Page 1 of Fake Rocks
1
Saff
“Seriously, Saff, what the fuck were you thinking?”
TheSunday Informerwhistled past my head, narrowly avoiding hitting me square in the face as I ducked right at the last minute.
I bent down to pick up the tabloid while Jonas glowered at me from the table on the other side of our unfinished kitchen. We were expecting workmen to start the following morning on our major house renovation. Most of the rooms in the place were in chaos to say the least, particularly the kitchen. It was definitely the ‘before’ picture on one of those home makeover shows.
I stared at the paper. On the front cover was a grainy picture of me and Troy Carson, City’s newest - not to mention baddest - signing. Seemingly we were engaged in some kind of dodgy activity. The picture was accompanied by a salacious headline about what we were apparently doing. I rolled my eyes so hard I almost saw my brain.
“Calm down, Jonas. It was only a blow job.”
I crossed the kitchen and tossed the paper onto the table before helping myself to a mug of Jonas’ unhealthily strong black coffee. Taking a seat opposite him, I blew on the coffee before taking a tentative sip. I felt like shit and really needed something to take the edge off. This morning, coffee wasn’t cutting it.
“Oh, that’s alright then,” Jonas said. “I’m sure Troy’s girlfriend will see it as ‘only a blow job’.” He shook his head in despair.
“She wasn’t there, so she didn’t see it. Threesomes aren’t my thing.” I was being contrary, but sometimes it was fun to wind Jonas up.
The four hours I’d spent with Troy Carson had been pretty unspectacular. We’d got chatting in a bar where he was celebrating his transfer to City. There had been a lot of drink, a few smokes and a couple of pills. Nothing I wasn’t used to. Troy wasn’t able to hold his drink though, and the minute he’d inhaled a joint, the contents of his stomach made a very unwelcome appearance on the terrace of the bar.
After that, I was turned off.
The pictures of us getting into a taxi were me sending him home. The angle the cameras had caught, was of me bending over, picking up his mobile before packing him off. Which coincidentally looked like I had his cock in my mouth.
Of course Jonas and the general public would believe it.
Sometimes, I enjoyed letting them.
The expression on Jonas’ face radiated disappointment. Mouth turned down, eyes dark, he pretended to study the financial pages of one of the Sunday broadsheets. I knew he was pissed at me. The fake interest in stocks and shares proved it. Jonas was more of a gossip man.
Jonas Barnes.
Hot shot record company guy. Manager. Guardian. Cousin.
Twenty years older than me, he’d been charged with my guardianship since my mother died when I was twelve and my whole world fell apart.
I looked up to him.
Always had. Always would.
Jonas was the one who had got me my big break. Although I’m not sure he envisaged quite how it would pan out. In his head, I’m sure he saw me and my guitar, country-folk-Taylor-Swift-vibes. While in reality it turned out to be heavy-rock-Taylor-Momsen-vibes instead.
TheSB was my band. Consisting of me on vocals, and currently two guys: Darren North on lead guitar and Barney Gibbs on bass. The drummers had been pretty interchangeable over the last couple of years while I worked out what direction I wanted to go in.
Punk. Rock. Metal. Lots of grinding chords, angry vocals and swearing. As a female fronted group, we were somewhat of a novelty, but I didn’t care. I loved pushing the boundaries, testing people to see what I could get away with, basically being a badass.
Or at least that was how I saw it.
Jonas, on the other hand, was constantly bailing me out, apologising for my behaviour and covering my ass—in more ways than one.
“I’m not joking, Saff, you need to watch your behaviour.” He waved the newspaper at me. “This has to be the last time. I don’t want to see your half-naked body on the front page of newspapers or on online gossip columns any longer.” I opened my mouth thinking he was done but he carried on. “It’s not just Troy Carson though, is it, Saff? There was the TV presenter, the DJ, the reality TV star, the soap opera heartthrob.” He ticked them off on his fingers one by one and I resisted the urge to shout ‘house’ when he finished.
Jesus, was I really that much of a slut?
As if answering my silent, if rhetorical, question, Jonas followed up the list with a heavy sigh. “I didn’t want to say anything, but the record company are getting antsy.”
This was news to me. Numb Records was a label who had a history of looking after its renegade members. Blood Stone Riot were signed to them and they’d been through a hell of a lot: death and drug addiction to name two.
