Love Song

by Elle Greco

  “Or Rafe,” I said. “Rafe hates him.”

  “And I think we know why,” Nikki said with a knowing grin.

  “I doubt it,” I replied, picking at imaginary lint on my robe. When I raised my eyes, both Vivienne and Nikki were staring at me expectantly.

  Vivienne’s mouth tugged down, and her shoulders slumped in defeat. “He was at the office twice while you were in the studio with Sage. Bobby always whisked him away.”

  My heart squeezed, and I forced myself to ignore it. “I didn’t know he was around.”

  That was a lie. During a break in mixing, I’d spotted him leaving Bobby’s office. Like the coward I was, I’d plastered myself against the wall, peering around the corner while Rafe, Bobby, and Jamie Sage clapped each other on the back and talked in hushed tones as they’d meandered toward reception.

  Vivienne looked at me a fraction too long, like she knew I was fibbing. Then she plucked up her phone and checked the time. “We should get you into your costume.”

  Nikki’s eyes lit up, and she sat up straight. “Ooh, a costume?”

  “Don’t get excited,” I said. “It’s just an outfit.”

  She relaxed against the cushions again, but her body remained coiled with excitement. “Damn. I was hoping you’d pull out some Elton John–esque gold lamé thing.”

  Nikki got a rude gesture in return. Then I unknotted the belt and shrugged off the robe.

  My sister gave a wolf whistle. “Nice undies.”

  “Oh my God, would you lay off the commentary?” I said, my face burning with embarrassment.

  “I’m not kidding,” she argued. “Vivienne, you have got to pick out a selection for me. I’ll take anything jewel toned. Dion will die!”

  Vivienne giggled. “Want to add some sexy loungewear to the order? That way it’s like unwrapping a present.”

  “Okay, you’re hired,” Nikki said. “And I bet Presley will love this too. When she gets back, you guys should meet. Satan’s Sisters may cultivate a whole new look.”

  I burst out laughing. Vivienne glowed.

  A knock interrupted us, and without waiting for a response, Dion poked his head in.

  “Hey!” I yelled, clutching my robe around my nearly naked body.

  “What?” he asked, barging in.

  “You’re harshing her mellow, dude,” Nikki teased.

  Dion’s face softened when he looked at my sister, and she beamed right back. My heart clutched with happiness for her. And then I remembered that this was my dressing room, and I was pretty much naked.

  I straightened my shoulders, and a sheen of ice coated my words. “What do you want, Dion? I’ve got to get changed. I’m expected onstage in, like, fifteen minutes.”

  “It’s going to be more like thirty. This gig is totally going to be on band time,” he said, ignoring my cold tone and snuggling closer to Nik.

  Jeez. Did no one listen to me?

  “I’m Dion,” he said once he pulled away from Nikki. “You must be Vivienne?” Viv nodded gamely, her eyes shining. “I’ve heard you’re one hell of a stylist. I think Rogue needs to up our game, now that we’re out from under Grimm.”

  “I’d be honored,” Vivienne squeaked out, unsuccessfully quelling her excitement.

  “Cool, sort it out with Nik,” he said, squeezing my sister around her shoulders.

  “It’s over, then? With Grimm?” I asked. I slid back into the makeup chair, robe over me like a blanket. I felt dizzy from the mixture of relief and regret that hit simultaneously. Relief that Grimm was dealt with, but regret Rafe wasn’t going to celebrate it with me.

  “Just about,” Dion said. “Dad and Rafe are working with the lawyers to make sure it gets done right.”

  “So we don’t need to go to Hawaii after all?” Nik said with a pout.

  Dion nipped her ear with his teeth. “Babe, we need Hawaii more than ever.”

  “You guys will have to get it on in the parking lot,” I said. “This is the only dressing room, and it’s mine.”

  Dion’s laugh was warm. “Plenty of time for that in Hawaii. Nah, I wanted to tell you about the crowd. This place is electric. Word is that Bobby will own the charts with you.” Nikki sat up, clapping her hands. My stomach churned. “And there are some serious heavy hitters in the room right now. Bobby’s stoked.”

  I swallowed around the lump in my throat as he continued, “Scouts for both Kesha and Rihanna are out there, and they are both getting ready to go into the studio.”

  The air in the room suddenly felt too thin.

  “That can’t be right,” I whispered, my eyes darting around the room, unable to focus.

  Vivienne’s warm hand pressed on my clammy neck, gently pushing my head between my knees. “Just take some deep breaths, honey,” she said. “That’s it. In and out.”

  “What’s wrong with her?” Dion’s voice floated across the room.

  I heard Nik shush him and then explain, “Panic attack.”

  “Does this happen often?” Vivienne asked. Her hand was still exerting a gentle pressure on my neck.

  “Used to happen all the time when we first started gigging,” Nikki said, and I cringed. I knew a lot of performers got stage fright, but that didn’t make it any less embarrassing. “But it’s been a while.”

  “I’m okay, I’m fine,” I said, pulling myself upright. The room was no longer spinning, but my stomach was in ribbons.

  Vivienne wore an expression of concern as her eyes swept over my face. “Yeah? You sure?”

  “Did I fuck up your makeup?” I asked.

  Her cherry red–painted lips split into an enormous grin. “Girl, my shit has staying power. You will curse me right out when you try to remove it later.”

  “Great,” I muttered, my heart rate finally settling down to rapid instead of alarming.

  “You’re okay?” Nikki asked. My nod was met with a skeptical expression. “I still think I should be up there with you. It’ll feel like a regular gig.”

  “She’s got to get through this on her own, babe,” Dion said. I appreciated the gentle way he spoke to her.

  “No, she doesn’t,” Nikki argued over him. “She doesn’t need to do this alone. That’s the point of loving people, Dion. They never have to go through the hard shit by themselves.”

  “Hey, guys, I’m here in the room, okay?” I said, pulling myself together. “Nik, I appreciate the offer, but Dion’s right. I need to do this. On my own.”

  Nikki’s eyes narrowed, but she said nothing. I turned to Vivienne. “And thank you.”

  “For what?” she asked.

  “You’re the reason those scouts are here, right?”

  Her smile turned sly. “I may have made a few calls on Bobby’s behalf.”

  “Bobby’s behalf? I thought Bobby wanted me to be the star.”

  “Bobby thinks everyone should be a star, and he doesn’t understand why someone wouldn’t want it,” she said. “This’ll nudge him back into reality.”

  “Thank you,” I said, pulling her into a tight hug. She understood that I wasn’t gunning for a solo career, and she did whatever was in her power to try to give me something else. The stress, the panic of going out there slipped away, now that it wasn’t about me but about the music.

  In that moment, with that gesture, Vivienne officially became my third sister.

  “Unfortunately, you still have to go out there and perform,” she said, smoothing her hair when we broke apart.

  “I got this,” I said, then twisted my head toward Dion. “And I gotta get dressed.”

  “That’s my cue,” Dion said, leaping to his feet. “See you on the other side, kid.” He winked at me then planted a kiss on Nikki that was so hot, Vivienne turned ten shades of crimson, until her face matched her lipstick.

  “You ready to do this?” Vivienne asked after Dion exited.

  “Let’s go,” I said, hoping the bravado my words held would carry me through the set.

  34

  The chattering crowd w
ent quiet. I stood in the center of the dark stage, my backing band fidgeting behind me. It was like I could hear the collective breath of the room. I tried to channel them, to feel the crowd so that I could feed the crowd. It was a trick I used to focus when I played with Satan’s Sisters. This time, it wasn’t working.

  A few nervous titters came from a table in the back. Cutlery hit china. We were losing the crowd before we’d even started.

  “The fuck, Benson?” Johnny hissed behind me. He hit the snare with his stick, and the sound made me jump. “Get on with it already.”

  Right. I touched the microphone in front of me and looked down at the set list, a printout of three songs in absurdly large font.

  First song: “Hollywood Sign.”

  The lights went up as a tween-age memory hit me of pulling into LA on the Greyhound Bus and seeing the Hollywood sign for the first time. It was a song about childhood yearnings and searching for home. Then finding that home for the first time in a city of transients.

  My first few warbled lyrics were tentative, then I heard Nik exclaim, “Oh God, I love this song,” and the energy of the room shifted. The smug, judgy vibe dissipated. The audience wanted me to succeed. Confidence bolstered, I continued, my voice strengthened. The audience was mine.

  The edges were hard, but the song was melodic, almost a ballad. And as the first stanza led into the chorus, Johnny had the drum line all wrong. This song required finesse. It wasn’t about being the loudest in the room.

  I turned my head and scowled at him. He met my eyes, flashed a haughty smile, and then slammed his sticks harder against the skins.

  Son of a bitch.

  Contrite Johnny was gone.

  Ever since he and Rafe nearly came to blows, Johnny had made pains to keep his distance. Now he was getting his revenge. This gig was all about him.

  I could feel the room fading, all eyes on Johnny as he pounded away. My voice couldn’t carry over the beat of his drums. Johnny was sabotaging my gig with his showboating.

  My eyes shifted to Brian, who stopped playing his guitar as Johnny turned the listening party into a band of one.

  I watched Brian mouth, “Fuck this,” and unplug from the amplifier. He stormed over to the side of the stage, guitar swinging against his back. I stepped back from the microphone, wondering how to get control over the situation. Johnny continued to bang away.

  I turned my back fully to the audience. There was no way I was screeching over his drumming, and the beat was now completely off. I was at a loss as to what to do, so I figured that maybe I could shame him into silence. But it wasn’t working.

  Here we go again. He dumped me when Nik got the coveted drumming gig for Rogue Nation and Satan’s Sisters got the opener spot on the tour. Now he was hijacking my listening party for his own career ambitions. This was bullshit.

  I turned to face the crowd, shook my head, and started to follow Brian’s exit. No way was I going to stand there and let Johnny humiliate me even more. As far as I was concerned, he was Bobby’s problem. Bobby brought him in, and now the label needed to handle it. But now my career was the collateral damage. I wasn’t sure if Bobby could fix that.

  There was a crash, and then the drumming cut off. I swung around to see Rafe yanking his foot out of the bass drum.

  Wait. Rafe? Was here?

  Johnny jumped to his feet and took a swing at Rafe, who could not duck because of said foot stuck in the drum. But taking the blow knocked him back enough to free his foot. He rubbed his cheek where the fist had landed, and then launched himself at Johnny. They knocked the drums over, and cymbals crashed to the floor as Rafe grabbed Johnny by the collar and the two pummeled each other.

  Normally, I didn’t condone violence, but I cheered when Rafe’s first punch nailed Johnny in the stomach. When he doubled over, Rafe’s knee slammed into Johnny’s face, knocking him back so he landed ass first in the hole Rafe had kicked in the bass drum.

  Brian knocked my arm with his elbow. “Jett, you are one of the most talented songwriters I’ve met in a long-ass time, but this shit is off the charts nutso. I quit the tour grind because of the drama. I don’t need to deal with it as a session musician. Good luck.”

  I opened my mouth to respond, but Brian abandoned the sinking ship before I had a chance.

  I looked back at the stage. Johnny’s legs and feet were flailing like a turtle lying on its shell as he tried to gain purchase. But the club’s beefy security guards were onstage, yanking Johnny out of the drum. Rafe surveyed him coolly while the security guards kept hold of him. Johnny was sputtering expletives, his face twisted and beet red. By now, Bobby was onstage, ordering Johnny out of the club.

  For all the drama swirling around, Bobby looked delighted when he grabbed the mic. “How about that?” he asked the tittering crowd, who then exploded into applause. “We’re taking ten to clean up. But then Jett will be back. In the meantime, we ordered too many cases of Veuve Clicquot. I hope you’ll help me get through them all.” More cheers sounded from the crowd as Bobby waved then wrapped his arm around Rafe’s neck, and the two exited the stage and met me in the wings.

  “What a gas,” Bobby said. “They’ll be talking about this for at least forty-eight hours. Couldn’t have gone better if I’d planned it!”

  “Are you serious?” I hissed. “I have no drummer. There is no drum kit. My guitar player decided to peace out because of this bullshit. And you think this is good?”

  “Sweetheart,” Bobby cooed. “It’s you and the music. That’s all they need.”

  Bobby squeezed my shoulder and then danced off, calling out a greeting to someone behind me. I heard him yell something about five minutes before the hum of conversation absorbed his voice. I closed my eyes and pressed my fingers into the bridge of my nose.

  “You okay?” Rafe asked, sliding his arm around my shoulders.

  “No,” I whispered, giving him my weight.

  “You got this, you know.”

  “I don’t have a drummer. I left my guitar back in the studio. I can barely do this with a backing band, I am not going out there a cappella.”

  “You got Nik,” he said.

  I swallowed a sob. “The drum kit is destroyed.”

  “You got me.”

  I took a step away from him, out of his reach. “Don’t say that.”

  “I’m right here.”

  Anger, frustration, hurt. It all bubbled up to the surface. “Reesie’s back, Rafe. I’m not an idiot.”

  “Jett, this has nothing to do with Reesie.”

  “No, you don’t get to do this, Rafe. I saw you two. You took her to dinner. At Parma. I mean, God, she tried to buy our song.”

  “Fuck! Jett!” Rafe’s voice was loud enough that it shut me up. “I’ve been trying to tell you. I didn’t tell her about the song.”

  “So who did?”

  “Who the fuck do you think?” he asked. I tossed up my hands. “Frieze.”

  My head dropped. Johnny. Of course. He had an advance on the song because he was my session drummer. God! The man was a snake.

  “That belongs to you,” Rafe said. “To us.”

  “There is no us, Rafe,” I snapped.

  “That’s bullshit, and you know it.”

  “It’s not,” I said.

  “I swear to God, Jett—”

  His eyes narrowed, and his mouth snapped closed. Then his head tipped back, and he stared at the ceiling, as if willing patience to rain down on him.

  “Okay, I will try this again,” he said, bringing his head back down. “I don’t know what you want, Jett, but I know exactly what I want. And I want there to be an us.”

  “You do?”

  He took another calming breath. “I think we’re good together. Don’t you?”

  “But what about Reesie?” I asked.

  “What about Reesie?”

  “Aren’t you in love with her?”

  “Fuck, Jett,” he said, throwing up his hands. “It’s you. I am in love with you!”
r />   A snappy retort hung on my tongue. That wasn’t the response I was expecting.

  We stared at each other in silence, both of our chests heaving.

  “Right,” he said, filling breaking the silence. “You don’t feel the same way.”

  “God, I’m an idiot,” I blurted out.

  “Yeah, it wasn’t your finest moment,” he agreed.

  I lifted my eyes to tell him to fuck off and saw that he was grinning. That damn gap tooth got me every time.

  So I did something totally un-Jett-like. I grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him into me. My lips met his, and all the anger, the hurt, the pain… Well, it didn’t disappear. Only time could do that. But it began to ebb. As our mouths rediscovered each other, his body pressed against mine, and the rest of the world simply faded away.

  Until someone started poking my shoulder.

  “Jett?” Vivienne’s voice was tentative. “Sorry to interrupt, but Bobby said the show must go on, and the audience is getting antsy.”

  Our lips parted, and I leaned my forehead into Rafe’s chest. “Can’t we just cancel?”

  “No,” Vivienne said, her voice firm. “You have scouts out there for like the biggest recording artists. They are looking for someone like you. Desperate, even. Rafe and I didn’t do this shit just so you could back out. You don’t need to be the star forever, just right now.”

  I lifted my head and looked between the two of them. “You and… Rafe?”

  “Vivienne’s joining my team,” he said. “Bobby’s giving us a whole new label.”

  “And I get to style acts as part of my duties,” she said with a squeak.

  I shared a teary smile with her. “But I don’t think I can… We don’t have any instruments.”

  “We have a piano,” he said, nodding to the baby grand at the edge of the stage.

  “That song?” I whispered.

  He nodded. “It’s the only one you need.”

  He took my hand and pulled me onto the stage while Vivienne jumped up and down in the wings, clapping.

  “I can’t do this,” I whispered to him as the humming crowd silenced at our entrance.

  “We’re doing our song, Jett,” he said, stopping at the piano bench. He leaned down and pressed his mouth to mine, dipping me back in a dramatic sweep, and the audience began applauding and whistling. He squeezed my hands and then released me and sat down. He played the opening bars of “Derelict,” nodding his head at the microphone.