The Next Song You Write About Me

The first song came to an end to a wild cheer from the long-time fans in the front. Steve checked out the dudes in the back with their arms crossed. They were sagely nodding their heads in approval. It was on.

"Hello, Washington!" he called. "It's good to be back!" A cheer arose. "That was 'Craft Breweries,' which used to be our most popular song."

"But you horndogs changed that," Annie said, to a huge laugh from the crowd. "Before you shout at us to play that other song: clench up, we'll get to it. But first I want to sing about something important to me. Take it away, Slip."

Slip counted them into "Annie Doesn't Ride Mechanical Bulls Anymore" and the crowd went wild.

For the next hour and fifteen minutes, Strawberry Street played through every song they had and some of their best covers. The aura in the room was pure gold. From the stage, Steve thought everyone was having a blast.

The band finished the main set to huge applause and left the stage to shouts for an encore.

"Y'all ever wonder why we do this encore shit?" Annie said. "Like we know we're going to play more. They know we're going to play more. Why don't we just play everything and when we're done we're done?"

"It does ruin the idea that an encore is special, I suppose," Slip said, "but it's what the people expect."

Their encores in the past had always been two songs. One was a cover, usually chosen on the fly to fit whatever vibe the crowd set off. The other used to be "All One-Ways," the first song they ever put out.

Tonight the cover was for Slip. DC was his hometown and he knew exactly how to honor that. So he led them through "Bustin' Loose" by Chuck Brown. He sang out loud from behind the funky drums, while Annie rode the rhythm right along with him. Steve did his best to play an entire horn section melody on his guitar. A lot of the younger rockers were unfamiliar with the go-go classic, but it was infectious nonetheless.

When the applause died down, Strawberry Street launched into "Sometimes Girl." It was an upbeat song, and people twisted and shook, but Steve noticed for the first time how many pairs of eyes in the audience were piercing him, as mouths sang along with every word. He put his all into it, recalling the specific moments that inspired the dripping wet lyrics.

"It's not like you to tease

I know how you got grass stains on your knees."

He could tell something was bubbling up heading into the last verse by the way the girls in the crowd started looking at one another and not the band. Not a riot, but something. He kept on singing, preparing to bring it home.

"Don't throw me out, throw me down.

Turn the light on, we're not done.

I wanna feel my heart stop when you come."

Steve was supposed to solo there, but he missed a couple of bars thanks to the minor distraction of fifty or so women in the front lifting their shirts in unison to flash the band.

Once he recovered, he looked over to see Annie laughing maniacally, tears streaming down her face.

Steve recovered enough to finish the last chorus. He played the outro like he'd started the show, with big swells and reverb.

He locked eyes with someone in the front, a cute, full-figured girl with purple hair. The Alison girl who started the social media nonsense. He sang the last few lines directly to her.

"I want you sometimes, girl.

I need you sometimes, girl.

I love you, Sometimes Girl."

As the song ended, Steve knelt to where she was standing and handed her his guitar pick.

"Thank you for believing in us!" he shouted over the roaring crowd.

"Ohmygoshthankyou!"

Ten minutes later, the band was off stage and ready to mingle. They always made a point to help sell their merch and they'd happily talk to people who stuck around after the show.

Steve thought it was pandemonium trying to cross the club. Everyone was trying to shake his hand or get him to sign something. He happily did so, but the level of intensity in the interactions had gone through the roof since the last time he played live. He assumed it was some combination of the first show back excitement and folks being shut-in during the pandemic.

He managed to break away from one group of fans when he heard a familiar voice behind him.

"Hey, Mr. Byrd!"

Steve turned to see Lucy standing there. For the briefest of moments, he was disappointed. He thought Roxie would show. Lucy was grinning ear to ear, but it faded slightly as a small, dark look shimmered over Steve's face.

"Something wrong? I thought you guys were great!"

Steve shook off Roxie and smiled. He took Lucy in a bear hug.

"Thank you so much for coming," he said. "Where are Erin and Maggie?"

"Maggie wanted to come but she's seven," Lucy said, shaking her head at him and chuckling. "Plus Erin heard her singing some choice lyrics off the album the other day and had a bit of a panic attack. So she's watching the kiddo tonight.

"Can you stay out for a bit? Annie, Slip, and I are going to get a bite."

"I'm in! Being out past nine? I feel young again!"

November 2018

"I can't...believe...you dropped out of school," Roxie said. She was moving her body on him slowly, trying to extract feeling from every inch of his cock.

"Things are going well," Steve said, looking up at her from a Dutch angle. They'd put the front seat down as much as possible, but he still had to contort himself to fit. It didn't help that she was tall as well. The discomfort paled in comparison to how she felt, especially when she flexed and squeezed to put pressure on his cock. Always the dancer's control with Roxie. "I can finish school later. Besides you've always hated the idea of me being a--"

She put a finger to his lips, shushing him. Her rhythmic movements sped up, and she began moaning loudly. She grabbed the headrest behind him, bringing her arms right on either side of his head.

"Can you...ahhh...can you reach my clit?"

Steve did his best to maneuver his hand between them. He managed to position it so he would brush her as she pulled upwards. She felt feverish there and her pace still quickened.

"You're making me cum," she said. It wasn't sultry, just a matter-of-fact statement. "Cum in me if you want. Less mess in the car."

He bucked his hips into her and stopped thrusting. Instead, he rocked back and forth, letting her rub on his length as she liked. Roxie started whining at a high pitch, a tell-tale sign for her.

The familiar instincts of their bodies kicked in and her orgasm crashed onto him, he let go. He exploded inside of her as she still tried to coax more pressure out of her release.

Steve kissed her, but her lips were tight. She pulled herself off and awkwardly shifted over the center console. Roxie pulled up her panties and smoothed out her dress. She grabbed her large sunglasses from the pocket on the passenger side door and slipped them on.

"Okay, what's wrong," Steve said, as he put his cock away.

"Why do you think something is wrong?"

"Because you're not looking at me."

"I know how much you hate when people aren't looking at you," she said, with venom in her voice. "Mr. Rock Star needs to go out and get all the attention. You could think about what the rest of us need...sometimes."

Steve felt like he'd been sucker-punched by her change in attitude. They'd spent all weekend together and it had been perfect. Great talks, fun activities, and a ton of wild sex.

"I do a lot for other people," he said. "I'm here aren't I? I skipped class on Friday to get down here because you wanted to see me. I showed up. I don't know what you mean about not--" he stopped himself and remembered the brief tit-for-tat from the night before. "This is about last night, isn't it? You asked me what my fantasy was and got mad when I told you."

"And you rejected mine out of hand! You wouldn't even consider it!"

"Roxie," Steve said, sighing nervously. "Nobody has ever said they wanted to do that to me. I've never thought about having it done. I'm sorry if 'surprise, I want to peg you' freaked me out a little."

"Oh, but it's totally cool to be like 'I want to have a threesome with you and another girl' and I'm supposed to just be all subservient about it?"

"Those are entirely different levels of fantasy."

Roxie shrieked at the top of her lungs. Steve's ears were ringing from the way the sound echoed around the car.

"Fuck, Roxie, what's your goddamn problem?"

"You go around telling the whole fucking world you love me and now you're all 'I want to share you with someone else' and how am I supposed to feel?"

"I never told anyone I--wait, are you talking about the song? Roxie, it's a song! It's just a song!"

"Oh, is it? So you don't love me?"

"Jesus Christ, of course, I do. Why are we playing this game? Roxie, I--"

She lifted a hand to his mouth and put her palm over it. She shushed him loudly.

"Stop talking, Steve," she said. "Take me home. I need to wash you out so we don't have another accident."

He scoffed at her in disgust and started the car. He put his hand on the gearshift and was about to throw it in drive when he processed what she said.

Steve's blood rushed. He could hear it in his ears. His heart was pumping anger and fear and adrenaline, but he tried to keep his voice as even and calm as possible.

"Roxanne, what do you mean by 'another accident.'"

She turned her head to look at him. He couldn't see her eyes behind the glasses, but a single, fat tear rolled from beneath them and down her cheek.

"Steven, don't worry, I took care of it. You're not on the hook for anything."

August 2022

Two shows down and still no Roxie.

Steve was angry. He should have been riding high, in ecstasy that Strawberry Street was back and sounding better than ever. The Washington Post had reviewed their festival performance and called them one of the local bands of which the city should be most proud "even though they're technically from Richmond." People were buying albums and merch. People were dancing and singing along to songs he wrote.

And he was in a funk because Roxie didn't pick up her tickets.

She'd never committed to coming, truthfully, but with how much water they had under the bridge it seemed like a courtesy.

Annie and Slip were annoyed. They were getting ready to play at their dream venue and all he could do was mope. The last was when the members of The Rotors came to meet them the afternoon before the gig. Steve wasn't rude, but his withdrawn behavior brought the whole room down.

"I found another ready room," Annie said afterward. "It's a broom closet but we're banishing you there until you're goddamn head out of your goddamn asshole." She pointed down the hallway to a door at the end and told him to go. She slammed the green room door behind him.

Steve started down the hallway, but stopped just outside the door. He took out his phone and opened his messages with Roxie. He never deleted any of them. There were the ones from years ago when they talked all the time, and then almost none since her admission in the car.

Aside from asking me for lunch. He shook his head. Good riddance.

He started a new text to her.

703-902-xxxx: Tix for the show are at will call at 9:30 Club. Doors at 7, we play at 8:15.

Seemed casual enough, except it wasn't everything he wanted to say.

703-902-xxxx: It was nice seeing you in June, but if it's going to be radio silence like this maybe it's time to lose each other's numbers. We're too old for the drama.

Steve was looking at the phone still as he opened the door to the pity party room. Two things happened very suddenly. First, he noticed a "..." pop up in the app like Roxie was about to text back. Second, he was pulled into the room by a gigantic pair of beefy arms that threatened to choke his life from him.

"Gah! Let go of me!" Steve was lifted off his feet, into the air, and then placed back down. He lost his footing as he looked up to see his older brother there, flashing his goofy, lopsided grin from behind his beard.

"We're backstage in the 9:30 Club! Dude, you made it!" Jamie was all but bouncing up and down like a new puppy.

Steve looked around. The room wasn't a broom closet or a green room. It looked just like a big, but empty storage space. Empty except for people, that is. Jamie wasn't kidding about "we." The whole crowd was there.

Jamie stepped back and put his arm around his wife Hester, who beamed as she said hello. Amy was standing behind them, and she gave Steve a wink as she touched up her make-up in a small mirror. Lucy and Erin rushed forward and grabbed Steve in a hug, quickly telling him how they had a babysitter until midnight.

Once the scrum inside the door cleared and he stepped in, a woman stepped forward to Steve. Her curly hair was brushed out into gentle waves and pinned behind her head. She had her contacts in, and he could see her pretty hazel eyes. She was wearing a little black dress with a flirty zipper down the front, fishnets, and combat boots.

"Hello, Steven," Sperry said. "You have to be on stage in 33 minutes, but they let us back here to say hello to you before that. I like that this club is big. I feel less nervous with more space."

"Sperr-bear, what is this look?" he asked. "Can I hug you? You look amazing."

She nodded to his request and put out her arms. He held her tight, firmly in a way that he knew calmed her down.

"Hester helped me," Sperry said. Steve broke the hug and gave his sister-in-law a thumbs up.

"I'm no hero," Hester said. "Sperry is stunning. I just handled the window dressing."

"She said this is what pretty girls wear to indie rock concerts," Sperry said. "Although, I think that calling it indie rock is problematic because many of the bands in the genre are signed to major labels, which means they are not truly independent. Strawberry Street was like that until you were dropped."

"So you don't mind that we're unsigned at the moment?"

"No, I prefer that, I think," she said. "Thank you for asking."

The audience didn't seem to mind either. The show came off perfectly and Steve felt the heat from the crowd. The physical heat, of course, but also the hunger for more of what the band was doing.

Man, I hope the exhausting ass day job that I love doesn't interfere with this, he thought at one point while Annie was on lead vocals.

It was clear to the three of them that the band wasn't over, even if it had to change. By the time they were three songs in, they were all already grinning conspiratorily at one another, each imagining their version of what would come next.

When it was time to wrap up their set, Steve took the mic and addressed the crowd.

"It's been a privilege playing for you all summer," he said. "We plan to be back. Maybe with new songs at some point." A cheer went up from the crowd. "This next song is what you all want to hear. A few things about it first."

He looked over to Annie, who had a puzzled look on her face. She was the storyteller in the band. He knew she trusted him though even if she was fed up with his bullshit.

"First, the 9:30 Club would like to remind you that displays of mass public indecency are discouraged." A big laugh sounded from the crowd. "Slip, Annie, and I think you can make your own decisions about your bodies though so take that as you will.

"Second, a lot has been made of how this song is based on a real person. It's true. I want you to think this is fun and dirty and grimy and I want you to enjoy it. When you leave here though, don't aspire to this kind of thing. Find someone who makes you feel like an Always Girl or Guy. You deserve that." The crowd wasn't sure what to do with that, but there were some scattered "Aw"s throughout.

"Third, lastly, whatever, through a total fluke on the Internet, we're here tonight because of one person, who has been dedicated to this band for years." He knew Alison-with-the-purple-hair was in the front row again. He looked down at her. "Allyadastra, you are the Always Girl for Strawberry Street and this one goes out to you tonight."

The crowd applauded. Alison went beat red in the front row and covered her face with her hands. Steve could see her happy tears.

"All right, shut the fuck up, Steve," he said into the mic. "Slip, count me in."

***

"Where are you going," Annie asked. Her chest was heaving from the adrenaline of the set. "You're going to miss The Rotors!"

Steve checked his phone after the set was over, mostly out of random impulse. His natural high from performing came crashing back to Earth.

571-822-xxxx: steve

571-822-xxxx: it's a mess...talk to me 1 more time?

571-822-xxxx: need to go away for good

He showed the messages to Annie. Her face dropped.

"It sounds like she's going to--"

"I know what it sounds like she's going to do. She lives like a mile away, I've got to go to her."

"I know you do," Annie said. She hugged him. "You can't fix her, but do what you can, okay? We'll be here when you need us."

Zach from USB happened to be standing near the back door of the club when Steve ran by. He called out to try and talk, but Steve explained the situation.

"My car is right here," he said. "I'll drive you. Least I can do for the massive shit you pulled off this summer."

***

Steve burst through her door. A million horrible images had flashed in his mind on the short ride over of what he'd find. All he could think was that he just needed her to be breathing, that he couldn't lose her like that.

Roxie was there. She was breathing. She looked dressed to go out in a bandage mini and a leather jacket. She didn't react as he came in.

Roxie was sitting on the floor in the living room, cradling her legs to her chest, rocking back and forth slowly. Her eyes were wide and red from crying. Her mascara ran down her face. She was staring at her tablet, which lay ten feet from her like she threw it across the room. She watched it without blinking.

Steve went to her and sat next to her. He put his arms around her and she jumped out of her skin.

"No," she screamed. She fought her way out of his arms and propelled herself backward until she hit one of her armchairs with a thump. "Don't...you can't...you shouldn't touch me."

"Roxie, what happened?" She just kept staring at her tablet. Steve got up to see what was wrong. She began shaking her head and whispering "no" to herself. "What's your passcode?"

Roxie looked up at him.

"What?"

Steve walked closer and held the tablet out to her, close enough for facial recognition to open it. She whimpered in fear.

When Steve opened it, he had to take a minute to figure out what he was seeing. It looked like test results. When he saw ancestry percentages, he understood. She had done one of those consumer DNA test kits. She mentioned she was working on genealogy with her mom.

"<0.1% Iberian," he said. "So your dad can't be that Spanish guy."

Steve scrolled through the report and reached a section for family matches. There was a match for her father, indicating that he must have sent a DNA sample to the same company. The report showed a name, a birthdate, and some other basic information about Roxie's dad.

The color drained from Steve's face.

"Is this a joke?"

Roxie finally looked at him. She shook her head slowly.

George Byrd

b. 1958

"Roxie, that's my dad."

"Surprise," she squeaked.

Steve felt faint. He moved to the nearest chair, but as he sat he knew it was going to go the other way. He shot up, ran to the bathroom, and threw up. Once there was nothing left he started to cry on the floor through dry heaves.

He didn't know how long it took, but Roxie eventually stumbled in. She opened her medicine cabinet. With violently shaking hands, she pulled out an unopened toothbrush, which she handed down.