I’m sure you’re still high right now.
Besides, you’re going back on the road and you’re not taking me. That was a
pretty messed up decision on your part. You just wanna play with groupies,
don’t you?”
His
caramel brown eyes narrowed. He was tired, hungover, and volatile. “Yeah, I
do.” He let a sarcastic chuckle slip out. “Actually, sweetie, isn’t that how
I met you?”
She
leaned fully into her body weight and threw a punch, nailing him in the
stomach. “Go to hell, Joe!” She stormed out.
He took
a moment to catch his breath and get composed. He stared at his empty, unmade
bed and seized his suitcase. He didn’t want to deal with it. He stormed into
the living room moments later and handed off his luggage to the patiently
waiting driver. He nodded. “Let’s get the fuck outta here.”
He
slammed the door behind him and ran down the walkway leading to his long
driveway. He sauntered up to the black stretch limousine where the driver had
opened the door for him and stood in anticipation. Joe forced a grin. “Can we
make one stop before we head to the airport?”
The
driver nodded. “Of course, Mr. Arden. Whatever you need. Let me know where
you’d like to go.”
Thirty
minutes later, Joe climbed the steps of the private jet apprehensively. He was
dreading going back on tour. He didn’t understand the inner conflict that
brewed inside of him. No matter what he did these days, he couldn’t find
happy. He wasn’t happy on the road, yet he wasn’t happy on a break. The last
thing he wanted to do was figure it out. He preferred to stay numb to the
entire process.
The
moment he set foot on the plane and noticed his fellow band members he threw
his hands up in the air and yelled joyfully. “Where’s the party?”
The
flight attendant took his guitar case from him and replaced it with a vodka on
the rocks. Wilson laughed. “Good to see you, man. The party starts now.
We’ve been waiting for you.” He waved him back.
Joe
took a seat across from Wilson and next to the bass guitarist, Snake, who
handed him a rolled up one hundred-dollar bill, grinning. “No better way to
start the party than taking a little ride on the white horse.”
He
seized the rolled up bill from Snake and stared at the small mound of cocaine
on the table in front of him. Several lines were cut on a mirror awaiting him.
He swallowed hard and knew he was headed down a dark road, but he didn’t seem
to care.
As the jet took off from the runway in Burbank and they were wheels
up, he glanced out the window and grinned, high as a kite. He was now
completely content leaving L.A. behind to run off to the circus with the clowns
again.
* * *
Kit
left her shift at Café L.A. early and headed home to change and put on some
makeup before heading over to one of the hottest and most legendary clubs on
the Sunset Strip, the Whisky-a-Go-Go.
She
found a padded envelope awaiting her on the welcome mat in front of the door to
her apartment. She opened it hastily as she ran through the apartment back to
her bedroom to get ready. Joe had left her a kind letter and the keys to his home
and his car. He told her he would be in touch soon. She sighed, hoping the
North American leg of the tour would be easier for him. She threw the envelope
on her bed and rummaged through her closet for the right look.
Kit
strolled into the club confidently wearing a distressed, cropped, brown,
leather jacket with a tight, black, lace camisole underneath that revealed just
enough cleavage to arouse any healthy heterosexual male’s curiosity. Her black,
leather miniskirt was tight and short, showing off her long legs encased in
sheer black stockings. The sexy, black, leather stilettos she wore made her appear
to be a few inches taller.
When
she walked into the club, a big haired, loud, hard rock band was on stage
starting their set—nothing out of the ordinary for a night at the Whisky.
She found herself surprised moments after she retrieved a drink
Besides, you’re going back on the road and you’re not taking me. That was a
pretty messed up decision on your part. You just wanna play with groupies,
don’t you?”
His
caramel brown eyes narrowed. He was tired, hungover, and volatile. “Yeah, I
do.” He let a sarcastic chuckle slip out. “Actually, sweetie, isn’t that how
I met you?”
She
leaned fully into her body weight and threw a punch, nailing him in the
stomach. “Go to hell, Joe!” She stormed out.
He took
a moment to catch his breath and get composed. He stared at his empty, unmade
bed and seized his suitcase. He didn’t want to deal with it. He stormed into
the living room moments later and handed off his luggage to the patiently
waiting driver. He nodded. “Let’s get the fuck outta here.”
He
slammed the door behind him and ran down the walkway leading to his long
driveway. He sauntered up to the black stretch limousine where the driver had
opened the door for him and stood in anticipation. Joe forced a grin. “Can we
make one stop before we head to the airport?”
The
driver nodded. “Of course, Mr. Arden. Whatever you need. Let me know where
you’d like to go.”
Thirty
minutes later, Joe climbed the steps of the private jet apprehensively. He was
dreading going back on tour. He didn’t understand the inner conflict that
brewed inside of him. No matter what he did these days, he couldn’t find
happy. He wasn’t happy on the road, yet he wasn’t happy on a break. The last
thing he wanted to do was figure it out. He preferred to stay numb to the
entire process.
The
moment he set foot on the plane and noticed his fellow band members he threw
his hands up in the air and yelled joyfully. “Where’s the party?”
The
flight attendant took his guitar case from him and replaced it with a vodka on
the rocks. Wilson laughed. “Good to see you, man. The party starts now.
We’ve been waiting for you.” He waved him back.
Joe
took a seat across from Wilson and next to the bass guitarist, Snake, who
handed him a rolled up one hundred-dollar bill, grinning. “No better way to
start the party than taking a little ride on the white horse.”
He
seized the rolled up bill from Snake and stared at the small mound of cocaine
on the table in front of him. Several lines were cut on a mirror awaiting him.
He swallowed hard and knew he was headed down a dark road, but he didn’t seem
to care.
As the jet took off from the runway in Burbank and they were wheels
up, he glanced out the window and grinned, high as a kite. He was now
completely content leaving L.A. behind to run off to the circus with the clowns
again.
* * *
Kit
left her shift at Café L.A. early and headed home to change and put on some
makeup before heading over to one of the hottest and most legendary clubs on
the Sunset Strip, the Whisky-a-Go-Go.
She
found a padded envelope awaiting her on the welcome mat in front of the door to
her apartment. She opened it hastily as she ran through the apartment back to
her bedroom to get ready. Joe had left her a kind letter and the keys to his home
and his car. He told her he would be in touch soon. She sighed, hoping the
North American leg of the tour would be easier for him. She threw the envelope
on her bed and rummaged through her closet for the right look.
Kit
strolled into the club confidently wearing a distressed, cropped, brown,
leather jacket with a tight, black, lace camisole underneath that revealed just
enough cleavage to arouse any healthy heterosexual male’s curiosity. Her black,
leather miniskirt was tight and short, showing off her long legs encased in
sheer black stockings. The sexy, black, leather stilettos she wore made her appear
to be a few inches taller.
When
she walked into the club, a big haired, loud, hard rock band was on stage
starting their set—nothing out of the ordinary for a night at the Whisky.
She found herself surprised moments after she retrieved a drink
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