A FILTHY Christmas (Filthy Line Book 6) Page 2

  “Lita. My name is Lita.”

  I nodded.

  Then I let the door shut.

  I walked toward the elevator and laughed to myself.

  “Hello, Lita.”

  “Smoke break ended five minutes ago, pal.”

  I looked at the guy in the suit and smiled.

  He was short. Skinny. His suit too big for him. His thinning black hair slicked back. He looked like he belonged as the scammy pretend bad guy in a movie.

  He pointed at me.

  “We’re paying you to be here.”

  “And here I am,” I said.

  “Late. I don’t do late.”

  “We’re not writing a classic tune here, man,” I said. “Calm the fuck down.”

  “Don’t tell me to calm down,” he said. “Do you know who I am?”

  “You’re Jerry Jerkoff…”

  “Jenkins!” he growled. “I turn people into stars. Got that? I take good singers and put them on stage in front of forty thousand and make them rich and famous. What have you ever done?”

  I nodded. “Do you want to argue or do you want me to play guitar?”

  “Take the fucking needle out of your arm,” Jerry said. “Or else you won’t get paid for today.”

  “Damn,” I said. “No cash means no hookers and heroin.”

  “Fuck you, pal,” Jerry said.

  I laughed and walked into the studio and grabbed the guitar they made me play. The thing had so many effects hooked up to it, anyone could have played the damn thing. My job was to put down fifteen tracks.

  That’s right.

  Fifteen tracks for one song.

  Why?

  Because the song and singers sucked that bad. They needed the extra sound to carry their shit voices.

  Before I put the guitar around my neck, I heard Jerry talking.

  “This guy is a loser,” he said. “This is the kind of guy you cross your fingers and hope he injects too much at once, you know? Let the cops find him dead in an alley.”

  Jerry didn’t realize I could hear him.

  I then held the guitar with one hand.

  “Either way, don’t pay him,” Jerry said. “Tell him there’s a processing error. Okay? Fuck this guy. Nobody talks to me the way he just did. You don’t get away with that.”

  I let out a whistle.

  Jerry whipped his head around.

  Without hesitation, I threw the guitar at the glass.

  There were screams and I just smiled.

  I sat down on the amp and lit a cigarette.

  Jerry came barreling into the studio, his face apple red.

  “Are you fucking insane?” he screamed at me. “You’ll never work again. I’ll make every fucking call I can.”

  I stood up and took a drag off the cigarette.

  “If only your dick was half the size of your attitude,” I said.

  “You want to see my dick? I’ll show you my dick right now!”

  Jerry stepped back and touched the pants of his suit.

  I looked around the studio.

  The four piece band with skinny clothes and goddamn parrot looking haircuts were in shock.

  “Get your magnifying glasses out,” I said. I looked back at the band. “And you four. Get that fucking hair gel shit out of your hair and learn how to write a song.”

  “Don’t you dare walk out of this studio,” Jerry said. “I’ll… I’ll call the police!”

  “For what? The case of your missing dick? Can’t find something you never had.”

  “My dick is fine!” Jerry yelled.

  I walked out of the studio.

  I shouldn’t have done what I just did. That was a big problem. A really big problem. Also, it was a dumb decision. A really dumb decision.

  I walked out of the studio and looked up and down the hallway.

  Jerry was still yelling. Claiming he was calling everyone. Even the Pope.

  I smoked my cigarette in the hallway and thought about what was next.

  I made it three steps before two guys appeared at the end of the hallway to block me.

  For a split second I thought it was security.

  It wasn’t.

  It was Jay and Sab from the band Filthy Line.

  “What’s up?” I asked with a head nod.

  “Is it true what you just did?” Sab asked.

  “What?” I asked. “How the fuck…”

  “Just answer the question,” Jay said.

  “Yeah, it’s true,” I said. “Why?”

  Sab grabbed my shoulder. “You need to come talk to us… right now.”

  2

  LITA

  “Piece of shit,” I whispered as I looked at my phone.

  I told myself not to call him back.

  Do not call him back.

  There was zero need to talk to Blaze ever again.

  Every time he got drunk and started to sober up, he would call me. And I was always dumb enough to answer and get excited. A part of my heart still had us as teenagers, writing and playing music, picturing our lives together.

  That was dead and gone.

  I had to move on.

  And I did.

  I had been singing in a few groups just to pass time and make contacts.

  Now I was booking studio time left and right.

  I had an offer to go solo but turned it down when I heard the music. I was not going to be some fake blonde-haired woman with crotchless pants on, singing to overdubbed beats about some asshole guy.

  I would much rather write that song myself with a guitar and some raw vocals.

  That was all in time.

  One step at a time.

  Life for me now was about going slow.

  The best I could.

  Slow was not calling Blaze back.

  Slow was going back into the studio to finish my work for the day.

  I opened the door and rolled my eyes.

  Shane.

  Whoever the hell that was.

  I went into the building and back to the studio.

  Working with Filthy Line was kind of a dream come true thing. Anyone they worked with seemed to become famous. They were working on a few songs with a bigger sound. Something that made the band argue a lot. A lot of the time I just stood in the vocal booth as Nash and Dex argued over the way the song sounded. I had to record the same vocals about thirty times. Which was fine. I was able to showcase what I could do with my voice.

  I kind of got to know Reed’s girlfriend - Abby - because she sang with the band a long time ago.

  Her voice was unbelievable.

  She met me in the hallway and shook her head. “Shit show in there, girlfriend.”

  “That’s fine,” I said. “I’m getting paid.”

  “Good answer,” she said. She lifted her hand and we slapped five. “Hey… can you play guitar?”

  “Of course I can. One good thing I learned from my ex.”

  “Tell me you stole his favorite guitar,” Abby said.

  “I wish,” I said. “I just had to get out of there. I was lucky to get my clothes.”

  “Damn. That bad?”

  “When you find out he was fucking a lot of women for a long time…”

  Abby nodded. “That’s the life around here. The reason why I was asking about the guitar… come with me.”

  Abby grabbed my hand.

  We went into the studio.

  Dex walked by me with a head nod, looking pissed off.

  His left hand was still in a black cast.

  I wasn’t completely sure what happened to Dex, but I knew his hand was broken and that meant no playing guitar. And that meant he was pissed all the time over it.

  “What happened to Dex’s hand?” I asked Abby.

  He looked back at me and smiled. “You don’t want to know.”

  Abby handed me the flask and nodded. “Have a drink. It’s okay. I won’t tell.”

  “No offense, but I’m not sleeping with a rich rock star. I need a job.”

/>   “You’re not going to lose your job, Lita,” Abby said. “I promise. You’re done for today. They’re arguing over the guitar parts now. Dex hates that Jay is playing it the way he does. Jay wants to bring in another guitarist. Dex is mad… blah, blah, blah…”

  “Okay,” I said.

  I took a drink from the flask.

  Ten minutes later, we had gone through half the flask.

  We sat on the floor in the vocal booth, on a plushy, purplish carpet.

  We each had a guitar and we were just strumming away.

  Drinking. Laughing. Having fun.

  It seemed weird that this was my reality, but I knew it was a temporary reality.

  Later today Abby would go home to her mansion in the hills with Reed and I would go back to my noisy apartment.

  “We should do a Christmas song,” Abby said.

  I laughed. “Yeah, right. Acoustic rock Christmas?”

  “Two bad ass chicks like us, why not?” Abby asked.

  “I’m good.”

  “What does that mean? You don’t believe in Santa?”

  “Have you ever done Christmas where it was cold and snowy?” I asked.

  “Oh, yeah, plenty of times,” Abby said. “Have you?”

  “No,” I said. “I’ve always lived around here. It’s always sunny and warm.”

  “You need a cold Christmas in your life then,” she said. “It makes everything better. We grew up seeing Santa, snow and all that…”

  “Which is all bullshit anyway.”

  “Come on, Lita, play into it a little,” Abby said.

  “Okay,” I said. “I’ll play into it. Let’s do the snowman song?”

  “Frosty?” Abby asked.

  “Sure. If that’s his name.”

  “Stop,” she said. “You’re joking, right?”

  “Of course I am,” I said.

  She started strumming her guitar.

  I played the harmony part for a little bit.

  Slowly, we bopped our heads side to side, laughing, forgetting to sing.

  I stopped playing when I saw Reed standing just outside the vocal booth.

  He opened the door. “Don’t stop playing. This is fantastic to listen to.”

  “You can hear us?” I asked.

  “You’re in the vocal booth,” Reed said.

  “Shit,” I said.

  I hurried to stand up.

  I saw Nash and Dex looking at me too.

  “Leave her alone,” Abby said. “It was my idea. We were playing and drinking a little. We can be rock stars too.”

  “Nobody is pissed,” Reed said.

  Reed helped Abby up.

  He put his arm around her and pointed at me. “You’re really good, Lita.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You’ve got more talent than needed for this shit.”

  “Don’t tell me to go out on my own and do a show or start a band,” I said.

  “You have attitude too,” Reed said.

  “I love her attitude,” Abby said. “She knows the only way to handle rock stars is to stand up to them.”

  “That tells me she has experience with rock stars,” Reed said.

  “How about a pretend rock star?” I offered.

  “Damn,” Reed said.

  “What’s the plan for the day now?” Abby asked Reed.

  “Not sure. Some dude just went crazy and threw a guitar through a window. Jay and Sab went to check it out.”

  “Wow,” I said. “Now that’s attitude.”

  “That it is,” Reed said.

  Reed started to walk with Abby. Abby grabbed for my hand.

  Next thing I knew I was in the main part of the studio with the band’s instruments.

  I kind of just lingered around, taking it all in.

  I heard loud voices, which sounded more like cheering.

  I looked to see what was going on.

  At first, I didn’t see anything.

  Then I heard a voice say, “Let me show you what you’re going to be working with…”

  Jay and Sab appeared first.

  My jaw dropped when I saw who was following them.

  It was Shane.

  Shane pointed at me. “You. The stressed-out chick.”

  “You,” I said, pointing at him. “The smoking asshole.”

  “You two know each other?” Jay asked.

  “She tried to break my shoulder with a door,” Shane said.

  “Fuck off,” I snapped.

  “And she’s got an attitude problem,” Shane added.

  “I just got done telling her that too,” Reed said as he entered the room.

  In a matter of two seconds, the entire band - plus Shane - stood in my way.

  “Tell me you’re the guy who threw a guitar through a window,” I said to Shane.

  “News travels fast,” he said.

  “The guy running the board texted me,” Jay said. “Badass move. Come check out the guitars. Then grab one. See how it feels.”

  I had no idea what the hell was going on.

  Nash stepped up to me. “You can take off today, Lita. We’re good. You’ll get the whole day’s pay. Abby said you two were drinking. If you need a ride home, let me know. I can arrange for it.”

  “I’ll give her a ride home,” Shane said. “I’m not staying long.”

  “What the fuck?” Dex asked. “I’m against bringing in another guitarist. But if you have the sound… I’ll let it happen. Anyone crazy enough to go after that pencil dick, Jerry, deserves a shot here.”

  “I’m fine,” I said. “I can get a ride home. I’ll figure it out.”

  I slipped around Nash and walked out of the studio.

  A few seconds later I heard the sound of a guitar.

  I paused but didn’t look back.

  I just listened.

  Of course… Shane sounded good. Really good.

  After hitting a few open chords, he went into a guitar solo that tore through the speakers and blasted out into the hallway. It was smooth and natural for him. The starts and stops. The bends. Tapping on the neck.

  I shook my head.

  They were going to hire him.

  He was cocky and crazy, which fit right in with Filthy Line.

  That meant we were going to be in studio together.

  Just fucking great.

  I paced outside for a little while.

  The one time I needed Maggie to answer her phone and she wasn’t.

  I really didn’t feel like paying for a ride either.

  But there wasn’t much of a choice, was there?

  I had gotten a ride to the studio from Maggie with the intention she was going to pick me up.

  As I started to arrange for a ride through my phone, I heard the door to the building slam shut.

  When I saw Shane, I rolled my eyes.

  “I’ll get you home, beauty,” he called out.

  “I got a ride,” I said as I wiggled my phone in my hand.

  “No, you don’t,” he said. “Come on. Get in my car.”

  I was intrigued to see what kind of car Shane had. Just to figure out who he was.

  Not that it was my business.

  We walked across the parking lot and when I saw the sleek, black car with the tinted windows, I shook my head.

  “Really?” I asked.

  “What?” Shane asked. “Did you think I was driving a piece of shit car?”

  “Kind of.”

  “You don’t know who I am then,” he said. “You’ve probably seen me in concert and didn’t know it.”

  “Sure. You do not have to give me a ride.”

  “Yes, I do,” he said. “Although you should be doing something for me since you almost took out my shoulder.”

  “Are you ever going to let that go?” I asked.

  “Nah,” he said.

  I got into the car.

  When Shane started it, music blasted through the speakers.

  I shut my eyes and sighed.

  “Sorry, b
eauty,” he said after he turned it down. “Are your ears okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I said to him. “Can you just drive?”

  “I need your address,” he said with a grin that was too sexy for his own good.

  I rattled off my address and reached for his radio.

  I’d rather hear loud music than hear his voice again today.

  He parked in front of my shitty apartment building.

  “Home sweet home, huh?” Shane asked.

  “It’s good enough. Thanks for the ride.”

  I started to open the door and Shane touched my arm. “Hey. How about a kiss?”

  “How about a punch to the mouth?”

  “You took my shoulder out already. Are you always this violent?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who were you talking to on the phone?”

  I scoffed. “That’s not your business. I already said that.”

  “So I get nothing out of this drive?”

  “Oh, wait, did I not suck your dick?” I asked.

  “Now we’re talking.”

  “You’re disgusting,” I said.

  “Get used to it, beauty,” Shane said. “We have to work together now. I’ll be playing guitar and you’ll be singing.”

  He lifted his sunglasses and his eyes were such a goddamn bright blue that I lost my breath for a few seconds.

  Shane was gorgeous.

  And a dickhead.

  Typical musician.

  I slid out of the car and slammed the door.

  The window then rolled down.

  Shane leaned across the passenger seat. “Last chance for a kiss.”

  I lifted both middle fingers.

  He laughed at me and took off.

  I stood there after his car sped away.

  For a second, a thought came to me.

  It involved Shane… Blaze… me…

  Not sexual.

  Hell no.

  But…

  I shook my head.

  “No, not worth it,” I whispered.

  I only had a few more sessions with Filthy Line and then I’d move to the next project.

  Shane could be cocky and sexy all he wanted.

  I was untouchable to him as far as I was concerned.

  I had dealt with rock stars before.

  Why would this be any different?

  3

  SHANE