Faith roadies 3, p.1
Faith (Roadies #3), page 1
Table of Contents
Title
Copyright
Want to get more FREE from Erika
Dedication
Press review
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Press review
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Press review
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Press review
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Press review
Chapter 17
Press review
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Press review
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Epilogue
Want to get more free from Erika
Acknowledgements
About the author
Copyright © 2022 Erika Vanzin
Faith
ISBN: 978-1736645260
All Rights reserved.
Staci Frenes, Line Editor
Shelby Goodwin, Proofreader
Cover Design by Elizabeth Mackey
All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976 the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the author or publisher constitutes unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use the material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained from the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
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To the Groupies who are keeping this dream alive.
The Jailbirds Are Back with Great News!
Hi, Roadies!
There’s big news on the heels of the split from their old record company announced five months ago. As already anticipated by the title of this post, the Jailbirds are back, but not with the news that everyone expected. They did not, in fact, find a new label but decided to form Jail Records, a new entity in the music scene that will deliver to fans their future albums and also music from other talented artists looking for a home.
The record company has not yet announced the guidelines to submit demos, but we’re sure a press release will soon clarify the details of this latest ambitious project.
After coming out in the open and admitting their status as ex-inmates—during the hottest Christmas season in music history—the Jailbirds gave birth to their most incredible adventure.
Are you excited about this unexpected project?
Be kind and Rock’n’Roll,
Iris
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“Oh, yes, baby. Keep it up. Do that thing with your hips again. It drives me crazy.” My voice is raspy. The blondie straddling my lap seems to appreciate my hands on her buttocks pulling her toward my pelvis, allowing me to sink even deeper into her.
“When is it my turn?” The complaint coming from the couch next to me reminds me I was taking care of Tiffany’s generous breasts, or was it Brittany? Carolina, maybe? Anyway, the twin of the blonde who is striving to make me have the most overwhelming orgasm in history.
“Come here, honey. Sorry. Your sister makes me forget your name when she keeps moving like this.”
The girl giggles and approaches me again, slamming her huge fake breasts in my face. I’ve never been one who discriminates against a woman just because they’re not entirely natural. After all, if she prefers that, who am I to judge? Plus, let’s be clear, these two are to-die-for sexy, both dressed and naked. When I met them at the club last night, I had no doubt how the night would end.
Jennifer, or maybe Amanda, seems happy with the attention I’m paying to her upper body—so much so that when I slip a hand between her legs, I find her wet and ready to welcome me.
“Honey, I’ve neglected you. Do you want to come and take over for your sister who looks tired?”
In fact, the girl straddling me seems less than enthusiastic; perhaps because, like me, she can no longer orgasm easily after a night of sex. It almost seems like I’ve lost sensitivity down there, and the effort I’ve been making to chase that pleasure for at least half an hour is exhausting.
I am reminded of the words of my friends who tell me that, sooner or later, my penis will fall off from of all this sex. Maybe they’re right. I have to remember to Google it. Is there something like impotence from too much sex? The mere thought terrifies me. I almost don’t notice the two girls have exchanged places. If they didn’t have necklaces with different letters hanging from their neck, I couldn’t tell them apart. I already struggle to remember the face of the girls I take to bed, let alone distinguish between two identical twins. “G” and “P,” I’m almost sure these two letters should ring a bell. Maybe they’re the initials of their names?
I don’t have time to overthink it because a slight knock on the door draws my attention.
“Who the hell could it be this early?”
I grab my phone from the coffee table and peek at the time. It’s eleven o’clock in the morning. Damn, I was supposed to be at the recording studio two hours ago! I have about twenty calls and messages from my bandmates that begin with asking me where I am and end with openly insulting me.
“Excuse me, I have to go and check who it is. I think it’s my friends.” I move Melanie from my legs and pause for a second to think. I’m not sure it is them because they would have entered with the keys or broken through the door. The slight knock from the corridor for the second time convinces me that it cannot be Damian, given his heavy hand.
“Do you mean the others will be joining our party?” Liberty’s eyes light up.
“Why, honey, am I not enough for you?” I ask her, annoyed while looking for my clothes.
They both giggle, and I lose patience when I hear a knock for the third time. To hell with it. If they’re in such a hurry to see me, they’ll have to deal with the nude version of me. I approach the door and, seized by a momentary flash of clarity and decency, I grab the first thing I see and cover my private parts, still hard and wrapped in a condom. I welcome the hotel manager and the two security guards one step behind him, with a see-through vase full of fresh flowers to cover my erection. From the expression on his face, I gather they have bad news and that I’ve made it worse by exposing myself. I must admit, though, the manager is really good at maintaining a poker face. If it weren’t for a slight movement in his jaw muscle, you wouldn’t know he’s pissed off.
“Mr. Wright, I’m sorry to divert you from your…morning activities.” I follow his gaze behind me to see that Amber and Beverly are watching us with interest, without feeling the need to cover up.
“Is there a problem?” The vase in my hand is getting heavier and heavier. Few times in my life have I felt inadequate, and this is one of them, at least from the clothing point of view. I’ve never been one of those guys who boast at the bar about his sexual exploits. Of course, I tell my friends the juicy details, but my current lack of modesty makes me uncomfortable.
The man clears his voice and returns to study me. “Mr. Wright, we are forced to ask you to leave the hotel. Here’s the formal request, which also contains the invoice for the balance of the duration of your stay.” He hands me an envelope printed with the hotel logo but, stunned as I am at the news, I don’t reach out to take it, so the man slips it between the flowers.
“Why the hell are you kicking me out? I always pay on time, and I’ve never been a problem! Is it because of the unregistered guests I bring to the room?” I nod my head towards Elizabeth and Lola.
The two security guys dressed in black close around the director in an almost imperceptible way, but I notice it. I spend my life with people like them who look over my shoulder at every step, and when I raised my voice, I triggered the “protection mode” required in their job. I don’t want to make a scene and make myself look ridiculous any more than I already am, so I inhale deeply and try to get the smile back on my face.
“Really, if it’s about the guests, I’ll try to run them by registration from now on,” I promise more calmly with almost a plea in my voice.
The manager seems to relax and his expression softens, but the words out of his lips do not change the situation. “I’m sorry, Mr. Wright, it’s not your fault. Indeed, you are a very discreet guest of our hotel. Never a complaint from the neighboring rooms. The problem concerns the journalists and paparazzi who have been pestering our guests over the last five months. This is a hotel that offers reliability and privacy, and we can no longer guarantee it since the news of you
r…past accommodations…reached the newspapers,” he explains to me calmly.
I can’t blame him. Since we decided to make our prison record public, freeing us from the weight of lies, the press has not given us a break. At first, we let them target us, hoping that the news would wane with time. After a month, we began to worry; after two months, we were sure that only a government crisis could bump us from the list of journalists’ priorities. I can see how five months is exhausting even for those forced to live with our fame. I’m sure the high-profile businessmen who spend the night here with escorts, to have some distraction from their wives, do not want to risk finding their face plastered on the front pages of the newspapers.
“I can try to do something. I’ll call my manager and the police if needed. I can issue a restraining order for the paparazzi,” I try to convince him, but the compassionate smile that appears on his face makes it clear that the decision has already been made.
“A restraining order for every single paparazzo in this city? Mr. Wright, we have called the police several times and, apart from a few hours of respite, the situation has remained virtually unchanged. The police district threatened to shut us down if we made one more phone call. I tried in every way to help your stay, but unfortunately, this is the only solution that allows us to run our business smoothly.”
I doubt that the police can shut down a hotel, but I understand his point.
“And where the hell will I go?” I say more to myself than to the person in front of me.
The manager smiles. “Manhattan’s real estate market is always attractive. I’m sure you’ll have no problem finding new accommodations that make you feel at home.”
Buy myself a house? Has he gone mad? “How much time do I have?” I ask, resigned at his firmness.
“Normally, checkout time is noon, but we understand it is difficult to organize your exit in an hour. You have until six this evening to leave the room.”
His generosity leaves me seven hours to pack my stuff and disappear from his sight. I give him a forced smile and nod then take a step backward, not sure how to close this damn door without the manager seeing me completely naked, but he insists on staying, as if to make sure I’m packing. I decide to throw away what little dignity I have left. I place the vase on the side table then spread my arms to grab the door handle and smile at him.
“Have a nice day,” I say, before returning to hide my naked body behind the layer of wood.
When I turn around, Samantha and Barbara look at me, pouting. “So the party’s over?”
I look down on my private parts, noticing that my erection is only a distant memory. “I would say yes.”
“So, now where do we go?”
I realize they didn’t understand that we’ll all have to leave this room, but not together. “You to your home, I assume. Me…I don’t know.”
I grab my phone and lock myself in the bedroom, but not before picking up the girls’ clothes—who, finally, understand and are getting dressed to get out.
“Where the hell are you? I’ve been trying to call you since this morning.” Our manager’s voice is serious but not furious.
I decide to avoid the explanation that includes the two blondes putting their clothes back on, and I immediately get to the heart of the matter. “They evicted me from the hotel.”
The silence on the other side of the line lasts a few seconds too long. “What the hell did you do this time?” Evan’s voice is a mixture of resigned and desperate. Sometimes I feel bad for the poor guy.
“Nothing, I swear. The paparazzi are always stationed in front of the door, and the hotel guests have begun to complain. When you cheat on your wife with a prostitute, you’d prefer not to have a lot of witnesses, especially if you’re a prominent member of the rich, puritanical New York.”
I hear him inhale deeply and exhale slowly. I think he started using the gift certificate for the meditation center that we gave him for Christmas. He was so stressed we were afraid he’d blow a gasket. “Let me make a few phone calls, and I’ll call you back. I’ll also send you someone to help you pack your bags.”
“Thank you for the calls, but as for the suitcases, I don’t need any help. I can do it myself.”
“Really?”
“Don’t be so surprised, I’m used to packing for tours…and it’s not like I have much else to do.”
Evan remains silent for a few seconds. “You should be in the studio with the others, idiot!” he rants. His meditative moment lasted precisely forty seconds.
“So they can berate me for not showing up this morning?”
“You know they’re right, don’t you?”
“I know, but I’ve just been evicted. I can only handle one crisis at a time. I don’t want to be scolded because I didn’t show up at the studio.” I realize I’m whining like a kid who doesn’t want to do his homework.
“It’s a hotel room, Michael. It’s not your home. You can find dozens identical to that one,” sighs Evan in despair.
“See? Even you say I don’t have a home.”
“Go pack your bags, Michael, before I come and kick your ass.”
“Evan, can I ask you something without you getting angry or making fun of me?”
I feel his hesitation, but then he urges me to continue.
“Can you become impotent from too much sex?”
He says nothing for an endless time, and I look at the screen to see if he hung up.
“Evan?”
“If only, Michael. If your dick does fall off because you use it too much, at least you’d be on time for your appointments for once in your life, not between the legs of a woman.”
He hangs up, leaving me no time to reply.
***
It is almost evening when Max, our driver, lets me out in front of the red brick building that has become so familiar over the years.
“Surprise!” I singsong when Simon opens the door of his house on the Upper East Side.
His face is puzzled, then looks worried when he notices four huge suitcases behind me and several garbage bags on the sidewalk next to Max. Apparently, over the years, I’ve accumulated a lot more stuff than I thought.
“Are you going somewhere?”
“I was evicted from my hotel room.”
He studies me for a few seconds to see if there is a follow-up to my explanation. “Can’t you find another one?” His voice becomes more suspicious.
I shake my head and flash one of my most beautiful smiles. “Evan tried, but as soon as he gives my name, suddenly all the hotels in Manhattan don’t have free rooms. Apparently, the paparazzi scare guests and the word has spread,” I say, motioning across the street where the photographers are having fun with our outdoor conversation.
Simon looks up, annoyed, and beckons Max and me to come in. I pick up the suitcases as fast as I can, along with the bags that our driver cannot carry, and I run the five steps that separate me from the landing of my friend’s house.
“So you’re looking for a home? Why did you come here?”
Out of all of us, Simon is the one who needs calm and stability. He loves silence like I love women. I understand the annoyance of my sudden appearance, but I’m desperate. I’m basically homeless. Max takes his leave and walks out in a hurry, no doubt afraid that Simon will turn me down, and I’ll end up sleeping on his couch with his family.
“Where else do you want me to go?”
“I don’t know. There are four of us in the band. Am I really your last resort?”
He invites me into the living room of his townhome, which extends over seven floors. It looks like a jungle in here. There are more plants than in Central Park, and I suspect there is far too much oxygen; I read somewhere that too much oxygen can be toxic and that you can go into narcosis. I think it was an article about scuba diving, but you can never be too cautious about certain things.
“Damian and Lilly fuck like rabbits on every surface of that house. Thomas and Iris walk around naked taking artistic photographs at their navels. Do you think I can go and live with them?”
