Voices Carry: A Rock and Roll Fantasy (The Rock And Roll Fantasy Collection)

by Diane Rinella

  I want to believe Jason’s proposal was genuine, but how can I when a circus is erupting around me? Even if it was, between his deceit with not telling me about his infertility, and now not helping me correct the lies the media is reporting, let alone having people call to sway me, Jason has left me no choice but to take action as well.

  The words, “I am NOT engaged!” begin my long-winded Facebook rant. He’s got every bit of every nasty word I type coming. Getting out my annoyance is cathartic. There is no doubt in my mind that telling him he is a useless wad is the therapy I need. However, when it comes time to hit the send button, I freeze.

  This isn’t how I believe in acting towards anyone. Calling out Jason only further blackens our situation. This post doesn’t set the record straight; it’s grandstanding. It’s deepening the whole we are in while tossing the dirt I am shoveling back on top of us. Besides, I’ve never been fond of airing dirty laundry, and I see no reason to lower myself now.

  I change my post to reflect a much simpler version of the truth. “Thank you all for your well wishes. However, the press has it wrong. Jason and I are moving forward in different directions. I wish him the absolute best.”

  I should have dumped him sooner, but I was only protecting his heart. It is possible he was trying to hold on to what we had, but how he handled it erased all of my fond memories of us and replaced them with pain. We shared so much that my heart is broken over the fact I’ll never be in love with him again. I can’t help but feel somehow, if we stay together, we will only destroy each other’s dreams.

  The wheels of my flight hit the ground in Chicago, and I’m quick to turn on my phone to call Dale. I will force myself to choke down dinner and relax with a couple of drinks. I’m also eager for serious guy talk—which means shooting the shit about nothing of emotional importance.

  Texts and voicemail notifications flood in, causing my phone to flicker like a disco ball. Is everything at work going to hell so badly that Darla is trying to track me down? Screw it. My boss was more than cool with me needing time off, so work can wait.

  With my carry-on in hand I head out to hail a cab. Again my phone chimes.

  Fine, Darla! I’ll look at your freaking text.

  “Seriously, Brandon. All of this weirdness with you has me worried. Call me, or I am calling the cops!”

  Geez, I can’t deal with this now.

  I slip the phone into my pocket only for it to chime again. “Thanks for the roses! How did you know pink ones are my favorite?”

  What the hell? I didn’t send her flowers.

  My heart jumps when the obvious hits. No, she didn’t say flowers; she said pink roses.

  The second Darla answers the phone, “What pink roses? I didn’t send those,” blurts out of me.

  “Well, duh.”

  “Why did you say that?”

  “Because I was running out of ways to get your attention.”

  “So you randomly thanked me for flowers I didn’t send?”

  “Pretty much.”

  My life is a freak show.

  Suddenly, Darla accosts me. “Brandon Wayne,” God, she reminds me of my mother, “I know you are a rational person, but lately you have been hearing voices. I’ve caught you zoning out at work and at the bar in front of the TV numerous times. I haven’t seen you eat anything other than toxic gumdrops in weeks. You look like you don’t sleep for more than an hour a night, and now you are flying out of town again. If I acted that way, I hope you would also turn into a giant pain in the ass and make sure I was okay.”

  My heart feels a little lighter. It’s nice to have someone concerned for me, especially when I am already pretty concerned about myself. Darla is right. I am not coming off as sane lately. “Thank you. I am okay but just barely. I called out because I need to put me first. I promise that, if I am not doing better in a few days, I will get professional help—and not a psychic. Now, I could use some good news. Tell me about your sister. Did she make it in yet?”

  “No. She was supposed to start today, but work made her an offer she could not refuse. They need her on set tomorrow to match some complicated makeup from last season. After that, she’s on the next flight out.”

  “Makeup? Bailey’s a makeup artist?”

  “Yeah,” Darla sounds as if I am dragging something out of her, “for that God-awful TV show you love.”

  “Me?” I don’t watch much TV. The only thing I have seen recently is—

  She has got to be kidding! I try to hide my excitement. “Bailey works on Vampires Undercover?” Crap, my voice cracked.

  “Yes,” she says with a groan.

  In one of my early visions, Katherine was in front of a makeup table. Now I get why the woman with her looked so familiar. Change Darla’s green eyes to brown, give her normal hair, and you have Bailey.

  “I am sure you can understand why I don’t tell anyone my sister gets to spend her days running her fingers all over Jason Day and that other smoking hot guy whose name I can never remember. They are waiting for Katherine Miller to get back from LA stupid-late tonight so Bailey can finish up tomorrow. Thank God. I can’t wait for this drama with Carlos to be over. Bailey also can’t wait to escape the drama of Katherine and Jason’s bogus engagement.”

  The tingle of adrenaline races through my body. “Bogus?” I ask, with my voice cracking in hope. “Did you say bogus?”

  Darla moans. “Yes, I swear, these actors and their drama. I tuned out half of the story, but apparently Jason set up the proposal so Katherine could not say no even though he knew she was about to dump him. Pretty damn ballsy, especially since he is now saying, ‘we need a chance to think things over’ as an excuse not to talk to her about the mess he has made.”

  That explains why I felt so bad before I even got the news. Katherine didn’t want that proposal. I can’t race Darla off of the phone fast enough. Right when I thought the game had ended the universe tosses me a message like this? There is no way this is a coincidence.

  I search for all Toronto-bound flights out of Los Angeles leaving late today. If she flies direct, there are only two options—one of which is with United. When I sensed her in the airport, it was in the United terminal. That has to be the right one.

  If I can catch a flight within the next six hours, I’ll be there when she lands. Our paths will cross, and this time it won’t be in mid-air.

  I pull the rock out of my pocket—the one I found at the beach that I have come to think of as an extension of both Johnny and myself. “Come on, buddy. We’ve got a girl to get back.”

  Our Love Will Last Forever

  With each tick of my watch, my heart seems to race faster. Even if I have all of the details right, this is going to be a close call. In the event Katherine’s flight got in early, I’m screwed.

  The second my flight is down, I am up, grabbing my carry-on bag, and shoving my way through the passengers as they flood the isle. “Sorry,” I holler, “my wife’s having a baby, and I’m about to miss it.” Most people step aside and offer congratulations while others give me death glares. Why didn’t I think to fly first class so I could be ahead of everybody else and not have to be an asshole?

  My feet sprint across the tile as I head towards the baggage claim, all the while keeping my eyes peeled in case she is still in the terminal. At least arriving at an ungodly hour gives me the advantage of running through a near-vacant airport. When I reach the escalator, my body starts going haywire, much like it did the last time I was at this airport right after she was here. Although I only have one guy to pass, I again play the wife-in-labor card, lift my bag over my head, and race down. Someday karma is going to bite me in the ass for this.

  Finally, I reach the baggage claim for her flight.

  Empty. Not a single bag awaits anyone. Son of a—

  A cab! She needs a cab! If that fails, I’ll head toward long-term parking. It’s a hell of a long shot, but at this point I have to keep running. Worst-case scenario, I will call Darla, tell her I wound
up in Toronto, and offer to help Bailey move.

  Yeah, how the hell am I going to explain that I happen to be on the other side of the continent? Darla will have me locked up, which is all the more reason why I have to find Katherine now.

  The line of cabs is a mile long. Why are there so many this late at night? If she needed a ride, she’s gone. Long-term parking is my only hope.

  Pressure begins to build in my head. At first I think it is the stress of the moment and start to sprint off. Then the sound of my heart valves pops in my ears, and I halt. She’s here! Katherine has to be near.

  I spin, slowly panning the area to catch sight of the woman who is affecting my senses. A few feet away stands a lady with her head hung low while reading something on her phone. Her hair is up in a scarf, and despite the fact it is night, she’s wearing sunglasses. That has to be her.

  She steps up to the curb, and the cabbie gets out.

  I brave turning on my phone for the first time since I left the hotel in LA. My Facebook post about Jason and I going our separate ways has gone viral. While the rumor mill continues to churn, now that I have stated my side I feel peace is deserved.

  As soon as it finishes booting, my phone enlivens with notifications of missed calls and texts, including one from Jason. The last I heard from him was yesterday—the day after his proposal—when he finally sent me a text in response to my messages asking him to call off the reporters. All he said was, “I think we need a chance to think things over.”

  Thinking things over should have meant giving me time, not making me battle reporters, let alone have to deal with the people he tried to get to speak on his behalf. Did he have to bug poor Bailey? She has enough problems of her own with moving this week.

  I take a look at the phone and absorb the words he sent before my flight took off, “I know seeing each other tomorrow will be rough, but I am certain you and I will make the best of this. We always do.”

  Yes, Jason, we have always made the best of everything, and in some ways that is the problem. Sometimes making the best of something is more making do than it is growing together. I can’t see making do by saying yes even though that is clearly what you think is best.

  Another text chimes in. The timestamp on this one shows it was sent about an hour after my flight took off. “Don’t worry. What I have waiting for you will make you feel much better. See you soon.” Does the guy not let up? Times such as this make me wonder how I ever loved him. Thing is, I did, and in many ways always will.

  “Where to, lady?” the driver asks. I give him the address of the studio and start to slip into the back.

  Footsteps race up, and I freeze. Jason did say he has something to make me feel better, so I’ve sort of been expecting him to ambush me. Then again, he probably wouldn’t risk making another scene. Or would he? I just don’t know anymore.

  “Hi,” a man’s voice says. “That’s near the Excelsior, right? Would you mind splitting the fare?”

  I’m so relieved it isn’t Jason, or someone we know, again trying to talk me out of saying no, that, “Sure,” slips out. As long as the ride is peaceful, maybe company will keep my stress at bay. Heaven only knows what questions I will face at work.

  The man gets in yet minds his distance. There is a touch of nervousness in his eyes. It is contradictory to what I would expect based on his studded, leather jacket. While it and his combat boots show he has the fashion sense of a modern-day punk, his pressed, white dress shirt and jeans that look well-loved yet neat and perfectly clean, pique my fascination. I remove my sunglasses for a better look.

  “Where did you say you were going?” the driver asks him.

  “The Excelsior, but please take care of the lady first.” He looks to me with a gentlemanly smile. Given the recent circus my life has been his politeness is deeply appreciated.

  The driver pulls out, and the man looks to the road as if trying not to stare at me. Could it be he recognizes me even though I am without my signature makeup and colored contacts? If so, this will only be the second time that has happened.

  The way the streetlights hit him showoff the gentleness of his features, yet there is a slight ruggedness about him. Actually, it’s more of an edge. His kind demeanor seems genuine, yet it doesn’t scream pushover. I’m intrigued.

  He turns and offers his hand. “Hi, I’m Brandon.”

  There is a sweetness about him that nearly forces me to smile. “Katherine,” I say, reaching for his hand. At the touch, a zap races through my fingers and up into my heart, softening the stress of the last few days. I’ve had guys sweep me off my feet with their looks and woo me with their charm, but never has one brought me such instant comfort.

  He seems to search for words. “Are you here on business?”

  “Sort of. I live here because I work here.” Something about him seems familiar. Do I know him?

  “Oh, where are you from?”

  After two days of choosing my words carefully to anyone who will listen, basic small talk with a nice stranger is comforting. “Seattle, originally. You?”

  “Detroit, but I live in Los Angeles now.”

  I nod. “I lived in LA for a while. Part of me really misses it, another part is thankful I’m not there anymore. There’s a lot of pressure in that town.” Shoot, in this business there is always a lot of pressure, even when life is going well. Hardly a day goes by I am not stressed to the gills.

  He blows out some air as if he feels my pain. “Yeah, no kidding.” Maybe he is an industry person. He seems so darn familiar. I’m pretty sure that if I had seen him before, I would remember him, but his features are not what is grabbing me, it’s … him. Gosh, this is weird.

  My cell phone chimes, and the fear of who it could be brings pressure to my head. Please, don’t let it be more Jason drama. Let it be news that the shoot is pushed back a few hours. I would not exactly mind a nap.

  On second thought, a cup of coffee with a nice stranger sounds even better.

  My stress races back the second I get a look at the screen.

  “By now you should have been greeted by my messenger. What do you say? Can we talk about this?”

  His messenger? My shoulders drop in exasperation. I’m such a fool. This Brandon guy must be some hack Jason hired to butter me up for the big sell. No wonder why he came dashing up as I was getting in the cab, even though there were other cabs around and thus no need to share mine. And no wonder why he is nervous; he has a job to pull off. Hell, his nerves could have gotten rattled because he didn’t recognize me right away and thought he screwed up. Before I gave him my name, he was probably worried that he got into the wrong car.

  I have to hand it to Jason. He managed to make me a captive audience. He blew it by exposing his hand though. If I wasn’t so damn tired of this crap, I’d ignore the text and see where he intends this to go. Instead, I have zero interest in whatever message this guy has. In fact, the more I look at him, the more the pressure in my head builds and my blood starts to boil.

  “Really?” I ask indignantly while staring straight at Brandon. “You’re the messenger? Why did Jason think you were the one to send?” He looks like his brain is sputtering. I thrust the phone into his face and show him the text. “I’ve seen Jason manipulate people before, but who are you?”

  The driver jumps in, “Lady, are you okay?”

  I almost say I am fine so I can hear Brandon’s excuse and find out what Jason’s game is. However, after forcing myself to remain calm for the last two days despite all of the drama around me, I have reached my limit. “No! I am anything but okay!”

  The driver pulls the car over and jumps out. A look of panic hits Brandon’s face. It is pretty convincing. “You’ve got it all wrong,” he says with his words racing out. “I’m a marketing guy for a candy company that makes terrible gumdrops. I don’t even know Jason Day.” The driver yanks the door open and starts pulling Brandon out, but he resists. “Please, let me explain. No dream ever goes unheard.”

  Wha
t the hell is he talking about?

  The driver pulls harder and finally gets the guy out. Still, he keeps sputtering gibberish. “Sometimes you have to remind yourself the pain of your reality can be erased by the beauty of your dreams.”

  Of all the crap Jason would have him pitch, what is this supposed to mean? “Even if Jason didn’t send you, you are clearly crazy.”

  “We talked on Facebook!”

  My eyes roll. How many times have I heard that song and dance? This guy is quite the piece of work. Either he is nuts or Jason had a contingency plan that if all went haywire, the guy was to act like a stalker and make me think Jason has nothing to do with this. Regardless, I’m done. “Go away!”

  The driver slams the door and gives Brandon a death glare, yet Brandon leans down to the window and yells to me, “Wait! Bailey! We have a mutual friend! No, but sort of. I can explain!”

  Oh, man! Not the Bailey card again. Wasn’t Jason trying it once enough? This guy isn’t even playing it well. He sort of knows her? Yeah, that’s a great excuse for when she has no clue who I am talking about. I’m not even gonna tell her about this one. If I did, Jason would lose his balls, not that I would mind. Bailey has bigger problems than facing jail time.

  The driver tosses Brandon his bag and screams something about repositioning his head to another part of his body, yet the guy won’t give up. “Dammit, Saleena!”

  The driver hits the gas so hard the tires squeal. “Don’t worry, lady. I’ll have you at the studio in a flash.”

  We speed down the road, and just being away from the guy causes my anger to quell. Regardless, I’m so stunned by the event I can barely think to text Jason back. “How dare you play games with me! Who was that guy? You have finally managed to get me to flip from being distraught to pissed!”

  Jason has me totally blindsided and feeling I am missing the obvious. What is this game about?

  My phone chimes. “What guy?”