Phone Calls to a Drama Queen

By JL Paul

Jake Johnson, lead singer of the popular rock band, Controlled Environment, is a little tired. He’s worked most of his young life to make it in the music world.
Everything was great.
Well, mostly everything.
He loved his job, his family, his friends. But something was missing.
Enter Isabella Ames – Iz.
They met under unusual circumstances and forged a friendship. He helped her through difficult times and she became a light in his life.
And when they finally came together – it was the best thing in his life.
But nothing lasts forever, right?

• Language: English
• Publisher: JL Paul
• Release date: Aug 2, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370214327

JL Paul

I've been writing for years mostly as a hobby. I read constantly, although I'm pretty particular about what I read. I do not have a website for my work yet (yeah, I know, what is wrong with me, right?) but once I do, I'll post the link here.

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PHONE CALLS TO A DRAMA QUEEN

JL Paul

copyright©2016 JL Paul

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved worldwide.

No part of this ebook may be copied or sold or distributed without prior written permission -- if you have this file (or a printout) and didn't pay for it, you are depriving the author and publisher of their rightful royalties.

All characters in this book are entirely imaginary and any resemblance to persons living or dead or actual events is purely coincidental

Chapter One

Holy shit.

Peeking up from his magazine, Nick Collins shot a quizzical brow up in silent question of my dilemma.

Monique, I uttered, tossing my phone to wobbly table. Picking up a water bottle, I twisted off the cap and nearly drained it in one gulp.

Ignore her, Nick said, eyes dropping back to his magazine. She only bugs when she needs something.

Yeah, I guess, I said as I hopped to my feet and began to pace. Where did Ronnie and Matt go?

Not sure, Nick said, flipping the pages. Probably in search of food.

We’re on in like fifteen.

They’ll be back, Nick said, shutting the magazine. He set it on the table and fished a set of drumsticks from the back pocket of his faded jeans. I’m ready. Way ready.

I nodded, running my hands through my hair.

I wasn’t nervous, really, but I usually got a little uptight before a show. I’d been that way ever since we played our first gig in a rundown pub back in our hometown. I just liked things to run smoothly – not perfect, per se, but smoothly. The other guys called me anal, and maybe they were right, but we worked so hard to get to this point – I certainly didn’t want anything to ruin it. Like that hotel fiasco a few months back…

Yo, you dudes ready or what? Ronnie Stone asked as he burst into the room, bag of chips in his hands.

Yep, I said, combing my hair back with my fingers. Just waiting for the go ahead from the crew.

They’re ready whenever we are, Matt Wenslow said, straightening his t-shirt. Marcus told us before we walked in here.

A fine tremor shot through my body as I nodded, making one last loop around the room. As I approached the door, the others fell in behind me, all radiating different levels of excitement.

Marcus, one of the stage hands, motioned us to follow him to the stage. The closer we got to our destination, the louder the noise from the anticipatory crowd eagerly waiting behind the curtain.

A thrill rattled up my spine as another stage hand gave me my guitar, helping me to toss the strap over my head before adjusting it.

I’m good, I said, waiting for my cue. Once it came, me and the others took our places as the noise level behind the curtain reached a fervor pitch. A smile twitched my lips as I closed my eyes, waiting for the curtain to drop.

It fell and the noise was ear-splitting.

Grinning, I stepped up to the mic.

It still amazed me that I was able to stand on stage, play my guitar, and sing songs that I, along with my bandmates, wrote. We started back in high school, a ragtag group of guys that no one ever imagined would be friends.

There was Matt, the clever one – smartest person that I knew and destined to be accepted by Ivy League colleges. Yet, he put that aside to give this band a shot, somehow knowing that we would go far.

Then there was Ronnie the clown, constantly cracking jokes and eating. With a crooked smile and a boyish face, you’d never know that he used to take the midnight shift at crappy jobs just to help his mom pay the bills and feed his younger brothers.

Finally, there was Nick Collins, my best friend since grammar school. From our social media accounts, he’s the one the girls think is the hottest. He’s also the one who dropped out of high school to be home-schooled due to being bullied.

I, of course, had my dad and my little sister, Greta. Mom walked out on us shortly after Greta was born but Dad stepped up and took care of us, often making us forget that most families have mothers. He worked hard, too, making decent money and giving both Greta and I opportunities to try different things.

Yeah, the four of us were a motley bunch, but we meshed well together. We worked hard, landing gigs in bars and clubs, until we were finally noticed and signed. Shortly after receiving our diplomas, we were on our way to California to record our first album.

Our first album was a smashing success and the second was well on its way. We were all over Video TV and our shows were selling out quickly, our fan base growing every day.

Not too shabby for a group of guys only twenty or twenty-one years old.

As the first set was rolling to an end, the music slowed and I started in on one of our ballads, taking note of the chicks in the front row, singing and swaying to the music, smiling and trying to attract my attention or that of one of the other guys. Hell, there was even a woman who had to be in her mid to late thirties hopping around, holding up a hand, hoping for a touch or something.

I had to admit that I did love almost every aspect about this life; the writing, the recording, the touring, even some of the schmoozing. But sometimes, I just wished that I could have some normal moments. It was hard to meet new people without them looking at only the rock star persona. It was also extremely hard to get a fast food burger without a lot of hoopla. But I couldn’t complain – much. My future was pretty much set, unless I did something totally stupid, and the guys and I were as close as brothers.

Dating was tough, though. Most of the people we came in contact with were either star-struck fans or other famous people. Maintaining a relationship with someone in the entertainment industry can be trying and very hard, as I’d recently learned. After dating Monique DuBois, a young, very attractive actress, I learned just how difficult it could be. Paparazzi following you around, snapping pictures during intimate, private moments, writing stories that bordered on slander and lies, dealing with the stress of long periods of time away from each other. Yeah, that really sucked big time. And took a toll on something that, at first, was really good.

***

Another great show! Ronnie exclaimed as he accepted a towel and a water bottle from a stage hand.

Indeed, Nick agreed.

I nodded, still coming down from the high I always got from performing.

Don’t forget about the after party, Matt said, wiping the sweat from his face.

Ugh, another after party. Usually they were all right, but most of the time, they were just a drag. We’d have to eat lukewarm food that had been sitting on warmers for an hour or better while smiling and shaking hands with people important to the record company.

Man, I hope the food doesn’t suck, Ronnie said while rubbing his stomach. I’m starved.

You’re always starved, Matt said with a half grin.

I could use a double bacon cheeseburger, I said with a sigh, thinking of the Burger Kastle we’d passed on the way to the hotel venue.

I’m sure they’ll have something good, Nick mused as we entered the dressing room. This is a really nice hotel.

One can hope, I said, grabbing my bag and heading for the shower.

Once I was clean and dressed in a t-shirt, jeans, and hoodie, I found the others lounging around the dressing room, all showered and preparing for the party.

But, I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t sit through another party. We were playing the next day just a few miles down the road so we weren’t pulling out until late tomorrow morning instead of tonight – meaning that the party tonight could drag on forever since we had no excuse to cut it short.

You know what, I said, dragging my cell phone from my back pocket. I searched the internet until I found a number. I dialed it. I’m skipping this party. I’m gonna grab a cab and go get a burger.

Seriously? Ronnie asked, eyes wide. I nodded. Dude, wow. You know, the places nearby will be packed with people who probably just attended the concert.

I’ll have the cab go through the drive through, I said.

Nick grinned, clapping me on the shoulder. You go on ahead with your adventurous self. Me and Matty will be the good boys and go hob nob with the boring people.

Okay, I said with a shrug. Ronnie, what about you?

Man, he said, peering out the dressing room door. A heavy garlic scent wafted in through the crack. It’s lasagna, I bet. Or something just as Italian and delicious.

Suit yourself, I said, speaking into the phone, giving the driver specific instructions. Snagging a baseball cap off a nearby table, I shoved it over my head. Tell Doc that I’m not feeling up to it tonight, huh? I’ll go grab a burger and see you guys upstairs.

Good luck, Matt said, shaking his head.

I followed them out of the room, turning left when they turned right. I followed the corridor to an obscure door leading outside – a loading area me and Nick had found earlier while exploring.

I peered through a small opening until the cab lights swept the dark area. Hurrying out the door, I ran to the cab and jumped into the back seat. After requesting that he take me to a nearby fast food joint, I sat back in the cab, glancing out the window at the city lights.

I couldn’t remember the name of the city, but I did remember that I was in northwest Indiana, not too far from Chicago. I loved the area as I’d grown up in the outskirts of Chicago. My dad and Greta lived in the suburbs of Chicago and I made sure to visit as often as possible.

Here’s the Burger Kastle, the driver announced, dragging me from my thoughts. The drive-thru line is pretty long.

Damn, I said, gasping at the cars snaking around the building.

Do you want to wait? the driver asked, pausing in the parking lot. I looked at the lobby and decided to take my chances. It seemed as if everyone was waiting for the drive-thru and had no interest in eating in the restaurant.

I’ll just run inside, I said, tossing him some bills, hoping to encourage him to wait. I shouldn’t be too long.

Sure, the driver said, counting his cash.

Pulling the baseball cap low, I jumped out of the cab and sauntered toward the building as if I was just another teenager craving a greasy burger. After opening the door, I tucked my hands into the front hoodie pocket, trying to remain casual. I entered the small line, trying to keep my head down as I inched forward.

But, of course, that wasn’t going to do. Oh, hell no.

A girl leaning against the railing of the wooden barricade near the front of the line gawked at me, her eyes confused as if trying to figure out if I was really Jake Johnson or just someone who looked like him. I tried the best I could to avoid her eyes, but when her jaw dropped, I knew I was sunk.

It happened so quickly that I can’t even recall how it started. I just remember the dropped-jaw girl jabbing a finger in my direction while jabbering to her friend. Before I knew it, cell phones were out, pictures were taken, texts were sent, and the entire line turned in my direction and paused, as if waiting to pounce. I felt like the proverbial lamb that wandered into the lion’s den. But, like that lamb, my first instinct was to flee.

Spinning on my heel, I nearly plowed over an older couple staring up at the menu.

Sorry, excuse me, I said, shoving between them in my effort at reaching the door. I prayed the cabbie was still there and hadn’t taken off, but I wasn’t sure that I could make it to him even if he was there.

As I pushed through the doors, I was amazed at the group of kids that had accumulated since I’d arrived. Technology and social media certainly weren’t my friend that night.

Deciding that the parking lot was not in my best interest, I took a quick turn toward the back of the building, sensing the growing crowd behind me.

Skirting around the dumpster, I yanked my hood over my head as I surveyed the cars waiting in line. One face peered at me in utter amazement – a fresh, innocent face with wide green eyes. She looked safe enough, at least, in that desperate moment. I ran straight for her car, hoping she wasn’t packing heat or a large canister of mace.

I dove into her car, ducking down on the floor, my heart slamming against my chest.

Drive, I ordered. Now, woman. Damn it!

But I didn’t get my food yet, she answered, her voice nearly squeaky with confusion.

Please, get me out of here. I’ll buy you anything you want, I promise, I begged, only slightly embarrassed by how girly and scared my voice sounded.

What did you do in there? she asked as she pointed at the door.

Nothing, now will you please get me out of here before they find me?

But, she began, brow furrowed. If you robbed the BK I’ll get a reward for turning you in—maybe a lifetime supply of Big ‘Uns.

She must have spotted the herd of fans stampeding through the grass surrounding the restaurant because she dropped her eyes in my direction.

You’re kidding me, right? she asked, staring into my face.

I released a long sigh, knowing that I’d have to reveal my true identity. Maybe that would get the chick moving and get me the hell out of here. I lowered the hood and removed my hat.

Gasping with her hand to her chest, she hit the gas, swerving and squealing, probably attracting even more attention.

After a few minutes, I climbed onto the seat, digging the heels of my hands into my weary eyes. Thanks. I really appreciate this.

She stared at the road, her face like an open book, revealing her confusion and befuddlement. Even though I was in a weird situation that I had no idea how to get out of, I couldn’t help but think how adorable she was.

And then she spoke, dragging me further in.

You owe me a Big ‘Un.

Chapter Two

The silence was thick as every emotion known to man crossed her face. I watched, mesmerized and slightly amused, as realization finally dawned on her.

You’re Jake Johnson.

Grunting, I slid closer to the door, leaning against the cool glass. Great. First I’m nearly mauled by a bunch of crazy fans, and then I jump into the car of a groupie. Can this night get any better?

Hey! she shouted, startling us both. "That’s not nice. I’m not a groupie! I don’t hang out hoping you or one of your little friends will toss me a lock of your chest hair. If you even have any."

I stared at her briefly before laughter spewed from my mouth. My shoulders relaxed as I began to sense that perhaps I had made the right choice when I jumped into her car. Sorry. Didn’t mean to insult you.

Well I don’t flounce around after tour busses offering myself up to the first rock star I meet, if that’s what you think.

Who uses the word ‘flounce’? I asked, not sure if I was irritated with the girl or amused.

I do. It’s called expanding your vocabulary. You should try it sometime.

Shaking my head, I hid my smile by turning back to the window. I do expand my vocabulary. I write music you know.

You call ‘I like you best when you work your magic below my chest’ expanding your vocabulary? she uttered.

Actually I call it artistic, I snorted. What would you call it?

Pornographic, she said, her lips curling into a sneer.

What do you know about writing lyrics, huh? You’re obviously not a fan. Scowling out the window, I folded my arms across my chest. I wasn’t sure how I felt about this girl. One second, she enchanted me, but the next, she totally pissed me off.

I am too a fan, she whispered.

Well you could have fooled me, I said. Especially the way you rip apart my songs.

Not all of your songs. Only one or two -the vulgar ones.

Vulgar? What is so vulgar about my music? I demanded, turning back toward her.

"Do you want me to sing them to you?"

I laughed. Sure. Be my guest.

She shot a quick glance in my direction and I couldn’t help but smirk.

Well too bad because I am not going to sing. You know what I mean, anyway. They’re your songs; you should know the words.

Do you ever really listen to the words? Do you know what the songs are about? I asked, just wanting her to get it – to understand where the words came from and what they really meant. Not everything was face value…

I… she stammered, struggling to find her words.

I thought so, I replied. They’re not all about sex, you know. If you’d listen you’d know that most of them are about how the guy doesn’t always just want a physical relationship. Sometimes he wants more than sex.

Sorry, she muttered. I guess I missed that.

You would, I grumbled as the argument seeped out of my body.

"Hey! That’s not fair. How can you judge me when you don’t even