Page 1 of The Pursuit of Happiness

Prologue

Aria

Last night

The shot of vodkaburns its way down my throat, the warmth of the fiery liquid spreading through my chest and leaving euphoria in its wake. There was once a time where I would chalk any sense of bliss or elation up to the clear liquid, but tonight it’s the celebration of what my best friends and I have achieved. What have we achieved you may ask? Well, that would be a record breaking new album with a hit song that’s been at the top of every Goddamn chart imaginable for five months in arow.

Sure there have been bands that have songs stay at the top of the charts for a long duration of time, but not one of those rock bands has had a song stay at the top for this long. As if that weren’t enough of a reason to celebrate, we’re celebrating because not only did we achieve the impossible, but we just made history as the only rock band of women to do it.Ever.The shitty thing about our particular genre of music is that it’s all male dominated. Throughout the history of rock and metal, the biggest band names have been Metallica, Guns N’ Roses, Aerosmith (I love you, Steven Tyler), Black Sabbath, Mötley Crüe, and a bunch of others and what matters not is the music itself but the fact that every band is made up entirely of men. You see, it’s gotten so male dominated that when someone thinks about a rockstar, they think about a man; total bullshit.

Now, there have been plenty of female rockstars. There’s Joan Jett, Blondie, Stevie Nicks, and Pat Benatar, all successful women in our genre, but for some stupid ass reason, peoplestill automatically think of men when they think of our genre. It pisses me off to no end because sometimes it feels like it doesn’t matter how hard we work or how much of our blood, sweat, and tears we put into our music; we willalwaysbe overlooked in favor of the men in our genre.

So to circle back, no. The vodka is not the main cause of the euphoria flooding my veins. It’s the fact that my best friends and I broke a record in a male dominated genre of music and were the first ever women to do it. And we did the damn thing together. Well, the song was really Brody’s, but we all played our part.

Our band is called Satan’s Angels. We’ve had quite the reputation for our many run-ins with the law, all ranging from public indecency to possessing drugs. There was a period of time about eight months ago where we were facing possible jail time and our manager, Selene Stone, issued a zero tolerance policy for drugs, alcohol, public indecency, vandalism, and all the other fucked up shit we used to do. I’ll admit, I waspissed. We all were. In a way, we all used drugs and alcohol as a crutch, a way to entertain our fans and to have fun; after a while we became dependent on substances and lost sight of who we were as not only people but friends. If Selene hadn’t intervened, we’d probably all be in jail right now and no longer friends, a thought that causes an aching feeling in my chest.

Now, enough with the history lesson. Let’s talk about the present. To celebrate our well deserved achievement, Ivory and I are at Showroom, one of our favorite nightclubs. We used to come here so much that they have a special VIP section just for us. Of course, that was before we got our shit together, but still. We have a bunch of our friends in our booth all ranging from, models, actors, actresses, business moguls, fellow musicians, the list is neverending. While everyone dances and chats amongst themselves, Ivory and I are seated in the middle of theonyx vinyl circular couch, a second round of shots already in hand.

I know what you’re thinking,Aria, I thought you guys had to get sober and clean? Why are you drinking?To that I answer, mind your own fucking business. Ha! No, but seriously, we did get it together. We don’t drink often anymore and we have self control when it comes to our indulgences. This is strictly for celebration’s sake.

Ivory’s chocolate colored eyes twinkle in the indigo colored lights, her chestnut colored hair curled into loose waves that fade into a light pink ombre towards the ends. She wears a pastel pink tube dress that matches the pink in her hair and the devious look she gives me tells me that we’re about to take our second shots. “To ‘The Masks We Wear’ hitting number one and fucking staying there!” She shouts over the music, toasting before we down the liquor.

I raise my shot glass, “To making history.” I raise my chin as I continue, “And to our drummer who isstillin Japan. We wouldn’t have this song without her,” I compliment even though she isn’t here to hear it. Brody has been in Japan for about a month now with Harvey, her boyfriend who used to be her contracted babysitter signed by Selene Stone to get Brody under control. Honestly, it’s a miracle the two didn’t end up killing each other before falling in love because they used tohateeach other. I guess it took Harvey leaving her for him to realize how much he loved her. Enough that he was willing to move his entire family to LA to be with her. They’re sickeningly in love now and I guess we have the two of them to thank for our number one song. Usually I write the songs with Ivory’s help but Brody wrote “The Masks We Wear” all on her own. It was the story of how she and Harvey fell in love, how she finally felt able to show the world who she really was without the drugs and alcohol.

We toss our heads back and down our shots, the fresh vodka mixing with the vodka that’s already in our stomachs. I set the small glass down on the shiny black table in front of us and Ivory mirrors my movements. I rest my palms on my lap, my fingers caressing the textured fabric of my icy blue leather pants. If there’s one thing you should know about me, it’s that I love the color blue. I love it so much that I have strands of the color poking out through my head of auburn hair. That is called true love and dedication.

Ivory leans in, speaking directly in my ear so nobody can hear though I doubt anyone would be able to over the noise of the club, “I talked to Selene earlier and she said she thinks there is a very good chance we win that Muse award,” she beams.

The Muse Awards are a music award show that every musician or band wants to win. We’ve been nominated before yet have never won, but this year, we may actually take the award home. The only thing standing in our way is Thunderstrike, a heavy metal band of you guessed it, men. I’d be lying if I said they didn’t have a few good songs but I don’t listen to them regularly or know the names of their members simply because I don’t care. “How could we not? I don’t see any Thunderstrike songs on the charts,” I assert with a snarky tone.

She snorts a laugh, “R, I’d be lying if I told you I even knew who the fuck they were. I’ve never heard of them before that phone call with Selene.”

I roll my eyes as our waitress returns with a fresh round of shots. I guess it pays to have some pull in the club; you never have to ask for a thing. I reach for our fresh shots, handing Ivory hers as I search the recesses of my memory. I could’ve sworn I’ve heard of Thunderstrike in passing maybe once or twice but I’ve never seen them in tabloids or in the media. We’ve always gotten more attention than they have, most likely because we’re known for being the most out of control trio the rock world hasever seen. “Maybe I have heard of them before. Regardless, they aren’t beating us,” I lace my voice with confidence.

Ivory raises her chin as she smirks, “No chance in hell. We’re winning that award and Thunderstrike can kiss it.”

I take that as cheers enough. I tap my shot glass against hers and throw my head back as I take the third shot. “God, I wish Brody was here,” I complain. It doesn’t feel right to celebrate our successes without her.

Ivory’s smile falls only slightly. “I do too, but I know she’s happier in Japan with Harvey. You know she isn’t into partying anymore.”

I nod because it’s true. Brody isn’t into partying anymore and we used to shit on her for it when in reality, we should’ve been happy for her. She finally found happiness, something I have yet to accomplish myself. The waitress returns with another round and I grab the glasses before she sets them down, smiling at her warmly before turning my gaze back on Ivory. “I know. I guess we’ll just have to party for her,” I grin as I toss back the fourth shot.

We set our glasses down just as Beatrix Banes, our mentor of sorts, drops down on the couch next to me and throws her head over the back, her black hair sticking to her forehead and mixing with her sweat. Her dark eye makeup runs down her cheeks and her crimson lipstick is smudged. My eyebrows partially shoot off my forehead when I take in her disheveled state. I don’t even know why I’m surprised, Beatrix Banes is the absolute craziest bitch I’ve ever met. This appearance is not out of character for her. “You doing okay?” I ask, humor in my voice.

She rolls her head to the side and gives me a toothy smile. “I fucking love America,” she declares, her thick British accent slurring slightly.

Ivory leans forward to get a better look at Beatrix. She glances back at me and raises a brow in question. “I want whatever she’shaving.”

I snort a laugh as Beatrix perks up in her seat. “You want what I’m having? I’ve got shit that will drive you fuckingmad,” she whisper yells as she clutches the sides of her head with her pale fingers, practically tearing strands out of her scalp. Beatrix Banes is a very unique individual. By this I mean that Beatrix is one of the most iconic faces in the rock genre and she has a reputation for being even more chaotic than we were, if that were even possible. When we were first starting, Beatrix saw something in us when nobody else did and took us under her wing, having us open shows on her tour. Without her, we wouldn’t have gotten the kickstart we needed in our careers. I like to think most of the fucked up stuff we did was inspired by her, but I try not to vocalize that compliment to her because it will just fuel more fucked up stuff.

“I think I’m good,” I say doubtfully. Knowing Beatrix, she’s probably got a crazy cocktail of drugs running through her veins and I don’t want any.

Beatrix’s eyes widen as if in shock, “What about you, love?” She asks Ivory.

Ivory swallows anxiously as she replies weakly, “I think I’m good too, I was just kidding. I would prefer not to go mad.”

I try my absolute hardest not to laugh. Thinking that’s the end of that, I focus back on Ivory and just when I’m about to resume our conversation about winning the Muse award, Beatrix reaches into her bra and removes a small baggie of powder. Ivory and I watch in silence as Beatrix dumps the entirety of the bag on the table and starts making lines in the powder with a credit card. She’s made three lines but I’m not sure why considering Ivory and I just told her we didn’t want any.

Ivory gives me a confused look and I shrug as if to say,I have absolutely no fucking clue. Just as Beatrix removes the straw from someone else’s drink and leans down, snorting thefirst line. She rubs her nose after and blinks tears away from her eyes. She looks down at the other two lines and snorts the second. My jaw drops. Is she trying to overdose?

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