Free Strings by Kendall Grey Page A

Christ, if you ever repeat these words, I’ll deny them until I’m
on my deathbed—I view Killer Dixon as the means to Cherry Buzz
Float’s end. They’re good. You’re better. But they have testicles
and money. You don’t. A supporting tour is the best I can do for
you in this situation. When you start selling out shows and making
money for yourselves, we’ll talk about headlining. Until then, this
is the way it’s gotta be. If you refuse, I’ll
understand.
    “ But before you make any
decisions, I want you to remember something. You’re not the only
one making sacrifices here. I quit my decent-paying job with
benefits to manage this tour, these bands. I’m in it for the long
haul. Are you?”
    I feel like I’ve been climbing a mountain
with anvils chained to my back. I’m nowhere near the top, but I can
see the peak up there with the sun shining behind it. Taunting me.
Daring me to defy it. With a rush of adrenaline and determination,
I give it all I’ve got, throw off those motherfucking shackles, and
smile as they fall.
    Good riddance.
    Opening for Killer Dixon may not be the
optimal solution to our problems, but it’ll give us an advantage we
didn’t have before.
    “ Yes. I’m all in. Balls to
the wall. I’m pretty sure Jinx is too. You get Kate on board, and I
swear I’ll channel every bit of The Rock I have inside me. Every
show. Every night. Every town. I want to make it, Jillian.”
    I feel her smile through the pause. “That’s
what I thought. Rehearsal tomorrow night. Tour bus leaves Friday
morning. Your first gig is that night in Columbia, South
Carolina.
    “ Pack your bags, Letty.
Your real life is about to begin.” Jillian snickers and hangs
up.
    Fuck, yeah.
     
     

 
     
     
     
    Need a Hand?

    I have no idea what line of bullshit Jillian
used to sway Kate, but Queen Bitch agreed to come on tour.
    Tensions were at DEFCON 4 during rehearsals
the last few days and rose steadily as the week wore on. Today as
we wait in Jillian’s dirt driveway, surrounded by big-ass drum
cases, freezing our tits off, we’re on a collision course with
DEFCON 3.
    Killer Dixon is late.
    Kate’s not the only one who’s pissed. Every
time Jillian blinks, the friction from her lids scraping her
corneas produces sparks. I stand way clear while mentally
snickering.
    My thoughts haven’t given
Shades the pleasure of my company since we parted ways a week ago.
He made it pretty clear I was nothing more than a fuck doll to him,
which makes us even-Steven. Besides, I don’t need the distraction
of his hotness to prevent me from reaching my goals. The next few
months are all about The Rock. Long live
The Rock!
    Jillian flicks the ash off the end of her
cigarette and squashes the glowing red cherry into the gravel with
the toe of her sensible black Oxford. She glances at her watch for
the umpteenth time. “Ten thirty.”
    Not just late. Thirty minutes late. I smile
inwardly because an outward smile would indicate I’m pleased, and I
don’t want to suggest I have anything but angelic intentions toward
our motherfucking touring buddies. But damn, I hope Jillian gives
it to them. She runs a tight ship, and tardiness is her number-two
pet peeve, after incompetence.
    Jaw rippling, Kate looks like she’s about to
bite clean through her tongue.
    Jinx sits on her bass drum case, drawing
pictures with the heel of her boot in the dried red clay. I smile
at her. She smiles back, then looks away.
    A loud engine rips open the silence like a
chainsaw, and a big, honkin’ bus barrels down the drive. It’s ugly
as sin with huge, tacky blue flames painted down both sides burning
up Killer Dixon’s poor attempt at a hard rock band logo.
    Wow. Just wow.
    The hunk of metallic penis envy rolls to a
halt. The door opens, and the members of Killer Dixon swagger
out.
    “ You’re late.” Jillian
gathers her bags and shoves them into Rax’s open hands.
    “ We had to stop
for—”
    “ No excuses. I don’t want
it to happen