“Uh, what was that about, Joss?” I ask.
He runs a hand through his hair, looking even more tortured. God, this guy is killing me. I want to heal him so badly, but I’m not sure if that’s in my own best interests. Tammy’s words of warning ring through my head.
“You know what? Never mind. I’ve got to get to work. I’m going to pretend all of that never happened, and maybe I’ll catch up with you later.” He swallows and nods his head in response before I walk away.
Joss
I WATCH her walk away from me, her gorgeous hair swinging in rhythm with her long legs. She’s got on a summer dress and cowboy boots, and I think leather has never looked so good on any human being before.
I sit down heavily on the concrete floor and lean against the wall I had Mike pinned to minutes before. I really fucked up. Seriously fucked up.
The last few days I’ve spent time with one of the most beautiful, engaging, sexy, and damn fun women I’ve ever known. She makes me feel again. Makes me forget the clusterfuck my life has been for the last twelve months. All I could think about this morning was that, for the first time in so long, I was happy to wake up, excited to start my day. Then she walked in with Mike, laughing and talking to him the same way she laughs and talks to me. I couldn’t take it. I couldn’t stand to watch it the way I’ve watched her sister with Walsh. I snapped, I lost control, and now she probably thinks I’m fucking crazy. Who can blame her?
I breathe deeply, trying to calm myself. Am I doomed to spend my whole damn life watching my best friends have the very things I want most with the very people I want to have it all with? I know I wasn’t in love with Tammy. I realize I was in love with who she and Walsh were together. But with Mel, I feel something special, something that might really matter eventually. I’m not confusing her with something I want. I’m drawn to her. She’s someone I want to be around.
I hear Mike, who’s gone up on stage, play the opening riffs of Slave to You, and I know I’ve got to get it together. Unfortunately, that probably starts with apologizing to the asshole. The fact is that, if Mel wants Mike, beating the crap out of him won’t stop it. I wonder if she does want him or if she’s that charming and gorgeous with every man she meets. Maybe what I feel with her are my own delusions run wild. My judgment is clearly fucked, and my control is slipping.
I haul my ass off the cold, hard floor and head to the stage to try to repair a day that already feels ruined at only ten thirty a.m.
BY NOON, I’ve placated Mike, worked out some lighting issues, and signed off on details for the next stop on the tour. Tammy’s stomping around, giving me the evil eye, and I wonder if Mel told her about this morning. Honestly, I can’t worry about Tammy right now. She’s usually pissed at me for something and it’s exhausting. My late mother probably would have slapped me for thinking it, but I wish Tammy and Walsh would get married already and he’d knock her up so maybe she’d quit working for us.
Walsh and Colin haven’t shown up. Walsh is at an AA meeting, and Colin’s probably eating pizza and smoking weed in his room. One of the conditions of the tour was that Walsh would be given time to attend an AA meeting in each city. Tammy arranged our stops to make sure that happened, although as part of his recovery, it was up to Walsh to get the information on the meetings and set them up himself.
One thing we’ve all learned from Walsh’s recovery is that he spent too many years letting Tammy and me run his life. He was like a giant child. I orchestrated his career while Tammy handled everything else, effectively eliminating him from his own existence, and freeing him up to drink himself to death. Tammy and I had fun at that group therapy session, I can tell you. It’s tough to hear that what you thought of as loving someone was actually enabling them to destroy themselves.
These days, I stay as far from Walsh and his life as I can, and Tammy tries to control her inner boss and let him pull some of the weight on his own. I know it’s hard for her though. She’s not shy and retiring, and he’s never been super competent.
I shake myself out of my thoughts about Tammy and Walsh when I see Mel approaching where I’m sitting in the first row of seats, watching the stage as the crew sets up. I’m also doodling some new lyrics on the iPad, and I click the screen lock button quickly when she sits down next to me.
“Feeling any better?” she asks quietly.
I clear my throat. “Um, yeah, sorry about that.”
“What exactly was that?”
“You were there. You heard it.”
“No, actually, I didn’t. I didn’t hear you guys except for Mike saying something about territory. I mean, what the hell did he do to set you off? Or were you waiting for him, already pissed?”
I sigh. On the one hand, I’m really happy she didn’t hear me threatening Mike if he ever touched her. On the other hand, I’ll now have to come up with a lie. I’m not a very proficient liar, and I’ve lied enough in the last year for the rest of my life.
“I’m always pissed at Mike,” I say. It’s the truth at least.
“So you attack him regularly then?”
I can’t help but chuckle. “Nah. Only on Mondays and Fridays and every other Saturday.”
“God.” She shakes her head but laughs. “Well, hey.”
I look her in the eye.
“I know I’m just the summer intern or whatever, but that didn’t seem real conducive to a positive tour experience. If the press got ahold of stuff like that, it’d be be a mess. I’m just sayin’.” She smiles, and my heart clenches with want.
“You’re right, and you’re way too smart to call yourself a ‘summer intern.’” She blushes. “Really. Thanks, Mel.”
She gives me another one of those brilliant smiles of hers and I have to admit—to myself anyway—that I’m putty in her hands.
IT’S THIRTY minutes later when Tammy finally corners me. I should have known it was coming. While she’s usually pissed at me or ashamed to be near me, there was something different about this morning’s vibe. A new level of intensity. I’m walking down a hallway backstage when I hear her call my name.
“Joss.”
I turn to see her following me. “Yeah,” I answer without stopping.
“I need to talk to you,” she says brusquely.
I stop and lean back against a wall, crossing my arms. “So talk.”
She steps to me and leans in, whispering. “What the hell are you doing?”
“What exactly are you referring to, Tammy?” I’m not being obtuse. I really don’t know what she’s going on about.
She purses her lips and narrows her eyes. As gorgeous as she is, it’s not a good look.
“With my sister, Joss. What are you doing with Mel?”
I stare at her in shock. After all these months, she’s finally had a reaction to something I did.
In the beginning, I tried to talk to her. I sent letters, emails, gifts. I apologized, I begged, I made a general fool out of myself. I knew it had been a drastic mistake, but I needed it to be a mistake we’d made together. I couldn’t stand the feeling that I had somehow done it to her instead of with her. She refused to talk to me, to look at me, to answer me. She slept with me then walked away and never spoke about it again. Now she has a reaction and I can’t imagine why, unless she’s jealous. It’s almost comical. The minute I’m finally feeling like I might be able to move on, she gets jealous.
I smile. I know it’s not a nice smile, but she deserves it. “I’m not doing anything with Mel, Tammy, but I certainly can if you’d like.”
“You’re a fucking asshole, Joss, and don’t for a minute think I don’t know you’re only doing it to punish me more. How could you? How could you screw with her like that just to get back at me?”
“Holy shit, Tammy. Have you finally completely lost your ever-loving mind? You can’t be for real, because that’s got to be the most self-absorbed thing I’ve ever heard someone say.” I feel adrenaline bursting through me as my temper skyrockets. It’s been too long with no place
to put this shit. “You know what? Fuck you, Tammy DiLorenzo. Fuck you. My whole goddamned life does not revolve around you or what happened between us. And for your information, your sister has plenty of assets to put her on any guy’s radar. In case you somehow missed it, she’s unbelievably hot and smart, and unlike her older sister, she’s a nice person. So go to hell, Tammy, and unless it’s about work, don’t fucking talk to me again.”
I stride off, kicking a wall on my way, but not before I hear Tammy screech in frustration and slam a door as she leaves the hallway. All I can think is, This is going to be a damn long tour.
Mel
I’VE SPENT most of the day directing the freelancers on the kinds of things I want to capture as well as getting the layout of the auditorium and the logistics for the show. Tonight we’re going to shoot the opening performance of the As Lush As It Gets Tour. All four of the band members have been on site rehearsing and preparing since right after lunch. It’s amazing to me how professional they are. I still think of them as my sister’s raunchy high school friends. Offstage, they often still act like that, but when it’s time to work, they become every bit the mega-successful rock band.
The logistics of a large-scale rock concert are astonishing. There’s a crew of over fifty guys working nonstop today to set up this show, and when it’s done, they’ll spend the rest of the night breaking it down before they hit the road to meet up with us at the next stop tomorrow night.
As the sun sets outside and the event staff for the auditorium begin to clock in, the energy in the place shifts. I have two of my freelancers walking around backstage and catching the buzz of the place while the third is outside on the sidewalk photographing the crowd. Apparently they’re already lined up for several blocks outside the auditorium.
Backstage, Tammy is running around like a chicken minus the head. But if you really watch, you’ll find that she’s absolutely in control and there is an order to her chaos. I’m amazed at what she can keep track of and how much she seems to know about this business when she’s never had any sort of formal training.
The guys are each preparing in their own ways I guess. Mike is walking around backstage, chatting with the crew, and doing jumping jacks. He has knit gloves on, apparently to keep his fingers warm. It never occurred to me that a guitarist would have real problems if his fingers were cold and stiff.
Walsh’s normal easygoing personality and Colin’s constantly stoned one mesh nicely, and the two of them are hanging out in the green room eating snacks and chugging water. When he’s onstage, Walsh sweats about two buckets per performance. I’m glad he knows to hydrate. I’m also glad that I’m not the one who has to give him a kiss as he walks offstage. Gag.
And of course, the missing member is the ever-elusive Joss Jamison. Truth be told, I’ve worried about him all day since his blowup at Mike. The guy I saw this morning was so different from the one I’d spent time with the last few days. I’m not sure what to think about him. And as pissed as it makes me, my sister’s warnings keep ringing through my head. I wish like hell she’d never said anything because now I don’t know whether it’s my own gut telling me to be cautious or my inner Tammy.
I’m leading one of the freelancers back to the green room so he can get some shots of Colin and Walsh in all their binge-eating glory when I notice a door ajar farther down the hall.
“Go on in and take some shots of those two,” I tell the guy. He nods and goes on his way, while I head down the hall. As I get closer, I hear quiet singing and a guitar being strummed.
“She walked on water like down on the wind,
And all the while, my heart it did spin.
But when I followed, I learned the hard truth,
And I’ve been drowning ever since.
Drowning ever since.
Drowning.”
I poke my head in the doorway and see Joss sitting on a chair, acoustic guitar in hand, singing a song I’ve never heard before. He stops and writes some things down on his iPad that’s sitting on the table in front of him then starts to strum again. I knock gently on the doorframe. He looks up abruptly, obviously so caught up in what he was doing that he had no idea I was standing there.
As he focuses on me, a smile spreads across his face, and it is so heartstoppingly beautiful I’m speechless for a moment. I can’t imagine how the woman Joss Jamison will eventually fall in love with will be able to go about her daily activities if he’s smiling at her. Because if this is the smile he gives an acquaintance, the smile he’d give the love of his life must be heaven-sent.
“Am I interrupting your pre-show routine?” I ask quietly.
“No,” he says as he stands and gestures for me to come in. “You’re never an interruption, Mel. You want anything? A soda or water?” He walks to the nearby table with food and drinks laid out.
“I’m good, thanks. You guys have more food around than a grocery store. I’m going to weigh two hundred pounds by the time the tour is done.”
He laughs and it sends a little ripple down my spine that settles somewhere low it shouldn’t. It ought to be illegal for someone to be as sexy as him.
“Well, you know, with four guys in their twenties, food is sort of essential. Although I imagine in a few more years we’ll need to cut back before we start looking more like Meatloaf and less like Jon Bon Jovi.”
“Just don’t tell that to Colin,” I smirk.
He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, well, as long as there’s pizza available 24/7, he’ll be okay.” He opens a bottle of water and takes a long drink. I watch the curve of his neck as his head is thrown back. Suddenly, with perfect clarity, I understand the origins of the term ‘sex on a stick.’ Someone who can make drinking from a plastic water bottle erotic is in a class by himself.
“So, can I do something for you, Miss Documentarian?” he asks when he’s done.
“Ah, no, I was just going around watching everyone’s pre-show routines, wondering what you all did to get ready and why.”
He chuckles. “So you got pics of Mike bouncing around backstage and Colin and Walsh bullshitting and eating the entire green room’s worth of snacks?”
I laugh. “Pretty much.”
“And now you want to know what the mysterious front man does to get ready, huh?” He scratches his head and looks kind of embarrassed.
“Only if you’re comfortable telling me,” I answer, although I’m really hoping he’ll share this part of himself with me. For some reason he is like a puzzle I’m intent on solving. There are so many facets to him. I want to discover each and every one and try to assemble an entire man from them.
He clears his throat. “Well, what I do to get ready for a show is, uh, not get ready.” He quirks an eyebrow at me, and I look at him questioningly. “See, if I think about it, I’ll get too nervous, so I do whatever I need to avoid thinking about it. That usually means sitting down and working. I was doing some writing when you came in. A new song for the next album.”
“Really?” I’m surprised. “So no special vocal warm-ups? No superstitions about what you need to eat or who you should talk to or anything?”
“Nope. Just work. I write songs and sometimes go over paperwork, listen to some tunes I enjoy, maybe even read a book. No special anything. Then, when it’s time to go up front, I go and walk on stage blind. I trust my crew to have everything set up the way it should be. I trust my band to be ready and I trust myself to put on the best performance I can.”
I watch him for a moment, blown away once again at the unexpected answers he’s given me.
“I figured you for a control freak,” I say frankly.
He laughs. “Oh, I am, but that’s what goes on days and weeks before the actual event. By this point, if it’s not right, it’s not going to be. I hire the absolute best people in the business and ride their asses like a fucking dictator. If we can’t pull it off by the time we get to the performance, then we all deserve to crash and burn in public.”
He walks over to where I’m leaning
back against the makeup counter that runs along one wall. He leans next to me, peeling the label off of his water bottle.
“How about you, Mel? You’re pretty damn good at what you do. Are you a control freak?”
I ponder his question for a moment. “No. The youngest kid never has much control, especially with an older sister like mine. So I’m the one who can go along with all sorts of things and doesn’t need to be in control. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have opinions or can’t stand up for myself. Just that I’m flexible.” I turn my head and he’s looking directly at me. His green eyes are so vivid. I know exactly what all those women wait in lines for. The possibility that you could get this close to those eyes and that face is enough to convince you to wait for years, let alone hours.
He leans in even closer to me and reaches out to tuck a piece of hair behind my ear. I’m breathless.
“That’s good to hear,” he says so quietly that it’s almost a whisper. “We’ll make a good pair, you and me. I can be in control, you can be flexible, and we’ll get along just fine.”
Holy crap. My heart is racing. He’s in my space, and I feel lightheaded. I can hear him breathing, and his velvet voice sinks deep into my gut.
“What if I don’t want to be controlled?” I nearly gasp out.
“Mmm. You might like letting me be in control. At least some of the time,” he rumbles.
“Five minutes to show!” a voice yells out in the hallway. Joss and I both jump back, and I can feel my face flush. He picks up his water bottle and chugs the rest of it in one.
When he’s done, he tosses it into a trashcan across the room. Then he turns to look at me. “You gonna watch from backstage?” he asks, a big grin on his face.
A Lush Betrayal Page 6