Untouchable - Chapters 5 and 6

A rock 'n' roll romcom — Lucy shares her Guide to the Rock Stars and makes a secret pact with Pirate's lead guitarist, Keith

Note to readers: This is a story set in the outrageous world of 80s rock ’n’ roll — meaning it’s adult content.

It’s a full-length novel, and the chapters published to date are available here.

You probably need to read previous chapters to get what’s going on. So it’s recommended to start at the beginning.

In today’s two chapters, our heroine Lucy shares her Guide to the Rock Stars with the prim-and-proper arena chef, Alison, and makes a secret pact with Pirate’s disgruntled lead guitarist, Keith.

Hope you enjoy this diversion from reality and thanks for reading!

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Chapter 5

Lucy

What the heck just happened? I feel desired and dumped all in the space of a minute.

By a guy who sells merchandise for the band, no less.

Of all the nerve, calling me a bird and a titbit. Is that even a word? It sounds like something a merchandise guy would make up. Dirty and disrespectful.

And he wouldn’t even shake my hand. And he had a hard-on the size of Texas the entire time he talked to me.

I should report him to the manager of the band for being a wanker. The Brits have the best words for people like him. Wankers.

Even if he is heart-stoppingly handsome. Like Paul Newman or Robert Redford. Even if he does have one of those Cockney accents that promise all kinds of tricks and treats to set your blood on fire, once he gets you behind closed doors. And even if he did take my breath away—when he looked into my eyes, when he leaned close, and especially when he grazed my neck.

Even so, I wouldn’t touch him for all the tea in China, or all the jewels in Tiffany’s, or all the recording contracts in the world.

The guy is a wanker.

Welcome back to the world of pampered, entitled, arrogant, condescending, insufferable rock stars, Lucy. And the stronzos like this guy who work for them.

Besides, I’m not interested in men. They all treat me like a bimbo and don’t take my career dreams seriously. Except, of course, for the men in my family, and now Barry, who told me I’m an expert and that I sing like an angel, and has promised to give me a recording contract. All I have to do is spy on some wanker rock stars. Easy peasy.

Mister Wanker told me to wait in the hospitality room for Keith. I’d love to saunter onstage and disrupt soundcheck just because he told me not to. But, of course, I’m never going near that stage, am I?

I may as well hang out in the hospitality room until the band comes back. I need to figure out a strategy, now that I’ve painted myself into a corner claiming Keith as my boyfriend. What if he doesn’t go along? Even worse, what if he expects me to sleep with him as the price of being my boyfriend?

Lucy Goose, you need to think before you speak. Feet do not belong in mouths, as Mom has told you time and time again.

I meander over to the door of the hospitality room and stop in the doorway. A young woman in chef’s whites is pacing back and forth in front of a food and drinks table, talking to herself as she worries a cloth napkin with her fingers.

Her shiny copper hair is pulled into Princess Leia buns on the sides of her head. I like her sparkly green eye shadow, winged eyeliner, and pastel pink lips. Very sixties.

“George, before we go any further, I need to know—"

She startles as she catches sight of me.

“The guy told me to wait here for the band,” I say.

“Oh, no, that’s fine. They went to do sound check. Said they’d come back for some lunch before their rehearsal.”

I walk over to her and extend my hand. “I’m Lucy.”

“Alison,” she says, shaking my hand with a firm grip. “Don’t worry. You’ll know when they’re coming. They sound like a herd of elephants.”

“I take it you’re practicing a talk with one of those elephants.”

Alison sighs. “Yeah. George. The drummer.”

“You’re seeing him?”

“Well, only since yesterday, actually. But he’s already… well he’s…”

I get it immediately. An entitled wanker rock star.

“Want to sit and talk? Until they come?”

Alison nods, a look of relief on her face. We pull out chairs and sit down across from one another at one of the cloth-covered tables.

I raise my eyebrows. “I bet I can guess. He’s already trying to unclasp your bra and get your hooters out, or worse.”

“Yes! How did you know?”

“Oh, I heard about him from Janelle. She’s the lady at the front desk in the hotel where I’m staying, and the band is staying there too. Well, really, I followed them there.”

Stop babbling, Lucy, or you’ll blow your cover. Get back on topic.

“But I’ve got a lot of experience with guys like George,” I quickly add.

“He pushed me against the wall and licked my neck, right in front of the other guys. Then thrust his tongue down my throat as he grabbed my behind.”

Alison frowns at the memory, and I stifle the urge to laugh. Vintage rock star behavior. Alison would, no doubt, be shocked at some of the things I’ve seen on and off the stage. Rock stars are used to having their way with women. I’m surprised she doesn’t know that.

“He was so attentive at first, not like the others, who were all busy hitting on me. Or that Jack, who pretends to be listening but is watching your every move to make sure you don’t do anything wrong.”

“Oh, yeah?” I store away that knowledge for future reference. So Jack is a perfectionist, is he, as well as not being very attractive? A double whammy. Good thing I blurted out Keith’s name as my pretend boyfriend and not Jack’s.

“George swore to me that he hasn’t done a threesome or an orgy,” Alison continues, “but I’m having trouble believing that.”

I laugh—I can’t hold it back any longer—and she looks offended.

“Sorry, Alison, but I’ve spent a lot of time around rock bands. Let me give you Lucy’s Guide to the Rock Stars, because I think that may help you figure out what to do.”

“OK,” says Alison, her tone skeptical.

I stare at the ceiling as I count on my fingers, then look back at her. “There are at least six different types of rock star. Here we go. Number one. What I call Old Faithful. That’s a guy like Charlie Watts in the Rolling Stones. He’s been married to Shirley for twenty years and wouldn’t think of cheating on her. There aren’t a lot of guys like him around, at least among the younger guys. Too much temptation. Are you with me so far?”

“Yeah.”

“Then you’ve got the complete opposite, what I call the Sex God. That’s usually your lead singer, sometimes the lead guitarist, and any guy in a band who’s really hot. Think Mick Jagger. Those guys can have it all. The gorgeous wife, and the family, and all the sex they want with anyone else on the planet. They’re the quarterback in high school who gets the head cheerleader and the rest of the cheerleading team in the locker room or under the bleachers, if they want them. You know the type.”

Alison stares at me, horrified. “I think George might be a Sex God.”

“Well, let me tell you the others, so you can know for sure. You’ve also got the Dad. He wants to be a good guy and makes a real stab at being a family man. But he can’t resist all the goodies offered by the rock ’n’ roll lifestyle. So he goes through one addiction after another, and keeps losing one wife and picking up a new one. But he always takes care of the kids. That’s the thing about this type. He’s a really devoted dad.”

Alison grimaces. “That doesn’t sound so good… to me.”

“Oh, you ain’t heard nothing yet. There’s also the Pollinator. That’s the guy who comes, gets you pregnant, and leaves. Love ’em and leave ’em, as they say. He can’t be bothered with birth control, that’s your responsibility, and if you get pregnant, hey, that’s your problem for not protecting yourself. If you take the kid to see him, it makes no difference whatsoever. You have to take him to court, and even when you’ve proven paternity, you have to fight him every step of the way.”

“Who would want a guy like that?”

“Are you kidding? Lots of women. I know a bunch of them. The Pollinators are usually incredibly charming and great fun to be with, until they grow tired of you. And they can be amazing in bed, from what I hear. Not like the Jackrabbit. That’s the guy who can never get enough sex. You’re just one in a long line of women he picks out of the crowd and has some poor crew guy line up outside his dressing room or hotel room. In and out in ten minutes. Slam, bam, thank you, ma’am.”

“Oh, no! George might be a Jackrabbit.”

“And last but not least, there’s what I call the Leprechaun. He’s totally hard to resist with a mischievous smile and a sparkle in his eye. He likes the ladies and lets them know it. I call him the Leprechaun because he loves to party, but don’t try to pin him down, he has to be free, even when he’s married. He’s a funner, more down-to-earth version of the Sex God.”

Alison furrows her brow and bites her thumbnail.

I smile at her. “So, sweetie, it depends on what you want… and what you don’t want.”

“But doesn’t everyone want Old Faithful?”

“No, not at all. There are all kinds of women, too. Sex Goddesses. Lovers. Sirens. Divas. Bosses. Ladies. Queens. Mommies. Devoted Wives. You get the picture. And they all want different things.”

She contemplates me. “What kind are you?”

I grin. “Oh, that’s easy. I’m a Greek-Italian Catholic girl with a Nana who told me to act like a fox and gave me a Rabbit—”

“What?” She looks horrified. Clearly, her grandmother never gave her a vibrator to keep her out of trouble.

“No, no,” I say. “That didn’t come out right. Forget about me. The question is what kind of man you want, and whether George is that type of man.”

“I want a Charlie Watts, that’s what I want,” she says with conviction.

“Then I think your man might be sweet little Randy rather than mischievous George. If the gossip I got from Janelle is to be believed.”

Alison looks unsure. I have to admit that George is very good-looking in that he-man kind of way. And as I know from dating Russell Hammond, drummers are impossible to resist. Men with voracious appetites and hands that know how to do amazing things. Things that leave you gasping for breath.

I feel sorry for her, as she’s clearly not used to dealing with entitled and temperamental men and could get emotionally hurt, or even knocked up. I feel a responsibility to make sure that doesn’t happen to her, like other girls did for me when I joined Magnus’ tour.

“I have an idea. Here’s what I think you should do to figure this out.” I outline a plan. It might work or it might not, but I think it’s worth a try. That is, if she truly wants to snag herself one of those wanker rock stars. Not for me to judge.

Alison stops biting her nail and grins. “Really? You think that might work?” She regards me for a moment. “OK, I’ll do it. But can you be here too?”

“Are you kidding? I wouldn’t miss it.”

I cross my fingers. Hopefully, I’ll still be around and Mister Wanker won’t have gotten me thrown out.

“In the meantime,” I say, leaning toward Alison. “I want you to tell me everything you know about that Vic guy.”

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Chapter 6

Lucy

I catch sight of Keith when he appears in the door of the hospitality room.

He’s taller than I expected, and with his long, dark brown hair and moustache he reminds me of that guy in Three Dog Night. The one who looks kind of like Jesus.

Before I can say anything, he comes striding over to us and looks down at me.

“Could I have a word with you, in private? Like tooty sweet before the band gets here?”

I grin at him. He has a heavy northern English accent. Not Liverpool or Leeds or Newcastle. Probably Manchester, because that’s where the band is from. It’s cute.

But uh-oh. Eye on the ball, Lucy. It appears that Vic might have gotten to him first. Time to do some damage control.

“Yeah,” I say as I get up. “OK.”

He grabs my upper arm and pulls me toward the door.

“Remember what we agreed,” I call over my shoulder to Alison.

Men’s voices can be heard coming nearer. Keith steers me down the hallway and into the unoccupied room next door. I already know from Jigsy that this is the band room.

Keith closes and locks the door and turns to face me.

Things may go better if he gives me a chance to explain. “My name is—”

“I know who you are.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, the hotel told me you was here from Dolos.”

My mouth falls open. This is not good. My Dolos identity is supposed to be a secret. I can lose the recording contract if they know Barry sent me. I haven’t told anyone, so how would Keith know who I am?

All of a sudden it hits me. Rhonda made the reservation and probably put it on the Dolos corporate card, assuming the hotel would honor customer confidentiality. Instead, she let the cat out of the bag by making the reservation with—

“Janelle,” I blurt out.

Keith smirks. “Yeah, so me and Janelle, we’s good friends, ya get me drift, and she tipped me off.”

“Janelle told you,” I reply with a grin.

Hallelujah, he didn’t hear it from Mister Wanker. The “band” doesn’t know about my relationship with Barry yet, and it has to stay that way. Plus, I have a chance to salvage the situation and not get kicked out. Maybe even have an excuse to stay with the band until the end of the tour, if I play my cards right here.

“So, it’s like this,” Keith says. “I been meaning to chat to Barry ‘bout the band. Me and Rob, actually. We’s not happy, are we? But now you’re here…”

He raises his eyebrows expectantly.

“That’s perfect,” I say. “It’s why Barry sent me. To spend some time with you guys and make sure everything is going good.” I rush to add, “And make sure you’re happy.”

He crosses his arms and scowls. “Management’s not being fair, y’know what I mean? Here Rob and I have a bunch of new songs, guaranteed hits, and management keeps telling us no, they can’t go in the setlist. They says Barry will take over the band again, anything goes wrong. Me and Rob, we’re like, maybe we should be the ones taking over, management keeps turning down guaranteed hits. Maybe Barry wants to put us in charge of the band instead of them, yeah? See how management likes them apples.”

I find myself nodding in actual sympathy. “I know exactly what you mean about bad management, Keith. I’ve had the same thing happen to me. Management messing me around about my music.”

“Yeah, you hit the nail smack on the head. Jack and Dunk messing us about, like they owns the band lock, stock, and barrel when we’s the one made it famous with our riffs and whatnot.”

“Wait, did you say Dunk and Jack, the lead singer?”

“Yeah, the ones gets to ride on the management bus, while I gets to ride with the kiddies. Not that Rob’s a kiddie, mind you. And not that I mind riding on the band bus with the lads. But it’s all about the principle of the matter, innit? Why shouldn’t I get to ride on the management bus if I so desire, right?”

“Right. That’s not fair. I’m so glad you brought this to my attention, so I can talk to Barry about it. Not only that…”

A brilliant idea hits me.

“You know what would be great, Keith?”

“What?”

“If I could hang out with the band until the end of the tour and see all the problems for myself. Barry wants me to give him a full report, and you could help me see everything. But it has to be in secret so no one knows what I’m doing, or management might, you know, try to cover things up.”

Keith grins. “So management don’t know you’s here, darlin’?”

I put on my “No, Sister Margarita, it wasn’t me who put the gum under the desk” look of innocence. I’m going to have a lot of Hail Marys to say after this trip. “Um, no, we didn’t have time to tell them I was coming. So maybe—”

“You can be me bird, yeah?”

I break into an ecstatic smile and do high fives in my head.

“Management don’t allow no chicks in the inner sanctorium,” Keith continues. “Just wives or girlfriends. Rule they put in place after a groupie argued with Jack about one of his songs. Banished groupies from all band business overnight, didn’t they? No asking me and the boys what we wanted. No groupies backstage neither. That’s downright medieval, that is. Like being thrown in prison and denied naught but bread crusts and water, innit?”

“They banished groupies? What band does that? This Jack sounds like a real piece of work.”

“The guy’s a freaky deaky. Stay away from that guy.”

Keith ambles into the space right in front of me, grabs my chin, and lifts it so he can stare into my eyes. “Don’t you worry none, darlin’. You’re me bird now, yeah? I’ll protect you, and anything else you want.”

His mouth descends toward mine and I turn my face at the last moment. His lips make contact with my cheek, and he pulls back abruptly with a pout.

Rock stars—they always think you’re dying to make out and do other stuff with them. Cheeky monkeys.

I rush to reassure him, before he changes his mind about having me as his “bird.”

“It’s not you, Keith. I find you very attractive, but I can’t concentrate if I’m always thinking about you and not doing my job, right? And besides, I’m a good little Catholic girl, if you know what I mean.”

Keith stares at me. He doesn’t get it.

“Um, OK. Like we wouldn’t be able to do stuff because I’m, like, a virgin.”

The horrified look on his face is priceless.

“You’re having me on. You,” he says as he waves toward my body. “You’re a virgin?”

“’Fraid so.”

He scratches his head. “That’s what’s called a massive waste of talent, that is.”

I would give him a lecture on treating women like sex objects if I didn’t need him, and if I didn’t like him so much. There’s something very little boyish and endearing about Keith.

“OK, but we got to authenticate you’re me chick or no one’s going to believe it, are they?”

That’s a good point. I have to come across as a girlfriend, or we could arouse suspicions and I could get kicked out.

“OK, well, I’m fine with you putting your arm around me any time you want. And maybe a pretend kiss here and there?”

Keith grins. “Yeah, that’ll do it.”

I grin back. This could be great fun with Keith as my espionage partner.

“We best do it now, while the boys is all next door. You ready to face the music, darlin’?”

“Let’s do it.”

He unlocks and opens the door. As I step into the hallway, he slings an arm across my shoulders and I put mine around his waist. He’s at least a foot taller than me and it’s not the most comfortable fit, but when did that stop two people from getting it on? Everyone will buy it, I’m sure.

When we reach the hospitality room, Keith stops right inside the doorway and waits for everyone to notice us. It looks like all the band members are here except Jack St James.

Keith steers me toward the food table, leaning down and making a show of whispering in my ear.

“Time for one of those pretend kisses, yeah?”

He stops, turns to face me, and says loudly, “C’mere, you sexy wench.” Leaning down, he takes my face in both hands and gives me a kiss that goes on and on, and on some more. It’s like those kisses in the movies, a lot of dramatic lip play, and he slips his tongue in at the same time. Taking advantage of the situation, this one.

He finally removes his lips from mine and releases my face, looking down at me in triumph. “How’s that for a make-believe kiss?” he whispers.

“Good,” I croak in response. There’s no denying, that was a darn good kiss.

He turns to the guys. “Listen up. This here’s Lucy. She’s with me. You touch her and you’re dog meat. You hear me, George?”

I look over at George for his reaction. He’s glaring at Keith and sneaking looks at Alison. She’s standing behind the food table, her arms folded across her chest and a look of disbelief on her face. Keith takes no notice, completely oblivious to the trouble he might be causing between the two of them.

Rob, who Janelle told me is the bass player, and Sam, the rhythm guitarist, are grinning at Keith, as if he’s scored a big goal. Randy, the keyboardist, is looking at me and furrowing his brow. I might have to work to get that one on my side. I give him a bright smile and he smiles back. Phew.

Keith steers me over to the food table and drops his arm from my shoulder. “I’ll have that same steak I had yesterday,” he says to Alison. “With a double order of chips, yeah?”

Alison looks from Keith to me and back again. I know she’s waiting for Keith to ask me what I want, but he keeps staring at Alison, waiting for acknowledgement.

I roll my eyes at Alison and she bursts out laughing.

“What’s so funny?” says Keith.

“You, loverboy,” I say, nudging him with my shoulder. “You’re funny,”

“You guys are funny,” Alison says.

Keith looks at George. “Women.”