Issue #91 – Rock and Roll Lifestyle

The Descendants Vol 8: The Weaver's Web

• Issue #85 – The Ballad of Bad Lass
• Issue #86 – Those Not Forgotten
• Issue #87 – Descendants… In Space
• Issue #88 – Tome of Battle
• Issue #89 – All That Glitters
• Issue #90 – Just Us Sidekicks
• Issue #91 – Rock and Roll Lifestyle
• Descendants Special #8 – The Heart of Rock ‘N Roll
• Issue #92 – Homage
• Issue #93 – Day of Recovery
• Issue #94 – The Knight, The Witch and the Gadgeteer (FaerieQuest Part 1)
• Issue #95 – Into The Woods (FaerieQuest Part 2)

Rock and Roll Lifestyle (Part 3)

Joe ‘Baldy’ Adams, in his long and illustrious career as a C-list bandleader who never grew out of high school and the simplistic indulgences in ‘all the alcohol’, had never awakened with a worse hangover. He’d drank every drop of booze or beer completely dry sometime earlier that week, been banned from every bar in walking distance by the previous day, and maxed out his oddly low-on-funds cash account at the liquor store sometime before passing out the night before—a magnum opus of multi-day benders.

And now he was paying for it.

His head ached and pounded. In fact, every joint in his body cried out in pain and dehydration. His mouth was so dry that it was hard to breath. A churning gurgle came from his stomach, having been supplied with nothing better than bar snacks and cold pizza for the past three days.

The pounding was the worst though. It was as if someone was smacking him in the temples with a baseball bat, over and over. Such was the endless procession of savage throbs, that he could swear they were forming words.

“–the goddamn door, you idiot!” it seemed to say, “Where’s our money?”

Odd, it sounded a lot like Bobby Scramble and Debby Downer.

“That’s it! Out of the way, Bobby!”

Another, more powerful thud wracked Joe’s head, making him nauseous with pain. It came again, joined by a cracking sound he couldn’t match to his usual post-drink agony. One more and another crack, then he couldn’t deny it anymore that someone or something was in the room with him—largely because someone was holding him about the shoulders and shaking him like a dog with a rabbit.

“Wake up, you miserable, bastard and explain yourself!” Debby shouted into his face, making the first coherent image he viewed through a lead-heavy eyelid her uvula.

His hands immediately went to his ears. Evidently, a lot of that pounding really was inside his skull. ‘Jesus, Deb, not so loud. What the hell are you talking about?’… was what he tried to say. Closer to reality, it sounded like, “Jeef Ded no’so louw. Waddahell you tallin-bah?”

“The money, Badly. Our money.” Now it was Bobby Scramble talking. At least he wasn’t getting physical. Yet. His voice suggested he was just waiting his turn to get a crack at him.

“Huh?” Joe asked with all the eloquence he could muster.

Bobby Scramble stepped into view beside Debby, whose nails might have been drawing blood. “The cleaning lady didn’t show up today. I called the service and they said she wasn’t coming over because the automatic re-bill was declined: insufficient funds.”

Not really following any of this, Joe nodded all the same. Maybe if the thought he agreed, they would go away and he could bury his head in his pillows for another five or six hours.

But the nodding didn’t stop Bobby Scramble. “So I called the bank and they said the account was all but cleaned out earlier this week. Except I didn’t know about anything like that, and Debby didn’t know anything about it—and that leaves one drunk idiot who stumbled in last night with two armfuls of bags from the liquor store.”

“What did you do, Baldy?”

There was that question again: what did he do?

‘Got drunk’ seemed the correct answer. There appeared to be lots of supporting evidence too. But that didn’t seem to match up with… whatever they were talking about. Monet or something? He would pay all the money they had for a hangover cure right about then…

Maybe he’d done something while he was drunk. He was good at drunken mistakes. He even had a preset on his email app that could start the message with ‘I am deeply sorry for ____’ and then went on like that like a form letter. It saved a lot of time.

Something told him it was time to fire that app up.

Somehow, he struggled out of Debby’s grip and went to grab his palmtop. Only some joker moved the bed under him… somehow… and he ended up lunging off the side of the mattress and hitting the floor. After a bit more effort, he crawled over to lean against his nightstand and reached up, fumbling until he found the device he needed.

“God, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this wasted.” Debby said somewhere above him. Seemed she could fly now. Good for her.

Distantly, he decided he might still be a little drunk—which was so very unfair because he was still hung over too.

“I have. Remember Tulsa? When Yolanda dumped him?” That was Bobby, also flying. What else were those two hiding from him?

Pouting, he switched on the screen of his palmtop. A flashing indicator told him he had a text. Not remembering why he’d picked up the palmtop in the first place, he tapped it, finding a single line and two sentences:

‘got $$. d00d on his way.’

The sender was someone he hadn’t talked to in yea…. three days. Through the alcoholic fog that was his mind, the memory surfaced like the inner beauty of a solid six once he’d downed a few. He’d been pissed at being dumped by Sonia Remington and wondered if given his shady past and contacts he could…

His eyes widened, allowing more light to lance painfully into his eyes and then his hung over brain.

“Oh. Shit.”

“What ‘oh shit’?” Debby demanded. “You better know where our money is.”

“… I think I spent it on calling a hit out on Sonia. Oh man, if she finds out, I’m gonna go to jail!”

He was answered by stunned silence and then the sound of feet stampeding out of the room. He hoped they were off to make sure no one called the cops on him.

***

“Swanky.” JC looked around the atrium of Sangre City, which, actually involved getting a view of the entire restaurant.

The establishment was built on the site of an old amphitheater with the tables—all private booths—were arranged on the descending tiers. A soaring dome of wood and stucco with scarlet tapestries formed both the walls and ceiling. Each individual booth was hidden from one another by six-foot sound baffles upholstered with leather of a shade slightly darker than the tapestries. However, they could all be seen from the atrium, which was built on the amphitheater’s highest tier with a floor-to ceiling window looking down on the main dining room.

“Yeah… I think we’re all a little under-dressed, not just you this time.” Lisa affectionately bumped him with her shoulder. She was wearing an ivory blouse with a hunter green skirt, cut to the ankle on one side and to the knee on the other with tassels along the hem.

Meanwhile, JC was wearing black jeans and a button-down flannel shirt, which a manager noticed within seconds of the group’s arrival. She approached with a determined step, the tablet she used to keep trap of the reservations and other events she might need to keep apprised of clutched to her chest. “Excuse me, sir?”

It wasn’t hard for JC to guess why she was zeroing in on him, so he just raised a hand. “I’m guessing this is a black tie place then?”

“Formal, sir.” The manager seemed to be trying hard not to stare at JC’s mode of dress as if avoiding looking directly into the sun.

“Yeah… I was kinda hoping not and then I saw none of the tables could see each other and thought maybe you could let me slide?”

The manager looked down through the window. “Our guests can’t see each other while they are dining, but they can be seen from here—they dine here because they can be seen from here.”

At this point, Kay was snickering while Juniper and Jessica were trying not to look too embarrassed. Lisa stepped in to back him up. “I’m sorry about this, he does this all the time—you wouldn’t happen to have jackets on loan, would you?” Dating JC, she had experience with the loaner jacket policy of many of the nice restaurants in Mayfield.

“We do indeed,” said the manager, taking him by the arm to steer him off to the side. “Right this way, sir.”

Some of the other patrons, also waiting to be seated, stoles not-so-secret looks at them. Or at least that’s what Jessica was imagining. She turned red from the scrutiny. To get in, they passed through a throng of photographers. None of them had any idea who their little group was, but her mind was already conjuring up front page headlines speculating on who the person was who needed to be escorted out of the line at Sangre City and the identities of the people with them.

Her distress didn’t go unnoticed.

“Please don’t tell me you were embarrassed by that,” Kay drawled, moving to stand next to her. When she only got a little squeak as an answer, she grinned wickedly. “Oh, you’re adorable! Don’t sweat the small stuff, Jess: guys need to borrow dinner jackets all the time. And big time rockers do way worse in the middle of crowded restaurants. Save the blush for when one of us gets into a screaming argument with a busboy, or gets arrested for lewd behavior in the men’s bathroom.”

Jessica gave her a look that pled with her not to do any of those things. Key resisted the urge to pinch her cheeks. “No, that’s not going to happen…tonight. Probably. Aw, don’t start shivering. Gosh, we’re gonna need to get some wine into you to loosen you up, kid. I would have hoped hanging out with us this long would have inoculated you to weirdness and shame.”

Her pep talk was interrupted by a disturbance at the door. As it opened, the shouts of reporters and paparazzi rolled in over the smooth jazz playing in the atrium. Sonia Remington had arrived.

She was in business mode for the night; dressed in a conservatively cut black blouse and cream-colored dress suit. Someone had styled the wire-like spines that served as her hair into a large braid that hung down her back. And as if she could hide that she was a woman with blue metal hair and mother-of-pearl skin, she was wearing sunglasses.

Entering behind her (and making sure none of the press came in behind her) were two brick shit-houses in tailored suits. The taller of the two was a tanned Caucasian with a crew cut and an angular chin. The shorter (but more muscular) of the pair was black with his hair cut into a high fade with a mustache and goatee. They moved in concert, one keeping an eye out in every area that would be in the other’s blind spot.

If Sonia even noticed that assassin-level competence (except for the ‘making themselves conspicuous part) going on behind her, she gave no indication. Instead,s he spent a moment scanning the crowd before spotting Kay and hurrying over with a wave.

The whole band, minus JC lined up to meet her with Kay and Lisa taking the lead.

“It’s so great to see you guys again.” Sonia said, grasping their hands in turn as if greeting old friends. “The last couple of months have been a nightmare: nothing but photo shoots, promo appearances, and travel, travel, travel. I haven’t honestly talked to a normal human being who isn’t on my staff since March!”

With that off her chest, she managed to take a breath, “But I’d much rather hear about you guys: how was the trip? Are you liking the suite?”

As the unofficial liaison between the group and Sonia, Lisa was the first to speak. “All of it was amazing to tell the truth. The closest we’ve been to getting comped anything was playing VAConPrime and getting special guest passes to the convention. A hotel room is… next level.”

Sonia’s eyes sparkled. “I have a feeling you’ll be getting used to it.”

“And we won’t have anyone but you to thank.” Lisa beamed.

At this, Sonia shook her head. “It’s the other way around. Without your songwriting, I wouldn’t have been able to make this leap. Anything I get out of my singing career, I owe to you, Lisa. That’s why I asked for Snackrifice to be my band for the Music Festival—it’s the only way I could think of to even half-repay to you what you did for me.”

They just smiled at one another for a moment which quickly turned awkward. “Oh!” Lisa said, turning to gesture at Jessica. “You haven’t met our new guitarist! Jessica Kowalski, Sonia Remington.” with a gentle hand,s he guided Jessica up to stand in front of Sonia.

Naturally, she froze, trying her damnedest to shrink until she was small enough to run away.

“Maybe we should try this again after a couple of glasses of wine.” Kay suggested diplomatically.

***

It was lunch, so they ordered off Sangre City’s beer menu, not wine, but a couple of glasses hadn’t really drawn Jessica out of her shell much at all, but both food and beer (and JC’s return shortly before they were seated) made for a lively evening nonetheless.

With the two men—who as it turned out were Sonia’s new bodyguard detail, Jethro Gibbs and Leroy Gibbs (no relation) standing guard outside the booth, Snackrifice and Sonia Remington gelled like old friends.

“So then he jumps on the stage—and it looks like he completely forgot what he was planning to do,” Juniper was relating through giggles at the half-told story, “he just stood there, looking from me to the crowd. I think climbing on stage sobered him up or something because before security could even get there, he just kind of gives me this little wave and climbs right back off the stage again.”

The others burst out laughing at that. Even Jessica managed to go louder than her usual squeak.

“Oh man, that is the best stage crasher story I’ve ever heard.” Sonia shook her head. “Anyone throw anything interesting up at you?”

That made the band, minus Jessica crack up.

“What?” Sonia quirked an eyebrow.

“I blame the name,” JC managed, shoulders shaking.

“Hey, Snackrifice is an awesome name—and you have no idea how often I’ve gotten a free lunch out of that.”

That made Sonia gesture for an explanation, which came from Juniper. “Oh, it’s just that… well we’re Snackrifice, you see? And someone online came up with this idea that they should make sacrifices of snacks to us. It’s not a lot of people, but every concert, someone throws some snacks up at us: peanut butter crackers, bags of chips—once someone threw half a dozen of those little cupcakes with the creme filling!”

Sonia cackled. “If they start throwing honey buns, I might have to join the group full time.”

“Miss Remington?” they all looked up to find Leroy, the taller of the two bodyguards, poking his head into the booth. “You asked me to remind you when you needed to leave for your appointment with Mr. Deeds?”

“Dexter Deeds?” Lisa asked, “I thought he had his headquarters in Mayfield.”

Sonia shrugged, “A lady’s man like him? He’s probably taking a date to the festival. Either way, he wants to pitch a voice acting gig to me while I’m in town. Some anime his company’s dubbing for theatrical release.”

“Sword of the Unjust King?” Juniper asked, her lights going wide. “I just finished Volume Five of the manga on the plane! Oh my gosh, are you going to play Haruka?”

“I think the name my manager told me was Orihime Mitsune?”

Juniper put her hands to her mouth, but it didn’t stop the squeal. “The Flash Step Bandit! This is so wonderful! I really hope you get the part!”

Sonia smiled at her. “I don’t think that was the issue—Deeds seems to really want me for it; I was having reservations because I know nothing about… anything anime or manna? Anyway, I’ll give it a little more consideration now, thanks.” She looked at the rest of the table. “We’re still going to practice at seven tonight, right? Eustace Hall?”

Lisa nodded. “Affirmative! See you there.”

“See you there,” Sonia agreed, “And I’ll let you know how the meeting went.”

She slid out of the booth and, with her bodyguards in tow, headed out of the restaurant. It was only after she’d been gone almost ten minutes that Jessica happened to look next to her where Sonia had been seated and saw it. “Oh no… Ms. Remington left her palmtop!”