No Way Back (a Taylor Hawkins fan fiction)

Chapter 2 - Tequila Boyfriend

“Rock Stars in the bar…” Rachel sang, giving Gen a knowing grin as she returned to her station. 

“Bite me,” Gen glared at her roommate satirically as she poured a pint.

Rachel grinned wider, raising her eyebrows up and down comically.

The reason Gen could so easily spot bright-eyed, hopeful tourists was that she had once been one. Growing up in Appleton, Wisconsin she had always dreamed of a bigger, better, more glamorous life. She wanted to be a famous singer, she wanted to tour the world, she wanted to live the magical life of Laurel Canyon in the 60’s, but she put her wants on the backburner to nurture the dreams of so many others and now she was bartending in the Valley.

Genevieve had a weakness for musicians. Sexy, talented, wandering souls - she had an uncanny knack for collecting them. Sexy and talented, maybe, but fucked up, selfish and emotionally unavailable more so. Still she took them in despite her better judgement and without fail they would cheat, lie, drain her finances, end up having another girlfriend (sometimes more), or simply disappear.

She thought LA would be a fresh start. She had made the move just over two years ago with stars in her eyes and a picture of Joni Mitchell creased in her wallet. At first, things seemed perfect. The weather was amazing, the ocean was magical and the music scene was incredible. She was staying with Scott, a handsome guitar player she had met back home in Appleton when his band passed through town the summer prior. They had shared sticky sweet emails and text messages fairly frequently since then and for the first three weeks of her stay with him they made good on every carnal long distance promise. Gen was elated. Los Angeles living, a gorgeous guitarist taking her out every night and she’d found a background agency that was already getting her work as an extra a couple days a week until she could find something more substantial. Things were finally going her way.

All too soon the cracks began to show in her perfect new life. Scott began to stay later and later at band practice, coming home drunk and moody, or sometimes not at all. The pattern was back, she could feel it long before she was willing to admit it to herself. The day she came home from set to find the newspaper open to the apartment listings section on the kitchen table was the day she started sleeping on the couch. Two weeks later she gave a cigarette to another extra on set and 3 days after that she was lugging her suitcases into her new room in Studio City.

Rachel had rescued her. A firey redhead with arms covered in tattoos and a no bullshit policy, she had taken Gen under her wing. She’d gotten her a job at The Sunroom, dragged her to countless parties and shows (she somehow seemed to know everyone in the city), and slowly, she coaxed a stronger, bolder Genevieve back to life.

After Scott, Gen had sworn off musicians (for the 800th time), and despite a few ill-advised one-night-stands sneaking past her new emotional security system, she was doing pretty well with Rachel by her side. She even attempted going on dates with regular guys, but for some reason she hadn’t found an accountant or a graphic designer that stuck.

“Check out Birthday Barbie,” Rachel laughed.

Gen looked across the bar and was not surprised to see the platinum-haired birthday girl babbling excitedly at Dave Grohl, as he good-naturedly smiled and feigned interest.

“Oh boy,” said Gen, rolling her eyes, “she’s found herself a surrogate Pattinson for the night.”

“Hey! IGGY! You’re the bartender?” suddenly a green trucker hat appeared in her peripheral. “Do we get free drinks for rescuing your lipstick?”

Gen turned to face him. His goofy grin framed by a handlebar moustache. She tried to supress it, but felt the warmth creeping up her neck and her stomach do a mini flip. He was gorgeous. He was Taylor Hawkins.

“Well,” she began, regaining composure quickly, “according to Jerry, you and your friend drink for free either way.” She nodded towards her manager who was excitedly gesturing at the end of the bar.

“Sweet!” he said, grin widening, “in that case, I’ll get two pints of Pabst.” He paused, studying her as she poured the beer, “and two shots of whatever you’d like,” he added, a gleam in his eye.

Gen looked at him quizzically, hesitated, looked over at Jerry who was nodding enthusiastically, and grabbed two shot glasses.

“Tequila?” She held up a bottle of El Jimador.

“Absolutely!”

She poured and handed him a shot, raising her own to him in an offering of thanks.

“No training wheels, I like it,” he said, noting her lack of salt and lime.

She shrugged and downed the shot quickly.

“Cheers,” she said cordially, not returning his smile.

“Cheers,” he replied, raising an eyebrow with curiosity before turning and heading back over to Dave, pints in hand.

“You move quick, girl!” Rachel chided, socking Gen in the arm playfully.

“Not funny.”

“Oh come on, why so serious? A babely rock star just bought you a shot, it’s like your favourite thing!”

“WAS my favourite thing,” said Gen, finally allowing a small smile to form at the corner of her mouth. “I’m in recovery.”

“I’m not,” Rachel replied, pouring 2 more shots of tequila and handing one to Gen. “This is going to be a fun night!”

Gen laughed and glanced across the room at Taylor who had rescued Dave from Miss North Dakota and was now heading towards the pool table with him. He looked over and caught her eye. She looked away quickly, familiar butterflies beginning to flutter in her stomach. She took the shot and imagined the burning alcohol washing them away.

**

Gen managed to busy herself over the next two hours with work. Jerry was happily doting on his rock star guests so there were no more brushes with fame at the bar.

“You know he’s single, right?” Rachel said to her as they began cleaning the bar after last call.

“Who?”

“You know who, Gen. Your tequila boyfriend! He and his wife split like 6 months ago.”

“How do you always know these things?”

Rachel shrugged, “I know everything, darling.”

Suddenly Jerry was behind the bar, printing the cash feeds from the register with urgency.

“Girls, clean up quick, we’re going to a party.”

“Jerry I’m exhausted,” Gen sighed. “I can’t do after-hours tonight.”

“This is not an optional excursion, Gen. The Foo Fighters are having people over to the drummer’s house and he invited the entire staff. This is excellent for the bar. We’re all going.”

“Of course we are, Jerry,” Rachel beamed, staring at Gen intently. “Vieve and I will be there with bells on!”

“Good, here’s the address,” he said, handing Rachel a slip of paper. “It’s in Topanga Canyon. Don’t worry about your beer counts, I’m doing the cash-out tomorrow. Just wipe everything down and let’s get out of here.”

“I hate you,” Gen mouthed silently at Rachel as Jerry turned his back.

“That’s funny,” shouted Rachel, grinning away, “cuz I love the shit out of you!”

They closed up The Sunroom and hopped in Gen’s Volkswagen. Following Jerry towards the 101.

“Coming up next on KROQ,” a DJ’s voice buzzed from the car speakers, “it’s Foo Fighters with Best of You.”

Gen switched the station at lightning speed.

“I wonder if a certain drummer will be getting the best of you tonight, Gen!” Rachel threw her head back and laughed hysterically as Gen gripped the steering wheel in aggrivation and continued following Jerry’s taillights through the darkness.