Dirty Stepbrother

by Alycia Taylor

  “Hey, Holly.”

  “I’ve got some great stuff you’re going to love!” she told me. I liked Holly, but she and I didn’t see eye to eye when it came to fashion. She wanted to dress me up in skinny jeans and shit…not going to happen unless she killed me first.

  She led me over to two racks of men’s clothes. I went straight for the “normal” jeans and picked out a plain pair of dark blue Levi’s.

  “Really, Tristan? All that stuff and you want the plain ones?”

  I shrugged, “You brought them, so obviously you expected someone to wear them, right?”

  She made a face at me and said, “I knew you would bitch if I didn’t and threaten to wear your old, faded ones.”

  I grinned, “How well you know me, Holly.” She rolled her eyes as I picked out a plain blue t-shirt and a pair of black boots. I took them into the next room and tried it all on. I needed to go one size bigger in the shirt. I had been eating a lot better since I quit using and it was showing. I was going to have to start hitting the gym hard before it started showing around my middle, like a pot-bellied old man.

  I went back out, took the bigger shirt, and said, “Okay, you and I are done, Holly. Thanks.” She rolled her eyes again. I was an affront to her profession. I turned to the hairstylist and said, “Jose, you gonna trim me up today?”

  “Yes, my love,” I didn’t care for the pet name, but he called everyone that, so I put up with it. He didn’t mean anything by it. I’d seen his boyfriend and I was sure that I wasn’t even close to his type. “Come, sit.” Jose trimmed my hair and gave me a shave. While he worked, he talked and I thought about Elly again. I wondered if she was still mad. I was still mad at her, but I was horny. I went back to my room and thought about her some more after my haircut. I ended up having to take a shower. Fuck, I was horny!

  That night I hung out with Ethan. He was a pretty good guy and fun to hang out with. We gambled for a while, but I didn’t win shit. I got a glimpse of Elly on our way in for dinner. She was on her way out. I pretended like I didn’t see her, but damn she looked good enough to eat. After dinner I went to the bar with Ethan and I actually went so far as to order a beer. I thought just one wouldn’t hurt. I sat there looking at it for a while but, I realized that even with it right in front of me, I knew I wasn’t going to drink it. “Just one won’t hurt” was what I’d told myself every time I started back up in the past. I pushed it back and asked the bartender for a coke instead.

  The next day, I got up with a few knots in my stomach. I know they said some nights on the show we were in front of three hundred million people, but I didn’t have to look at them all; I forgot the ones behind the TV were there. I would be performing in front of over sixteen thousand people live. I’d done bigger arenas when I was a kid, but that had been a long ass time ago. Once I’d gotten used to it back then, the bigger the better. I loved that adoration shit the audience laid on me. Right then, I wasn’t positive I could do it. I went to the gift shop and bought some Rolaids and started eating them. I didn’t eat anything else; I was afraid I’d get up on stage and puke. The show started at five and I performed last, so around seven. I didn’t have any duets or group songs planned for that night; they wanted to showcase us each individually the first night, they said. I went to meet with the band at noon to go over the music for my song one last time, and by that time, I was seriously wondering if I’d make it to seven. The anxiety was getting a lot worse before I went in, but singing and playing the music really seemed to help alleviate a lot of it.

  We practiced for about three hours and by that time, I thought I might be able to hold something down. I went to the restaurant and got a turkey sandwich and took it back to my room. I ate lunch and thought about taking a nap. It was almost four, though, and I didn’t want to oversleep. I was about to get in the shower when there was a knock on the door. I let myself imagine just for a second that it was Elly, here for a quickie. I pulled it open and there stood Jake’s little messenger…again. He didn’t look anything like Elly. Shit! I forgot I was supposed to meet with that son of a bitch.

  “Hey, Tristan, Jake is waiting to see you.” He had this tone that said he couldn’t believe I’d actually defied the great and powerful Oz.

  “Alright, I have to take a quick shower. I’ll be down in half an hour.”

  The messenger didn’t look happy with that answer, but that was too damned bad. I was the star of this fucking show, not the producer. If he wanted to see me, he could wait.

  I took my time in the shower and then getting dressed. I finally made it down to his room at four-thirty. When he let me in, he raised his eyebrows and said, “You’re pushing it to the last minute, Tristan. Don’t you still have to get dressed?”

  I looked at the fucker in his custom-made three thousand dollar suit. His hair was perfect and each one of his teeth was covered with a shiny white veneer. It probably took him hours to get ready to go anywhere. He may as well wear a sign around his neck that says, ‘I’m a rich mother-fucker and I think I’m better than all of you.’

  “I’m dressed,” I told him. He looked me up and down, obviously disapproving of my choice of outfits. Fuck him, I didn’t care. “I do have to hit hair and make-up though, so….” If we could get the fuck on with it!

  “Have a seat, Tristan.”

  I sat down and he said, “Would you like anything to drink?”

  “No thanks, I’m fine.”

  “Okay then,” he said, sitting down opposite of me. “First, I was wondering how the rehab was going?”

  “Good. I finished the program and I only had one therapy appointment to go outpatient when we left. He was supposed to be in touch with the show’s therapist about it. I’ve been sober now for over 100 days.”

  “That’s great, good work. It’s hard stuff; I’ve had my own struggles with it, so I know.”

  I just nodded at him. I was hoping that was it. Then he said, “How’s the bus? Is that comfortable for you?”

  “Yeah, it’s nice.” I said. Shit, I didn’t have time for this idle chit chat crap.

  “Good…good. So, how far along are you with the songs?”

  “I’m sorry? The what?”

  “The songs…for the record company.”

  I had no fucking clue what he was talking about. “Um…I don’t know what you mean.”

  He looked shocked, or annoyed, or something. “Tristan, you have to have twelve songs ready to go…and already approved by the record company by the time this tour is over.”

  “What the fuck?”

  “Did you read the contract you signed when you started on the show?”

  “Yeah, of course I read it,” I lied.

  “Then you knew that if you won, in order to get the money, you had to have the twelve songs done and approved by the end of the tour.”

  I could feel myself getting pissed, but I was really trying to control it. He was not only talking to me as if I was a fucking idiot, he was telling me that I wasn’t going to get the money I already felt like I had worked for.

  “That’s bullshit,” I said, but in an even tone. “I won this contest…fair and square. Now we’re on tour and I’m putting on ten shows in the next two weeks and I’m supposed to be writing original songs on top of that?”

  “It was in the contract.”

  I imagined my fist connecting with his obviously altered nose and lips before I stood up and said, “Fucking bullshit! That’s what this is.”

  He continued to sit there all composed and professional as he said, “Bullshit or not, Tristan, it’s what’s in the contract. Maybe this will be a lesson to you to read what you sign from now on.”

  “I read it!” I snapped back. I didn’t read it, or I did and I was too fucking high to process it. Either way, it was bullshit. Even if I had known about it, they just didn’t give me enough time. Shit! I had nine months. Fuck! I didn’t know who I was more pissed at, him or me.

  He was looking at me with that fucking holier-than-though look
…like maybe he was an artist, like he’d ever given up a piece of his soul to write and then sing a song in front of millions of people and I realized, it was still him. I couldn’t stay in the room any longer without ruining his veneers and his lip implants or injections or whatever the vain son of a bitch had put in them. I stormed out of the room and slammed the fucking door behind me.

  I had to go straight to hair and make-up. Poor Jose got the brunt of my attitude after that while he was doing my hair. I never spoke to the make-up chick, anyways; she was an uptight bitch. By the time they all finished with me it was my turn on stage. I ran out under the lights and looked out at the sixteen thousand people who had come to see me. I thought about the millions more who had liked me enough to vote for me so I could make it there.

  They tossed me my guitar and I slipped it over my shoulders. Before I started playing, or even opened my mouth, there were people on their feet in the audience, screaming out my name. The butterflies in my stomach were gone along with the rest of the anxiety. I was still shaking, but the shakes never really go away. I think that’s adrenaline and that shit feels good; it’s the most basic form of high that you can get. When I started singing, they screamed louder. My pulse was racing, I was sweating and I had to consciously think about controlling my breathing so I didn’t waste it before I was finished with my song. When I was done, I was bathed in sweat and the lights felt like they were setting my skin on fire. I had that black shit the make-up girl put on my eye lashes in my eyes and face powder dripping down onto my new t-shirt. Over half of the audience was on its feet and hot girls were throwing panties and bras and fucking phone numbers up on stage. It was incredible, better than any drug. I loved feeling like I was more than just a has-been child star. I loved knowing that in spite of how crappy my family was, these people loved me. I wondered if Elly was watching.

  Chapter Six

  Elly

  I watched Tristan’s performance with butterflies in my stomach. No matter how pissed off I was at him, I couldn’t deny the fact that he was incredibly hot and so talented I could hardly believe it sometimes. If he holds it together and did what the managers and producers told him, he’d not only be a star, he’d be a mega-star. His music would be classic someday, I was sure of it. When he was in his element, he was the sexiest man alive. I wanted him right then so badly that my panties were actually wet just watching him. From the looks of the audience, and the undergarments strewn across the stage, I wasn’t the only one. Tristan was eating it all up, but I thought watching him play to his fans only made him that much hotter.

  “Hey, Elly,” I turned to see Mike, one of Jake’s assistants.

  “Hi, Mike.”

  “He’s doing an awesome job, huh?” he said, his eyes following mine towards Tristan rocking out on the stage.

  “Yeah, he really is,” I agreed.

  “Jake would like to see you after the show is over.”

  “Oh really? Shouldn’t I help pack things up first? Don’t we have to take off tonight?”

  “Yeah, we’re taking off tonight. Jake said to tell you not to worry about the packing up. There are enough of us to pick up any slack. He said it couldn’t wait.”

  “Oh, okay…sure.” Damn it! What does Jake want at nine o’clock at night? What could it be that can’t wait? I might have been paranoid, but in my defense, I’d already been fired once.

  I looked back out on the stage. Tristan was finished with his song and was blowing kisses to the girls who were having coronaries. Some of them held up signs with their number on it and some of them had signs that said, ‘Marry me!’ I had to smile. He knew how to work an audience. Unfortunately, he knew how to work me too.

  While he was wrapping it up on stage, I left to go to Jake’s room. He answered the door dressed in a light gray suit with a charcoal tie. The shirt underneath the suit jacket was one shade lighter than the suit and the tie one shade darker. It had big, white, French cuffs and he wore monogrammed silver cuff links. I wondered if he had his own stylist or if he was just that good at dressing himself. He looked like he was ready for the stage himself.

  “Hello, Elly! I’m so glad you made it, come in.” Was it my imagination or did he drag his eyes over my body? Susie! Get out of my head.

  I stepped inside and he closed the door behind me. “Mike said you needed to see me…”

  “Can I fix you a drink?”

  “Um…no, I’m okay.” I said. Mike also said it was urgent. Right then he was offering me drinks. What the hell was going on?

  “Let’s have a seat,” he said. He directed me to the little sofa and I sat down. I was surprised when instead of taking the chair opposite me, he sat right next to me. It was a really small sofa, so it was a tight fit. Our legs were touching and I had on a dress, so mine were bare. I shifted mine over a little bit, but he didn’t seem to be trying to pull his away. “How did the show go?” he asked me.

  I was sure he’d watched the whole thing. His computer monitor was still up and frozen on a shot of the stage. Maybe this was about me and Tristan again. “It was really good. They all did really well.”

  “Good, any technical issues?”

  “None that I was aware of. It’s a great stage and the stage hands were really helpful.”

  “Cool, I’m glad to hear it. We’re pulling out tonight at eleven.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I heard. I was thinking I should be helping pack up….”

  “Nah,” he said, waving a hand. “We have a lot of help. I just wanted to check in with you and make sure you weren’t regretting coming along. I know it’s hard to just pack up and leave your home for a year the first time you do it. I’ve been doing it for quite a few years and sometimes it’s still hard on me. Was your room comfortable? If it’s too crowded for you with all the girls, I could make arrangements in Denver for you to have your own room.

  Fuck! What the hell was he doing? This guy was part of the meeting where I was fired for seeing Tristan so he knew about me and him. He was my boss and he was at least fifteen years older than me. Surely it wasn’t all about him hitting on me. He was rich and gorgeous. Getting women couldn’t be that much of a problem for him.

  “No, it’s okay. It’s fun, staying with the other girls. Everyone’s been getting along really well. It’s like a big slumber party, talking about our boyfriends and stuff.”

  He smiled at me…indulgently? It was as if he knew what I was trying to do, remind him I have a boyfriend and that I was a lot younger than him. His eyes left my face and went back to my cleavage. I’m not sure, but I think the pig licked his lips.

  “I’ve gotten the impression, Elly, that you’re a lot more mature than a lot of those girls. I picture you someday enjoying the finer things in life, and fitting into that world nicely.”

  What the fuck? He was hitting on me. Crazy! The moment of truth had arrived. He slid his hand over onto my thigh and rested it there as he said,

  “Just keep it in mind. If you need anything, Elly…I can do a lot for you.”

  I was frozen in my spot. Susie was right…that bitch. He thought I was going to sleep with him. The bastard made me think that he thought I was great at my job and he was only looking for a piece of ass. What the hell was I supposed to do? Was my job in jeopardy again, because I sure as hell wasn’t sleeping with him to keep it?

  “Um…thanks,” I said. I was about to move; his hand felt creepy. That was when he came in for a kiss. Our lips barely brushed as I pulled back and jumped up off the couch. “If that’s all, Jake, I really should go help pack and load up.” I wanted to punch him in the face, but I’m positive that would have gotten me fired.

  He didn’t look mad. He looked…amused. That pissed me off. Was this a game to him? It was as if he was so arrogant that he wasn’t worried about it…he knew I’d ultimately give in. He had another thing coming.

  “Okay, Elly, just remember what I said. I can get you whatever you need. You just call me. You still have my private cell phone number, right?�
��

  “Yeah, thanks!” I ran out of the room. My pulse was racing and I felt like I couldn’t breathe. He thought I was going to sleep with him to keep my job. I wondered how many other interns he’d approached before me. I wondered how many slept with him. Did I give him that impression? My head was spinning. I needed to find Tristan.

  I made my way downstairs and out back where the buses were parked. Tristan was still pissed at me, I was sure. That was okay. I was still pissed at him too. I needed to shake off the creepy feeling that perverted, unprofessional jerk had given me. I thought some hot make-up sex with Tristan would do the trick. If it took an apology from me to him to do it, then so be it.

  Chapter Seven

  Tristan

  After the show, I went back up to my room. I had to get used to being surrounded by security again. It was a strange feeling to have people trying to grab at you and touch you. It wasn’t a bad feeling; I actually liked knowing that I did that for them. When I was young, I would always piss the security off and stop and sign a few autographs. I wonder sometimes now how many of those young girls who loved me back then even remembered me. When I got to the room, I packed up my stuff and then again with security, I went down to the bus. My heart was pounding so hard still it felt like it might jump out of my chest. I felt so fucking alive. I wasn’t ready to go to bed, but I was so amped up that I didn’t trust myself to show up at the bar where everyone else was partying. Inevitably, someone would buy a round or two or three of drinks….then it was all downhill. I found myself almost wishing that I wasn’t so pissed at Elly. Some hot sex would be just the thing to top off the night. I wasn’t going to give in to her though. If I did, she’d think that it was okay to get nosy about my business. I didn’t like that shit. If she wanted to know something, she should have asked me. If I felt like it, I’d tell her. If I didn’t tell her then it wasn’t her business in the first place.