“You've gotta stop that self-deprecating crap, Ronnie,” she snaps, standing up and pointing her nail at my chest. “I told you last night, if you don't care about yourself, who the hell else is going to? Pull your head out of your ass and just stop.” Lola steps up so close to me her heels crush my toes, grabbing my face and shoving her tongue down my throat. For once in my life, I'm too shocked to do anything but stand there with my mouth hanging open, the world's hottest chick pressed up on me. Second hottest chick, my brain automatically corrects thinking of Asuka.
And that's why, even though I want to fall in love again, I don't know if I can.
I reach out and grab Lola's upper arms, pushing her back a step.
She stares at me for a moment and shakes her head, grabbing her sunglasses and putting them back on her face. Before she goes, she slips the cigarette out from between my fingers and puts it in her mouth.
“Nice to meet you, Ronnie,” she says and slams the door behind her.
I don't know why I get so upset at Ronnie. I'm not here to be his mentor or his girlfriend or anything like that. I'm here to kick his ass and take his name. I'm here to knock him down, so I can climb up.
I pause and put my hand on the wall, taking slow, deep breaths while I try to get ahold of myself. I can't stop thinking about what a terrible person I am. And then Ronnie goes and talks shit about himself, and fuck, but he's so sad and all that. I don't know what to do. This whole time, I've been following orders and doing generic sorts of shit, like finding that baseball cap and mailing it off. I've never actually done anything personal to anyone.
I stare at the floor, at the hideous carpeting, and think about Ronnie's daughter. Her mum is dead because of me. Well, maybe not me personally, but us. Us. Us.
I clap my other hand to my forehead.
“Get yourself together, Lola, for fuck's sake.”
“Hey, you.”
I look up and glance over my shoulder to find Naomi Knox standing behind me, a bandage on her forehead, blonde hair swept up into a ponytail on the top of her head. I've done everything I could during this tour to stay out of her way. She scares me, I'll be honest. That, and I feel like she'll sense that I know her brother somehow. Don't know how, but wouldn't that just be a Goddam drag? Bitch looks like she could take care of herself.
“Yeah?” I ask, feeling the rush I was looking for when I grabbed that needle. I had a hard night last night. Cohen wouldn't leave me alone, banging on the door all damn night. That, and somehow, whenever I tried to go to sleep, all I could see was Ronnie's sad smile in my head. I stand up and turn around, doing my best not to stumble. I drank a lot before I went over to see him. Doubt he noticed. He was too preoccupied with his own shit. Naomi though, God, Naomi looks like she's hyper aware of the world right now.
Her orange-brown eyes bore into me, making me fidget. I sniffle and keep a hand on the wall for support. I try not to compare myself to her, but she's so tall and pretty, like a Barbie doll. Well, if Barbie went badass rocker bitch or something. She kind of sounds like one, too, when she talks.
“That guy, the one with the dollar bills tattooed on his arm,” she starts, and I know right away she's talking about Cohen. That freaking taint is like a mozzie buzzin' around my ear. I can't get rid of him. It's just constant. Stupid bloodsucking junkie. If he gets me into trouble with Naomi, if he blows our cover somehow …
“What about 'im?” I ask, glad that my voice stays steady and even.
“He your boyfriend?” she asks, crossing her arms over her tattered T-shirt. I can't really tell what's on it now, but it looks like it might've been an American flag at some point. I try not to scowl at the question. After all, I did date the man for a long ass time. Not my fault he morphed into some sort of power hungry monster more interested in hitting women than fucking them.
“Not anymore,” I tell her, watching her reaction as she stares me down. God, she must know something right? Right? I have to bite my tongue to keep from telling her I'm sorry. What a disaster that would be. My conscious is going to get me killed one of these days. “Why? He bein' a pain in the ass? Wouldn't be the first time.” I try to smile, but it doesn't really come out right. My mouth just squinches up all funny. I'm trying too hard. Maybe it's the drugs or whatever, but I'm feeling paranoid, like a bird locked up in a cage. I just want to get out of here.
Naomi stands stone still for a moment as if judging how much information she wants to give to me.
“That fucker was screaming in the halls all night and when I came out to fuck him up, I saw him leaving here with Hayden Lee.” Naomi pauses for a second and then rushes on like she's not sure I know who Hayden Lee is. How it's possible to miss that smashed crab walking around here like her shit don't stink is beyond me. Well, guess what, sweetheart? Your farts give you away. “And now I can't find her. She won't pick up her phone either.” Naomi pulls her cell out of the pocket of her blue jeans. “They left here about two hours. Any idea where they'd be going?”
“You her babysitter or something?” I blurt out without meaning to. Shit. Naomi's eyes narrow on me, locking me into a stare I'm sure I won't be able to get out of. Guilt is a powerful, powerful thing. “Two hours, huh?” I continue, hoping to break her concentration. “Well, I can tell you what they're not doing. Cohen's never been able to last more than ten minutes, so that can't be it.” I try to laugh, but the sound echoes around the hallway, like I'm laughing at myself or something. “Two hours is nothing, yeah? I'm sure they'll be back.”
“Yeah, I'm sure,” Naomi says, eyes still narrowed and searching. My face starts to sweat and my jacket suddenly feels stifling. “But we have a conference call with our manager scheduled for,” She pauses to check her phone. “Fifteen minutes ago.” She keeps staring; I stand stone still and face her down like the bitch I know I am. I could take her in a fist fight, I'll bet. Better watch out blondie, this chick's bite is worse than her bark. Well, they're both pretty bad anyhow. I let go of the wall.
Just when I think shit's about to hit the fan, Turner Campbell comes out a nearby room and opens his mouth, pausing when he sees me standing there. His jaw snaps shut and a vein in his neck twitches.
“Who the hell is this?” he asks, and I have to roll my eyes. The boys in that band are so full of crap, their eyes are brown. Good Lord Jesus. Third night of the tour, we slept together. Probably best not to mention that around Naomi though. They've got a legendary thing goin' on. It's in every magazine, all over the web.
I take a breath and try not to let my paranoia get the better of me. I slide my shades off and smile.
“The name's Lola Saints. It's a pleasure to meet ya.”
Turner stares at me for a moment, and I wonder if he'll actually recognize me. Not that I really want him to. That would make things between Ronnie and me awkward as hell. Much harder to seduce a guy when he knows his mate's banged you. Brotherly man love and all that bullshit. Plus, I really, really don't want Naomi Knox to have any reason to pay extra attention to me. She's smart as hell, I can tell. If she starts gathering pieces of the puzzle, she'll have it together in no time.
“Cohen Rose's ex,” Naomi says, sighing and shaking her head. She looks exhausted. I almost feel sorry for her, and force myself to shake it off. I'm already turning into a wet blanket when it comes to Ronnie McGuire and his sob stories. Don't need to be adding anymore to the anthology, thank you very much.
“Who?”
“Ugh,” Naomi groans, looking up at the ceiling like she's praying for help from some invisible god or goddess. I reach up and touch the ankh that's hanging around my neck. Wish I really believed in the deity it was attached to. Could use some help when it comes to men. So much trouble for six or so inches of pleasure, right? “You're impossible, Turner. Jesus.”
“What the hell did I do now? Ever since you confessed your love to me, you've been getting all pissy at every little thing that comes out of my mouth. You don't have to take your embarrassment out on me. I'm not ashamed and you shoul
dn't be either.”
“Oh, fuck,” Naomi moans, dropping her gaze to mine, giving me one of those special woman to woman looks. It's so universal, I can't help but smile. Turner's a handful. I certainly wouldn't want to deal with him. Good luck with the silly dumb fuck. “Can you just go? Don't you have a van to catch? Wichita is calling.”
“You can't drive me away, no matter what you do.” Turner slams his hand into the wall by Naomi's head, leaning over so that his lips brush her ear. “You're stuck with me until the day your wrinkly ass falls out of a wheelchair and croaks.”
“How romantic,” she says sarcastically, but her entire demeanor changes. I watch her lips twitch at the corners, her shoulders relax, the pulse in her neck fluttering. Jealousy surges through me hot and quick, tearing at the edges of my self-control and knocking the breath from my lungs. It's not Turner that I want though. Wouldn't ever want another woman's man, but it's the idea of having someone there by your side. I want that. I mean, who doesn't, right? But just seeing it flaunted and paraded in front of my face like that makes me sick to my stomach.
Without waiting for another word from them, I spin on my heel and stomp down the hallway. Tears try to prick my eyes again, but I won't let 'em fall. Fuck 'em. I don't need to cry. I have the whole world ahead of me. I have the promise of power and fame and money. I won't ever need to worry another day in my life after this.
But after seems so far away, and in my suitcase is a mask I wore to kill a woman. A mask I used to board Amatory Riot's bus and steal Naomi Knox away. A mask that's more my face than the one I'm wearing now. At least the mask shows the real me, the true person inside. At least the mask shows a monster.
“We're leaving in about an hour,” my manager says, cornering me outside the door to my room. I have to curl my fists by my sides to keep from socking her right between her buggy, bulging eyes. They pop out of her face like one of those rubber toys, you know the ones they sell for overworked corporate cubical cage rats to squeeze so they won't just flip out and shoot people?
I have no problem going to Wichita for the day. In fact, I'd probably hump a bitch just to get out of Oklahoma City. It isn't that I don't like the town. I just don't like the idea of staying in one place for too long. I've lived my whole life desperate to get out, make something of myself. Besides, tonight it'll just be Ice and Glass with Indecency. One step closer to taking over the world, right? Bye, bye Amatory Riot. But something about KK makes me want to be contrary.
“Why are we leaving so fucking early? Seems like a waste of time to me.” I cross my arms over my chest and let KK get a load of my tits. She doesn't have any of which to speak, so I know it pisses her off to see me flashing mine around like they're made of diamonds. She just stares at me, her frizzy hair clinging to the sides of her sweaty face. She always looks like a freaking train wreck, but today is worse than usual. Her eyes are all shifty, darting from side to side like she expects someone to leap out at her.
“Milo Terrabotti thinks it'd be best to remove his band from the situation boiling outside. I'm inclined to agree.” Hah, I think as I stare at her pimply chin. You're inclined to agree? You're inclined to listen to whatever Mr. Rutledge tells you to do. This is one of the reasons I hate dealing with KK so much. It's like she isn't even a real person, just a bot for Mr. Rutledge to use when he isn't around. I miss our old manager, Monroe. She might not have been able to book us a gig like this, but she had a passion for our music. Monroe actually gave a shit about the heart and soul. Right now, it's all about the money and the fame. And the destruction. Can't forget about that bit. Everything comes at a price anyway, right?
“Yeah, alright, whatever you say, boss.” I throw the term out there as an insult and open the door to my room. As soon as I get inside, I feel the wrongness in the air, but it's too late.
“Hey there, bitch,” Hayden Lee growls, grabbing me from behind and shoving me forward onto the bed. “Where've you been? You get Ronnie into bed yet? It's not really all that difficult, you know.”
“Get the fuck off me you anorexic scrag,” I snarl, elbowing her in the side and trying not to grin when I feel myself connect with her boney ribcage. I flip around and stumble away from the bed, watching as she sits back and leans against Cohen's bare leg. He's sitting in my bed smoking a cigarette, his junk hanging out like it's on display. Unfortunately for him his family jewels have never been museum quality.
“Put your ugly chode away, Cohen,” I say, adjusting my glasses while I try to assess the situation. It smells like dirty tuna and skank in here now. Doesn't take a genius to figure out what they've been doing. “Am I supposed to care that you fucked this ho?” I ask with a laugh while Hayden leans back and rubs all over Cohen's chest, curling his hair around her finger. Looking at him now, it's almost possible for me to remember the boy he was not so long ago. I've always thought he had a sloppy charming sort of look. Now, he just plain disgusts me. “Because believe me, from what I've heard that's not really a difficult accomplishment.” I pause and study Hayden's blue eyes. They're so clear, I can see straight through 'em and down to the murky depths of her shallow soul. I'd sure like to cut the bitch. There's nothing worse than a traitor. Nothing. “Naomi Knox is looking for you,” I tell her, watching her face for some flash of emotion, something that tells me she regrets getting involved in this. I know the circumstances, but what I can't understand is the fervor in her eyes, the way she relishes every cut, every scrape. She just doesn't act like someone who's being blackmailed.
“So?” Hayden asks, sitting up and snatching her purse from Honesty's bed. She digs around in it and comes up with a joint. “Why should I give a fuck?” She lights up and inhales deeply, blowing smoke into the stagnant air of the hotel room. “If you guys hadn't fucked things up, she wouldn't even be here right now.” Hayden closes her eyes and sways back and forth, in time to some beat neither Cohen or I can hear.
I put my hands on my hips and listen to the call of the ice crystallizing in my veins. It tells me I'm happy, that nothing bad's ever happened to me, that I am a fucking superwoman. My heart swears otherwise. I choose to ignore it. If I keep feeling sorry for Ronnie, for that … that dead girl, for myself, I won't ever get anything done. Besides, I know, just like we all know, that there's no getting out of this now. If I try to leave, I'll end up like Amatory Riot and Indecency: a walking corpse with an expiration date.
“You mean if Eric hadn't fucked up,” Cohen snarls, rubbing at his stubbly chin. He doesn't like to admit failure. “What kind of screwball bangs his own sister? Man, I'm glad that guy's dead and gone.” My ex struggles to sit up, focusing on my face with narrowed eyes, like I walked in here just to bother him, rub his feathers the wrong way.
“Why are you in my fucking bed?” I ask him, hoping the maids haven't done their rounds yet. Last thing I need is a bed full of Cohen's runny jizz. “Don't you have your own room?”
“We wanted to check in on you,” Hayden says, forcing herself to her feet. She's wearing these five inch yellow heels. Watching her stumble around in them makes me think of a giraffe or something. Wish I could send this bitch back to the wild where she belongs. I wouldn't mind seeing her get eaten by a lion. I smile with my teeth.
“Check in on me? Don't you have jobs of your own to do?”
I turn to go when Hayden appears out of nowhere, shoving me hard in the center of the back and sending me stumbling. I hit the wall hard and turn to face her. She just stands there smiling, her shirt hanging off her shoulder, wet with sweat, panties sagging on her skinny hips. I thought Ronnie was pathetic, but he's nothing compared to this bitch. At least he knows there's something wrong with him. I don't know if Hayden has any clue.
“The second one goes down tonight,” she says, and my heart stops. I don't think of Ronnie or his kids then. I can't, not even with the drugs kissing my soul with sweet, sinful lips. Some things are just too hard to mask. Some things are simply unforgivable.
I sit on the bed for a long time, so long that I'm af
raid Milo's going to come in and tell me we have to leave. My hands are shaking so bad, I can hardly scan through my contacts, searching for the women I have to call. This isn't about me and my discomfort; this could mean their lives.
Shannon (Phoebe).
That's the entry I want, the one that's going to be the hardest to get through. Phoebe's only a few months old, and her mother thinks I shit sin. She won't even let me meet our daughter though she's got no problem taking a cut of my checks. I slap the phone against my lips and close my eyes, trying to picture her face.
I got nothin'.
I always make fun of Turner for being a whore, but there's a pretty good chance I'm worse than he is. At least he doesn't have any children out in the world, suffering because he was too fucked up to bag his junk.
I sit there for another five minutes, my heart racing in my chest. What if I call Shannon and her parents answer again? How am I going to deal with that? Last time nearly killed me. How dare you touch my daughter, you parasite?! Is there something wrong with you? She's only eighteen years old for God's sake. If I hadn't been on the phone with the man, I think her father might've killed me.
Sucking in a massive breath, I yank the phone away from my mouth, hit the dial button and wait. My vision blurs and white splotches cover my eyes. I listen to the ring tone, letting the repetitive sound put me into a small trance. I can't help it. I am literally terrified of these women. I don't know if it's because I see my inadequacies so clearly when I think of them and my children or what, but it's almost paralyzing. If someone were to break in this room and come at me, I wouldn't be able to stop them. I'd lay down and die, and be happy for the opportunity.
“You've gotta stop that self-deprecating crap, Ronnie. I told you last night, if you don't care about yourself, who the else is going to? Pull your head out of your ass and just stop.”
Tough Luck (Hard Rock Roots) Page 6