Death of a Rock Star: A Boy in the Band Novella by NJ Frost

thoughtless action. I’m hoping there’ll come a day when I don’t have to keep reminding myself that the people who do care for me, are everything my mother is not.
    “You’ll get through this – for him.” She says solemnly.
    “I…” I take a shaky breath. I wish I could sound more convincing, more resolute, “…I’ll try.”
    And I will try. For him.
     
     

     
     
    I stand at the back of Union Church watching the last of the familiar and not so familiar faces trickle inside and squeeze themselves into the pews. Darcey is doing a reading, so she’s right down at the front. She understands my reason for not wanting to be trapped there with her. The congregation is so tightly packed in. Showbiz types are interspersed with the Joe Bloggs no-names. It’s an interesting mix, bringing together two very disparate spheres of Jamie’s life. I see faces I recognise from art school, from the telly, from the tabloids, from the music business. They’re all here. This send-off is the hottest ticket in town, and it kind of sickens me a little, but I guess it’s necessary. The fans and the media camped outside expect nothing less for the fallen bad boy of rock.
    Simms from Jamie’s band is playing the organ. He must have been given carte blanch to play whatever grabs him. The mood it’s creating is suitably anarchic. We’ve already had Lou Reed, The Doors, Nirvana, Arcade Fire, Kings of Leon. He’s onto The Stones now; You Can’t Always Get What You Want . I wonder if anybody else is getting the irony. I’m guessing that song selection is not just coincidence, that Simms was also party to the Sylvie Smith debacle. I’d have liked to have seen her squirm through this song. But she’s not here yet, which is a little surprising.
    I’ve been trying to convince myself that I’m not on pins to see her, that I’m not interested, but who am I kidding? My tie feels like it’s choking me. My McQueen suit feels like a strait-jacket and every cell of my body is on high alert. But I don’t feel the change in the air when she walks in. I see her though, and that’s enough. I’m bowled over. She looks like a fucking supermodel, in a black dress that’s way too demure for her killer body, but just tempting enough. The tight sheath ends just below her knee and with Jamie’s leather jacket over it she looks like a sexy school teacher gone bad. Her arse is a thing of beauty, but it’s those endless legs I need to see more of… Stripped bare. Wrapped. Around. Me. I mentally slap myself. What the hell am I thinking? I am truly fucking despicable. This is my best friend’s ex that I’m having wholly inappropriate thoughts about. This is his funeral. She’s still wearing his jacket, which makes me think she’s still his, and anyway, I made a promise. One I fully intend on keeping.
    She takes the last remaining seat on the pew directly in front of me. The guy who has been saving her seat puts his arm around her and pulls her close. He kisses her hair. He’s old enough to be her fucking father for pity’s sake! I don’t blame the old dog though. If she was sitting next to me, I’d have a hard time keeping my hands off her too. Then I realise that I recognise him. It’s Alex Denton, head of Artemis records. I guess he must be her boss, but there’s an intimacy between them that suggests more.
    Being this close to her is torture. I should move, but I can’t. I feel frozen in that crazy fucking light of hers, like soon-to-be road kill. Her long dark hair is contained thank God, all twisted and knotted at the nape of her neck, but as she bows her head that soft curve is calling out to my lips. They’re aching to settle there. So badly.
    I’m oddly relieved when the funeral procession appears at the door of the church. Simms is playing Time to Pretend by MGMT. He’s nothing if not subtle. It feels so wrong and yet so completely right. Half the people here won’t know the song, get the druggie reference, but for