Crue

Fast Car

T he winery is pretty cool, with all the 80s rock-n-roll memorabilia lining the walls—everything from framed pictures to guitars, all signed by the artist. I step closer to the framed photo of a group of four guys with long hair and spandex body suits.

Man, am I glad Rockstars don't dress like anymore. I might have to make a career change if they did—even if these guys are all Rock Gods from the best music decade, their choice of fashion didn't age as well as they all did.

That's why I'm here, to meet with the ultimate 80's Rock God, Bon Vince, lead singer of Kingston Lux, the most famous rock band in history. My band, Zayden Grey, is working on our fourth album, and we want to do a remix of Kingston Lux's number-one-selling single, Sweet Child.

I arrived two hours before opening, and luck was on my side as I pulled on the interictally carved wood door of the winery— instead of meeting resistance as I expected, the door swung open easily. Having a private viewing of the music legends decorating every inch of this place is mind-blowing.

Considering Bon and his wife, Presley, both ruled the airwaves for most of the eighties and well into the nineties, I shouldn't be surprised at all the candid pictures of famous singers and musicians, but damn, the amount autographed pictures and memorabilia colors a picture of a life I never thought was possible.

My road to success has been nothing like the fun, carefree pictures on the wall. My upbringing was more like one of those funhouse mirror rooms where you look into the mirror, and someone you don't even recognize is staring back at you in the reflection.

I'm not saying my life was all bad, but getting bounced from foster home to foster home isn't exactly the ideal life for most kids. Sure, some kids got lucky and were placed with loving, caring foster parents—I, on the other hand, was placed time and time again in families that already had too many foster kids than they could handle.

It wasn't until I met Carl and his wife, Mae. They were an older couple who never had any children. By the time I was placed with them, I was an angry thirteen-year-old with a chip on his shoulder.

Carl taught me to channel my anger into learning how to play the guitar by playing along with some of his favorite rock bands from the '80s. I have Carl and Mae to that for where I am today. And, of course, Bon Vince and his style of music influenced my own. Now, if I can only get him to agree to let my band do a remake of his song, my career will continue down the path I set for myself all those years ago.

A hauntingly seductive voice pulls me out of my thoughts and farther into the darkness of the closed winery. I know Mr. Vince told me to meet him at four o'clock this afternoon when the winery opens, but I couldn't resist the chance to view the inside of the winery without a crush of people wanting my autograph or one of my band members.

The woman at the edge of the stage with her back to me has a voice like I've never heard before. It's a cross between blues and rock, with a hint of something I can't put my finger on.

Her sultry voice fills every inch of the room in a way I've never heard before. Her soulful rendition of Tracy Chapman's Fast Car leaves goosebumps up and down my arms. My feet take on a life of their own as I walk to the edge of the stage, taking one of the acoustic guitars from its stand and quietly sliding the strap over my shoulder so as not to interrupt my little songbird.

The first strum of my pick against the strings of the guitar stops my little songbird from singing and causes her to turn her head to look at me.

"Keep going," I encourage her with a smile, letting my fingers take over the melody and waiting for her to join in.

Hesitantly, she continues the song until the final cord echoes off the walls of the empty room. Our eyes hold, and I feel like I'm looking into the eyes of my future. Does she feel it, too?

Bon told me all about his family's winery, but he has yet to tell me about this hidden treasure. Maybe she's an artist passing through. Bon said they have a variety of singers and musicians that stop by the winery and play a set or two. She does seem awfully familiar to me.

The winery lights flicker on as a voice calls out, ", you made it. Your agent called and said the rest of the group is stranded in New York." The man walking toward me with his hand outstretched is one of my idols. I'd based my career around his success. Meeting him should be one of the greatest moments of my life, but all I can think of is my little songbird and the look on her face when Bon walked in. "I see you've met my daughter, Kyrie. It's so good to hear you singing again, honey."

Shit, my little songbird is my idol's daughter, no wonder she looks familiar. I can't believe I didn't see it when she first turned around. I've been studying Bon and his family for years. Maybe it was the dark room with only the afternoon sun shining through the window that made it difficult to see her features clearly, or maybe the instant connection I felt when our eyes met blocked out everything except the beauty standing in front of me.

All I know is she's mine.