CHAPTER 2
~ Jack ~
These past few weeks have been fucking crazy. The band is most definitely on its way. As this has been my one and only goal for most of my life, I couldn’t be more prepared. I was destined for this and I risked a lot for it. My name is Jackson Henry Lair and I’m the lead singer of Devil’s Lair.
I knew I was meant to be a rock star, even if my parents weren’t on the same page as me. They knew that I had a great voice, I liked to write songs and constantly hung out in the city to watch bands play, but they thought it was only a hobby.
Denial maybe?
They didn’t listen when I complained about school all the time. I was in the Pre-law program at NYU and hated every minute of it. Many find it hard to believe that I do have an intelligent brain in my head. My parents feel I am totally wasting it. Dad was grooming me to follow in his footsteps to be a lawyer.
I just couldn’t do it.
Even though it terrified me, I had to tell my parents that I was dropping out. I couldn’t keep pretending that a law career was going to be my future. I had visions of living on the streets while homeless and penniless and without either of them speaking to me. Of course, that was just my vivid imagination running wild. I wasn’t raised to think that way. But I was about to drop a bomb on them of catastrophic magnitude. Although, my parents have been nothing but loving and caring to my sister and me, my scenario isn’t that farfetched.
My dad is Peter Henry Lair, Esq. of business law. It’s super boring, but that’s dad. He is very even keeled, level headed, sensible, and smart.
I may be taller than he is, but otherwise we look a lot alike. We have the same dark brown hair—had, rather, as his is now gray at the temples, same deep gray eye color and smile, dimples included. Otherwise, that’s it. I am not even keeled, level headed, or sensible.
My personality is definitely more like my moms, or Renata Cornwell Lair, homemaker and ex-beauty queen. Mom was, and still is, simply stunning. She is tall and slim and has long blond hair and green eyes. In her early fifties, she could pass as someone twenty years younger. Growing up, it was a bit embarrassing having a hot mom. I remember her getting looks from men wherever we went. Little league, school functions, the friggin’ supermarket… it didn’t matter where she went. Parent-teacher conferences were always interesting. The same hard-ass, male teachers that would bust my balls on a daily basis would suddenly become babbling idiots after meeting my mom. My female teachers had the same reaction to dad. He can be quite a charmer. Sometimes that worked to my advantage.
Mom is passionate, impulsive, headstrong, and has a great sense of humor. I’ve heard stories of her and her wild past. My parents met in college where they fell madly in love and got married a year later. They were complete opposites when they met and have slowly morphed into one personality type, each equally changing in subtle ways like two chameleons. Where my mom became more practical and prudent, my dad went from bookworm to party animal. Well not really a party animal, but mom said he has most definitely “loosened up” over the thirty-one years that they have been together.
Thirty-one years… that’s a very long time to be with one person. I don’t think I believe in soul mates, but watching my parents is a constant contradiction to my beliefs. They feel that they were meant to be together and fate played a huge role. The whole thing baffles me… love, eternity, forever after? Is there really one person out there you are meant to be with? Or is it all random luck?
Together my parents have built a loving, safe, upper middle class life for us. We had a pretty normal childhood that included a center hall colonial, pool in the back, and a Golden Retriever. All of it was quite boring. My career choice doesn’t fit into the boring, suburban, cookie-cutter world we grew up in.
I have a younger sister, Elizabeth Ann Lair, or Lizzy. Lizzy and Mom look like sisters, except Lizzy’s hair is not blond but light brown in color. They also act like sisters and get along very well. Like mom, Lizzy is aware of her beauty, but doesn’t use it to her benefit.
Beauty means nothing to my mom. Mom didn’t encourage Lizzy to model and to fall victim to such a cold, hurtful industry. Like they did for me, my parents insisted that Lizzy go to college and get her degree. She obeyed without objection. The difference between my sister and I was that she was on the same page as my parents.
Lizzy graduated from Columbia University with a Masters in Psychiatry. She is now working toward her PhD. My sister is the perfect trifecta. She is attractive, intelligent, and has a heart of pure gold. The man who wins her heart had better be something special, or he’ll have to deal with my temper and me.
Having a psychiatrist in the family will most definitely help with my many issues. As a teen I was like a bull in a china shop doped up on Viagra. My temper has calmed down quite a bit since then, yet my libido—not so much. I’ve been a walking hard-on since I was twelve. For some stupid reason I ended up having a girlfriend in high school for almost two years. Her name was Jessa Perez. In hindsight, that was fucking dumb. Don’t get me wrong, she was gorgeous, and we had a really good time, until we fought that is. My temper pales in comparison to hers.
Jessa and I were very immature and needed to grow up. We argued, made up, and then argued again. For two straight years, that was our relationship in a nutshell. At the time I thought we were in love.
I was so wrong.
In all fairness, I do suck at relationships. I am a serial flirt. That doesn’t seem to bode well when you have a girlfriend. So her retaliation was to cheat on me. Well, she denied the rumors that she cheated on me. I didn’t have proof, and my gut didn’t believe her. I finally got tired of all the fighting and rumors, so I ended it right after graduation.
Jessa didn’t have a problem replacing me when I dumped her. With her long black hair, chocolate brown eyes and her killer body, she is a complete knockout. She’s dangerous too. She can persuade the Pope to run naked through the streets of Rome.
I was determined to get over her. Once at NYU, the girls were the only thing that helped me get through. They were everywhere, and they made the hell I was in more bearable. I more than made up for those two years with Jessa. I guess I was trying to sow all the wild oats I missed in junior and senior year… and I still am.
I have not committed to a relationship since high school, and I don’t see myself doing so any time soon. I just can’t deal with the drama that comes with it. Being with Jessa was nothing but drama that was wrapped in a hot sex burrito.
Dumping her didn’t stop her from wanting to get back together with me. There was no way I was doing that. She claimed she wasn’t looking for a relationship, and only missed our sex life. She had a point. That was the only part we were good at. I caved a few times… twice to be exact. Our reunions have always been the same. There was hot sex, arguing, me screaming at her, her throwing something at me, and then me walking out. Not much had changed since we were together in high school. No one can push my buttons like Jessa can.
The last time we got together was a few days ago. We “ran” into each other at a club and ended up in her bed because I was drunk and horny. I’m not proud of the fact that I tend to think with my cock more than I should. By the end of the night, she had changed her story about only wanting sex. I barely remember what she was ranting about. Something about me being a bastard and needing to grow up. She is convinced we belong together, and after listening to her go on and on, I had a sick feeling that running into her wasn’t an accident. She’s delusional and a bit unstable.
That night was a huge mistake. To say that I regret it is an understatement. Hunter had to pick me up because I was so wasted. He told me to stay away from her. Actually he threw a fit and treated me like a child the entire drive home. Trey told me to get the fuck over it. His exact words were, “Shut the fuck up. So you had to fuck a complete knock-out, poor you.”
Dick-head.
Hunter gets it. Trey doesn’t get it.
It was a stupid move. Especially since I don’t need Jessa to fuck a knockout. I am not lacking in that department. Short of obtaining a restraining order, I’ve done everything I could to cut her out of my life. Like a bad penny, she keeps showing up.
I should have listened to Hunter. Hunter Amatto is our drummer and my best friend. He plays the role of band manager, and keeps our asses in line. About eight years ago, we met at a bar in the city while listening to a band and hit it off immediately. I spilled my guts about wanting to ditch my law career and start a rock band. It took exactly five minutes that night for Hunter to jump into my plan and run with it.
I owe him a lot. He got me through my intimate relationship with tequila after I told my parents that I was dropping out. I thank God that Hunter had the guts to dive head first into my plan, because his push lit a fire under my ass that has gotten us where we are today. He’s been an awesome friend and an even better “manager.” He even came up with the band’s name. It was a lucky day when I met Hunter.
So, for the record I am a firm believer of LUCK. I’m not trying to downplay how good we are as a band, but luck definitely had a part to play in our success.
Hunter’s roommate moved out soon after I dropped my nuclear bomb on my parents. The timing couldn’t have been more perfect, and I moved in. My mom was not happy with me, but I needed to get out of Long Island and away from them. Seeing my dad come home every day from his office was a constant reminder of what I was supposed to be doing and how I disappointed them.
It felt cathartic to move from suburbia to Brooklyn. I love where we live. We are in the Dumbo section, and it is one of the trendiest neighborhoods in the city. Our rent is hefty, but still a fraction of what an apartment of the same size would cost in Manhattan.
Our apartment is nothing special. We have a decent sized living room with a TV that’s way too big, but boys will be boys. Our kitchen is small and a half bath sits off the main hall. Our tiny bedrooms each have their own bathroom. That’s the entire apartment.
The best part is the roof. We are on the top floor of a six-floor building, and we have access to the roof. For some reason none of the other tenants ever go up there. We threw around some plastic tables and chairs. We invested in a cheap plastic couch. We put up some Christmas lights. We carry up our portable speakers. Voila’… instant hang out. It’s a great quiet place where we can chill out, or more specifically where I can entertain. Hunter doesn’t entertain as frequently as I do, so it’s a perfect hangout for me. I fucking love it up there.
It’s not like Hunter never has any girls over. I guess he is handsome by most women’s standards. He is tall with spiky hair, a few piercings, and one on his lip. I don’t get the attraction to piercings, or why chicks love them so much. His killer smile and blue eyes makes him a hot commodity, but he is shy as shit. It’s weird how he’s cocky and confident in every other aspect of his life, other than trying to pick up a chick. He waits for them to make the first move. What a waste of time.
We put an ad in the Village Voice and advertised for a guitarist and bassist. We found our guitarist first. Scott Malone is a nice Irish boy who is also from Long Island. Hunter and I were a little skeptical when we found him. He just looked too nice. Does he look like a rock star? Not so much. He has a clean-cut look that is more suitable for a cereal commercial. But damn, his talent blew us away. After hearing him play guitar, we hired him immediately.
Scott has a girlfriend named Patti Wells. Actually they are practically married. She is a petite blonde who’s cute but somewhat annoying, a little too enthusiastic for my tastes. Hey, I’m not the one screwing her. It just seems Scott can never get a word in edgewise with her.
Finding our bass guitarist was quite an ordeal. Initially we hired a guy who I grew up with and who I’d rather not name. He was crazy years ago, which should have been a red flag to me. Don’t get me wrong—we all like to think of ourselves as bad boy rockers, with the exception of Scott—but this guy took it to another level. That fucker almost got us arrested one night, and I really don’t want to be some dude’s bitch. We fired “him” and luckily we found Trey.
Trey was born and raised in New York City and had just recently moved back from California. We knew we had found our guy when we saw him playing at a bar in SoHo. He looked the part perfectly. Quite simply, Trey is dark. Tattoos everywhere, chin length black hair, black clothing, black shades, and black guitar. He is the opposite of Scott, which is good because we need him to level out the “Opie looking” field.
Trey not only looks the part, he is one awesome bassist. If we hadn’t found him, someone else would have any second. He rarely cracks a smile. If he does he gets quite the reaction from our girl fans.
Yes, we all have fans. Our fans uploaded our performances on the Internet and now we get recognized even more than ever. It’s freaky when it happens, and it shocks the shit out of us.
Some of our fans are extremely aggressive. I’ve had sex with some of them. Most of the time they move on when they see my road is a dead end. There is a constant stream of gorgeous women throwing themselves at us, more specifically at me. I always treat them with utmost respect, and I always use a condom! These women chase me and who am I to disappoint? I am not forcing any of them to do what they weren’t planning on doing any way. It’s amazing how many women will have a one-night stand with a complete stranger.
I lost count of how many women I’ve been with, and I am a little embarrassed of my promiscuousness. It hasn’t stopped me though. I enjoy being in the company of a woman, for one night, maybe two, a week tops. That’s as far as I’ll take a relationship, for now. I don’t have time to waste energy or even brain cells on relationship drama. I have more important things to worry about. My career is finally taking off and I plan on enjoying this wave. The next year of our lives will be recording an album and then touring.
Fuck yeah!
We are so ready for this. I don’t regret all the dirty, sleazy, seedy bars we’ve played in over these last few years. Those dives made us who we are. We don’t take anything for granted. Each one of us appreciates what is happening and we are loving every goddamn minute of it.
Two years ago we were playing in a band competition and won. The super famous band MACE saw us and caught a few more of our shows. They were about to start a small tour and asked us to open for them.
Except for living with a bunch of smelly guys on a bus for months, touring with MACE was fantastic. It definitely gave us tons of experience for our own tour. I had the fucking time of my life… literally.
While in LA, we were approached by a tall gorgeous blonde with ice blue eyes. She introduced herself as Jennifer Baxter. I prefer brunettes, but she is stunning. After our segment, she stalked right over to me and thrust her hand out. She looked like she wanted to eat me alive. I was just about to put my moves on her until she introduced herself as an agent and said she wanted to represent us. This is just how she works; there is simply no beating around the bush for Jennifer. Not having an agent and liking her balls, we went for it. What could it hurt?
We trusted Jen, and luckily it was the best move we made. In the past year, she got us signed by the same record label representing MACE.
Jen is not exactly a veteran in the music business, but damn she is as tenacious as they come. That definitely works in our favor. She was having drinks with a friend while on a business trip to L.A. on the night she found us. We trusted her and she came through.
The guys made me swear on a stack of bibles, a box of condoms, and a case of beer that I would NEVER DO JENNIFER! Jeez, I really wasn’t planning on it anyway, but she sure hasn’t made that easy on me. Yes, she has been the utmost professional. However, I am a master at interpreting looks, and I was convinced she wanted me.
Jen has been seeing someone for almost a year now. Malcolm Reynolds is also an agent, and if you look up agent in the dictionary, it would show you Malcolm’s picture. He is as tenacious as Jen, but in a sleazy sort of agent way. He’s very successful at what he does, so I guess it works for him.
You would think that having a boyfriend would curtail her flirting with me, but nope. I’ve met him a few times. He has quite a wandering eye himself, and I wonder if Jen’s tactics aren’t to try and get him jealous. I guess you could say they make a perfect couple.
Now we have a three-album record contract. We have just about two albums worth of songs already, so hitting the three-album requirement will not be a problem. I am constantly writing songs. Hunter and the boys put my words to music effortlessly. They always know exactly what I’m feeling in my lyrics. Along with that, we’re also under contract to rehearse in the studio for the next few months to prepare and record album number one. We will then be going on our US tour beginning in September to promote it. The tour will run from coast to coast over five months. Most of the venues are a few thousand seats. Jen feels it’s better to start small and sell out. I think we could have started a bit bigger since we have a nice following now. I guess I understand her mentality.
One night while hanging out in a bar and listening to another random band, Hunter came up with a great idea. He suggested that we add a back-up singer to create a different sound that would make us stand out more. Rock bands are a dime a dozen, and we can easily get lost in the mundane. He felt my voice begged for a female companion.
He was right. It was fucking brilliant! Jennifer did not agree. This was our first disconnect. She wasn’t thrilled with the idea. Once we checked with the studio and got the green light, we overrode her and went for it. There aren’t many other rock bands that utilize the female voice all that much. We are creating a sound that is practically missing in the rock band world. Last week we held auditions, and one girl blew us away. Many we saw had the perfect voice. Many had the perfect look. This chick had it all.
Leila Marino.
She has a very sultry sexy voice, and her range is outrageous.
Her look is also perfect. She has a fucking hot, killer body with nice legs. Long, brown hair that has a natural wave extends to the middle of her back. Her eyes are a stunning golden brown, fringed in thick black lashes. Her full lips are the kind you want to suck on for hours. She did a lot of staring at me, so I was able to get a good look at her. She’s perfection. She had on tight jeans with black boots to her knees. Her blouse was black and sheer and fitted, revealing some nice curves underneath.
When Leila walked in, she looked dumbstruck. My first impression was, “What a ditz!” She was gawking at me like a star struck groupie. At first, I couldn’t get her to focus. She gets this “deer in headlights” look on her face that makes you want to laugh. I attributed her skittishness to nerves.
When we finally made it to the studio for her to actually sing for us, FUCK ME! She blew us away. She sang one song as back-up, and I desperately needed to hear more. Her song choice was Dream On, by Aerosmith. Do you know how hard it is to sing that song? She nailed it. When she belted out the rock screams, my cock twitched. It was so fucking hot.
Her audition song choice was a work of art. I joined her toward the end, and we complimented each other perfectly. Her voice is the female version of mine.
Patti, Scott’s girlfriend, found Leila singing in a bar in Hoboken. I was a little skeptical about Patti’s find since she tends to over react. Patti’s opinion was dead on. Why this girl hasn’t been discovered yet is baffling. She will need some work. She has absolutely no confidence in her talent, little self-esteem and is a klutz. The confidence and self-esteem issues aren’t a problem. I can help her ten-fold in those departments. The klutziness could be an issue. However, I simply don’t care. Hell, I’ll put her in a padded suit if necessary.
We finally tracked Leila down yesterday and we are now waiting to meet with her. I really hope she accepts our offer. She is perfect.
A loud “Fuck you” drags me out of my daydream. This crew can be so annoying. They are arguing away about utter nonsense. I suddenly feel real antsy and stand to stretch. Damn, it feels like my ass has been in this chair for days.
“Let’s grab some food and hang out at my place.” Scott chimes. He is content in playing our gigs, hanging out with us and snuggling with his chick Patti, all in the same night.
“Nope. I’m heading home.” I look up to see three sets of eyes staring at me. “What?”
“It’s Saturday dude. What the hell?” Hunter on the other hand, can go out to a different bar every night without fail.
“As much as I’d love to spend a romantic evening with you three, I’m going to work out, get something to eat and then call that chick from last weekend, Ella? Emma? Whatever the hell her name is. I’m going to invite her over and relax.” I emphasize “relax” with air quotes.
“Relax my ass.” Hunter smirks. “Make sure you close your door dude, and stay out of the living room. I don’t need to see your junk again when I get home.”
Last night Hunter walked in on my friend Heather and me having sex on our couch. Heather calmly pulled herself off of me and without flinching sauntered to my room while smiling at Hunter. In the process, she left me completely exposed in all of my own naked glory. Hunter grabbed a potholder and threw it at me to cover up. Really, what did he think that would cover up? So I left it on the floor and followed my friend into my room. The look on his face was priceless.
“That wasn’t my fault. Heather is an exhibitionist. She likes to do it in every room and doesn’t care who is watching.” I give them my full dimple smile. It really only works on chicks and the guys hate it when I lay it on them, so I do it often. I am a bit of a ball buster.
~~~
After my workout, I scroll to my Ella/Emma entry on my phone and dial the number. When she answers I smoothly announce, “Hey babe, it’s Jack. How are you?”
“Hi Jack. What a nice surprise. I’m so much better now hearing your sexy voice.” She seductively says into the phone.
“Want to come over?”
“I’d love to. Be there soon.”
I guess she doesn’t have plans or she’s ditching whomever she’s with. Ella or Emma is a gorgeous, leggy brunette that I met last weekend at our gig. She was up against the stage and stared at me the entire time. I walked up to her once our show ended. Before long she was in my bed. We didn’t have a lot of conversation, which is why I can’t remember her damn name. The sex that night was mind-blowing. Also, I pegged her to be about a one and a half on her “relationship scale.” The combination of the two is the only reason I called her tonight.
First off, I usually don’t see one night stands for a repeat. I have really good relationship-seeking radar. I can usually tell if a woman is in search of a relationship within fifteen minutes of meeting her. I don’t want to lead anyone on, or raise her expectations. There are certain red flags and I am a pro at detecting them. At a one and a half, Ella/Emma definitely passed the test.
Secondly, obviously the sex has to be good.
I have just enough time to grab something to eat, jump into the shower, and wrap a towel around my waist when the intercom buzzes.
Anxious to get down to business, I answer the door in just a towel. Why get dressed when I will be naked in a few minutes?
“Hey gorgeous, how are you?” Leaning in, I give her a kiss on her cheek. She is wearing a black mini skirt that barely covers her fine ass, a black tank top that is showing off her assets nicely, and black heels with the sharpest points I have ever seen. They look like weapons; they also make her very tall.
While I’m checking her out, she is checking me out and focuses on my towel.
“Thanks, Jack. I’m so glad you called. Tonight is looking to turn out much better than I expected.” She flashes me her super white smile, probably fake. I know her boobs are most definitely fake. I prefer natural, but it doesn’t matter in the least to me since she is smoking hot.
“I hope I didn’t pull you away from something important.”
“Nope, no worries.”
Wasting no additional time with pleasantries, she rubs up against me and kisses me flush on the lips. Dipping her finger inside the edge of my towel and running it from side to side, she instantly has my attention. It’s less than ten minutes later when we find ourselves in my bedroom and Ella/Emma is giving me a noteworthy blowjob.
This is exactly what I needed tonight, and I’m relishing in the feeling of her lips wrapped around me. Lying back, I close my eyes and I see… Leila.
LEILA??? WHAT THE FUCK?!!
I am so surprised by seeing Leila inside my head that I actually call out her name.
Hot chick lifts her head and says, “Leila? Who the fuck is Leila? I’m Emma.”
Oh crap!
“Sorry baby, I meant Emma.” Placating her, thankfully she continues with her task while I remain baffled by my vision. It must be because I spoke to her yesterday, right? I was just remembering her audition earlier, right? That can be the only logical explanation for seeing Leila while I’m getting the best fucking blowjob from Emma!
Deciding to not waste a good blowjob, I close my eyes and settle back to enjoy what Emma is determined to finish. And I might as well continue with my fantasy because I am so going to hell.
The Back-Up Series must be read in order,
Back-Up, Front & Center, Encore, Backstage, and The Devil’s Lair
You can purchase Back-Up on Amazon .
Copyright ©2014 by A.M. Madden.