Love Song

by Elle Greco

  I dropped into a low squat and buried my face in hands. My body shook as sobs overtook me.

  “Jett,” Rafe said again. I felt his body drop beside me. “You have a home. With me.”

  I shook my head. “I’m crashing at your place,” I said without looking up.

  His voice softened. “You did more than crash last night.”

  I swallowed. “That was an accident.”

  “Baby, that was no accident,” he said. His sturdy hands gripped my shoulders, forcing me gently down to my ass. He wrapped his arm around me and pulled me into him. I buried my face in his chest. “What do I have to do to prove it?”

  “You don’t have to prove anything,” I said into his chest before pushing myself away from his heat. His arms tightened around me. “I’m fine. I just, whatever. I’ll be fine. I’m always fine.”

  His body went hard. “Yeah, Jett, I know you are always fine.” Frustration coated his voice. “You pull your shit together but then write devastating lyrics that tell the world that you are anything but fine.”

  “They’re just words, Rafe.” He dropped his arms from around me, and my body felt cold at the release. It was like my brain shut off and my body went on autopilot. I leaned into him, desperate to get that warmth back. When my body curled into him, he was rigid.

  Crap.

  The door swung open, and Vivienne’s pixie face poked in just past the frame. “Hey, Jett, I’ve got so much cool shit for you to try on—” She stopped suddenly, then picked her jaw up off the floor. “Oh shit, I interrupted something heavy.”

  “Nope, it’s good, we’re good, just a small meltdown,” I said, infusing what I hoped was brightness into my voice. I untangled my legs and pushed to my feet. “Long day. Small studio. You know.”

  She tilted her head and studied me for a minute, before her fire-engine-red lips broke into a smile. “Fashion therapy. It fixes everything.”

  “Uh,” I started, but she jerked her head in a “let’s go” movement.

  “Meet you in the rehearsal room,” she singsonged as she turned.

  I looked at Rafe, who was now on his own feet, arms crossed. “We’re not done, Jett.”

  “I gotta go,” I said, inching my way toward the door. “I promised Vivienne I’d do this thing—”

  “We’re not even close to done,” he said.

  My hand turned the knob, and I opened the door. “I’ll see you at home.” I winced at the word. “Your place. Later. Okay?”

  I didn’t wait for his answer. Instead, I hurled myself out of the sound booth and down the hallway. Running away was comfortable for a coward like me.

  25

  “Here’s to freedom and independence and all that good shit,” Vivienne said, clinking her bottle of beer against mine.

  I never made it home.

  To Rafe’s, I mean.

  While Vivienne was showing me a boutique full of fashion options, I got a call from Mike. The money was in my bank account. I had enough to hold me over for a few months, as long as I was careful.

  “You have a car, right?” I’d asked after I hung up with my lawyer. She’d nodded. “Can you take me to Ikea?”

  Before we made an Ikea run, I popped by Mike’s office to sign the lease.

  Now we were sitting on the floor of my new apartment, trying to figure out how to put together a futon with the enclosed Allen wrench. About halfway through the process, when it looked like whatever we were building would either be an architectural marvel or would collapse under my weight, Vivienne had decided the outcome would be better with beer. She’d fled, leaving me to piece together the thing on my own.

  Mission not quite accomplished.

  Now we sat among the detritus of the futon’s packing material, toasting our inability to follow directions.

  “You can always just use the mattress on the floor,” Vivienne suggested after taking a swallow of her beer. “The ultimate in boho chic.”

  “I have a better idea,” I said, digging through the cardboard to find my phone.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, giggling.

  “Texting my sister,” I said. “Nik’s a sure hand at putting shit like this together. She’ll figure it out.”

  Vivienne abandoned me to the futon and started pulling other items from our shopping trip out of the bag. “I love this lamp,” she said, lifting a box onto my kitchen counter. “I hope it’s easier to assemble than that damn futon.”

  I glanced back at my phone. “Nik’s in West Hollywood. She can be here in twenty.”

  “Can she bring a pizza? I’m starving,” Vivienne said. “Wish I’d thought about getting you dishes and glassware. You know, practical shit.”

  There was a short rap on the door, and then Lydon poked her head in. “You need dishes?” she asked. “Sorry, the door wasn’t closed all the way.”

  “Oh, sorry, did we disturb you?” I asked, getting to my feet. “Come in, please.”

  “Not at all. Just closed down the store. Charlie’s getting dropped off any minute now. Wanted to pop up and see how you were getting on.”

  “I’m settling in,” I said.

  Her eyes slid to the mess of wood and packing material sprawled all over the floor. “Yeah? Everything under control?”

  “My sister’s coming. She can put stuff like this together.”

  Lydon’s brows arched. “Presley?”

  I gasped out a laugh. “God, no. Nikki.”

  “That makes more sense,” she said.

  I smiled. “You’ve obviously met Presley, then.”

  “No, but she doesn’t give off the handy-person vibe.”

  “Mom!” Loud stomps followed the shouts up the stairs.

  “That’s Charlie,” she said. The hard expression she carried softened to a mix of pride and playful exasperation. “Up here, darling.”

  “The boy’s got pipes,” Vivienne said.

  “Like his father,” Lydon said a bit wistfully, and then she turned to the stairs. “Hold the railing, Charlie. Humor your mum, okay?”

  She crouched on the landing, and an exuberant five-year-old hurled himself into her arms. “Hey, baby,” she said, her lips pressing into the top of his head. “Good day at school?” He nodded enthusiastically, his little boy arms holding Lydon in a fierce hug. Lydon came out of her squat with Charlie in her arms, his legs wrapped around her waist.

  “I want you to meet our new neighbor,” she said. “This is Jett.”

  “Wow, cool,” he said, his eyes skimming over me and to the mess on the floor. “Are you a carpenter?”

  I snorted. “No, I’m a student. Just like you.”

  He broke into a smile. With his unruly black curls, he looked exactly like his dad. But his almond-shaped green eyes were pure Lydon. Those eyes tracked to my guitar case in the corner. “You’re a musician too?” he asked.

  “She’s going to be a famous musician soon,” Vivienne said, beaming.

  Charlie’s body slumped a little in his mom’s arms. “My dad was a famous musician. Mom says—”

  Lydon’s laugh cut him off. “Mum says a lot of stuff about musicians when she’s mad. She doesn’t mean it, okay, sweetie?” Her eyes cut to Vivienne. “We haven’t met yet.”

  “Sorry, I’m Vivienne. Jett’s friend.”

  “And my stylist,” I added.

  Lydon looked me up and down. I was in a pair of ratty sweatpants and an old Anthem concert T-shirt that was covered in paint splatter. She wrinkled her nose. “Interesting work.”

  “Oh God no,” Vivienne said. She waved her hand up and down the length of me. “This is why she has a stylist.”

  “Hey, yo, Jett? Am I in the right place?” Nikki called out. “I’m not climbing up all these stairs if you aren’t up there.”

  I sprung to my feet and bounded into the hallway. “Up here!”

  “Today was leg day,” Nikki groused as she climbed the stairs, two gigantic pizza boxes in hand. “You said nothing about a walk-up.”

  “I know
you!” Charlie shouted when Nikki walked into the apartment. It was getting kind of crowded.

  “Ya do?” she asked.

  “You’re in Rogue Nation,” he said.

  “Smart kid,” she said with a smile. She put the pizza boxes on the counter. “With impeccable taste in music.”

  “I’m from a music dynasty,” he said, chest puffing out with pride.

  I bit my lip to keep from laughing.

  Nikki’s eyes moved from him to his mom. “Of course. You’re Lydon Johnson, aren’t you?”

  She nodded. “And you’re Nikki Benson.”

  “Wicked,” Charlie breathed. He began squirming in Lydon’s arms, so she released him.

  He rushed over to Nikki. “I live here!”

  Nik looked around the compact room and made a playful grimace. “In here?”

  He pointed into the hallway. “No, silly! Our apartment’s next door!”

  She ruffled his curls. “Very cool. So I’ll see you when I visit my sister.”

  “You bet,” he said.

  “Well, three hundred square feet gets a little tight, doesn’t it?” Lydon said as she took Charlie’s hand. “We’ll let you get back to it. Yell across if you need anything.”

  “But Nikki brought pizza, Mom,” Charlie whined.

  “Jett’s got a lot of unpacking to do,” Lydon said, her voice gentle but firm. “Let’s give them space so she can sleep in a bed tonight rather than on the floor.”

  “But, Mom, Nikki just got here!”

  Nikki winked at him. His eyes went wide. “I’ll be here an awful lot.”

  “Promise?” he asked.

  She made an X over her heart with her pointer finger. “Cross my heart.”

  “Cool,” he said, letting his mom lead him out of the apartment.

  Lydon was halfway out the door when she turned back. “I have extra glassware and dishes and shit—”

  “Mom, that’s a bad word,” Charlie interrupted.

  “Sorry,” she said, and her eyes went to the ceiling. “And stuff. I’ll grab them.”

  “I don’t want you to go to any trouble,” I said. “There are paper towels around here somewhere.”

  “No trouble at all,” she said. “I was only going to sell them on eBay. I’d rather give them to someone who needs them, not some morbid fan who wants a piece of—” She caught herself and smiled down at her son. “Well, I would prefer you to have them.”

  “That’s really awesome, Lydon,” I said. “A huge help. Thank you.”

  “I’ll bring them right over,” she said over her shoulder, and she and Charlie headed for their apartment door.

  “I didn’t know Lydon Johnson was your landlord,” Nik said when she heard their door close.

  I shrugged. “What’s it matter?”

  Nik leaned a hip against the counter. “It’s not cool, what Grimm’s doing to Lydon.”

  “What are you talking about?” I asked.

  Nikki glanced at Vivienne. “And you are?”

  “Sorry,” I said. “This is my friend—and stylist—Vivienne.”

  Nikki cocked her head at me. “Stylist? You?”

  I folded my arms across my chest. “Just shut up.”

  “Right,” Nikki said, turning to Vivienne. “I’m Nikki. Nice to meet you.”

  “You too,” Vivienne said. “And I know all about the legal battle between Grimm and Lydon,” Vivienne said. “I work for Bobby Gee. The entire office knows about it.”

  “The entire office except for me,” I pointed out. “What legal battle?”

  “Grimm’s not paying royalties to Chad’s estate,” Nikki said, opening a pizza box.

  “When Chad Billington died, Ear Assassins’ album sales went through the roof,” Vivienne said. “Like, Billboard charting through the roof.”

  “Five of Chad’s albums held spots in the top ten,” Nikki said, picking a piece of pepperoni off one slice and popping it into her mouth.

  “That other pizza’s a veggie one, right?” I asked.

  She rolled her eyes. “Of course. Also, gross.”

  I ignored that and pulled the box of veggie pizza out from under the pepperoni. “So, five albums in the top ten?”

  “You do realize how unusual that is?” Lydon asked.

  My heart dropped into my stomach. Lydon was at my door, holding a box that I assumed was full of tableware. Great. She knew we were talking about her dead husband.

  “Lydon, we didn’t mean—”

  “It’s okay.” She interrupted my apology. “I mean, I’m sure Nikki knows. How could you not, right? I’m sure I’m a popular topic of conversation between Gary and Vince.” Nik hiked up one shoulder in sheepish agreement. Lydon turned to me. “And I know your loyalty is to En Fuego right now.” She turned to Vivienne. “I have no idea about you.”

  “My day job is with Bobby,” Vivienne said. “Receptionist.”

  “So you probably know the ugly details too,” she said.

  Vivienne gave her a sympathetic smile. “Yeah, I’m privy to the gossip mill. Especially being at that front desk. Musicians gossip like a bunch of old busybodies playing canasta.”

  After setting the box down on the kitchen counter, Lydon moved back to the door and leaned against the frame. “Bottom line, three albums went gold. Two went platinum. I’m not an idiot—I know how many units you have to move to do that.”

  “But holding on to the money like that? Isn’t that illegal?” I asked.

  “Not if he comes up with bogus expense reports,” she said. She looked back at her door, which I noticed was also open. “Look, I got to get back to Charlie, but Ear Assassins hadn’t toured in years. Chad was too…” Blinking rapidly, she looked up at the ceiling. She took a breath, brought her head down, and continued, “He was too delicate. Any tour expenses, recording expenses, merch expenses? Those were covered by the band years ago.”

  Nikki swallowed a bite of her pizza. “What about the other guys? Can’t they—”

  “They don’t have the money to fight this,” she said. “Lawyers cost a fortune. I’m lucky that I had a windfall from my dad. But to fight this battle with Grimm, even with my dad’s estate, I need to downsize.”

  She swept her arm out to indicate the apartments.

  “Wow,” I said.

  “Honestly, I don’t give a shit. I’ve got Charlie. We’re comfortable, we’re safe. Hell, if I had it in me, I’d make tracks out of LA. But this shit-tastic city is home so...” She finished with a sad smile.

  “Oh, Lydon, I am so sorry,” I said. My own problems with Rafe, my worries about touring were completely insignificant compared to what Lydon was going through. She lost her dad, then her husband, and now she was fighting Grimm for money to raise her son. And it sounded like she was going it mostly alone.

  “Look, I’m a fighter, and I fight for the people I love. I don’t know how to be anything else,” she said. “Enjoy the dishes and the glasses. I tossed in some silverware too. Everything is clean, but I’d give them a rinse. They’ve been sitting on a shelf in my linen closet for a while. If you need anything else, just knock.” She waved her hand in the general direction of her apartment. “I’ve got to get back to Charlie. We have a standing Harry Potter date.”

  “Thanks for this,” I said, meaning much more than the china.

  “Anytime,” she said over her shoulder before closing the door to her place.

  Nikki closed my door. “Damn, that Grimm is a son of a bitch.”

  “And you work for him,” I said.

  “Yeah, well, not by choice,” she said. “Shit’s going down over there.”

  “Like what?” I asked, pulling dishes out of the box.

  “Like, that’s all I can say at the moment,” Nikki said.

  I swiped at a plate with the bottom of my shirt and handed it to Nikki. “Are you kidding me?”

  “You want me to walk around the block or something?” Vivienne asked.

  “I don’t think that’s necessary,” Nikki said,
plopping her slice of pizza on the plate. “I don’t know much of anything. Just bits of what Dion’s told me, which is not much. But it sounds like it’s big. Big enough for Dion to want to keep me far away from it.”

  “But you’re in the band. You’re in the thick of it,” I said. “Rafe too.”

  “Rafe’s got a better handle on this than Dion,” Nikki said, picking up another slice and dropping it next to the half-eaten one already on her plate. My sister could eat. “He’s the one meeting with lawyers. Dion’s kind of there to provide moral support.”

  I could believe that.

  “If I may?” Vivienne squeaked out. “Grimm’s a bastard. Bobby’s ruthless, but he does care about his artists.” Her eyes met mine, and I nodded in understanding. “And he’s definitely not into illegal shit.”

  “Illegal?” I asked.

  “There’ve been rumors,” she said.

  “Like?” Nikki asked.

  Vivienne’s eyes darted between us. “Let’s just say, Kyle’s death could have been avoided.”

  “Kyle died with a needle in his arm,” Nikki said. “That’s not Grimm’s fault.”

  Vivienne twisted a cap off a beer and handed it to Nikki. “Who do you think was supplying Kyle?”

  “Jordan.” I looked at Nikki. “Maybe he was selling to Kyle?”

  “Oh, he had to be,” Nik agreed.

  “You’re talking about the roadie, right?” Vivienne asked, but she plowed forward without waiting for an answer. “I heard he was selling drugs to a bunch of Grimm’s artists,” Vivienne said. “That was the worst kept secret in the biz. But there were whispers that he was doing it on Grimm’s orders.”