Beginning of Destruction

Pushing past gaggles of Valley girls, musicians, and their entourages, I found the lawn mostly empty of rich partygoers. The terrace was full, as were the pool and the hot tub. Everyone was having an awesome time. So was I.

A smile graced my lips, and I held out my arms and tilted my face up. I danced and danced and danced, and then spun around until laughter broke free, until the bright colors were back.

This is how life is supposed to be.

The massive garden was bathed in joy, and I lost my balance while trying to strip off my denim overall shorts. One strap got free before I landed in the soft grass.

My fingers played on invisible piano keys in front of me, the night sky as the only background. Black and blue against purple and orange. The lights of LA painted a spectacle in the smog.

Keep the nightmares away from me, Mr. Smog.

I giggled at myself.

"Hey. Tiny dancer."

I turned my head, a piece of grass tickling my ear, and I smiled. "That’s a good song."

Hands down the pockets of his black, faded jeans, he stared at me with amusement in his eyes, looking like some rock star. I admired the ink covering his arms. He had some on his neck too, where it met dark, short, unkempt hair. Hottie.

I stopped playing piano in the heavens. "Hi."

He did this little twist with his lips, like he wanted to smirk but decided against it. "Hey."

"Have you heard the legend of why there aren't any stars in LA?" I asked.

He sat down next to me and lit a cigarette. "Nope. Let's hear it."

I closed my eyes and grinned. "The legend goes, for every star that’s born in the movie and music industry, a star in the sky dies. At some point, there were too many stars in Hollywood, so now the sky is mourning. There are no real stars left."

He chuckled, a low and warm sound. "You made that shit up."

"As if!" I beamed back at him, and the patio lights hit me right there. It turned him into a silhouette. "Okay, I did. Was it believable?"

"Not for someone who's sober."

"Why are you sober?"

"I just got here. My buddies were talking about you, so I figured I'd do you a solid and advise you to stay away."

"That’s nice of you. Are they assholes?"

He laughed under his breath and shrugged. "Mikey has a thing for semiconscious girls."

Hmm. Asshole, then.

The man looked familiar, though I could be mixing him up with someone else. I left parties to find the next one these days. Too many faces. It was better that way. No one to remember.

"Are you famous?" I wondered.

He lifted a shoulder. "I play guitar in Destruction."

In other words, he was huge. The party was a sendoff for Path of Destruction, a good-luck and a slap on the ass for a good tour. If I wasn't mistaken, they'd just had their first concert before this party.

I nodded and turned toward the sky again. "Good for you, fortunate son."

Get the reference.

"I'm not going off to war."

Thank you.

"Neither was the fortunate son." I smiled. The rock star gave me a bit of hope this lovely evening. Good music was getting lost in the sea of post-grunge and bubblegum pop.

"Touché." He was amused again. "Fan of Creedence?"

"Fan of anything that isn't played here, basically." The colors were fading, indicating my buzz was about to say goodbye. That made me sad. It meant I had to face reality, and I couldn’t do that. "One might think a party for rock stars would play better music."

I needed my escapes. A constant string of them.

I threw the rock star a glance and bit my lip. He probably had all the access…

"Can I come with you?" I asked casually. "On tour, I mean. When are you leaving, again?"

I had nothing to my name except a backpack I kept at a friend's place. I could leave in an hour.

The surprised look on his face was priceless. This could be fun. For me—maybe not for him, and if he wasn’t tempted, I'd have to crank it up a notch. Because the more I thought about it, the more I itched for this to happen. Who knew, perhaps getting away from LA would fix me.

Men like it when you don't want it.

"I mean, I wouldn’t sleep with you," I tossed out flippantly.

Lying through my teeth.

That crashed and burned. He didn’t see a challenge. "Don't worry, I don’t fuck twelve-year-olds."

"Ouch." Except, it didn’t hurt at all. "I'm eighteen, numbnuts." I sat up in the grass, my hair spilling down my front. "What about you, Gramps?"

"What's this, Twenty Questions?" he drawled. "I'm twenty-nine, and do you know what's expected of chicks who—scratch that. Do you even know what to do with a cock?"

"I suck it like a lollipop." I showed my palms, a lazy grin on my face. "Sorry, no virtue to protect."

He merely laughed, and I bit my lip and scrunched my nose.

So…? Was he gonna let me tag along? A girl had to know.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Adeline."

He nodded and stood up. "The bus will be at the Beverly Wilshire. In the unlikelihood that you don't change your mind, be there at seven AM and ask for Lincoln. Your name will be on the list."

He started walking away while I did a little shimmy in the grass. Fuck yes, I was going on tour. More importantly, I was leaving the West Coast! That made me giggle, but I stopped when I had another question.

"Who's Lincoln?" I called after him.

He flicked his cigarette into the pool. "The guy whose cock you'll suck like a lollipop."