Hard Rock Improv

by Ava Lore

  “—gonna have to make a show of it—” Sonya said as I passed, which only piqued my curiosity further, but I knew better than to eavesdrop. I went to the catering tent and loaded up on food. I spent our short break listening to Manny and Carter banter back and forth, but mostly I was lost in thought, pondering how many things I didn’t have a clue about.

  I knew one thing, though: Manny was in trouble.

  * * *

  Filming wrapped up at ten-thirty that night. I’d spent the rest of the day watching the various members of the band walking in the sand, falling in the water, and in general pouting sullenly for the cameras.

  There were only three more days until the day of the concert, and that was good, because while I was happily relaxing, it was still pretty boring and I wasn’t sure I could handle much more of the drudgery that was take after take of Kent scowling at his bass and Carter thrusting his hips into the sand. Which wasn’t even a scene in the video, it was just Carter fooling around. Either way, the video was over time, over budget, and the director was going to have to start approving of something soon or there’d be no video at all.

  We returned to the beach house as we had left it: in the dark and crammed into the van. I clambered out of the van with the rest of the band, and we all wearily trudged inside.

  “Jesus,” Carter said the minute we were within the safe confines of the living room. He collapsed on one of the couches and sprawled out, draping an arm across his eyes as though praying for death. Aylen, his girlfriend, just shook her head and headed to the fridge where she pulled out some sodas and began passing them around.

  “That was a less-than-productive day,” Kent agreed.

  I winced. “Surely there was something usable in all that?”

  “Pfft,” Sonya said, brushing past me. “There’s no rest for the weary when making a music video.”

  “Yeah,” Rebecca piped up. “Tomorrow we’ll get down there and the director will be all, ‘None of that footage was usable, we need to reshoot the whole thing.’ Again.”

  A collective sigh went up as everyone acknowledged this probability.

  “Don’t worry guys,” Manny said. “If they try to get us going past one more day I’ll diva-out.”

  Sonya, who had settled herself on the stairs with her can of Coke, laughed. “You couldn’t diva-out if you were injected with blood from Barbara Streisand.”

  “Gross,” Carter muttered.

  “I totally could,” Manny said. “Watch me.”

  “I think it’s best if we only have two divas in the band,” Kent said loudly, giving Manny a glare. “I can’t handle more than two.”

  Carter lifted his arm from his eyes. “Two?” he said. “Who’s the other one?”

  “Sonya,” Kent said.

  Carter blinked. “Wait, are you talking about me?”

  Crossing over to him, Aylen laughed. “I believe he is, dear.” She handed him a bright yellow can and he popped it and took a swig.

  “Wow,” he said. “I thought I was the easy-going member of the band.”

  “No,” Rebecca said, “that’s Manny.”

  “And Sonya is the jerk of the band,” Kent said.

  I sucked air through my teeth, certain that Sonya would take offense to that, but she just smirked wickedly. “Having a jerk is vital to a band’s success,” she said. “Besides, who would look after you guys if it weren’t for me?”

  I glanced around, expecting Kent to say that he was the one who looked after the band, but instead they all nodded or shrugged and a companionable silence fell.

  Manny took up residence on the fireplace and I went to join him. Aylen gave us two cans of cold strawberry nectar and then went over to cuddle up next to Carter.

  For a long moment no one spoke. Then Sonya cleared her throat. “And what are we going to do about the banditos?”

  I frowned. “Banditos?”

  “My dumbass relatives,” Manny said. His voice was light, but next to me I could feel his body tense.

  “That’s...kind of racist,” I said.

  Sonya just snickered nastily. “It’s what they are,” she said. “Highway robbers. Criminals. Shitheads. I don’t care what we call them as long as we get to spit the word out.” She grinned. “The fluffy bunnies,” she said, and managed to make ‘fluffy bunnies’ sound like ‘pus burgers’.

  “I made up the name anyway,” said Manny. “Totally kosher, mi gringa bonita.”

  I glared at him and stuck my tongue out, but he laughed.

  “This isn’t a laughing matter,” Kent said from across the room. He was leaning against the wall, glaring at the rest of us, his face a thundercloud. Rebecca was staring down at her hands.

  “If I don’t laugh about it,” Manny said, “I’ll just cry. So I don’t think we need to talk about it anymore. I’ll give them a show, give them what they want, and we all get to leave.” He shrugged. “I’ll just tell them I borrowed half of it off of you guys. That’ll convince them.”

  No one was smiling now, not even Sonya. “Are you sure?” she said.

  Manny pursed his lips. “Yeah. I mean, what am I going to do about it?” Sonya opened her mouth to tell him exactly what he should do about it, but he held up his hand. “I know what you’re going to say, too. Forget it. It’s not worth the trouble.”

  Sonya glared at him, but subsided into silence, her lips pressed together, her green eyes slits of anger.

  The room was quiet for another moment. Then Manny sighed and stood up and stretched. Extending his hand to me, he said, “Shall we? Early day again tomorrow.”

  I looked around at the rest of the band, but no one said anything. Their eyes spoke volumes, though.

  Licking my lips, I put my hand in Manny’s and let him pull me up and down the hallway. I felt the gazes of his friends burning a hole in my back the whole way.

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later I found myself suspended in Manny’s hammock and wrapped up in his arms again. His hands were running up and down my back, sending shivers across my skin, and I was struggling to remember what it was I wanted to talk to him about.

  Why talk about anything? my body asked me as it reveled wantonly in the delicious sensations of warm fingertips skating over my spine. Let me do all the talking.

  I considered this for a moment. Ever since the after-party I felt my body had done quite a lot of talking, and most of the things it had said were just downright dirty, which had never really happened before. For me, sexual passion tended to be something that was easily controlled. Quelled with only the slightest application of will. It wasn’t a problem to let my body do the talking in those instances because, in general, sex was not part of The Plan.

  My Plan was in ruins now, of course, and just the scent of Manny’s skin—sweet and spicy—was enough to cause my train of thought to jump the tracks. The smell of the sea mixed with Manny’s smell inside my head, and I had closed my eyes the moment I’d climbed into the hammock. I was in danger of falling asleep after a long, exhausting day, and Manny’s hands on me were chasing away the questions I had wanted to ask.

  Questions, I thought. Haha, what kind of questions could I possibly have? Except maybe, ‘Do you have any more condoms?’

  ...All right. Fine. I admit it. I remembered very vividly what my questions were. I was just hoping I would forget them. And I do have to confess that the feel of Manny’s hands on my skin was almost enough to get me to forget, which had never happened before in my life, so it wasn’t that bad of a plan. But like most of my plans, apparently, it didn’t quite work.

  Manny’s fingers reached the nape of my neck and began playing with the tender skin there, brushing over the fine hairs and sending my body into an uncontrolled wiggle.

  “That tickles!” I said.

  He chuckled. “You don’t like to be tickled?”

  “I don’t know. Are you one of those people who thinks it’s funny to tickle the reluctantly ticklish?”

  “Not if the reluctantly ticklish w
ill revoke touching privileges.”

  “Don’t tickle me, thanks.”

  “No problem.” He kissed my forehead and resumed running his fingers over me.

  I was so sorely tempted to just close my eyes and let him help me forget the real world, but despite the insane flurry of sex under the waterfall this afternoon I couldn’t forget the men on the beach. How to bring them up, though?

  Excuse me, I couldn’t help but notice you’re being extorted for money? No, too forward.

  So, tell me about your family... Ugh, that was even worse since it required both of us to believe I was stupid, and no matter how I felt on the matter, Manny seemed to respect my intelligence.

  Want to share your deep dark secrets? Yeah. That was going to work.

  ...Shit. I didn’t have anything better to go with, though.

  I took a deep breath.

  “You’re going to ask about what happened down on the beach, aren’t you?” Manny said suddenly.

  My deep breath hissed out between my lips and I glared up at him, cross. “How the hell did you know that?” I asked.

  He smiled, though it was a sad smile. “Well, for one, any person who had been there and didn’t know the story would be dying to get the goods. For another, you’re a lawyer and you like to ask questions. And last, I felt you get all tense, and I’ve been trying to seduce the tension out of you for the past ten minutes. Too bad it didn’t work, I suppose.” He sighed. “I guess I’ll have to spill the beans.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, suddenly feeling like an ass. “You don’t have to tell me anything. There’s no reason for you to feel obligated to do so. I mean, I’m just some chick you want to fuck. Or, um, wanted to fuck...”

  He slapped his hand against his forehead. “Oh man, Rosa, really? I would hope that by now you would realize that I’m into you. I’m not going to want to stop fucking you any time soon.”

  So romantic, I thought sardonically, but his words made my insides shiver for some reason, so I smiled to cover up my confusion. “Okay, fine. Sorry. I go overboard with the low self-esteem sometimes. But I have my reasons! I used to be very confident! I’ve just had...problems.”

  Yeah. Problems.

  “Oh?” Manny said. “What problems?”

  I bit my lip. Should I tell him? I almost wanted to. If there was anyone who could make me see the humor in the situation I had caused by deviating from my Plan, it would be Manny. But I’d acted like such an idiot, it was embarrassing to even think about it...

  I frowned. “Hey, wait,” I said. “Are you asking me about my problems to deflect the attention from your problems?”

  He laughed out loud at that. “Shit!” he said. “You caught me. I thought I was being so clever, but you’re too smart for me.”

  “It was clever,” I admitted. “But not clever enough. Now seriously. I need to know you’re okay. Tell me what was going on with...with your bandito cousins. I’m worried about you.”

  Manny’s fingertips paused in their slow stroking. “You’re worried?” he said.

  I sighed, exasperated. “Oh, come on. Don’t give me that. Of course I’m worried. You’re getting extorted. That’s, like, a big deal.”

  “Mm,” he replied. His fingers took up their slow circles and spirals and waves over my back. The thin cotton of my tank top did nothing to insulate me from the heat of his touch. I swallowed hard, waiting for him to acquiesce, or to tell me no.

  But he did neither of those things. Instead, without warning, his body flexed. Before I’d even had time to squeak with surprise, he had executed a sudden, graceful maneuver. Our limbs tangled and there was confusion for the briefest of seconds, and then, quite abruptly, he was above me, pressing me down into the cradling fabric of the hammock, his hard thighs pressed against mine and the unmistakable iron heat of his erection snugged up against my leg.

  My breath caught as I stared up at him. There was no light except that of the moon on the water and the soft floodlights far off in the patches of garden, and yet his golden eyes still seemed to glow with an inner light all their own.

  “I’ll make a deal with you,” he said, and his voice was deep and husky. “If you tell me your problem—the one that landed you on the streets—I’ll tell you mine.”

  I laughed nervously. “What? Mine’s boring. Why, um...” God, that cock against my thigh felt so good... “Er, I mean, why do you want to hear mine?”

  His mouth quirked and his eyelids lowered as he gave his hips a little roll, his eyes half-closing in pleasure. “Because, Rosalita, you are not the only one who gets to worry about others.”

  He had a point. And an erection. And it was making it hard for me to think clearly.

  Just do what he wants, my body urged, and what the hell, why not? My body had been on a roll lately.

  Licking my lips, I nodded. “Deal.”

  And Manny kissed me.

  Chapter Eleven

  If I live to be two hundred and fifty, I thought dimly, I’ll never get used to getting kissed like this.

  Gentle, firm lips nibbled at mine, tasting me. The last man I’d been with had kissed as though he’d been going to war, but Manny—Manny kissed as though he were enjoying a banquet, sampling each taste at his leisure, a danger far more insidious than battling tongues and clacking teeth. Manny’s kiss was like a drug, a sweet little pill passed from his tongue to mine, numbing me with desire. He could have devoured me piece by piece and I wouldn’t have noticed—or cared—as long as he kept touching me.

  I closed my eyes and kissed him back, my hands stroking over his broad shoulders and up his strong neck, into his hair. A groan of pleasure escaped him, rumbling against my mouth, as I curled my fingers in his dark locks and held him fast to me. My breath came short and quick as I squirmed under him, trying to slip into position...

  But, to my dismay, Manny pulled away, though he did so reluctantly, and looked down at me with a rueful expression on his face, his mouth quirked and his brow wrinkled. “What am I going to do with you, Rosalita?” he asked me, his voice low and hoarse with desire.

  I frowned, thinking the answer was self-evident. “Fuck me?” I hazarded.

  “All in good time,” he said. “Work before pleasure.”

  I made a face at that. “I put work before pleasure for years,” I said. “I never really got around to the pleasure part. Now I think it’s better to eat dessert first.”

  Manny grinned and rolled off of me, pulling me with him into our already-customary position: him sprawled out beneath me while I cuddled into his side, my head on his shoulder, my hand on his chest. “To tell the truth,” he said, his voice a rich, low thunder in my ear, “I don’t know if I’ve ever put business before pleasure. You’ll have to teach me how.”

  I snorted. “Okay. Fine.” I took a deep breath and stared across him toward the ocean. The moon shone on the water, filling the sky with its silver light. The stars were smatters of light against the heavy backdrop of space, and though we were tucked safely away on the porch, I could imagine that we were kept in place by only the thinnest of tethers. If we moved wrong, we would be thrown out into the stars.

  Licking my lips, I screwed up my courage. “So,” I said, forcing my voice to be light, “what do you want to know?”

  “Well,” he said after a moment, “let’s start with why you lost your job. Were you laid off?”

  I gave a bitter snort. “No,” I said. “I wish. If I had, I would have had unemployment benefits. I...I got fired.”

  I had avoided saying the word fired for the past year. People who got fired were people who did bad jobs, who were incompetent, who couldn’t get along with coworkers, who transgressed social boundaries. I had done none of those things—well, mostly—and yet I was the one tossed out. The humiliation stung as though it had been just yesterday that I had been called in to sit before the senior partners of the firm and my every secret exposed before their pale, rheumy eyes.

  “Why’d you get fired?” Manny asked.

>   I was quiet for a long time, staring past the porch railing and out into the yard. The flowers were all silver in the dark of the night, and the soft breeze brought their scent to us. I breathed it in and burrowed closer to Manny, reveling in the warmth of his skin beneath his thin t-shirt. Finally I sighed. “I got fired because I was accused of sexual harassment and assault.”

  Beneath my cheek Manny’s chest rose sharply in a gasp. “What?” he said. “How the hell did that happen?”

  I wanted to kiss him for not asking me what I’d done. “It started when I was working a case really late at night. We did ninety hour weeks back then, since everyone was so scared of getting laid off and ending up back in the job market.”

  “I thought lawyers always got good jobs,” Manny interrupted.

  I smiled into his chest. “Yeah, that’s what everyone who went to law school thought. Next thing you know the market’s flooded with fresh grads and no one wants to hire them because no one has any money to hire lawyers anyway. Economics is fun like that. Low demand, high supply. I was lucky and got a job before the bubble burst, but I was still really junior at the firm so I knew I’d be one of the first to get kicked out on her ass when crunch time came...”

  I sighed. “We all knew that. So we’d stay late working, sometimes until midnight, and then we’d be back in the office at seven in the morning...or sometimes we’d just sleep there. Everyone was always trying to out-do everyone else so they wouldn’t be on the chopping block.”

  “Jesus,” Manny said. “Like...I don’t want to offend you, Rosa, but to me it sounds like having no job and sleeping in your car is way better than working ninety hours a week.”

  I clenched my teeth. “It’s not. At least when I was working ninety hours a week I was making money and I knew where my next meal was coming from...”

  His arm around me squeezed. “Sorry,” he said. “I just can’t imagine that.”

  “I couldn’t either until I was living it,” I said, “but then when you’re doing it, it seems totally normal. You start to think of the firm as your home instead of your apartment. You start to dream about your cases instead of flying or going to school without pants. Your whole life disappears and it just becomes the job.”