Always

by Amanda Weaver

  “Or we can stop wasting everyone’s time and offer it to Failsafe.”

  Dillon crossed his arms over his chest and glared down at Mark, who he’d never really liked. The guy was the worst kind of corporate shill, glossed over with a thin sheen of musical respectability. There wasn’t a single genuine thing about the guy.

  “No one even knows who they are!” Mark snapped.

  “They should! Trust me, the audience will thank us when they hear Justine sing.”

  “With all due respect, that’s not your call to make. We have acts in mind, bands we’re cultivating and would like to advance in the right circumstances. We’ll be looking to position one of those acts with you on the road. Not some untried local band no one’s ever heard of.”

  Dillon let out a huff of frustration and spun away, stalking across the green room. Now he knew he hated Mark. Who the fuck used expressions like “with all due respect” when they were talking about rock? He liked Jon Verlaine, their Artists and Repertoire man at Nightfall. They’d been wined and dined by a line of slick A&R guys from all the major labels, but Jon was the first one to talk about music like a musician, the first one who seemed to really get what they were trying to do. Jon didn’t take them to dinner at the hottest new French restaurant, he took them to an underground club to hear the hottest new indie band. That won over Dillon and they’d signed with Nightfall. But so far, every other person he’d met there had been a complete asshole, right up to Mark Bennett.

  Dillon thought he had it all laid out. He was sure once he played the CD, once they heard Justine sing, there’d be no argument. He’d forgotten this world didn’t work that way. There were corporate plans in place that had nothing to do with talent or even what the band wanted. He gritted his teeth at having to take orders from a weasel like Mark.

  “So, can I assume this issue is resolved?” Mark said after a moment.

  JD cleared his throat and Rocky reached up to rub the back of his neck, neither one willing to wade into the dispute.

  “Not quite.” Ash unfolded himself from the armchair in the corner. He’d been laying back, seeming to barely pay attention to the argument happening over his head. Now he straightened up to his full height and shook back his hair. His chin was up and his eyes were sharp, focused only on Mark. Even Dillon was a little intimidated and he’d known Ash all his life. Mark certainly sat up straighter. Ash pointed a finger at the CD that Mark still held, although he seemed to have forgotten it. “That’s the band opening for us,” he said.

  “Now, Ash—”

  “No, Mark. You’re not understanding me. That’s the band. And do you know why?” Ash paused for dramatic effect, but Mark was too intimidated to say anything. “Because Dillon here has better taste in music in his pinkie fingernail than you do in your entire worthless brain. So if he says this is the band, do you know what you say?” Another pause, during which Mark didn’t make a sound. “You say thank you, because I can guarantee you’d never stumble on that kind of musical revelation on your own. Are we clear?”

  Mark was silent for another moment, and then he cleared his throat. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “No, what you’ll do is make sure they’re booked. Now are we clear?”

  Mark sighed. “Ash—”

  “Are we clear?” Ash’s voice, the bombastic low register he only unleashed on stage, nearly shook the framed posters on the wall.

  “Yeah, we’re clear. The label won’t be happy. You should know that.”

  “The label can kiss my ass.” Ash said, turning away dismissively.

  Mark ran a hand through his hair, then shoved to his feet and stormed out of the room.

  Rocky was the first one to speak into the silence. “The label can kiss my ass, Ash?”

  “Well, they can!” he shouted. “And that asshole can get on his knees and pucker up first.”

  Rocky raised his eyebrows. “True, he is a dick.”

  “Here’s to sticking it to the assholes,” JD said, raising his beer in a toast. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Dillon.”

  Dillon opened his mouth, but Ash cut him off. “He does. Dillon always knows. And he’s always right.”

  Dillon smiled. “Thanks, Ash. Thanks for going to bat for me.”

  “Anything for you, my brother.”

  That was why. No matter how much shit Ash dragged him into, or how many times he had to bail him out of trouble, when it mattered, Ash would always go to the mat for him. And was always there for Ash, too. As long as they had each other’s backs, they could handle anything this new world threw at them.

  “Justine?”

  “Hey, Dillon.” Justine pinned the phone under her cheek as she turned back to the mirror, finishing her mascara. Next to her reflection, she could see David look up from his phone, his expression dark and unreadable.

  “You playing tonight?”

  “In just a few minutes. What’s up?”

  “Look, you’re going to get the call from management tomorrow, but I wanted to give you the news first.”

  She scowled at herself in confusion. “What news?”

  “We want you guys to open for us on the tour.”

  She made a little choked sound and then swallowed to clear her throat. “Are you serious?”

  “Yeah, dead serious.”

  She paused before she asked the next question, not wanting to, but needing to. “Are you sure?”

  “Of course. I wouldn’t have made them do it if I wasn’t.”

  Leaning forward on her elbow, she pressed her fingers against her forehead and lowered her head, blocking David and the boys out of her peripheral vision. “It’s just… I know you’re not exactly… that you don’t necessarily think… shit.”

  He chuckled. “You mean I don’t think your band is half as talented as you are?”

  “Yeah, that.”

  “They’re not untalented. And believe me, you’ll more than make up for what they lack.”

  She smiled. “Well, okay then. As long as you’re sure.”

  “I am.”

  “So they’ll call tomorrow?”

  “Yeah, they’ll give you all the details. I’m really excited about this, Justine.”

  “Me, too. And Dillon? Thank you. You have no idea what this means to us.”

  After she’d said goodbye, she spun around to face the boys, barely able to contain her excitement.

  “Guess what?”

  “You’re going to be Miss February,” Eddie deadpanned without looking up from his phone.

  “Shut up, asshole. And we’ve talked about this. It’s Playmate of the Year or nothing.”

  Eddie laughed and she slapped at his thigh.

  David sighed. “So what’s the news?”

  “We’re going on tour.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Opening for Outlaw Rovers. That was Dillon. The management person is calling tomorrow.” She waited for the explosion, the excitement, the joy. Instead, they all looked at her blankly. David finally spoke, his voice almost a snarl.

  “He’s hiring you?”

  Justine’s enthusiasm rapidly drained away, replaced instead with outrage. “No. His management is booking us.”

  There was a long silent moment as Justine glared at David and David glared at her. Eddie and Paolo glanced nervously back and forth between them, waiting to see who would start shouting or throwing things first. Instead, David let out a humorless laugh and shook his head.

  “Well, that’s… convenient.”

  There was silence again, but this time it was so loaded the air in the room nearly crackled with it. She stood up, eyes still fixed on David, who had raised his head again to meet her stare.

  “If you have something to say, David, you’d better just say it.”

  His jaw worked, his dark eyes shadowed by his heavy brows, as he debated. Finally, he spoke. “I’m not sure I’m okay with you getting us gigs on your back.”

  Blind rage welled up in her chest. How dare he?
In an instant, she reached back and grabbed her hairbrush. In another, it shot across the room, hitting the wall behind David with a crack.

  “You son of a bitch!”

  She had cleared half the space between them, hands curled into claws, face hard with fury, when Eddie threw himself in front of her and Paolo grabbed her arms from behind. David stood up so fast that the armchair he’d been sitting in flew backwards.

  “Dave, that was way fucking out of line,” Eddie said over his shoulder. He planted his hands on Justine’s shoulders to hold her back.

  “Justine, take a deep breath,” Paolo murmured.

  “It’s out of line for me to want to succeed based on our talent and not on her looks?”

  “It’s out of line because it’s not true, you asshole!” she screamed over Eddie’s head. “I’m not sleeping with him, not that it’s any business of yours. He came to our shows and he liked what he heard. I’m sorry if you’re so threatened by me that you’d spit in the face of a great opportunity.”

  “She’s right, David,” Eddie said. “This is the best offer we’ve ever had. Those guys have a top ten single right now. The exposure would be amazing.”

  “That’s not the kind of music I want to make.”

  “Nobody said you have to play with the guys,” Paolo pointed out. “We play our stuff in front of their crowds. What’s the problem with it?”

  “So you’re both okay with this? Getting a gig because of her and this guy?”

  Justine threw her arms in the air. “He’s a friend. We talk about music.”

  David started to object, but Eddie held up a hand to cut him off. “Like you said, Justine, it’s none of our business one way or another.”

  David’s jaw twitched as he gritted his teeth and his eyes bored into hers. Justine refused to back down. “Well, I’m fucking outvoted then,” he growled.

  “This is good news, Dave. A national tour with a top ten band. Can you just be happy?”

  “Guess I have no choice.” He turned and left, slamming the door behind him.

  “Fucking asshole!” Justine shouted at the door.

  “Don’t let him get to you,” Eddie said. “He’s got some stuff he’s dealing with. And you know how success scares him.”

  She had to chuckle, despite the anger still making her hands shake. Her face was still hot with rage. She exhaled, trying to let it go, but her pulse was pounding. Deciding to make light of it, she chuckled. “What the hell will he do when we get signed and our album sells a million copies?”

  Eddie and Paolo laughed. Justine closed her eyes and blew out a long, shaky breath.

  “Eddie’s right, Justine. This is great news, no matter what Dave says.”

  “Thanks guys. I was really excited and then…”

  “That’s Dave. Ruining everybody’s fun since 2004. Ignore him and be happy. We are.”

  And for one night, she did ignore him. She stood next to him on stage. She sang his songs. But she was selfish about it, singing them her way and only for herself. She took the tempo of one song too fast, the way she’d always thought it should be, and the band had no choice but to keep up with her. She knew it would make David furious, but she didn’t care. She took massive chances on high notes just to show off, knowing David hated it when she did that. But she hit them all and the crowd went wild, so she kept doing it. She let it feed her high and imagined playing on the same stage as Outlaw Rovers in front of thousands.

  That night felt like the beginning of so many things for her. But she wondered if it was the beginning of the end of them.

  “So let me get this straight.”

  Justine groaned.

  “You’re drooping. Pick up your end.”

  She moved her side of the frame further up the wall. Emily leaned back and squinted through one eye to see if the picture was straight again. When she was satisfied it was, she popped up on tiptoe to carefully mark the smooth white wall where she wanted her painting centered.

  Emily had come down to LA the day before to hang some of her pieces in a small gallery show and her timing couldn’t have been better. As good as phone calls were, there was nothing like having Emily there in person. It was always easier to really talk when it was just the two of them curled up under a blanket on the couch drinking beers.

  But there was no safe couch or the numbing effects of alcohol to ease Justine into it this time. Emily had launched into her interrogation as soon as Justine had shown up at the gallery to help, and at this point, Justine would have been very grateful for a shot of whiskey or three.

  “I told you everything already.”

  “You told me you’re going out on this tour with this band— this guy— you’ve been idolizing for a year. And you’ve told me David is inexplicably upset about this amazing piece of good fortune.”

  “Furious.” Justine rolled her eyes. She rested her temple on her forearm as she braced her side of the picture, watching Emily scowl at the wall. Her wild dark hair was pulled back, twisted and speared with a chopstick, but huge messy curls had escaped and were half-obscuring her face. Her features were smaller and more delicate than Justine’s, lacking her dramatic beauty, but her dark eyes were sharp, lending her a no-nonsense presence that made her seem older than twenty-five. She was smaller than Justine, too, only five three, and looking even smaller in a pair of massive, paint-splattered overalls.

  “So explain to me why he’s mad again?”

  “Well, it’s so hard for David,” Justine said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “He has all these feelings and standards and things. And nobody ever takes music as seriously as he does. You can see how it would be such a burden.”

  Emily laughed. “That guy has always had the biggest stick up his ass. I just don’t get it. Who doesn’t want success? I mean, I’m a freaking fine arts painter and I’d be happy as hell to actually make a dollar or two on this. He acts like going on this tour would be like selling his soul.”

  “To David it is. Outlaw Rovers has a top ten single right now.”

  “And?”

  “That means it’s popular. You know, like with regular people. On the radio.”

  “Ahh, I see. He’s a snob.”

  “Total snob. He can’t bear liking something other people like. It makes him feel less smart. It’s what’s so great about Dillon. He’s this amazing, talented musician and he still has an appreciation for what people like. He makes songs people want to hear and they’re still good.”

  “And now we’re getting to the good stuff.”

  “What stuff?” Justine asked as she set her corner of the painting gently on the floor in tandem with Emily. They both stood up and Emily planted her hands on her hips.

  “Dillon.”

  “What about him?”

  “You’re going out on tour with him.”

  “We went over this part already.”

  “But not the you and him part.”

  “There is no me and him. I mean, we’re friends. That’s all.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “And you’re okay with it?”

  Justine shrugged and examined her fingernail. “Sure. I mean, yes, I like him. In a lot of ways. Kind of a lot.”

  “Oh, Justine—”

  “But I’m not dumb. He’s not in that place right now. You should have seen what it was like backstage that night. The drugs, the girls… it was ridiculous. I’m not into that scene.”

  “And he is.”

  Justine nodded. “Right now, yeah. And I can’t really blame him. It sounds like he and Ash struggled for a long time and now they’ve made it. Why shouldn’t they enjoy it? It’s every guy’s dream, right?”

  “But you can’t be with a guy like that. You know yourself.”

  “I know. Which is why nothing’s going to happen. I mean, it could. There’s this vibe, and I’m not crazy, he feels it, too. But I haven’t done anything and he hasn’t either. And I think it’s because… this is going to sound like me justi
fying him and I don’t mean to. It’s weird, but I don’t think he wants me to be like that. All those stupid, easy groupies.”

  “Every guy wants a stupid easy groupie. Don’t let them fool you.”

  Justine laughed. “He does. I’m not arguing. But I think he wants more with me.”

  “Oh, Jesus,” Emily groaned, “now I really am worried about you!”

  “I mean the other stuff we have might be more important than making me just some conquest, you know?”

  Emily looked immensely skeptical as she blew a curl out of her eyes. “Okay, I’ll give him a little credit for valuing you as more than an easy lay and recognizing your genius talent, because it means he has good taste. But what about you? You still want more with him.”

  Justine shook her head. “Not now. Not like this. I won’t settle for less.”

  “And you’re going to be okay going out on the road with him, close quarters and all that, watching him do the sex, drugs and rock and roll thing up close? Baby sister, I’m worried. This might crush your heart.”

  “Give me a little credit, Emily. When have I ever been that fragile?”

  Emily eyed her beautiful little sister, braver and tougher than she was in so many ways and also about to get herself stomped on. She sighed. “You’re not. And you’re not a thirteen-year-old who needs advice about boys anymore.”

  Justine reached out for her, pulling her in for a tight hug. “I might not need it, but I still appreciate it. And I love that you’re always looking out for me.”

  Emily leaned back and brushed Justine’s bangs out of her eyes. “I always will. Just be careful out there. I know he’s important to you in ways I can’t begin to understand. But you’re important to me and I’ll happily kill the guy if he hurts you.”

  Justine’s expression grew serious. “If he hurts me, it’s nobody’s fault but mine. Because I know exactly what I’m getting into.”

  February, 2008

  The knock on the hotel room door came just minutes after she’d set her bag down and ditched her shoes. It was the first hotel stop on the tour. For the last week they’d slept on the bus between cities. The cramped quarters combined with back-to-back shows and the chaos of the tour kick-off meant that she’d barely slept, showered in a variety of crummy backstage bathrooms, had eaten nothing but pizza and chips, all while working her ass off every night. Failsafe got two rooms in the hotel and in a rare display of chivalry, the boys had declared they’d bunk together and leave her, the only girl on the tour, with her own room. Her plans had been to soak in a hot shower for a solid half hour, order a huge meal from room service, and then sleep until the show the next night.