“I do.”
“Dad tried to get him on the show.”
“I’m not surprised.” Primarily because I already know.
“He’s followed his entire career, shoved it in my face because I’m a year older, and with the opportunities I’ve had, I should be bigger than some immigrant kid.”
“That’s what he called him? He’s so awful,” I say, screwing my face up. As far as I’m concerned, Marcus is far more talented than my father ever was or will be. “How’s mum?”
“Taking Xanax like Pez. She’s great.”
“And Phil?” My youngest brother is only nineteen. Out of the three of us, he’s seen the worst of my father. And he wasn’t good to any of us unless it was in front of cameras.
He shrugs. “I think being on a reality show is getting to him. You should call him. He’s nineteen, but he’s still a kid.”
I release a breath and nod. “OK. I’ll call him tomorrow. But I should go before someone recognises you then sees the family resemblance.”
“Behind those stunning wire frames?” he says of my glasses, teasing. “Never.”
“Stop. I’ll call you too, OK?”
“OK, big sis,” he whispers, giving me a wink before he squeezes my arm and we part ways, my heart aching more than it was before.
I miss my family. Not my dad. But my mum and my brothers are the same collateral damage to Jimmy Marx’s fame that I am. The difference between us is I got out. It was the hardest but most necessary decision I’ve ever had to make.
When I head back to the table, I hug the wall where the room is darkest, pausing to look at a few signed black and white photos of artists that have played the venue over the years. My heart quickens when I spot one of Marcus with his old band, Matiari. Even though it’s dated only a couple of years ago, he seems so much younger than he is now. Endless touring has obviously hardened him.
“I was so nervous that night,” a female voice says from beside me, pulling me from my thoughts and giving me a whole new reason to have a racing heart.
“Th-that’s you?” I ask, pointing to where she stands with her violin on her shoulder, the movement of her playing captured in her stance.
“Yes. I’m Naomi.” She gives me a friendly smile and holds her hand out to shake mine in greeting.
“Nice to meet you.” I try to smile back, but it doesn’t come out as easily as hers.
“Ah, the night I told you not to fuck it up or you were out.” Theo Bailey comes up behind Naomi, slipping his arms around her middle and planting a kiss on the side of her face. Oh fuck. I need to call that Uber.
“Oh shoosh. You wanted me then, don’t even lie about it.” She looks at me, pointing to the drummer in the picture. “That’s my husband-to-be right there. He pretended to hate me in the beginning.” Naomi pulls a face at Theo which only makes her look more adorable. She’s petite and blonde with lovely brown eyes and a tan so golden she looks like she should be running along a beach somewhere. Theo is the exact opposite of Marcus. He’s just as good looking, but where Marcus has light brown hair and eyes, Theo is darker and a little more angular.
“Are you still playing together?” I ask, acting clueless even though I know everything about them.
“We are,” Theo says. “We had to reshuffle a little when my brother left the band. But the rest of us are all still together.”
“Theo fronts now,” Naomi adds with pride.
“Oh, you’re like Dave Grohl? Came out from behind the drum kit to be the main guy. Cool. What happened to your brother?”
They exchange confused glances. “He’s Marcus Bailey,” Theo says.
I give them a blank look. “I’m sorry, my music knowledge begins with the sixties and ends in the nineties. I’m here with a friend.”
“Oh,” Naomi says, laughing. “Well, that’s really cool. Maybe you’ll discover something new tonight.”
“Hopefully,” I say. “It was nice meeting you. Good luck with your band.”
“Yeah,” Theo says with an amused grin as he and Naomi head off arm in arm.
I breathe a sigh of relief while hating myself for lying yet again, denying Marcus yet again, denying myself yet again.
I can’t stay here.
Pulling my phone out again, I type out a text to Sandra and continue along the back wall.
Me: Sorry to ditch. I’m too sick. Heading home xx
Just as I hit send, I glance up and find myself face to face with my father. Well, a black and white version of him. He played here back when The Basement first opened in the seventies before I was born—and before Jimmy Marx was a full-blown legend who helped define the term ‘sex, drugs and rock’n’roll’. Now he’s a brain dead reality star and I’m his greatest disappointment, ditching my music career the moment a massive label signed me. All because of a boy…
My phone buzzes in my hand, letting me know my Uber is on its way. Time to go.
“Leisel?” My eyes widen as I turn at the sound my real name. As much as I’m used to answering to Lisa, I don’t think I’ll ever manage to ignore Leisel. “Leisel Marx. I thought it was you. Your hair is different and well”—he gestures to my body—“you’re different. But even behind the glasses, I knew it was you.” This skinny man with vibrant blue hair isn’t even a person I recognise. Why the fuck does he recognise me? “Shit, I haven’t seen or heard from you since you went bat-shit-crazy over your bust up with Jonathan Masters. No one’s gonna believe me when I say I saw you. How the hell are you? Where have you been? Can I get a selfie?” He lifts his phone, ready to take a picture, but I push away.
“I’m not Leisel,” I mutter, searching the crowd for Kurt and hoping he can come to my rescue.
“Sure you are. Don’t you remember me? Colin Lucas. Our parents know each other. My mum is Sophie Lucas from the 80s band Twister. I’ve been to your house, like, twice. But I’m in my own band now. Tender Trap, have you heard of us?”
Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. No. I don’t remember him. I have no fucking memory of him, but he fucking remembers me. Superman is a liar. There’s no way Clark Kent could roam the city unrecognised. How the hell does Marcus manage this?
“I’m sorry. I think you have the wrong person.” Hitching my bag on my shoulder, I tuck my head and rush for the exit. But that fucking idiot keeps calling after me.
“Aw, come on Leisel. Don’t be like that. I just want a picture to prove I saw you.”
“I’m not her,” I insist over my shoulder as my head buzzes. I’m pretty sure I might throw up if I don’t get some fresh air soon. Fuck. I was so scared of Marcus blowing my cover that I never considered Sandra would be the reason for it. And now I’m fucked. The whole room is watching me flee and I hear my name repeated like a ripple crossing the room.
It’s her.
Oh my god, it’s Leisel Marx.
Leisel Marx.
Leisel Marx.
Blood pumps in a noisy rush through my ears, the walls of my new world colliding with my old and tumbling down in a mess of brick and dust. I’m exposed. I can’t breathe.
“Stop! I’m not Leisel Marx!” I screech, running smack up against a wall of chest. “I’m not—”
“Leisel?” Two strong arms halt my departure and I look up to find a pair of cerulean blue eyes frowning at me.
“Oh fuck.”
Marcus
“Hey man. Glad you could make it,” Jerry, the DJ who invited me to this thing slaps me on the shoulder as the bouncer gestures for us to go inside.
“Happy to be here. Is everything sorted?”
“Sure is.”
Dim lighting provides a soft haze of privacy as we walk through the main doors, the smooth sound of jazz filtering through the sound system as the stage is prepared for the first performance. It’s been two years and thousands of miles since I’ve been in this place. It feels like a lifetime since I stood on that stage with my brother and welcomed Naomi into the band. She was to be that special something that set us apart from every other
struggling band in the country. And she was. But she was our downfall as brothers. Nothing can come between men like a woman can. And Theo and I let a woman become a canyon between us. Correction: I created the canyon. Now I need to fill it back in. I’m hoping to shovel that first barrel of earth tonight. Theo and Naomi are both here, and I’ve asked Jerry to see to it so I can get up there and sing my song. I destroyed our relationship publicly, so it’s only right that I repair it publicly too. But there’s an odd buzz in the air. I’m not sure if it’s me because I’m nervous about the song and on edge after the way Lisa and I left things, or if something else is going on around here.
“Something doesn’t feel right,” I say, stopping before I can take the stairs to the mezzanine level.
“What do you mean?” Jerry asks.
I look around, feeling the disquiet in my bones. “I don’t know. But something is happening.”
“You get your hands off me,” a woman calls out. I know that voice. I’d know it anywhere. Lisa.
“Leisel, calm down.”
I follow the sound of a male voice to find her, and a camera flash goes off followed my several more. Jonathan Masters. That fucking pretty boy movie star is here. But what the hell is he doing with Lisa? And what did he call her?
“Hey man, she’s not Leisel,” some guy from the sidelines says—Kurt Marx, I think his name is.
“Are you serious right now?” Jonathan says, moving just enough that I can see Lisa’s panicked face.
“Just let me leave, Jonathan,” she begs, pulling on her arm, held tight in Master’s grip. My fists ball at my sides and I growl, moving towards them.
“So you can disappear again? I don’t think so.”
“Let me go,” she shrieks, fighting against him. He’s touching what’s mine. “Let me go. Let me go.” My blood boils.
“Get your fucking hands off her!” I boom over everyone, pushing people aside like rag dolls. Faces turn my way and flashes fill my vision. “And fuck off, you parasites. If I find a single photo of this posted I’ll come after every fucking one of you.”
“So will I.” Theo appears by my side and I want to fucking hug him. But now isn’t the time so I just give him a nod as he folds his guns across his chest, flexing. “Let the girl go.”
Masters, the pussy, releases Lisa’s arms and holds his hands up. “I wasn’t hurting her. She ran into me and we have history.”
I growl at him as Lisa turns to me, mascara filled tears running down her cheeks. “I’m so sorry,” she says. Then she bolts. Fuck. I give chase.
“Lisa!”
“Leisel,” Masters calls out at the same time. “I just want to talk.” Leisel? I stop moving.
“Her name is Lisa.” A blonde I’m assuming is Sandra gets in his face. “Why are you calling her Leisel?”
“Because that's her fucking name,” he snarls in response.
I turn back to Masters. “What did you say?”
He frowns as he looks at me like I have no right to address him and his golden movie star good looks. “Her name is Leisel Marx. I was supposed to marry her.” Marry her? Holy fuck. Pieces I didn’t understand start slotting into place: Kurt Marx. Leisel Marx. Jonathan Masters… K. Lisa. Jon… Her hatred of famous people, her reaction to my invite on that reality show, the reason she’s unwilling to commit… It’s all too much of a coincidence not to be true. Holy fuck.
“You’re Jon?” I practically gasp as my mind reels. She’s fucking Leisel Marx.
“Jonathan Masters,” he corrects. “Yes. And I would have appreciated a moment to talk with my fiancée without you interrupting, Bailey.” His?
No.
Baring my teeth, I grab the front of his shirt and haul him until he’s balancing on his toes. “Ex-fiancée. She’s not yours, mate. She’s mine. Don’t fucking touch her again or I’ll break your pretty face.”
“You wouldn’t dare.” He talks big, but his eyes glint with fear.
“Try me.” I drop his shirt and shove him so he stumbles back. His lackeys rush to save him and stop me.
“Leave him,” he commands. “Find her.”
“Get in their way,” I shout to Theo as I turn and bolt for the door, barely two steps ahead of them. As I burst through the outside doors, I slam my body against it.
“It opens inwards,” the bouncer says.
“Fuck.” I grab the handle, pulling back with my foot anchored against the frame. “I’ll give you ten grand if you take over. Hold on as long as you can.”
The bouncer shrugs. “Sure thing, Mr Bailey.” We transfer positions then I jump away, swivelling my head to scan the street.
“Lisa,” I yell. To my right, a figure stumbles and turns back before picking up the pace. I sprint after her. “Lisa!”
She slows to a brisk walk while wiping her hands over her face. “Go away,” she cries when I catch up.
“What the fuck, Lisa? Is what he said in there true? You’re Leisel Marx?” I don’t know whether I’m pissed or relieved or furious or…fuck. I don’t know what I am besides confused and looking for answers.
“Was,” she says. “I was Leisel Marx. I had my name legally changed to Lisa Russell after the shit with Jonathan and my father went down.”
“The ex whose car you totalled was Jonathan fucking Masters?”
“Yes. OK? I drove it straight through our front fucking window while he was screwing some wannabe actress on the couch I picked out. Then my father went on record saying he was ashamed of my actions, so I showed the world he was a cheating bastard too. Like the crazy bitch I am.” She rakes her hand through her hair, picking up the pace. “That’s what you called me isn’t it? A crazy bitch?”
I grab her arm and force her to stop moving. “I never called you a bitch. I said what happened was crazy. Don’t fucking insult me. I am the last person to condemn your actions. I made my name doing crazy shit and misbehaving.”
“And look where it got you. Look where it got all of you. My father, Jonathan, you. You treat people like shit and you’re gods. I react to being treated like shit and I’m a pariah. Fuck this industry. Fuck this world. Fuck it all.”
“Don’t you dare lump me in a category with those philandering cunts. I would never cheat on the best thing in my fucking life.”
“The best thing? In my world I’m a fucking lie. In your world I’m a fucking leper. Didn’t you see the way they reacted in there? Shocked gasps because the crazy person who almost killed her fiancé was back in town. I’ll be all over the news by morning. This is exactly what I didn’t want.”
“Why didn’t you just tell me who you were? I would have understood.”
“Because I didn’t want you to know. I didn’t want anyone to know. You and I weren’t supposed to…” She turns away, tears streaming down her cheeks as her face crumples. “Why couldn’t you leave me alone and stay where you belonged? My life is ruined now.”
I catch her face before she can take off on me again. “I didn’t do this to you.”
“I know,” she cries, hands gripping my wrists as her knees sag. “I did it to myself.”
That’s when I kiss her.
Thirteen
Lisa
One minute, I’m crying and yelling and the next, his lips are on mine, and I stop fighting. A delicious warmth starts from the point of contact and spreads in curling tendrils, diffusing through my body until they reach the very tips of my fingers and toes and every part of me is humming.
His hands move from my face to wrap around my body, steadying the back of my head as he pulls me close and moves his mouth against mine, reminding me who I belong to. We belong. Like it or not.
“I suppose you hate me now,” I whisper when our lips part.
“I hate that you couldn’t be honest with me.”
“How could I know what we’d become?” I gasp, fresh tears falling. “You were supposed to fuck me until you got bored and leave. But now I’m the one who has to go.”
“What? Go where?”
&nbs
p; “Home. I need to pack my bags and get on the road before they find me again.”
“You’re running?”
“Yes! Why do you think I made you promise to keep me away from all this? I knew someone would recognise me. Jesus, I unwittingly walk into one ‘low-key’ fucking gig and I run into almost everyone I’ve ever known. The Australian entertainment industry isn’t a very big place. They’re tight knit and have long memories. So when you almost kill one of their rising stars, they don’t tend to be very understanding. Even if he was a cheating arsehole.”
“That doesn’t mean you need to run. Do they even know your new name?”
“How long do you think it will take? Sandra’s in there. You’re out here. The breadcrumbs are there and I’m not going to stick around to see who picks them up. I won’t go through this again.”
When Jonathan and I broke up two years ago, the media circus was an absolute nightmare. I was arrested but let off with a warning when Jonathan decided not to press charges. Still, everywhere I went someone was snapping my photo and yelling my name. Then my father took an interview damning my actions, so I retaliated by outing him for the cheating scumbag he was. If I thought the public reaction to me driving a car at my fiancé’s house was bad, attempting to tarnish the reputation of a national treasure was just ‘unAustralian’ of me. I received hate mail, death threats, attacks on my property and my person. I was the nation’s most hated person. I had no choice but to pack up my life and start again. I should have moved to another country.
“So this is it? You’re seriously planning on leaving me?” A tight-knit creases his brow as he searches my eyes, confusion in his.
“I have to.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “You can’t leave. I won’t let you.”
“Marcus, please don’t make this more difficult than it already is.” Hot tears fall from my eyes. “You and I were always temporary.”
His hand rests on the back of my neck as he inhales a sharp breath, but it doesn’t turn into anything other than a curse when a burst of flashes and clicks assault us. Marcus tucks my face against his chest.
Rock (Beautiful Book 4) Page 14