Guess I'm going to find out.

Cora

“You want me to what?” I ask into my phone during a break in the session. We're getting towards the end of the afternoon, and while Ian, Joey and I have gotten some good work done today, it's been nothing at all like the other days when Rocky's been around. This phone call just makes it all that more surreal.

“I said, you've got a dinner reservation at Zimzala tonight, in Huntington Beach,” Martha says in my ear. I can hear something in her voice, and to be honest, I don't like what I'm hearing. She's hiding something, she's laughing on the inside too much, and that worries me. I don't like having things hidden from me. “You know the place?”

“No, but I can find it,” I sigh. “What time?”

“Don't sweat it, I know you seem to like early nights, so the table's for seven-thirty. I'll even help you out, I got Ian and Joey taking off on you in about thirty minutes. There's a little indie concert that they can hit up tonight to make an appearance at, get some good karma for themselves. Seriously, it's a good restaurant. They have some of the best Californian food in the city, and it's a great view of the ocean,” Martha says.

“Fine, fine. I hope whoever this meeting is with doesn't mind jeans and a t-shirt,” I grumble, looking down at what I'm wearing. “They better be glad I'm not wearing sweats.”

“Nope, that's why I'm pulling the guys away. You gotta get at least semi-dressed, a blouse and nice pants at least,” Martha says. “Since it's four thirty now, you've got time to get something nice from home. You don't have to be catwalk Cora, just not Levi’s and a Stones t-shirt.”

I look down, grumbling. It's not the Rolling Stones, actually. I'm dressing a little more feminine in an orange-pink t-shirt today that has a butterfly on my shoulder. “Fine, fine. Well, if you want me to make this appointment, you better let me go. Who's it with, anyway?”

“Someone interested in your work, that's all I'm going to tell you. Well that, and that it could be interesting. Listen, just go get changed, and I'll send a taxi to pick you up at your place, I've got your home addy from your files, six thirty,” Martha says, hanging up on me. I shake my head and hit the intercom switch to the booth.

“Hey, guys? That was Martha. She says we're done for today. Apparently, you guys are getting an invite to some indie event, and I've got a business dinner,” I call, laughing when Ian flips me the finger. “Yeah, that's what I thought too at first.”

“Well, what the hell. Might as well really call it early,” Joey says amiably, taking off his guitar. “Not that it hasn't been a barrel of laughs, but doing nothing but backing tracks and stuff is not as much fun as just laying the main stuff down.”

“True, but it's still important, Joey,” I call back. “Thanks for the work today, guys. Ian, you good?”

Ian nods, rolling his neck. He hasn't been in the mood for much talking today, the longest sentence I've gotten out of him has been five words. “Yeah, I'm good.”

While the guys gather up their stuff I act on a suspicion. Martha didn't mention Rocky at all, and I wonder... In any case, I need to protect myself. The fact is, I just don't trust Martha. I quickly go to my social media, I've got accounts on a few of the bigger sites including the same YouTube channel that I used to promote Rocky with, along with Facebook and Instagram. I check my privacy settings and change all of them to full private. In five minutes you won't even be able to see that I have an account on social media at all.

It's not that I don't want to tell Rocky about Bella, but this is the music industry. Regardless of everything, I must protect my daughter, and I just don't know if this is the right time to tell Rocky that I have a baby girl. There will come a time, I know that, but not on what could be a business dinner date.

Wait, did I just call it a date? Am I deluding myself into thinking that I'm about to go on a date with Rocky Blake? That it's going to be Rocky waiting for me at the restaurant and that he wants to actually date me? Even if it is Rocky, he's probably just trying to be nice, trying to say thank you for a good few weeks of sessions. It's like when we were in high school, and he'd bring me an ice cream on a Saturday afternoon in the garage or right after one of our big music projects. He's just trying to be nice.

Still, I can't help it if my inner girl wants to stand up and cheer that I have a chance of having dinner with Rocky at a restaurant like real dates do. But first, I've gotta find a babysitter for Bella. I try to limit my use of them, but it looks like I've got no choice. Besides, if there's even a small chance that this could be a real date with Rocky, it's worth sinking a little bit of money into it. Getting in my car, I risk a ticket using my hands-free headset, dialing from memory. The girl that picks up on the other side greets me with a familiar accented voice. “Hello?”

“Tran Li? It's Cora Clearwater. How're you doing?” I ask as I turn left out of the parking lot.

Tran is a Vietnamese exchange student, a high school senior whose parents sent her to Los Angeles for a chance to get a better education than she could get in Vietnam. She's been living with a host family since she started high school, I'm not sure if Tran's parents have good money, but Tran does babysitting on the side sometimes to help make pocket funds. Sweet, tiny, and a lot of fun, Bella likes her. “I'm doing good, Cora. What's up?”

“Oh, that's a new one Tran, nice work on the casualness. You didn't call me Miss Clearwater,” I joke, thinking back to the nearly scared stiff high school sophomore who first showed up at my door until the at the time baby Bella cooed and tugged on her long black hair. Since then, it's been a little sister/big sister love fest between them. “Listen, I know it's short notice, but can you possibly be free to watch Bella tonight? I just got a last-minute business dinner that I have to go to.”

“Hmmm...” Tran says as if she's actually considering telling me no, “Okay. But, you have to be home in time for me to get some sleep, I've got the SATs in the morning! I need to get a good score!”

“Okay, I promise, I'll be back by midnight, and I'll even run you home in my car if you want. Or you can bring your stuff and you can sleep at my place, just lock the door when you get sleepy and you'll be fine,” I say, getting over into the left lane. Bella's daycare is up ahead; it's a bit expensive, but it's close to most of the recording studios in the Hollywood-Burbank area. And they let me pay by the days that I drop Bella off. Bella even gets to hang with some A-lister kids for a while there, including Lemondrop, the daughter of the four-time Golden Globe nominee. “And I'll throw in an extra fifty bucks if I'm after eleven.”

“You have a deal, Cora. What time you need me?”

I park in front of the daycare and get out, inwardly fist pumping. “Think you can be at my place by six?”

“Okay. I'll bring over pizza for Bella too. See you then! Thanks, Cora!”

* * *

I feel like I'm all breezy and drafty, wearing my best blouse and skirt... actually, my only date-worthy skirt. My hair feels strange not pulled up into the high ponytail that I normally wear for work, but Bella and Tran both said I looked pretty as I was giving Bella a kiss goodnight, so I guess I'm okay. It doesn't mean that I'm all that comfortable in a skirt again. I've always been a pants sort of girl.

“How much further?” I ask as I check my watch. Oh shit, I'm wearing my normal watch, that's way too sporty for this blouse and skirt... ah well, I guess it'll just have to be my personal quirk.

“Just about a mile. I'm gonna turn up ahead onto the PCH, it's only a few blocks after that,” the taxi driver says. “Say, you going on a date or something? You look like a woman getting ready for a first date.”

“Something like that. By the way, you're sure it's okay that I don't pay?”

The driver waves it off. “Yeah, I already got a credit card number to charge this to. Whoever's springing this for you, they're taking care of the whole deal. I get a fare like this one, maybe two times a month, and I love it every time. Makes me want to get into the limo wing of the company and not just the cabs. Prepaid, reserved runs? Too sweet.”

“I work producing most of the time. I'm doing some projects for Gashouse. You like rock?” I ask, and the taxi driver nods. “Oh, what?”

“My uncle introduced me to classic rock. Late nights, in-between fares, I'll put in lots of that old-school stuff, from The Doors up through about the mid-eighties. You work with anyone famous?” the driver asks as we turn right, and I see that we're on the PCH.

“Not yet, but we'll see. Thanks for the ride,” I reply as he pulls up in front of Zimzala. “Where do you want me to sign?”

He shows me the receipt, and I tack on a decent enough tip.

Nobody's waiting for me outside the restaurant, which is actually part of a hotel, so I go inside, looking for the maitre d’. “May I help you, miss?”

“Uh, yeah,” I tell him, trying to look into the restaurant. It's dark though, with that sort of low, intimate lighting that makes every table look kind of isolated just through the use of shadows. What happened to the bright California décor that I saw on the website? Maybe it's just a daytime thing. “I'm supposed to be meeting someone here? My name's Cora Clearwater.”

Even as I say it, I'm worried that I'll be kicked out, that somehow the maître d’ is going to know this is not my usual type of place. So, I do my best to square my shoulders and look him in the eye, letting him know that yes, I do belong here.

I shouldn't have worried. This is Los Angeles after all. “Of course, Miss Clearwater, if you'll follow me,” the maitre d’ says. I follow him through the dining room, and up a set of stairs to a second-floor patio dining area, lit with strings of lights throughout. It makes the upper deck look both festive and starlit at the same time. The low casual tables have island-style padded chairs and lounges, while the taller tables have chairs made of bamboo and metal.

I'm led to a corner table where I see Rocky before he sees me. He's facing the ocean, looking over the low railing towards the crashing waves that are maybe about a hundred yards away. “Sir, your dinner guest.”

Rocky turns and his face breaks out in the same heart-stopping grin that I've dreamed about, faltering for a moment when he sees me. Standing up, he reaches and takes my hand. “Cora. I knew you said yes, but I was still worried you wouldn't come. My God. Have you always looked this beautiful?”

I feel my face go hot, and I look down, trying not to pose for him. “I... I never thought I'd hear you say I looked pretty. What happened?”

Rocky shakes his head and guides me over to one of the seats next to him. “I guess there's been a lot of reasons. The main one was that I've been thinking a lot about the way you and I have been so close for such a long time. A lot of people have been saying that we have a vibe that is more than just friendly. I guess that I wanted to celebrate the closeness that we have, whatever it happens to be. I apologize about Martha being so obtuse with the whole thing. Once I made the decision this morning, I kinda asked her to play it mysteriously. I was a little worried that if you knew I was asking you out to dinner, that you'd say no.”

“Why would I say no?” I ask, taking a closer look at Rocky. He's pulled his long hair back into a kind of half ponytail. He's dressed impressively, too. He's not in a full suit, but he's wearing a black silk shirt with a buttoned mandarin collar, silver buttons, and a sports jacket that compliments it all. If he were wearing jeans with it instead of the black slacks he's got on or had a different haircut he'd look a little bit Johnny Cash country, but on Rocky, it's pure rock n' roll. “Seriously, why would I say no?”

“I don't know,” Rocky finally says, grinning. “I guess... well, I knew you were smart, you'd have made a guess. But we've been friends for so long, to be asked out for dinner... that could get weird.”

I shrug, giving Rocky a smile. “Can I let you in on a secret, Rock? I've wanted you to ask me on a date for a while now. So, let's just relax and enjoy, see where this evening takes us. Regardless of what happens, I plan on being at least your friend after this.”

I can see the relief wash over Rocky's face, and he reaches over, taking my hand. We order drinks, and while we're waiting, Rocky leans back, half turning so that he can look at me more carefully. “You know, the past few weeks, it's kind of felt a little like the old days. When I walked in that first day and I saw you behind the board, I nearly had a heart attack.”

“I know, and if I live to a hundred I'm not going to forget that look on your face when you saw me,” I reply, half turning as well. I bring my knee up to rest it on the cushion between us, and I am very aware of the amount of thigh that I'm showing, but at the same time I like it. I like the way Rocky's eyes appreciate my morning workouts. “You know, after high school, I kinda wondered for a while if we'd ever see each other again. You got pulled away on some of those concert dates, and then I got caught up in school. A tale as old as time, as they say.”

Rocky chuckles. “Yeah.... and I'll be honest, I stopped reaching out after some of the scandals started hitting. I just don't know what's the cause of it. I'm not an angel, but the way the vultures make me out, I'm a one man Sodom and Gomorrah.”

“Come on Rock, I know that fame can change people, and five years can change people. But I've watched over the past few weeks, you're still the same guy who took me to the prom in the spring of our senior year.”

“Yeah well, I hope not totally the same,” Rocky says, his eyes sparkling. “Hopefully my being on the road so much has opened my eyes to some things at least. Tell me, if you don't mind, what was it like going to college?”

“A lot like high school, actually,” I tell him with a laugh. “I changed programs a little after... well, I changed to a two-year program when I decided I couldn't wait any longer. So, I missed some of the core classes that they make all the four-year kids go through. And being in a two-year program, most of the people I was working with were all involved in the same areas. Some of them went into working with the big studios, a couple moved to new places, but a lot of them went right into the same area that I'm working now, being board monkeys and interns.”

“Glad I didn't have to do interning,” Rocky chuckles. “I've seen how Martha treats any interns that come around her. You should have seen how she treated the guy who was her intern when we were doing stuff over at Oceanside Recording Studios. That poor kid had a nervous tic by the time we went on tour to promote Slam the Floor.”

“True, I got my fair share of harassment too,” I admit, “but then again, I've never had to sleep in a van with my bandmates on the way to SXSW.”

Rocky laughs. “You know, that one actually saved me one of the biggest potential scandals that someone's tried to pin on me? The girl who tried to claim I took her to my hotel room looked like a fool when it was revealed that the band slept in the back of the van. Although that kinda sucked for Joey, there’s a whole segment of the fans that are more into him than me. Which I totally don't mind.”

“Really? I figured even though you joked about not wanting the groupies that you'd at least enjoy the attention a little,” I tease, before realizing that talking about my date's previous sex life probably isn't the best way to do things. “Sorry.”

“It's okay,” Rocky waves off, smirking. “You're more right than you know. For the past five years, my life's been touring, trying to make records and get attention, and not a lot else.”

Dinner comes, fish tacos that are absolutely delicious. The soft corn tortillas are obviously handmade, the crema having just a little hint of spice to offset the rich, fatty fish, which is crunchy and crispy, fried just enough to add texture to the whole thing. “This is great,” I mumble around a mouthful of food. “My God.”

“PB&J kinda pales, doesn't it?” Rocky jokes, and I nod. “Yeah, I'm going to have to recall this next week when I'm sucking down nothing but protein shakes. Or maybe Sunday when I hit the gym.”

“That's paid benefits, the gym I mean,” I compliment him, and Rocky blushes. “What? Come on Rocky, it may have taken me quite a few years to work up the guts to say so, but you're a good looking guy. I know that you don't focus just on your looks, but you've always known image helps for you.”

“Thanks,” Rocky finally says. “I kinda feel like an idiot though. Until tonight, seeing you in that blouse and skirt... I always knew in the back of my mind you were pretty, lots of people would even say it. But I feel like I've been blind because you're more than just pretty. You literally stunned me when the maitre d’ announced you.”

It's my turn to blush, and I reach over, taking Rocky's hand. “Thanks, Rocky. Hey, can I ask you something? Something just based on talking with Ian and Joey the past few weeks?”

“You can always ask me anything you want, Cora. You... I trust you,” Rocky says, and I feel a twist in my chest, looking at the expression in his eyes. He's an open book to me, and yet... I'm hiding Bella from him. Well, maybe that can change.

“Thank you,” I tell him, smiling, “and I promise to not betray that trust. But my question was... well, have your dreams changed since we were kids?”

Rocky thinks, then shrugs. “I don't know if changed is the word to use, or maybe just matured. I still want to make great music. I still want to be a rock singer. I still want to do a sellout concert over at the Rose Bowl. But I want more now, too.”

“Oh? Bentleys and a mansion in the hills? Or maybe a sailboat down in Cabo?” I joke, and Rocky laughs. “I didn't think so. So, what?”

“I'd like the quiet life to go with the rest of it, people I can trust. I think that's the hardest part about the music industry, or I guess anything in entertainment. I feel like the whole machine is built on the idea of kissing your ass when you're on top or the way up and kicking that same ass when you’re on the way back down. I don't really like that part of things,” Rocky says somberly. “There are days that I kind of miss just jamming in my garage with you, Chris, and Tim. When the music was pure, and the friends were pure too.

We finish our tacos, and I lean back, rubbing my stomach. “I'd say dessert, but I'd like to still be able to fit into my jeans Monday morning. This has been a lot of fun, Rocky.”

“Thanks,” Rocky says, looking out towards the ocean. “Uh... Cora, would you like to take a walk with me? My place isn't far from here, and we can get there most of the way via the beach.”

“Let's start with a walk on the beach, charmer,” I tease, taking his hand again. “But yeah, I think a little walk would be nice. We'll see what happens after that.”

Rocky

We have to walk a block up the road to a light before we can cross the PCH safely and reach the beach, but for me, it's thrilling as Cora lets me put my arm around her shoulder the whole time. She's the perfect height too in the flats she's wearing, my arm just rests like it's always meant to go around her. Looking back, she's almost always been the perfect height for me, once my growth spurt hit right around the same time I told her I wanted to be a rock singer.

There are a few other people on the sidewalk, but overall, we have privacy as we cross the street and reach the beach access. I'm wearing boots that are not meant for sand, but they are tall enough that I won’t be scrubbing grit from between my toes.

“By the way,” I mention as we reach the sand, “I really like your hair tonight. The day to day ponytail works for you, but tonight… Well, maybe I sound like a broken record, I feel like I've said it at least a dozen times, but you look amazing.”

“Every girl likes compliments,” Cora jokes, putting her left arm around my waist and giving me a squeeze. “Although I think we're going to have to make a rule. Either you're doing ponytails, or I am. We're not allowed to go on dates with both of us wearing them simultaneously. It's a good look for you, by the way.”

“I've always wondered,” I muse, tucking the part that Martha insisted I leave free back behind my ear, “I mean, I get it. Rock is supposed to be about being rebels. But, if everyone's being a rebel, am I really being a rebel anymore with the long hair?”

“True... but Joey's got the short hair covered, and Ian looks like he's wearing a mop on his head half the time. Does he ever brush his hair?”

“Every other Tuesday, when he can remember to,” I joke, causing Cora to laugh. Has she always had such a musical, pretty laugh? I guess so. “I promise you this though. No pigtails for me, that's a look I'll never try.”

“And no Mohawks,” Cora admonishes me. “A shorter cut I can see, maybe something a little shaggy, but if you try to go full punk, or fully shaved, I'm going to have to kick you in the shin.”

“Note to self, buy motorcycle boots before getting a haircut,” I joke, and Cora laughs again. We make our way through the sand, and I'm more and more conscious of Cora's body pressed against mine. How could I have overlooked someone so beautiful for all those years? I guess I really was stupid back in high school. “Cora?”

“Hmmm, Rocky?” she asks, and I stop, looking at her in the moonlight that's streaming from the sky and reflecting off the Pacific. “What is it?”

I look into her eyes, and I lean down, touching foreheads with her. “I've spent all night thinking about how crazy I've been to overlook you. Tell me, when you let me take you to the prom, was that really as my friend? Did you just go with me because we were buddies?”

Cora smiles, shaking her head slightly, our foreheads rubbing together. The rubbing is as intimate as a hug really, and we're so close that I can actually feel the pulse of her breath on my cheek when she talks. “No. You don't know how much you pissed me off not treating me as a date back then. In fact...”

Cora steps back for balance before she reaches up and taps my shin lightly with her foot, smiling. “There. Your first and only warning. Now, don't overlook me again when you ask me out on dates, even if you do have an audience waiting for you.”

I laugh, putting my hands on Cora's waist, pulling her closer, letting my instincts take over. She comes effortlessly, and the feeling of her pressed against me is warm, close, and amazingly sexy. “Cora, I do believe that I want to kiss you.”

“Hmm... I think that would be nice,” she teases, putting her arms around my neck. She lifts her chin, and I bring my lips to hers. We're hesitant at first. I mean, this is Cora, my best friend in my arms and I'm kissing her, but it grows deeper, our arms tightening as a connection is made. There's a reality about Cora that is different from any other person in my life and I realize, tasting her sweet lips and feeling her body pressed against mine, that I've really wanted her for years.

Maybe that's why all the other girlfriends didn't work out. Maybe, what I was really looking for was the girl that was there all along. I reach out with my tongue, and Cora opens up, her tongue caressing mine as she pulls my head down deeper into our kiss, stepping back only when we both need to breathe, our hearts pounding in our chest. My entire body is buzzing, and my pants are definitely about three sizes too tight right now. “Wow.”

“Wow is right,” Cora whispers, smiling. “Rocky Blake, you are one amazing kisser.”

“Look who's talking. That is the best, and I am being totally serious, the best kiss I've ever had. Where'd you learn how to do that?” I ask, and Cora smiles. “What?”

“Nothing,” Cora says, taking my hand. “Just... like I said earlier, a girl likes to get compliments. And while it's nice to hear you and the guys compliment my work, hearing things like that from you is nicer, in their own way.”

We walk along the sand some more, enjoying the sound of the waves crashing on the sand in the moonlight until I see the lifeguard tower that I use as the landmark when I've gone running along the beach with Joey, and I stop. “Cora, I know that this seems like a rush, and maybe cheesy or inappropriate... but would you still like to join me at my apartment for a nightcap?”

“What time is it?” Cora asks, stopping and pulling her phone out of her purse, checking the time. “Hmmm.... nine thirty. Okay, Rock. But Rocky... I'm not staying the night. I need to leave in time to get back to my place by midnight.”

I laugh, taking her hand. “Come on, Cinderella, let's see if we can still enjoy the rest of this fairy tale then before that damn carriage I saw earlier in front of my apartment turns back into a pumpkin.”

Cora laughs, getting the joke, and squeezes my hand. “Well, I don't know if I can qualify as Cinderella, but I am most certainly feeling like a princess right now. In fact, I'm pretty much feeling like this is the best date I've ever had, and that's one hundred percent because of who I'm with right now.”

It's not far from the beach to my apartment, and I'm glad that Martha set us up with such a convenient and chic place to go on our date. Cora lets me lead her up the steps, looking around, noticing the busted-out security lights and the pool in the middle of the complex that I wouldn't let my worst enemy swim in, the greenish slime is so thick. “Yeah, you're going to be upgrading this place I assume after this next album drops.”

I laugh lightly, leading her up the steps and opening my front door. “I totally plan on upgrading. Come on in. Would you like anything?”

“Ah... nothing stronger than a glass of wine, but if not, coffee would be good too,” Cora says, taking a seat on my sofa. She looks around, noting the bare walls and cheap furniture that came with my place. “Minimalist decoration, interesting.”

“Better than old posters and black lights,” I joke, heading into my kitchenette. “I've got some red wine. How's that? It was a gift from someone last Christmas, so don't blame me if it sucks.”

“That'll be fine,” Cora laughs as I get out my corkscrew, it's part of the manual can opener that I bought down at the dollar store. “So... upgrading?”

“Oh yeah,” I say, twisting the corkscrew in before pulling it. The cork lets go with a satisfying pop. I rarely drink alcohol at all unless I'm out with friends, but I did a pretty good job with opening the bottle, I think. “Anyway, a musician we toured with said that when he and his band got started back in the nineties, he lived in a place kinda like this too. Even with the crazy costumes and with the wild life on tour, back home he drives a minivan and lives in a gated community. I asked him how one of the biggest bands in years lives in a place like that, he said that a lot of the big acts do it. They do it because they just want to have privacy, to have a little area where they aren't being hounded by fans all the time. He told me that a lot of folks go in one of two directions. You get those who love the bright lights, and some of them just live for it. They thrive in it. Then you get those who find their measure of peace. The key, he joked, was to not go overboard and become Michael Jackson.”

I pour two glasses of wine and pass one to Cora who laughs and takes a sip. She savors it for a moment, then sets her glass on my side table. “Yeah, that'd be a problem. So, I take it you want to be both a Grammy award winner and a family man? Not quite the standard rock recipe.”

“Hey, if Springsteen and Phil Collins can do it, why not me?” I ask, sitting down on the couch next to her. “It might not match the public relations image, but I'll let the label worry about that. My job is making good music. And with you... we make beautiful music together. So, a toast, to Cora, who helps me make beautiful music.”

“We always have,” Cora says, clinking glasses with me before setting her glass aside and sliding closer. We kiss again, the deep, rich flavor of the red wine on her lips, and when I reach up to cup her breast through her blouse her answering moan lets me know how much she's enjoying it. When I squeeze slightly she reaches out, cupping my cock through my pants and rubbing, both of us wanting it.

“Wait,” she gasps, sitting back. Glancing at the clock, she shakes her head. “Rocky... I'm sorry, I can't.”

“What's wrong?” I ask, my cock throbbing inside my pants. I haven't had sex in months. Not since I broke up with my last girlfriend. And I never felt with her how I feel for Cora. “Is it because you don't know if I'm safe? Don't worry, I have condoms, and I had to get a physical two months ago as part of the Gashouse contract, STDs included. I'm clean as a whistle.”

“No, it's not that,” Cora says, standing up shakily. I can see she's massively aroused, her nipples are bullet points against the thin material of her blouse, and she half staggers getting up, but she does it, biting her lip so hard that I bet she's going to have a bruise there tomorrow. She takes a deep breath, running her hand through her hair and looking up, her knees pressed together and her hand on her stomach. “I... Rocky, I have to go. Please... call me a cab?”

I look in her eyes, and part of me wants to push the issue. I want her badly, and not just because I haven't busted a nut in a while. There's something about the connection that I have with Cora, the intensity in just those two kisses that has my mind sparking. Ideas I'd never even considered before are flashing through my brain. I can't call it love at first sight, I've known Cora for over half my life, but I can call it something amazing.

You push now, and you ruin it for the long term, the normally ready-to-fuck-at-the-drop-of-a-hat side of my mind says, and I nod, standing up. “Okay. Have a seat. You're in pain I can see, and I'll go call now. But Cora, if this is because you think I won't respect you or that I want this to be just a one-night thing…”

Cora shakes her head but sits down gratefully. I go to my kitchen and get her a glass of cold water, taking my phone out of my pocket to call for a cab. The cab company says that they'll have a car to my place in twenty minutes, and I take the glass to Cora. “Here, maybe this will help. I think it'll be safer if I sit over here on the floor instead of on the couch. To be honest, I'm feeling just as shaky as you are right now. I just seem to be able to stand a bit more easily.”

I arrange myself on the floor, sitting carefully to make sure my aching balls and cock don't get any more pressure on them from my pants and wishing for the first time I was in hip-hop, loose jeans or chinos would be very helpful right now. “So... uh, this is strange for me. I don't think I've ever sat around for fifteen minutes after a woman told me no before, trying to have a conversation. Actually, I can guarantee that, since I've never had a woman in this apartment before.”

“Really?” Cora asks in honest surprise, looking around. She takes in my décor and hums, then nods. “Well, I guess that makes sense. You know, I know I called it minimalist before, but this is certainly a subset of that, maybe garage sale chic? What motivated you when you decorated?”

I laugh, it helps and restores a little bit of the normalcy to the evening. “Honestly, I just never got around to it. First I was living with Ian, and we had a decent system when we had company, but after Gashouse signed us to two EPs before we dropped Slam the Floor, I decided that I had to find my own place. Ian had a relatively serious girlfriend at the time who was nice but had a habit of walking around the apartment butt naked which made me uncomfortable. Ian understood, we worked that out. That was two years ago, and I thought that I'd be able to find the time to kinda personalize this place, but... well, I guess I've never got around to it.”

Cora nods and takes another sip of cold water. “What was it like crashing with Ian? I mean, I know you three are tight, but you don't seem to have personalities that would be right for living together. Hanging out, sure. Being a damn good band, definitely. But I can't imagine you two living together.”

“Actually, I owe him a lot. He's kinda been the big brother for Joey and me. Sure, I'm the front man, but Ian's the guy who helped Joey and me avoid the biggest mistakes when we started on the road. While Mom and Dad would have had no problem with me staying at home, I think it was a good thing to stay with Ian for those few years. He was the guy who pointed out mistakes he made when he was eighteen and on the road for the first time. His being two years older than I am, made him more experienced. You see, his parents were in showbiz too. He doesn't talk a ton about it, I don't think all his memories are good ones, but he's been a good dude,” I reply, then look at her, a question coming to mind. “What about you? I mean, I had Ian, Joey, my folks. What about you? When I stopped by my folks' the other day to get some clear headspace, Mom mentioned that you're kinda a ghost around the old neighborhood. She's seen your car parked over at your parents' house every once in a while, but that's about it.”

Cora shrugs, and again I get the confusing feeling that there's something she's not telling me. It's the only thing that I don't like about this evening, the feeling that there's something she's hiding. “A lot of reasons for that, I guess. First, that I changed my mind and went two years instead of four years for my degree, I was so anxious to get out and start doing internships, stuff like that. I mean, in our neighborhood, you either went four years or you went military, we were middle-class white collar types, you know? For me to even think of that was pretty much on the level of being sacrilegious.”

I laugh, my disquiet forgotten, nodding. “Yeah, I caught a lot of flak around the neighborhood about my choice. Thankfully, Mom and Dad are totally cool with it, especially since they see that I'm getting close to making it.”

“My parents were cool too, but more importantly they let me try to make it on my own when I felt that was what I had to do. It was hard, and when things were tight, I applied for food stamps. That's not something that goes over well the neighborhood where we grew up. But most of all... I guess I've been a little ashamed about some of the paid jobs I've taken. You've got Slam the Floor, The Tonight Show, stuff like that. My first paid job was for a teen babysitter porno, and until I got this shot with the Fragments, my biggest profile full album was the soundtrack for movie.”

“I wouldn't knock it, Cora,” I protest, and Cora smiles. “Seriously, you were making money. I don't care about your work background. Hell, you should have seen some of the dives that the Fragments played in. That includes strip clubs. The first week after we started working together, I asked Martha to hook me up with a list of your previous projects, although she left off the pornos. I guess you did them under an assumed name?”

“Tiffany Tones,” Cora says with a self-deprecating laugh. “At least, that's what's on the IMDB. As soon as I gathered up enough credits on other stuff that I didn't need them, I dropped them from my official portfolio. So, what did you think?”

“You turned shit into Superman more often than should have been possible. And you did some guest spots too. Always at the core of each of them is the sound that I have come to know is yours. Clear, with as little foolishness as possible, but at the same time you make everyone up their game. That's talent, Cora. Real talent. I guess that I just regret not seeing you for you, and being blinded by just your talent five years ago. Or maybe I just had my head up my ass about trying to make it as a rock star, and not seeing that you were there the whole time.”

There's a beep outside my apartment building and my phone rings. Cora smiles and finishes her water before standing up. “That is perhaps the biggest compliment and the cutest thing anyone's ever said to me, wrapped up all in one, Rocky. Thank you.”

I get up off the floor and walk her to the door, opening it for her before walking her downstairs and out the front gate to the cab, stopping after opening the door. “Cora... if it isn't too much, would you mind if maybe I took you out again on a date?”

Cora nods and steps closer, kissing me again. It's just as tender and amazing as the first two, and I can't help but feel my cock twitch again. When we part, I'm smiling. “You know, you don't kiss like a woman who wants to leave.”

“I don't,” Cora reassures me. “But I have to. Rocky... there'll come a time, but for now, let me just say that I'm not saying no. In fact, everything inside me is saying yes. But now isn't the time, that's all. Can you wait for me?”

“I can wait,” I reassure her. “You're worth it.”

Cora smiles and gives me a quick peck on the lips again before she climbs in, the cab driver pulling away into the dark Los Angeles night. I check my watch and see that it's only eleven fifteen, an unusually early night for a first date for me. Actually, I think as I head back into my apartment building and climb the concrete steps to the second floor, this is another first for me. Since losing my virginity, getting laid has never been a problem for me. In fact, after a few groupies, I quickly grew tired of it and tried to find actual girlfriends. I've never, in my entire life, been turned down or told to wait.

It's refreshing really, even if my balls are aching and I need a cold shower. But still, I guess it's just another way that Cora's different from every other woman I've ever taken on a date before. The shower beckons, and I strip off my clothes, looking at myself in the mirror. Hmm... well, I guess Cora will find out when the time's right, but I think I can please her with what I've got. Reaching down, I massage myself a little bit before I reach in and turn on the shower. As much as I'd like to come, for some reason, it's just not right to do so when I'm this close to having actually taken Cora into my bed. She's special, and I hold myself back despite the aching throb, gathering my guts by taking a deep breath.

“This is going to hurt a little,” I hiss, stepping into the ice-cold water. My guess is right, the next sound out of my mouth is a strangled, raspy scream, but I grit my teeth and bear through it, knowing that somehow, in some way, the pain is worth it. After a night with Cora, I'm willing to put up with a lot of pain.

Cora

I'm super quiet coming in, heading straight to the bedroom to check on everything, but Bella's out like a light when I get home, my body still thrumming like a plucked string on a guitar. I come back out and set my bag down, causing a little bit of noise. Raising her head from the couch where she's been napping, Tran looks at her watch, and give me a thumb’s up. “All good, Cora. You still have fifteen minutes to spare. Hey, you look flushed, you sure you okay? Too much to drink or are you getting sick?”

“No, I'm fine,” I reassure her. “Are you sure you're not a mother already, Tran? You got the worrying instinct down cold.”

“That's just the Vietnamese side coming out, my mom back home would have had you already in bed with a hot cup of bun bo hue broth, trying to sweat the cold out of you,” Tran says, getting her things together. “Jewish mothers can say what they want, but nobody beats the Vietnamese in worrying about their children and friends.”

I'm touched, and give Tran a smile “Thankfully for me, your mom's back in Ho Chi Minh City. You need a ride?”

Tran looks me over and shakes her head. “Not as much as you need to get out of that dress and into some jammies and get some sleep. I'll call Vicki, she'll pick me up, no problem.”

While Tran calls her host mother, I strip out of my date clothes and toss them in the hamper, my fingers still shaking. I nearly lose my balance when I unhook my bra and the lace edge of the right cup brushes over my nipple, and I can't help but whimper slightly. Aroused? Flushed? I might as well be screaming FUCK ME, PLEASE! I'm so turned on. Telling Rocky ‘no’ and leaving his apartment after his fingers molded themselves to my breast after his lips were on mine? Almost impossible. I finally had the man of my dreams right there and my hand cupping the hard bulge of his cock through his jeans, and I walked away. It's the most difficult thing I've ever done in my life outside of giving birth.

My body isn't any calmer when I finish pulling on my sleep clothes, a plain black tee and some flannel cotton shorts that are soft but still breathable. Good any time for California nights, but right now all I can feel is the thump of my heart and the wetness between my legs. I come out of the bedroom after glancing at Bella, she's okay. I head to the bathroom where I quickly pull my vibrator out of my makeup kit and slip it into the pocket of my shorts, I know I can't help it tonight. Tran's in the living room, her stuff in her bag, and she smiles when I dig out the money for her. “Thanks, Cora. Bella was a darling as always. I taught her some Vietnamese, so if she starts saying strange stuff, she's not cursing at you or anything.”

“Thanks, and thank you for coming over despite the short notice,” I reply, my hand still trembling. “Good luck with your tests tomorrow.”

“And you good luck with getting some rest,” Tran says, concerned. There's a quick beep outside, and Tran looks out the door. “Oh, that's Vicki. See you, Cora.”

Tran disappears out the door and I close it, leaning my head against the wood, taking a deep shuddering breath. Our last kiss was nearly an hour ago, and I'm still so ready to come that I have to stagger to the couch, my mind already filling with the fantasies of what I wanted tonight.

“You know, you don't have to be Cinderella,” Rocky whispers, his thumb moving in slow circles on top of my breast, the electric touch leaving me reeling.

“You're right,” I whisper back, reaching up and undoing the tie on his ponytail, kissing his cheek before nibbling on his ear. The slight stubble he's got rasps against my cheek, adding to the burn inside my body as his hands wrap around me, pulling me closer to him. “But I do want to come by midnight.”

Rocky kisses the curve of my neck and shoulder as he lifts my skirt, pulling me into his lap and letting me plant my knees on either side of his body, my pussy already rubbing against the bulge in his pants. “I want more than a princess. I want you.”

“You've always had me,” I reassure him, grabbing his hair and pushing his head back to look into his eyes. “You always will have me.”

The tug on his hair makes sparks flare up in Rocky's eyes, and he grins, slapping my ass through my panties and making us both jump. My pussy is on fire, and suddenly we're clawing, tugging at each other's clothes to be able to feel skin on skin contact. Rocky rips the blouse from my upper body, buttons pinging as they bounce off the wall in front of me, the strap of my bra snapping before my upper body is bared to Rocky, whose shirt I've managed to rip open. Rocky pulls me to him, his lips sucking hard on my left nipple and making my head spin while I grind on the bulge in his pants, my pussy throbbing with every nip and lick of his tongue on the hard nub.

When I'm on the edge of coming, I push back, shaking my head as I slide down Rocky's body and grab his belt. I'm wanton, desperate as I open his belt and then slide the zipper down on his pants, freeing the cock that I've dreamed about for years. He's thick and perfect, and my mouth waters as I drag my tongue up from the base all the way to the tip, swirling my tongue around while he looks at me in half amazement, half amusement. I lick his underside again and smile. “What? Thought I was too cutie-pie to want to suck your cock?”

“I think you’re beautiful no matter what,” Rocky replies, reaching down and taking my hair in his hand, brushing it out of my face and giving him a clear view. “As for cock sucking... I want to watch.”

He holds my hair back, and I vow to always wear my ponytail just like this as I swallow Rocky's cock, sucking him all the way in until my lips meet the light curls at the base before pulling back. I worship his cock, licking and sucking with as much adoration as I can, looking him in the eyes the whole time, trying to let him understand how I feel about him, how I've always felt about him. His cock is delicious, tangy and manly and everything I could have hoped. He pulls me off, lifting me in his arms and taking my skirt, pulling my panties to the side, we're both too hot to worry about the niceties now.

“This is what I need,” Rocky groans as I feel him align himself with my pussy. I sink down, my heart and brain exploding in sheets of bluish-white pleasure as Rocky fills me, giving me what I've always wanted. I'm sobbing in pleasure already when I settle onto him, my body already racked with convulsions. “What is it?”

“Rocky... I love you,” I whisper, stroking his face with my fingertips. “I've loved you for years. And this... I love you.”

“I love you too, Cora,” Rocky replies softly, stroking my back. “I didn't realize it... but I've loved you for years too. I... I need you.”

We move, each stroke of his cock in and out as I ride him is exactly the right pace, not too fast, not too slow, our bodies and hearts becoming one. Rocky's green eyes burn into mine as we make love, the feel of his cock sliding in and out of my pussy, my clit rubbing against the base of his cock each time I bury myself on him adding to the waves of pleasure and happiness that roll through me. Our hands wrap in each other's hair, pulling us closer and closer as my orgasm builds inside me.

This is more than the little fantasies that I had as a girl. I'm a woman now, and I give everything of that womanhood to Rocky, my hips moving faster and faster until I'm trembling, my pussy squeezing and milking him with every inch that he fills me open with, desperate for release. Rocky understands and starts thrusting up from the couch, the slap of his hips meeting mine, sending sparks into the depths of my belly, the fire catching and building quickly. I want to cry out how much I love him, I want to tell him about Bella, about the daughter I wish was his, but there's not enough air left in my lungs. I can only cry out as the orgasm rips through me, frightening, but Rocky's there, holding me close as he comes, filling me with his essence and keeping me safe, protected...

“I love you,” I whisper as my fantasy shreds like wet tissue paper, clouds torn by the breeze. I'm still twitching, my body still shivering from the power of my orgasm as I switch off my vibrator and slide it out of my body, setting it beside me on the couch. I know I should get up and clean it, but I'm too drained.

In the past, after a fantasy of Rocky this powerful, I'd cry. But this time it's different. Sure, my body still wants him. But I could see it in his eyes, he wants me too. And while we didn't say that we love each other, we're taking steps. This isn't some schoolgirl fantasy anymore. This is real. And I'll take a slightly slower real life over an impossible schoolgirl fantasy any day.

* * *

It's lunchtime, and Bella's happily eating when my phone rings and I see that it's Mom. “Hey, Mom, how's it going?”

“I should be asking you the same thing,” Mom says with a warm chuckle. “How was your date?”

I blink and glance over at Bella, who's still eating, so I get up and go back to the back of the apartment, sitting down on my toilet and closing the door. “Uh, Mom, what are you talking about?”

“You obviously have been staying off the Internet this morning,” Mom says with a laugh in her voice. “I can't blame you, I mean the website is pretty much nothing but rumors and scandal trash, but you might want to check out LACelebWatch. You're on the front page, one of my friends from work just called me to double check if that was who she thought it was.”

“Hold on,” I say, going into the living room and grabbing my laptop before taking it to the back. Bella glances up, and I shake my head. “Grandma just has some things she and I need to talk about. Hey, after this, you want to go to the park?”

“Yeah!” Bella, who loves the park, says. “When?”

“Gimme fifteen minutes, sweetie. Just enough time for you to wash your face and brush your teeth,” I remind her. I help her in the mornings and at night, but since she’s been learning how to brush her own teeth at daycare, we keep up that practice after lunch when we're at home, too. “No toothpaste this time, remember.”

“I know Mommy,” Bella says, in that tone of voice that says she thinks her mother is being a total worry wart. After all, she's going to be turning four in a few months, she's a big girl now. “Can I wear my monkey t-shirt?”

“Of course, you can, it's Saturday,” I reply, referring to her favorite slightly outgrown t-shirt. It's a little too small for her to wear to daycare anymore, but it's just fine for the park before it gets demoted to just a sleep shirt or gets donated to Goodwill. “Now, let me talk with Grandma.”

In the bedroom, I pull up LACelebWatch and look. Fallen Angel Rocky Blake with New Flame? the headline reads, and underneath there are three photos. One from the door of the restaurant, another taken with what looks like a telephoto lens of us on the balcony from behind, and another on the beach, our bodies close together and while we aren't outright kissing, we're quite close. “Huh...”

“Yeah, huh,” Mom jokes. “So... how was it?”

“Mom!” I protest, then sigh. Mom's never had a problem being forthright with me about my dating life. I guess that's what I get for being honest with her about Duane and my pregnancy, and I'll take having a too nosy mother over not having the support she and Dad have given me any day of the week. “Fine, Rocky was a perfect gentleman. We had a nice dinner and a walk on the beach. He invited me up for a nightcap, and I left in enough time to get back home to make sure my babysitter got back to her place in time to get some sleep for the SATs this morning.”

“Really...” Mom says, and I can hear in her voice a thousand questions. Nosy she is, but she's also discreet in what she asks me. “And this date, was it business or pleasure?”

“I wasn't sure at first, but it quickly moved towards us maybe going past being friends,” I admit. “And yes, we kissed on the beach. And at his place. That's it though. Like I said, he was a gentleman. When I said I needed to get home, he called me a cab at my request and even earned himself a kiss at the door of the taxi.”

Mom chuckles, and I realize I was worried more than I should have been. “Honey, if he wasn't a gentleman, the headline would have read Rock Star Gets His Balls Torn Off by Date, I know how strong you've become since Bella's birth. So, I'm not exactly worried about that. Did you tell him about Bella?”

“No, not yet Mom. Honestly, I wanted to by the end, but we were both a little too... on edge to drop that sort of piece of information on him. I was thinking of doing that next time. I just don't want her being pulled into the music industry too quickly,” I tell her, shutting down the website. The copy is nothing but rumor and innuendo, although I'd like to take our server and kick him in the nuts, he got our food orders down perfectly. Guess it's my welcome to celeb life.

“I understand, honey. Bella's a sweet little girl, but... and I'm just asking as a concerned grandmother, is Rocky the sort of guy that would be good for Bella? I mean, if even a tenth of the things he's been written up for are true, I'm concerned,” Mom says, and I lean back against the headboard, nodding. Mom's just giving voice to the same worries I've had ever since seeing Rocky. Being an anonymous board monkey, or even a well-known producer, is safe in Los Angeles. And except for keeping Bella safe from some of the entourage that some artists bring with them, my life could be quiet and safe for her.

But being the girlfriend (or more) of a rock star? That's a whole new level of celebrity that will eventually bring Bella into the light as well. And I don't want her in the limelight, at least not the way that so many celebrities drag their kids around. Their children become accessories. Pampered for the benefit of the cameras and press, never mind what the child needs. Such as the aforementioned Lemondrop, who comes to daycare with a Burberry backpack, a paleo lactose-free organic lunchbox packed by a private chef who used to have a show on Food Network, designer clothes... and that's just the beginning. Meanwhile, my daughter shows up with food from the Safeway down the street from us, wrapped in a plastic bag that last week was the bag our bread came in.

“Mom... thanks for the head's up, but I'm not quite ready to think about all this. I do know, though, that Rocky's a good man. We've been working together again for a few weeks now, I'd see if he's changed a lot from the guy that I went to high school with. Don't worry about that part,” I finally say. “The rest... well, I'll think about it.”

“Whatever happens, I love you, sweetheart,” Mom says. “So, think I can talk you into coming to dinner tomorrow night? Nate would love to be able to play with his granddaughter, and I promise you the best food I can crunch together in time.”

“Hmmmm...” I mock consider, then laugh. “Of course, Mom. Just promise me that you're not going to slip a bag of goodies into the back seat of my car this time.”

Mom laughs, and I can't help it, I can't be angry with her. “Okay, but I make no promises on there not being a big dessert that I'll need to send home with Bella in a Tupperware.”

“I can live with that. In the meantime, I'm going to take my daughter to the park. I think I'll even ride my bike, it'll work off a little of that whatever it is you're going to fill me up with.”

Mom and I say goodbye, and I go out to find Bella already changed, her monkey t-shirt already on, her shoes on but untied, she's still working on them. “Hey Bella, Mommy had an idea. How about we ride my bike down to the park instead of taking the car?”

“Okay,” Bella says, going over and grabbing her helmet. “Are we out of gas?”

I stop, blinking back the sudden tears, remembering when we biked because I was dead broke and couldn’t afford gas. “No honey. Actually, I hope that we never have to ride the bike for that reason ever again. I just thought it was a nice day, and I'd like to ride my bike for some exercise. And the wind will feel nice, that's all.”

“Okay, Mommy,” Bella says, getting my helmet down and holding it out to me. “Here Mommy, always stay safe, right?”

“Right,” I reply, smiling. I get Bella buckled into her bike seat and start off towards the big park about two miles away that has the kiddie slides and other playground equipment that Bella likes best. Still, as I pedal, I think about what Bella said. Staying safe. Does staying safe mean that I can't have Rocky involved in my personal life? After seeing the scandal sheet, I'm a little worried. Are we really from two separate worlds now, too far apart to make it work?

I hope not, but inside me that little worry keeps nipping at me, saying that maybe so.