A Star For Rob

Status: Draft

A Star For Rob

Status: Draft

A Star For Rob

Book by: k.l.warzala

Details

Genre: Romance

Content Summary


Rob Starre grew up poor in a troubled childhood. He never wanted a life in music, but by the time he was thirteen, his father made sure there wasn't an instrument out there that he couldn't play.
When a horrible chain of events forces him out in the world, the music is what keeps him alive. When a one-night stand and a chance encounter brings Rob face to face with stardom, he has to decide
if it might cost him more than he's willing to give. ***Rated X for language, graphic sex scenes, rape, drugs, and alcohol.*** This is the first draft. I want to thank all who read and review. I
always appreciate the help.

 

 

Content Summary


Rob Starre grew up poor in a troubled childhood. He never wanted a life in music, but by the time he was thirteen, his father made sure there wasn't an instrument out there that he couldn't play.
When a horrible chain of events forces him out in the world, the music is what keeps him alive. When a one-night stand and a chance encounter brings Rob face to face with stardom, he has to decide
if it might cost him more than he's willing to give. ***Rated X for language, graphic sex scenes, rape, drugs, and alcohol.*** This is the first draft. I want to thank all who read and review. I
always appreciate the help.

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: April 14, 2021

A A A | A A A

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: April 14, 2021

A A A

A A A

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The control booth lights were always kept on a low setting when a new singer or musician auditioned. Larry Brown discovered early on the raw nerves on display when the auditioned could see people staring at them. He realized something else, too. The studio was always kept darker up front than in the back. The lights on in the back made for an excellent x-ray machine when auditioning a beautiful young lady.

Like the one they were about to audition now.

Rob immediately turned his back on the window when Kate entered the building. “Jesus,” he breathed. He felt himself growing hard. His jeans were getting uncomfortably tight, and he pulled at the crotch to loosen them.

Brown saw him. He started to laugh. “I know, Bud,” he chortled. “I had the same reaction, and I’m at least thirty years older than you. But get it under control. If you like her, she’ll be touring with you.”

“Oh, I like her.” He drew in a long breath. “I like her maybe a little too much.”

Brown laughed once more. He clicked on the microphone to the studio. “Do you need some time, Kate, or are you ready to go?”

“I’m ready,” she affirmed.

“I’ll bet she is,” Rob said under his breath.

Brown snorted and started the music. “You can turn around now, Rob.”

“I think I’ll stay like this for a few more minutes.” He had another reason for not turning around. He didn’t want to look at her. Not because of her beauty, but because he learned long ago that images distracted him from hearing. And what he was hearing was unbelievable.

Rob lowered his head, closed his eyes, and listened. Unbelievable was not even the right word. Her voice was smooth and light but with a throaty quality that was rare in female singers. She never went off-key. Her harmonies were airtight.

She was perfect.

“What do you think?” Brown asked when the music ended. He clicked on the microphone. “Nice work, Kate. Take a rest.”

Rob turned around to look at the girl as she took a seat close by. “Unbelievable? Fantastic? Perfect? I don’t think there’s a word for it.”

“I thought you might see it that way. Do you want her?”

Rob’s mouth flew open. “What? Do I want her?”

“I mean, as your backup singer, Rob, get your mind out of the gutter.”

“Yes, yes, of course, I want her,” he laughed.

“Then you can have her. She wants to travel. She’s a fantastic singer. Her temperament seems good, and she’s agreed to the salary I offered.” Brown ticked off Kate’s attributes on his fingers. “Now, if you want her in any other way, that’s up to you. All I ask is that you don’t fuck this up, and we lose her.”

“Ok, Larry,” Rob gave a mirthless laugh. “I’ll try to contain myself.”

Brown patted Rob on the shoulder. “Good boy,” he said. “Are you ready to meet her?”

 

 

He couldn’t sleep. Every little noise was keeping him awake. The tap dripping in the kitchen sink, the toilet kicking on and off, even his own breathing. He could hear some wheezing deep in his chest. That wasn’t good.

Rob gave up and threw back the covers, his feet hitting the floor. “Fuck,” he swore.

The tour bus would be leaving first thing in the morning for San Diego. At the rate he was going, he would never make it. He needed to sleep.

“Fuck,” he said again.

He left the bed and went to the bathroom, and threw open the medicine chest. Taking the bottle of cough syrup from the top shelf, he shook it, then squinted, trying to see how much was left in the dark bottle. It wasn’t much.

Putting the bottle to his lips, he upended it and drank the last of the contents. It soothed his throat. Maybe it would clear the wheezing in his chest. Maybe it would help him sleep.

He turned around and flipped the handle on the toilet tank several times to stop it from running, then padded back to his bed.

Everything in his apartment reminded him of Lucy. He hadn’t heard anything from her. He had no idea where she was or what happened to her. He still called her every day and left a voicemail, hoping she would call back.

Fear seemed to clutch at him every time he thought of her. Something happened; he was sure of it. There was no one he could call to find out. Neither one of them had any family to speak of, and neither one had made friends in LA. Making friends in LA just didn’t happen much.

Rob decided to keep the apartment when he left. He paid eight months' rent in advance, just in case, and informed the landlady about Lucy. Lucy would need somewhere to live once the baby came. He hoped she was taking care of herself and their unborn baby.

Rob’s mind was a jumble of presumptions. He tried to remember their last conversation but kept coming up empty. At first, he thought it was the night he took the overdose. He vaguely remembered her talking about getting married, the baby, and going on the tour with him. He searched his mind. The memory was so shapeless he couldn’t grasp it.

He thought they argued. That wasn't something new, but this argument seemed worse than the others. Rob wondered if the fight was so severe Lucy finally walked out on him. He hoped it wasn’t the case.

There was another fragile memory, though, and it seemed to be in the forefront of his mind. He was tied to a hospital bed, and Lucy had promised to get him out. She left to bring clothes. She never returned.

Rob grew hot under the blanket, so he tossed it aside and lay naked and uncovered. He felt his heart thudding against his ribs. He wished Lucy were with him right now. She could calm the anxiety trying to attack.

The way he felt right now, he believed he was past the trying to phase and heading into a full-blown panic attack. He got out of the bed and started pacing the floor. He couldn’t stop himself. With every step he took across the floor, panic and anxiety increased.

“Goddammit!” he shouted to the ceiling.

Leaving the bedroom, Rob padded to the kitchen and poured a tall Jack and Coke, drinking it thirstily. The first one only eased the anxiety a bit. He made a second one stronger and drank it down.

“Fuck!” he screamed, drawing it out, so it sounded like fffuuuuccckkkk!

Getting angrier by the moment, he went to pour another drink and, instead, hurled the glass in the sink where it shattered against the yellow porcelain. He grabbed the bottle of Jack Daniels by the neck, almost smashing it against the wall before he caught himself. Removing the cap off the bottle, he tipped it up and drank until he needed to take a breath. When he pulled the bottle away from his lips, he had consumed half of it.

“Fuck!” he screamed again at the walls. He was so upset he lost control of everything, even his speech. He was beyond any common sense. All he saw was red, and he wanted to do some damage.

He yanked open the cupboard doors in the kitchen and started tossing. Dishes, coffee cups, even pots, and pans went flying at the walls. He got under the sink and threw the glass jar that held the spare coins he had made with Lucy. It hit the refrigerator and shattered. He pulled open drawers and flung the silverware across the room. Kitchen utensils, knives, towels all went flying.

When Rob had done all the damage he could do, he turned his sights on the refrigerator. He pulled the door so hard it almost snapped off its hinges. The ketchup, mustard, mayonnaise, and other condiments in glass bottles he thrust aside, where they busted and smeared a menagerie of color on the kitchen floor.

Rob stood and shoved the door closed but it popped back open. He slammed it shut again. It hit something inside and flew back open. This time he punched it, unaware of the pain shooting from his bloody knuckles.

When it wouldn’t close, he kicked it, knocking the door completely off.

His anger peaked.

“Motherfucker!” he shrieked at the top of his lungs.

He went to the bedroom and started ripping clothes off the hangers. He had to pack. Did he even own a suitcase? No, he didn’t. Well, he had plenty of garbage bags. He used to cover the windows with them. He returned to the kitchen and rooted around in the drawers for the trash bags.

When he couldn’t find any, his anger finally gave way, and he slipped to the floor and started to cry.

“Motherfucker,” he cried. This time it wasn’t in anger but defeat.

Dear God, what had he done?

***

Someone was pounding on the door. A muffled voice came through the woodwork.

“LAPD, open the door.”

Rob couldn’t move. He lay on the kitchen floor, stark naked, covered in Heinz Tomato Ketchup, French’s Yellow Mustard, Jack Daniels, and his own piss.

“LAPD, open the door, Mr. Starre,” the voice said. The pounding on the door started again.

Rob groaned and rolled onto his side. It must be the middle of the night. Why was someone pounding on his door, for Christ's sake? It didn’t matter. He couldn’t seem to move. Ignoring the constant knocking, he closed his eyes.

He heard wood splintering and felt a rush of cool air on his face.

“Jesus Christ,” a voice said. “Look at this mess. You better check to see if he’s alive.”

A cool hand touched his throat, then his chest. “He’s alive, but barely, I think. At least he’s still breathing.”

Rob could hear lots of voices now. They seemed to be coming from a radio or transmitter. He couldn’t understand what they were saying but seemed to be using a lot of call numbers. 10/4? He knew that one.

Now someone was lifting him from the ground, and somebody threw a blanket over him. That was nice. He was cold. They put him on a hard bed of some kind, and he could feel movement. The wheels were going bump, bump over the rough patches in the parking lot. He tried to roll over and get more comfortable, but he couldn’t move. Did they strap him down again? Damn them. At least he was warm. Rob let the cart take him where it wanted to go and fell back to sleep.

 

 

 


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