Delivering His Heir

by Jesse Jordan

  The final applause is massive, and looking out over the crowd with Joey on my left and Ian on my right, we bow, thanking them one more time for coming out. The video feed for Vevo cut off about two minutes ago according to the motions from the director in the wings of the stage, and I turn to Joey and Ian, grabbing them in a hug. “Thank you,” I say quietly, my microphone discarded for now. “Thank you.”

  “Rocky... if I live to a thousand years old, I'll never forget that performance of Four Letters,” Joey rasps. “I love you, bro.”

  “I love you too, Joey,” I reply, hugging my brother tightly before hugging Ian, both of us with similar words. I'm an only child from Simi Valley, but my two brothers are a Puerto Rican kid and a guy from Huntington Beach, that's all there is to it. The three of us leave the stage while the public-address announcer takes over, thanking everyone for coming to the Starlight Bowl, and giving advice on how to get their cars or other means to leave. Little of it means shit to the celebrities, they're invited to the after party at the country club that's next to the Bowl.

  “Rocky...” Ian says, and I can see in his eyes that he wants to talk about Cora and her being here, but before he can continue, Larry is there, grinning and clapping us all on the shoulders.

  “My God, guys, you three did it! I don't quite understand it all, I guess I'm getting old, but apparently, you guys are the number one trending topic on Twitter, and the live stream had at one point over a million viewers! The video for Four Letters has only been out for ten minutes, and you've already got a hundred thousand views. Guys... the media analysts are saying this could be in Hello territory,” Larry gushes, still grinning. “Biggest major debut ever!”

  “That's great Larry,” I reply, shaking hands with him. My throat is harsh though, and I need water, breaking into a slight cough. Larry notices and grabs a bottle from a nearby table and hands it to me, letting me take a big swig. “Seriously, thank you for all your support on this.”

  “And to think, I wanted Eternal Flame!” Larry says with a laugh, clapping me on the back. “Listen, I had a request from Martha, some media folks want to talk to Ian and Joey. Since you guys aren't scheduled to go to the after party for another forty-five minutes, I'm gonna pull them away. Rocky, get yourself a drink and relax a little before you have to change.”

  Ian's eyes flare at Larry's words, and he holds up a hand when Larry goes to lead him away. He leans in, whispering in my ear. “Cora said Martha's lying. She didn't sell you out. After that comment in the wings, I believe her. Find Martha.”

  I nod, and Ian walks away, Joey next to him. I finish off my bottle of water, but the next thing I need to do is pee like a madman. After a long set like this, I always have to whiz like a racehorse, and I rush to the bathroom, making it in time. As I shake off, I think about what Ian said. Cora didn't sell us out? Martha's lying? I have to know.

  I shake my cock off and zip up, rinsing my hands before I leave the bathroom, looking for Martha. She's nowhere to be found, so I grab one of the roadies. “Hey, you seen Martha Mellors?”

  “Who?” the guy asks, in that typical bored roadie voice. I understand, they've worked with guys a lot more famous than me, but I suspect that it's a point of professional pride. They'd sound that bored if John Lennon somehow came back from the dead and asked for directions to the nearest McDonald's.

  “Our manager. Black hair, black pantsuit?” I ask, holding my hand up at about Martha's height. “Usually carrying a tablet?”

  “Oh yeah, Vampirella,” the roadie says, pointing off to his left. “Just saw her going into one of the dressing rooms, she was on her phone.”

  “Thanks,” I tell the guy, walking off while he pushes another crate of gear towards the front of the house. The hallway with the dressing rooms is one of the only carpeted ones in the back, and my footfalls go quiet as I approach the cracked open door. I slow down as I approach, listening as I hear Martha on the phone.

  “Yeah... yeah... yeah, I'll try and get you the security feed, but it's gotta be edited. Why? You don't fucking need to know why. But yeah, I got her arrested,” Martha says, and I stop just outside the door, listening. Martha's walking back and forth, I can hear her boots on the thin carpet, and her voice is fading in and out.

  “Of course, it's a setup! What, you think Miss Goody Two Shoes is actually stupid enough to try and do that? Come on, I had to prod her like a motherfucker to get her to snap enough to get the security guards involved. After I did that double check on her, you know I had to set her up.”

  Martha stops, listening to the person on the other side of the phone call. I quickly reach into my pocket, pulling out my cell phone from my jacket pocket and turn on the voice recorder as Martha continues. “Her kid? Honestly, I don't give a fuck. I assume the little shit's at her grandparents' house, maybe she's with a babysitter, who the fuck do you think I am? No, no, no. It's not his, but if you wanna drop some innuendo, you probably can get away with it. Who the fuck cares? I'm sure you know how to phrase it. No... come on Joanne! You're getting good hits and feeds from this, and I know you watched that video enough times to get yourself off at least twice. And I'm not even asking you for money, I just want her destroyed and him...”

  “Him what?” I ask, shoving the door open hard enough to make it bounce off the far wall and close behind me as I step in. “Him what?”

  “Uhh... I'll call you back,” Martha says, hanging up her call and turning to me. “Rocky... great concert, and you really kicked...”

  “Shut up,” I hiss, slamming my fist against the wall. “I heard it all, Martha. Or at least enough. You set up Cora. You're the leak, aren't you? You've been the leak all along.”

  Martha goes to shake her head, then shrugs when she sees that I'm not going to buy any bullshit job, her game's up. “I was doing my job, Rocky, that's all. Come on, I tried to tell you. This is a new era, baby. Nobody gives a damn about a guy who can sing well! Nobody gives two shits about good music! The public, they want to eat you alive, they want to want to suck you dry and if you're not on drugs, fucking someone famous, or getting into trouble, nobody gives two fucks about you!”

  “So, you manufactured scandals,” I growl, keeping my phone hidden in my hand. I hope this is being picked up. “The fights, the groupies, all of it... you fed the scandals to the scandal sheets.”

  “Of course, I did!” Martha yells, throwing up her hands. She's pacing again, looking at me wild-eyed. “I had to! Rocky, your image is that you're the guy every motherfucker in the world wants to be, and every woman wants to fuck, but in real life, you're boring as fuck to the general public. Nobody cares about the amount of weight you can bench press, or that you like long walks on the beach or riding your mountain bike up in the canyons to gain inspiration for writing music! You're a boring ass white boy from Simi Valley, and the general public doesn't give a shit about the fact that you're a great guy! They'd rather that you be an asshole, so the guys can reassure themselves that they aren't totally shamed by you, and all the girls can fantasize about rehabbing the bad boy.”

  “How long?” I ask, trying to control my anger. I might be a 'boring ass white boy from Simi Valley,' but I've had to throw down more than once, and not all the scars on my body are from riding my bike. Still, I won't hit a woman, as much as Martha deserves it right now.

  “Who do you think engineered all those meetings with the girlfriends? I made sure you'd meet girls who were not into long term things. Hell, I'd have hooked you up with Taylor Swift if I'd had the chance, with all the good that would have done to your public profile,” Martha says, chuckling. “Rocky, the public wants you sexy and single, it's my job to keep you both.”

  “And Cora? Why did you lie about her, try to destroy her?” I ask. “And what's this about a kid?”

  Martha shakes her head, crossing her arms over her chest. “It doesn't matter, Rock. She's done, gone, kaput in this town.”

  “Then so are you. You betrayed me, you betrayed the band!” I yell, angry and hurt. �
��Why? Why are you trying to wreck my life?”

  “Because you rejected me!” Martha yells back. She sees that I don't know what she's talking about, then laughs harshly. “Oh, you don't even remember, do you?”

  I think and remember. It was my twenty-first birthday, two and a half years ago. I'd just turned twenty-one, and Martha took me out to celebrate. Ian and Joey were both tied up for the weekend she said, so we went out and got blitzed at a club, dancing on the floor where she got a little grabby, grinding on me. The next day I'd woken up with a splitting headache and fuzzy memories, not quite sure how I got home, but I'd woken up alone. “My birthday?”

  Martha nods, an ironic half-smile on her face. “Yeah... I'd liked you for six months Rocky, but you did the same thing to me you did to Cora back in high school. You friend zoned me, not even realizing that I was into you. So, I got you drunk, hoping that I could get past that good guy side of you. You... you said yes, you stupid fuck. Actually, you called me Cora, saying that you were so sorry you'd overlooked me for so long. It broke my heart, you calling me that, and I walked away. How do you think I remembered that name so well when I first heard you call her that in the booth?”

  I stare at her, stunned. “You... Martha... you... that's it. You're fired.”

  “You can't fire me, I work for the label,” Martha says, smirking. “And I've got plenty to back up my version of things.”

  “Maybe, but I've got two things on my side,” I reply, smiling a predator's smile, nothing at all like the smile that I give friends, or the flirty smirk that I use on stage. There's no warmth in it, and I understand now, for the first time in my life, what real hatred is. “First, I'm the superstar, remember? I'm the guy fronting the band that's trending on Twitter. And second...”

  I pull my phone from my pocket, showing her the voice recorder still going. “I've got you admitting to so many things, I'm sure at least some of this is criminal. You're done. Have a good life, Martha.”

  I turn on my heel and leave the dressing room, walking down the hallway and across the backstage area towards the exit to the Bowl. I half expect Martha to try to follow me, but she doesn't, and I get outside without anyone stopping me. I see Larry, who's still talking with some magazine media, I think that's the reporter from Rolling Stone that introduced himself before the concert. “Hey, Rocky!” Larry calls, waving me over. “Jimmy would like a quote.”

  It's hard to even think about trying to play the media game, but going off right now would do nothing but cause trouble, so I come over, clapping Larry on the back and giving Jimmy the reporter a respectful nod. “Of course, but then I've gotta talk with you, Larry. In private?”

  “Sure,” Larry says, still smiling. He can see it in my eyes, something's wrong, but he's been a pro at this a long time.

  “So, Rocky, after tonight's smash premiere concert, what's next for the Fragments?” Jimmy asks his voice recorder out.

  “We're going to keep putting our hearts into our music, and I hope we can keep entertaining the fans,” I say. “I'll let Larry and the team at Gashouse figure out the details.”

  “One more thing...” Jimmy says. “During your intro for Four Letters, there was a bit of a pause. Uh, got anything to comment on that?”

  I nod, my false superstar smile disappearing. “Yeah... that song was written by a very, very special person. I paused because I was thinking of her, that's all. Who knows, maybe someday I'll tell the full story. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to talk with Larry.”

  “Of course. Thanks, guys,” Jimmy says, leaving us. I wait for him to be totally out of earshot, and turn to Larry.

  “What's going on, Rock?” Larry asks, his face written with concern.

  “Larry, I'm going to have to miss the after party,” I explain, taking my phone out of my pocket again. “Here, copy this voice file. You've got a worm in your apple, and I think you need to know about it. And I need to apologize to Cora.”

  “Cora?” Larry asks, surprised. “Rocky... I just got done talking with the cops. She was arrested tonight, she's been taken to jail.”

  “WHAT?!?!?!”

  Cora

  “No Mom... no, I want you to keep Bella with you guys. Don't bail me out, I don't need it. Yeah, the processing guys said that LA County runs arraignments seven days a week, so I'll be put through tomorrow. No Mom... no... no. Mom, I understand, but I'll be okay. Okay, Mom, the guard's giving me the signal, my time's up. I love you too, give Bella a kiss. No, if she asks, tell her what happened. It's okay and I don't want to have to explain away a lie later. I love you too. 'Bye.”

  I hang up the phone and take a deep breath. The guard, who's probably seen a million people come through the processing cell at the Burbank City Jail, isn't sympathetic, but at the same time doesn't look like they're about to bust my head in either.

  “Guess I got lucky to be arrested in Burbank instead of Compton,” I mutter to myself, but the guard overhears me anyway, laughs.

  “You're lucky that we're slow tonight and that you're a woman here on something minor,” the guard says. “Anyone arrested on serious charges we ship to LA County Jail. Guys got a ninety percent chance of going to County. What'd you do, anyway?”

  “Got in a fight with a bitch who's wrecking the life of the man I love. Huh, she told the security guys who arrested me that I tried to kill her.”

  The guard starts to escort me back to the holding cell, laughing. “Yeah well, obviously, the guys who brought you in, put something different down. All right, here we are. We'll see if we can get you processed into a bed sometime soon.”

  The guard unlocks the door of the holding cell and lets me back in. It's your typical holding cell, ten people sharing three benches, all of us sitting around looking at each other. Most of them look like they're off in their own heads. Two of the girls are drunk. One of them sleeping it off, while one of the others, a knockout redhead who is dressed in what looks like haute couture, sits back, bored. I try to settle in, and lean back against the wall, sighing as I think about what a fuck-up I've made of everything.

  “So, what are you in for?” the redhead asks, turning her head to look me over. “You're not drunk, no drugs, and no offense honey, but you're no gangbanger.”

  “Thanks, I think,” I answer, looking off into the ceiling. “I'm... I'm in for going after my heart.”

  The redhead nods, humming. I don't know why I answered the way I did, it's a different answer than what I told the guard. Maybe it's just different sitting around with a bunch of other women who are also in the system instead of talking with a guard, maybe it's just that it's ten minutes later.

  “Love, huh?” the redhead asks after a moment. “Over a man?”

  I nod, tears threatening. “I... I fell in love, but another woman lied about me, she's trying to hurt the man I love. I went to the concert tonight to try and talk with him. I never got my chance and ended up here. How about you?”

  “I guess you could say love too,” the redhead says with a mirthless chuckle. “I'm an escort. I was with one of my clients when his wife came in, the cops with her.”

  “Didn't know the cops did that for cheating husbands, even if you are... well, I guess they arrested you for prostitution?” I ask, not sure how to broach the subject.

  “Yeah, that's what's on the arrest sheet. Trust me, I'm no mere hooker though. As for the cops, when the wife happens to be a member of the State House who is up for election next year and doesn't want the press sniffing out the fact that her husband was trying to charge off fifty thousand dollars of the campaign funds on, well I believe the term she screamed at him was, consultation fees.”

  “Fifty grand?” I ask, incredulously. “For... what?”

  “Monthly visits. He's been my client for about a year now. I'm quite good at what I do,” the woman replies proudly. “Like I said, I'm not just a hooker. I actually do have my master's degree from Yale.”

  “Wait... how does a master's degree from Yale lead to escorting?” I ask, perverse
ly intrigued. “I mean... if you want to share.”

  “Sure. Last year I filed taxes with the IRS for two hundred thousand dollars, all legally listed as consulting fees. The degree comes in handy there. And that's just what I declared, there were a lot of perks. I haven’t had to pay for much of my life for the past three years, it’s all gifts from clients. I'm twenty-six with a house already paid for, half a million in investments, and even if this shuts me down I'm pretty much set for life,” she says, not cocky but just proud of what she's done. “I can see you're still confused.”

  “No... yes... I guess. I mean, I'm nowhere near as experienced with men as you are obviously, I guess sex carries a lot of emotional weight for me,” I stammer, trying to put what I want to say into words. “Sorry, I'm not trying to be mean.”

  The redhead shakes her head, laughing softly. “Don't worry about it, I know what you mean. And I'm not trying to be a robot either. If the right person comes along, I'll leave this life, sell off my client list to another girl who I can trust to take care of them. Client list I have, I'll score an easy quarter million even if I let it go on a fire sale discount. As for emotional weight, I've felt that from time to time. Who knows, maybe I'm just waiting for the right person.”

  “I... I knew the right guy as far back as high school,” I admit for some reason. “Back then, he didn't recognize what I felt for him. Then we got back together through our work, and well... it clicked this time. Until the other woman got in the way.”

  “Don't they always?” the redhead asks. She offers her hand, and we shake. “By the way, I'm Kelly.”

  “Cora,” I reply, shaking. “So, do you think you're going to get busted? What about your savings and stuff, you know?”

  Kelly shakes her head, smiling. “Most of what I've got is in offshore accounts, and besides I declared it properly, as consulting fees like I said. And with my client list... well, let's just say that I might be forcibly retired, but the names I've got in my little black book, they don't want to even take the chance that I might leak. The Assemblywoman's husband isn't the only powerful client that I visit. Once my lawyer gets here, I'll be good.”