Chapter Six
Tristan
On Monday, I had a hellacious hangover. I’d stayed out at the club until two that morning and then I had a couple of girls I’d met there at the apartment, until I finally remembered how early I had to be at this fucking audition. It was after four before I finally kicked them out. I slept for about an hour, which I think did me more harm than good. Then I dragged my tired ass out of bed and into the shower. While I was shaving, I looked at my hair and realized that I really should have gotten a haircut. I forgot sometimes that I looked like shit. It never really seemed to matter anymore.
When I finished shaving, I spiked my hair up with some gel and looked at it. It still looked like shit, but it was better. I opened the new package of t-shirts I’d bought and pulled one on. It was a little wrinkled, but there was no fucking way I was pulling out an iron. I had to dig to the back of my closet to find a pair of jeans that looked halfway decent, and, after I pulled them on, I put on my boots and looked at the final product in the full-length mirror. It would have to do because it was already after six and I was afraid that I was going to end up at the back of the line. That was exactly what happened, and, by five that evening, I still hadn’t even made it close to the doors. I stayed as the line thinned out some, the people not hardcore enough to brave the streets of Burbank overnight. My fucking head was throbbing and I could have really used a joint. But I dipped down deep and found a shred of the determination that I used to have, back when I was a kid, and I stayed.
By about three in the morning, most of the contestants that had stayed were asleep. I spotted a girl, just barely over legal sitting about three people away from the door. She looked lonely, so being the good guy I am, I went forward to keep her company. I ended up spending the rest of the night in her sleeping bag. We fooled around inside the bag, and, when the sun came up on Tuesday morning, I was suddenly contestant number four, right behind my new girlfriend…Veronica? Valerie? Fuck, something that started with a V.
Around eight a.m., I was finally shuffled into a room with about fifty other losers and then, sometime around nine, taken backstage by a chick with a lisp but a nice rack. Imagine my surprise when I got back there and saw that Sweet Lips from Huggys was on the production crew. Sweet Lips was the perfect nickname for her. God, were they magnificent.
From the way she looked at me, I could tell that she recognized me. I had to give her props for staying professional and not letting on. Now I had three reasons not to blow this: a million bucks, a record contract, and Elly. Shit! I even remembered her name.
I walked through the curtain when they called my name. It had been a long time since I had to audition for anything. I wouldn’t have admitted this to anyone, but I was nervous as fuck. My hands were shaking so bad that I wasn’t sure I’d be able to play my guitar. In all honesty, it was probably more that I needed a drink or a smoke than nerves. Whatever it was, I stood under the spotlights, staring at these three famous people feeling like I wanted to throw up.
“Tristan Rogers, wow!” Diva in the center yelled as soon as she looked at the paper in front of her. Of course, she didn’t recognize my face.
“Yeah, it’s me,” I said, trying to sound braver than I felt.
“Where have you been?” the soft-spoken country singer on her right asked.
Fuck! How do I field that one?
“After the band broke up, I did some traveling, and since then, I’ve just been spending time with my family…playing a few gigs here and there…”
Family? Yeah right, but it sounded better than the truth.
“Wow,” Diva with the big, fake tits said again.
“Okay, let’s hear it,” the guy who got famous off his mother’s name to her left said.
I sat down on the stool in the center of the small, makeshift stage, took a deep breath and tried to go to another place in my head, a place where I was a superstar and not a loser. When I opened my mouth actual music came out. I was impressed with myself.
They stopped me about half-way through. Diva had tears in her eyes. “That was…wow!” she exclaimed.
Shocking.
“Fabulous,” Country Boy said.
“Amazing,” was Mama’s Boy’s comment.
I walked out with a golden ticket. I had to field the same, “Where have you been?” comments from the Emcee, and then I actually got asked to sign two autographs on my way out. I made my way back to the other room, the first one I’d waited in, and found the girl with the lisp.
“Hey, I’m sorry. Can I go to the back again, real quick? I forget something in there, I think.”
She sighed like it was taking everything in her not to say no and then she said, “Okay, but quickly, I’m busy.”
“I can find my way,” I told her. She started to protest, but the guy at the door called her name. I went through the other door, walked up to Elly, and took her pen from her hand. I wrote down my number on her clipboard, smiled and left without saying a word. I was going to treat myself to a drink…and a smoke…and maybe a line or two.