Paula Coots - Another Rock Star

http://www.facebook.com/PaulaCootsBooks

Table of Contents

ReedLang has been called a lot of things in his life: Freak. Faggot. Queer.

Nowhe's called famous.

Withhis one in a million voice, he's hit the one in a million jackpot. Now he's gotthe chance to live his wildest dream - to be a rock star.

He'ssigned a major label deal and scored two hit singles. Now it's time to hire thebacking band, shoot the videos, and get out on the road.

Butwhat happens on stage is only half the show.

Exhilaratingperformances, entertaining extracurricular activities, and excruciating travelturn ten months into ten layers of unexpected heaven and hell for Shane, Rudy,Fred, Megan, Ray, Kayla, and Reed.

Whenthe intense and euphoric energy of the concerts can't be contained on stage,passions collide and secrets crumble.

Asthe months grind on, Reed finds himself fascinated and drawing closer to theenigmatic, womanizing lead guitarist, Shane, and falling for him no matter howmuch he denies it. Whole new levels of potential heaven and hell rip them andtheir tightknit band wide open.

CanReed survive the chaos of the music business, the rigors of the road? Can hestay true to his art and discover his heart?

Maybehe'll learn there's more than achieving all he's ever worked for, all he's everwanted.

Maybethere's more to life than being just another rock star.

This book is a work of fiction. Any references tohistorical events, real people, real locales or products are used fictitiously.Other names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author'simagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, livingor dead, is entirely coincidental.

2010 Paula Coots

All photos 2013 Paula Coots

All rights reserved, including the right to reproducethis book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever except for excerpts usedfor reviews or discussion purposes.

First eBook edition June 2013, revision August 2013

ISBN-13:978-0-615-65402-7

For all of you who love music, make music, and makelove like music.

Thank you to Heidi Pyron, my forever drummer, musicalsoul mate, the love of my life. And unpaid therapist! Thank you for alwayslistening, my precious friend and sounding board. You helped in the creation ofthis novel in so many ways and you know it. And how could I ever thank mymother, Myra Coots, enough? My sweet Mama, you are my light and my heart. Youhave showered me with unconditional love since the day I was born (your"sweet baby girl"). Thank you for your pride in me, yourunderstanding, your acceptance, your encouragement, your insights. You havegiven me the gift, in all its myriad forms, every day of my life. And thank youto my father, Roger Coots, for everything you have ever done for me, everyounce of hard work you have thrown yourself into to make it all be as good asyou can make it. My parents have given me life more than once.

And thank you to all those who've helped me live asmany of my dreams as possible. Some of you don't even have any idea what you'vegiven me.

Another RockStar

Surgeof music.

Electricair.

Nomatter how many times you do it.

It'sa mutual desire, a reciprocated need.

Behindthe scenes, I hear stomping feet, clapping hands and my name.

Reed...Reed...Reed.. .

Sowhen I slink out on that stage it hits me in the guts, the face and the groinand shoots straight to the soul.

Thesephysical waves of sound, this wall of energy.

Cheeringand screaming.

Thuddingdrums, thumping bass, squealing guitar.

Aseparate universe of sound and light and sensation.

Whenthe band drops out and my voice reaches up for the highest note, ringing in therafters, above the P.A. even, the crowd cracks wide open and I fly.

Somehowyou do what you're there for, the moves, the solos, the song.

Andyou see them down there, dodging elbows and sweaty jumping bodies. You seetheir eyes sometimes, and there's real love, real desperation from thesestrangers who are not strangers because of the connection between you and yourmusic and their joy.

Someof them don't even move, they stand riveted in a kind of reverence as they endurethe jostling madness.

Theysee you.

Theyhear you.

Inever knew there could be any other reason to keep on breathing.

Ever.

Iknow how hard it is to audition. It's like you're throwing yourself wide open,like raw meat to big dogs who don't care if you're dead yet.

Fredand I sat behind the long folding table with our bios and checklists andbullshit papers spread everywhere.

Wetried not to be big dogs.

Ileaned back in my chair and pulled my hair into a ponytail for a second to cooloff. "What a day. Please tell me it's over?"

Herubbed at his eyes. "Nope. Now we're down to the fun part." Heflashed an insincere grin at me, showing small square teeth. "Crunch timeand second chances."

Great.

Istared at the stage and yawned, the water in my eyes making the lights and the"backline" of drums, keyboards, amps and all that stuff blur into agold and orange wash. Kind of like a momentary Van Gogh.

Ilooked over his shoulder at his clipboard with the crooked, hand drawn columns.All those names, most of them scratched out, and about a billion doodles allaround the edges. Almost as decorative as mine.

Isaid, "I need another break." I stood up again and stretched, makingas much noise as possible. Certainly not to catch the intern's attention.

Butsomehow I caught the intern's attention. Tony glanced at me. He was ourassistant for the day, some record company fledging trying to claw his way upthe ladder of a dying industry. He stood guard at the door and jumped when weeven looked like we needed something. I gestured and he ran up. He was so eagerto please.

Forabout the tenth time I vaguely wondered how eager.

Hewasn't my type, really. I can't say exactly what my type is, but it is notthe collegiate looking, tall, good build, bound to be popular guy who watchesfootball and drinks beer and thinks that's "getting crazy." Sunbleached mop top hair with bangs brushed to the side. His faded jeans andobvious package promised some entertainment, however, and the nice cut of his chestwas enough to ensure that I enjoyed the scenery. "Would you mind gettingme some fresh water, please?" I shook my nearest empty at him.

See,when you're singing, it's best not to drink cold water, beer, whatever. Fred kepthis own stocked cooler behind us, and since I wasn't singing, I was free todown frozen daiquiris all day if I wanted to. But. Old habits are hard to break.

Tonygrinned this time. I noticed his canines were a bit crooked and that hint ofimperfection only made him sexier. "Well. I could make you some more tea."

Hmm.So he's responding to my own bad line from about, oh, four hours ago? Interesting.I leaned back and made zero effort to hide my appraisal. "That might bebetter."

"Howdid you say you liked it? Oh, yeah. Hot and straight, right?"

Inodded and tried not to smile. "Hey, you remembered." I couldn't readif that smirk on his face was good or not.

SoI leaned forward on my elbows and appreciated his fine ass all the way out thedoor.