Free Strings by Kendall Grey

Laundromat this week
because— gasp! —I
ran out of quarters. I drag out my least stained Fat Johnny’s
T-shirt and a pair of khaki pants and put them on. No underwear.
Who needs the shit? With a quick stop in front of the mirror, I
twist my hair and tie it into a ponytail on top of my head. Red
swishes across my shoulders as I shake the topknot hard. I throw on
makeup, brush my teeth, and swig some mouthwash.
    Coat, purse, keys. Off to work I go,
thinking about Jinx the whole way.
    I hate feeling helpless. But what else can I
do? Yes, I could call Jillian or Kate and try to smooth things
over, but I’m sick of playing the negotiator. People in my life
need to start pulling their own fucking weight. I can’t be
everything to everyone. I have to look out for myself.
    Still, I can’t help wondering whether Jinx
is okay. She’s always been quiet, but today is different. What if
she’s depressed? Suicidal? Shit, what if her call was a cry for
help, and I blew her off?
    I feel like I’m at a crossroads—for both my
personal and professional lives. Two choices flash before my eyes
in gaudy neon: Stay where it’s safe and comfortable but uninspired,
or go and risk everything to make my dreams come true, even though
the odds are stacked against me.
    Rob’s advice on the night
of my birthday pops up like a footnote: If
you can’t beat ’em, join ’em.
    That shit goes against my core principles,
but some rules were made to be broken.
    For the good of The Rock.
    At a stoplight, I grab my phone and dial
Jillian. She answers after two rings.
    “ Is it too late for us to
change our minds about the tour?” My heart pounds, and I’m
breathless. I might be having a mini panic attack.
    “ Yes. No. I don’t know.”
Frustration laces Jillian’s voice. “Where are you?”
    “ On my way to work. Can
you set up a meeting with Jinx and Kate tomorrow night?”
    “ I can try.”
    “ Call Jinx first. Tell her
it was your idea. I think she’s pretty down. It would help if you
told her you support us, even if you don’t.”
    “ What the hell kind of
shit is that?” Jillian assumes her mama-bear tone. “You think I
don’t support you?”
    I think you feel sorry for
us, I want to say, but I don’t. “I think
you’re brown-nosing Killer Dixon because they have money.” Let
Jillian infer whatever she wants from that comment. It’s better
than telling her I know the truth. “But it’s okay. I get it. You
can’t make money without spending money, and Cherry Buzz Float has
none. So, I forgive you for being a bitch to us and taking their
side.”
    “ I do not take sides. You know how I feel
about you.”
    I snort. “I do?”
    “ If you expect me to
coddle you and hold your hand during every single rainstorm, you
hired the wrong manager. You want to know the real reason I went
out of my way to organize this tour for you?”
    “ Yeah, I do.” This ought
to be good.
    “ I did it because I
believe in your music and your message, despite the cat fights, the
paranoia, and bitchiness. How many all-girl rock band trios are out
there today? I can’t think of a single one that’s had more than
marginal success.
    “ Letty, your voice…it’s
like estrogen-steeped gravel. So rough and raw, yet so feminine.
And it actually sounds melodious when you sing. You’ve got a
fucking gift. And Jinx…I don’t have to tell you how amazing she is.
She’s better than ninety percent of the guy drummers I’ve heard,
and she’s by far the best female. Nobody tops her. Kate’s equally
talented on guitar, and her ability to write quality music with
perfect hooks is unmatched.”
    Wow. Just wow. I’m speechless for a few
seconds.
    “ I had no idea you felt
this way about our music, Jillian.”
    “ Then you should pay
closer attention.”
    “ You’re not exactly
forthcoming with the praise.”
    “ When I’m not criticizing
you, consider it praise.”
    I laugh. I really do love to hate this
bitch.
    “ The truth is—and so help
me