Boys and Burlesque

by Ripley Proserpina

  “Bullshit.” As Josh spoke, he stomped toward me, his boots clomping across the tile floor. “You’re our responsibility. You’ve been our responsibility since the first day of kindergarten and we’re yours.”

  My brain fizzled for a second before it came back online. “I’m sorry I called you. It gave you the wrong idea.”

  “She was on pain meds,” Steven added. Lovely man. I could kiss him.

  “Don’t care.” Westin was already shaking his head. “Some part of you trusted us enough to reach out. We’re here now, and you’re not getting rid of us.”

  “I don’t want to argue.” The dull ache was getting a little more insistent.

  “So don’t,” Brant replied.

  “But I can’t trust you,” I said to Westin, making sure to look at Brant, Josh, and Landry while I said this. It was hard, but it was true. “You waited eight years to find me. Why? Why didn’t you come after a year? I’ll accept that you were afraid, we were seventeen and eighteen, of course you were afraid, but it wasn’t until now, when I’m on television and successful, that you appear.”

  Westin’s face flushed again, but it was Landry’s that hurt me most. He hadn’t said a word since I’d opened my eyes, and now he seemed at a loss. He opened and closed his mouth, shook his head and then dragged his hands down his face.

  “I know,” he finally said. “We shouldn’t have waited.”

  “So, why did you?” My foot was starting to burn, and I shifted uncomfortably on the bed.

  “Hit the button,” Steven directed. “It’ll deliver more meds.”

  I shook my head because I knew where that led. I’d muscle through it.

  My manager rolled his eyes. “Look, boys, I think Betty needs to rest now.”

  “Betsy should definitely rest.” Westin stared down Steven. “But we’re staying.”

  Turning bored eyes on me, Steven wordlessly asked, “Am I calling security or what?” He’d given me that look a dozen times before.

  “Hit the button, Bets,” Josh said. “You need it.”

  I shook my head again, but it was getting harder to think. “Did you have a good reason?” I asked Josh. “Do you want my money? Fame?” My voice rose. “What the fuck reason did you have to stay away so long?”

  “There was no reason,” Brant replied. His low voice carried over the beep of machines and the roar in my ears. “There’s no good reason except that it felt like we shouldn’t. We didn’t deserve another chance.”

  “So what the hell changed?” I asked. “Why do you deserve one now?”

  “We don’t,” Josh answered. “We don’t deserve a chance. But we’re being selfish and asking for one.”

  “Betty?” Steven asked, and now I shook my head. They could stay.

  For now.

  “I don’t know if I’m going to give you a chance.” Dear God. Was my foot even still attached or were there a bunch of stringy nerve endings held to an open flame? Shifting again, I moved my leg and was rewarded with a white flash of agony.

  “Hit the fucking button, Betsy,” Landry ground out. He strode toward me, elbowing Westin out of the way. He braced his hands on the bed, leaning down until we were inches apart. “You won’t become an addict. You’re too strong and too smart to go down that path.” He closed his eyes tight and let out a breath through his nose. “For God’s sake, you’ve lived through worse than this. So if you haven’t done it before, why would you do it now?”

  I stared at him, waiting until he opened his eyes and I could see their blue depths. His jaw was hard and shadowed with stubble, and he seemed so utterly exhausted and sad. But he was right. I’d lived through worse than this. This was just an injury. It wasn’t a blow to my soul like them leaving and Marigold dying had been.

  I hit the button, and he smiled. “We’ll be here when you wake up.”

  Darkness creeped toward me like a warm blanket. “I’ll believe it when I see it,” I replied.

  Surgery was that night, and the days following it were a haze. I was in no condition to have deep conversations that revolved about personal business, or even business-business.

  It wasn’t until the weekend that I was discharged and my brain cleared enough for me to start asking questions and making plans.

  The boys had stayed with me at the hospital. Each time I woke up, I found them lounging around. They must have changed, showered, eaten, and slept, but I had no idea when, and I was too preoccupied with myself to ask.

  It sounded selfish, but it was true.

  Steven came and went. At least—I assumed he did. He wasn’t always around, and when I asked, I got answers like “No idea.” Or “Business at the Bellagio. He said not to worry.”

  So I didn’t. I rested and followed the directions of the medical staff, and then when I was discharged, I let my ass be carted from the hospital back to the Bellagio.

  The boys met me there.

  It spoke to just how jumbled my mind was that I processed all of this like it was no big deal. Each time my stomach knotted, I pushed the thought of everything I had to deal with to the back of my mind.

  The morning of my first night back in my suites was when everything hit me.

  I still hurt, but it wasn’t like it had been. It wasn’t all consuming. And suddenly, every single worry and issue pushed out of the closet where I’d locked them and tackled me.

  Shit.

  I had a show with no headliner.

  Four past boyfriends who wanted a second chance.

  An injury that would take months to heal and require my total and complete commitment.

  Contracts with venues.

  A business meeting I might never be able to reschedule because I might have lost my chance to run it in multiple cities with multiple casts. Was my show even still running? We’d only had a few more performances when I fell.

  I sat up in bed, rubbing my eyes. Was I still paying for this suite? Because I should be thinking about paring down my personal expenses and doing everything I could to keep me and my show in the public’s eye.

  In a good way.

  Which reminded me. I’d been cut off from the wider world for the last week, and if Steven had told me anything about what people were saying about me, I didn’t remember.

  Some wonderful, thoughtful person had placed my phone next to my bed, and I picked it up, opening a browser so I could do a search on my injury.

  “Oh my god.” The headlines were similar and shocking.

  Betty Belle Injured. Surveillance Video Shows Intentional Damage to Stage.

  Watch the Video That Has the World Gasping.

  Betty Belle’s Career Ending Injury. Conspiracy or Karma?

  Karma? What the hell had I done to deserve a broken ankle?

  All of the articles told the same story. Video footage captured a man damaging the stage floor, hacking chunks, and then painting it black so it wouldn’t be noticed. It was a miracle no one else was injured.

  I clicked onto a link that showed the man. The film was grainy, black and white, and the man wore baggy clothes and a hoodie. I think he wore gloves as well, but it was hard to tell with it in black and white. One thing was clear—someone had tried to hurt me.

  No. Someone had successfully hurt me.

  How the fuck had this happened? I watched the video again. And again. But the person was as unfamiliar the fifth time as the first.

  Finally, I dialed Steven’s number.

  “Hey,” he answered.

  “I read the news.”

  “Fuck.” His sigh was lengthy and pained. “I wanted to tell you myself.”

  “Steven. What is going on?” Now, in addition to the many concerns I had about my show and my employees, I had to worry about my safety. “What do you know?”

  “I’m on my way up,” he said. “The nurse should be there any minute to help you. Don’t let the Fearsome Foursome frighten her.”

  “The Fearsome—” But he’d already hung up.

  Next to my bed was a ridiculous l
ittle scooter. I was supposed to stay off the foot, so I propped my knee and bad foot on the padded seat and scooted my way toward the front door, only to pause the second I opened my bedroom door.

  Four huge forms in various sleeping positions were slung across my living room.

  Holy shit. The boys were still here. The light was shining in from outside, spilling across their faces. The nurse arrived soon, so I took advantage of the opportunity to study them.

  Josh’s brown hair fell across his face, puffed away each time he breathed. He was asleep in a chair, one leg splayed over the arm while the other rested on the floor. His arms were crossed, like he’d been cold during the night.

  Westin was on one side of the couch, his feet tangled with Brant’s, who was opposite him. Westin’s pale skin was bruised beneath his eyes, like this was the first bit of sleep he’d had in a long time. I compared him to Brant, who always seemed tan from outside. In fact… I scooted a little closer, Brant had a strip of slightly paler skin near his hairline, probably from wearing a hat.

  I straightened and glanced over at Landry, only to meet his very awake gaze.

  “Hi,” I whispered, awkward at being caught looming over my ex-boyfriends like a stage five creeper. “You stayed.”

  He pushed himself up, sitting straighter on the loveseat before standing. He moved quietly until he stood in front of me. We stared at each other, and some of my awkwardness disappeared. If he was going to look at me, then I could look at him as much as I wanted.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered.

  Dammit. The honesty in his voice was too much, especially because I was sure I’d never looked worse. I’d had a sponge bath at the hospital, but I hadn’t washed my hair since my accident.

  “Steven and the nurse are coming over,” I told him. “So you don’t have to stay.”

  He frowned. “I already told you we’re not going anywhere, Betsy. Especially not now.”

  So that answered the question of whether or not they knew about how my injury had happened. “I’ll get you a room here,” I said. That seemed like a good compromise. “I can have someone get your belongings from where you were staying. What was the name of your hotel?”

  I’d left my phone back in my room, and turned my scooter back that way. Landry’s hands landed on mine before I could go. “We’re staying here.”

  I sighed. “You can’t stay with me, Landry. Look at you.” I waved my hand toward the limbs and muscles and tight asses and— “You can’t.”

  “I’ve slept in worse places than this.” He said it to make me worry less about their comfort, but all it did was remind me how much I didn’t know about him.

  Something on my face must have given me away, but before he could say a word, there was a knock on the door. Immediately, the three other boys jumped to their feet. One second they were completely relaxed, and the next they were ready to do battle. “I’m glad you’re on my side,” I said, scooting toward the door. There was a telltale beep as someone used their keycard and Steven entered, an older woman in scrubs right behind him.

  “Morning, Betty. This is Deidre. She’s the nurse who’ll be helping you the next few days until you’re walking around yourself.”

  “Hello.” I held my hand out to shake, but she was staring over my shoulder, mouth agape.

  I turned, wondering what the boys had done but they were just standing there.

  Deirdre had pale skin and bright red hair, and her face flushed when she looked back at me. “Yes.” She gathered herself. “Hello. Nice to meet you.”

  Ohhhh. Yeah. They were impossibly good looking. Even a woman who looked to be pushing her sixtieth wouldn’t be immune to their height and muscles and tight asses and— “I’m glad you’re here.” I had to get my head on right. “I’m dying to take a shower and am not sure how to finagle it.”

  “Right. I’d be happy to.” She picked up a rolling suitcase I hadn’t noticed earlier.

  “Steven,” I said as I pushed off toward the bathroom. “Can you see the boys out?”

  “Sure,” he said. “Because I’m your security too now. I’ll do that between phone calls to the media and the fifty employees I have to wrangle. No problem.”

  This was the first hint of the Steven I was used to appearing again. Since being hurt, he’d been way too kind and accommodating. I liked the manager who didn’t tiptoe around me.

  So this was a good sign. It meant that despite everything going wrong, he was feeling hopeful.

  “We’ll stay here,” Landry said as I led the nurse away. As I shut the door behind us, I heard him add. “Just get us cots.”

  I’d argue later.

  Forty-Four

  Josh

  It was hard to believe I was really with Betsy. For days and days, I’d been at her side. Not only that, but I’d been with my best friends.

  I’d stared at her for hours while she slept in the hospital. Despite the makeup smeared on her face and her obvious pain, she was still the most beautiful girl who ever existed.

  The bedroom door closed behind her, leaving just us and Steven. I’d come to appreciate the guy who had her back while we’d been MIA. So if he stared at us with barely concealed annoyance, that was fine.

  Wasn’t like we didn’t deserve it.

  “Have you learned anything more?” Westin stretched his arms over his head and cracked his knuckles. “I have some less-than-legal connections that might know things.”

  “First Rule—” Steven didn’t bother to look at him while he typed on his phone. “Keep all ‘less-than-legal’ shit away from Betty. Your stink will stick to her.”

  Westin paled and turned away. “I didn’t think.”

  “Second Rule—” Her manager stared at each of us. “Fucking think.” He tapped his temple. “Betty worked too hard to get where she is only to be pulled down by a bunch of flyboys.”

  “We’re Navy,” I said. “Not Air Force.”

  His gaze went flat. “I saw Top Gun about a hundred times.”

  I wasn’t about to get into pilots in the Navy and pilots in the Air Force, so I left it. From his expression, her manager was pretty certain he’d gotten one over on me. Whatever. I’d let him have the win.

  “We don’t want to do anything to mess up her life,” Brant said.

  “More than you already have,” Steven finished. He did not pull any punches.

  “More than we already have,” Brant agreed. “We don’t want to hurt her. We love her.”

  Steven looked up at that. With a sigh, he placed his phone on his knee and crossed his arms. “Why?” he asked. “You don’t know her. Don’t have a stake in her life. If you think you’re going to get her money, think again. I have a lawyer who’s written a prenup tighter than an asshole and an accountant who isn’t going to let one penny go to non-approved—”

  “We don’t want her money,” I interrupted. I was glad she had money and was comfortable. After what we’d put her through, the security her money gave her allayed some of my fears. All of us had life insurance, and if something had happened to us while we were overseas, it would have gone to her, but that was about all we’d done for her. “We want her. We’ve made mistakes, the worst ones, but we’re going to make up for it. And we’re not going anywhere.”

  “You’ll listen to her.” Not a question. “The only reason I’m not calling up Big Mike right now is because you’ve all been ruled out as the person who damaged the stage.”

  I probably should have known Steven would suspect us.

  “We’ll listen,” Landry replied. “We’ll protect her.”

  Steven nodded. “If you’re going to be here, understand this, Betty is my first priority. Her success is my success and the success of a hundred other people. Don’t distract her. Don’t make her choose.”

  Westin laughed and gestured with tattooed hands to the room full of men. “We’ve never made her choose.”

  Her manager didn’t laugh. “Good.”

  The door to Betty’s room
opened, and she came out. My breath caught. Her blonde hair was slicked back from her face, the ends dripping around her shoulders. She didn’t wear any makeup, leaving her dark brows and eyelashes more prominent, along with the golden freckles dotting her nose. Her pink lips were a little chapped, and she licked them nervously. “Still here?”

  I raked her form with my gaze, from her wet hair down to her bare feet. Foot. “Not going anywhere,” I answered. Not ever.

  Forty-Five

  Betty

  I scooted to the sofa. It was covered in blankets, and the pillow was scrunched like someone had punched it a few times before stuffing it under their head.

  The sight of the boys and the evidence of their presence filled me with warmth. I remembered the sleepovers we used to have when we were kids, our rooms hadn’t looked all that different. Before I got to the sofa, I turned and scooted to the house phone. When someone answered, I ordered breakfast, towels and extra toothbrushes.

  They could eat breakfast and brush their teeth. Then they had to go. I had too much to do to worry about them. Turning toward Steven, I did my best to pretend they weren’t there.

  “How long are we staying here?” I asked Steven. The Bellagio was comfortable, but we couldn’t sustain this forever.

  “I’m expecting a visit from LVPD,” he told me, causing the boys to shift. I glanced at them, catching them exchanging a look that made me wonder if they were upset about the police or needed to pee.

  “Feel free to use the bathroom.” I waved toward the hall where the guest bath was. It seemed I was partially right, because Brant left. “In the meantime,” I started, “Steven and I have things to do.” A lot of things. “We need to get the company together to discuss our next steps. Where do we stand with our LA performances?” In the shower, I’d been brainstorming ways to keep myself in the public eye while not being able to perform myself. “Have you thought about special guests we could slide into my performances? Let’s set up a meet and greet or VIP ticket. We could do something like a Storyteller session. I’m even willing to do Q and A if we have a moderator.” I rattled off the information, aware of the remaining boys who were watching me.