Treble Maker

by Annabeth Albert

  “Of course not. But the thing is, the others have been at this for years. You’re right—they’ll deliver a predictable cover. But right now, you’re singing like you’ve got an orchestra behind you.”

  “And you don’t.” Jeff moved a bit closer to Lucas. Great, a gang of critics.

  “What if we tried taking it to church more?” Lucas sounded so reasonable even Ashley nodded.

  “Come again? This is a song about wanting in a virgin’s pants.” And didn’t Cody know about that. All his frustration of the last several days bubbled out. “It’s about getting her to break curfew and making her believe all the dude wants is for her to stay, when really he wants to bone her. That’s about as far from church as you could get in the fifties.”

  “Fine. Take it to an old-school blues club, then.”

  “What do you know about blues clubs?” Cody knew Lucas had a point, but his blood still pounded in his ears and his fists were tight at his sides. Maybe their arrangement sucked, but Cody got the song. Dealing with his own reluctant virgin had given him new sympathy for the lyrics. They’d jerked off together again last night, Lucas had kept up a steady whine of fuck-mes by the end. It had taken restraint Cody hadn’t known he possessed to avoid going over to his bed and taking him up on it. But there was an unspoken agreement that Lucas’s virginity wasn’t on offer. For once, Cody was going to be the nice guy, but hell if it didn’t suck donkey balls.

  “More than you know about church,” Lucas snapped back.

  Oooh, baby lion found his claws. Lucas was wrong, but Cody didn’t bother correcting him. “So, you want what? Me to work the audience more? More runs?”

  “More like you’re in a band in a little club—you can’t act like you’ve got a choir behind you.”

  “We’re a band,” Jeff added. Okay, Captain Obvious. Cody bit his tongue and let him continue. “I’m the drums, Lucas is the bass guitar, and the girls are your extras—piano, tambourine, backup singers. But you have to let us interact more.”

  “Like you do when you perform with a group.” Raven nodded, like Cody should know exactly what they meant. But in reality, he didn’t interact much with his backup bands—it was why most of his attempts at doing the band thing failed, and why he kept ending up solo. He hated group politics. He played enough guitar and piano to give a good show even when he didn’t have a group, and when he did have a group, he pretty much trusted them to let him do his thing.

  And okay, maybe he wasn’t trusting the other members enough here. Or he was trusting them too much—not paying enough attention. He sighed. “What do you have in mind?”

  “Almost easier to show you.” Jeff looked over at Lucas, who nodded.

  “Please, oh please, let me be Cody.” Raven laughed, and it broke some of the tension in the room.

  “No one can be Cody.” Ashley aimed for humor, but there was too much bitterness in her voice and eyes to pull it off.

  “You know it.” Cody smiled at her. He needed her back on his good side. “But let’s see what the aca experts have in mind.”

  Jeff and Lucas started the number the way they’d been performing it, but instead of coming right in, Raven let them go a bit and they played back and forth, riffing off each other. And yeah, it was more like a blues group warming up. When Raven finally joined in, her delivery was less polished than he’d done, not going for the smooth feel of the original as much as flat-out pleading.

  “Okay, I can work with this. I dig the begging.” He looked straight at Lucas, who turned fifty shades of red.

  “Basically, what Lucas meant is you’ve got to dirty it up.” Ashley seemed less pissy now.

  “I didn’t say that—”

  “Oh, you know I can bring the dirty.” Cody kept his eyes locked on Lucas. Everyone but Lucas laughed. “All right. Let’s try this again.”

  He faced them, not bothering with the choreography. Instead, he put every ounce of seduction he had into it. Even though the rest of the group was there and he tried to let them have more moments to show their parts, he sang straight at Lucas, channeling everything he’d wanted for two weeks now, all the requests he’d bitten back for days. All the settling for quick jerk-off sessions in the dark and not talking about it during the day. All the wanting to touch Lucas, taste his sweat, hear Lucas’s moans against his, all the need found its way into the song.

  When they were done, Jeff and Raven applauded.

  Raven let out a whistle. “Damn. Just like that.”

  “Only next time, sing at Ashley,” Jeff added, looking a bit uncomfortable.

  “Yeah. We need the straight vote.” Ashley giggled. “And I’m your prom queen, remember? You and your band have to seduce me.”

  “Yeah. You’re the real star.” Lucas was still all red, but he managed to score points with Ashley.

  None with Cody, though. Damn Lucas for being right. Freaking angelic virgin Lucas had been right about the song needing more sex. Now, if only Lucas could reach the same conclusion about his own life, then Cody might find a way toward gratitude.

  Chapter Ten

  He didn’t screw up. Lucas’s heart pounded into overdrive as he pushed into the final bars of the song. As Cody hit the final run, Lucas wished he could appreciate the applause, but all he felt was relief. Joint-loosening, head-rushing relief. It was over, and they’d sounded better than they had in rehearsal all week. With the spotlights creating interesting shadows across the fake prom set piece, even Lucas had felt transported to a teen movie dance scene. A lot of girlish squeals came from the applause. Cody’s mock seduction of Ashley had been so convincing, thousands of YouTube hits from high school girls probably loomed in his future.

  Lucas left his stool to stand with the others in center stage. He’d never been as nervous before a performance before—not even in high school, when his chances of wrecking any given halftime show were fifty-fifty. The opening number hadn’t been his best moment—he’d tried to cover his missteps, but in the end he’d had to hope the camera was pointing at someone else.

  “That was supercute!” Melanie Mercury, the female judge, was first to speak. The audience roared its agreement, but all Lucas could do was nod. His heart pounded in his ears and his breath hadn’t returned to normal yet.

  “Agreed.” The R&B judge tapped his gold pen on a blank notepad. “Never thought of giving ‘Stay’ such an old-school soul flavor, but it really worked here.”

  “Oh, yeah, you took it to church!” Melanie looked pleased she knew the term. Lucas shot Cody a look. See; church. “You made me want to stay.”

  The audience tittered.

  “You guys added a lot of depth, given the size of your group.” Mr. Know-It-All judge spoke, his vague British accent making him sound smug even when he was being nice. “I’m still waiting for Ashley to have her breakout moment, but very nice arrangement. Picking up a new bass was a smart move.”

  Phew. Lucas’s spine straightened, his chest lifting. He’d been needed. He followed the rest of the group backstage. They were the last group before an intermission in taping, allowing the props people to get the stage set for the second group number. Cody and Ashley had bitched up a storm about being clumped in the middle of the performances, but Lucas had shrugged. He was used to crappy placement—the M&Ms had always taken a backseat to bigger groups at competitions and showcases.

  “You coming to our after party?” Ashley asked him as they grabbed waters from big coolers. Doing well seemed to have earned him some of her favor, such as it was—all crispy and showy, like inedible cupcake garnish. She looked like a cross between Christina Aguilera and Marilyn Monroe, in a shimmery white dress with sheer sleeves that muted her tattoos.

  “You mean the dinner the show is springing for us at the fifties restaurant?” Like last week, the show was picking up the tab for an after-taping meal.

  “No.” She smiled, and it wasn’t entirely kind. “Bunch of us are springing wholesome heaven here and going to a club.”

  Of course she th
ought she was too cool for the theme restaurant. Despite the unison they’d had on stage, Lucas felt more separate from the rest of the group than ever. He wanted to ask Cody if he was going, but he wasn’t sure he could without giving too much away. Although Cody ostensibly stood with him and Ashley, he was drinking his water with careful indifference. And Lucas wasn’t ready for Ashley to suspect he and Cody had . . . whatever going. Not when Lucas hadn’t exactly figured it out for himself.

  Cody had been pissy ever since they’d come up with the new song arrangement. After several nights of watching movies before jerking off together, last night they hadn’t even talked. Cody had blown his negative attitude all over the room until Lucas had flipped off the TV and tried to sleep. But then, still without talking, Cody had started doing his thing, and Lucas had joined right in—darkness all around them, heavy breathing. It was every dirty dorm fantasy he’d ever had, but it still left him wanting . . . something.

  “Place we know has Urban Engine performing tonight.” Cody said it like everyone should know the group, but Lucas had no clue. “You should come.”

  “Is it a . . .” Lucas made an awkward gesture with his hand, not sure if there was a polite way to ask.

  “Gay bar? Oh, yeah.” He looked Lucas up and down with an appraising stare through hooded eyes, and heat rushed to Lucas’s groin even as he wanted to slap him. “But Sanctuary is a supermixed crowd. Raven and Jeff go there all the time.”

  “I bet because they have the band, they won’t have the go-go boys. At least not till later.” Raven sounded downright giddy at the prospect of half-naked gyrating men. Jeff looked far less amused.

  “I’ll protect you.” Ashley wiggled her eyebrows and looked like she’d do anything but.

  Lucas imagined for a minute going to a place like that with Cody. A place where they could dance like they had in the practice room. Cody would grind and whisper dirty things in his ear. He could almost feel the hard-on at his back, smell Cody’s sweat. Sense the jealousy of all the guys who would wish Cody had picked them. Dear sweet Lord.

  But before he could speak up, the groups were called back to the stage for the second group number. The backstage area swelled with people and it was all he could do to keep track of his mark. The performance went okay, but as soon as it was done, anxiety over eliminations began anew.

  Later, at the end of the show, when the eliminations were revealed, the tension was as high as the week before, but the wait was easier because he knew what to expect. As usual, the Divas got the first call-out, followed quickly by two of the big college groups, then the hippy group from Arizona, then Trevor’s new group. Then Embellish. He barely registered the reveal of the other safe groups or the good-bye to the eliminated one.

  Thank you, God. All the disappointment from last week was gone in a rush of relief so strong his eyes burned. I don’t want to be done yet. His throat was raw from the performances, his feet hurt, and his shoulders ached from the fourteen-hour days, but he wasn’t through yet. They had made it into the top nine.

  He followed the crowd backstage. It was a madhouse of high-fives and hugs.

  “Congrats, man. This is so boss.” Trevor punched his arm.

  “Yeah.”

  “You coming to the after party? Haven’t hung with you all week.” Trevor did an awkward half-step, adjusting his dragging pants. His group had done a late sixties song, and the bell-bottoms made Trevor look even shorter than usual. He looked as uncomfortable as Lucas felt.

  “Yeah.” Lucas hoped the weakness in his reply passed as roughness from singing. But an image flashed in his mind of Trevor finding out he was heading to a gay bar—one with go-go boys no less—and knew he was one text message or Facebook status update away from everything coming crashing down on him.

  “There you are.” Cody came up behind him, much too close, as usual. He slung an arm around Lucas’s shoulders. “You’re coming with us, right? Jeff says he might have something you could borrow for clothes. I can do your hair.”

  Oh man. Lucas’s mouth twisted almost as hard as his gut. Cody wanted him to go. And Trevor wanted—needed him at the other party. And judging by Trevor’s googly eyes, he’d draw all the right conclusions if Lucas bailed on him.

  “Lucas?” Trevor’s voice was softer than usual. “Everything . . . okay?”

  No, no, no. Everything is awful. He shrugged free from Cody. He couldn’t look at him. Wouldn’t.

  “Yeah. Everything’s fine. I’ll see you on the bus.”

  “Sure thing.” Trevor headed up, but not before giving Lucas another speculative glance over his shoulder. Heck. Triple heck.

  “I see how it is.” Cody’s voice was hard, making ice form around Lucas’s lungs.

  “How what is?” The ice in his chest grew, a giant snowball of dread. He struggled to keep breathing.

  “You go on and have fun. Don’t keep your friend waiting.”

  “You don’t have to be like . . .” Lucas’s hands floundered about as he searched for the right put-down. Oh, fucking hell. Lucas didn’t know enough curse words to deal with this mess. “Look. I’m just not ready. . . . But my not going doesn’t have anything to do with you and me. We can still . . .”

  “Still what? Jerk off together as long as I don’t bust up the lies you tell your friends—and yourself?” Cody’s voice was low, a harsh whisper, but Lucas still glanced guiltily around.

  “See? You can’t even be in the same room as sex talk. Not if there’s anyone else around.” Cody rolled his eyes and let out an exaggerated sigh. Grabbing Lucas’s arm, he pulled him behind some set pieces. Lucas could hear the buzz of people nearby, but a giant peace sign from the set shielded them from the rest of the chaos.

  “That’s not fair—”

  “Fair? Aren’t you the one who won’t touch me in public?” Cody’s face was unreadable—all harsh angles and hard words. “And I’m not talking about shouting it from the stage—I sure as fuck don’t need that.”

  Of course not. Lucas resisted the urge to flinch away.

  “I’m talking about you wincing every time I come too close. Every time I touch you exactly like I touch Ashley or another friend. Might as well pour acid on your skin.”

  “I’m not that bad.” Yeah. He kinda was. Shame spread up his neck, over his face, in hot waves.

  “Is it fair that you’ve spent the last week making sure we never arrive at meals or practice at the same time?”

  Darn. Cody had noticed that. “So?” He tried to sound as defiant as Cody.

  “So you’re the most closeted out guy I’ve ever met.”

  “Well, at least I’m not—”

  “A flaming manwhore. I know. Congrats on keeping your V card.” Cody leaned in closer, his cheek touching Lucas’s. “But I know your secret.”

  “You do?” Lucas felt split open, his heart on display.

  “You don’t want to be gay.” Whatever he’d been expecting Cody to say, that wasn’t it. “Oh, I know some of your other secrets, too. But you hate being gay.”

  “How can you say that? All my friends know. And my parents—”

  “Are fucking saints who love you and your queer self and don’t mind using you for their own careers.” Cody shrugged, close enough that Lucas felt the rustle of fabric against his shoulder. “Whatever. You still hate it. And it’s easier for you this way, to pretend it’s about not liking chicks instead of about loving dick and wanting to get—”

  “That is not the only thing about being gay.”

  “Isn’t it? If you could get it up for pussy, you would.”

  “Wouldn’t you?” Lucas’s voice sounded far away, detached from his brain. Cody grinned like the Joker. Hell. As usual Lucas had said too much. Sweat gathered behind his neck. I would. I really would. He didn’t like to think about that. Wasn’t like he could change it—he’d been born this way. And after he’d told his parents, hiding it wasn’t an option either. But if his genetics could be wired different? Yeah. Easier.

  “Hell
no. I fucking love being gay. Love seeing a guy on his knees. Love not having to deal with all the emotional crap and relationship BS.” Cody’s laugh cut him like a razor nick—a little thing that still left him trickling blood.

  “Hey! Some guys—”

  “Want to play house. I know. More power to them. But you, my friend, want to get fucked. And you hate that about yourself. Hate that’s what people know about you.”

  “I have no idea what your point is.” Lucas’s voice shook. Cody had him riding a ragged edge. He was right; not liking girls was . . . well, not easy, but it wasn’t the sick dread of what people on campus would say if he held hands with someone, what people would know if he danced in public with someone like Cody. Because yeah—liking guys in the abstract was okay. Having everyone guess he liked to get fucked? That felt . . . scary. Bigger than him.

  “My point is that you’re scared. You’re out to everyone other than you.” Cody pointed at Lucas. “You’re jealous that I’m okay with who I am. That I don’t mind people knowing I like to fuck—or that I’ve fucked someone. You’re mad that I can go out and flirt and whatever and not feel guilty.”

  “I’m not ashamed.” Totally typical Cody, twisting things back around so that Lucas was on the defensive now, pressed up against the wall. It wasn’t shame so much as fear racing through him, making the sweat run down his back. And anger. He’d never been so angry—or so turned-on. And his arousal only made him angrier.

  “Yeah?” Cody ran his thumb along Lucas’s chin. “Let me kiss you here?” His lips followed his finger, a wet trail down his neck. “Leave a hickey?”

  Lucas made a sound, but English failed him. The idea was both unspeakably hot and unbearably exposed.

  “Come with us tonight. Let me take you to a gay bar. Place we’re going to is gay owned, with lots of gay acts—a good place to get your feet wet in the West Hollywood scene—but I wanna take you somewhere else after. A real, honest-to-god gay bar—meat market, dirty dancing, backroom. Not a meeting of your little happy-to-be-gay club, but a gay bar. Leather daddies and twinks and you.”