She-Rox: A Rock & Roll Novel Read Free

good?”
    “Sure,” Ginger shrugged, “if you wanna rap . . . ‘ I kicked him to the curb, what he asked was absurd, I got a pocketful of John’s who’ll do one better, better -- word.’ ”
    “Catchy.”
    “Uh hum.”
    “What about your sister?”
    “You leave her to me. I’ve got enough dirt on her to start a landfill.”
    “What if we don’t get along—you know musically—the direction of the band?”
    “You wanna talk musical direction or do you want a recording contract? Because if you’d rather, I’m sure you could spend the next four years going from one audition to another till you find just the right fit that matches your musical direction.”Ginger stopped. “Or you could take a chance and maybe go for the ride of your life. If I didn’t feel you were right for the band, do you think I’d actually tell you about Todd and the Grammy?”

    Eddie drove back to her apartment that night. The news of the stolen Grammy didn’t even make her flinch. She wanted to tell Tara June, but T.J. would tell Kai.
     

     

 
    “I saw you leave the club, alone,” Gretchen said. “Couldn’t find a worthy candidate?”
    “No, I found one alright . . . Dom Perignon,” Ginger sneered.
    “Some nights, that’s all there is.”
    “I met up with Eddie.”
    “Was he any good?”
    “No, Eddie – the girl that came over and worked on ‘Forever Blonde.’ The girl you practically dropped kicked out of the house.”
    “You mean that condescending have-piano-will-travel opportunistic little weasel that tried to con her way into our band . . . that Eddie? I’ve yet to see anyone twist chords into submission like that. Talk about desperate.”
    “We’re the ones who’re desperate.”
    “I am not letting that Star Search reject come anywhere near us.”
    “We need help.”
    “No we don’t.”
    “Gretchen, your last song, ‘Two-Timer,’ could be your last hurrah.”
    “I like ‘Two-Timer.’ It’s got rock and roll swagger.”
    “No, it doesn’t—it’s not even good enough to be labeled vintage and management is ready to throw us out of here like a sandwich past its due date.”
    “I’m working on some lyrics – good ones.”
    “Lyrics require soul searching.”
    “I’m loaded with soul, baby.”
    “No, you’re just loaded.”
    “Ginger, what’s with the hostility?”
    “What’s with stealing Todd’s Grammy?” she cried. “Trying to land us on the six o’clock news?-”
    “So we get a little media. We get attention, we get entre—the guys in this business have been getting away with insane behavior—girls have barely scratched the surface. We’re expected to do this kind of stuff—glue furniture on the ceilings, throw TV’s out windows—steal Grammy’s. There’s no such thing as bad press.”
    “The press, yeah, but you took Todd’s bragging rights. Do you know what that’s like in a town like this? Industry people live and die for that kind of shit. He’d been nominated three times before he finally snagged one.”
    “How do you know that?”
    “Oddly enough, Eddie told me.”
    “Here we go again. Can we leave her out of this?”
    “No.”
    “She’s not getting an audition.”
    “Yes she is.”
    “No, she’s not.”
    “Your right, she’s not getting an audition. She’s already in.”
    “Are you high?”
    “She’s in the band, Gretchen, or I’ll do something that’ll make your Grammy screw-up look civilized.”
    “Are you threatening me?”
    “Yep.”
    “With what?”
    “Jeremy.”
     

     

 
    The Kat House, October 2006
     
    Eddie dumped her belongings into her new room, as Ginger shouted, “Daphne’s here!”
    Daphne, the band's stylist, came over every other Saturday morning to weigh the girls and make sure the house rules were followed.
    When Eddie got to the top of the stairs she saw a peach-fuzzy-blonde woman wearing a white tank top. Daphne smiled and said, “Ah, there she is,” as she looked Eddie over. “How tall are you?” she