Rock Stars in Particular Order - 3

By Alana Nöel Voth

Hayden’s band isn’t doing well. And all the money Ella made as a model—it’s spent. Floating in a Milky Way between waking and sleeping Ella wonders when did it start? She’s not good enough for anyone or anything. She behaves like she can’t love him. She pushes Hayden against walls—takes control at least in this moment, this transaction between bodies, this safety net of sweat and spit. Straddles his waist. Fits him inside her. He fits to the hilt.

Does she talk to him? Carefully. Otherwise, issues. Otherwise, wounds. Sometimes Ella reads to Hayden. Sometimes it’s something she wrote. Ella kisses his palm between paragraphs. He wets his lips with his tongue.

When she fucks Hayden the first time she’s nervous. Like a girl. Then not. Like a siren. Ella sits on his lap. He’s seated on a chair. Bare-chested. Pants opened. Trail of hair visible. She follows that hair with a finger. Feels the heat rising off his cock. Plays with the rings through his nipples. Uses her teeth. Smiles when Hayden gasps. She feels how her hair falls down her back. Feels his fingers digging into her waist. Feels his mouth on her neck.

     She hears him say, "I’m going to fuck you hard. Got it? Yeah?"

     Ella feels her clit thicken with blood. Feels the moisture inside her give.

Ella loses track of her best friend, Kaye. Maybe she’s in London.

Hayden is six feet tall with dark hair and light eyes. Girls love him. For some reason, he beckons Ella. She goes, curious—anxious. He curls a finger around her ear and then tucks her hair back behind her earlobe.

     He stares into Ella’s eyes. Intense. Focused. On her.

     Ella says, "Your songs are like vicious poetry."

     He smiles, a curl in the left corner of his mouth.

     Now she’s nervous. She says, "I’m a model."

     He says, "Yeah. Beautiful."

Seeing Hayden on stage the first time makes Ella breathless. He slings his guitar in front of his hips and then sings, melodic screaming into the microphone, before he falls to the stage on his knees, his back arched, hand whacking his guitar. He has pierced nipples. Sweat on his forehead rolls into his eyes. Hair messy. A fit of passion on stage. Lyrics so violent-beautiful.

Kurt Cobain is on the cover of Rolling Stone. Kaye says she’s never seen a more pathetic looking man in her life. But Ella thinks he looks sad. Like a boy or a puppy. She and Kaye go to Contempo Casuals. Discover flannel has replaced spandex. And notice how angry music is.

This one stares at her tits. Jerking off. He says, "I want to come on you." A string of semen sticks to Ella’s collarbone before sliding like a damp shoestring between her breasts.

Some Guy in a Famous Band calls her Lois Lane. Ella feels insulted. How about Pamela Anderson? He says, "Lois Lane." Superman rescued Lois Lane.

Ella tries college. Finds she still does better at modeling.

They arrive in a limo. Fifth row on the aisle. Spandex skirt. Lipstick on her teeth. Kaye shows the singer her tits. Huge party backstage. Ella sits in a drummer’s lap eating cherries then spitting the pits in his hand. She feels his erection like kindling for a fire under her ass. Her clit is a tiny beacon of light. Hey Handsome.

She sees her friend Marla climb into a car with Bret Michaels.

Poison’s lead singer, Bret Michaels, sings "Every Rose Has Its Thorn" while he grips Ella’s hand, and she sobs like a dork. He smiles. And then lets go of her hand.

At Red Rocks Amphitheater outside Denver the line is a mile long. Ella, Kaye, and Marla will never get a good seat. Ella wants to meet Bret Michaels, lead singer for Poison.

     Marla says, "I know where there’s another gate. If I show the guard my tits, he’ll let us through."

     Ella looks at her new friend. "You’d do that for me?"

     She looks at Ella. "Sure."

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