Taking the Lead (Secrets of a Rock Star #1)

by Cecilia Tan

  I brushed her hair off her forehead. “Can I ask? How did she die?”

  “I have a lot of questions about that, too.” She hesitated before going on. “All they told me when I was a child was that she had an accident. I heard it was on a film set. But my grandfather eventually told me more. My parents had flown to Italy to hang out on the set of some art film no one cared about and somehow her death involved ropes, possibly some kind of bondage scene. I suspect it was my father’s fault. He’s been drinking himself into a stupor ever since.”

  She said all that almost emotionlessly. I supposed she was all cried out. If anything, once she was done giving me the explanation, she seemed relieved. I smiled at her and a tiny half-smile flickered onto her face in answer.

  I shifted a little more onto my back and draped her arm across my chest. “Wow. No wonder.”

  “No wonder what?”

  “No wonder you’re so skittish about BDSM.”

  “Tsk. I’m not skittish about BDSM. I’m just … not that into it.”

  I managed to keep from laughing out loud. She wasn’t joking. She really believed she wasn’t kinky. I refrained from pointing out that me tying her wrists had practically sent her instantly into orgasm that time in the limo. “Ricki. Just what exactly is it you are into, then?”

  She rolled over and draped her chin on my chest instead. “You, you insufferable bastard.”

  “Uh-huh. So you only get off on being bossed around, humiliated, and taken to the point of surrender because I’m into it? If so, you deserve an Oscar for great acting.”

  “It’s complicated,” she admitted.

  “It always is, which is why it’s fun.” I petted her hair. “I’m glad you’re not running away now. Hard-to-get isn’t one of my fetishes.”

  “Yeah, well, who am I kidding? It wasn’t you I was running away from. It was … all the crap in my head.”

  I asked as casually as I could. “What are you really afraid of?”

  “Well, for one thing, how much longer are we going to be able to keep the dungeon a secret? It was easy in the fifties when there were only three TV stations and no Internet and no cell phone cameras. Now? I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

  “What happens if people find out, though? They titter about it for a while and then what? It’s not like you pay an actual shame tax. How does it actually hurt you?”

  “Maybe it’s different when you’re a male rock star and everyone expects you to fuck everything that moves,” she said with a little wistful smile at me. “But when you’re a woman, and you’re in the entertainment business, getting tagged with the ‘slut’ label instantly invalidates you as a person. You become a second-class citizen.”

  “If you care about what other people think, yeah.”

  She gave me a be serious look. “I have to care about what other people think. Because what they think is important for my career. When I go into a development meeting I need people to listen to me, not be thinking, why is the slut talking? Or worse, stealing my ideas because they think they’re morally superior and so it’s okay to do that to me.”

  “Well, okay, but why do you work at Blue Star, anyway? Ricki, if there’s a movie you want to make, don’t you have the money to bankroll anything you want? Or am I wrong about how much your family’s worth?”

  She pressed a kiss against my pec. “I don’t trust you enough yet to tell you.”

  “Touché, that’s fair. You know I’ve been sworn to silence about the dungeon, though. That lawyer of yours, man, he’s scary.”

  “Scary in what way?”

  “It was made clear to me in no uncertain terms that crossing him means ruin. When he says, ‘you’ll never work in this town again’ he can make it happen.”

  “Schmitt is a total pain in my ass, too.” She gave another of those heavy sighs. “The terms of my grandfather’s will are pretty strict.”

  “Please tell me they don’t prohibit letting horny rock stars tie you up and torture you,” I joked.

  “Nope. In fact—” She paused as one of our cell phones rang. “That’s my ringtone.”

  “Mine, too.” I grudgingly got up and determined it was my phone in the pocket of my jeans on the floor. Christina calling. I answered. “Yep.”

  “Where in the heck are you?” She always said it that way: “in the heck.”

  “Um, nowhere. Where are you? Was I supposed to be somewhere?”

  “You disappeared without saying good-bye!”

  “Sorry about that, Chris. The thing went good, though, didn’t it? Did you make lots of money?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Great. Call me tomorrow.”

  “Don’t forget that thing at the Capitol Records building is tomorrow!”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be there. Gotta go now, bye.” I hung up before I could get sucked into any more.

  But Ricki had looked at her own phone and was now texting madly with someone. It seemed talk and cuddle time was over.

  RICKI

  I told him. I told him and it didn’t kill me. That was the thought going through my head as I scrolled through about a million increasingly frantic texts from Gwen. I’d been dreading talking about it for so long, and all that happened was … I found out what a loving and caring guy Axel could be. My phone buzzed in my hand: another one. Paul this time, with an urgent question. I texted him back quickly while looking for my shoes.

  I met Axel’s eyes. “I need to go.”

  “I know.” He hadn’t put his clothes back on yet and held his phone in his hand against his bare thigh. He stood up and slipped a hand around my waist as if he didn’t want to let me go until he really had to.

  “We’re still on for Saturday?” I asked.

  He brightened immediately, his brilliant smile making me want to kiss the upturned corners of his mouth. “You bet.”

  I kissed the upturned corners of his mouth, said “See you then,” and then hurried out before I could be tempted to stay. The real world was starting to press in on me again and the longer I waited to catch up with all the people who had chosen the moments while I was alone with Axel to text me, call me, e-mail me, and so on, the worse it would get. I got into my car and plugged in my phone so I could control it from the steering wheel.

  The first person I called, before I even got the car moving, was Gwen.

  “Ricki!” She picked up on the first ring. “Where did you run off to? Or should I say with whom?”

  “Oh no, was it that obvious?” I checked for hickeys in the rearview mirror and found none visible. Good. I eased the car to the exit of the parking lot.

  “No, silly, only to me and Sakura, since I was looking for you and she was looking for Axel. I take it you guys made up.”

  “What do you mean, made up? We were never fighting.” Me telling him to get lost was not the same thing as fighting, after all.

  Gwen wasn’t buying it. “Riiiight.”

  “Axel is great. And I have a date for him to come over Saturday for tea.”

  “Tea.”

  “We have a lot to talk about,” I insisted. I found myself in downtown traffic and looked for the entrance to the freeway. “Anyway. Your text said you heard from Schmitt?”

  “He has the worst timing. You know how he keeps putting off meeting with us?”

  “Yes.”

  “He sent a message saying that tonight was his only chance this week, when he knew perfectly well we would both be at this fundraiser. It’s frankly a lame attempt to make it look like it’s our fault we haven’t had this meeting yet when he’s the one dodging us.”

  “I agree. What do we do about it?”

  “Well, here’s the thing, I told him we could video conference as soon as you get home. But if you’re still in town maybe you could pull over at a coffee shop or a hotel and get on their Wi-Fi or something like that. Do you have your tablet with you?”

  “No, why would I bring my tablet to a fashion show?”

  “I brought mine!”


  “Why?”

  “In case I needed it,” Gwen said primly. My sister did like her high tech toys.

  “Gwen, I don’t think it’s such a good idea for me to be talking about sensitive subjects on Skype in a Starbucks.”

  “Hm, true.”

  “Besides, if I’m going to do it from my phone I don’t need Wi-Fi.” I pulled onto the freeway, where the traffic was very thick but moving along at a moderate crawl. That was better than a dead standstill, anyway. “Look, tell him we need to see him for breakfast first thing in the morning tomorrow, no excuses. Not about the club, about family business.”

  “Oh shoot, that’s him calling now on the other line. Hang on.”

  “Great. Tell him now.”

  He works for us, dammit, I thought, not the other way around. I was already looking forward to putting the The Rough CD into the car stereo and cranking it up to eleven. I had my finger poised on the play button, waiting to say good-bye to her, when the next thing I heard was Schmitt coughing through my car stereo speakers. She must have conferenced him in instead of telling him to buzz off. Sigh.

  “Girls, girls, I do hope we can have this discussion at a convenient time—”

  I was tired of his bullshit. Without knowing what Gwen would say, but hoping that she would back me up, I cut him off and said, “There is no better time.” I decided I wasn’t going to wait until morning, either. “We’ve been trying to buttonhole you for a reason, Conrad. I’m revoking your license to invite members to the club.”

  “What? Rickanna, surely you didn’t just say what it sounded like. It sounded like you said you do not want me to recruit new members?”

  “That is exactly it. We’ve already disagreed on the subject of Grant Randolph.”

  “Well, that is absurd. His father, Milford, was a member before you were born.”

  “And membership in the club is not a hereditary right! You know what is a hereditary right? Me getting to decide who sets foot in my own house. Randolph was completely inappropriate. Not only did he make an utter fool of himself in front of me and the media on Grammy night, he is also in the management chain above me at Blue Star!”

  Gwen put in what she thought was a supportive word. “No one wants to see their boss’s hairy ass.”

  Schmitt cleared his throat, which was a completely disgusting, wet sound when heard in stereo through my car’s subwoofer. “I do apologize then, for overstepping my bounds. But you must realize, ladies, that I am accustomed to quite a bit of leeway in the club’s operation.”

  “Get unaccustomed,” I growled.

  “Surely you realize Randolph cannot simply be un-invited.”

  “I do realize that, which is all the more reason to stop you before you make another irrevocable mistake.”

  “My dear, I think perhaps you have forgotten the terms of your grandfather’s will. It’s necessary for you to keep the club in operation.”

  “I’m well aware of that.”

  “You don’t sincerely expect to maintain it without my help?”

  “Are you saying you’ll quit if we don’t let you invite whoever you want?”

  “No, no, of course not. I merely am saying …” He cleared his throat again. “You are correct; I do need to become accustomed to working with a three-person management team. In the future I will vet any future candidates through you both before extending an invitation. I apologize for my outburst: I thought you were saying you wished to be rid of me.”

  I do wish to be rid of you, I thought, but of course now that he had caved so politely I felt conciliatory. “No, no, Conrad, that isn’t what I meant at all. Is that what I said?”

  Gwen piped up again. “You actually said ‘I’m revoking your license to invite members to the club.’ That was all.”

  “Again, my apologies, ladies. Was that the only matter you wished to discuss?”

  “Yes.” I again poised my finger to hang up.

  But Schmitt had other ideas. “Well, there was one matter I wish to bring up to you two.”

  “Sure,” chirped Gwen.

  “But it is a rather sensitive matter. Rather. Sensitive.”

  More sensitive than what we just talked about? I wondered.

  “Perhaps I should come by the house for us to continue this conversation.”

  “Tonight?” I tried not to sound like a petulant schoolgirl being asked to do extra homework. After all, I’d just asserted myself like the adult head of household that I was: I didn’t want to dent that reputation so soon.

  “Yes. I’m only a half hour away after all.”

  “I’m probably forty-five minutes away,” I said.

  “It won’t take but a few minutes, I believe.”

  “Fine. Gwen?”

  “Come on over, Mr. Schmitt.”

  “See you soon,” I said, and hung up before either of them could say anything more. I cranked up the music as loud as it would go. What the hell could Schmitt want now?

  * * *

  I was going to insist we meet in the office because I wanted to sit behind Grandpa Cy’s desk and impress on Schmitt that I was in charge now. But he had apparently already insisted on the office himself and by the time I got there he and Gwen were already ensconced by the fireplace in chairs. Mina was just bringing in a rolling tray with tea and cookies on it.

  Fine, so I wouldn’t sit behind the desk. Not right away, anyway.

  I realized as I looked at the plate of cookies that I’d had Axel instead of dinner.

  Mina caught me looking, gave me a little raise of the eyebrow, and then swept out. I hoped that little look meant she would be back with some real food. I took the seat directly under the looming oaken eagle sculpture. It had to have come from a movie set. The iron claws were outstretched like it was swooping on some prey and it had an iron band over its shoulders with a ring hanging from the center. Had it been a tasteless lamp at some point?

  “Okay, Schmitt. Say what you have to say,” I said, taking a cookie and nibbling on it to keep from wolfing the whole thing down. It was chocolate-dipped and deserved to be savored and I didn’t want to look like a heathen in front of Schmitt. It was obvious to me he’d insisted this meeting be at a time of his choosing specifically because he was trying to assert his control over us. I didn’t want to give him any ammunition he could use against us.

  “Well, girls, I should begin by asking if you have read the club’s bylaws.”

  Gwen let me take the lead. “Of course we have. But remind me again why a super-secret club where almost nothing is written down has bylaws.” In fact, it was in the bylaws that only the bylaws could be written down.

  “Because we are not a criminal underground,” Schmitt said, as if he’d answered that question a million times before. I wondered suddenly whether Cy had been for or against having bylaws. “Now. Everything is in coded language of course, but the members certainly abide by the interpretation that we have given them.”

  By we he meant himself, of course. I wondered when he was going to get to the point.

  “At any rate, one of the tenets, as you may remember, regards—ahem—minimum participation.”

  “If this is about Grant, are you saying there’s a loophole we could use to get rid of him?” I could be such an optimist sometimes.

  Schmitt chuckled and picked up the teapot. “This has nothing to do with Grant Randolph.” He fussed about with the tea things and I realized watching him, that he hadn’t poured any actual tea into his cup. So his fussing was all for show …? A delaying tactic while he made us wait to hear what he had to say?

  He even made a show of tasting the tea, then adding cream and two lumps of sugar and tasting it again. Unbelievable. At least he actually poured the cream and I heard the sugar cubes go plop.

  “You may not realize how important the participation rule is, since you are both still so new to participating in the world of bondage and domination. Watching one another is of course part of the allure. Otherwise people would merely stay a
t home to do it. But one must be on guard against voyeurs, those who are not true members of the lifestyle and who simply want to watch. They cannot be trusted, for they do not risk themselves, and it is the shared risk that forms a strong bond of trust.”

  I poured myself some tea while waiting for him to get to the point.

  “At any rate this is one of the deep tenets of the group and one of our safeguards of the security of all concerned.”

  “Of course,” Gwen said, holding her teacup in both hands and leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, as if she were rapt by his tale. Gwen was a much better actor than Schmitt, though.

  “I did not want to bring this up until I had gauged your reactions at the previous gathering, of course.” He sipped his sweetened cream while we hung on his words. “The fact of the matter is that neither of you is exempt from the participation rules.”

  Gwen tittered nervously and covered her mouth with her hand.

  Schmitt cleared his throat noisily. At least this time I wasn’t hearing it in stereo. “Technically the minimum participation rule, to be met, gives each member a full year between public displays, but I would not wait a year to establish yourselves or the members may become restless and distrustful. And we all know what is at stake.”

  “How public does it have to be?” I asked, since we were talking technicalities.

  “We have never had the issue raised, but I would say at least one other guest should witness the scene, or at least the door should be open even if no one bothers to look.”

  So my impromptu scene with Axel probably didn’t count.

  “Well, Madison and Chita can put me on the Catherine Wheel anytime,” Gwen said with another laugh. “Oh, I know! It’s my birthday next month! They can give me my birthday spankings!”

  Schmitt’s eyes crinkled up as Gwen’s enthusiasm amused him and he let out a wheezing laugh. “Yes, that would do nicely.” Then his attention moved to me. When I offered no suggestions for myself, he moved on. “Well. I just wanted you to be aware of the necessity. Overall I felt the party went very well last time around.”

  There was a knock at the door then. I went to see who it was, hoping it was Mina with a sandwich.