The Rosewoods Rock & Roll Box Set

by Katrina Abbott

  I’d originally thought Dave would be driving with us, but he’d finished his exams a couple of days earlier and was already in the city. He’d texted me on Wednesday to tell me he was leaving Westwood and had gone to Manhattan to sign all the contracts and meet up with the rest of the band. Now that school was out, and all the guys were together, rehearsals could begin in earnest.

  I was kind of glad they’d started already; as it was, I was going to have to spend a week with them before we all headed to the Hamptons, me to settle in for the summer and them for their last weekend to chill before tour began. At least the boys weren’t all staying in our Chelsea condo—dad had a separate apartment in our building for just this kind of thing. In fact, dozens of uber-famous musicians had stayed in that place. I could only imagine what the walls would say if they could talk. Maybe best not to know.

  But the band and some of the crew would be staying at our place in the Hamptons. Though thankfully only for the weekend—I was already concerned about being at such close quarters with Andres, but hoped there was enough at stake for him that he’d keep his distance. So far he’d pretty much left me alone, a good sign.

  “I am so excited!” Sandy sang as she grabbed her caramel macchiato and took a gulp.

  “You sure you need more sugar and caffeine?” I asked, eyeing the giant drink, concerned that it was something of a long drive, longer if she was going to be buzzing the whole way “You’re practically vibrating already.”

  “I am so jazzed,” she said, doing nothing to ease my concern. “I get to post the first real vlog tomorrow and then it’s all going to be crazy, I just know it. Those teasers your dad sent for me to post are working, too; I’m up another fifty-five thousand followers in the past two weeks.”

  “Wow, seriously?” I said, reaching for my own latte. “That is crazy-amazing, Sandy.”

  “I know, right?” She took another swig of her drink and then wiped her mouth with the back of her wrist. “I can’t even. I get to go on tour with what is going to be the hottest band of the summer. The hottest musicians...” She sighed all swoony-like.

  I looked at her sideways but didn’t say anything; words were unnecessary when she could read my mind.

  “Don’t worry,” she said with a cluck of her tongue and a giant eye-roll. “It’s all business, Vanessa. I won’t be jumping Dave or any of the other guys.”

  I glanced up at the rearview mirror and caught Gary’s eyes there. He did an eye-roll of his own and shook his head before returning his gaze to the road.

  “You’re nuts,” I said to my best friend.

  She just winked and tossed back another slug of her macchiato.

  While I’d spent a lot of time around my dad and the studio in the past, and had even done admin work for him the previous summer, I’d never been quite so involved in an active project. Maybe, this time it felt different because I knew Dave and felt closer to him than other musicians (it sure wasn’t because of Andres) but whatever it was, I was in the thick of it. And not just tour preparations, but all the stuff that went with launching a fledgling boy band, which was more than you’d ever imagine, because of the holistic approach Dad took to the process. Things like nutritional counseling, how to talk to press, and even a crash course on interpersonal skills and managing conflict (because, as Dad said, tour buses are very close quarters) were on the agenda along with daily workouts, fittings, massages and yes, grueling rehearsals.

  It was eye-opening for me, to say the least. For Sandy, it was beyond that: it was total chaos. But she seemed to be loving every second of it and taking it in stride. I seriously thought she could have a future in musician management or publicity if she wanted it. I kept that thought to myself, though, waiting to see how things panned out on tour (and if she’d manage to keep her hands to herself) but if all went well, I was definitely going to bring it up once she joined me in the Hamptons. Maybe if she was into it, Dad would offer her an internship for next summer.

  Speaking of my dad, Sandy had impressed him already with her willingness to help out in any way, even though she was really only there to profile the band and wasn’t even getting paid. She had quickly jumped in and became something like Linda’s unofficial assistant, happy to do whatever was needed. It was a side of her I hadn’t seen before—I mean, I knew she was motivated to do her vlog stuff, but she really was helping out in a big way and I was proud of her initiative and happy she’d found an outlet for all that energy.

  While my original plan was to leave Sandy to join them all at the studio so I could do some shopping on my own for most of the week, I have to admit I got a little caught up with what was going on with Wiretap. Maybe Dad’s and Sandy’s enthusiasm was contagious, or maybe I wanted to see their progress, but whatever it was, as I sat with Dad and Sandy at the breakfast table on Sunday morning, I was only two sips into my latte before I decided to join them at the studio. At least for part of the day...

  “So what’s on the boy band boot camp agenda today?” I asked my father as I cut a square of omelet using the side of my fork.

  Dad looked up from the latest issue of Rolling Stone that he was flipping through as he drank his second espresso. “Rehearsals, then I’m going to do some individual work with each of them while Kiki and Ginny take turns to do their image makeovers and try on final wardrobes. Then more rehearsal.” He smiled at me, looking tired already, but also excited at the same time. He loved this stuff, though it took its toll on him. “Tomorrow I have to go out to New Jersey to check on the tour fleet—they tell me the bus is almost ready—and we’ve got the choreographer coming in the afternoon.”

  “Choreographer?” Sandy asked, halting her fork halfway to her mouth, blueberries sliding off it. Most landed on her plate, but she chased one that rolled across the table and popped it in her mouth. “I thought it wasn’t going to be that kind of band: the kind that does choreographed dances.”

  “Generally not,” Dad said. “But maybe we’ll do one or two choreographed numbers and see how that goes. If nothing else, a couple of the boys could use some moves, if you know what I mean.”

  Sandy looked at me and then back at my father. “No, I don’t. What do you mean?”

  “Just that some of the guys aren’t the best dancers,” I said, reaching for the ketchup. “Obviously as musicians they understand rhythm, but that doesn’t mean they have moves. It never hurts to have them look like naturals.”

  “Just a little polish,” Dad said. “We want them to be the stuff dreams are made of—larger than life.”

  Sandy snorted. “Mission accomplished.”

  Dad smiled. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said and then his face got serious as he looked at Sandy. “So once the guys get their haircuts and manscaping done, you can start doing some of the interviews. I went through the list of questions you sent me and all look good except for a few that open the boys up to reveal too much personal information—we have to be careful you know. These guys all have families back home.”

  Sandy nodded.

  Dad took another sip from his tiny cup and went on. “I’ve asked Linda to fill in a few more questions, too—stuff that maybe you haven’t thought of, but info that we’d like out there.” He winked at Sandy. “I’m sure you don’t mind.”

  Sandy’s expression was like, are you kidding? But she just nodded and said, “Not at all. Whatever you need.”

  “Rex is coming to do some headshots this afternoon and then early tomorrow morning we’re doing a photo shoot in Central Park for social media and some merchandise. It’s going to be tight, but hopefully, we can get it all done by the start of tour. My printer’s on standby, so as long as we can pull a few amazing shots, we’re good. Maybe you girls can help us choose?”

  We both nodded. “Of course,” I said, speaking for both of us.

  Glancing up at the clock on the microwave, Dad said, “Great,” and then closed up the magazine as he rose. “Gary is picki
ng Linda up on his way in and will be downstairs in twenty minutes. Whoever is coming with us to the studio, better be ready to go by the door in eighteen.”

  Sandy was still in her pajamas; she squeaked and shoved a last forkful of food in her mouth before she jogged down the hall to her bedroom.

  Dad headed toward the hallway that led to his room, but then he stopped and turned back, his eyes on me. “Do you need a credit card today?” he asked, which was his way of asking if I was coming to the studio or was I going shopping.

  “No,” I said. “I’ll come help out.”

  As much as I could have used to get a couple of bathing suits and a big hat for the beach, I was curious to see the guys after Kiki got a hold of them. She’d been reluctant to do much back on the day of the end of year party other than some styling, but now that she had time to cut hair and do some real grooming, I knew the guys were going to transform from average cute guys to absolute heartthrobs. For some reason, I wanted to be there for it. Especially to see Dave. I mean, he was already cute (an opinion I would admit to no one), but I couldn’t wait to see his metamorphosis and not just because of what he’d look like, but I wanted to see how he would feel about it all. Even though he was only going to be a temporary fill in for the band, he was still getting the full rock star treatment. That had to be overwhelming and yet kind of amazing, even for someone like him who came from money.

  Thinking that made me wonder about Chris. Dad had said, back when Dave came on board, that he was on the mend and would join the band when he could, but was he nervous that he was going to lose his spot to his replacement? After what he’d told me back during spring break, I knew Chris was counting on the band being his family’s ticket to get out of financial hardship. I hated thinking that might all go down the toilet because of a sudden illness.

  “Hey Dad,” I said as he turned to go get ready.

  He stopped and looked back at me, eyebrows raised, waiting.

  “How’s Chris doing?”

  “Better,” he said, with a nod. “He’s out of the hospital and back home in Seattle, taking it easy. They’re hoping he’ll be good as new by the end of the month.”

  The end of the month was three weeks away. “You’re going to keep him, though, right? Even with Dave?”

  “Dave’s temporary,” he said, but the way he was clenching his jaw told me he wished otherwise.

  “Maybe he doesn’t want to be,” I said, feeling like maybe I was doing Dave a favor while I was betraying Chris at the same time. But...could there be room for six in his band?

  My father sighed and shook his head as he looked down. “I’m not sure what’s going to happen, Nessa. We have a lot to get through before we can deal with any of that. But as it is, we have a contract with Chris that extends to the end of summer, and I have every intention of honoring it.”

  I never would have expected less. “He needs the money,” I said unnecessarily. “For his family.”

  “I know. But it’s not just about that. He’s a good musician; that’s why I signed him in the first place.”

  “But Dave,” I said.

  Dad nodded. “Yes. I know.” He sighed. “I have a lot to think about. But in the interim, we’d better get over there, okay?”

  I don’t know why, but in that moment a warm and fuzzy feeling came over me, and I rushed forward to throw my arms around my dad.

  “Whoa! What’s that for?” he exclaimed but wasn’t exactly pushing me away. In fact, he pulled me in tighter.

  I laughed. “You’re a good guy, and you make dreams come true. Not a lot of girls can say that about their dads.”

  He squeezed me again and then let me go, holding my shoulders at arm’s length as he smiled down at me, his eyes glassy. “You’re a good kid. I love you, you know.”

  “I know,” I said, fighting tears. We didn’t have time for a big emotional thing there in the hallway so I shrugged out of his grasp and gently pushed him toward his room. “Ditto. Now, go get ready.”

  Five minutes later, after I’d stacked all the dishes in the sink for the housekeeper, there was a knock at the door. I went to answer and sighed when I looked through the peephole to see Andres standing in the hall. I looked over my shoulder, but Sandy and my father were still in their respective rooms getting ready. I cursed, not wanting to be alone with Andres, even for a second.

  He knocked a second time, though no one came to save me, so I squared my shoulders and grabbed the handle to open the door, schooling my face into an expression of mild annoyance.

  When he saw me, he looked conflicted and then he smiled. Then, he looked over my shoulder before flicking his eyes back to me, which made me take a step back from him. This all happened in the time it would take to blink twice, but it felt significant. Significant enough that it made me nervous. What did he want from me?

  “Is your father here?” he asked.

  I crossed my arms and gave him a curt nod. “Getting ready.”

  He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “The other guys went early, so can I ride with him?”

  “I’m sure that’s fine,” I said, uncrossing my arms to gesture toward the living room. “Have a seat. He should be ready in ten.” My normal instinct was to offer guests a coffee or glass of juice, but it was Andres, and my dislike for him won over my need to be a good hostess. After what he’d done to me, his comfort wasn’t my concern, apology notwithstanding.

  “Thanks,” he said as dropped into one of the brown leather club chairs, the one that faced the gas fireplace.

  Determined to look busy and not focused on him, I gathered my things off the coffee table and stuffed them into my bag: phone, notebook, charger. He seemed to zone out. Good; the last thing I wanted was to have to have a conversation with him. Small talk would be agony—awkward silence was a million times better.

  “You hate me,” he said suddenly and so softly that I had to look at him to make sure it hadn’t been my imagination filling the tense silence.

  He was still facing the fireplace, his angular face in profile. “What?” fell out of my mouth before I could stop it.

  He turned his head and looked at me, his chocolate brown eyes intent on mine. “You hate me after what I did. I understand why and I can’t blame you for it, but I wish you didn’t.”

  I stared at him stupidly, but he went on, obviously not needing any response from me. “Things are different now. I’m different now.”

  Do not let him charm you, I told myself as my resolve began to melt under the intensity of his eyes framed by those ridiculously long eyelashes. The stupid lashes that would be my downfall. Eyelashes, of all things. I looked down at my bag, digging around in it for something, anything.

  “Vanessa?”

  I shook my head, still rooting around, intent to find the whatever that continued to elude my desperately searching fingers.

  “Vanessa,” he said again and then out of the corner of my eye, I saw him get out of the chair and come over until he was standing in my bubble, making my entire body freeze as I held my breath.

  “Look at me,” he said. Somehow his voice was both gentle and commanding.

  “No,” I said, my fingers closing around a tube of lip gloss as though I’d been searching for it the whole time.

  “Please,” he said, and that one word sounded almost...vulnerable. Ugh. Vulnerability: my undoing. After eyelashes, of course.

  I straightened and turned my body to look up at him, resisting the urge to step back even though he was so close. Too close.

  “I know you don’t believe it. You think I’m a horrible person, and maybe I was, though it’s not like we even really knew each other...wait,” he said, holding up a palm as I opened my mouth to protest.

  “Please, hear me out. I am not making excuses for my behavior, but I was in a different place and didn’t understand then that you read more into it than I did. I thought we were just having fun and obviousl
y misread cues, misled you. I see it now, and I am very sorry that I hurt you. That was never my intention, and I do wish I could go back in time and do things differently. A lot of things, really.”

  His words were exactly what he was supposed to say, and his eyes seemed to be pleading with me for understanding, forgiveness. But I’d been sucked in before and had seen it happen a million times to others; so many people got caught up in the fancy speeches and crocodile tears that seemed to be in the musician’s seduction toolkit. I wouldn’t be suckered. Not again.

  But as I stood there under his gaze, I realized the mature thing would be to move forward. Calling a truce would make it easier to be around him. Not to mention that staying mad at and constantly angling to avoid a person can be exhausting. I was tired, to be honest. And now that he’d said all this, I was more tired than angry. Though I would never stop being wary.

  I crossed my arms again, bumping my elbows into his chest until he took a step back. “Fine. Apology accepted. Happy?”

  His dark eyebrows dipped into a frown as he tilted his head. “Happy? Not really. I don’t think you believe I’m being sincere. I really am different now. When I met you, well, let’s just say I had a lot on my plate and not the best manager looking after me. I made a lot of mistakes.”

  I wondered where this was going, but I didn’t say anything, waiting for him to continue.

  “He worked me hard, which I thought was good—I wanted to be successful, and I did launch well and climbed up the charts quickly. But he worked me like crazy and set me up for a burnout. I wasn’t eating, I wasn’t sleeping—all I did was perform and rehearse.”

  I gave him a withering look because he’d certainly found time to do other things; I was proof of it.

  He must have read my mind because he suddenly looked contrite. “Okay, so I had a small amount of time for other things between sets, but that was all part of the downward spiral. It’s hard not to get caught up in it.”