The Slave of fool fame
A Short Story
Anthony Darden © 2014
The story of Maverick Tylor, world famous Rock Star, who rose to fame and personal enslavement.
He was born Gabriel Tylor. His parents gave him a Christian name. They raised him right and proper. Give him everything he ever wanted. He wanted to sing. He wanted to be a rock star. And even though his parents didn't understand or like Rock, they conceived to his wishes and got him into the finest schools possible. After all, he was their only child. But school wasn't for Gabriel, he needed to sing, not learn arithmetic. He had outgrown playtime and hit the road to pursue the real thing. Two months later, after ending up in the sunshine state, he was snatched up from a cover band, performing in a hick-bar, imitating The Doors.
The name was Benny Press. He liked his wolf-colored hair oiled back like a skilled snake oil salesman, his women trashy, and his brandy strong, an old shark from the good ole days. He saw a goldmine. He liked the kid. He certainly had the look. He wanted to put him in the studio, do a demo, and make him a star. From there it was history. Maverick Tylor was born. Maverick Tylor came with the full package. He had more attitude than common sense. He owned three homes that sat unoccupied, worth fifty four million, seven cars, a custom tour bus, took care of four bastard children, could not keep a stable relationship because he always saw a better booty, and had no real friends he could trust in his life. He was worth sixty five million a year, considering he stuck to the brand format, his manager, Benny Press, had laid out for him.
Benny Press was like a father, always on point, always looking out for his best interest, the man who started it all, the old wise one who plucked him from out of the belly of the beast and gave him fame and fortune. Everyone knew who Maverick Tylor was, the small town kid who made it big. Benny made it all happen. The good old days rang in his head as he turned up the music, his music, he liked hearing himself.
The girls in his bed liked the songs too. You could tell by the way they laughed, giggled, and carried on. This wasn't his first rodeo. Benny had made sure of that. “Boy, if you’re going to be a real rock star, you’re going to have to get ahold of that thang, master it, let you serve it, and not the other way around.”
Two folds into the first party, liquor, and women, Gabriel had signed his name on ever dotted red line in the building, of course lined with strings of first grade speedballs. He didn't care, he was too obsessed with wallowing. The first morning, the hook that snagged him, the three girls smiling upon him, got up, got dressed, and left. A pretty maid is French-wear came in shortly after, kind of startling him, because he was sitting, naked, like the thinker, on the side of the bed holding his head.
“This will help, Mr. Tylor”, pretty white teeth smiled, handing him a glass full of something and a robe.
He looked at it.
“Drink it, it will make you feel better”, she beamed her Doublemint smile. Then she handed him a letter and some keys, then turn her fine-tuned bottom up, for him to view, and left.
After pretty white teeth, and beaming flirty smiles, brought him some new designs and helped him dress, he raced out to the garage, picked a car, and hopped in. It was the most amazing feeling in the world. Never in a million years would he believe he would be driving a half million dollar car. And the house, with maid and housekeeping, no way! Pretty white teeth and fine-tuned bottom was one of the four wives and bastard children. It was only one of the tricks Benny had up his sleeve. It was like taking candy from a baby.
Over the passing years, Maverick, the man, wanted for nothing. Benny made sure of that. In a little black book he kept details of Maverick’s life, all of Maverick’s wants and desires. There was not a single detail he did not know. Without Benny, there was no Maverick. Because Maverick, on his own, had no clue to his depth. He basically knew how to sing, and only real responsibility was getting to the show on time.
After six years, he was exhausted. The rode and partying had torn him down. He needed a break. He needed to get away from the game for a little while, give his voice and body a rest, and just lay up under the sun and relax. After all, he didn't need the money. He was rich. He could go and do anything he wanted, anywhere in the world. He remembered when he was young. He had big dreams. He was going to rule the world. He could do that now, and no one in the world could tell him otherwise. He could even take Benny fishing. That’s it, he thought. He had heard Benny talking about fishing with his grandson.
Business and obligation Benny said, point blank. “Kid, let me explain something to you. This is a business. You’re only as good as the units you move. And right now, with all the touring and upcoming expense, plus your lifestyle, we are in the red.” One misstep, he made it very clear, and you lose everything. You won’t be able to get a job with a cover band. He had never heard the hardness in Benny’s voice. It was cold. It wasn't Benny. He wanted to believe it was all a bad dream, that Benny was playing some kind of sick joke on him. Benny was firm and made it very clear.
It was the first time in his life he felt alone, really alone. He sat in the darkness for hours. He heard the women outside his door. He ignored them, wishing he had never given them the passcode to the gate. Three empty bottles sat at his feet. Even the liquor couldn't dull the pain. He had tried calling his parents, after going through countless of unopened letters and finally finding the number. It was from a nursing home, more like a bill looking for Gabriel Tylor. His mother had died three years ago, after losing her home. His father could barely hear him. He had to repeat himself over and over again. By the end, his father was asking who was calling. “No”, he finally said again. “Gabriel is not here.”
Two legs into the second half of “The Maverick Tylor Love Inspired Tour” he was found dead, after missing a show, on his tour bus from a drug overdose. The women had jumped off the tour bus and made a beeline, after looting his dead corpse and taking everything that was not nailed down. Reportedly his nipple(s) and penis ring went on eBay for one hundred thousand after the DNA was proven authentic. He had died at the age of twenty seven like his idol Jim Morrison, who the world had compared to as the second coming. The newspapers and all his fans mourned him. Shows popped up all over TV to celebrate the superstar‘s life and passing. Benny sat up front, center stage, smiling and clapping his hands to the creation he had made, the kid that had revitalized his career, and made him the most sought after manager in the business. The death had hurt his bottom line, but he would bounce back. The future looked bright. One in particular had left a hundred dollar bottle of Dom on his table.