Vanni: A Prequel (Groupie Book 4) Read online

  I finally leave my neighborhood tavern. And I know I’ll never return.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE:

  The month of November is rough for a lot of reasons. I’m drinking too much, for one. I barely leave my house for two. Using Sasha’s advice, we finally book some gigs using the split, but the pay is abysmal. Fortunately, Alana has a few ideas.

  She works for Schuster and Beckweth, a public relations company in the city, so she understands what kind of promotion we need. She takes over the website almost immediately, working hard to make connections and polish our social media so that we get our fledgling fanbase into the clubs.

  By Thanksgiving she’s already adopted all of us, and we opt for an orphan’s gathering at their Chelsea apartment. Since they’re both vegan, it makes it an interesting dinner indeed. Felix shares one of his magical joints with me, which means I’m eating everything that isn’t tied down anyway, so it’s all good. And it’s so far removed from the Thanksgivings of my past it barely hurts.

  December limps along much like November. Again, Alana and Iain host the holidays, which makes them a bit easier to face. Despite what Tina had said, Iain and Alana had found love in the crazy rock world, so being around them actually gave me hope that, even if I couldn’t have a normal life, I could have a happy one. I start writing better songs, rather than all the bitter, angry ones I had purged after everything that had happened with Tina.

  Hell, I’m even able to purge what had happened with Lori, and I know that when I pass her window-shopping on Fifth Avenue. She looks nothing like the last time we saw each other. I’m not sure which change surprises me more: the wedding rings on her finger, or the massive pregnant tummy under her maternity shirt. Apparently there’s something in the water.

  I decide to wave the flag first. “I guess congratulations are in order.”

  “Thanks,” she offers awkwardly.

  “Tony’s?” I ask.

  She nods. “We got married last year.”

  “Ah,” I say as I scramble for something more significant to say. She holds her belly as she looks up at me, and I wonder what we had ever shared. Had I really thought that we could ever have a future together, that we had somehow managed to find forever kind of love? Maybe I don’t know what the hell love is. But apparently she does, because she was willing to gamble the rest of her life for it.

  After everything I’d been through, I really don’t know if I’ll ever be able to do that. The odds are low I’ll ever find anyone I can trust that much again. Except for Alana, every good, decent girl I’d met wanted nothing to do with the chaos that surrounded the life of a rock star.

  And who could blame them?

  Lori, Pam and Sasha all needed dependable good guys who could put their needs first, and I had never been capable of that with any of them. It was, and is, all about my dream.

  I honestly didn’t see how any woman could compete with it. Not for real. And not for long.

  To her credit, Lori actually looks repentant. “Listen, Vanni. I just want to say I’m sorry for how it all went down. I was such a stupid kid back then. I should have been honest with you from the beginning.”

  “Ditto,” I reply. I know now my biggest mistake was putting my dreams on hold and acting like that was okay, when inside it was killing me.

  I’ll never do that again, that’s for sure.

  “No hard feelings,” I say, and I’m surprised to find that I actually mean it. “I wish you and Tony all the best.”

  She smiles. “Thanks. You too.” She pauses for a beat before she asks, “Are you still performing?”

  I nod but don’t say anything. I figure there’s no room for gory details in small talk.

  “Good,” she says. “You should. You’re really gifted, and I’m sorry I let my fears get in the way of that.”

  It’s the best thing she could have ever said to me. I reach for a hug. She complies. I feel her belly jump against me, which makes me laugh. How weird and wonderful and alien. “Looks like you have a football player in there.”

  “A ballerina,” she corrects. She looks so calm and serene about it, like she’s unraveled some mystery of the universe. I almost envy her.

  “Congratulations again,” I say before we part ways. I’m glad she’s found someone to make her happy, because if that was what she needed, the wedding and the babies and stability, I know I’m not the guy for her, and never had been.

  My first, and as it turns out, only, true love is music.

  By the time I get home, I already feel like I’ve been on a spiritual journey. I look around non-decorated home and suddenly miss all the Christmas stuff my aunt would haul out every Thanksgiving so that we could enjoy them from the beginning of the season to the last.

  I consider putting up my tree. I even climb up to the attic to fetch some of the decorations, just a few, just so that there’s some kind of hint of merriment to liven my holiday.

  I stop dead in my tracks when I run across Aunt Susan’s gifts to me from 2004, still wrapped, now dusty, hidden away in a forgotten box in the attic.

  I sigh as I sit cross-legged on the floor. Maybe Sasha was right. Maybe it is time to open them. The first one is a big one. It’s a leather jacket, one I’ve always wanted. My aunt must have spent a fortune on it, and here it’s been hidden in this box all this time. It still smells brand new as I take it out. I run my hands along the fabric, which feels cool and textured against my hand. A tear I don’t even realize I’ve shed splashes on it. I brush it away.

  I reach for the next one. It’s a long, slender box, so I figure it’s a scarf to go along with the jacket. Only this time I’m wrong. Inside the slender box is an envelope. My brow furrows as I open it and read the content silently.

  THIS CERTIFICATE ENTITLES THE POSSESSOR TO TWENTY HOURS OF STUDIO TIME AT BELLWETHER DIGITAL AUDIO SERVICES.

  I can’t believe my eyes. I have to read it at least five times to fully grasp what it means. My aunt, my beloved prozia, my guardian angel, paved the way for me to follow my dreams and I didn’t even know it. All this time I had been chasing after shadows, when a sleeping dragon lay hidden in my attic.

  I reread the certificate, and realize the studio is local, right here in Brooklyn. My Aunt Susan always had a local connection, I think with a smile. I can’t wait to tell the guys. I know that we’re ready to take this next step, and that was why it was revealed to us now instead of two years ago.

  But I have one thing to do first.

  I go to the cemetery and say thank you in person. I take flowers, because she deserves flowers. I spread them around on her tombstone to make it pretty, and to show the world that might pass by that a wonderful person is buried here. And I loved her. More than I’ve ever loved anyone.

  I speak in limited Italian as I sit there on the cold ground. I say all the things I haven’t been able to say, because I haven’t felt worthy to say them. I thank her for the gifts. I apologize for how badly I lost my way. I apologize most of all for not coming to see her. I don’t promise to be better. My aunt Susan knew better than that.

  She knew me best and loved me most. What more can you ask for from anyone?

  By the time I reach the festive little apartment in Chelsea, everyone has gathered for our Christmas celebration. I save my gift for last.

  Thanks to my Aunt Susan, Dreaming in Blue has another chance.

  This time we’re not going to waste it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO:

  As 2006 gives way to 2007, some magical things start to happen for Dreaming in Blue. Alana books us a gig in midtown, where we have a special–and familiar–face in the crowd. I recognize her from the minute she speaks. It’s the bubbly blonde from Tennessee, the one I had tried to pick up the day Tina Nunes sucked me into her web.

  “Of course I remember you!” she exclaims as she embraces me without any preamble. This bubbly girl is the human equivalent of champagne. She’s full of life and best of all, full of big plans. The minute she sees our band, she decides then
and there she’s going to represent us and take us straight to the top.

  We have heard that before, of course, but she’s willing to put her money where her mouth is. She waives her fee for the first month, just to prove to us what she can do. And what she can do is miraculous. She gets us booked in higher-end clubs, the ones that we never dared approach before because they were Sedução’s competition. These were the places that only booked top-billing artists, and that was exactly why Iris Kimble wanted them.

  Part of Iris’s plan is to catch the eye, and ears, of Jasper Carrington of Carrington Entertainment, the biggest label on the east coast. She has some clients there, so she has some connections, but it’s nothing major. She had been searching for the act that could really turn his head. That is her passion, taking undiscovered talent and taking it straight to the top. And she decides almost immediately that we’re the band that will do it.

  “Are you sure we’re ready?” I ask.

  “No one is ever ready,” she responds. “Sometimes you just have to jump right in and go for it. You can’t count on second chances in this business.”

  I nod. She speaks the gospel truth.

  During the month of January, she books us through April, including a venue in my hometown of Philadelphia. She swears she will get Jasper to one of them, even if she has to hogtie him and drag him there herself.

  Of course, it’s much cuter the way she says it.

  In the meantime, we spend every waking hour either rehearsing or writing. We finally get into the studio by March. Thanks to Iris, our first demo lands on Jasper’s desk April 1st. When Iris calls that afternoon to let us know that Jasper will be flying down to the show in Philadelphia, we all think she’s joking.

  “I never kid about business,” she says in that bombastic twang. “I’ve also asked my friend Andy to fly in, so she can interview the band and we can start circulating some press.”

  “She?” I ask, confused by the name, which I assumed at first was a male.

  “Andy Foster,” Iris says. “She’s a freelance writer. Mostly travel right now, but she’s really interested in breaking into entertainment. If this works out the way I think it will, it’ll be a huge win for all of us.”

  “Just do us a favor,” Felix says to me. “Don’t try to get this one into bed.”

  Everyone laughs, especially Iris, who well remembers my hound dog ways when I tried to pick her up the night we met. “Don’t worry. Andy isn’t that kind of girl. She’s very professional and strictly by the book. In fact, she was there that night when we first met at Sedução.”

  I think back, trying to remember. The picture is cloudy, but I remember that she was a curvy girl with black-rimmed glasses and funky hair. For some reason this reminds me of Pam.

  “I’ll be a good boy,” I promise, but no one in the room believes me.

  Hell, I don’t even know if I believe myself. Truthfully it’s been a long time since I’ve even thought about being with a woman. After learning about Pam’s pregnancy, I simply withdrew. I am a character on a stage, and that’s it.

  Surprisingly, we’ve had more success with fans ever since we closed the revolving door. There are more fans than ever before, and they’re every bit as devoted, maybe even more so.

  “As long as they love you more than you love them,” I hear Tina’s ghost echo in my ear, “they’ll never stop coming back.”

  She was a self-serving bitch, but she was right.

  But I’m too busy with my career to worry about my personal life. We play every venue we can to polish our show for Jasper. We know we only get one shot to make a first impression.

  By the time we pile into the RV to head down to Philadelphia, all I really want to do is sleep. I’m exhausted. But I’ve never felt more prepared for a gig. With Iain, we start to operate like a well-tuned machine, with a lot more diversity in our playlist, steering away from all the sex stuff to really show we can rock, too. This gives the musicians their own chance to shine. We also dig out covers that really show off my voice, and every single member of the band helps me stretch and grow beyond my comfort zone.

  Iain in particular is mellow and insightful. Best of all he’s a stabilizing influence on all of us. He’s not the bad boy bassist or a wistful wingman. He barely even touches any kind of alcohol. He has two goals: music and Alana, and not necessarily in that order.

  I’m still not sure love is compatible with my dream to be a star. I’d like to believe it is, but I’ve been burned more than once. I’m perfectly happy flirting with some of the groupies who visit the shows, giving them a bit of a thrill without risking my ass to do it.

  Instead I focus on the last details for our show. Without a doubt, this one is going to change my life. Yeah, I’ve said that before, but this time I really can’t see how it wouldn’t. Jasper is coming to see our show based on the strength of our demo. It’s either going to give me everything I want, or it’s going to prove to me that the things I want aren’t possible to have.

  I guess no matter what happens I’m pretty sure I’m never going to have to sleep with Jasper to further my career.

  I’m erring on the side of hope, so I’m pretty pumped when we hit the venue where we’ll be playing. Iris and Alana whisk away to fetch Andy, the unusually named woman who will be reviewing our band for an actual nationwide publication. Though Iris has planned to bring Andy to dinner, she’s there to work on her “real” job and write a review for a couple of restaurants.

  It’s just as well. I collapse into my bed at nine o’clock that night. I’m going to need a good night’s sleep for this one.

  We’re one of the first to go on, so we get to set up ahead of the club opening. Time feels like it’s going both in slow motion and fast forward. I’m practically jogging in place to get rid of some of my excess nervous energy.

  I change into some leather pants and biker boots, but I don’t bother with a shirt. Sex sells and I know it. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s the marketing of sex.

  I style my hair, wild and long and wavy. My new trademark.

  In fact, I use every tip that has been given to me. I use black polish on my fingers, which are adorned with rings on every finger. I rock the studded cuffs on both wrists. I shine up my chest and then fuss with my package, to give them all something to see.

  By the time they hit the intro to “Run to the Hills,” a song that really shows off how well the band plays as a whole, I’m ready to tear the roof off of the place. I explode out of the blue mist and get a good look at my crowd for the first time. Alana and Iris are right up front, along with a full-figured beauty I assume is Andy.

  It’s Andy, in fact, that nearly shocks me mute as I stand there. She’s wearing a low-cut top with her ample cleavage on full display. Turns out I didn’t need to fondle myself into a semi. Just seeing her creamy curves is enough to shock my dick into consciousness. I can’t think about it though. I’ve got to nail this performance. I’ve already started over too many times already simply because I couldn’t keep the blood flow going to the right brain. I’m ready to make this dream happen or die trying. No woman is worth getting distracted with this much on the line.

  I hit those impossible notes because I have no choice.

  However, Andy is hard to ignore. I can see her delicious curves in my peripheral vision, which means I have to work extra hard to keep my focus. Was I really going to do this again? Self-destruct my one real shot at becoming a legitimate artist just for a piece of ass?

  I try not to look at her as best as I can, but as is the norm, I sing “Feel Like Making Love” to every girl in the front row. I can’t avoid her now, even if I want to.

  And I kind of don’t want to. It’d be awkward to skip this part of the performance, but Jasper would be none the wiser. Still, it’d be nice to know if I could throw her off kilter as much as she has done to me. I mean, it only seems fair.

  I move along down the line, until finally I reach her. I hook a finger in the loops on my leather
pants, subtly (or not so subtly) drawing her attention there. The minute our eyes meet, it’s like being hit by lightning. A volt shoots right through me. She’s so lovely I wish I knew how to draw just so I could immortalize her beautiful face, her haunting eyes. It’s like every melody I’ve ever heard exploding into my brain at once in perfect, beautiful, crazy chaos.

  And it may be because I’ve been in a sexual drought for so long, especially following such a hedonistic period, but in a flash I can see underneath me as I lose myself inside of her. It’s a fantasy so strong, and so foreign, that I have to look away or else I’ll forget how to breathe.

  I can’t help but notice that she immediately flusters as well, which doesn’t help. This is my danger zone. It’s not just a beautiful woman that turns my eye, otherwise I’d never get anything done.

  It’s finding a beautiful woman who can feel the same spark I do, something deep and forbidden, but undeniable and true. Whatever it is, she feels it.

  I can’t even look at her during “Fat Bottomed Girls.” I can tell she has a luscious ass from where I stand over her, and if I let my thoughts linger there I’ll fumble my performance like an amateur.

  What’s wrong with me? It’s not like I can’t get laid. I’ve made a choice to avoid these kinds of pitfalls. It’s the mature, adult thing to do.

  But all I want to do when I finish my set is to find that unusual girl and explore this weird, wild connection I feel. I’m drawn to her instantly and undeniably.

  I’m so relieved to finish, I blow a kiss to Iris. On impulse, I wink at Andy, who instantly flushes. I feel my ego, among other things, swell.

  I head backstage and I wait for what comes next, whatever that might be. I laid it all on the stage. It’s up to Fate now.

  Once backstage, Iris herds Andy my direction. Now that the performance is behind me, I can finally inspect this beauty a little more closely.

  “This is Andy Foster,” she introduces, “the writer I was telling you about.”