I can’t say I blamed him.
“Kent will be here in an hour,” Vance said. “I’m going to pack up.”
With that, he disappeared through the French doors.
I was left to pace the grounds, retracing my footsteps through the cabin and remembering how happy I’d been here. What once felt like an enchanted forest now filled me with pain and longing. I had to come clean to Vance. Or did I? I could flee to the freeway, hitchhike and start again. Never let him know that I’d lied to him, misrepresented my talent.
How’s that working out for you? His voice echoed in my head.
I stormed up the stairs and tossed my few belongings into my knapsack. It didn’t take long. By the time I’d finished, I heard tires crunching down the gravel driveway. I looked out the window and saw a limo pull up. Vance came bounding out of the back seat, his hair newly cropped in a short style that showed off his strong jaw and cheekbones, his beard clean-shaven. When had he had time to get a haircut and go for a ride, I wondered?
Then I realized I wasn’t looking at Vance. It was his twin brother, Darrel, who’d just arrived. Kent stood watching, his hands on his hips, a proud, avuncular smile on his face, as the brothers embraced.
I scurried downstairs with my backpack, not wanting to hold anybody up.
“There you are,” Kent said, giving me a hug like I was part of the family, too. “Andrea, meet Darrel.”
“Hi,” Darrel said, shaking my hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you!”
“Same,” I said. “And I’m a big fan of yours.”
Seeing Vance and Darrel next to each other was jarring. Except for the haircuts, they were almost completely identical, down to the mannerisms. They laughed the same way, moved the same way. But the longer I watched, the more I began to notice their slight differences. Vance stood with his legs planted firmly apart, hands on his hips, seeming to occupy the most physical space. Darrel, on the other hand, lounged fluidly against the limo, his legs crossed, an air of elegance about him. But when Kent announced that it was time to hit the road, the brothers sprang into action simultaneously.
“Shotgun!” they both cried, running for the passenger side front door and scuffling with each other.
“Hey, give me a break. I just got out of the hospital!” Darrel cried when Vance pinned him.
“Yeah, the crackhead hospital!” Vance said.
“Whatever, man—crackheads are pretty scrappy. See?” Darrel squirmed away from Vance and slipped into the front seat.
Kent took the wheel, and Vance and I sat in the back seat, making sure not to touch each other. It felt strangely reminiscent of our drive here.
“You’re looking really great, man,” Vance said, reaching for the bottle of whiskey, then apparently thinking better of it. “You’re fucking rosy as fuck.”
“It’s the glow of sobriety,” Darrel said, twisting around in his chair. He did look slightly less grizzled than Vance. “You should try it sometime.”
“I do try it! People say I’m high all the time, but really, I’m just high once or twice a day.”
Darrel rolled his eyes.
“Just kidding, bro,” Vance said. “I’m really super proud of you. You look amazing.”
“I feel even better,” Darrel said. “I’m a new man.”
“And he’s ready to let the world know,” Kent said, ruffling Darrel’s expensively cut hair.
I had to admit, I was enjoying watching the dynamic between Kent, Darrel and Vance, and the latter two’s brotherly hijinks. The love between these three was palpable. I always wished for a sibling, but as an only child with two serious, ultra-religious parents, I often felt like a bouncy ball knocking around in a china cabinet. I always had to contain my energy, and I couldn’t relate to anyone. I had never felt like I was part of a family.
And now I was so close to being welcomed into this warm, loving trio.
But you went and fucked it up, didn’t you? said a voice in my head that sounded suspiciously like Jonathan’s.
The thing was, he wasn’t wrong. Vance ignored me all the way back to New Orleans.
I was right back where I’d started. Where it seemed I would always end up. Alone.
Chapter 20
Andrea
As we approached the city, the sight of the Superdome, Crescent City Connection and high-rise hotels had never been more unwelcome. I wished I could go back in time. I would have told Vance the truth from the get-go.
“We’re going to head to my office for just a few minutes, if that’s all right with you, Andrea,” Kent said as he took the Vieux Carre exit. “Just need you to fill out some paperwork.”
“Then you can be on your way,” Vance said gruffly. “Wherever that might be.”
Wherever that might be, indeed, I thought, considering my options. I wasn’t sure when I’d get paid for the songs—or if I would at all, given that they were technically a collaboration. I could be spending the night in the Ritz or at the Covenant House shelter for young adults.
“By the way, you’re welcome to spend the night in my guest house,” Kent said, as if reading my mind. “It’s in the carriage house behind my office. I open it up to a lot of touring musicians.”
I shook my head. I couldn’t accept more of his generosity, not after this. I swallowed hard as Kent pulled into a private parking lot, then entered his gleaming, modern lobby. Darrel trailed behind us, and Vance lingered outside, smoking a joint.
“Feels good to be back,” Darrel said as he, Kent and I shuffled into the elevator.
“It’s great to have you back,” Kent said.
The doors slid open, revealing a broad-shouldered man with a receding hairline and a slight paunch. His back was toward the elevator, but even before he turned around, I recognized Jonathan.
“Well hey, honey!” He opened his arms to embrace me. I stiffened and grabbed the elevator’s rails. “You don’t look too happy to see me.”
“What are you doing here?” I said through gritted teeth.
“Paperwork. Just like you,” Jonathan said. His pale blue eyes glittered above a five o’clock shadow.
I was speechless as Kent guided me into his office, one hand at the small of my back, Darrel at his side.
“I thought you were in jail,” I said, my voice a hoarse whisper.
“Maybe we should give you two a minute to catch up,” Darrel said, looking from me to Jonathan. I could hardly speak as all the blood drained from my face. Jonathan just nodded.
“That’s a great idea—thanks, Daniel,” Jonathan said.
“Darrel,” Darrel said.
“We’ll be right outside,” Kent said. “Just page me on the intercom system if you need anything.”
I needed a lot of things. I needed a security guard. I needed an explanation. Most of all, I needed Vance. But I couldn’t speak; I was too shocked and terrified. So I just nodded mutely as Kent and Darrel disappeared.
“Andygator, you are a sight for sore eyes,” Jonathan said, lighting a menthol cigarette and sitting back in his chair. “When I got popped for that meth fire, I thought, well where has my baby girl done run off to? But then I figured it out. You didn’t want to wind up in the slammer, too. So you kept your distance, waited for things to simmer down. Smart. Smarter than I would have thought you had in you.”
I recoiled inwardly at the touch of his hand on my knee, wanting to scream, to run away. But then I remembered what it would feel like if he put his cigarette out on my bare flesh.
As Jonathan explained, he’d come home to find a blackened husk where his trailer had been, as well as the police with a warrant for his arrest. He’d sat in jail for three days before getting bailed out by Funky Freddy, a big-name party promoter with deep pockets and good lawyers. Jonathan had made a lot of money for Funky Freddy in the past, which was why Funky Freddy was willing to put up the bail.
Because it was Jonathan’s first offense, the lawyers were able to negotiate a diversion program. Basically, Jonathan was going to be o
n probation for five years. He’d also have to pay fines, complete community service and go to rehab.
“But as long as I stay out of trouble, the felony disappears at the end of the program,” Jonathan said. “The lawyers even said they can expunge my arrest.”
But Jonathan hadn’t been sure how he was going to repay the lawyers, court fees and fines. Until he used a library computer to check his email and saw his account had been logged into. The songs saved to his Google drive had been shared with another user—one Kent Coldwell at Cast Iron Recording Studio.
“That’s when I realized my laptop—and our songs—hadn’t been destroyed in the fire after all,” Jonathan said. “And my little baby girl was the one to thank for that.”
I gritted my teeth and tried not to shake.
“Of course, I know my baby wouldn’t have stolen my songs and tried to run away from me. She was just trying to protect her little self, all alone in the world without a man to take care of her. Wasn’t she?”
They aren’t just your songs, I thought, gritting my teeth.
I’m not proud of what I did. But I felt I had no choice. So I nodded and squeezed Jonathan’s left hand. Meanwhile, in his right, a nearly spent cigarette butt unspooled a gray thread of smoke.
“Baby, you’re incredible. Thanks to you and this money, we’re going to have the house we always dreamed of. Who would have thought that meth fire was actually one of the Lord’s blessings in disguise? Maybe the time is finally right for us to start a family.”
I had always wanted a baby, and Jonathan had always professed to want one too, even though he had several baby mamas and never paid child support or tried to cultivate relationships with his offspring. But I also knew that a child has the right to two loving parents and a safe environment. What with the drug dealing and meth cooking, I didn’t think we could provide that. And even though, each time he beat me badly, Jonathan swore it would be the last time, part of me knew that if he laid his hands on our child, I’d kill him.
Which was why I’d been fitted for an IUD shortly after I moved in with him.
“I knew my little Andygator was thinking of me when she done took off with my songs to this big old dirty city. Trying to make some money for her and her old man to get him out of the clink.”
“That’s right, Jay,” I said in a false, high tone.
“There’s just one thing, Andy.” Jonathan squinted one eye and fixed me in the crosshairs of his vision, stilling his breath as if he were preparing to fire a gun. “You better not have been messing around with any of them rock stars.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Darrel seems a little light in the loafers, I’m not worried about that faggot. But I know about Vance. Seems he has quite the reputation. A ladies’ man, you could say. Fucks about a dozen bitches every day,” Jonathan said with a trace of longing.
“I’ve heard,” I said bitterly, because of course I had. I knew about Vance’s past. It just hadn’t occurred to me—until Jonathan’s unwelcome re-entrance in my life—that now I was part of it. Just another notch on Vance’s Italian leather belt.
“You had better not have done anything with him, if you know what’s good for you.”
A spark of insouciance flared in me. I really felt that, after losing my music, my freedom, and my fledgling relationship, I had nothing left for Jonathan to take. What was he going to do? I was honestly so despondent that I didn’t care whether I lived or died.
“Or what, Jonathan?”
He looked at me with outrage and—I hate to admit—a flicker of sexual attraction. “Or I’ll beat the shit out of you, dollface.”
“I’ll call the cops. You’re on probation; they’ll take you straight back to jail.”
Jonathan shook his head. “You forgot I’m buddies with half the police force. They’re all regulars at the casino. Besides, I might just hit you so hard that you forget how to dial a phone.”
I knew what he was talking about. A concussion. A bad one.
“Or I might start another fire. One that makes those scars on your back look like a pretty little tattoo.” He lit another cigarette and traced a figure eight in the sky. “But I don’t have to worry any more. Right? Because I’m back with my baby. Forever. And she hasn’t been sucking any old diseased rock star dick. Right?”
“Right,” I said weakly.
“You promise? You stayed loyal while I was locked up?”
“I promise, Jonathan.”
Jonathan hugged me, and I suppressed a gag when I smelled his familiar, stomach-churning scent—a mix of cheap cologne and mildew-smelling clothes.
“I love you , baby,” he said, his beard sharp against my neck. Now, the last person to hold me wasn’t Vance. It was the man I hated more than anyone.
“You too,” I said, choking out the words around my rage and fear.
“Thank goodness I found you. Now we can go home and build the house we always dreamed of.”
Jonathan punched the intercom. Kent popped in.
“I think we’re ready for those forms,” Jonathan said.
Kent handed Jonathan the contract—he’d already dismissed me as a player in the situation. Jonathan gave the forms a cursory glance. I knew he’d read the dollar signs and nothing else.
“Looks like a fair deal for some fine songs,” Jonathan said, standing to shake Kent’s hands. “I wrote all of them. They did benefit a little bit from Andrea and her magnetic voice, so it was nice of y’all to cut her in a smidge. I’ll be sure to take her on a nice shopping trip, too. Maybe the Lakeside Mall? Nah—the Shops at Canal Place. Only the best for my baby girl!”
Jonathan winked at me. How dare he take the credit! I wasn’t a diva songbird brought in to put the cherry on top of Jonathan’s work. The truth is, he couldn’t have created any of those songs without me.
But I couldn’t prove that now. Not when I’d stolen Jonathan’s laptop and hidden his role in the songs’ creation. Kent would surely see me as a liar and a fraud, if he didn’t already.
“Well, we just need you both to sign the forms, and then we’ll be all set,” Kent said. “The money will arrive in your account via bank transfer by end of day.”
“Perfect,” Jonathan said, scribbling his name and grinning.
What was I going to do? I was trapped back in the living hell my life with Jonathan had become. Only this time, it was even worse—he had his freedom and he had money. Money to pay people off. Money to hire lawyers. Money to keep me quiet.
And I had only myself to blame.
“Honey, you just sign your name here, right under mine,” Jonathan said, handing me the pen.
“I just need to have a lawyer look this over,” I said.
“Baby, Funky Freddy’s lawyers already did. It’s a solid contract,” Jonathan said, his voice low and urgent.
“I’m sorry, I can’t sign it without my lawyer.” I hoped he wouldn’t call my bluff or figure out I had nothing close to a lawyer.
Jonathan shot me angry daggers with his glance. I could tell he had to restrain himself from smacking me.Kent looked from me to Jonathan, an expression of concern darkening his face. Jonathan nudged me—hard—with his elbow, and I smiled as best I could.
“You married, Kent?” Jonathan asked.
“No, I’m one of the lucky ones,” Kent said.
“Then you probably don’t under stand these little…domestic disputes. Just give us a day or two to figure it out, would you, brother?” Jonathan said.
“That’s perfectly fine,” Kent said. “Just don’t wait too long.”
“Don’t worry,” Jonathan said, stroking my hands and smiling that cold, dead smile. “We won’t.”
Chapter 21
Vance
I’m not going to lie. I was seriously torn up about Andrea. I’d been reeling in the car all the way back to New Orleans. How had we gone from post-coital bliss to her telling me she was basically planning to take my money and run?
That’s why I hadn’t
gone upstairs with Kent, Darrel and Andrea for the contract negotiations. I’d said I wanted to take a quick smoke break before joining them. I did take a smoke break—but it wasn’t short.
I blazed a whole joint as I walked down to Tonique on Rampart Street and threw back an old fashioned. Then another. And then another, and halfway through that one, Darrel called.
“You want to meet me at our place?” he asked.
“Sure. How’d the negotiations go?”
“They didn’t,” he said shortly. “I’ll explain in person.
I downed the rest of my drink and stalked to our three-story mansion on Royal Street, head down. I still got recognized drunk tourists wearing Mardi Gras beads, but I didn’t stop for photos.
Darrel was sprawled on the leather couch, picking at the guitar. Huge David Harouni paintings were softly illuminated by museum-quality lights, and a glass elevator in the corner stood ready to convey us to our third-floor home studio.
It felt good to be home. Until I remembered that actually, I had avoided being here ever since Darrel was sent to rehab. Which made me realize I wasn’t just happy to be home.
“It’s good to have you back, bro,” I said, punching Darrel.
“You keep saying that. It’s like you missed me or something.”
“Maybe I just missed these sweet digs. You know Kent’s country house is pretty secluded.”
“Speaking of Kent,” he said, placing the guitar on a stand. “Andrea didn’t sign the contract.”
My heart palpitated at the mention of Andrea. She didn’t sign? Why would she possibly skip out on all that money?
Could it be that she’d reconsidered her plan to cash out, run away and start over? Maybe she wanted to stay and see where things went…not just with her music career. But with our budding relationship.
I tried to hide my feelings from Darrel. But of course, that was impossible. He was my twin. He knew me better than he knew himself.
Rifted Rock: Secrets of a rock star series Page 7