“Don’t kid yourself. Jax took an interest in you before you were out of Fire Flight.” Colt sat up straight and frowned at the water. “Really? They’re going to do that shit right in front of me?”
Gage eyed the teens who had coupled off to two corners of the pool and were making out. “Give ’em a break, Dad.”
“Sure. And then Dad becomes Granddad…”
Gage was no longer listening. His thoughts had wandered to horny teens of another time, around another pool…
“…Remington’s sister. Hotter than a firecracker! Think that cherry’s been popped?”
Wham. Gage’s fist met his friend’s chin.
When the ‘friend’s’ parents called his father, his father had patted him proudly on the back after hearing the story.
I’m proud of you, son. She’s your sister. Always look out for her.
Chapter 26
The studio was cozy and at the same time chic. Noise City—my only other glimpse of a recording studio—had been dark and cluttered with stained carpet and dusty corners. Jewelstone—I gazed around—was in pristine condition and sunlight spilled into the main room through skylights.
A couple of months back when Jax had explained his vision of ongoing, on location rehabilitation, I had taken weeks to contemplate his proposal. Going on the Rattler tour as an addiction consultant and specialist was considered even more carefully knowing Gage was to be one of my clients. In his initial phone call, Jax had referenced the ice bar and a conversation where I’d told him my field of study, but truth be told, I was certain Gage had recommended me. In fact, I’d never been more certain than when Logan subtly added his support to the proposal.
Jax had spoken with me about using this tour as a model to build a rehab clientele with others in similar need of a sober companion. Labels looked bad when their bands had to cancel shows and tours due to drug and alcohol addictions. He wanted to minimize that ever happening to Jewelstone again, and he sounded as if he truly worried about throwing his artists on the road right out of rehab. He’d said someone of my allopathic skills traveling with band members who battled addictions might come to be as popular as chefs and other specialty entourage. I’d quickly warmed to the idea and agreed.
The tour was already underway and had been for a few weeks. I would intersect with their itinerary next week after my graduation ceremony. Technically, I’d just this week completed graduation requirements at the top of my class. I wasn’t required to attend the formal ceremony, but had decided with Logan’s input to enjoy the pomp and circumstance I’d earned.
What I hadn’t discussed with Logan was the truth behind this quick trip to Dallas. Ivy and Caroline were the only ones I’d confided in. As well as speaking to me about my allopathic therapy methods, Jax had also questioned me extensively about the songs I’d performed in the documentary and had seemed surprised they weren’t to be included in the soundtrack release.
“You don’t want those floating around the internet. A studio version will ensure your interests are protected. Aside from that, the cover version is beautiful. It should be ‘out there.’”
My first instinct had been to pick up the phone and ask Gage’s advice. Instead, I’d dialed my stepfather’s number and found him in agreement. He’d even looked over the paperwork and had assured me Jewelstone was known for looking out for the interests of the talent they signed.
After much deliberation, I’d flown here the day after my last final, courtesy of a private jet Jewelstone had sent, to have a recording session as well as to finalize my therapeutic presence on the tour.
“Scarlette! Welcome!” Jax manifested in the doorway and shook my hand. “I wanted to meet you at the airport myself, but was finishing up a project. Your flight go okay?”
“Everything was wonderful. Thanks.”
“Excuse me…” A very familiar face in the alternative rock world came into view. The young woman curved an apologetic smile toward me and introduced herself. “I’m the project from hell.”
I watched the banter between the two as they discussed a closed hi hat versus a foot hi hat. Soon the young woman apologized again and waved as she moved off. “Thanks for letting me interrupt, Scarlette. I’ll leave you now in the genius hands of this man and his soundboard.”
Jax had one of his tech guys bring my guitar in and explained that the session wouldn’t take long. “We want the sound as real and raw as possible.”
I recorded on my guitar as well as another, and we did three vocal takes. Jax explained the final mix might be overlaid with some of his own recording of the melody. A beautiful woman he introduced as his wife videoed parts of the session. It was painless and complete by the end of the day.
“Do I remember you saying you didn’t begin playing until around a year ago?” He asked while playing back one of the tracks. When I confirmed, he was interested in how much I practiced. My several hours on most days seemed to impress him. And in the end, he concluded with a smile and a shake of his head the same thing Gage, Colt, and Seth had. “Just another living prodigy as proof—skills are as much genetic as learned.”
I knew I didn’t have a fraction of the abilities of the many musicians I admired. But I was getting there. And in the meantime, it was nice to have experts comment on how well the uncomplicated compositions complimented my voice.
Over dinner with his family, we talked of the tour. He said it was going well but he was concerned about the drummer staying clean on the road. “And your broth—your—Gage…” He fumbled the reference and actually flushed! “Gage, I know is determined. But it won’t hurt to have an expert—you—right there in case he runs into trouble.”
His wife took that moment to intervene subtly. “Who’s ready for dessert?”
They drove me to the airport as night fell. At the foot of the airstairs, we parted with a shake of hands, spontaneous hugs, and Jax’s wife passed me a care package containing a couple of slices of the cheesecake I’d turned down due to being too full from the delicious Italian entree.
“Welcome to the Jewelstone family, Scarlette. Looking forward to working with you.”
Watching the metropolis lights fade as the plane headed west, I replayed the day. I knew what I’d been offered musically with Jewelstone was based as much on the merit of who I was as who I could be. My father had been a musical genius and everyone who knew music and heard me play believed I had inherited his skills. I could be great one day. But I was Scarlette Conterra. Did a name sell itself in this industry?
And what did I want? Right now, music was a newly discovered passion. An outlet for my confused and stressed emotions. Was I ready for it to become more? And if it did, would I have to choose between music and the career I’d schooled for?
Graduation night arrived. Speeches were made and diplomas dispensed.
Logan waved and I grinned as I made my way through the crowd toward him.
“So…” He pulled me into a hug. “What’re we doing to celebrate?”
Easing from his embrace, but remaining in the curve of his arm, I bit back the first flirtatious answer springing to mind. Had it been Derrick, we would have celebrated with wine, hot sauce, and sex. Had it been Gage, likely we would have taken a guitar or two and the wine straight to bed, playing and drinking between the sex. But even though Logan and I had been dating exclusively since just after the holidays, our relationship had never heated up.
Our relationship was odd, but it worked for me in all ways except sex. I enjoyed Logan’s company and having a boyfriend kept most other men away. However, it would’ve been nice to get-off to more than the pulsating spray of the shower massage wand.
“My mom wants to take us out to eat, if that’s okay. After that, you and I could grab a drink. Then I have to go home. Finish packing.”
“Yeah. Tomorrow’s the big day.” He spoke of the Rattler tour. For a moment, I glimpsed sadness beyond the attractive brandy tint of his irises. But his wide smile indicated he was happy for me.
I
had last seen my parent near the grand staircase of the auditorium hallway. Tugging on Logan’s hand, I headed that way. Henni seemed distracted, but I quickly pasted on a smile. Wondering what was up, I excused myself to the restroom.
“It’s really crowded…” My mother curved restraining fingers around my wrist. “Why don’t you wait until we get to the restaurant?”
“I’ve really got to…” I coughed, embarrassed to have this conversation in front of Logan. “…I’ve got to now, Mom. If you guys want to get out of here, I’ll find you outside.”
My mother’s hand left mine with a reluctant slide, and she spoke decisively. “We’ll wait here.”
The lavatory was well designed with plenty of stalls and very un-crowded. Surprised, I wondered if there had been a rush several minutes ago on toilets and the wave was now over.
After washing my hands, I lingered, tucking stray hairs back into hairclips. Leaning into the mirror, I rimmed my lips with the dramatic shade of lip color I wore this evening. I was dropping the slim tube of makeup into my purse when I exited into the narrow hallway. My chin was down and my eyes were on the zipper of my knock-off Birkin bag—I loved the design, but even with an unlimited flow of money, I wouldn’t pay five figures for a purse.
“Hello, Scarla Smythe! Or is it Scarlette Conterra these days?” The man’s voice was familiar. I felt a sense of having heard it on a phone, or similar, off and on my entire life. Curiously, I lifted my gaze. Automatically, since he’d called me by the name that tended to draw a crowd, I did a sweep of surrounding faces before settling on the one addressing me.
Wayne Ketchum.
Press was limited. A ceremony such as this in Tinsletown was almost a guarantee that someone would be a known name or have a close friend or relative in the audience looking on.
“What are you doing here?” Normally, I was friendly with press and paparazzi. But the unwanted attention of this particular one throughout the past months brought out the worst in me.
“We need to talk. Your security team guards your home like the White House. And your mother won’t give me your phone number to set up a meeting, which I realize would be the polite way of doing things.”
“It would,” I agreed coolly, and backed up a step since he was advancing as he spoke. “Give my publicist a ring.” Automatically, I pulled one of the business cards from the pocket of my phone case. But suddenly he was so close, I could feel his breath. The card glided to the floor. “Really, Mr. Ketchum.” Yeah, that surprised him. He blinked upon hearing I knew his name. “Now isn’t the time.”
Double doors to my left led to the balcony of the auditorium. I wasn’t sure if he was familiar with the layout, or if he got lucky when he clamped a hand on my arm, dragging me through them. I jerked away as the doors swung closed behind us. Since everyone had vacated the auditorium—at least this section of it—there was no traffic on the stairs. My heart pounded in fear as a realization settled. We were unlikely to be interrupted, and he was blocking my exit. My neck craned upward as I contemplated escaping up the stairs. I did put the distance of a few steps up between us and decided I would scream if he closed in again.
“Fine.” I forced bravado into my mutter of assent. “I’m listening. You have one minute.”
He smiled and it was then I thought of how many different types of smiles there were. A truly happy smile was only a fraction of his expression. His lips held a sneering curve while he assessed me, as if taking note of something for the first time. And then his mouth thinned into a line and his smug demeanor faltered some.
‘Ghosted’ was my first thought. But he’d observed me for months. He’d had plenty of time to see my father in my face.
“Scarlette Ketchum.” His beady eyes studied my reaction to these puzzling words. “Not nearly as pretty a name as Scarlette Conterra, is it?” And he smiled—an ugly smile—again. “You can keep your pretty Conterra name, though. No worries. I never wanted a kid anyway. Your mother has my banking details. She paid me yearly, but my price has gone up. I expect to be paid the same, but biannually now. I’ll expect the first deposit within thirty days. And I’ll do you a solid, since we’re kin and all. I’ll waive last year.”
His words bounced around my skull making no sense, and I opened my mouth. Whether to question him, scream at him to leave, or simply scream, I didn’t know. Because no sound came out. The alcove was bright, likely so people wouldn’t trip on the stairs, but the light seemed to dim and the walls pressed in around me. When his foot connected with the first step between us, I automatically grasped the rail for support. Before I could haul my weak knees up one more step, one of his arms arched between us, snatching my purse.
Finally, I did scream. The sound came out in one long blood-curdling yell and I backed up two steps while he ransacked the Birkin contents, pulling cash from my wallet. Dropping the bag, he reminded, “Thirty days. Don’t make me find you.”
And he was gone!
Two men burst through the doors. I realized I’d collapsed onto the stairway and shoved to my feet. The younger of the two picked up my purse from the bottom of the stairway as they both inquired of my wellbeing.
“I fell.” I swallowed the words wanting to push out. A man who has been stalking me for months pulled me in here, claimed to be my father, threatened and extorted, and then stole what cash I had! “I just fell.”
By now, a few more people were gawking in the doorway, and the older of the two men inquired of the man they’d seen running out as they ran in.
“I just fell.” I accepted my purse and thanked them both.
“Can you walk?”
I supposed the scream had been louder and scarier than the average I’ve-fallen-down-a-couple-of-stairs scream. “Yeah. Thanks again.”
My mother and Logan burst on the scene. Amid more ‘I fell’ explanations, I was escorted to my car. The initial plan had been for us stop by my house and drop my car off. Then Logan and I would take his car to the restaurant and my mother would meet us there.
However, as we made the twenty-minute drive to my apartment, Logan leading, me in the middle, and Henni driving in the rear, I grilled my mom.
After relating what had really happened, I waited a beat. But when Henni’s voice didn’t come through the car speakers, I pressed on. “He said you’ve been paying him. How long and how much? And why?”
“There was a chance he was your father.” Henni’s answer was a reluctant breath of words. “It was complicated. Tyler didn’t want to be tied into a relationship. And since I knew he was getting it on with groupies, I had my fun too. It was only fair.”
“And protection?” I couldn’t believe I was having this conversation. Who had to speak of these things with their mother?
“It was a different time. There weren’t so many diseases. Most women relied on the pill. And I was drinking a lot. Sometimes I guess I threw it up or something. I got pregnant. At first, I thought I wanted money to make the pregnancy disappear, and I went to Wayne. When he refused to take responsibility, I told Tyler. What I didn’t count on was him being thrilled to be a dad.”
Thrilled to be a dad while my own mom was wanting to abort me…
“Tyler said he’d take care of me. Of you, when you were born. And he said he’d stop whoring on the road. That we’d be a family. And we were. Off and on. When we were, those were the best days of my life. And then when he died… Like my whole world wasn’t crashing down enough… Wayne, like the weasel he is, came out of the woodwork. I had to pay him. What if he was the father? Your inheritance was on the line.”
My fingers bit into the steering wheel, and I made the exit from the freeway to suburbia. Henni had grown quiet.
When my mother’s voice filled the car again, it was obvious she’d been crying. “I always saw Tyler in you. Especially your eyes. But I thought ‘what if I was wrong?’ I couldn’t take the chance. Then, this last couple of years… Now that you’re the age he was when… And now that your hair is the same color… That wi
th your eyes… There’s no doubt in my mind. In anyone’s mind. My God, you look just like him. I’d already quit paying him a couple of years back when the money ran out and promised him once the trust got settled we’d talk. But now it’s so clear you’re not his, I told him to fuck off. I’m sorry, baby, that he came at you like that.”
“What are we going to do?” There was no doubt in my own mind of whose child I was—although sometimes I wondered how I could be Henni’s! But Tyler… I felt a connection to Tyler Conterra with every cell in my body. Maybe that surety is why my mind tacked off the main problem to what should have been the miniscule. “I don’t need this kind of publicity after that damn sex video!”
“Scarlette, I want to tell you something. You should know. The sex video. He did it.”
“Ketchum did it?”
“He was following you looking for an opportunity to hit you up for money and took that opportunity instead. Then I guess that was easy enough money, and he turned paparazzi full time.”
“How do you know this?”
“He told me when he came to Belize. He wanted ten thousand dollars to hold him off from asking you for money until you and I talked. I said no, and he bragged how much he made from the video and threatened to do something like that again. So I gave him five to leave you alone. Now I’ve been talking to a friend who is a lawyer. He thinks―”
“Stop!” I knew Logan had to be wondering where I was as I had slowed to barely rolling along my neighborhood streets with Henni behind me. “I can’t believe you’ve fucked this up like this!”
“I’m the victim! And I’m trying to fix it so we never see him again! The lawyer says―”
I jabbed the ‘call end’ button, becoming aware of just how many times my mother had driven me to the breaking point of hanging up. Drawing in deep breaths, I tried to compose myself as I was dangerously near tears. Too much drama had been crammed into a very short time span.
When we reached my house, I waved to Logan who was a shadow inside his car lit by his phone screen. Before I put my own phone away, I texted my mother that I needed some thinking time and asked her to stay at a hotel.
Hung Out: A Needles and Pins Rock Romance Page 12