Max Cocker (Cocker Brothers Book 15)

by Faleena Hopkins

  Don’t let what just happened fuck with your directing her.

  Forcing a smile I walk her to the door, feeling not nearly as in love with this creative relationship as I did. “You get home okay now,” I offer.

  “You’re so cute.”

  My smile thins and I shove my hands in my pockets. “Night.”

  “Goodnight, Max.” The girl glides to her car like the world is her runway.

  You own the world.

  When her headlights light up I give her a wave for good manners. She blows me a kiss from behind her steering wheel. Blows me a fucking kiss.

  As soon as I deadbolt the door, I groan, “Oh fuck, no no no to all of that.”

  Kicking off my sneakers I head for the bathroom that used to be my father’s, and wash my face with water as cold as I can get it. Drying off I open my eyes wide and stare at myself a second before digging out my phone and walking back into the loft.

  “Max,” Dad answers, a question in his voice. “It’s after ten. Everything okay? You never call this late on a Saturday.”

  “Yeah, Dad, I’m good. What, are you sleeping already? Don’t get old on me.”

  He chuckles and corrects me, “I meant I’d expect you to be out. Isn’t this the night the women are running after you?”

  I mutter, raking my hair back, “I just had to turn one down right here in my own home.”

  “You’re kidding. Did you get her all the way to bed before you changed your mind?”

  “Nah. It’s complicated. Didn’t call about that though. Dad, I just had a thought. When you were finally done with Bernie, were you disgusted with her?”

  He’s silent. “Are you really doing a film about me?”

  “I told you I was.”

  “Max,” he sighs. “Do I have to watch this thing?”

  “You probably won’t want to.”

  A dry chuckle comes through the phone. “I can guarantee I won’t. Why are you doing this?”

  “Can you tell me how you felt. Were you disgusted? Because I just got a glimpse of how a good feeling can switch just like that.”

  Resolved to answer as honestly as he can, my father huffs his resistance out his nose and begins, “Yes, I guess in a way I was. But mostly at myself. Maybe at Bernie, too. You know, when you’re in love with someone and they keep hurting you, you can only take it for so long. In the beginning of the downfall, I cried in my car. Then I got hard and cold, no feelings. After a while, yes, I became disgusted. But a lot of that was at the disease. It’s a disease, Max, make sure you put that in your film. It’s important.”

  “I have,” I whisper, kicking the wall with my toes. “Thank you for explaining all of that. But—”

  He interrupts me, “One other thing. When your mother came into the picture, that’s when my feelings for Bernie really shifted. She’d been to my place, where you live now, high and begging for help before. But when she showed up when Sarah was there I wanted her gone in a big way. I didn’t want anyone coming between this feeling I had for your mother. But she was a saint, Max. Total saint. Never ceases to impress me how she handled that situation.” He pauses, voice changing, more clinical, less thoughtful. “So if you’re looking for a way for your lead character to be done with Bernie, have him meet someone who makes him realize what’s possible. That answer your question, son?”

  “Yeah, thanks Dad.”

  “I probably won’t see your film.”

  Walking to my jacket I ask, “What’s Hunter up to tonight? Any idea?”

  “If I knew I’d win a spying medal. Your brother is as evasive as hell.”

  I glance to my watch, tap it a couple times to turn down the lights in my home. “Dad, I’ve gotta go. Thanks for everything.”

  “Love you.”

  “I love you, too.” We hang up and I scan for my keys, hurry to snatch them from the coffee table, and dash out to my Jeep.

  The phone rings and Hunter’s voice comes through my car’s sound system. “You looking for me?”

  “What the fuck, you have my place bugged?”

  “Dad called.”

  “That quick?”

  “We never talk long.”

  “Want to go to a strip club?”

  Dude still has no emotion in his voice as he deadpans, “Sure. Name it.”

  “Ah fuck, I don’t know which she’s working at tonight.”

  “This that stripper who’s producing your film?”

  My lip curls. “That’s what we’re going to find out.”

  “If she’s producing—”

  “NO, if she’s a stripper!”

  “What do you care if she is or not?”

  “Just Google The Dollhouse and Southern Comfort, and pick one.”

  “Don’t need to Google them. I know where all of them are.”

  “If I wasn’t so irritated I’d laugh.”

  Hunter picks the first one and says, “Come get me. I’m at my apartment.”

  “On my way.”

  No more lame rehearsals where I’m not mentally present. I’ve worked too hard and I’m blowing it because Natalie is walking through my brain at all hours of the day.

  It’s like she left her scent in my home.

  Everywhere I turn I smell her.

  It’s in my damn head, I know it.

  But it feels so real.

  CHAPTER 27

  M AX

  Hunter and I came up empty so we dropped by Swinging Richards as a final ditch effort because it was on the way. Walking in we’re assaulted by Christmas decorations.

  “Pretty cool what they’ve done to these.” Tucking away the fake ID he showed the bouncer outside, my ginger-haired brother shrugs, “I’m down with it.”

  “Better than the cheesy laser lights you expect.”

  “I don’t mind those either,” he smirks, heading for the bar. “Okay, if she works here she’s a cocktail waitress because she doesn’t you know, have a cock.”

  I motion to the male bartender who’s wearing red spandex shorts with a reindeer nose hanging off them. He walks over, jogs his chin to us. “What can I get for you?”

  My brother motions to the guy’s crotch and says, “So is that Swinging Rudolf?”

  The bartender rolls his eyes. “Third time in two hours I’ve heard that.”

  Hunter slouches. “Oh, fuck,” and turns to the stages where naked Santas are dancing. “Bet they’ve heard the joke of sitting on their laps.”

  “We’ll take a couple Sweetwaters on tap.”

  The guys heads off. “You got it.”

  I smack my baby brother’s head. “You’re an idiot.”

  “I’m usually very funny. This isn’t my crowd.” Leaning back on the barstool he rests his elbows behind him, watching the show while I pay for our beer. “Guess Caden couldn’t make it on your stalking mission, huh?”

  “He’s on call. And I needed a drink.”

  “Beer barely qualifies, but okay.” We tap our pints together and nod a silent toast, eyes scanning the room.

  “I see no women. Except customers.”

  “Audience members,” he corrects me.

  “I bet they call them patrons,” I volley back.

  Hunter takes a sip and shakes his head, glancing to me. “They call them walking ATMs.”

  Smiling, “That’s funny,” I glance over to the announcer introducing Father Time. A silver-haired man appears in a long robe. My brother and I exchange an impressed look as half our beers disappear during the older guy’s dance.

  My brother, only eighteen, dips his chin appreciatively. “I hope I look like that when I’m ancient.”

  “Nowadays that’s still young.”

  “He’s someone’s grandpa.”

  “Wait, he might not have kids.”

  Downing the last of his lager, Hunter reminds me, “He can be gay and still have kids.”

  “I meant he might not want kids. You don’t have to be gay to not have children.”

  “Oh, well, whatever. You pay t
he tab?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Your girl’s not here.”

  The bartender overhears us and asks, “Which girl are you lookin for?”

  I cover my brother’s face with my palm before he says something stupid again. “No, it’s an actual girl I thought might be here.”

  Picking up a bar towel he wipes his fingers. “Your girlfriend have a thing for strip clubs, that you don’t like?”

  “She’s not my girlfriend. I was looking for…” My words die on my tongue.

  Hunter smirks at me. “Go on. Tell him what you’re doing here. Because it sounds so sane.”

  “Let’s go home.”

  “No, I want to hear this. Explain to the man!”

  Stifling a smile I lock eyes with our scantily dressed bartender who’s holding the counter with a question in his eyes.

  “My kid brother is a pain in my ass. Ignore him.” I head out.

  But Hunter doesn’t follow. Jumping off the stool he deadpans his explanation. “My adult brother is looking for a woman named Natalie who does the bookkeeping here, presumably.”

  “Why does he want Nat?”

  “Nothing, never mind,” I tell him, wrapping my arm around Hunter’s neck.

  As I drag him out he shouts, “She’s the producer on his film and he likes her!”

  “Shut the fuck up,” I groan, tossing him on the street. Scrambling not to fall, he manages to stay upright even though he’s laughing his ass off. We’re the same height but I’ve got a man’s body and Hunter just ain’t there yet. When I was eighteen my shoulders were that narrow, too.

  “What? We were wasting time, Max!”

  I point to my Jeep. “Get in!”

  “You still don’t know what Natalie does! Is she a stripper? Is she counting dimes? Does she clean the floors, what?”

  Glancing back I look over at the bouncer. From the tense yet curious glow to his eyes, he knows her, but wouldn’t talk even if I tried.

  Climbing in, our seat belts automatically tighten around our bodies, “I just realized how nuts I’m being.”

  “Told you.”

  “When?” I demand, backing out.

  “Well I didn’t tell you with words.” Spreading his arms out like ‘Ta Da’ he says, “I showed you.”

  Sucking on my teeth as we pull onto the road I think about it. “You think you’re pretty smart, don’t you?”

  Rolling down his window, he smirks, “I know I am, Max. I know I am.”

  CHAPTER 28

  N ATALIE

  O n my way home from being stuck in Paul’s office under his watchful eye, I decide to stop at Swinging Richards to have a peek at how the décor looks with actual people in the club. There are no windows in the place, of course, so I was able to see how the lighting I installed looked in the dark, but I can’t help but be curious about the response.

  If the patrons like my decorations then maybe there’s something I’ve done that isn’t shit.

  Pulling into the parking lot I nod to the bouncer, climb out and leave my purse in the car. With Boone guarding the front of the property nobody would dare mess with my car, or anyone else’s. He’s the size of three men and angry-looking to boot.

  “How’s it going, Boone?”

  He nods, “Nat.”

  As I head inside he grabs my arm, lowers his already deep voice to a rumble. “Some guys were here looking for you.”

  I react with a start. “What? Who?”

  “Nat, I don’t know what you’ve got goin’ on, on the side, but they were Cockers. And people here won’t like that.”

  My face turns to stone, my best defense. “I have no idea why they were asking about me. Or who they even were.”

  Boone regards me with a knowing look. “I’m lookin’ out for you because you’ve always been nice to me. The knowledge stops here. I didn’t see nothing.”

  Frowning I touch his arm on my way in. “Thank you, Boone.”

  His hands clasp over his stomach as he returns to his statue-like watch over the business.

  The Winter Stripper Wonderland I created is an assault on the senses after that news. Was it Max? Boone used a plural so it was at least two members of the Cocker Family. Max told me his parents were concerned with my working in a strip club. Were they checking up on me? Are they really that protective of their son?

  I distractedly scan the club. There are more people here than normal and they all look a little freaky to me in my disturbed state.

  “Hey Robert, I need a drink.”

  Grabbing Belvedere vodka from the shelf, my favorite bartender strolls over without his usual smile. “Hey Nat.” He scoops ice into a bucket-glass and pours.

  “Looks like there are more women here tonight.”

  Nodding he glances around the club before reaching for a lime to squeeze. “Last night, too.”

  “Yeah?” I cock an eyebrow and take a seat on the sturdy barstool. “My evil plan is working.”

  “I’m getting a lot of Rudolf jokes about my cock,” he mutters, handing me my drink.

  Rolling my eyes I sigh, “Oh, sorry.”

  “But the tips are better.”

  “Yeah? Small price to pay then.”

  He locks eyes with me as I take a sip. “Never say small in reference to a man’s penis.”

  “Noted.”

  Glancing around again he leans over the bar, volume dropping. “Nat, some guys were here looking for you. Members of the Cocker family.”

  Staring at Robert a beat I gauge whether he’s friend or foe. Unsure, I take the safe route again. “Don’t know anyone in that family.”

  With a warning in his eyes he says, “Didn’t think you did. Because Paul wouldn’t want you involved with them in any way.”

  My heart picks up speed. “Paul has nothing to worry about.”

  “It’s not Paul who needs to be worried.”

  “What are you saying?”

  He motions for me to wait as a group of laughing and excited women approach the bar ready to spend money. “How are you sexy ladies doing tonight?” he smirks.

  “Better now!”

  “Merry Christmas to me!”

  I let their voices blur as I search for a way to get out of this. Or find more information. I don’t spend a lot of time in this particular club since Paul’s main office is in The Dollhouse but I used to feel he and I were on the same wavelength, the way you are with your tribe. I haven’t spoken to A.J. about this again. He’s on a date tonight, not here dancing.

  I have to take a chance.

  Can’t keep running.

  Circling the ice with a short straw, I bide my time until the women are served and the flirtation has moved to the stages.

  Robert notices I’m still here and returns. Gathering courage, I ask him in a hushed voice, face calm and betraying nothing, “What does Paul have against the Cockers?”

  “Dunno for sure.”

  “Take a guess.”

  He grabs a bar towel and starts wiping bottles to look busy. There are cameras everywhere to protect the dancers and the cash. Thank God they don’t have sound. “There’s a gambler in town who came up against the retired Senator a while back.”

  Justin Cocker, Max’s uncle and his dad’s twin brother. I blink at my drink and ask, “And Paul and this gambler, are they friends?”

  “Business partners,” Robert offers me a smile like I said something amusing. In a louder voice he adds for the benefit of one of the club’s bodyguards who happens to pass by, “Next thing you’re going to have me wear are green Speedos with a candy cane up my butt.”

  The bodyguard chuckles and throws me a look.

  I play along, “What about you, Al? Why aren’t you wearing the Santa suit? Still all black? Boring!”

  “Nice try, Nat” he rumbles, heading away. “Won’t get me in one of those things.”

  When he’s out of earshot, Robert says, “All I know is your friends shouldn’t show their faces here again if they want to stay pretty. We’
re done talking.”

  “Who was it? Just tell me that.”

  “Couple of guys. Hot as fuck. One was a ginger. Other dark hair, green eyes.”

  “Hair kinda curly?”

  “Yep.”

  I nod, sucking on my straw until all the vodka is gone. Setting it down I search for my purse and frown, “Shit, I left my wallet in the car.”

  “Tip’s on me tonight…be careful.” He crosses to help eager customers and I dismount the stool like my heart isn’t beating a mile a minute.

  I dip my chin as I walk outside. “Goodnight Boone.”

  He watches me get into my BMW. As I back up, I see him in the mirror still watching me. Shuddering I pull onto Northside Drive, and hit the gas hard. “Fuck,” I whisper, slapping the steering wheel, wishing I’d never taken this job. Paul is connected to an illegal gambling ring. What did I expect? That he was heavy in philanthropy? I’ve seen the numbers of his books but nothing looked peculiar to me. Then again I just thought his clubs were pulling in the cash from dancing alone. Assumed he was that wealthy because of their success. He dominates Atlanta’s strip scene. But now I’m doubting that money is from where he claims. And I’ve been the one hiding it, haven’t I?

  A tear slips down my cheek and I curse, wiping it away, furious at myself for being so naïve.

  CHAPTER 29

  M AX

  She hasn’t returned my calls or texts. No word about rehearsal. Shooting began this morning and Natalie’s not here. I’ve called my sisters to help. Only Samantha showed up. “What do you want me to do, Max?”

  Frustrated I hand her the contracts. “Have the actors sign these by the end of the day. And these are the time sheets from SAG/AFTRA. We have to break for lunch by noon or I could get fined. Watch the clock.”

  “Okay,” she frowns, looking at the paperwork like it’s a pile of maggots. Samantha is an artist, too. Contracts, small prints, and spreadsheets are her enemy. “I’ll do my best.”

  “Thank you.” Raking angry fingers through my hair I head to where we’ve staged the opening party scene. I’ve got a slew of film school friends acting as background today. “Hey everyone, we’re almost set to go. You know the deal, no actual talking except for Jaden and Marnie. Move your lips, act normal. Gesture with your hands, but not too much. Don’t want to pull focus. You’ve all been at parties, I know that for sure! And Mike, don’t get so real that you fall down drunk, okay?”