by Lyrica Creed
“Hell to the no!” He feigned horror.
“C’mon. I’m a good driver…” She’d moved on to his yellow Lotus Esprit GTA.
“And that’s why you wrecked your Subi the day after your sixteenth birthday.”
“It wasn’t the day after. And that wreck wasn’t my fault.” Stopping before his Ducati bike, she regarded it.
“Says you.” He joked, knowing full well the fender bender she’d been in as a teen and had texted him pictures of, hadn’t been her fault. He held up the key fob.
“Fine. I’m happy to drive any of these babies.” She pivoted at the black Escalade and closed the distance between them.
Their fingers brushed as the device exchanged hands, and she pressed the button. When the Lotus flashed, she grinned.
“Thanks, big bro. I’ll take good care of it.”
“Be careful, Scar. It’s got a lot of muscle. It’s only a car. But you’re irreplaceable.” Had he really spewed that parental vomit? But she didn’t mock him. The smile when she tilted her face up to his before hastening to the car was so familiar, he marveled he hadn’t recognized her at first sight the previous night.
For a nanosecond, a familiar current ran between them, and the warm tingles of cozy memories tangled in his cerebrum.
“I will. I swear.” She took her place behind the wheel, adjusted the seat, and looked up with a bright smile. And he loved being the one who had put the glow of excitement on her face.
Shaking a pill from the script bottle, he palmed it. Finding the whiskey bottle on his dresser empty, he popped the tablet into his mouth and swallowed it dry. Heading back down to the studio, he picked up a custom Charvel and strummed as he waited for the chemical compound that had been his muse in the past to infiltrate his bloodstream.
The house was quiet. Scarlette routinely was gone by the time he woke each day. She had arrived two days ago, and her lingering aura seemed to block any creativity he might have had. Every day he settled in the studio to work, feeling guilty about letting her go out alone on her search for her friend. He continually advised her with any names or addresses he knew related to Rageon.
His own problems he addressed one hurdle at a time. One song in three weeks. It could be done. It had often been done in less. He’d dug around in some of his unused stuff and found one suitable to work up.
As the afternoon grew late, he worried when she wasn’t back at the time that had become normal for her. Whether it was instinct, dumb luck, or someone had told her, the last couple of afternoons she’d been back before the freeway traffic completely stalled with evening rush hour.
Hearing the front door slam, he raced into the hallway, but it was Seth. “Oh, it’s you.”
“Hello to you too.”
“Shut up, shit head.” Reaching out, he ruffled the boy’s long layered hair. “Where’s your dad?”
“Talking to your neighbor”
Gage rolled his eyes, thinking of the starlet Colt had been fascinated with since seeing her at her mailbox months ago.
“You been practicing?”
“Yeah. Dad’s going to buy me that Gretsch I want for my birthday.”
“Cool. Bring it over when he does.”
“Bring what over?” Colt arrived on the scene.
While Gage worked with Seth, Colt isolated himself in the recording booth where he listened to what Gage had laid down so far. Dramatically ripping off his headphones, and bursting into the main room, he declared it crap.
With an aggravated sweep of his hands, Gage surged to his feet.
“Well, go on. Say what you really think.” He picked up a box, flipped up the lid, and selected a vape pen. Seth, likely realizing his own practice was over for the day, slipped from the room, and Gage felt a twinge of guilt.
Colt curled his bottom lip in disgust. “It sounds like you’ve taken shit we scrapped and mixed in new shit.”
Which was exactly what he’d done. But the end result wasn’t shit, although it still needed work. “I knew you’d be a douche. Let’s hear what the others have to say.”
“Let’s don’t. They’ll think you’re slipping. And you don’t need them to think that right now. We don’t need them to think that right now. Dammit, if you fuck this up for all of us, I’ll fuck you over.” Colt threw himself on the couch and kicked back.
“Try, it, motherfucker. Go ahead and try it now. Why wait?” He ceased loading the atomizer and backed the challenge with an icy stare.
But Colt’s attention had drifted. “One of your women escaped from the basement.”
At Colt’s words, Gage looked up, seeing Scar. Little did Colt know, that was a bad, bad joke at this time. He hadn’t mentioned it to Scarlette, but certain members of Rageon were known for their extreme fetishes. There were rumors of hush money settlements and borderline abduction incidents.
Sitting up straighter and ignoring the fermenting fury on Gage’s side of the table, Colt defended himself. “What? Not like you don’t tie them up sometimes.”
Restraining himself from punching the other guy in the throat, he instead made the introductions. “Meet my sister, Scarlette.”
The moment the introduction registered and Colt realized she wasn’t a random chick wandering in, he immediately sprang to his feet.
“Scarla.” She held her hand out to Colt, and Gage watched the polite handshake. “Nice to meet you.”
Colt responded with a surprised but meaningful look toward Gage. When Gage refused to confirm his evident question, he leaned in to kiss her hand. “The pleasure’s all mine.” Right before his lips met the skin, he turned it palm side up.
Scarlette’s eyes fluttered a moment, and when she was slow to pull her hand back, Gage leaned in and invaded their space. “We ordered Indian takeout. It’s in the kitchen.”
“Sounds wonderful. I’m starved.” With a last look and smile at Colt, she exited the room, and Gage wondered if he was imagining the extra sway in her hips. Five angry clicks turned the pen on and a five-second ram of the button heated it.
“Your sister?” Colt plopped back down on the studio couch and waved away the proffered vaporizer. “Scarlette? That’s Scarlette.” The initial inquiry in his tone blurred into shock.
“Don’t be weird with her, man.”
“I wouldn’t. I was just surprised. Except for her eyes, she doesn’t look…”
Gage blew out an irritated, vaporized breath. “Because she tries not to. She hates the association. The attention of it.”
Colt nodded, still in a stunned state. However, it didn’t take him long to regroup. “She in a relationship?”
While he smoked, Gage moved about the room putting everything back in its place. At this question, he froze. “No, fucker. Don’t ask her out.”
“I’m a good guy.” Colt fished around in a little box and his fingers emerged with a pack of Zig Zags.
Colt preferred his smoke old school. Hell, he did too, but he had his voice to look after. One hit wouldn’t hurt… He abandoned the pen and continued cleaning the room. “You’re a slut. I mean it. Stay away from her.”
“I’ma settle down one day.” Colt pinched from a nug and shredded it over a paper.
“No, you won’t.” Gage hooked the headphones on the bracket next to the soundboard and eyed Colt’s rolling progress.
“I’m taking this home to enjoy in peace.” Colt licked the edge and held up the joint.
Fine. Wasn’t as if he wanted a joint anyway. Something stronger was calling his name… Despite the few hits from the vaporizer, the longing washed over him like a warm ocean wave on a sunny day, and he defensively blanked his mind against the feelings.
He was clean, had slept through the worst of the detox of that particular mistress before bailing out of rehab. The other night—the night Scar had arrived—he’d binged on meph instead. Taking Colt’s place, he sat down, once again snatching up his alternate vice to take the edge off while Colt stood at the windows texting.
“Damn kid.” His
friend and bandmate grumbled. “Can’t answer a text. Where’d he get off to?”
Looking beyond Colt to the empty pool, Gage held the pen to his mouth and pressed the button. Immediately his jittery cravings waned some. “If he’s not swimming then he’s probably watching TV.”
Colt took a hit, and Gage another, before they left the device on the table, headed down the hall and descended the stairs to the movie studio.
“Seth, we’ve got to bounce.” The sounds of dialogue enhanced through speakers drifted up the stairway, and Colt called out before reaching the landing.
Gage however snapped immediately to the background music common to a certain genre of film and wasn’t surprised when Colt pulled up short.
Seth scrambled for the remote and after the screen went blank, turned a wide-eyed embarrassed stare their way. “It was already on when I turned the TV on. I swear!”
Colt swung his eyes away from his son. “Dammit, Gage! Really?”
He didn’t want to rat out Seth’s fib, so he clammed up. But there was no way he’d left the receiver on that station. Although he obviously subscribed to the channel because he watched it occasionally, the watching had always been in the privacy of his bedroom.
Maybe Colt decided on revenge for subjecting his son to a porn station. Or maybe he was simply a dick, because he detoured by the kitchen before leaving. “Listen, Scarlette, um Scarla, there’s a place in Studio City that serves the best sushi rolls. I’d love to take you sometime.”
Once again, Gage restrained the urge to punch him and instead pinned a glare onto the side of his head, which Colt ignored. Turning his attention to Scarlette, he found her surprised by the invitation. Her fork lay abandoned on her plate, and when her gaze fluctuated from Colt to him, he felt his chin swaying side to side.
“I’d like that, thanks.” Ignoring his negative headshake, Scarlette accepted the date.
“Thursday then?”
“Sure. Thursday’s good.”
They exchanged phone numbers, and he saw her pick up her fork again as Colt meandered proudly from the room. Gage turned the opposite way, going back into the studio as Colt and Seth let themselves out. Wouldn’t do to hit his bandmate in front of his son.
Slamming around in the studio gave him no satisfaction. Reigniting the pen, he put his lips to it for a hit and picked up the one guitar he’d left lying about. Blasting the front off the amp did nothing to temper his mood.
A barely discernible noise halted his improv playing. In the ensuing silence, the tapping sound was clear. “Yeah?”
The door swing inward and Scarlette inquired, “Should I put the food up?”
Ignoring her question, he set aside the guitar and snatched the vape pen yet again. “Why’re you going out with him?”
“Colt?” She moved a step into the room.
“I thought you were here to look for your friend.” He was aware of the resentment coating his words, but damned if he could stop.
“Well, thanks for asking about Ivy.” Sarcasm dripped from her reply and furious flecks dotted her irises. “I was beginning to wonder if you cared how my search was going.”
Stung by the truth, he thought back over the last couple of days. He’d been out or had been holed up in his studio while she came and went. He’d been awake this morning enough to hear her rattling around before she left, but he hadn’t emerged from his room until she’d left. After watching her drive away in his Lotus that first morning, they’d mostly communicated by text.
Despite the realization, he denied. “What the hell? Besides my car, I’ve been giving you all the leads I can think of.”
“But your leads don’t help because if I can even get into these places, no one will talk to me!” She backed toward the hall. “So while you hang around here and get high, being with Colt could help me out in some way. Besides, he seems nice.”
Gage choked on the word ‘nice,’ abandoned his smoke, and straightened to his feet. “The Rainbow. Did you look up the two girls I told you? Those two specifically? Brenna and Shona Lee?”
“Yes! Brenna has been off the schedule, and Shona wouldn’t talk to me.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that was the reason you were coming up empty each day.” He should have. After all, he knew this town. The cliques within the cliques. The secrets cloaked behind smoke and mirrors. “I’ll help you. They’ll talk to me.”
Chapter 10
It took a minute for her eyes to adjust. The interior of the Rainbow after walking in from the bright California sun was like walking into a crypt. Scarla experienced a disturbing urge to hiss at the young woman who greeted them and then promptly turned her friendly smile to Gage with obvious worshipful recognition. “Upstairs?”
“Shona Lee?” Gage replied. “Is she here?”
Their hostess’ disappointment manifested in the slight falter of her toothy grin. “She’s got the patio. But it’s full of tourists… I could send her up to you?”
“That’d be great, Brenna. Lead the way, sweetheart.” Gage inclined his head to the narrow, steep stairway.
Scarla noted the endearment and slight softening in his tone. She snuck a sideways look and found him no different from any other male as he scoped the attractive ass ascending the stairs ahead of him.
The room was as dark as what she’d seen so far of the joint, but colored lights and mirrored walls lent the establishment a dive bar element of charm. Gage motioned to her to sit, but before seating himself, he crossed to the bar and shook the hand of a vaguely familiar man about ten years older than him. He nodded to another and after finishing the polite round, greeting acquaintances, returned right as Brenna dropped off two drinks and informed him Shona Lee would be up soon.
“What else can I get you?”
Scarla wondered if the silent lingering invitation in the inquiry was in her own imagination. But she felt certain it wasn’t because Brenna’s fluttering lashes stilled when Gage replied simply, “A bleu burger and fries sounds great.”
“One Bleu burger and Rainbow fries. And for you?” Brenna finally looked to Scarla. “Do you need a menu?”
‘Needing a menu’ was delivered in a way that set her apart like one of the patrons on the patio.
“I’ll have the same,” she demurred, ignoring the voice in her head admonishing her unhealthy choice.
“Brenna?” Gage stopped her before she turned away. “Can you hold up for a sec?”
At that precise moment, a beautiful blonde was making a beeline for them. Holding her hands out in greeting as she neared, she exclaimed over Gage’s presence, and he gave her fingers a squeeze. Then she angled her head, scrutinizing both Brenna and Scarla. “What’s going on?” She curved a giddy grin as if anticipating a party, but then her gaze darted back, landing on Scarla’s face in recognition.
Scarla’s breath caught, but she let it out when she saw the woman was only recollecting her face from the questions a few days ago.
At that time, any one she had questioned, including Shona Lee had given her a blank look when asked about Ivy. But now, with Gage’s presence, her memories miraculously returned.
Both women seemed happy to view the picture on her phone—and continued to flirt, much to her irritation. More importantly, they had information.
Both were certain they’d seen Ivy. Shona Lee offered to text a friend who she felt sure would know something more.
Scarla was so excited, she only picked at her food when their order arrived. She and Gage made small talk while waiting for Shona Lee to return. He seemed interested in her study area of naturalistic medicine, and it dissolved her nerves to chitchat with him. He told her a couple of crazy tour stories and silly stage moments, and as she laughed along with him, she pushed her plate his way since he’d emptied his and had begun filching her fries.
All flouncing blonde hair, Shona Lee returned to inform them her friend had confirmed seeing Ivy at a party in Pax’s home within the last couple of weeks.
“Thanks, sw
eetheart.” Gage bent enough to peck the other woman’s perfectly lip-lined mouth, and Scar didn’t miss the brief rest of his palm on her hip.
“Happy to help.” Shona Lee beamed.
The winding drive along Piuma Road was breathtaking. High above the rest of the world, houses perched on the mountainside, enjoying a majestic view.
“It won’t be weird for us to just show up?” Scarla asked, but truly, she was beyond caring if it meant finding her friend.
“Nah. He’s the kind of guy who always has something going on.”
She saw what he meant when the long driveway they turned into had over a dozen cars in it. A few people were wandering about outside. Gage walked right in the front door, but a burly guy manifested out of the background blocking her way. Doubling back, Gage frowned at the man without speaking. But his message was clearly ‘she’s cool’ and the man moved aside, letting her pass.
She found herself gritting her teeth to keep her jaw from flapping open as she took in her surroundings. She’d thought Gage’s house a mansion, but Rageon’s vocalist’s dwelling was a modern day castle.
Beyond the main room was a view even more splendid than Gage’s mountain view. Sometimes glass walls separated rooms. A floor of glass hovered over part of the pool area, allowing a clear view of the naked bodies cavorting in the water.
Gage seemed to know where he was going, and she followed, down a flight of outdoor stairs, around a corner, and onto a terrace perched on the side of a hill like a bird’s nest. A glass wind-wall blocked most of the weather, however a downdraft tugged at her stray hairs. People were lolling around, or milling about, some moving seductively to a trance dance beat. Gage went straight for a chaise and put his hand out.
“Gage Remington! Man, how are you?” The guy straddled the chair and got to his feet. They chatted, and the guy smacked a friendly palm on Gage’s back. “So what’d you bring me?”
Only because she knew Gage so well and had become familiar with his traits as an awkward teen before he was a sophisticated rock star, did she see him flinch.
“Only the best,” he replied, and to her surprise, draped an arm over her shoulder. “Can I get my girl a drink?”