Blonde Casanova
Camilla’s point of view.
I fucking hate when I break a drum stick. It’s been happening more frequently, my stupid ass forgetting to replace them after x amount of times. This was my last set of drum sticks, I had to make them count until my next paycheck. I used my drums for all my emotional moments: happiness, sadness, and especially for my anger. I was a ball of rage that day and I unleashed my wrath on my drums a little too hard. My drums were my best friends, my greatest therapy, but today it was more of a punching bag.
The drums were a Christmas present I got when I was fourteen. They were my babies, I spent more time with them than stupid boys.
Ugh, boys. I hate dating, I hate boys. The last guy I showed interest in ghosted me and even blocked me to add the fucking cherry on top of it. If you don’t want to be with me fine, don’t pull the Houdini shit, man up. I drummed along to Limp Bizkit’s “Break Stuff”, my fury matching the angst song.
“Somebody’s mad,” my big brother Tucker said. He knew I only played Break Stuff when I was pissed.
“Boys suck,” I sulked.
“That college guy?” he asked about the guy who was the source of my jadedness.
“He vanished into thin air,” I shook my head.
“Want me to track him down and kick his ass?” Tucker loudly cracked his knuckles.
“He’s not worth it,” I rubbed my sore fingers. “I don’t know why I waste my time.”
“Because none of these guys are good enough for my baby sister.”
I rolled my eyes. “You’re only two years older than me.”
“I almost changed your diapers once,” he snickered.
“Except you couldn’t handle the smell of my poop so you ran away.”
“I said ‘almost.’”
“What about poop?” my oldest brother Damien walked into the garage. He had a habit of walking in on the wrong part of conversations.
“Tucker can’t handle baby poop,” I said.
“Babies are gross,” he shrugged.
“Why you’d make a terrible father,” Damien pulled an orange freeze pop out of the mini fridge. He scrunched his face as he used his teeth to rip open the ice treat.
“I’ll just be the fun uncle that teaches the kids how to swear.”
“Not with my future kids you won’t,” Damien got a worried look on his face, picturing Tucker babysitting his future children.
“You and Elliott gonna take turns railing a chick?”
He hit Tucker in the arm. “You’re a fucking idiot. When the time is right we’ll figure it out.”
Damien and his boyfriend Elliott had been together for almost five years. They were living together and barely getting by. Elliott was fresh from college and just started his first year of teaching high school. Damien was two years into tattooing, and still finding his footing, building his fan base. He was a great artist, drawing since he could hold a pencil, even drawing on the walls (Mom took pictures of them because they were cute). For my eighteenth birthday, he gave me my first tattoo,a lavender on my forearm that I love. He just gave me a lioness on my shoulder, it matched my zodiac sign, roar.
“I don’t know if I want kids,” I compulsively wiped my cymbals with my dust rag. My drums never had a speck of dust on it because of my neurotic need to dust it.
Damien saw right through me. “Boy trouble?”
“Nothing new,” I grumbled.
“You’ll find him, Camilla. Do you want me to give you a free tattoo tonight? I need someone to practice on.”
Tattoos always make me feel better. “It’s better than therapy, especially since our father gives us free therapy without us asking.”
Our dad was a psychologist. He wanted us to have practical careers, which only Tucker has pursued, being a talented mechanic. While Damien was chasing his artist dream, I was still living at home figuring it out. I was working as a waitress at the Boston Hard Rock Cafe, a job I loved. I’ve always wanted to be drummer, but unless I could get into a band that got famous, my old man saw it more as a hobby.
I drove my blue punch buggy into the parking lot of the Cafe, instantly feeling at home. I’ve worked here since I was nineteen and it’s been an amazing two years; surrounded by rock memorabilia by the legends I idolized and hoped to be on their level someday.
“Hey Cammy,” my coworker Paige greeted me. She wasn’t much older than me, but she was like the sister I always wanted. I didn’t like being called Cammy but I allowed her. She worked the bar a lot having to turn the drunk boys away, especially since she was happily married, she loved showing off her ring.
“Hey Paige,” I greeted her. Our boss liked calling us“The Tiny Twosome” because we were both small and had big attitudes. I maybe small but with my heels and my big mouth, I’m certainly compensating for my 5’2 height. Paige wasn’t much bigger than me, but her power behind the bar certainly made her much taller in her mind.
I sat on a barstool. “How’s John?”
“Sexy and passed out on the couch from working an overnight,” Paige said lovingly about her husband. He slept during the days because of his security job. “Have you heard from that guy?”
“I think I should declare him a missing person, do you think I would get his attention then?”
She poured me a Coke. “He’s a fucking idiot.”
The Cafe was quiet tonight, only a few people lingering, unusual for tourist season. I figured I could sneak in a session or two of drumming. One perk to my job was being able to use the drum set, but my boss said I had to wait until it was slow or otherwise I would never get anything done. I think that’s why I liked my boss so much, he was lenient but fair. He saw my passion for drumming, he never batted an eye when I was on the drums. Customers would sometimes ask about me, dubbing me “Drummer girl”. That’s how I wanted to be remembered, drummer girl, the girl with the wild dream, not simple Camilla. It was about the music, not the musician.
The White Stripes’ “Seven Nation Army” was playing on the TV, perfect song, I fucking love Meg White, an influence for me. My hands took the lead, any bad feelings escaping my body through each note. Even if drumming was just a hobby, it was a hobby I didn’t mind doing the rest of my life, it made me feel important.
I was so lost in my drumming I didn’t notice three guys standing there watching me.One had black hair and had his arm wrapped around a girl, and a taller guy with brownish red hair. Their blonde friend was rocking out, singing the song. Normally I would smile and enjoy the silly tourists acting like rock stars but this dude…he could actually sing. He was gorgeous. Confident. My heart swelled in my throat.
Shit. Not again.
I pushed my lust aside and continued to play the song, now having a singer to play with. Our impromptu concert attracted the staff and other patrons. Having this small audience empowered me, this is why I played. After the song ended, we were washed with cheers and applause. The blonde dude posed, such a show-off.
“You’re amazing! I’ve never seen a chick drum like that!” the blonde hottie said.
“Then you haven’t been looking too far then,” I put the drum sticks back on the stool.
“Sassy,” he clicked his tongue. I shouldn’t be attracted to this guy, it’s exactly what he wanted, he probably talked like this to every girl.
“Do you guys need help with anything?” I went back into work mode.
“Wait you work here?” the blonde Casanova’s eyes bugged out.
“No I live here and pay my rent by drumming,” I said sarcastically.
Casanova looked at his friends and laughed in shock. They were way too easy to entertain, typical tourists.
“I just assumed you were an up and coming famous drummer we had the privilege of meeting,” Casanova ran his hand through his gold locks. Was he…flustered? It was kind of cute. Snap out of it, Camilla. You don’t date musicians for a reason.
“Nah, not yet anyway, I’m not even in a band.”
The boys looked at each other.
“You’re not in a band?” the raven haired guy asked.
“I was going to be in a girl band, but the lead singer got knocked up and it fell apart after that,” I said bitterly. I was forming a band with my cousin Kelsey but she found out she was pregnant by her boyfriend and she knew a rock band couldn’t happen at the time. Such a shame, her soulful voice would be refreshing for the rock scene.
“We actually have a band and we just lost our drummer, he got a lucrative job offer and couldn’t pass it up,” the auburn guy said.
“You any good?” I asked. So many wannabes came into Hard Rock Cafe thinking they were going to be the next top selling band and nine times out of ten, they were terrible. I wasn’t going to fluff their egos, especially Casanova’s.
Casanova borrowed a pen from the bar and wrote on a napkin. My Perfect Pandemonium was scratched in messy hand writing.
“Look us up, we’re on Facebook and YouTube. Unlike the fakers you probably deal with, we’re serious about a record deal, we’re actually on our way to Los Angeles, we’re just passing through, but feel free to tag along if you’re serious,” he said with a wink.
Casanova sat with the group at a table. I took their orders, and retreated back to the bar.
“Who let the hunks in?” Paige broke into my nervous thoughts.
“Some band passing through,” I said.
“The blonde one keeps eyeing you.”
My cheeks burned. This dude was making me crush hard when there was no point; he was on his way to California while I was living in Boston, I was never going to see him again once they paid their check.
“Did he give you his number?” she looked at the napkin I was still carrying around. I turned it over and saw a name in blue ink with a heart.
Monty Zales. A name that would change my life.
