by Lyra Byrnes
She climbed in. In the cramped, dark interior, burly roadies napped or sat absorbed in their headphones. Thankfully they didn’t look at her.
“I am going to need you to turn over your computer, your mobile phone and any other electronic devices in that…thing.” Bucky regarded her battered duffel bag as if it were a dead rat. “I shall also need your passwords. I assume you’re sorted for paper and pens and the like?”
This was the last thing she expected to hear and she couldn’t make sense of it. “Bucky, why?”
“The less you know, the better. And the less you communicate with the outside world, the easier it will go for all of us trying to make a living bursting the eardrums of the young, tattooed and impressionable. Continue doing your job the old-fashioned way but deliver your dispatches directly to me.”
“My editor didn’t call? I’m not fired?”
“Until I hear otherwise, no.”
She didn’t know what to say. Was Warren waiting for the scandal to take her down so that his hands remained clean? She hadn’t heard a word from him. As for Bram, she had to fix that situation herself and that might be impossible.
Bucky seemed to read her mind. “It won’t be easy,” he said. He sounded almost human. “And I can’t help you with him.”
She smiled mirthlessly. “Then what the hell are you good for?”
“Damage control. Your electronics, please.”
She handed everything over but her notebook. Whatever Bucky meant by “damage control” might free her from having to deal with the problem, at least publicly. That meant she could continue posting about the tour as if nothing had happened, in her own name and her own voice. Warren had plenty to keep himself busy, rolling around in her scandal like a pig in slop. He’d get the next update when he got it.
They began to roll. Josie took out her pencil but she couldn’t think. She stared unseeing at her notes.
How am I supposed to finish out this tour? I can’t look at him every day until we reach New York. I can’t watch him perform, all those groupies wanting him. I can’t sit in my room while he’s backstage with one of the girls Bucky sends him who knows what he wants and how to give it to him. I can’t bear the way he looks at me, like I’m nothing.
Chapter Fourteen
If Josie thought New Orleans was hot and humid it had nothing on Atlanta. At least the air-conditioning had been functional. The grand old dame of a Georgia hotel in which Domination was booked, however, was experiencing some technical difficulties.
Difficulties that turned the place into a furnace and had Josie sweating through her T-shirt even outside, as if watching a black-haired beauty sit in on a band interview wasn’t uncomfortable enough.
She was draped over a chaise longue in the hotel courtyard, lean and curvaceous and almost as tall as Bram, dropping grapes in her ripe red mouth one by one. The spectacle was so hypnotic some of the journalists couldn’t tear their eyes away even when addressing questions to members of the band.
Bram didn’t seem interested, exactly, but he didn’t seem uninterested either.
Josie took notes robotically, her stomach in knots. She tried to ignore the curious glances cast her way but it was hard. The notorious Rock Slut was in the house, pretending to be a normal human being. Once they were finished asking the band the same dull press-junket questions they would turn to her, teeth sharp and claws out.
But they didn’t. Bucky called time and they shuffled out, packing away tape recorders and pushing their glasses up on their noses. Had it been so long ago that she was part of that world? Was she still?
“Too bad about the new song,” said Bucky, perching on the webbed chair next to hers as if afraid of getting commoners’ germs on his suit.
“Shame,” she muttered automatically. What song? She scanned her notes. Def not going to debut new song tonight says Bram smirk. Got some old beauties to resurrect. She didn’t remember him saying that but he must have.
“I’ve called off the hounds, Miss Arrington, but be careful. No more silliness. I can put the lid on one boiling pot but I have other duties to attend to.”
“How did you do it? I thought they’d be all over me.” More importantly, she wondered, what words did Bucky put in her mouth to quash the scandal? I’m sorry I’m a rock slut. Won’t happen again.
“All over me would be more accurate.”
“What?”
“I put out a press release claiming that as manager, I orchestrated a false set of dispatches of a, erm, sexual nature.” He pronounced it “seksual” and Josie almost laughed for the first time in what felt like ages. “In order to promote Domination and raise Bram Hunter’s profile on this, their tour of the Southern United States. It backfired upon a hardworking journalist who had innocently joined us for this sojourn and for that I was deeply sorry. Fair?”
“Jesus. More than fair. Should I keep sending the posts to you?”
“The proper ones, yes. It seems the success of those reports has not been compromised by my controlling the damage of the other. Your website’s readership is as strong as ever. That’s to the good for you and for us.”
“I don’t know how to thank you.”
“By keeping it, as they say, in your trousers. No more shenanigans and for heaven’s sake no more of this ‘blogging’.”
“There’s no danger of that,” she sighed. “Bram won’t speak to me and she’s here.” There was no need to explain who “she” was.
“Trinity.” Bucky pursed his lips. “Very good for Bram’s creativity but very poor for him in all other aspects.”
“You mean that’s the one—goddess of the nightworld?”
“For the purposes of the trochaic meter, yes.”
It was like meeting the devil after a lifetime of fearing him. She’d made a mess of everything with Bram and driven him back into the arms of the one woman she couldn’t possibly compete with.
Got some old beauties to resurrect. Jesus. “She’s the one who broke his heart.”
He rose and flicked at his gleaming cuff. “And in so doing, she gave us a number-one recording. Though I don’t recommend trying the experiment twice.”
She had to get out. Screw the sound check, screw the tour and screw Bram Hunter and his old girlfriend doubly and sideways. She slipped on her flip-flops and grabbed her bag.
Of the hotels the band had been booked into, only the Atlanta one was as big, ugly and charmless as any convention site. She took it as a sign that it was the end of a glamorous road for her. If Bucky really had pulled her career out of the furnace she could get another gig. Plenty of sites—maybe even real magazines, if there were any left—would pay to have successful blogger and notoriously acquitted Rock Slut on their payroll.
Out in the damp, still Southern air, downtown Atlanta was fairly big, ugly and charmless as well. But she found a diner, grateful to be alone and to center herself, free of all the emotional noise of being around Bram.
She slid into a booth and ordered coffee. The waitress reappeared with a steaming mug and a majestic slice of pie.
“I didn’t—”
“Hiya, kid.” Artie sat across from her, sweaty and sloppy and as welcome a sight as she’d ever seen. “Peach is your favorite, right?”
“What are you doing here?”
He shrugged. “Where am I going to go? I still get royalties from my books and no one’s going to hire this old dinosaur. Thought I’d check in on my protégé.”
“You’re catching her at a low ebb.”
“I heard. We had a rule back in the seventies—don’t bang the musicians. Of course, it was a different time so that was something that needed to be said. I didn’t think I’d need to tell you, Josie. You were always so sensible. But apparently I dropped the ball.”
She gave him a twisted smile. “Like you wouldn’t have jumped at the chance if Debbie Harry invited you to her room.”
“That happened countless times!” He affected a look of shocked innocence. “She pestered me day and
night. Eventually, I had to change my phone number.”
Josie picked at her pie. “I know it wasn’t very professional, Artie. But it really wasn’t—what happened between me and Bram was personal.”
“You’re in love with him?”
“Yes, but I was kidding myself.” She looked down at her plate. “What do you know about Trinity?”
“That’s not her real name, for one thing.”
“Heh. Comes with the territory.”
“Look, kid, Trinity is a black widow. She’s like a planet with a strong gravitational pull. Bram gets sucked into her orbit and all hell breaks loose. You know that song—?”
“I know it. Well, she’s back.”
“Back where?”
“With Bram, I guess. Last I saw her she was sitting in on a press conference collecting rock-critic drool in a trophy cup.”
“I see.” He sat back and looked at her, his eyes solemn. “I’m not your editor anymore and I have no say, but if you ever respected me, listen up. If you can’t finish out the tour in a purely dispassionate capacity unclouded by personal feelings, jealousy, whatever, it’s best not to go on. But you have to ask yourself whether you can get out of this spider web and soldier on with a clear head. I think you can.”
“I’m trying. Jet told me it would be best if I left the tour.”
“Jet? That evil little queen?”
“His intentions are good.” She toyed with her mug, turning it by the handle. There were no answers in the brown depths of the cooling coffee. “I was going to try. The…thing I wrote got out but I stayed and fought for Bram. Then that person showed up, which means I’ve lost him. I have nothing to fight for now.”
“You have your future. You’re ambitious and hardworking and always kept your eye on the prize. Don’t lose focus now.” He stood and put a meaty hand on her shoulder. “I’m going to visit the grave of Fiddlin’ John Carson and hit the road to Memphis. It was good seeing you, kid. This is everything you ever wanted.”
Was it? Josie felt hollow inside. Maybe she didn’t have a choice. Artie had said something that applied to her as well. “I guess so. I mean, where am I gonna go?”
Back to the job to suck it up and enjoy the shit show.
Chapter Fifteen
The technical difficulties had apparently spread to other parts of the hotel. Maintenance insisted it would be a good hour before anyone was available to fix the lock on her door.
She decided to wait at the bar, nursing a gin and tonic and wondering whether she’d have to wear shorts and flip-flops to tonight’s party. Apparently Domination’s label had signed a new artist and they were going to announce this at a gala at the aquarium. Josie liked jellyfish a lot more than she did wax figures but was dreading the ordeal anyway.
A presence loomed behind her and Josie spun around, startled.
“Bram!” she blurted.
Josie was suddenly aware of her damp scalp, crummy vintage band T-shirt and lack of makeup. Her glasses were slipping down her nose from the heat and her face felt as shiny as a Christmas ornament.
Bram, on the other hand, looked perfect, absolutely delectable in black jeans and studded boots. He didn’t move, just stood there, head bent and glowering.
“I need to talk to you. Please let me explain. You owe me that much.”
His dark head rose, blank rage in his beautiful, strange blue eyes.
“I owe you. I owe you?”
She chewed her lip and glanced over her shoulder. The sweltering lounge was empty.
“The other way around then. Look, you’re stuck here, at least for a while, and I’m going to talk whether you listen or not. I believe we’re worth saving or I wouldn’t have come back.”
The words came out in a rush without being considered or rearranged. She had never spoken so thoughtlessly, or so honestly, in her life.
“I trusted you,” he said. His voice was colorless.
“I know, I know. And I let you down but I didn’t betray you. It’s not in my nature. Who we are is like…okay, listen. There is a part of myself I didn’t know was there until you brought out, agreed?” She waited in silence. “All right, I’ll monologue. I didn’t question it. I did everything you asked and would have done so much more. Partly because you opened my eyes to who I am and what I really want. And partly because I liked you. Genuinely, really truly as a person fucking liked you.”
He moved closer, reached behind the bar and poured himself a shot. He wouldn’t sit down but he hadn’t run away either. Josie felt her mental grip on the rope she was trying to tether to him tauten. She tugged.
“And I wanted to honor your nature, who you really are. Who am I? Well, I’m a writer. I can’t just go through something as, as apocalyptic as what you put me through and not process it in some way. I need to organize my experiences, the way you need to control yours.
“I had to get it all down so I started writing about us. It was just for me, I swear. You’ve seen everything, done everything, been everywhere. This was so new to me and almost magical. I wanted to remember that magic.”
“Ambitious little slag,” he said, knocking back the whiskey. “Funny how it magicked up your notoriety.”
Ouch. “You don’t have to believe me but it’s true—I had nothing to gain by releasing it. I gave up on ambition, on getting ahead, on all my old dreams thanks to you. I realized what’s important and it’s only you. I was going to tell you when we were dancing together in that pirate place.”
He winced at that as if it were an ugly memory.
“But we got to talking and I thought there was plenty of time. I had no idea the blog would get out.”
“How?”
“What?”
He looked up, hollow-eyed. “How did it get out, Josie?”
“I-I don’t know. Someone would have to have accessed my computer, I guess.” But it had been locked in her room, hadn’t it?
He remained silent.
“Bram, I really did write all that.” The honesty spilled out of her, thorny and spiked, raking pieces of her heart along the way. But she had no choice. “Bucky’s not the Rock Slut.”
“Christ, I know that.”
“Sorry.”
“I have a hard time trusting people.”
“Especially women.”
“Especially anyone.”
“So why me?”
He looked into his empty glass as if it would give up the answer.
I stayed. I did not give up on you, on us, because I’m in love with you and your leather pants and your smoking body and the way you taste and smell and touch me. I’m in love with your voice, your talent, your drive. I want you, Bram Hunter, the man. Not the rock star. I’ll even put up with the smoking if it means…
If it means you’ll love me back.
She wanted to say it but she couldn’t. It was too soon to risk shattering the fragile thing she was trying to piece back together.
“I’m fighting to keep you, Bram.” She let that sink in. “I thought you like it when I fight.”
His shoulders tensed. She had overstepped. Talking to him when he was this angry was like navigating a minefield and suddenly she realized she was not going to emerge without losing some limbs. All her smarts, all her words—they couldn’t bring Bram back to her. And she had no other tools in her kit.
She slid off the barstool. “Okay, you know what? This is my last word on the subject. I don’t know what happened and at this point I don’t really care. I had everything at stake in keeping that private and you had nothing. Nothing! My life is ruined but you’ll go on as before as if you’d never met me. So ride that high horse to the top of the charts, Bram. I’m done.”
“And yet here you are.”
She was breathing so hard her chest heaved. “Here I am.”
“I thought that was your last word.”
Something in her seemed to break. Josie gulped back a sob. “I’m not her, Bram.”
“Who?” he asked acidly.
; “The queen of the damned or whatever. I’m not the bitch who broke your heart.” She turned on her heel and walked away. “I’m the fool who broke my own.”
She strode away, her heart pounding. So Bram believed her—was she supposed to thank him for it? Thanks for not thinking I’m a lying fame-whore. Thanks for seeing betrayal around every corner. Thanks for shattering me into a million pieces. Maybe I’ll write a song about it and have my own number-one hit.
Tears blurred her vision but she blinked them back. She wouldn’t let him see her cry. Worse, she had lost track of the elevator bank. This had to be the biggest hotel she had ever seen—it was like a city within a city. She found two coffee stands and a gift shop before she caught sight of the sign. Eleganza, it read. Gala fashion for the American belle.
She would be there tonight, no doubt—Trinity, the fake-named black widow with her fangs in Bram Hunter. Perhaps it was time to take advantage of Bucky’s offer that all of her needs would be taken care of during the tour. Josie hadn’t so much as charged a meal to her room. Aside from being put up in a series of fabulous accommodations, she hadn’t spent a dime of the record label’s money.
A gown hung in the window, a simple sheath in a pinkish beige tone only a few shades more intense than her skin. The color was naughtily nude and sweetly innocent at the same time and its high bustline would lengthen her legs.
She wondered how much a dress like that cost. There was nothing close to gala wear in the damp mess of her duffel bag, just the black cocktail dress from the night before, rumpled and dusty and stained with bad memories.
A newborn could guess that Trinity would be wearing red or black like the spider she was.
Josie girded herself and stepped through the doors.
*
“Dammit!” She pulled out the keycard and slid it in again, hoping confident finesse would convince the thing to unlock. But the little light blinked red. Her prize, the glorious nude gown, nestled in its garment bag over one arm as she struggled.
“I see you didn’t follow Auntie Jet’s advice, ducky.” There was a tsk in his voice, even a little anger.