Chapter 12 - Riot
Riot
Violet and I had a special creative connection that I’d never experienced with another person before.
Put us in a room together with our instruments, and we became a powerful team. I’d play a guitar riff, and she would instantly know what kind of background to play on her keyboard. She would fiddle with her notes, and my fingers would hear the sound and immediately know what would go with it.
That bond sometimes made Milo and Cash jealous, but they understood. Our results were undeniable. The first album Cherry Midnight released was a group collaboration, but the two albums since then came exclusively from Violet and me.
It was dark outside when Violet sighed and packed up her travel keyboard. “I’m done. My brain is mush.”
“Three new songs,” I said. “Not bad.”
“Still need Milo’s touch on the drums, but yeah. Not bad.” She smiled. “Let’s see what the monkeys are getting up to.”
I followed her downstairs to the hotel bar. The laughter from the rest of our band drifted out into the elevator lobby long before we saw them clustered around a table by the window. Mexican food takeout containers covered the table, along with at least a dozen drink glasses.
“There they are!” Milo announced when he saw us. “We were about to give up on you. Have you finished our next album?”
“Not yet, but we’re making progress,” Violet said, heading straight for the bar.
“They explained your creative process to me,” Roxie said. There was a lazy tilt to her eyes that meant several of the empty drink glasses were hers.
“We work well together,” I said as I sat next to her. She had a gravitational pull that was difficult to ignore. “I see the three of you are getting along nicely.”
“Alcohol is like super glue,” Cash said. “It helps people mesh together.”
“I can’t believe you got my bass player drunk,” I told Roxie.
She twisted to face me, looking offended. “It’s not my fault! They got me drunk!”
Violet returned with a fresh round for everyone. “Get used to it, Muse. They’ll blame you for getting drunk at least three more times before this tour is over.”
“She’s a very bad influence,” Milo whispered, although his volume was so high anyone in the bar could hear him.
Roxie let out a playful gasp. “Unbelievable. I was just telling these two how I got into graphics design.”
“Start over,” I said, taking a long pull from my drink. “I want to hear it from the beginning.”
We shared some drinks and laughed as Roxie regaled us with stories about her middle school artwork.
I smiled at each person at the table. Group dynamics were a tricky business.
Everyone needed to get along with everyone else, or the vibe would feel off.
We were lucky that the four of us in Cherry Midnight were basically best friends now.
Adding a fifth person on tour was a massive gamble.
But Roxie had blended in like she belonged.
It was yet another reason why I felt so drawn to her. Why I couldn’t take my eyes off her when she was in the room, and why I constantly thought about her when she wasn’t.
I smiled and pushed down the intrusive thoughts that were rapidly jumping into my mind, all of which involved the curve of Roxie’s hip brushing against mine when I scooted over to make room for Violet.
I thought about it more the next day while running some errands around Fort Worth.
This was only our second city of the tour, and it was already taking a lot of my willpower to resist kissing Roxie.
Especially because I knew she wanted to be kissed.
I’d noticed the way she looked at me. It was the same gaze all the fans in the front row of our shows had.
Awe, adoration, and desire all mixed together into a sexy cocktail.
I prided myself on not being tied down. That’s how the rock and roll lifestyle was: sex, alcohol, and a different city every night. And a different woman every night.
Or women, plural.
But the way I felt about Roxie was new and intense. It was totally unlike the way I thought about all our female fans who threw themselves at me after a concert. I couldn’t explain it. I wish I could. It was all I’d been able to think about since that final Rainknife show in Austin.
And unlike most other women who adored us, I felt creatively inspired every time I looked at Roxie. I thought that feeling would only last a single night, but here we were, two cities later, and she still made my pulse race with only a smile.
The Fort Worth venue was smaller than Houston’s, but the crowd was more energetic. I fed off that energy all night, moving around stage like I was born to do it, and they loved every second of it.
It helped that when I glanced over my shoulder, I saw Roxie watching in the wings.
She tried to remain inconspicuous by hiding behind a stack of equipment boxes, but I was drawn to her like a moth to a porch light.
If she was in a crowd of thousands, I was certain I could pick her out instantly.
That’s the kind of presence she carried with her everywhere she went.
I was exhausted on the drive to New Orleans the next day. I wasn’t the only one; the bus was quiet while everyone worked on their own stuff. I tried to tweak the music for one of my new songs, but it was a futile effort.
Eventually, I put my notes down and walked to the front of the bus. Cash was alone up here, the road rushing by in the windows while he drove.
“Can I help you?” he asked without taking his eyes off the highway.
“Just taking a break.”
“Uh huh.”
“What?” I asked.
Cash glanced over at me. “You remember the favor you asked me?”
He didn’t need to be more specific. I knew exactly what he was talking about. “I do.”
“Are you sure?” Cash insisted. “Because you’ve ignored me up until now.”
I glanced to the back of the bus and said, “I know.”
Cash let out an uncharacteristic growl. “You asked me to smack you the next time you got attached to another muse. And even though I’ve smacked you twice, a new muse is now traveling with us.”
“Roxie is different,” I argued, peeking over my shoulder to make sure the others couldn’t hear.
“Is she?”
“I said so, didn’t I?” I snapped. “I don’t know why you’re on my ass about this all of a sudden.”
Cash sighed and shook his head. “Because I know you, Riot. And I’m worried.” He glanced over for a second. “You’re like a brother to me. You know that, right?”
“You’re not my brother,” I hissed. “And you should mind your own fucking business and drive the bus.”
I pushed off the chair and stormed off, wishing I had somewhere else to go besides the back of the bus.
The reason his comment annoyed me so much was because Cash was right. But I wasn’t ready to admit that to him just yet.
Hell, I still wasn’t ready to admit it to myself.
“What were you two arguing about?” Roxie asked when I reached the bunks. She was stretched out in hers, one knee bent with a sketchpad resting against it.
“The bed,” I lied. “He’s mad that it’s my turn to sleep in it tonight.”
“The bunks aren’t so bad,” Roxie said with a smile.
Ugh. That smile cut straight to my core.
“You want it tonight?” I offered, nodding toward the larger bed. “I like the bunks more, and it would piss Cash off if I gave it to you.”
She chuckled but said, “I don’t want to mess with the rotation you guys have established. Besides, I’m not even in the band. Y’all are the ones who should get the bed.”
“Let me know if you change your mind. What are you working on?”
Roxie glanced at her sketchpad. “Oh, it’s nothing.”
I sat on the edge of the bunk. “Come on. I’m sure it’s more interesting than the song I’ve been trying to write for the past hour.”
She glanced at me, back at the sketchpad, then grinned. “Okay, don’t laugh. But it’s a gig I’m applying for. It’s a graphic novel set in a future dystopia where everyone is fighting over fresh water.”
“That sounds cool. You only have sketches so far?”
“I’ve done a few larger illustrations, but I haven’t shown anyone yet. They’re not very good.”
“Let me see!” I insisted. “I promise not to make fun of them.”
Roxie squinted at me for a few seconds, and I was certain she would say no. But then she folded her legs into a pretzel and made more room for me to squeeze into the bunk.
“I really like this one.” She flipped to a page in her sketchbook that was filled with shades of black and gray.
“It’s a scene where the character in the graphic novel—named Artemis—has discovered an underground lake that is still pristine.
It’s probably tough to tell, but the tone I was trying to go for—”
“Religious,” I said, pointing. “It’s like a Renaissance painting of Jesus and Mary. Except—”
“Artemis is Mary, and the water is Jesus!” she exclaimed. “That’s exactly what I was going for! The way she’s looking at the lake, full of love and adoration…”
“You’re very talented,” I said, and meant every word. “You were able to convey all of that in black and white. I can’t imagine what you can do with full color. I hope you get the gig.”
“Thanks. I submit my art tomorrow. I probably won’t get it… but for now, I’m feeling hopeful. This is a peaceful scene, but most of the graphic novel is violent.”
“Have you ever done any violent art before?”
“No! It’s been a fun challenge doing something different, rather than the usual job that’s in my wheelhouse.”
I was nodding along with her the whole time. “For sure. I feel the same way writing music. Cherry Midnight has a certain musical style, obviously, but every now and then I change things up and try something new. It feels great to flex different creative muscles.”
“Yeah! Exactly!” She flipped to another page, and her elbow brushed against my thigh. “Here’s another scene I sketched. Artemis has just killed someone in self-defense.”
I stared in awe at the sketch. The woman held a long sword at her side, thin like a katana. Blood ran down the blade and dripped onto the ground next to a dead body.
And a flash of inspiration struck me.
“Hold on a second. Don’t move.” I scrambled out of the bunk and practically ran to the front of the bus where my sheet music was.
“It’s distracting when you stomp up and down the aisle like that,” Cash complained, but I ignored him while carrying my music and guitar back to Roxie.
“What’s up?” she asked.
I sat on the edge of the bed—the real bed—and began plucking notes on my guitar.
Roxie swung her legs out of the bunk and sat quietly, watching me with those big, innocent eyes of hers.
It was almost distracting having her totally focused on me and only two feet away, but my inspiration was strong enough for me to ignore it.
“Blade of blood…” I muttered while writing down lyrics. “No. Blood-soaked blade, dark of night. Yeah, much better. Let me see the sketch again?”
She moved over to sit next to me, then held it up with both hands. She said nothing, for which I was grateful. I was concentrating hard before this idea disappeared like mist. Creativity could be fleeting. It was fragile.
As an artist, she probably understood that more than most people.
“Okay, I’ve got something,” I said with a sigh. “Thanks. The art inspired me for a moment.”
“Play it for me!” she insisted.
“It’s… incomplete,” I replied. “And it’s just the chorus. I don’t know what’s going to come before or after.”
“Then play just that. Come on. You thought of it while looking at my artwork, so I get to hear it first. Those are the rules!”
“Rules?”
“The rules I just made up. Come on!”
I never shared my music before it was done.
Not with anyone outside of the band, and even then it was usually just Violet.
But Roxie made me want to be more vulnerable with my art, and she was practically bouncing up and down on the edge of the bunk.
And in that moment, I knew I couldn’t say no to her.
Not on this, and not on anything else she might ask me.
I felt a strange sense of stage fright as I plugged my guitar into one of our travel-sized amps. Why was I so nervous to play for one woman, when I routinely performed in front of tens of thousands of fans?
But I closed my eyes and moved my guitar pick over the strings, filling the tour bus with noise. That noise slowly transformed into music, slow and melodious. Then I began singing. Not very loud, but enough that the gorgeous woman next to me could hear and understand the lyrics.
It wasn’t a perfect performance, not least because the fragment of a song was only a few minutes old. But it felt right in my fingers, and sounded close to something special in my ears.
“Now imagine a heavy drum beat here,” I said when the chorus was over. “I’m gonna ask Milo to really wail on his drums for this part, then it’ll launch into the second verse.”
I played a few more notes, then stopped. That’s all I had.
Roxie was entranced, and clapped happily when I finished. “I love it!”
“You’re just saying that because your artwork was the inspiration.”
“No! It’s really good!” she insisted. “Especially if you have, like, a repetitive bassline. Like the one from your closing song.”
“Cardiac lovestruck?”
“Yes! That’s the one.”
I imagined that bassline playing over what I already had, and frowned.
“Bad idea?”
“No, it’s actually perfect,” I said. “So perfect I’m surprised I didn’t think of it myself.”
“Well, the song is only a few minutes old.” She smiled at me, and sort of leaned her shoulder against mine for a moment. “So this is how music is made, huh?”
“Sometimes,” I said, smiling back at her.
Roxie had the most engaging eyes I had ever seen. Big, round, and innocent. She blinked at me, and her eyes looked at my lips. It was a split second, but I noticed.
And I was noticing her lips, too. They had a natural pout, like they were made to be kissed.
She was leaning closer. Her knee brushed against my leg. I found myself leaning in, too, like I was under some sort of hypnotic spell…
No.
I quickly stood up and removed my guitar. “I’m going to brainstorm this some more. Thanks for the inspiration.”
She looked disappointed, then covered it with a smile. “That’s why I’m here, right?”
As much as I wanted to kiss Roxie—and my desire to kiss her burned inside of me—I knew I couldn’t cross that line. I needed to prove that I had invited her on tour for creative reasons only. To be my muse for our next album.
But as I glanced back at her from the front of the bus, our eyes locking together for a heartbeat, I knew that I was only lying to myself.
And based on the way she smiled back at me?
She knew it, too.