Find Me (Truthful Lies Trilogy - Book Two)

by Rachel Dunning

  “Oh.” I know what he’s thinking. It clangs between the line like cymbals falling to the ground: Good for you, Blaze. We must all move on.

  “Yes, and she even said I could crash at her place if I don’t find a place of my own. But work is also picking up, so that might not be necessary.”

  “I’m happy to hear it, Blaze. You always had gumption, kiddo. You’re a real Good-Luck person, never forget that.”

  I try and believe what he says, but even if I don’t, it makes me feel better.

  “OK, Blaze. Don’t forget you owe me a visit.”

  “I won’t.”

  Deck starts calling Skate to hang with me for the day but I tell him I might hang with Vikki and her Russian Mafia bodyguards.

  “The babe who offered to sleep with Skate?”

  “That’d be the one.”

  He smiles a little. “Maybe I should call him anyway.”

  “You guys are full of shit.” We stare at each other for a while. “OK, fine, lemme call her and check.”

  Vikki has band practice, which means she definitely wants to hang out with me, she says. But not Skate. Oh no, Skate she will hang out with alone, in skimpy black underwear; once she’s made him wait long enough.

  After I put the phone down, Deck asks, “And?”

  “And, um, I can’t relay my girlfriend’s secrets to you!”

  He jumps off the couch and lifts me up by my ass, puts me against the wall. He groans painfully. But before I can ask how his ribs feel, he’s got his tongue in my mouth and...and...

  What was I saying?

  -3-

  “Should I drop you off at this Russian Blonde Temptress’s place?”

  “Sure.” He puts me down. “How are your ribs?”

  “Not broken, it seems. But it still smarts.”

  “And you’re gonna move things all day?”

  “Move things around.”

  “Huh?”

  He hesitates, and his eyes break contact with mine. He turns and, with his back to me, says, “Uhm, yeah, we got a sort of different deal for today. A client...ahem...wants us to move some furniture around her place.”

  I get a quick pang of jealousy. And I know it’s because he’s acting a little weird about this “client.”

  “Anyway, uhm, it’s good money, so, we took it.”

  I move toward him, wrap my arms around his waist. “Cool. Well, don’t hurt yourself moving things around.”

  He coughs, takes my hands from the front of his waist, and walks to a corner and packs some clothes in a bag. “Deck, what’s up?”

  “Noth—nothing. Why?”

  Because you’re acting like I just caught you in bed with someone. “You...never mind. Just...you seem a little off.”

  He looks out the window, then walks to his center table. “The client is just...a little forward, is all.”

  “Forward?”

  And then he explains it to me. The call, the three thousand dollars per hour for her “friends.”

  Am I jealous? No. I trust Deck.

  Am I worried? Completely. Because I don’t trust her. And Deck and I haven’t been together long enough for me to know how he reacts around such people.

  Zuzanna Osik was such a girl. High school. Remember? She was the one who kissed “The totally coolest guy in all of Greenpoint High, mamah!” She was big-titted and seemed to always have drooping eyelids when talking to boys. As well as a tongue that never stayed in its cage, always darting around her lips.

  It’s hard to imagine that I’d ever have gotten it on with Eliasz Piscor (“The totally coolest guy”), but I do know that Zuzanna never gave me a chance. His cock got the better of him, I guess.

  Or maybe it was my experiences with Savva that makes me worried. She was no slut, but she had everything that boys liked—round breasts, meaty thighs. Confidence. I saw how boys were around her. Even boys with girlfriends. If she’d ever decided to go for one of them, I don’t believe their girlfriends would’ve stood a chance.

  Deck pulls me out of my reverie with two firm hands on my arms. “Blaze, you have nothing to worry about. But you’re right to think this woman’s out of line. It makes me nervous as well. Because women like that are trouble. But this is a job. A high-paying job. And it’s an opportunity to get a business idea off the ground that I’ve had for some years.” And then he tells me about that as well—the Sexy Movers.

  This doesn’t do anything to soothe my currently raging thoughts of insecurity.

  “So, I couldn’t turn it down. I can’t...” He looks around. “Hell, Blaze, it’s taken me three years to afford that TV, the SurroundBar, my new truck. And look where I live—corner of Bushwick, paying rent which is too high. I don’t wanna be carrying Samsung TVs and IKEA furniture all my life. I also wanna have that big place in Brooklyn Heights—”

  “The two million dollar condo?”

  “Last I heard, it’s four million now.”

  My mind boggles at the sheer amount of money that is.

  “I gotta start somewhere. Anyway, you’re right, she’s...dangerous. Because maybe she wants more than just a ‘cheap look.’ And if she doesn’t get it...”

  “Deck, you’re making me nervous.”

  “Look, I don’t know her from shit. Maybe she’s a great person.” Yeah, right. “But I’m going in prepared. Trev and I have recording apps on our phones. I’m gonna record our time there. Just in case...”

  “God! Deck! What are you talking about?”

  “Just a precaution, Blaze. If it’s as she says, no harm. If it isn’t, if she does want something, and doesn’t get it, she might feel offended. We might be the first guys who ever turn her down. And maybe she won’t take lightly to that. Her husband’s a lawyer...” He stops talking.

  “Thanks. Before, I had a little irrational fear, now I have a large and justified fear.”

  “It’s just a precaution. But, look, on my side”—he puts his hand to his chest—“you got nothing to worry about. I’m not that kind of guy, Blaze. None of us are—Trev, me, Skate. Skate’s a player, sure. All of us... Well, him and Trev are at least—”

  I poke him. “And you! That’s what you were gonna say, right?” I’m laughing.

  He chuckles as well. “Whatever. Point I’m making is: we never cheated on a girl. None of us. Sure, we broke a few hearts, but never cheated. That’s just not something we do.”

  Breaking up with the girl you’re with and then hooking up with another an hour later is technically not cheating. I hug him. Then I slide my hand over his crotch and rub a little. “And don’t forget what you have at home.”

  “Blaze, you can’t rub my cock and then send me to a hot blonde’s house unsatisfied.”

  At which point I slap his chest!

  “Hey!”

  “Hot blonde!?”

  He cracks up laughing. “Blaze, please!” His palms are pointed at his crotch. “I’m dyin’ here!”

  I turn and sashay seductively into his room. And I call him with my index finger into it. “Come on, tiger. Let mama show you how it’s done.”

  -4-

  We don’t have a lot of time. And I’m a little raw down below. I’m not used to this much stimulation on a regular basis.

  I take his pants off. Up above, we’re kissing, slowly, tenderly.

  I rub him, and feel him growing more and more. His breathing gets ragged. He moans, “Ohhh, Blaze.” His eyes squeeze tight. I pull up and rub down faster. “Oh, god.” His voice is hard and manly.

  He pushes against my arm, trying to get me on my back. “I need to get inside you.”

  And that opens the floodgates wide and wet for me.

  I don’t care how over-stimulated I’ve been, because Deck can’t say shit like that and then send me to a hot blonde’s house unsatisfied either! (Fine, the blonde I speak of is Viktoriya—but I’ll take any excuse to get it on with Deck right now.)

  He rips my jeans off, doesn’t waste a breath on my cum-stained panties. I bite my lip as I see t
he throb of his cock below, ready. A drop of pre-cum slides off it and—taking an endless time—falls gently over to my belly button. When it hits, it feels like an anvil to my abs. They tighten up, my stomach climbs up to my chest. I feel just about ready to pop. My eyes shut tight and I spread my legs as wide as they can go. Welcoming him, inviting him, begging him to get inside me.

  And then he does.

  -5-

  Sex with Declan rocks my world. It’s passionate, primal. There’s biting and kissing and grappling and holding on for dear fucking life. It’s like I just can’t get enough of him. He can’t get deep enough inside me, and I can’t get far enough around him. My legs go around his waist, my stomach curves up against his own. Our arms interlock, I bite his ear. He thrusts, my body bounces. There are sounds—oh, endless passionate groans and moans and the most goddammed sexiest tunes you’ve ever heard in your life. It’s animalistic, and it’s human. There’s heat, sweat—dripping sweat.

  But mostly, there’s need.

  I’m so goddammed satisfied (and exhausted) by the end of it that all I can do is hunt for oxygen. “Ready to go see your ‘hot blonde’ now?”

  “You are my hot blonde.”

  -6-

  I think of Xavier on our way to South Williamsburg. Where is he? What is he doing? In all the times I’ve known him, he disappeared plenty of times—as if living in the crevices themselves. Then he’d resurface at a party, or at a club. He won’t be at Sacrament this weekend, because Randy was quite clear about Gavin the Boss not letting Xavier anywhere near the place.

  Is he angry? Afraid? Regretful?

  Is he alive?

  I might be accustomed to having Xavier disappear for days and weeks on end; but not after cutting his head with a mug. This is entirely new. Just as my relationship with Deck is new. And discovering what a crazy past he has, is new. Having a “girlfriend,” Viktoriya—one I think I could get to really like—is new.

  It’s all new.

  It’s not Xavier I’m afraid of, I realize.

  It’s all the unknowns.

  Deck kisses me warmly goodbye after dropping me off, and then drives away. To go see his “hot blonde.”

  -7-

  At the warehouse, Vikki introduces me to the band. Four guys and her. I make recordings of some of their songs on my phone so I can go over them with her later. They have a good beat, and a high BPM on much of their stuff. But the slower songs would also mix well, because Vikki has this sharp, ragged, singing-all-the-pain-in-the-world-away kind of voice.

  It sits well with the House I like to mix. Because it’s deep, and from that real place in you that few people ever get down to reaching.

  I slap on my headphones and listen to a few tracks on Spotify that I think might mix into Red Lipstikk’s beats as well. I add them to a playlist.

  I pull out my super-duper portable iDJ 2 GO from ION (a staggering twenty bucks on eBay) and plug it into my Algoriddim djay app on my phone and start mixing cross-legged on the concrete floor, my back to a brick wall. This forearm-length plastic controller amazes the band so they take a time-out and I explain that it lets me mix on the go. “Not so good for professional shows, but good enough to practice anywhere, anytime.”

  Vikki’s eyes are bulging as she looks at the two virtual turntables on my iPhone’s screen and the two tiny (and very real) turntables on the iDJ 2 GO controller it’s plugged into. I twist some knobs on the controller and do a demo of the effects. “Theoretically, you could do this stuff on the iPhone alone, without the physical hardware controller, but it’s not so good for creating advanced stuff. And the screen is too small.”

  We get into a half hour discussion about whether people could DJ on their iPads only and whether or not this is the future of live music. I humor them with some answers, because it always goes this way when I pull out the controller. Although all I really wanna do is mix the tunes right now.

  Vikki tells the boys it’s time to get back to practice, and no truer words could’ve been spoken.

  One ear listening to the music she’s playing, and the other listening to my mix, I start to get busy. An hour later, I have something I like. I wait for the band to take a break and then I call them over to listen to what I’ve done. “I loaded the demos you gave me into my iPhone yesterday, Vikki. Check it out.”

  I play the mix for them.

  Their reaction is not what I expected.

  It’s better.

  -8-

  Silence, absolute silence. The four band members are seated on the concrete floor and looking up at me in awe. And then, as if suddenly awoken by a flask of poppers, Vikki cries out: “OH MY FUCKING GOD! IT’S AMAZING!” Gawd.

  Andrei the drummer, almost skinnier than I am, says, “Fuck, Blaze, is so good!” His accent is thicker than Vikki’s when she’s grooved into using it, but not as thick as Terminator Vlad’s.

  The boys of the band go back to their instruments and Vikki comes closer and gives me a hug. “Can you get us into this secret place at Sacrament?”

  “Let me find out.”

  I call Randy—because I’m still a little intimidated by Gavin the Grande—and ask him. I explain that it’s a band that I’ll be mixing music from.

  In a gentle Sri Lankan accent, he says, “It is really Gavin’s call, Blaze. I have to check with him. I’ll call him after this and let you know. Have you checked the internal forums of Sacrament yet?”

  Uhm, no, I was getting drunk with my new best friend, and then experiencing all-new levels of physical ecstasy with my new boyfriend. “No, not yet.”

  “Do it, Blaze. It’s important for you to realize what an effect you’ve had on this crowd. There’s one guy on there, calls himself HouseNation—read what he has to say. He’s a big name, even though he doesn’t come across as it in the forums. Anonymity and all. But I know him.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  “Do it, Blaze. You must. And, look, remember, please don’t tell Gavin I gave you those credentials.”

  “Yes, of course, Randy. No need to worry about that. But...uhm...may I ask why—”

  “Why I am doing this for you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Blaze, I started the House Market parties for the love of it. Sure, I make money from it. Sure, it would be great to get you onto my label. But, those of us who been around awhile—us old people from back in the day—we came into this scene for the love of it. There ain’t no more real raves these days, no more soul in them either. It’s all thousands of people hearing Kaskade or Guetta now. Bah! That’s all OK, but, those of us who been around, well, we remember. We remember the closeness of it. It was like a resurgence of the sixties and stuff. And, well, that died as more and more people got into the scene. TBA parties became big money. The drugs got out of control. None of us wanted that, you know. But where there’s drugs, there’s crime, and, well, then Mayor Giuliani got involved and everything crashed. A lot of the bad stuff disappeared—I confess, and I don’t deny that—but so did the good stuff.

  “The Few, as I like to remember us. Because the soul of it, Blaze, came from The Few—those of us who started the parties in our living rooms, one DJ in the corner mixing from so far down in his soul that the rhythm reverberated across the walls and minds of all of us in those parties. And, well, there was maybe other factors there that made the music a little more spiritual, I suppose.” The dope. “But, that’s another topic. Point is: there was a union there. A closeness amongst us. Well, that got taken away as well. The Giuliani tidal wave took everything with it. The good and the bad.

  “Fast forward to present day: MudderFUCK! We got fuckin Paris Hilton calling herself a DJ!? URGH! GOD! It’s a damned disgrace, Blaze. And, well, you and I—even Gavin—we look at that shit, and... It’s just sad, man. It’s sad. It’s a travesty of something that was so much smaller in terms of people, but so much bigger in terms of soul.

  “Then you got that moron from Forbes writing an article about ‘How to Become a DJ in Four Easy Steps�
�� or some shit. God, what an idiot! Hilton brought about that shit. It’s the ultimate in mockery of our culture, Blaze. They’re dragging our names through the mud. And, of course, we got some DJs with heart also... But, well... You know, a lot of these guys unfortunately also have fried brains. But that isn’t really it, either. Van Gogh’s brain was fried all the time. And look at Madonna. Heck, I’m not convinced that Dali wasn’t off his rocker half the time either.

  “The point is, Blaze: People like me, the real believers in the culture, we look at you and we see hope. I know this comes across a little intense. But it’s true. That secret club Gavin runs? Sure, there’s a lot of sex and, well, maybe some other stuff as well, but you know why he does it? The heart. Only the best play there. It’s the closest we can get to those closed-doors, To-Be-Announced parties we used to have; where it was all about the music, and especially about the soul.

  “I think you understand what I mean, Blaze. Because, as young as you are, you got that spirit about you. That essence. It comes across in your music. And I don’t know why or how—maybe you’ve had a really hard life or maybe you’re just so in tune with aesthetics that you’re a prodigy in the area. I mean, would a modern-day Mozart write symphonies, or mix beats?”

  That one gets a little laugh out of me, but only a little one. Because, mostly, I’m just in stupefied awe about all he’s saying.

  “But you do get it. You’re like the sound technician all us old fogies have been waiting for: Someone to bring back what we lost. Back in the day, House had meaning and TBA parties signified a way to escape this crazy world and find some peace for the week.” He sighs deeply.

  “You’re an old romantic, Randy.”

  Wistfully, he says, “Ah, yes, I am. Emphasis on old. Point is, Blaze, your music means something. And it means something more than money. There is a core of true-blue supporters of the old sounds, people who’ll go to the ends of the earth to see that sound make its way back. Most DJs just copy what other DJs do these days. It’s rare that a DJ brings something new to the scene. But when he does... God! He changes everything. Everything! Remember Cash Money? Oh, no, you weren’t even born yet—”