by Lux,Vivian
She laughed. "Actually yes, he does know I'm asking you, and he's really excited to see you."
"Why? What am I doing Friday night? Besides watching DVRed episodes of The Bachelor with my mom?"
Scarlett sighed. "So… Somehow... - and I don't exactly know how this happened, - my fiancé’s band got roped into creating a 'Signature Fragrance Experience.'"
I burst out laughing. "Oh my God! Sellouts! Keir should be ashamed of himself!"
"I know, it's totally mortifying, but it's also totally a means to an end. Keir is calling it a blatant cash grab with the biggest smile on his face. Like, total relief. They're all exhausted from recording and touring, and this was a quick way to keep the cash flow going while the take a well-earned break."
"Capitalism at its finest," I pointed out.
"Yeah, I guess so," Scarlett sighed. "So much for rock 'n' roll and not being sellouts, I guess. Just because I know why they're doing it doesn't make it any less cheesy."
I muffled my mocking laugh behind my hand. "You realize I'm going to give you shit for this for the next fifty years, right?"
"Oh, I'm prepared," Scarlett said. "But before you do, will you please do me a favor and come to the wrap party with me?"
"Wrap party?"
"Yeah, or maybe it's the launch party. I don't even know. It's all just one big excuse to throw a party and make the sponsors pay for it. Whatever, free booze. Come on," she wheedled. "Come with me. You need to get out. Have some fun. Be my moral support. You need to stop being sad and depressing for a night."
I leaned forward and pressed my lips together. A year ago, the roles would be totally reversed here. With me teasing and badgering Scarlett into coming out with me and Jason, to have some fun and stop being so serious all the time. How had things changed so much? "I am completely ashamed of myself that you just said that to me," I sighed.
Scarlett's voice softened. "Come on honey. You've always taken care of me. Let me take care of you now."
I had to grin. "Take care of me? By taking me to a drunken rockstar bacchanal?" I paused and considered. "You are the best friend a girl could ask for."
Chapter 2
Low
"That's me?"
"That's you."
I squinted at the man in the picture... because he definitely looked like a man and not the boy I still thought of myself as being. He shared my same jawline, the stubborn set at the cheekbones I shared with my mother and with Pepper. He had my same big hands and feet, the same long arms and legs, but in the picture, placed like he was, occupying the space like he owned it, there was none of that gangliness I knew was mine. I tripped over my own goddamned feet. This guy would never be such a klutz.
"I mean, yeah, I guess it is," I hesitated.
"You look fucking hot, Twitch." Rane's fiancée, the drop-dead gorgeous movie star Madeline Cole, peered closer at the proof and then back up at me with an expression I had never seen her wear before. Ar least not when it came to me. Was it...admiration?
"Uh, thanks, Maddie," I said, ducking away from Rane's jealous glare. "But, it's weird. It doesn't feel like that's me."
"Makeup and good lighting will do that," Maddie explained. She'd know. Sitting here in our manager Keith's office, she looked like a fresh-faced, pretty girl. But I had seen her movies, been a big fan of hers back when she had her own TV show. I knew that she could fucking smolder onscreen. "But it's still you. Don't lose sight of that."
"Fuck, man," Rane crowed, laughing as he rested his head on Maddie's shoulder. "Do I have to start watching you 'round my girl? Maddie, stop staring at Twitch's picture, you're giving me a complex."
She smacked his shoulder without turning from the proof. "It's a good picture, Twitch," she said again, a little softer. Then she seemed to collect herself and turned away to wrap her arms around Rane's neck. "All right, jealous boy, calm down."
Rane planted a possessive kiss on her lips and I looked away, feeling guilty.
Balzac pulled out his reading glasses. "You look pretty-like-a-girl," he grunted. "Better you than me, dude."
Pepper shot him a death glare and our hulking bassist immediately threw up his hands in surrender. "There is nothing wrong with looking like a girl. I apologize for my blatant sexism."
Pepper looked slightly mollified and I hid my laughter behind a mock-choking fit.
"Well, at least now I know what I'd have looked like if we were identical, huh Pep?"
My sister rolled her eyes. The question of whether male / female twins could be identical had plagued us both since we could remember. Yeah, we shared the same straight dark hair, the same long frames, even the same slightly upturned eyes. But identical? That was physically impossible. We'd shared the bath up 'til we were three. We knew we weren't identical. But somehow others still made that same stupid mistake.
Our manager finally blustered in from whatever phone call had kept him. "Fucking pop stars," he swore, mopping his brow. "I need a fucking drink."
"Got you covered, bossman," Keir called, shaking his flask invitingly.
"This is why you guys are my favorite clients," Keith sighed, allowing Keir to pour him one, and then another healthy shot. I settled back in my chair, and drummed out a quick riff on my knees. This business talk never concerned me. I was just along for the ride, like always. The Wilder Brothers, they were the ones who ran this show, and that was perfectly fine with me. I just wanted to play drums and have fun and hang out with this group of misfits that had become my family. Ruthless wasn't my show. Drummers are in the background. And I chose drums as my instrument very deliberately.
I tapped out another solo as my mind wandered.
Then Keith snapped his fingers in front of my face. "Lowell, this concerns you."
I shook my head. "What? Why?" I said, blinking and pretending to be woozy to general laughter.
Keith rolled his eyes. "This?" he tapped the screen where the proofs were on a slideshow. "This is going to make you all ridiculously rich."
"We already are," Rane pointed out smugly. Maddie socked him hard in the shoulder.
"What you've done in music is a drop in the bucket compared with what you can make in licensing. And this?" He tapped the screen and then pointed right at me. "This ad campaign is going to go viral as fuck in about twenty-four hours."
"I'll say," Maddie piped up. Rane frowned at her. "What? I'm saying, in my professional opinion."
"Your professional opinion as a female with functioning hormones," Keir interjected. "I see you giving Twitch the eye."
"I'm doing nothing of the sort!" Maddie protested. "I'm just saying, the copy is good, the pose is spot-on and he looks like a million fucking bucks. This "fragrance experience" idea you guys came up with might actually be a runaway success."
"What does it even smell like?" Balzac wondered.
Maddie shook her head. "Take my word for it. It doesn't even matter. The Princess Paisley perfume that had my name on it? It smelled like cheap cotton candy and air freshener, but it sold like crazy because it had a great ad."
"I remember that one," Pepper said, and the whole room turned to look at her in shock. "What? I do." She cast her eyes down. "I watched your show growing up, Maddie, and that ad made me want to smell like you." My sister blushed like mad and stared at her fingers.
Maddie was unfazed. "See? That's what I'm saying. I think more people knew about the perfume than they did the TV show."
"Exactly. Your music might not be everyone's taste," Keith huffed. "But everyone wants to smell like a fucking rock star."
"Smell like Twitch?" Keir grinned.
"That's just it, he's not Twitch anymore." Keith interjected, folding his arms. "He's the face of the fragrance that's supposed to be all about sex and Twitch is not a sexy name."
"Wait," I interrupted. Everyone was talking about me like I wasn't even in the room. "You're changing my fucking name now?"
"Not changing it. Going back to what it was.
"Lowell?" I snorted.
"Low?" I repeated, looking around the room. Rane's mouth quirked up. Keir cocked his head to the side, considering.
But when I looked at my sister, she was nodding vigorously. "Like when we were kids!" she exclaimed.
Maybe it was the fact that she sounded so happy that made me nod back. Making my sister happy had been my job for as long as I could remember. Because I was the only one who could.
I nodded back. "Okay, sure. What the fuck. I'll be Low again. Gonna take some getting used to, but yeah. Sure."
Keith made a mark on his paper, like he'd just crossed an item off his list. "Well get used to it quickly. Because your name is only the first step. A lot is going to fucking change for you, Twi- . I mean, Low."
"Oh," I deadpanned. "Awesome."
But inside I was panicking. What's going to change? I didn't want things to change from the way things were right now. Right now, things were pretty damn good. I'd had enough change to last me a lifetime in the past six years. Going from a teenaged garage band to the biggest fucking name in rock 'n' roll was the biggest and best change, of course. But along with that was the change in my general fucking happiness.
I had a family now. My band. We weren't related by blood. But the best families sometimes aren't.
"So we've got a fucking cover model as a drummer now," Keir mused as we walked down the hallway out of Keith's office. "I have no idea how I feel about this, to be honest."
"A fucking cover model with a new name," Rane clarified. "Which is going to mess with me, hardcore."
"Low?" I repeated for the millionth time as we pushed open the doors into the bright California sunshine. "That's a sexy name?"
"You're asking the wrong person," Keir said, grinning. "I'll ask Scarlett to weigh in, she's the writer."
"There he is!" The high pitched squeal of crazed female fans was familiar enough that I reacted on instinct and stepped behind Keir and Rane so that they could go sign autographs unimpeded. Balzac, Pepper and I continued on towards the rented car.
Perks of being in the background.
But then, shouted over the sound of whining and disappointment, came a confused voice. "Uh, Twi - er -Low?" Rane called.
I turned, and the squeals got louder.
"Dude," my bandmate smiled. "They want you."
Chapter 3
Zoe
I yanked the slim black pencil skirt upward. It made it to mid-thigh and then just stopped.
"No," I muttered, yanking harder. "No, no, no. Fit, dammit."
There was a sharp, popping noise. Swallowing hard, I whispered, "Please?"
But the black pencil skirt refused to acknowledge my begging and instead slipped slowly back down to the floor.
"Motherfucker," I breathed. Then quickly checked over my shoulder to make sure my brother wasn't in earshot.
I grabbed my phone and dialed Jason mid-air while I dove into my bed.
"Bitch?" He sounded out of breath. "You okay?"
"Are you okay?" I asked.
"I am decidedly not okay at the moment, no."
"Anything I can do?"
"Front me the money so I can put out a hit on my boss?"
"Darling, you know I would, but I am flat-fucking broke."
"I figured as much," he sighed. "Well, just come visit me in prison once I actually do murder her."
"Of course," I promised him. "Is this murder for any particular reason today or is this just generally what she has coming?"
"Fucking twat is keeping me late," he whined. "And Scarlett's thing is tonight!"
My heart sank right down to my toes. "Oh no! You can't come?"
I could hear the wind blast past the mouthpiece and knew he was emphatically shaking his head. "She's a prune-faced old harpy who wouldn't know fun if it licked her shriveled cunt," Jason exploded. Whenever he was angry, his swearing got very creative. I had to hide my laughter behind my hand. "Apparently, there's some pressing need for my nicely rounded ass to be parked in my desk chair this evening on the fucking off chance we get this grant she applied to. Which, I must add, we have no more chance of getting than I do of getting Channing Tatum to strip for my birthday."
"Channing Tatum will totally strip for your birthday someday," I soothed. Then I sighed heavily. "So you're not going with me? This is the worst news I've had in the past five minutes."
"What was the other bad news?" Jason asked, instantly supportive.
"Well," I stared accusingly at the black skirt that puddled on the floor of my bedroom. "It appears that a full year of lying around my house and eating my feelings of inadequacy has finally caught up with me."
"Uh oh."
"Yeah, uh oh. Nothing fucking fits, Jason. I am encased in a protective layer of sadfat."
"Okay that may be true, but your tits have never looked better, Zo."
I laughed. "You're just saying that."
"I am. I have no idea how tits should look. I assume round is the preferred shape. And yours are...."
"Round? Gee thanks." I sighed heavily. "I know it's a rockstar bacchanal, but I have to assume they'll frown on me showing up completely naked."
"So go buy something!"
"Excuse me? Were you not listening when I mentioned that I was flat-fucking-broke? I can't go."
"Over my dead body!" Jason thundered. "One of us has to go and report back on the rockstar debauchery. And since I can't on account of my thundercunt of a boss, it's on you, babe."
"Broke. Jason. I am broke."
"Bullshit. This is what credit cards are made for."
"I have like the tiniest bit of wiggle room left and I was saving that for an interview outfit."
"Blow it," Jason said decisively. "Seriously. You need tonight and you need to look hot as fuck while you're there. Listen, darling, I've seen this movie. The plucky young heroine spends her last dime on a killer outfit and uses it to take the whole place by storm." His voice rose higher as he got more and more excited. "This is your moment, the musical montage where you try on a bunch of outfits and come out in the one that turns you from frumpy to fabulous."
"This isn't a movie, Jason!" I laughed. "This is my life."
But Jason was too far gone. "You have to do this. For me, bitch. If you love me even just a little bit...."
"I am offended that you would even use the words 'little bit' to describe my love for you," I pouted.
"Whatever. Zoe Chandler, I command you. I am pulling rank as your gay best friend and full on ordering you to spend your last pennies on a slutty dress and then going to this party and dancing like the fabulous creature that you are."
"Holy shit, you're dead serious."
"I am. I will not speak to you if you don't."
"Bullshit. You could never not speak to me."
"Try me, bitch," he thundered. "You have three hours before this party starts. Get off the phone with me and go, now!"
"I'm watching Max!" I protested. "Oh shit, wait, my mom just got home."
"Out of excuses, bitch," he said smugly. "Go buy the dress."
"You're a pain in my ass, hooker," I seethed.
He laughed. "You wouldn't have it any other way."
Chapter 4
Low
I've been in a lot of limos, but this was the first one I ever rode in alone.
The driver, a big guy who looked liked a football player gone to seed, with watery, shifty eyes magnified by Coke-bottle lenses, stood next to the door, scrupulously avoiding eye contact until I was right up in front of his face. Then he wordlessly opened the door for me.
"Uh, hey dude," I said. "Name's Low." Then I grinned, proud of myself for not tripping up over the new moniker. "We gonna party tonight?" I asked.
"No sir," he replied, in the blandest voice I had ever heard.
He sounded bored out of his mind.
I could fix that.
"Nah, we need to! It's just you and me on the way to this thing, right? You don't have to pic
k anyone else up?"
"Orders are for you to come alone."
"Well, I'm not exactly alone, am I? What's your name?"
"Neal, sir."
"Nice to meet you, Neal, and don't ever call me sir again." I held out my flask. It was almost a twin to the one Keir liked to carry. He'd bought it for me for my birthday two years ago. Sort of an unspoken acknowledgment of my status as unofficial Wilder brother. Or rather, the redheaded Wilder stepchild.
And tonight it was filled with Gentleman Jack - because I was feeling fancy and shit - but I had no intention of drinking alone. "Have a drink," I encouraged him.
"Sir, I'm driving. And working."
"Oh." I felt like an idiot. "Makes sense."
Neal opened the door and I slunk into the back, feeling like a tool. I reached into my back pocket, suddenly seized with the desire to call Keith, cancel this bullshit and get out of the limo. It would feel fucking fantastic to slam the door on this whole ad nonsense. If I bailed on the party, then the whole thing would go down in flames and I could go back to being Twitch, drummer and background dweller, with nothing riding on his shoulders except music.
I sagged back into the leather seat and sullenly opened my flask. I couldn't do that. Of course I couldn't do that to my bandmates. I might be a screw-up, but I always showed the fuck up and did my job.
Somehow, this had become my job.
I took a swig, and then slid forward and tapped the glass. "Yo, Neal!"
"Yes sir."
"Stop calling me sir and put some music on."
"Of course, what would you like to hear?"
I waved my hand. "What do you want to hear, man? If you won't drink with me, we've gotta get this party started some other way."
"I don't really listen to music, sir."
I sat back. "Oh, Neal," I exhaled. "You wound me."
Was it my imagination or did I just see a ghost of a smile in the rearview? "I'm sorry sir. Used to. Blew out my eardrums going to punk shows in the seventies and now I've got wicked tinnitus."
"My man!" I reached over the seat. "High five for that!"