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Rated: 18+ · Chapter · Romance/Love · #1471215
A big time singer has big time trouble as his live spins out of control.
Nomad ~ Chapter One

         He certainly wasn’t feeling like a super hero right now.  Jon Bacco didn’t even feel human.  More like plain, ordinary shit.  His head pounded and his tongue felt like a ton of fuzz had grown on it over night.  From the taste, it seemed something had crawled in his mouth and died.  So much for being the rock star.
         Blindly he groped for the bottle of water he kept on his nightstand.  Jon’s million dollar pipes could produce nothing but a thick croak as he knocked his wallet off the table.  The expensive carpeting muffled the resulting thud so at least his head didn’t explode.  There was a god.
He twisted the top off his imported water and greedily drank.  The result was the return of the dizziness and nausea that often accompanied too much alcohol, but at least his throat was no longer dry and raw. 
         So what if last night had been a little overindulgent.  Or had that been this morning?  Who cared?  For nearly ten years he’d been working his ass off to get where he was now.  He was the lead singer of one of the best bands on the planet, so he deserved a little playtime.  Didn’t he?
         Dear Lord, he couldn’t recall a thing about the previous night.  He felt, rather than saw, the person beside him.  She was cuddling up to him most contently and the curves were in all the right places.  In his line of work, he could take his pick of the women, be she skank or darling.  Most likely she was a 12 on a scale of 1-10, he had his standards even when he was sauced. 
He couldn’t remember her name to save his life.  Didn’t even know if she was blonde or brunette, though he normally preferred the former.  Even these mundane thoughts made his head hurt, so he shifted slowly hoping to fall back into oblivion.
His tawny hair, which his father complained was way too long, fanned across the expensive pillow.  The sheets were fine spun silk, and Jon expected nothing less of the luxury five star hotel chain he patronized almost exclusively now that his band Nomad had “made it”. 
He was fawned over, catered to, and generally worshipped wherever he went.  Jon Bacco and Nomad meant money.  If it wasn’t the money that interested them, his body certainly did.  Maybe they preferred one of his buddies; it was all the same difference.  It was good to be Nomad.
The body outlined by the expensive sheets was whipcord lean, a must for a front man.  Too skinny, so his mother said.  Well, you couldn’t please everyone he recognized sarcastically.
He was baked to a perfect golden hue thanks to carefully scheduled tanning sessions.  His body was honed to as near perfection as possible by regular visits with a physical trainer.  He was thankful he didn’t have any such sessions planned at the moment.
The finest chefs counted calories for Jon.  There was no need for dieting when they did all the work.  Of course, if they knew what he’d been imbibing last night they’d probably have full-blown seizures.  What they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them, and Jon wasn’t about to tell. 
He knew he should be more careful about what he put in his temple of a body, but he had to rebel sometimes.  What was rock music without some conflict?  He couldn’t be Mr. Perfect all the time.  He was a musician damn it.
“Ummmmm.”  The soft, definitely feminine purr came from the unknown female cuddled next to him.  Unfortunately, Jon was too utterly hung over to appreciate what were most likely her best attributes.  What rotten luck. 
In spite of his playboy status, he was still human.  He didn’t need another romp.  What he needed was a shower and an infusion of caffeine … intravenously if at all possible. 
“Sorry Kitten, time to get up.” He managed a whisper.  Even that seemed to hurt his head, echoing around his skull and scrambling his brains.  Or at least, what was left. 
“Joooooonn …”
         Oh dear God, not The Whine.  Anything but that.  Jon knew he just couldn’t take one second of it without his head exploding.  Why hadn’t Security removed her yet?  Was it really necessary for him to go through this while he was dying?
         “Honey …” Jon managed to peel one famous blue peeper open to confirm his earlier suspicions; she was blonde and well built.  He really hadn’t done too badly, even if he had been drunk.  Of coarse, in a few years those breasts of hers would more closely resemble cow utters but that wasn’t his concern.
         “Come on … I need you to shake that ass out of bed.” He urged.  At the moment he didn’t recall what his schedule for the day looked like, but no doubt it was a killer.  There was sure to be a written itinerary for him, slid under his door by some lucky intern while he slept.
“Johnny Bacco … what ails you?” a voice asked from the doorway.  It was a familiar voice.  Though normally filled with love, it was now laced with more than a little venom and shock.  The razor sharpness of her tone told the story.  It was Isabel Bacco, his mother … and she was anything but happy.
For an instant there was silence.  Jon would have gratefully died rather than face the icy blue glare his mother was giving him.  She was the epitome of an angry Italian mama and she wasn’t going to be put off.  Jon, for once, was not eager to see her.
         “What the H … world are you doing here Mamma?” he asked.  He had the good graces to stammer.  Being caught by your mother with your pants down, literally, was embarrassing no matter what age.
“You have the nerve to ask me that now?  I think you are the one with some explaining to do Son.  Perhaps we could talk alone?” 
Though most people wouldn’t have caught the anxious lines about her mouth or the angry glint in the older woman’s blue eyes, Johnny knew better.  His mother was extremely upset, but then so was he.
The still nameless female didn’t utter a sound.  She slipped from the bed, grabbed up her discarded clothing, and disappeared into the bathroom without so much as a word.  Isabel Bacco could have that effect on people.  Though she was now middle aged she still had the steel spine and upright baring of a proper matron.
“I raised you better than this Johnny.” Isabel scolded.  The disappointment in her voice was painful to hear.  Her blue eyes, so like his own, were hard and unforgiving.  If he’d thought for a moment he couldn’t feel worse, he had been mistaken. 
She felt free to vent her anger now that she had her son alone.  If anyone could hear them through the hotel walls it was not her fault.  Something had to be done with Johnny right this minute.
“I’m sorry Ma … but I’ve been a man for a long time now.” He answered slyly, batting his blue eyes at his mother.  Normally, it was as effective with her as any other female.  This time it didn’t seem to do the trick. 
“I’m not just talking about that … female.  Don’t think your antics have gone unnoticed.  I’ve seen some of your television appearances and read the articles enumerating your asinine behavior.  Being a rock star will only let you get away with so much, believe me.”
“I’m not five Ma.” He protested.  The anxious note in his voice was proof of how deeply his mother’s chastisement affected him.  He had always been quite the mama’s boy and he hated the fact that his actions had hurt her.  Enough so that she’d traveled 3000 miles to take him to task.
         “Then quit acting like it.  Your father and I are quite worried about this behavior of yours.  Drugs have never been your thing Johnny, but we’re concerned.”
“No, I’m not on drugs.” He assured her with a groan.  None of this was helping his hangover what so ever.  He felt quite awful enough on his own, thank you.
There had been a few moments during this tour he’d rather forget.  Naturally those were the ones recorded for posterity.  He didn’t believe his performances had suffered and would cut an arm off before short changing his fans.  None of that excused his drunken excess at other times
There were several missed interviews, which could be attributed to alcohol.  He’d even blown off charity events to languish in his drunken bliss.  In spite of his hangover, he could recognize the truth in his mother’s words.  His actions were affecting the band, and that could not be allowed to continue.
Isabel crossed the room and seated herself next to her son on the bed.  She reached out and stroked his hair in the soothing routine she’d used since his childhood.  Right now he looked nothing like the International rock star he had come to be.  Cuddled against his mother he seemed very much a little boy.  This was her first born and therefore dearest of her heart in many ways.  That was why action had to be taken … fast.          
“We’re concerned … your dad and I.  You blow off fan meetings.  You stumbled on the red carpet like some fool.  We couldn’t believe when you didn’t show for the Make A Dream auction.  Those children mean a lot.  It isn’t like you to ignore an opportunity like that one.”
         “I won’t let it happen again Ma.” He assured her.  He even managed a smile though his head felt like it was cracking open.
“I know Johnny.  I think we should make sure it doesn’t.” she agreed.
         She fumbled in her elegant Louis Vuitton purse, the one he had give her last Mother’s Day, and retrieved some pain reliever.  She poured out three capsules, handed them to her son, and then opened his water for him.  He drank like a good boy, waiting for his mother’s next words. 

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