Rev

by Chloe Plume

  I could hear my mom’s hurried voice spilling out of the speakers.

  Damn, I’m gonna get it this time…

  I dragged my ass over to the kitchen and grabbed a Vitamin Water, the XXX one.

  Yeah, that about describes last night.

  I plopped an Alka-Seltzer in a glass of cold water. Worked every time. Electrolytes, aspirin, and a little sodium bicarbonate to soak up the stomach acid.

  “Yeah, Mom, I’m here…”

  She was angry. “Zayden! Have you seen today’s issue of THE STAR GAZER?”

  Oh boy. “Mom, you know I go by Zayde now, right? Every single time—”

  “Zayde! Listen to me!”

  My attempt at misdirection failed. “Yeah, okay…”

  She continued, slowing down her voice for emphasis. “You REALLY messed up this time. We couldn’t keep the photo out of the media. It’s all over the place, internet, tabloids—”

  “I know.”

  “You know?! And you’re just sitting around like it doesn’t matter. Zayden, honey…look, I know it can be hard on you. All the traveling, the tour, everything. But you’re in the perfect position to take off. I mean, you left Sound Play, what, a little more than a year ago? Now you’re in the top ten grossing artists—I sent you the link to the article on Forbes…”

  “Mom, you know I don’t care about all that stuff.”

  “Well, you should. Listen, Zayden, honey, your demo doesn’t like this kind of stuff. Your median age is 16.2, and the parents of someone 16.2 years old aren’t going to fork over hundreds of dollars for their teen daughters to see—”

  “Yeah, I get it mom. You sound a lot like my publicist, by the way.”

  “Speaking of which, you’ll be getting a call from Rosalyn later today. We’re going to schedule something with Oprah, like a heart-to-heart.”

  Fuck. “Yeah, that’s great mom.”

  “Listen to me Zayden. You’re going to talk about the pressures of having broken up with the band last year, how the international tour schedule is grueling and disorienting. How you’re postponing the rest of the tour and coming home to live with your family for a while—”

  “WHAT?!”

  She has to be kidding.

  “Mom, no freaking way!”

  Just what I need: my controlling mother peering over my shoulder. Right when I’m in the zone, getting the best pussy of my life.

  Her voice softened. “Zayden… You need to do this. You’re not the only one this affects. As your mother, it’s hard on me, to see you go down that road. I never thought…” Her voice caught and she sniffled audibly. “Back when we were living in that shitty apartment in the valley, and I was trying to get a job—you couldn’t believe the people I had to deal with, what kind of stuff they were trying to drag me into—I knew, even back then that you’d be great Zayden. You were destined for it. But I never thought you’d come so far so fast. I just want my son back. Come home, stay a little while, and this will all pass. Do it for me Zayden…”

  Oh shit…the trump card.

  My mom loved pulling that one out, the whole single mother sacrifice. In truth, my dad took off after I was born, and she dragged me from North Dakota to Vegas and finally to L.A., trying to pursue her modeling career. Apparently she was too short or something. In any case, I ended up landing some dumb kids show and, as they say, one thing led to another. She became my manager/publicist/business strategist—and come to think of it, I always saw her that way, more than I saw her as my mother.

  But who was I kidding. I wouldn’t have any of this if it wasn’t for her. And shit, I knew the crap she went through. Like the time she took a second job as waitress at some crap hole in fucking Chatsworth to pay for my acting lessons. That creep wouldn’t leave her alone, trying to get her to star in some “movie” that would launch her acting career.

  I was sitting in the corner booth working on lines for my audition, but really just playing around with the crayons they gave to all the little kids. I was nervous, confused, and pissed, because this dickhead with a moustache was grabbing at my mom and then he started yelling and finally called the manager over. He shouted, loud enough so I could hear, that my mom was trying to get him to pay for sexual favors. Well, I didn’t know what the fuck that was back then, but I put shit together a couple years later. She was fired and a week later I didn’t get the part. I told myself I was distracted.

  We bounced around for a while before things started to go well for me. But hell, I wasn’t going to forget what she did for me. Besides, I needed a break from all this bullshit. Maybe going home for a while was just what I needed—a break from cameras jammed in my face and having to sign fifty autographs on the way from your table to take a piss. It was also probably a good idea to let things cool down after last night. I could just imagine all the annoying questions. Shit, I wouldn’t be able to step outside for a walk if I was on tour.

  Not to mention, it would be cool to hang with my step-dad—now there was a guy who figured shit out. Hell, he built up multiple record labels working with real bands, back when things were more than just a money grab. Shit, the stories he had… Well, he was a hell of a lot better than my real dad, who was probably dead. I assumed he was dead, or he’d probably have come looking for money by now.

  “Yeah, alright mom,” I answered after a pause. “Sure. I’ll be home tomorrow.”

  “Oh, Zayden, that’s wonderful! Now make sure to answer Rosalyn’s call and we’ll get this whole thing behind us. Goodnight!”

  “Goodnight mom.”

  Well, this should be interesting.

  I’d be back in the Pierce household, under watchful eyes. Though it wouldn’t be too hard to sneak some action.

  Speaking of which, I have to deal with that hot mess lounging in my bed.

  I took a single, long sip of whisky, which always helped my hangovers, and marched out to the bedroom.

  She was still there, ass in the air, sprawled on top of my bed like she’d never let go.

  Holy fuck, that ass!

  It was a thing of beauty. Juicy and rounded, but firm, taut, and contoured perfectly. I wanted nothing more than to dive right back in, and I assume she wanted the same.

  Too bad for her.

  She broke the rules and stayed the night. I didn’t like that kind of commitment. Plus, I wanted my shirt back.

  “Alright, sleeping beauty,” I began. “Time to get out of here; hope you had fun.”

  “Zaaaydee,” she mumbled, yawning. “What time is it?”

  I pulled the blinds open to fill the room with some harsh, glaring L.A. sun.

  That should help.

  “It’s time to go.”

  She begrudgingly slipped out of bed and pulled up her skirt. Grabbing her heels, she walked right up to me and, before I could pull away, leaned in on the tips of her toes and pecked a kiss right on my lips.

  What the hell was that?

  She smiled and slinked out towards the door.

  Watching her go was a beautiful sight.

  This girl was hot, no doubt about it.

  Glossy blonde hair and a tight little body with that fucking ass sashaying out of my apartment—holy fuck, I almost stopped myself and called her back. Then again, she was like a dozen other girls I’d probably come across in the next…oh, I’d say week or so. And they’d throw themselves at me like this one. After all, there were thousands of them, and only one Zayde Knight.

  She turned seductively and I swear it almost worked. “Call me?”

  “Unlikely,” I said flatly.

  Her face tensed angrily, and I swear she didn’t look so pretty anymore. “You know what Zayde?!” she screamed. “You’re a Douche!”

  Story of my life.

  Chapter 3

  Madison

  My dad was supposed to pick me up from LAX, but the flight was delayed and he sent a driver instead. Charlene was probably at home, but she couldn’t be bothered. Besides, she never really liked me, though I tried. She seemed t
o be really insecure when it came to my dad’s affection, which I didn’t understand. I mean, my mom was dead—it’s not like he was going to get up one day and decide to get back with her. And I was off at boarding school most of the year, and next year I’d be up north in Stanford. Well…I’d given up on a good relationship with my step-mom and just told myself it was one of those things in life I couldn’t do anything about.

  The car pulled up to the wrought-iron gate in the late afternoon, so I was sure my dad wasn’t home yet. He worked late every day, although at this point he really didn’t need to.

  The house was massive. And beautiful. I remember when my mom, my dad, and I moved there from a place in Los Feliz. My dad had successfully merged his record label with another business to form Pierce Media and he could finally enjoy the fruits of his labor.

  As a kid, I loved it. Its cream stucco walls, stacked red tile roof, and secluded courtyards were a dream come true to a young girl who loved to read and daydream. I used to wander through the rose gardens and stone patios with my book, and cool off in the sparkling pool on hot summer days.

  It was a romantic place that reminded me of how much my mom and dad loved each other. Whenever I visited, I was transported back to those pancake breakfasts my dad made against the Spanish-style mosaic backsplash in the kitchen. Or the late evenings, sipping my grape juice while they drank wine and we all played board games under the rustic beamed ceilings.

  I thought it would never end. But then my mom started waking up in the middle of the night with headaches. She started to go to the doctor’s a lot, but there wasn’t much they could do for a glioblastoma. Cancer treatments weren’t effective, even though my dad got her into early stem cell trials. She died within a year and nothing was ever the same.

  My dad sent me to boarding school in Massachusetts. He told me it was because he didn’t want me to grow up in L.A. and my mom would have wanted me to have a first class, distraction free education, but I knew better. Even before I left to finish middle school on the East Coast, he buried himself in his work and I never saw him.

  Then, as I started high school, he started seeing someone else. I was happy for him. He seemed more upbeat on the phone. I remember when we talked on the phone before I flew back after exams at the end freshman year. “No one will ever replace your mother,” he’d said. “Alina really was the shining light of our lives, and maybe she shined too bright for this world. But Madison, Charlene makes me happy and she’s a good, hard working person.”

  It wasn’t long before he married her and Zayden moved in. And it wasn’t long before Sound Play made the childhood tv star a household name—most of all, in our household. When I came back during the summer, it was all about his career. Charlene couldn’t stop talking to my dad about Zayden: this promotion, that tour, on and on…and she did her best to ignore me.

  The house had a very different meaning for me now, and it had been a while since I felt comfortable there. Still, I looked forward to seeing my father. And of course, college was right around the corner—so much to get ready for.

  I stepped out of the car as it came to a stop on the cobblestone circle drive, right in front of the fountain. My dad had it made after my mother passed away. It was statue of an angel of light. My dad had said it was in memory of her, because without her this was just a house and not a home. Needless to say, Charlene never liked the fountain, but it stayed.

  The doors were unlocked, which meant Charlene was home. I wheeled my suitcase along the marble tiled floor of the foyer and attempted to cross to the staircase and get to my room without drawing Charlene’s attention. The rest of my stuff had been shipped from school earlier and I was eager to unpack and get organized. I knew I had all summer, but somehow it felt good to start prepping for college.

  Charlene didn’t even notice I was there. Even if she did, she didn’t say anything or stop what she was doing for a second. I could see through the archway into the kitchen as I hauled my suitcase up the stairs. She was redecorating again. It seemed like she always was, every single time I came home. Maybe she thought that doing it enough times would erase the memory of my mother for good.

  I parked the suitcase outside the open door to my room. I stepped inside and was glad to see the boxes of my school stuff piled neatly in the corner. Then I turned to my bed and wasn’t glad at all.

  What the FUCK!!!

  No way he’s here!

  Unfortunately he was. The bastard was lounging in my bed with his dirty ass jeans, and his leather jacket was thrown carelessly on the floor.

  “Zayden! What the hell are you doing here?!” I screamed.

  He turned his head towards me with that smug look that made me want to smack him. “Actually, Maddy, I go by Zayde now. You should read news. You know. Stay informed.”

  “Yeah, right. That’s news. Some people have better things to do than keep track of name-change announcements from egotists like you.”

  “Um…well, actually Maddy, most people don’t.”

  Wait! What’s he reading? I’d never known Zayden…or Zayde…to read a book.

  “What the hell is that, a book Zayde?” I asked. “Your fans would be so disappointed.”

  He smirked. “No worries, Maddy, it’s a picture book.”

  Wait! What?!

  He was holding the yearbook my dad had brought back after graduation. “Hey, stop that!” I screamed. “You can’t just go through my things and—”

  “One second…” Zayde interjected. “I just want to say a few things.” He opened the book to the portrait photographs section and pointed to a member of my graduating class. “This guy…hilarious…” He started chuckling. “I mean, come on…”

  “What’s so funny Zayde?”

  “Well, first of all, his name—Reginald…really?”

  “Reggie’s a great guy Zayde. Valedictorian actually.”

  “Yeah, okay. Well, what the fuck is he wearing, like a tuxedo and bowtie for his class picture. He looks like a fucking clown and”—Zayde extended his arm and held the yearbook out over the bed facing me—“what’s this, a love note?”

  “Zayde!” I yelled, “Give that back to me. I swear, I’m—”

  “ ‘To my dearest Madison,’—Oh this is hilarious—‘my destiny has called me to Harvard and yours to Stanford, but we shall always remain the best of friends, yours, Reginald.’ Haha. You can’t make this stuff up!”

  “Zayde, I swear—”

  “Oh Maddy, it’s just like the old days.” Zayde began thumbing through the yearbook. “I think you might be turning red. Mad, mad Maddy…”

  “Alright,” I began, “Zayde, you’ve had your fun. Give it back.”

  Zayde smirked. “So, what, this guy was like your boyfriend?”

  “No, he was just a good friend,” I shot back.

  Zayde shook his head. “Yeah, right. I’m surprised though Maddy…”

  “What?”

  Zayde smiled sarcastically, squinting his eyes. “I’m surprised good old Reggie knows where to put it. Didn’t think those preppy guys had it in them. Plus, don’t you go to an all girls school?”

  “We have mixers stupid.”

  Stupid? Now I sound like I’m in middle school.

  “Wait…what are you saying?”

  “I’m saying I thought you were a virgin Maddy,” Zayde stated matter-of-factly.

  “Yeah, right. I’ve been with guys Zayde, you idiot.”

  Is it really that obvious?

  “Now give back my damn yearbook and get out of here!”

  “Oh!” Zayde shouted, “Look!”—He turned the book toward me again—“It’s you!”

  “Okay, give it back,” I said, rushing towards the bed.

  “Haha…What are you wearing?” Zayde laughed, rolling to the side of the bed with the book, just out of reach.

  I clawed at him, but he dodged my grasp and clutched the book tightly so I couldn’t get it back. “I’m wearing regular clothes, Zayde. Not everyone wears pre-torn jeans and
sleeveless hoodies you know…”

  “Seriously, you look like a college professor or something—is that a jacket or a robe?”

  “Zayde, seriously, enough…”

  “I mean, it’s the perfect blend of frumpy and dowdy, if that’s what you’re going for, complete with—oh yes!”—He pointed to the picture again—“Complete with a baggy flower-pattern blouse. Well, if that’s what Reggie’s into…”

  Finally, I managed to grab the yearbook, sprawling stomach down on the bed in the process. “Yeah, well, look at what you’re wearing. Like some kind of…like you’re a post-apocalyptic biker or something…It’s stupid.

  Actually, he looks so fucking hot it’s not fair.

  “Alright then Maddy,” Zayde exhaled, finally getting off my bed. “I think I look great, and so does the rest of the world—just check out my Instagram.”

  “Yeah, alright Zayde. Time to get out of my room.” I motioned towards the door and he shrugged, sauntering out. As his tall frame brushed past me, I couldn’t help but notice the rippling muscles of his arms and shoulders.

  Of course, it’s that easy for him.

  The skinny pop star had turned into a badass overnight. Complete with a set of tattoos on his upper chest and forearms.

  “What’s with the tattoos?” I was curious.

  “Well,” he said, turning with a shrug, “it’s time for a change.” And finally, he was gone.

  Click below to read the rest of Douche and find out what happens to Maddy and Zayde!

  http://www.amazon.com/dp/B010R2AL1S/

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