CLASS ACT (A BRITISH ROCKSTAR BAD BOY ROMANCE) Page 3

  “What’s so unlucky about them? Did they end up playing at some third string position for some second rate team in a lower division?”

  “No, they don’t get to play at all,” she answered again, looking serious. “Maybe they don’t make the cut. Or a bad injury in practice changes them from a hot prospect to damage goods. They end up losing their sports scholarship and their entire future with it. Their only choice is to get an education and make something of themselves.”

  I chuckled. “That’s life.”

  “Heath, you’re gifted with talents few men possess.”

  I put a hand on my groin. “Very few.”

  Charlotte ignored my gesture. “Your career may not go on forever. How many rock stars end up broke or dead after their sales fade? Your fans’ taste might change or the market might want some other genre. However, you can always rely on your education no matter how bad things get.”

  It was a thought worth chewing over. What people called my ‘antics’ and ‘scandals’ were the things that kept me going each day. All of that rage on and off stage was real. It was the only thing I could truly own in this well-oiled business. Everything else was trademarked and manufactured by the music industry.

  “Every Tom, Dick, and Harry has a GCSE, Charlotte. My music is what makes me stand out from the crowd.”

  “You’re blessed to have this opportunity, Heath,” Charlotte said, staring straight into my eyes. “Don’t look at it as just another hassle. I’ve been to poor countries like Malaysia where an education is a luxury.”

  The woman looked adamant about this tutoring thing. “Well, I hope that diagnostic test of yours gives you an idea of what is in store for the next three fucking years.”

  “That’s something I wanted to discuss with,” she said, taking out the test and flipping through it. “The writing portion of the test got my attention.”

  I looked over to see my admittedly poor handwriting. Honestly, a hen could randomly peck a piece of paper and it could be passed as my signature. “What’s interesting about those incomprehensible scribblings?”

  “You see how you’re supposed to write the name of the object?” she asked. It was something a grade school boy could do. I had utterly failed at it. “So this image is a ‘pot’ so you should write down ‘pot.’ However, you wrote down ‘top.’ You can see the same mix up here with ‘ship’ and ‘hips.’”

  “What about it? I’ve been making the same mistake for years. Decades even.”

  Clearing her throat, Charlotte asked. “How did you write music if you kept mixing up the letters? I know your collaborators speak highly of your music compositions skills.”

  I glanced to side before speaking. “I got others to do the writing while I did the thinking. I can still do sheet music if I put my mind to it. However, Howard was the one who handled most of the technical work back when I was starting out. Even now, I’ve always been more of an idea and concept guy.”

  “He was your old partner, right?”

  He was more than that. That man always had my back since we were orphaned children. He would take a haymaker to the face for me.

  And now he was dead.

  “Harold was the smart one,” I said, remembering the old days. We used to be an unstoppable team. “He was the brains of the operations. I was the beauty and muscle of the equation.”

  I had lost so many friends and colleagues over the years. When it wasn’t suicide, it was a drug overdose. When it wasn’t the drugs, it was some fatal disease which is what ultimately claimed Howard’s life. The pessimist in me wondered how long I had before I would join them.

  Charlotte smiled. “I think that’s the first time you’ve complimented a musician other than yourself.”

  “He could play the guitar with his left hand while taking a piss with his right and still do it better than the rest of the sorry lot at this record label combined,” I stated. “That includes me. His brain came up with our biggest hits. Harold was a fucking legend that was taken before his time.”

  She reached out to my hand again. “I’m sorry to hear about his death.”

  “Don’t say that,” I growled, brushing her hand away. “You never met him. You don’t know what that man did for me. So don’t say you’re sorry.”

  There was an uncomfortable pause for a moment. I regretted speaking so harshly. Harold would’ve scolded me for talking like that to a lady.

  “Heath, please don’t be offended,” Charlotte said with a deep breath. “I think you might have dyslexia.”

  “What the hell is that?” I asked narrowing my eyes. “Some venereal disease that’s affecting my prick?”

  “No, it’s a learning disorder,” she clarified. “It’s a common disorder across all ages. It makes learning and memorization very difficult. Your diagnostic test shows the telltale signs of it.”

  I leaned forward. “You think I have it?”

  “It’s nothing concrete but it would explain why your brain keeps switching all the letters,” she said with a shrug. “Did your parents ever take you to the doctor? Did you ever visit a psychologist about your reading disability?”

  “Where I am from, going to the shrink was like saying you wanked off to pictures of toddlers,” I laughed, causing her to frown. Psychiatric help was a powerful social stigma in the rundown borough where I grew up. “No, you didn’t go to the shrink. And no, you didn’t go to get help. You kept your baggage inside your house and prayed it went away.”

  “Did your parents try to help you?”

  “Nothing the strap wouldn’t fix,” I said with a half-smile. I remembered those dark nights. Daddy would come home smelling of booze. His pants would already be undone. He would hold his belt like a bull whip. Then, he’d strike. “That was their solution for any problem involving me.”

  Charlotte’s eyes flashed with concern. “Did they ever stop abusing you, Heath?”

  “Oh, they did stop alright!” I chuckled. “Only after they died. Dad got killed in a sports brawl after the local football team lost. Mum drank herself to an early grave. I got sent to an orphanage.”

  “That must have been a very difficult time for you.”

  “Difficult?” I retorted. “It was the best thing to happen to me. I became interested in music. I learned how to sing and play the guitar from the older boys. I had people who actually gave a damn about me. I met Harold…”

  “Well, this has been a very productive meeting,” Charlotte said with a small smile. I felt a strange twinge in my heart at seeing her leave. “I’ll see you in a few days after I plan out a schedule.”

  Come to think of it, she was a breath of fresh air from the grind of a countrywide tour. The constant partying and traveling was getting very boring. I needed a break from the action, even if it was an hour a day. Hell, I could actually learn something from her.

  “Hold on a minute, Charlotte,” I said, grasping onto her dainty wrist. “I’m not going to be your average student. Not by a longshot. You’re going to get used to how Double Damage does its business. If you want this to work, then you have to learn how I put food on the table.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve seen your world,” I grinned. “Let me show you mine.”

  I had taught students in plenty of strange and difficult conditions. I had taught in Burma when a civil war raged on. I had taught in Uganda where running water was a luxury. However, I had never taught a student during the middle of a countrywide concert tour.

  With what little time he could spare, Heath had given me a whirlwind tour of his rock band as we entered Philadelphia. Double Damage was a strange band to say the least. It would be difficult to even describe them as a typical rock band. For one thing, it technically only had one member.

  You see, most rock bands typically have four members. Take the late and great Queen for example. Freddie Mercury was their charismatic front man who took charge of the lead vocals. Brian May handled the guitar. Roger Taylor played the drums.
John Deacon, my personal favorite, took care of the bass guitar. Double Damage wasn’t set up like this.

  The group started as a duo with Heath Lawrence and Howard Lane. Most of their early songs were guitar duets. They had a rotating list of collaborators to handle other instruments and backup vocals. However, the two were the only core members of the group. That was until Howard’s untimely death due to leukemia.

  Now, Heath was the only remaining member of the band in what was a solo career for all intents and purposes. He had fought against management changing the rock band’s original name. Even in death, Howard’s legacy would live on through the band.

  Nevertheless, Double Damage had attracted quite a cast of eccentric characters.

  Heath was of course the prima donna of the bunch. He got special treatment wherever he went. The man had his own hotel room when the rest of the crew had to share rooms. Heath even had his own private tour bus. He got all the glory and the girls.

  Thankfully, the remaining musicians were more down to earth.

  Relatively speaking.

  Tyler was the lead guitarist. He had been the longest serving collaborator with Double Damage. The man had played for them back when they were an indie group trying to make ends meet.

  Tyler’s accomplice in crime was Dave. The man handled the bass portion of the equation. As expected for a bassist, he was covered from head to toe in tattoos like Flea from The Red Hot Chili Peppers.

  Rounding out the team was Ryan as the drummer. He wasn’t originally supposed to be here on the tour. However, the original drummer fractured his hand in an accident and couldn’t play. An admirer of Double Damage, Ryan was more than happy to fill out the vacancy. Not to mention that he had stood in for Double Damage before as a backup drummer.

  I guessed they were all hired because they were so used to Heath’s antics and could tolerate his caustic personality.

  Then, there was Jared who wasn’t an actual musician. Instead, he came from management. Not only was he Heath’s personal manager but also one of the managers for this tour in America. As far as I knew, this man held everything together. This included Heath’s career which was precariously balanced on a knife’s edge these days.

  He was the one who approached me to tutor Heath. Jared seemed like a decent enough man if a too little focused on money and schedules. During our interview, he spent more time texting on the phone or having phone calls about his stock portfolio than talking to me.

  Rounding out the team was Mr. Han. A former soldier in the Chinese army, the veteran was the head of security for the group. He made sure everyone who met Double Damage was vetted and the arenas they visited had proper security.

  He must have done a background check on me as well. Heath had specifically told me not to piss him off since he was a black belt in various martial arts and a crack shot with a gun. Mr. Han was one of the few people who could get the notorious playboy to behave.

  “So you must be the one teaching Heath his ABCs.”

  Tyler’s voice broke me out my thoughts. I saw the handsome guitarist sitting across me on the tour bus. I gave him a smile. “We’re working on more advanced topics.”

  “Not by much I imagine,” he said, his Irish accent betraying his Gaelic roots. Some gorgeous woman was half asleep on his lap. “Heath’s a musical genius but he’s got no mind for numbers. And he’s a prick to boot. A talented prick but a prick, nonetheless.”

  “Don’t worry about me, I’m used to problem students.”

  “At least, you’re riding with all the other peasants,” he chuckled. The woman on his lap stirred awake and took him in for a brief kiss. I suspected she wasn’t officially part of the tour. “Heath only used to let his old pet dog, Susan, ride with him. And all the other bitches he likes...”

  I looked at the woman next to him. “Did he treat Howard the same way?”

  Tyler smiled. “No, he always knew how to deal with Heath and his bullshit. God, I miss that guy.”

  “You knew him then?”

  “I worked with Double Damage back when they were playing for a half-pence a day in some hole in the wall in Liverpool,” he said proudly. It must have been a decade ago. “Heath had a temper but Howard could defuse him like a one man bomb squad. The two couldn’t be any more different but they were the best of mates.”

  It was something chewing over. “The opposite of Heath Lawrence? So Mr. Rogers?”

  “Nothing that extreme,” he laughed. “Aye, Howard was a smart lad. He even had a Ph.D. in music theory and mathematics when poor Heath could barely add up the week’s groceries. A damn shame the cancer got him when it did. We lost someone truly special that day.”

  That didn’t sound too unusual. Brian May from Queen was an astrophysicist and mathematician with a Ph.D. “I would’ve loved to meet a man like him.”

  Tyler continued. “He and Heath were like night and day. They still manage to make this band of theirs to work.”

  Suddenly, the bus came to a stop. I turned to the guitarist and asked. “What happened?”

  He picked up his belongings. “We reached our destination. Let’s hope Heath isn’t hung over.”

  I glanced out the window to see Heath leave his bus. “He looks sober enough…”

  Dave the bassist chuckled. “Let’s see how long that lasts!”

  As if on cue, Heath entered the ‘peasant bus.’ His dark hair was slicked back with designer hair gel. He wore a pair of faded jeans and an unbuttoned shirt. Bare muscle and dark tattoos could be seen on his exposed chest. “Come on, get up! We got a show waiting for us. Up!”

  Tyler raised an eye. “What’s gotten into you?”

  Ryan the drummer added. “Isn’t this usually the other way around? You were half asleep last time.”

  Dave laughed and shot me a wink. “Did that new teacher of your promise you extra points if you behaved?”

  “Oh, fuck off Dave,” Heath hissed. “I just want this fucking tour over with so I can skip back over the pond and get back home.”

  Tyler smiled. “I’m sure they’re dying to have you back after you shagged half the record label’s management.”

  “None of the fans give a fuck about you,” Heath growled. “I’m the man they’re here for. Count yourself lucky that you’re even able to play on stage!”

  Ryan joked. “You never let us forget, Heath.”

  “That’s because I’m the one who’s putting food on the table,” he retorted. “Now let’s get this fucking show over with.”

  It was a strange exchange in the city of brotherly love.

  The rest of the crew grumbled and got their belongings. I left to get a breath of fresh air and stretch my legs. Jared briefly talked to Heath about some business issues. I wondered if his studies were now a legitimate business conversation topic.

  Soon, Heath passed by me and whispered. “We have some time to go over a lesson. Follow me to my bus.”

  I shot him a look of surprise. It was strange for him to take initiative. Not that I minded. “Okay…”

  Together, we boarded his rather messy private bus. I tiptoed over empty beer bottles before taking a seat across from him. The man slumped against his chair as I rummaged through my documents.

  “What’s on the agenda, teacher?” he probed. “That writing exercise from earlier was like swallowing glass.”

  I smiled as I took out blank sheets of paper. “Then get ready for a second serving.”