Do You Love Me

Author's note: This is a story for blackrandl1958's Money Honey Invitational. Thank you Randi for inviting me to participate, and for editing my submission. It's an honor to be included with some of the best writers on the site. Enjoy -- BH

*****

Fucking Grunge!

In March of 1987, my band walked into the office of our new record label to sign away our souls. We were offered a contract by one of the biggest labels in rock music and couldn't wait to be on top of the world. I sat at the long table and looked at the contract placed before me.

"What's this Jordan Shock shit?" I asked.

"Didn't anyone tell you? You can't use your real name, kid," our new boss gruffly said. "Michael Jordan is a basketball player not guitar player. From now on, you're Jordan Shock, okay?"

I thought it was an okay name; it didn't matter to me. I was blasted on cocaine and had drunk half of a fifth of Jack Daniels at the time, but I wanted to sign the deal. My dad was upset; Michael was his name, too, my mom didn't care all that much and my little sister Kim rolled her eyes.

With a freshly signed contract that, admittedly, I didn't read all that closely, we were rushed into a recording studio to make our debut record. I was barely twenty years old.

Our singer and de facto leader was Chris Davis. Boring name, boring guy. Didn't do drugs, barely drank, and was as ugly as Mick Jagger, but the man had that it-factor sex appeal shit that the chicks creamed for. When that guy rolled out of bed, he had to step over a group of ladies still there from the night before.

Our bass player was Ryan Jackson. Big tough looking guy who was a great musician and songwriter, but hated the Hair Metal music that would ultimately make us famous. He was 6'4" and looked like a linebacker in drag, on stage. He wanted to sound like Led Zeppelin, but it didn't work out that way. I remember the first time he put on spandex pants. You'd have thought they were covered in needles he bitched so much. Never mind they were pink with black zebra stripes. It was the eighties...

Our drummer was Danny Cash. Stupid name, stupider guy. He was as loyal as a Marine, though, and was my best friend. He was a great drummer who could play anything. He couldn't sing for shit, and he couldn't write a song to save his life, but he'd do whatever we needed him to do to help us have a great show. He was one of the pioneers of his drums being on tracks that could move around the stage or even flip him upside down. He took what Tommy Lee was doing and pushed it farther.

I was the lead guitar player and wrote about a quarter of our songs. I also played piano when needed. Chris loved my raspy voice and was a big advocate of me singing and contributing songs. He hated my drinking and drug use but loved my guitar playing. He fired the original guitar player the first time he heard me play in a club. He told me if there was such a thing as a musical soulmate, I was his. I didn't buy it, but I joined anyway.

We called ourselves Goblin Nob, after Chris's euphemism of a blow job. We thought it was clever. The label barely allowed it. They just thought it was stupid. They didn't get the joke. It was subtle and by the time they figured it out, it was too late to change it. We were famous.

It was better than Ryan's first choice of Lower Lips. That was a stupid name.

*****

We recorded our album, and the label went crazy for it. They threw money at us to buy new equipment and whatever else we needed, and that was managed by our A&R guy Chaz. Chaz was a rat, but I guess that was his job. He had the harrowing job of being our label liaison. He was always with us. In the studio, on tour, in hotels, hell the guy even got laid by the groupies we couldn't squeeze in.

Anyway, our self-titled debut album was released late in 1987. Our first single was a high intensity rocker that did okay on the charts. We opened for the biggest bands on the label for our first couple of tour legs, but when we released our second single, we hit the stratosphere.

"Your Love Is My Heart:" that was the name of the song I wrote drunk off my ass, with my feet dangling off of a balcony in Akron. Don't ask me where it came from, I couldn't tell you. I don't even remember writing it. I had a little tape recorder I used to record my noodling around, and I would listen to it the next day when I was sober. Sometimes Chris would listen and pick parts that he could build something out of, as well.

Chris was in my room eating breakfast that next morning. The damn fruit cake was eating granola and yogurt, while I was enjoying my pound of bacon on toast and shitty black coffee.

"Dude!" he shouted. "What was that?"

"What was what?" I asked brilliantly.

"That tune. Play it back."

I rewound the tape and found the acoustic bit he liked. I thought it was good, and said, "I can write some lyrics to that."

"Do it. I love that progression. It's the perfect key for my voice," he chirped.

I laughed, "Whatever man; give me a couple days." It was the strangest thing that ever happened to me. It was a complete instrumental song on the tape. Intro, verse, chorus, bridge, and I never remembered writing any of it. I had to think hard to remember if I'd heard it before and was just playing it. No one I played it for after finishing it said they ever heard it, so I went with it. I never got sued, so I assumed it was all mine.

Two hours later I had the lyrics scribbled on the notepad I carried around and the song was complete. Decades later, as I recall that, it's still played on the radio and at weddings all over the world, so I get some decent royalty checks. They'd have been a lot fucking better if I would've read the contract I signed back then, but we live and we learn. Sometimes the hard way.

*****

All was great, we were making tons of money, but also found out we owed the label tons of money. Thankfully, we paid it back with no problem. It turned out all the money they were throwing at us was advances on our earnings. Fucking pricks. But again, I should've read that contract before signing it.

We put out four more records over the next four years and toured the world in-between. We had at least one number-one hit on each album and were the kings of the world. Until fucking Grunge.

We never got to put out our fifth album 'Who Dares, Wins,' because of fucking grunge. When we got back from touring Europe in '92, people in America were wearing flannel shirts and stopped washing their hair. We'd heard the music from Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Soundgarden and the rest of the group of Seattle copycats but didn't think it was a threat to us. That is, until we realized everyone was not only listening to them but were dressing like them, as well. It wasn't just the music; it was a fucking lifestyle, a cultural phenomenon. It was gross.

We recorded an album that the record company rejected. Flat out rejected it. We knew it was as good as our other albums, but the music scene had changed. The label wanted us to make a Grunge album, and we told them to fuck off. Other bands were doing it and were failing miserably trying to copy the sound and look. We were not going to go out as posers and refused to bend to the label's demands, so the label dropped us.

It was crazy. A year earlier, we were the top act in the world, and in that short span, the label dropped us. The worst thing about it was the money dried up.

Don't get me wrong, we made millions and I knew I'd be fine financially, but we had no concert revenue coming in, our albums stopped selling, and the royalties almost stopped when the radio stopped playing our stuff. It was depressing.

*****

I had managed to make it through our run without knocking anyone up, and more importantly, not getting married. That changed when my sister introduced me to her friend Sara. Sara stole my heart immediately and I had no chance of escape. We were married within a year of meeting.

Sara was a gorgeous blonde with a body that could stop traffic. The best thing about her was she was as smart as a whip. Her only drawback was that she let me do whatever I wanted.

I was disappointed that we weren't Sara's favorite band, that honor went to Wild Punks. They were just another worthless "W" band that had some success. They didn't make it through Grunge, either. Sara was disappointed that I didn't know the guys and couldn't introduce her to their singer. In her words, he was, "sex on a stick."

My courtship with Sara was pretty normal. I had no idea how to live a normal life, but we went to dinners and movies and did all that romantic shit. She promised me that my former celebrity status wasn't why she was with me, and she didn't care about my money. I wish I would have been more sober at that time. I would have listened to my lawyer who begged me to do a pre-nuptial agreement. Not to spoil the story, but that would bite me in the ass several years later, as you may have guessed already.

Sara didn't spend much money, so I figured she wasn't a gold-digger. She moved in with me after several months of dating. She took over managing the household, kept food in the house, Jack in the liquor cabinet, and clean underwear in my drawers. I tried to buy her expensive jewelry and a Mercedes, but she made me take it all back. She didn't like to wear jewelry and thought having a Mercedes was too flashy. I shrugged my shoulders and wondered how I got so lucky.

*****

Without having my music as an outlet, I got bored. When I got bored, I drank. When I drank, I did coke. When I did coke, I was a fuck up. Back in the day, Chris and Ryan kept me on the straight and narrow while we were on tour and in the studio. Chaz corralled me the rest of the time. With none of those guys around, I was a goner.

Don't get me wrong, I did plenty of drugs and drank way too much when we were on top, but I was held in check. I didn't have that with Sara, and it sucked. She let me do whatever I wanted because she married a rock star, and to her, that's what rock stars did.

I hit bottom in '97. After five years of doing whatever I wanted, I overdosed on sleeping pills and was found by Sara on the floor of the bedroom. I was rushed to the hospital, had my stomach pumped and barely made it. After that, Sara took control and made me go into rehab.

Now, you'd think that me going into rehab would be a good thing. For the most part, it was. Where it wasn't a good thing was no one was watching my money, and my business manager stole a lot of it. So much that it took over a year to audit and figure out what the hell happened and how he could get away with it.

He was definitely gone, and so was about ten million of my money. Sara was my rock during that time as I wanted to kill the bastard, or get fucked up, and no one could find him. Sara stopped me from relapsing.

She cried with me, she held me, she supported me, she encouraged me. She was everything to me. It was then that she decided we should start a family. She wouldn't allow it while I was in my "lost years" as she called them. With me finally staying sober, she went off the pill and a year later, we had our daughter Melody. Melody became my heart and soul.

I never considered doing drugs or drinking once she was born, I couldn't risk losing her, and Sara made it clear I'd lose them if I started up again. It was good enough for me. Not that it was easy, but it was the best motivation I could have.

We had a setback when the tech bubble crashed in '99. I'd already lost more than half my money to theft and fraud, and I took another hit for about 40% of what I had left. We were still okay, but we sold my mansion in Los Angeles and bought something more family friendly back home in Ohio. Not having a chef or house cleaner anymore sucked, but we adjusted.

In the early 2000's Chris and Ryan were bugging me and Danny to put the band back together and hit the road on the new nostalgia tours that were happening at that time. They were smaller shows in smaller venues, but there was an appetite for our music again. I kept saying no.

How could I go from playing Wembley Stadium to playing a carnival in Iowa, or worse, a 2,000-seat theater in the sticks? I just couldn't take that kind of ego hit. That's what we played when we started.

Danny had blown through his money. He had a lot less because he didn't write any songs. It was all Ryan, Chris and me doing that, so he didn't have the same royalties we did. Danny was touring on his own, playing smaller clubs already, so he jumped at the chance to get back with them.

They replaced me with some dude from some other band that kicked him out for his drug use. I laughed and wished them luck. At least I was sober.

I didn't bother talking to Sara about it. I just said no every time. Chris and Ryan were so pissed off they wanted me to sign over my rights for them to use the name Goblin Nob without having to pay me for not being on tour with them. In one of my smarter moves, I said no to that. They proceeded to trash me in every interview they did. They kept telling people I was a drunk, stoned all of the time and wasn't dependable enough to tour. I sued them.

I had all of their letters and emails begging me to join back up with them. Since they were slandering me and libeling me in the press, yet begging me to join by email, I had a pretty compelling case. I didn't want their money; I loved the guys. I just wanted them to stop making me look bad. Melody was in school by then and the other parents were giving me the stink eye at events.

In the end, we settled. They agreed to shut up and start talking nice about me and I agreed to drop the suit. Like I said, I didn't want their money, and we didn't talk for five years after that.

*****

Life went on, and things with my family were great. I started to see an uptick in royalties, and I was being interviewed for all kinds of 'where are they now' shows and articles. That was because Goblin Nob was having some success again and everyone knew I wasn't in the band. People wanted to know why not, if I was still sober. Was I an idiot, couldn't I play anymore, etc?

With Sara's urging, I did a reality TV show that put me in a supergroup with other 80's stars, in 2007. It was the hardest time of my life. Those dickheads drank and snorted like it was 1989. I managed to stay clean, but it was hard.

One of the drawbacks of being an addict is not having all of your mental faculties to make good decisions. When I went to my storage unit to get my guitar for the show, my number one guitar was missing. I searched everywhere but couldn't find it. I figured it was stolen.

Now, guitar players love their instruments, especially the ones they play regularly. I had a neon green prototype Ibanez that was my pride and joy. It was the only guitar I played on all of the records and most of the tours. It was beat to hell from years of abuse, but it fucking sang. They sold tons of them, but none of the production models were like my prototypes.

I was looking for the paperwork from Ibanez so I could file a police report when I found a certificate from the Make-A-Wish foundation. There was a thank you letter and a picture of me giving the guitar to a bald-headed girl who couldn't have been more than ten years old. It turned out, in '95 I gave the kid my guitar. She was suffering from leukemia, and one of her wishes was to play guitar with me. At some point, I must have decided it would be a good idea to give her the guitar. How the hell could I ask for it back? I grabbed the blue version and made do for the show. I hoped the kid had survived. I made a note to check on her, but with what was about to happen, I never got the chance.

Because I was surrounded by my demons while on the show, I had to move Sara into the house with me, which turned out to be the dumbest thing I ever did. Sara left Melody in the care of her parents and moved into the show's house. She was beyond excited because the singer of our little super group was her favorite: Jimmy Grant from the fucking Wild Punks.

One of the things we did was have nightly parties in the hot tub. There was a lot of raunchy shit that happened that never made it on camera, but one thing made the show that I never knew happened and it ended my marriage.

After the big concert we did for the show's finale, I said goodbye to the other musicians and I noticed Sara got into a heated exchange with Jimmy Grant. He was a douche bag of the highest order, and I had to restrain myself from punching him in the mouth a few times over the course of the show. Boy, I'll tell you the producers were pissed I never hit him. They were the worst kind of ratings whores and put us into situations where I'd get upset with him.

I walked over and interrupted, and Jimmy and Sara stopped talking immediately. "What the fuck is going on?" I shouted.

"Nothing, honey," Sara said calmly. "Jimmy was just doing a shitty job of apologizing for being inappropriate with me."

Jimmy smirked, and said, "Yeah, my fault, ya know? I'm drunk, so I'm sorry and shit, okay."

"Don't speak to her again, prick," I growled and pulled her away. We boarded our plane and went home.

Everything was as normal as could be. Sara was great, Melody was great, and life was great. We watched the show each week as it aired, and Melody got a kick out of seeing me play guitar and jam on stage with the band. She'd never seen any video of me from the old days, so I promised her I'd find her some video of it and then we'd laugh at me wearing spandex and makeup.

The penultimate episode of the series aired, and about halfway through there was a hot tub scene. In the tub were Jimmy, Sara, and some groupie Jimmy found. I didn't remember where I was at the time, but they edited in shots of me and the rest of the band writing the song that was going to be the climax of the show. Sara never sat with us in the rehearsal room, as it was a pretty boring process. At the time, I figured she was watching TV or something. Boy, I was wrong.

The camera switched from the professional cameras that the show used to a night vision camera that was hidden in the awning above the hot tub. I heard Jimmy say, "Why don't you girls kiss? I think that'd be hotter than hell." Sara balked but she took a big drink from her glass of wine and was shocked by the groupie basically straddling her hips and planting her lips on her face.

In our home, while I was stunned at what I saw, Sara wasn't paying attention until Melody asked, "Mommy, why are you kissing that lady?"

I was in shock, not believing what I was seeing. Sara started screaming and trying to grab the remote to turn the TV off. I snapped out of it and threw the remote at the wall, shattering it.

I stood and watched as Sara, on TV, didn't push the girl away. Shockingly, she kissed back and grabbed her ass. That was when Jimmy slid over and started kissing the groupie's neck. I expected Sara to move away, but nope. She started kissing Jimmy. The worst thing was, they showed the groupie slide over and let Sara straddle Jimmy's hips. From the angle of the camera, you couldn't see the actual penetration, but she lifted herself and threw her head back when she lowered herself back onto his lap. Clearly, they were fucking. I knew that head throwback move very well; she did it every time I penetrated her.

Sara sobbed as she rushed Melody out of the room. I flopped onto the couch and cried as I watched my wife fuck him on national television. I was snapped out of my shock by the ringing of the phone. I leaned over and grabbed it just as the show went to commercial.

"Hello?"

"Jordan," my mother-in-law shouted, "tell me that was acting. Tell me that was staged, and my daughter didn't just have sex on TV with someone who wasn't her husband."