Pleasing, Darling

By E.L. Black

"Pleasing, Darling: A Rock 'n' Roll Love Story That Will Break Your Heart"

Step into an electrifying world of 1970s rock 'n' roll. Set against the backrop of the turbulent '70s rock scene, "Pleasing, Darling" is a deliciously decadent exploration of the price of fame, the depths of obsession, and the all-consuming power of love. In this gripping work of historical fiction, the highs and lows of fame and love collide in a world where music is everything and nothing as it seems.

 

Learn the meteoric rise and fall of Darlene Reeds, Lead guitarist of the iconic band The Pleasing Punks. From the bars of Carolina to a twenty-city tour across America, Darlene's journey is one of authenticity and reckless abandon. A woman driven by an insatiable hunger for more. As she navigates the waters of fame and forbidden love, readers will find themselves irresitbly drawn into her world of:

• Explosive creativity
• Destructive relationships
• Intoxicating success
• Haunting regrets

If you loved the raw intensity of Daisy Jones & The Six or the emotional depth of Almost Famous, then Pleasing, Darling is a must-read.

 

Get ready for a story that will keep you on the edge of your seat until the very last page. Pleasing, Darling is not just a book—it's an experience.

• Language: English
• Publisher: E.L Black
• Release date: Jun 8, 2024
• ISBN: 9798227755384

Book preview

Prologue

Lighting more cigarettes , reaching for the whiskey. It couldn’t have been more beautiful.

Darlene was a mess of contradictions. She would light one cigarette after another, not even caring if the last one had burnt itself out in the ashtray. You could watch her do it a thousand times. It was like she was trying to get some rhythm going, like a drummer who’d lost the beat but refused to stop playing. The smoke curled besides her, grey wisps wrapping around her messy hair, her chipped nails holding onto that cigarette like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.

She would take a drag and you could see it in her eyes. Rotten, she called them, like spoiled fruit left too long in the sun. But they had this depth, this sadness that pulled you in. You couldn’t help but look at her, even though it hurt to see someone like that. Each inhale was of defiance and surrender, like she was daring the world to knock her down while she was already on her knees.

Sometimes she wouldn’t even smoke the damn things, just light them and watch them burn down to the filter, adding to the growing pile of ash and spent butts in the tray.

"You’ve got fire in your veins, Darling. I keep telling you."

This made Darlene glance up, her eyes narrowing so she could see through the smoke that hung between them. She knew it was Jude. It was always Jude. He was leaning against the doorway, a smirk at his lips.

I still don’t get what the fuck you mean by that.

Jude laughed. That kind of laugh that made everything seem okay, even if it wasn’t.

It means a lot of things, Darl. But at this moment, I mean you’re the only girl I know who can smoke and drink this much without ending on their deathbed.

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the faint smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth. Jude had this way of cutting through the bullshit. He wasn’t wrong though. Sometimes she just forgot she even existed.

Yeah, fair enough, she said, tapping the ash off her cigarette into the overflowing tray, maybe I’m just too stubborn to die.

Jude walked over and sat next to her. He reached for the bottle of whisky on the table, pouring himself a generous glass before topping off hers.

Stubborns one word for it, he said, raising his glass in a silent toast before taking a sip. He winked at her, grabbing a smoke from her pack, lighting it with a practised flick of his lighter. Have you started the new harmonies yet?

Darlene groaned and leaned back against the worn chair, her eyes closing in annoyance. Don’t remind me.

Jude took a long drag, watching her with sympathy and amusement. Cherry is gonna be pissed, Darl, you know that, right?

She opened one eye to glare at him, her mouth curling into a sarcastic smile. Yes, I fucking know that. She needs to give us a break.

Cherry don’t do breaks, you know that. She’s all about the music, the perfection. She’ll run us to the ground if it means finishing this album.

Darlene sighed, a long, weary exhale. If I have to listen to her bitching one more time, I might lose my mind.

The Pleasing Punks

The Pleasing Punks were an all-American rock band formulated in North Carolina around 1969-70. Their classic line-up was Cherry Lewis, Jude Barker, Dana Jones, Rod Barker, Angus Carter and Darlene Reeds. So many creatives in one space. A heady mix of ambition, talent, and sheer willpower, a volatile concoction that could ignite at any moment.

Cherry, the lead vocalist, held the most power over the band. She had a demeanour that proved to be powerful, and star quality that could attract anyone. Jude was the band’s drummer, always deciding the song's pace, allowing the others to follow. Jude dated Cherry around 1968, though that barely lasted. As for Jude and Darlene, that was history. Then was his brother Rod, the bassist, connecting the rhythm and the beat. Rod was a humble man, quite passive as well, always mirroring what Jude was doing and saying. Next was Dana, Darlene’s closest of friends. She played the keyboard, which the band didn’t necessarily need. She was sort of a filler. Angus was the rhythm guitarist; he didn’t tend to speak but his talent spoke for him. He added this melody foundation to their acoustic, which made their music so much more solid. Lastly, was Darlene Reeds the lead guitarist. She played the main melody, her touch confident and precise. Her riffs, those few notes that always stood out, were like sparks, giving the music some edge.

Though she had little care for the world, which always made it so gruelling for the others. They dreamed of fame and recognition, while she seemed content to lose herself in the music. Constantly drinking, smoking and doing drugs, they never knew when it would be her end. She desired very little in life.

September 15th, 1973

D arlene? I swear to god, is she fucking sleeping?

Yes Cherry, clearly she is.

Well, someone wake her up.

After no movement, Dana huffed, proceeding to barely nudge Darlene.

Yes, I’m awake, I’m fine. Her voice was a thin veneer of steadiness, but anyone who really knew her could hear the cracks.

She wasn’t fine. Not by a long shot. She had lost her rhythm. Nights were an endless stretch of insomnia, her mind refusing to quiet down. Days were no better, her appetite gone, replaced by a chomping emptiness that no amount of food could fill. She moved like a ghost through her own life.

Jude watched her from across the room, his heart heavy. He glanced at Dana, who met his eyes with a silent nod. They both knew this was Darlene at some sort of rock bottom.

Dana stepped forward, her expression softening. Darlene, honey, you alright?

Cherry could care less. She continued, her voice cutting through the room like a knife. Darlene, you are seriously starting to lose my interest, and that is dangerous.

Darlene looked at her with a squinted eye, her fatigue turning into a slow-burning anger. And what does that mean?

Cherry began walking forwards, her heels clicking on the worn wooden floor, each step deliberate. It means that we will find another guitarist who isn’t a fucking drug addict. It’s that simple.

The room fell silent. Everyone stopped what they were doing, frozen by the audacity of Cherry’s words. They had all known Cherry could be ruthless, but this was another level of cruelty.

Darlene’s face went pale, the colour draining from her cheeks as the words hit her. She stood there, her body rigid. The moment Cherry’s words stopped was the moment Darlene had broken. It was like watching a beautiful vase shatter into a thousand pieces, each fragment reflecting a different facet of her hurt.

Jude was the first to move, stepping between them, eyes ablaze with anger. What the hell is wrong with you? You can’t just say shit like that.

Cherry crossed her arms. Someone had to say it. We can't keep coddling her. This is a band, Jude, not a rehab facility.

Darlene started turning away, her movements slow, almost as if she were moving through water. Her brown eyes were glossy, her unshed tears glowing in the light of the studio. She turned because she didn’t want them to see her cry. None of them had seen her cry before - none except Dana and Jude. As she stepped out of the studio, the heavy door closing behind her, her composure began to crack. Her lip trembled slightly, the first sign of an emotional storm. Her breaths came in short, ragged rasps, the kind you take when you’re trying to hold back sobs and failing miserably.

Once she was alone outside, she finally let the tears fall. They poured from her eyes, hot and relentless, until the world became a smear of colours and shadows. She pressed a hand to her mouth, trying to stifle the sobs that shook her slender frame, but it was no use. The pain, the frustration, the feeling of betrayal - all of it came crashing down, and she was powerless to stop it.

She didn't care that her tears had collected in her lashes, making it harder to see. She stumbled to the nearest wall, leaning against it for support as the sobs wracked her body.

Jude stumbled out seconds later, his heart heavy with what he’d just witnessed. Seeing Darlene so vulnerable always did something to him - it softened him, made him ache in ways he couldn’t fully explain. Without a word, he gently pulled her into an embrace, his arms wrapping around her with tenderness.

Hey, it’s alright, he murmured, his voice low and soothing.

In his embrace, Darlene felt the world stop on its axis. There was no time, no wind, no rain. Just the steady beat of his heart against hers, grounding her, bringing her mind quickly to peace. She closed her eyes, melting into the safety of his arms.

You know, Jude continued, his lips close to her ear, his words a gentle whisper, there is absolutely nothing wrong with you. And for what it’s worth, I think you are perfect, Darling.

Wild Youth

August 10th, 1967

Darlene had just turned 18 when she left home, her family and everything she’d known slipping away like sand through fingers. It was a desperate escape. She had started seeking safety in other people and the haze of drugs. Her home became wherever she could lay her head. She no longer craved the thrill out of life. What she wanted was simple: some comfort, some sex, and a sliver of love to hold onto in the dark.

Waking came slowly. The smog of sleep clung to her, and she turned over, yawning and stretching, her muscles tight and sore. Her eyes fluttered open, taking in her surroundings with a detached curiosity. She didn’t know where she was. The room was unfamiliar, someone’s home, but whose she couldn’t remember. The night’s details were fuzzy. She tried piecing the fragments of memory together. There had been a party, laughter, the sting of whiskey, and the numbness of a pill she couldn’t name. Her clothes were strewn across the floor. She slipped from the couch, her bare feet touching the cold floor, and gathered her things. She had done this countless times before, the ritual of leaving a place that wasn’t hers.

As she dressed, she glanced around the room, searching for any clues about the person she spent the night with. A guitar leaned against the wall, a stack of vinyl records on a nearby shelf. There was something comforting in the details, small pieces of a life that was so distant to her own.

A cluster of movement brought her out of the trance she had been in. Her senses slowly sharpened, and she became aware of a figure standing nearby.

Oh, thank god you’re awake, the man said. She remembered him speaking with a huskiness, a deep voice that was so easy to fall in love with. Not, gonna lie, I thought you were dead when I found you. His chuckle was rough, like gravel underfoot.

Darlene blinked. Sorry to have startled you. Was all she said. She moved slowly, her head pounding. What else could she say?

Wow, not even a thank you for basically saving your life, he remarked. She couldn’t tell if he was seriously annoyed or not. His sarcastic vocal tone was strikingly similar to his gravelly one, making it hard to discern his true feelings.

Thank you really, she said, shakily but sincere. I just don’t recall anything. I don’t even know how I got here.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. You were in pretty bad shape when I found you. Out cold on the sidewalk, looked like you’d been through a wringer. I couldn’t just leave you there, so I brought you back here to crash.

I must have been really out of it, she muttered, more to herself than him. He didn’t reply, just nodded and began sorting groceries in the kitchen.

She laid back down then, her eyes wandering through his apartment, taking in the details she hadn’t noticed. It was a refurbished textile loft with large windows that let every ounce of sunlight pour in. She turned to her side, facing where he was in the kitchen. It was immaculate, equipped with enough appliances to cater an army, each one gleaming under the soft morning light.

He watched her take in her surroundings for a few minutes, a soft smile on his lips.

What’s your name, doll? Seems like I’m gonna be seeing a lot more of you.

She smiled at that. Finally someone wanted her around. My name’s Darlene. Darlene Reeds.

I like that, he said Can I call you Darling? As a nickname?

Yes, I would like that, she replied, her smile widening. He smiled then too, and started to walk off to what she assumed was his bedroom.

So, are you like some mystery man, a secret spy? Darlene asked, a playful lilt to her voice that made him pause mid-motion.

He turned, eyebrows raised, a smirk at the corners of his mouth. "And why would you think that, Darling?"

She beamed at him. Well, I don’t know your name, or anything about you, yet I’m still in your home.

The man couldn’t help but chuckle at her logic. The way she smiled, her whole face lighting up, made him feel something he hadn’t felt before. It was as if her happiness was contagious, spreading through the room and infecting him with its purity. Her eyes sparkled, making her look like a gentle touch of honesty in a world that often felt harsh.

My name is Jude, he said, his tone softening. Anything else you want to know about me, doll?

December 11th, 1967

"W ould you stop smiling at me, Darling ? I’m gonna drop this tree with you looking at me like that," Jude said, struggling to keep the Crhistmas tree balanced as he manoeuvred it through the narrow doorway. Jude had grown fond of Darlene. She was younger, yes, but that only intensified his protective instincts. He watched over her with a deep, unspoken affection that neither of them would acknowledge.

Darlene kept her gaze fixed on him. Look at you, you’re blushing like a rose.

Jude rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress his own grin. I’m not blushing, he protested, though the slight flush on his cheeks betrayed him.

In the time she had spent with Jude, Darlene learned that there was such a thing as a healthy addiction. When she was with him, the cravings for drugs seemed to loosen their grip.

Jude brought the tree up whilst Darlene was carrying the takeaway.

If you set out the food I’ll start on the tree, sound good? Jude said, already unpacking the box.

Darlene was in the other room, so she shouted: Okay, but don’t start decorating without me, otherwise I’ll be pissed.

She didn’t hear his response, but he had said to himself, smiling, I know, Darling, I know.

She brought the booze and bags of Chinese into the living area. Jude had put the tree up by then. It was evergreen, and together they made a winding pathway of light from the base to the top.

Beautiful, she had said. She turned to Jude. Just like you.

Jude looked at her, smirking in that familiar way that made her heart skip a beat. He tilted his head to the side, his expression teasing. Am I not just handsome to you, Darl?

She met his gaze, feeding into his attention. Oh, I think you’re handsome, just not the way other people think of handsome.

His eyebrow arched, curiosity piqued. And what way is that?

Her fingers brushed