By Degrees

by Elle Casey

  Chapter Four

  WHEN I ARRIVE AT THE restaurant, Mel is already there and sitting at the table Scott reserved. As I walk up, he’s saying goodbye to someone who stopped by to chat. I don’t recognize this stranger, so I pay him no mind.

  Mel gets up and comes around to pull my chair out for me and then sits down after pushing my seat in. I’m charmed by his manners. I don’t see that a lot out here in L.A.

  “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure,” he says. “I’m glad we could meet on such short notice.”

  “I often book a table here. It’s not a problem.”

  “You don’t cook?” he asks, putting his napkin in his lap.

  “No time for it.” After putting my own napkin in my lap, I lean down to open up my briefcase. He doesn’t need to know my main home-cooked meal is macaroni and cheese or re-heated Chinese take-out.

  “Aren’t we going to have dinner first?” he asks as I pull out my sheaf of papers.

  “I’d prefer to get this part out of the way if you don’t mind. Then we can relax and enjoy the food.”

  He shrugs as the waiter walks up. “Whatever you say. It’s fine with me.”

  I order us a bottle of wine. The waiter knows me so it’s easily done with minimal fuss. Once he’s gone, I begin the process of narrowing my focus. I review the papers in my hands.

  “I have profiles on all the people who I believe spend a significant amount of time with Tarin. You can let me know if I’ve missed anyone.” I name all the people Scott researched, briefly showing Mel their pictures.

  “That Jelly person isn’t someone to be concerned with,” says Mel, when I get to the leeches. “She’s just passing through. Ship in the night kind of thing.”

  “I agree in theory, but she was with him as recently as yesterday, so for now, I have to assume she’s part of the group I’ll be dealing with.”

  “He goes through women like underwear,” said Mel. “If you spend a lot of time on them, believe me, you won’t have time for anything else.”

  “I understand. Thank you.” I have a man-whore on my hands. Nothing new there. Girlfriends who aren’t special were easy to deal with. It’s the Sid and Nancy types that are a nightmare.

  “What about these two?” I ask, holding up the guys Scott identified as possible drug connections.

  “I don’t know ‘em. I’ve seen them, but who they are? … It’s a mystery to me. Tarin hasn’t been very forthcoming lately.” Mel takes a sip of his water. He looks distracted.

  The waiter comes and delivers our wine, allowing me to taste it first, giving Mel time to collect himself.

  I put my fingers on the base of my wine glass, moving it in circles on the white tablecloth to circulate air over the deep ruby-red liquid inside. “Tell me about Tarin. I mean, before he was having problems.”

  Mel smiles, a little sadly. “He’s a good person, underneath the brash exterior. A little bold, a little over the top, yes. But good. I met him when he was just seventeen, playing a few small clubs with his buddies. It was just a fluke that I caught his act. I was there with a younger agent showing him the ropes, and we’d come for another group that ended up having to go on late because something happened to their equipment. I can’t recall what it was at the time, but anyway, that’s neither here nor there … I saw him, I heard him, and I knew he was going places.” He smiled. “I walked right up to him and gave him my card, something I hadn’t done in years and never again since. The agent I was with thought I was nuts. He said Tarin was too raw, too uncivilized for the market. But he was wrong. I knew it then, and I’ve been proven right a thousand times over. Kids like it raw. He’s rock and roll at its very essence.”

  “No one can argue his success or your vision for him.”

  “No, they can’t.” Mel leans forward, now speaking passionately about his protégé. “And what so many people don’t fully appreciate yet is that he’s versatile. He’s not just a one-trick pony.” Mel pokes his index finger into the table several times, in staccato rhythm. “He’s going to take those movie roles and he’s going to blow people’s minds.”

  “That’s you’re prediction?” I give him my ironic smile, the one that says it’s his turn to impress me, like I did with him in his office earlier today.

  “Yes, that’s my prediction.” He leans back in his chair, back to being his calm self once again. “And my predictions about superstars are never wrong. Tarin is a superstar.”

  I hold up my glass of wine and smile. “Here’s to your prediction being right, then.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” he says, touching his glass to mine before taking a sip. He frowns and looks closer at the wine, using the candlelight to illuminate the shades of burgundy swirling around. “This is good. What is this?”

  “Something sent over by a friend. The restaurant keeps it here for me and special clients.” Thank you, Jack.

  “You have nice friends,” he says, obviously curious but perhaps too polite to press me for details. It’s a refreshing change from the nosey people I usually deal with.

  “Yes, I do have nice friends.” I put my glass down. “So, back to business. Here’s how this will play out: Tomorrow I need to meet with Tarin’s bandmates and his homeboys, the ones who’ve been around since the start. They need to be on my side in this before he knows what’s going on. After that, maybe later in the day or the next, I’ll need to meet with just him, you, and me. I suggest a place he can’t run away from.”

  “That’ll be tough. What do you suggest?”

  “Do you know anyone with a boat?”

  He smiles. “I have a few friends with boats.”

  “Great. Find one with a couple bedrooms that have locks on the doors - the kind that will lock from the outside.”

  “Sounds … serious.” He laughs like he’s not sure if I’m joking. “Are you planning on taking him prisoner?”

  “No, not at all. The locks are to keep him out of the bedrooms, not in. In my experience, celebrities who hear things they don’t want to hear like to run. If we’re on a boat, he can’t go far, but if he locks himself into one of the rooms, it just takes me longer. I don’t have time to play. And I don’t do well on small boats, so that’s not an option.”

  Mel nods. “I think I can figure something out. You haven’t given me a lot of time, though.”

  “Do your best. After I meet with Tarin and explain how everything will work, I’ll meet with him and his people all together - an intervention of sorts to kind of solidify what we’ve gotten him to agree to in theory. After that we’ll deal with the crew, and then the others. Tarin won’t be there for those meetings. I don’t want him giving them any impression that they’ll be protected by him.”

  “Aren’t you worried that Tarin will tell everyone to blow you off?”

  “Tarin can try, but I can be pretty convincing when necessary. And I have you and his friends to back me up.”

  “But there’s nothing tying Tarin to anyone. He can fire his manager, me … anyone … whenever he wants. If we all tell him the same thing, and he doesn’t like it, he can get rid of all of us and start over new.”

  “He won’t do it. First of all, all of his most trusted friends will be right there standing with me. And the way he’s behaving now? That’s a cry for help. He wants someone like me to come in and take over. He’s under too much pressure. He has no boundaries. I’m the walls that are going up around him. Once he feels secure again, we’ll take them down. I’ll teach him to put his own boundaries in place.”

  Mel shakes his head. “Well, more power to you, is all I can say.” He takes a healthy chug of wine. “But I hope you realize that they don’t call him Tear-It-Up Kilgour because it looks cute on t-shirts.”

  I smile. “I’m aware. When I’m done, he’ll be just regular old Tarin. And if he’s not, you don’t pay.”

  Mel stares at me for several seconds before he responds. “I want to pay you because I want you to succeed. I’ve talked to your references. The
y say you’re some kind of miracle worker.”

  I shrug, a little embarrassed about the moniker. “I don’t know about that. But I get results.” I take another sip of wine. For some weird reason I’m perfectly comfortable talking about my own success, but when someone else does, it makes me feel weird. I prefer admiration to be more understated when it’s directed at me, I guess.

  “You get results that save lives and careers. Tarin needs you. If he can’t see that, I don’t know what’ll happen to him.” Mel shakes his head and lowers his eyes to the table, suddenly lost in thought.

  I reach over and put my hand over his, patting it gently. “You don’t need to worry about that. I promise. I’ll get him under control and back on track.”

  A rough voice comes to us from over my shoulder, startling me and giving Mel a near-heart attack when he looks up. “You’ll get who under control?” the man asks.

  I turn around in my seat and find Tarin Kilgour standing behind me.

  Chapter Five

  MEL STANDS, CLEARLY FLUSTERED. “TARIN, my boy. What are you doing here?”

  Tarin grabs a chair from a nearby table and swings it around with one hand, straddling the seat and wrapping his arms around the back of it. He’s oblivious to the several sets of eyes staring at him, many of them obviously recognizing who he is.

  “Looks like I’m late to the party.” He holds out a hand in my direction, leaning the chair over onto two legs so he can reach me. “I don’t believe we’ve met.” His expression has a smile, but he doesn’t fool me for a second. Talk about intense. I feel like a piece of chocolate in the sun.

  I take his hand for a brief moment and give him a tight smile as we shake. “Not officially, no.” I pull my hand back, even though he’s holding on tight enough to keep it longer. I’m not comfortable with the sparks that are flying between us. This has never happened before with anyone I’ve ever worked with. My palm is already sweaty.

  He tilts his head, frowning at me in concentration. “We sleep together before?”

  I shake my head, not smiling or blushing like he expects me to, even though I’m having a minor heart attack. “Never ever.” My damn brain is actually visualizing him shirtless right now. There are tattoos involved.

  A cocky grin slides out and some of his intensity falls off, giving way to an easier mood. “Wow, that sounds definite.” His eyes actually twinkle at me. I’m torn between blushing and slapping his face, but I play it super cool.

  “Trust me, it is definite.” I turn my attention to Mel. “We can finish this another time if you want.”

  Mel’s at a loss, looking from Tarin to me.

  Tarin waves in Mel’s direction to keep him from answering, all of his attention focused on me. “Where do I know you from?” He rests his chin on the back of the chair, looking much younger than his twenty-three years. He reminds me of someone I used to know and it makes a pain of regret and sorrow shoot through my chest. I so don’t need those reminders right now, especially when Tarin is my next fixer upper.

  I sigh. He’s not going to let the subject of how he knows me drop until I tell him. “I saw you today outside of Mel’s office.”

  His face brightens and he points in my face. “That was you! Ha!” He drops his hand to the table. “You look different upside down.”

  I have nothing to say to that so I just stare at him. I’m all business. I will not fall for his playboy act.

  He looks over at Mel. “She was in your office, wasn’t she?”

  Mel nods. “Yes, she was. And we were talking about you.”

  Tarin grabs the sides of the chair and leans back, yanking on it a few times before leaning forward again and resting his chin on the top of the chair back. He’s oblivious to the fifty pairs of eyes watching everything he does and the whispers of recognition coming from the other diners.

  “I’ll bet you had a really interesting conversation.” He raises his eyebrows up and down and smiles. He’s completely full of himself. I don’t find it attractive at all, but my guess is he thinks I do. I sense he’s giving a performance, and I understand now why Mel says he’ll be great as an actor. I agree wholeheartedly, even with only this small sample. The women and girls will love him.

  “We did have an interesting conversation actually,” said Mel, pulling his napkin from his lap and putting it next to his plate. “But this isn’t the time or the place to discuss it.”

  Tarin flops his arms down on the table in front of his chair. “Why not? You got a hot date somewhere you need to get to?” He starts drumming out a beat on the table with the sides of his thumbs.

  “No. Suzanne is waiting for me at home.”

  Tarin winks at me while he responds to Mel. “I’m glad I didn’t catch you cheating on her over here. I’d have to tattle or blackmail you or something.”

  Neither Mel nor I jump to the bait Tarin is dangling. He’s acting like he’s in a jovial mood, but there’s anger or frustration there, simmering just below the surface. It will only take one small thing to set him off, and he’s daring us to find his trigger and pull it.

  “I need to get going,” says Mel, standing. He’s smart. He obviously knows his client well and realizes he’s better off disappearing than staying to watch a spectacle.

  I raise an eyebrow at him, letting him know I’m not crazy about being left to tame this tiger alone. He ignores me.

  “See you tomorrow or Friday? On the boat?” I ask.

  “Yep. I’ll send you the details by email.”

  “Boat? What boat?” asks Tarin, looking from Mel to me and back again. “What’s up, Mel? You going on that cruise already?”

  “Hardly.” He pats Tarin on the shoulder. “Stay. Have dinner. You look like you haven’t had a decent meal in a while.”

  Tarin scowls, shrugging Mel’s touch off. “I’m too busy to eat.” Then he stands suddenly, grabbing Mel by the arm. “Wait! Stay. We can chat like we used to. Talk about my future and all our big plans.” His word drip with angry sarcasm.

  Mel looks at him sadly. “Please don’t do that, Tarin.” He reminds me of a disappointed grandfather and my heart hurts for Tarin. I pray he’s not too far gone to feel the pain too.

  Tarin drops his arm and looks like he’s about to spit. He’s angry. “Whatever. I’ll see you around.”

  “Yes, you will.”

  Tarin watches him leave and then he looks at me. “What’s the deal with you two? Why are you here with old man Warner in this sexy place if it’s not a date?”

  I gesture to the chair across the table from me, ignoring his insult to his agent and me. “Have a seat and I’ll discuss it with you.”

  He takes a few exaggeratedly casual steps over to the chair, eyeing me suspiciously. “You a shrink?”

  I shake my head silently.

  “Good. Because I don’t need a shrink.”

  No, you need a set of parents who will whoop your butt. “I agree.”

  He gives me a brief smile. “Great minds think alike.”

  “I wouldn’t get ahead of myself,” I say, giving him the challenge he’s looking for.

  He drops into the seat, sliding and slouching down until his legs bang into mine. He leaves them there, daring me with his eyes to move away.

  I don’t move an inch. I stay there and let the heat coming through his jeans seep through the thin material of my pants. I refuse to allow it to distract me. I will not let it do that.

  “So, what’s on the men-yooo,” he says, giving me what I think is his best sexy look. If I weren’t so disappointed in him as a person, I’d probably fall for it, or consider falling for it, anyway. Right now, it’s just irritating.

  “Food. Not me.”

  He laughs softly. “Touché. You’re good. So seriously … who are you and why are you eating dinner with my agent and having meetings with him in his office?” Some of his asshole façade is slipping away and I feel like I’m catching a glimpse of the real Tarin behind the mask. It gives me hope.

  “We’ll dis
cuss it Friday. On the boat.”

  “I’m not going on a boat.”

  “Yes you are.” I take a sip of my wine.

  He backs his head up, like he can’t believe I just said that. “Says who?”

  “Says your agent, the person you’re contractually obligated to give your best efforts to.”

  He snorts. “Bullshit.”

  I shrug. “The rest of the band will be there. It’d be shame to have a business meeting without you there, but if you force us to, we will.”

  “Who the hell are you to talk to me this way?” His façade is firmly back in place, and he’s spoiling for a fight. I’m not going to give him one, however. Not here. Not now. But later? Oh yeah. Most definitely.

  “I’m a friend.”

  He stands suddenly, grabbing the edge of the table. I snatch up my glass just in time as he lifts the table up, like he’s going to dump the entire thing over onto me. But then he just bangs it down. “Fuck that!” he growls. Other diners are looking at us with worried expressions. Two men sitting nearby stand and assume defensive postures. It’s possible they’ve heard about Tear-It-Up Kilgour and how he’s famous for destroying rooms and furniture.

  I sit dispassionately watching his tantrum, slowly lowering my glass to the tabletop. I will not react like he wants me to.

  “Mel doesn’t pick my friends for me. I pick my own friends.” He sounds like a small child. It’s sad, not scary like he intends it.

  “And you do such a good job of it,” I say, deliberately egging him on. It will help my case to have something to talk about with him later … when I’m convincing him he needs me.

  He walks around the table and bends over, his face only inches from mine. I can smell old booze on his breath and the stink of cigarettes. I remind myself to bring an extra toothbrush on the boat.

  “Listen, girl … I don’t know who you are or where the hell you came from, but you stay the fuck away from me and my friends, you hear me? Stay away.”