Untouchable - Chapter 14
A rock 'n' roll romcom — Lucy gets another spying assignment and an unexpected visit from rock star Magnus, who's a bit obsessed with room service
Note to readers: This is a story set in the outrageous world of 80s rock ’n’ roll — meaning adult content.
It’s a full-length novel focused on our two romcom protagonists, Jack and Lucy, and the chapters published to date are available here.
You might want to read previous chapters to catch up with what’s going on. Or below is a quick recap of the plot points in case you prefer to jump right in.
A guide to the characters is available at the bottom of the post.
The story so far
Lucy has been recruited by Dolos Discs A&R executive Barry Bartholomew to pose as a groupie and spy on his secretive and difficult client, the English rock band Pirate, for the last six concerts of their big US tour. In exchange, he’s promised her a recording contract, but only if she reports back every single day and the band doesn’t find out why she’s there.
Meanwhile, Pirate manager Dunk MacGregor and lead singer Jack St James have finally captured a guy who keeps following the band and sneaking into off-limits backstage areas. Using groupie ‘persuasion,’ they discover that he’s Barry’s nephew sent to spy on the band, and they insist that he and the two groupies, Suze and Carly, remain for the rest of the tour as ‘honored guests.’
Flying out to the band’s next location in Albuquerque, Lucy wangles her way into the arena to meet the band, but finds herself confined to the hospitality room by a weird Cockney “merch guy” named Vic, who unbeknownst to her is actually lead singer Jack. She doesn’t recognize him out of his Pirate costume and makeup (a la KISS).
Lucy shares her Guide to the Rock Stars with the prim-and-proper arena chef, Alison, and succeeds in meeting and making a secret pact with Pirate’s disgruntled lead guitarist, Keith. Jack’s concerns about this groupie running amok (Lucy) are dismissed by band manager Dunk, only to prove true when her meddling causes a blowup in the band.
Jack convinces Dunk to give Lucy the boot after that night’s concert, but when she raves about his music afterwards, he not only changes his mind and insists that she be allowed to stay, but also rushes back to his hotel room to finish composing a song about her that has suddenly popped into his mind.
The next day, he throws all scruples to the wind in a quest to find out more about her by concealing a walkie-talkie in the band bus and listening in to her singing and talking. But his plans go awry as she figures things out and, at a rest stop, deliberately badmouths Jack to him when he’s pretending to be Vic. Upping the stakes, Jack asks Randy to invite her to his room that night for some ‘wild and kinky sex,’ wondering if she’ll show up.
She does, and they spend hours talking, eating, and playing music together. Lucy finally tells an outraged Jack about the stampede at the final Magnus concert and how she was saved by a roadie named Butch. He walks her back to her room and gives her a long kiss goodnight in the corridor.
Just when you think you know where this is going…
Chapter 14
Jack
When I leave Lucy, I head straight for Dunk’s room. I’m flying, and talking to him is the only way I know to bring myself back to earth.
Plus, I have to tell Dunk that I was right about why Lucy is here, and that she and I have hatched a plan to pay Netherlude back for their perfidious shenanigans.
Besides, he told me to come give him a blow-by-blow.
When I knock on his door, there’s no response at first, so I keep knocking. Either he’s not here, or he’s indisposed, or he might even be asleep already. But how often do I wake him up? I can do it this one time. That’s not unreasonable.
After what seems like ages, I hear Dunk growling and swearing as he comes to the door. He yanks it open and glares at me.
“This better be good or I’m going to throw you to the fans and let them tear you limb from limb.”
“It’s good, it’s good,” I say, crowding him back into the room. “It’s really, really good.”
He shuffles back to his bed, eases in, and pulls the covers up to his chin, while I drag a chair next to the bed and drop into it.
“So?” he says.
“We were spot on. It was Netherlude.”
“Those pillocks,” Dunk says, rolling his eyes in disgust. “What were they thinking, picking a fight with us?”
“I know, right?”
I launch into a detailed account of the entire evening, relating everything we did and everything Lucy said—about her big family somewhere in New York State in a town called Endwell, such a charming name for a town, where she has a pet dog named George and a cat named Mittens.
About her being voted “Most likely to get in trouble” in her high school class, along with her best friend, Cindy Morgan. About her years doing gymnastics, her handsprings getting high ratings but her favorite competitive event being the balance beam.
I leave out the kissing parts. Dunk won’t want to hear that, and it feels wrong to share it anyway. Even if we have always shared everything.
Dunk begins snoring about the time I start talking about Lucy’s grandmother, Nana. It’s too bad. Nana is a real character and Dunk would enjoy Lucy’s funny stories about her.
I also haven’t told him what happened with Magnus — the tour and the stampede. As a band manager, he might want to hear more about that. Stampedes are a real concern for a band, even if they don’t happen all that often.
Despite Dunk’s snores, I keep right on talking. I need to get it out of my system or I won’t be able to get any sleep myself. I probably won’t anyway. I never sleep well and I’m really wired. But I don’t want to forget anything she said, either. I want to remember every little detail.
She opened up and trusted me with the story of her life. I want to be worthy of that trust.
And now that Dunk is asleep, I can talk about the kissing.
“She feels and tastes like heaven. She’s so soft. And her touch is so light and gentle, it doesn’t even hurt…”
As Dunk continues snoring like a trucker after a cross-country gig, I talk on and on, repeating everything a second time and then a third. I could talk about her all night.
Lucy
After Jack shuts the door, I stand there listening and wondering if he’s still on the other side. I don’t dare look through the peephole in case he might be able to see my eye staring at him.
I hear the door to the staircase down the hall close. He’s gone.
A sense of loss hits me, but also a sense of relief. That was one intense evening and I need some time to process it.
Tossing my purse on the desk and bounding over to the bed, I throw myself backwards onto it and roll around with glee. The double bed is covered with all the clothes I tried and rejected earlier in the evening. I can’t be bothered to remove them. I’m floating on cloud nine and couldn’t care less if they get wrinkled.
Hugging my knees to my chest, I trace Jack’s face in my mind. Yes, there’s no question that he’s insanely good-looking, but I discovered tonight that he’s so much more. There’s something vulnerable and hopeful in his face, like a puppy I saw at our local pet shop, begging me with his eyes to pick him up and take him home.
Of course, I did take that little guy home. My big furry baby, George. Named after that heavenly Mister Harrison of Beatles fame. A guy whose eyes and music tear at my heart.
Thinking about rock stars — Magnus, the guys from Netherlude, blokes in the other bands we hung out with on the road, many of them fan favorites and even household names — Jack just comes across as a different kettle of fish.
With most rock stars, I know exactly what’s coming. “Are we going to shag, love?” or “Grab me that bottle there, would ya, love?” or “Come on, love, take a snort.”
Snorting was exactly what they did when I told them I couldn’t because I’m a good little Catholic girl. They never believed that I, Lucy L’amour, super-groupie, am a goody two-shoes.
Where would I have been without Magnus?
That said, I don’t blame the guys in rock bands at all. Who could fault them for milking their fame and fortune for all it’s worth? Most rock bands are like shooting stars — here today, gone tomorrow, soon forgotten except by die-hard fans.
It’s not the sanest career choice. More a brief window of time in which young men are allowed to pluck strings and bang sticks and make mind-blowing music together before being ushered back into a more normal life. No wonder they seize the day.
Jack doesn’t appear to be reading from the same script. He isn’t drunk or high, even if he did drink wine. I was the one gulping it down like strawberry Kool-Aid, while he took random sips.
He doesn’t seem to be interested in getting in my pants, either. He didn’t even make what could be considered a move, other than kissing me. Although, I did think I felt something right after I jumped in his lap. I “re-adjusted” wanting to know for sure if he was attracted to me. But, weirdly, he re-adjusted me right away from that particular part of his anatomy.
The strangest thing of all, when I think back on it, was his insatiable curiosity and his desire to know everything about me. Even my family and friends couldn’t be less interested in knowing all that stuff, whereas he seemed to be hanging on my every word.
Could it be that, for the very first time in my adult life, a guy is truly — for real — interested in me? Me, the girl most guys treat like an airhead?
Mister Wanker he’s definitely not.
I relive the entire evening in my mind, spending extra time on the kissing part. As I’m reviewing it a second time, an alarming realization hits me. I did all of the talking and learned nothing whatsoever about him. Like literally nothing, not one single thing.
What a humongous idiot I am.
And what a terrible spy.
Randy is right. Jack is very crafty. Out of my league, that’s for sure. Let’s hope he’s a good guy, or I might find myself kicked out of the tour and kissing my music contract goodbye.
I toss and turn all night, excited and worried in turn, surprised at how much the lead singer of Pirate is unsettling me.
So what should I report to Barry?
It’s the next morning and I’m pacing back and forth next to the bed, biting my nails as I mull over the options.
There’s no choice but to call Barry right now because Magnus is on his way to see me. He just called me from the airport here in Phoenix.
“Danger, Will Robinson!” he said instead of “hello.” That’s our Code Red alert with one another. We’re both Lost in Space fans. “Fasten your seatbelt, Lucy Love, ‘cause stormy weather’s on the way and it’s gonna be a bumpy ride.”
High drama, thy name is Magnus. But coming all the way to Phoenix to see me? It’s got to be something major, and now I’ve got two things to be nervous about — seeing Magnus and calling Barry.
Actually, three things. I also have to find a way to tell Keith that I’m breaking up with him for Jack.
The other thing about Magnus — he’s a talker extraordinaire. Once he starts, he doesn’t come up for air. And I’m never sure how long he’ll stick around. So I may not get another chance to call Barry today. I’ve got to call him now.
I just don’t know what to tell him. Keith hasn’t told me anything new, and last night I did all the talking and learned nothing whatsoever from Jack.
Oh, well. I’ll have to come up with something in the heat of the moment.
Grabbing the Trimline before I lose my nerve, I tap in Barry’s private phone number.
“Speak!” he says, cutting off the first ring.
“It’s me. Um, Lucy.”
“Spill it.”
What to tell him?
“Ten seconds,” he barks.
“I’m Jack’s girlfriend now,” I blurt out.
There’s a momentary silence on the other end before he responds.
“So you’ve moved up from the lead guitarist to the lead singer, have you? Notching up another Magnus?”
“No.” What a rude thing to say. “I mean yes. I mean, I thought it was a good idea to—”
“Find out does he have enough songs for a new album.”
“Well—”
An ear-splitting click and dial tone sound in my ear, for the third time in three days. This guy’s going to ruin my hearing. But it’s worth it if I get that recording contract.
I thought my job was to report back on whatever happens in the band, not dig for information. I’ll have to rethink things if Barry wants me to find out anything too personal or confidential. But asking Jack about songs they have in the works for a new album doesn’t seem like prying.
It’s not like I’m going to steal Pirate’s songs or anything. Even though the swami is trying to steal mine.
Twenty minutes later, Magnus is at my door.
“Oh. My. God,” he says as he breezes into the room.
“Over there,” he directs the bellboy, who wheels an enormous suitcase over to my luggage stand and heaves it on top.
I smirk at Magnus. “You think you’re staying in my room.”
“Of course,” he says as he tips the bellboy. “Where else would I stay?”
“In your own room maybe?”
“And be by my little ol’ self?” He makes a dismissive wave. “Nah! I’d rather be here torturing you.”
He sweeps some clothes off my bed onto the floor. “You weren’t planning on wearing those, were you?”
Plopping onto the bed, he takes up a languid position leaning against the headboard.
“What does someone have to do to get a drink around here?”
“Keep your pants on,” I say as I mosey over to the minibar. “We’ve got red or white wine, Coors and Coors Light, Pepsi, potato chips, Cheetos, pretzels, a KitKat bar, a Milky Way, some Milk Duds, Oreos, and a couple of apples.”
“Throw me the Cheetos and potato chips, s'il vous plaît.” He grabs the phone and dials. “Hello, Room Service? Send up a pitcher of margaritas… in that case, gin and tonics. Four doubles to start. And do you have nachos?… Four orders. I could eat a horse… You serve horse? Cute, very cute. Bring it yourself and I’ll give you a tip to die for.”
He grins as he slams the phone in the cradle, but his grin segues into pursed lips as he gives me the once-over.
“You look like shit, Goose.”
I toss the junk food at him, sprawl out on my back at the foot of the bed, and tear open a bag of pretzels.
“That’s cuz I couldn’t sleep last night.” I shove a pretzel in my mouth.
“I don’t doubt it, hanging around with a bunch of pirates without me around to protect you.”
“They’re behaving like perfect gentlemen,” I say with a mouth full of pretzel.
“You do have the luck of the Irish, don’t you? And bad table manners, which is probably why. First it was Russell the Disappearing Drummer. Now it’s pirates who keep their peckers in their pants. I don’t know about you, Goose. I mean, what’s a girl like you to do?”
I roll on my side and prop up my head with my left hand. “Get rid of you, is what I should do. You’re gonna scare everyone away.”
Magnus gets into a cross-legged position. “Constance and Isabella sent me.”
I groan. Not my parents. “N-o-o-o-o-o-o-o.”
“Yes, the swami came to the house looking for you. Seems you absconded from the ashram without his by-your-leave. He’s on the warpath and threatening all kinds of murder and mayhem if you don’t return immediately.”
“Yeah, but why didn’t they just call? They didn’t have to send you all the way out here to tell me that. It’s not like the swami knows where I am or anything.”
“Where are those damn drinks? I need fortification before I tell you.”
I push myself up into sitting position. “What? What is it?”
“I came all the way out here because I have to tell you myself. The thing is, Goose.” He pauses dramatically. “I have some très bad news to give you. Très mal. Très execrable. Très terrible.”
Someone raps on the door.
“Phew, saved by the bell.” He vaults off the bed and hurries to the door.
“Gawd, I thought you’d never get here,” he says to the Room Service guy as he throws open the door.
He manages to keep me on pins and needles through a long back-and-forth with the Room Service guy about local attractions, followed by a rapid downing of three servings of nachos and half the pitcher of G&T while bringing me up to speed on the “goss.”
Just when I think I can’t stand it any longer, he goes and upends my world.
He drops the friggin’ H-bomb.
To be continued next week…
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Our two protagonists:
Jack St James / Vic - co-founder and lead singer of English rock band Pirate, pretends to be a Cockney crew member named Vic when he’s not in his costume and makeup
Lucy Sabatini - singer-songwriter, head of the music program at the Spirits Rising ashram, and a former supergroupie known as Lucy L’amour
Members of rock band Pirate:
Dunk - band manager
Manny - tour manager
George - drummer
Keith - lead/rhythm guitarist
Randy - keyboardist and Rob’s twin
Rob - bass guitarist and Randy’s twin
Sam - lead/rhythm guitarist
Others:
Alison - arena chef who becomes Randy’s girlfriend
Barry Bartholomew - A&R executive for Dolos Discs
Carly - avid Pirate groupie and friend of Suze, ‘assigned’ to Howie
Cindy - Lucy’s best friend since childhood and her second-in-command at the ashram
Howie - Barry’s nephew, an ‘honored guest’ of the band after caught spying
Magnus - the rock superstar Lucy previously toured with as a supergroupie
Mandy the Snake - admin manager for the ashram
Mister Wanker - Lucy’s nickname for Vic
Rhonda - Barry Bartholomew’s executive secretary
Russell Hammond - drummer for rock band Netherlude
Suze - avid Pirate groupie and friend of Carly, ‘assigned’ to Howie
Swami - the head of the ashram
Well the eighties were a tumultuous time for me, and a growing period. Though admittedly I skim the story line (not a fiction reader) I'm down with the eighty's vibe, and it certainly makes me glad to be a soloist, aside from The Hepcats, our legendary family band, rarely seen.
A lot of chatter about artificial intelligence robbing creativity - we're not afraid.