Vanni: A Prequel (Groupie Book 4) Read online

  It’s him, the New Vanni who has finally given his last fuck.

  The girls come apart as I sing the lyrics to them. They turn into instant groupies. It blows my mind. I open my mouth, and they rush to the stage. They can’t seem to get close enough. I relish in their attention, getting grittier with every verse. I pull one of the girls onstage with me to dance during the music solo. When I begin to sing to her, she practically melts at my feet.

  This is so much better than some florescent-lit hellhole in the basement of a skyscraper.

  Pam cheers the loudest as I finish and hop down off the stage. Everyone chants my name, which makes my blood pump in my veins.

  “Didn’t I tell you?” she says as I reach her. “Palm of your hand. You’re a natural, Vanni. You’re going to be headlining sell-out venues one day. I know it.”

  “I have a long way to go still,” I tell her. “I have hardly any experience and zero opportunity.”

  “I don’t know about that,” she says as she heads back to the bar. There are a stack of free magazines for the NYC music scene. She opens it to the back where there are tons of classified ads. “There’s your opportunity, honey,” she says. She points to her stage. “There’s your experience. I mean, you’re going to be here anyway, right? Hone your skills where you can. Before you know it, you’ll have mastered something great.”

  I can’t resist. I pull her into a hug and hold her tight. She feels warm and comfortable in my arms, like a plush teddy bear. It feels so good that I don’t want to let go, so I don’t for a long moment. I just relish every inch of her. She clears her throat and pulls back. I know she’s still keeping her distance because of Lori. Frankly, that only makes me like her more.

  I don’t tell Lori about my karaoke success that night when she comes home from the club. I don’t tell her about quitting, either. While she’s at work all that weekend, I’m practicing my new skill as a singer in front of the mirror at the house, and then on that tiny stage at the bar. When several girls hit on me, asking to take me home, I figure I’m doing something right.

  Or at least, he is.

  I like this new guy a lot more than the other one. He’s got confidence and swagger. I almost believe him when he struts across that tiny stage and drives all the girls crazy. I make up for the lackluster rendition of “Open Arms” on Saturday night, where no fewer than five girls fall head over heels in love with me.

  It’s empowering. That night, when Lori gets home from work, I practically pounce her from the front door. We make love in the living room, then again in the kitchen, and finally in the bedroom.

  I borrow some of the new guy’s swagger to make her come until she nearly passes out. I figure everything is fine until Sunday afternoon, when she finally asks. “When are you going to get your hair cut, Vanni? The weekend is nearly over.”

  I grin at her. “I didn’t hear any complaints last night when you grabbed it and told me to fuck you harder,” I growl as I pull her into my lap. She turns away from my kiss.

  “Vanni. I’m not kidding around. You know you have to cut your hair.”

  I sigh. “If I want to keep that job, then yes. I have to cut my hair.”

  “What do you mean if?” she says at once.

  “I mean if, Lori. Jesus.” I know I’m just putting off the inevitable, but I can’t yet utter the words. I have to push her out of my lap and turn away so she can’t see my face.

  “Vanni.”

  I take a breath and just go for it. “Fine. I quit my job.”

  Her eyes are lethal. “When?”

  I rip the bandage all the way off. The word lands like a hand grenade. “Friday.”

  She immediately flies off the bed. “What the hell were you thinking? How could you quit? Do you know how hard Tony had to fight for them to hire you?”

  I stand to face her, by now just as angry as she is. “And just how much of my life do I have to give up in exchange for that generous gesture, Lori? A year? Five years? Fifty?”

  “It was a chance to build a career,” she starts, but I’m over it.

  “It was a shitty no-where job and you know it.”

  “It didn’t have to be. You are the one not trying hard enough. You can go to school. You can cut your hair–”

  “Oh, right. Just change everything about myself to make everyone else happy. Sometimes I feel like I died with Susan that day. I haven’t recognized myself since she’s been gone.”

  “Look, I’m sorry your aunt died, Vanni. But you would have had to grow up either way. You’re twenty-six years old. You’re a man. If you want to be taken seriously–”

  I scoff. “You keep saying that to me, but I’m starting to think the only person not taking me seriously is you.”

  We stare at each other for a long, hard minute before she finally grabs her clothes that are slung over a chair next to the bed. “You’re such an asshole,” she grits between her teeth as she slips into her jeans. “I gave up everything for you. I gave up my apartment, my friends, my life. I moved in here and helped keep you together every day since your aunt died. And all I get from you is grief. You want to play around like a kid and I’m the big mean meanie who is trying to turn you into a man.”

  “Fuck you,” I spit.

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” she retorts. “Get me in bed, keep me distracted. Anything to keep from facing reality.”

  “And what reality is that?” I ask. I can’t seem to stop myself.

  Her eyes meet mine. “You don’t have what it takes to make it, Vanni. You’re 100-percent dreamer with zero discipline. You have a little talent, sure, but no skill, and certainly no patience to develop any. You want to be a star, but have you ever thought about what kind of hard work it takes to really do the job well?”

  Immediately I want to bring up all the practice that I’ve been doing, playing until my fingers cramped, learning what songs I could, and writing new songs along the way. I’m pretty proud of how far I’ve come. I know it’s useless. She sees music as a hobby. “I’ve got an idea,” is all I say in answer to her question.

  “Yeah, well if you think I’m going to work my ass to pay the bills while you go off and play, you’ve got another thing coming, Vanni. I want a partner, someone who knows where he’s going and knows what it takes to get there.”

  “You’re just assuming I don’t because I want to pursue music.”

  It’s her turn to scoff. “You don’t want to pursue music, Vanni. You want to be famous. You want to live the high-flying life of a celebrity. But when it comes to working at something, at anything, you suck.”

  I follow her through the house as she heads for the front door. “So you’re just leaving?”

  She whips around to face me. “I’d stay forever if you could just get your head on straight.” She waits for a moment, as if she expects me to grovel and beg for her to stay, to promise her that I’d do whatever she wanted to make her happy.

  Only I tried that, and I was the miserable one.

  “I’ve got to do this,” I tell her. “I know you don’t understand. But it’s just something I need to do for me. If I fail, I fail. But at least I’ll know that I tried.”

  “Fine. You do what you need to do. Just don’t expect me to watch you blow through Susan’s inheritance on a pipe dream.”

  She slams out the door.

  I can’t wait to get to Fritz’s that night. There I’m not derided like a child for believing in my dreams. I’m celebrated for being good at something I only dreamed I could be good at. There’s a glimmer of hope there that pumps into my veins like heroin.

  There’s also Pam, who has never criticized me for who I am or what I want to do. When she looks at me, she really sees me. And that person really matters to her, with all his silly hopes and dreams. I realize that is what I’ve been missing most all this time.

  Suddenly I want to see her more than anything.

  As I drive up in the parking lot, however, I see Pam standing outside the main entrance, in
the arms of another man. He’s a little older than me, with dark, short hair, wire-framed glasses and a slight paunch. He looks like some kind of nerd, but Pam doesn’t seem to care. She reaches up for a kiss and the lucky sonofabitch obliges.

  I remain in my car until he leaves. The longer I have to wait, the more I fume. Every single time we managed to get close, she used Lori as her excuse to break out of any embrace. Has she been hiding this jerkoff the whole time?

  I’m still mad when I enter the bar, where she tends to customers, wearing that same jovial smile. Our eyes meet. I know I’m not the only one who feels it sizzle down to my toes. I motion for my beer and she nods, before she quickly looks away.

  I know now that’s guilt she wears.

  She avoids me through much of the night. It’s as if she knows I know. Finally I grab her wrist as she deposits drink #4. “We need to talk.”

  She relents with a small nod, motioning to Cheryl that she’s taking a break. She allows me to pull her around the bar and off towards the parking lot, where she lets me into her car. “What’s up?” she says, once we finally get settled.

  “Lori left me,” I tell her. Her eyes widen as she stares up at me.

  “I’m so sorry,” she starts, but I don’t let her finish. Instead I cup my hand around her neck and pull her towards me, crushing her full, sexy mouth under mine for a demanding kiss. It’s like I want to erase any trace of any other man’s lips there, because they don’t belong. She’s so stunned her lips part in a gasp, and I deepen the kiss immediately. From the way she swoons against me, I can’t imagine that dork would have anything on me. I moan into her mouth as she kisses me back, just for an instant. Then suddenly she pushes against my chest, pulling away.

  “Vanni, I can’t.”

  My eyes drill into hers “Why not?”

  She sighs. “I’m… I’ve been seeing someone.”

  It’s a guilty admission, as though she’d been caught cheating. Like she has to answer to me. And right now, she does. “Since when?”

  She struggles for the words. “Since… since forever I guess. I mean, he’s an old family friend. He’s known my dad for ages. They invited him for Christmas dinner, and, I don’t know. I guess we just thought we’d see where things would go.”

  I grasp her arm with my fingers. She’s being seeing this fuckwad since Christmas? Is she fucking kidding me? “I see. And you never thought to bring it up?”

  “Why would I? You had someone. We were just… I dunno. Funning around.”

  “I’m pretty serious now,” I tell her, leaning so close I could kiss her again. And God knows I want to, even though she just shakes her head.

  “Vanni,” she says. “Look at you. You could have any girl in this bar.”

  I know that’s true. It’s not conceit. I’ve sung in front of these girls all weekend, which comes with a lot of extra attention even when I’m not behind a microphone. They shove folded napkins with their numbers on it in my pockets, some even copping a feel as they pull away.

  Had I been a different sort of man, I could have had any number of them.

  But none of that excite me more than Pam does. She is so different from Lori in every way, from her crazy red hair and her tattoos, to that luscious hour-glass figure that feels soft and full, like an angel in my arms. Her rose is in full bloom. And goddamn if I don’t want to caress each and every sensual petal. “What if I said I wanted you?”

  She touches my face with her hand. “I’d say I’m flattered… but I’m also realistic. You are on the cusp of something amazing. I know it way down deep in my soul. There’s no room there for… for ordinary,” she says, struggling for words. Is that how she really sees herself? “I’m sorry Lori left. Really. But you won’t need her where you’re going. You won’t even need me.” She reaches up leave a sweet peck upon my lips. “You surpassed ordinary from the very first song you wrote. And that’s just the way it is.”

  She holds me in her arms, a strong hug meant to reassure me. I let my hands slip easily over her back, relishing in how she feels under my fingers. Despite my passion for all women, and my experiences thus far, I’ve never really been with a voluptuous woman before, and I find that her womanly figure is inviting and luxurious to the touch. I just want to lose myself inside of her and never find my way back out again.

  She pulls away from me suddenly, as if she senses how my cock jumps at the thought. From the flush creeping up her neck and into her face, I know I tempt her every bit as much as she’s tempting me.

  “I gotta go back to the bar,” she says. I do not stop her. Instead we exit the car and walk wordlessly back into inside. I then head to the stage where, if nowhere else, I’m the star. More girls pile around me, and I’m tempted to take one back to my now-empty home.

  Instead I stop at a liquor store on the way home and buy a couple of bottles of whiskey. It’s going to be a long night, and I need the comfort of a couple old friends.

  Later, while I’m sitting in bed and killing bottle #2, I prowl through the want ads in the back of the music magazine Pam had given me. I don’t know what I’m looking for until I find it. It’s a small ad, but my eyes zero in on it all the same… as if it had been waiting just for me. And maybe it was.

  NEW BAND SEAKING LEAD SINGER. MUST KNOW 80s-90s ROCK. SOME SONGWRITING SKILL PERFERRED BUT NOT REQUIRED. INQUIRE WITH YAEL SATTERLEE.

  I don’t even think twice as I reach for the phone.

  CHAPTER EIGHT:

  Instead of going to McKinley, Donnelly and Roth Monday morning, I head over to SoHo’s Cast Iron District where Yael has a loft. The old building is huge and private, which explains why I practically hear Yael playing all the way to the street. But there’s no one around to complain.

  He answers the door, wearing jeans and an old rock T-shirt, his jet black hair tied back away from his face. Though I sense he doesn’t do it often, he smiles immediately. He offers his hand. “Hey, man. Glad you could make it.”

  “My pleasure,” I tell him as I follow him inside. “Great place.”

  “Thanks. I think I’ve driven away every last neighbor but it’s been worth it. Come on, I want you to meet the guys.”

  We turn the corner to a large living space. It’s a studio apartment, so Yael’s bedroom, such as it is, is secured behind an Oriental room divider in the corner. There’s a kitchen on the opposite wall, and a door for what presumably is a bathroom in the corner. At least a dozen guitars line the walls. He plucks one down as we pass. “Hey, guys. This is Vanni.”

  A man in shorts, tank top and flip flops rises through a dense cloud of smoke as he stands up from the thread-bare sofa. “Hey, how’s it going?”

  I nod and shake his hand as Yael makes the introductions. “This is Felix Soto. He’s our drummer.”

  “It’s really nice to meet you,” I say. He looks every inch a California stoner, but I can tell by his biceps that he is not afraid of intense work.

  The bathroom door opens and another, younger guy emerges. His hair is black as night, much like Yael’s, but his eyes are a pale blue, made even lighter by his thick dark lashes. He looks like he just stepped off the cover of a magazine. “And this is Bobby Rocco. He’s our bass player.”

  I shake his hand. “Vanni. Nice to meet you.”

  We all sit around the large coffee table, overflowing with cigarette butts, marijuana paraphernalia and sheet music, some printed, some done by hand. “So tell us what kind of experience you have,” Yael says.

  “Right now, karaoke,” I say, which makes Bobby chortle openly.

  “So no band experience?” Felix asks.

  “Some,” I say with more confidence than I feel. Right now I feel like a kindergartener who just got caught picking his nose. “Years ago. Garage bands when I was a kid, mostly, but we never really went anywhere. Wanted to pursue music full-time but any job I got as a singer usually didn’t pay shit. A boy’s gotta eat,” I finish with a cheeky grin.

  “But you write music,” Yael persists. I shrug. />
  “I doodle,” I say as I pull the folded piece of paper from my pocket and hand it to him. He opens it to skim over “Make it Happen.”

  “You play piano?” he asks.

  “A little,” I confess. I know that any other singer would bullshit his way into the band, but I want to start on the right foot. I motion to the piano sitting in the corner. “May I?”

  Yael nods and I head over to the baby grand that barely fits where a dining room table is supposed to go. I turn on the microphone on the mic stand, which sends feedback throughout the room. I don’t even need the sheet music as I begin to play. “Havin’ a dream, but going nowhere. Punch that clock, cut my hair. Waiting for permission to start my ignition. Just a regular Joe, still I know if I want something I have to make it happen. No excuses, no regrets. Make it happen. Raise my voice, learn the steps. Make it happen, grab that rope before I fall. I gotta make it happen, or it won’t happen at all.”

  As I sing, Yael fiddles around on his guitar to accompany me. Following his lead, both Bobby and Felix jump on their instruments. Music swells in the large, open space. What started as an idea, explored with simple notes and futile words to express it, has now become music.

  I damn near cry it so fucking beautiful.

  After I’m done with my song, Yael jumps into a cover of “Livin’ on a Prayer.” I take the microphone and walk over to the band where they sit in a circle overlooking the window, where I get into the character of the song without holding anything back. I don’t miss a beat when he segues into “Man in the Box,” slowing it down for “Creep,” and then finally “Patience.”

  No one says anything as we plow from song to song. They’re completely in sync with each other, clearly these are familiar staples of their current set lists. And I step easily and quickly into place. I don’t need the sheet music for the songs that they play. Every single selection is right in my wheelhouse, songs I’ve been singing since I was a kid. The music from the last note finally dies out, echoing through the vaulted ceilings.