Killer Beach Reads

by Gemma Halliday Publishing

  Porn at ninety. Something to shoot for.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The Pirates' Cove was little more than a ramshackle collection of tiki bars set on a pier in the town of Rock Hall on the eastern shore of Maryland. Life preservers lined the bar as the pier had only rope rails—inevitably, at some point during the evening a drunken patron went for a swim. The bar attracted an eclectic group of patrons, from bikers to billionaires. The summer season was in high gear, and I expected a standing-room-only turnout. I was playing tonight with The Surfside Band, a group I had worked with over the last three summers. They were seasoned performers in their fifties and sixties, singing for beer money and living on their boats for the summer.

  "The boss is here," yelled Will, the drummer. "Better stop drinkin' and start workin'."

  They liked to pretend that I was the leader, but the reality was that they were the pros, and I was the greenhorn. Don't let the Hawaiian shirts and flip-flops fool you, it would've been easier to herd cats than to tell these Jimmy Buffett loving parrot-heads what to do. "I think you may have that backwards, Will," I said.

  "One step ahead of you," he said, handing me a martini. "Got some people for you to meet on our first break. Big things brewin' around here."

  No surprise there. Will always had something up his sleeve. "Nice," I said, taking a sip. "Hey, guys. This is my sister, Ashley."

  Ashley waved. Brian, who was nicknamed "Lady-killer," swooped in to give Ashley an overly friendly hug. When he dashed off to buy her a drink, Ashley leaned over and whispered, "I think he had a woody!"

  "Probably did. Most of the guys are on enhancement meds, if you know what I mean," I replied. "They stand a pretty good chance of getting lucky tonight. Women go for guys in a band no matter how old they are."

  Ashley made a yuck face.

  I shrugged. Different strokes for different folks. Playing out in bars, I had seen it all.

  The first set went off without a hitch. We ran through all the crowd favorites, ending with Jimmy Buffett's "Margaritaville."

  The bartender yelled, "That makes twenty!" He climbed onto the bar to mark a chalkboard that noted the number of times "Margaritaville" had been played live that season. The crowd cheered.

  The waiter brought me a margarita. I looked around for my Jimmy Buffett fan who had been following me around during the season. A nice-looking man in a Hawaiian shirt raised his beer to me from a couple of tables over. "Great job!" he yelled over the crowd.

  I raised my glass, mouthed a "thanks" and took a sip. I caught a glimpse of Ashley in conversation with a couple of guys at the bar. Uh-oh. Didn't need her getting into trouble. When she drank she had the habit of getting a little too friendly.

  "Well, here she is," said Ashley, with a slight slur to her voice, as I approached. "Isn't she a great singer?"

  "Yes. Wonderful job," said the first man. "I'm Roger Drummond, and this is Phil Sartel." I shook their hands. Both looked to be in their late fifties with tan, tight skin and slim builds.

  Will came up to the bar. "Great set, Diana. I see you've met Roger and Phil. Did they bring you up to speed yet?"

  I shook my head.

  "They're filming the opening for a TV pilot here this weekend and are looking for a house band to play in the background."

  "Wow!" I exclaimed. "That doesn't happen around here every day."

  "Yeah," said Phil, "we're filming tomorrow all day if the weather holds."

  "They're going to film us from a helicopter," Will said. "Imagine that."

  I turned to Roger. "So what's the series about?"

  "It's a drama about the life of an up-and-coming singer," he replied. I had trouble keeping my eyes off of Roger's ultra-white teeth as he spoke.

  "Who's the up-and-coming singer?" Ashley asked with a hiccup. I glared at her. No way I was lugging all this equipment home at one in the morning and my drunk-ass sister, too.

  "That's all under wraps right now," Phil cut in. "Don't need a bunch of fans getting in the way of filming."

  Roger stepped in again with a smile. A little too close for comfort. "Hey, maybe you can see for yourself tomorrow. Give us a little audition tonight, and we'll see how it goes." As he eyed me appreciatively, I was suddenly aware of the plunging neckline of my flowing maxi dress. I was usually pretty casual, but on stage I liked to bring out the glam. Right now I was wishing I had a little less glam showing on my chest.

  The whole audition thing got my fur up. "Ready to get back to work, Will?" I asked.

  I pointed at Ashley. "Drink water or you're not going anywhere with me the rest of the weekend."

  She made a pouty face, but nodded.

  As we made our way back to the stage, I said to Will, "Like my Granddaddy Hacker says, that guy's just a little too big for his britches for my tastes."

  Will responded in alarm, "Now, Diana, he didn't mean anything wrong. Don't get all upset. The guys really want to be part of this."

  I laughed. "Hey, I want to do it, too!" I took a swig from my melted margarita. "But I'd like to show off a couple of originals."

  Will gave me a big smile. "Can do!" he said.

  After hunting down a pick, I cued the band with a couple of chords to "The Rum Song." I positioned the mike and said, "So I bet we have a lot of visitors here tonight." A roar went up from the crowd. "That's what I thought! So we'd like to play you a few songs that you can only find right here on the Eastern Shore." The crowd cheered, and I jumped into "The Rum Song." The locals who knew the song leapt to their feet and headed for the small dance floor in front of the band. Soon most of the patrons were up and dancing.

  I noticed Roger and Phil watching intently. When the song ended, I rolled right into my slower ballad about the Chesapeake Bay. Couples filled the dance floor, swaying to the music. The producers were deep in conversation. I smiled to myself—maybe this was finally going to be my big break.

  As the song drew to a close, a ruckus erupted to my left. I watched as Ashley staggered around the dance floor with a tanned and toned twenty-something dude. He was copping a drunken feel while trying to maneuver her into a dark corner. They were starting to draw attention. Ashley was slapping away his hands as he tried to pull her closer.

  I couldn't believe this. "Hey, surfer dude in the back, get your hands off my sister!" I cried into the microphone.

  The guy looked up in surprise. He raised his hands in the air and started to walk away.

  Instead of thanking me, Ashley shrieked, "Mind your own business. I'm an adult. I am capable of taking care of myself!" She stomped her foot.

  "Could've fooled me," I said back into the microphone. The crowd laughed.

  "I'm sick of being told what to do and who to do it with. You're not the boss of me!" she yelled petulantly.

  "Little sisters are a pain in the ass," I mugged to the audience. "And mine needs to sober up. Go sit down, Ashley."

  "No," she yelled defiantly, crossing her arms and leaning against the rope railing. "I'm staying right where I am."

  I shook my head, knowing what was coming next. The rope railing swayed outward under her weight, and she flipped backwards into the water. I heard a shriek as she hit the water. "Can someone throw my sister a life preserver?" I asked over the mike. Two security guards jumped to action and fished her out of the bay.

  Ashley was shaking and sputtering obscenities but looked to be okay. "This is all your fault!" she yelled, pointing at me on stage.

  A bartender jumped onto the bar and cried, "That makes five so far!" He made a tick mark on another chalkboard that was used to measure the number of drunks who fell in each season. He handed Ashley a T-shirt that read "I Walked the Plank at Pirates' Cove."

  I finished up my set as Ashley dried off and changed into her T-shirt. The guys in the band were not happy. "No way after all that craziness they'll ask us to be in the pilot," Tim said desolately.

  "Yeah," chimed in Bill. "We'll be lucky if the Pirates' Cove asks us back."

  This was my fault. Ev
en though my wayward sister was an adult and responsible for herself, I'd brought her to the gig. "I'll talk to them. Maybe we can still salvage this."

  "Maybe she can offer some special favors in exchange for the gig," Brian suggested.

  I made a face. "I don't want it that bad."

  Steve, the Pirates' Cove general manager, approached us. "That was some family drama," he said with a chuckle.

  "Sorry about that," I replied.

  He waved a hand. "No problem. The crowd loved it. So did those producers, apparently. 'Cause you guys are making a pilot tomorrow."

  We cheered and jumped up and down.

  "You might want to leave your sister at home, though," he said, his eyes following her drenched figure as she sucked down another drink at the bar. "Just a suggestion," he added.

  CHAPTER THREE

  I left Ashley and Aunt Pearl at ten the next morning arguing over what to watch on TV. Ashley wanted to watch a home makeover show. Aunt Pearl wanted to watch a reality show featuring a bunch of kids partying it up on Spring Break. Ashley told her no because she didn't want her getting any ideas. Sound reasoning, I thought.

  Filming was scheduled to start at eleven. I had no idea what to expect. I wore jeans with chunky sandals and a sparkly, blue tank top. I brought along a cute, baby blue sundress to wear for the gig tonight. My belly rumbled, reminding me I hadn't eaten. The excitement was starting to get to me. This was going to be a long day. My evening gig started at eight in Rock Hall, about thirty minutes north of Pirates' Cove. My sister was planning on joining me this evening, hopefully without Aunt Pearl. Ashley was going to try plying her with alcohol and porn this afternoon to keep her home.

  I pulled up to the entrance of the bar. Cars and vans clogged the narrow street. Dozens of crew members worked with ant-like efficiency at setting up the stage. The Surfside guys were already plugging in and checking sound when I made my way onto the stage.

  Will greeted me with, "'Bout time. Thought you were sleepin' last night off."

  I smiled and unpacked my guitar. "Nope, you're confusing me with my crazy sister. What's the plan?" I asked, looking around.

  He shrugged. "Not sure. We're just supposed to set up and standby. They're waiting for the star to show up."

  "Any idea who it is?" I asked.

  Will squinted, trying to recall the name. "Think it's Billy Presley or something."

  I looked at him in surprise. "Billy Prescott, the winner of last year's American Idol?" I asked.

  "Yep, that's it," he said, snapping his fingers.

  My phone rang. I glanced at the number. How did she read my mind like that?

  "Yes?" I said.

  "So who's the star?" Ashley asked eagerly. "Anyone I know?"

  "He's not here yet," I dodged.

  "Not what I asked," she replied.

  I said nothing.

  "Oh my God!" Ashley screamed. "It's Billy Prescott!"

  "I didn't say that," I said. How in the world had she guessed right?

  "No, but your silence did. I can't believe it! I'm on my way," she announced.

  "You're not invited. It's a closed set," I replied. Just then, a big, black limo pulled up in front of the stage. A tall, dark-haired man with an impressive build stepped out first. With the stealth of a leopard, he glanced around the area. When he settled his jacket I saw that he was carrying a gun.

  "What's going on?" she asked. "Is he there?" Just as she spoke, out stepped a scruffy, lean guy with a five o'clock shadow, wearing raggedy jeans and an old T-shirt. He turned and looked up at the stage.

  "I have to go," I said as I watched him saunter over to us.

  "I'm coming, and you can't stop me," Ashley replied and then promptly hung up.

  Not good.

  "What's up?" he said with a nod to the band. His look narrowed in on me. "Hey, there darlin'. Man, which one of you old horndogs got himself the trophy wife?" he teased.

  I put out my hand. "Diana," I said as he reached out to grab it.

  "Like the goddess?" he asked, shaking my hand and holding it longer than necessary.

  "Like lead guitar for the band," I replied. I was getting tired of being treated like a groupie.

  "She's a babe, and she can play guitar. I think I'm in love," he quipped to his bodyguard, who had approached quietly and now stood behind Billy. "Don't see a ring on your finger, so I guess you're up for grabs." He laughed, and a couple guys in the band politely followed suit.

  "Not so much," I snapped. "And I wouldn't recommend you trying to grab me."

  I thought I saw the bodyguard's full lips twitch. But he looked so serious that I couldn't be sure.

  Billy pulled out a cigarette and lit up. He nodded. "Okay, sweetie. I get it. You're playing hard to get."

  I rolled my eyes. What a jerk!

  * * *

  It took an hour to get everyone in place and set up. The sky was high overhead as the first helicopter swooped down to film the aerial shots. It was so loud I could barely hear the band—although no big deal because we were playing for looks, not for entertainment. Billy was a prima donna with a capital P, as well as a jerk. He insisted on having his hair and makeup retouched every few minutes while the rest of us melted in the hot June sun.

  Just as we were finishing up the first scene, my sister's green minivan pulled into the parking lot. My stomach filled with dread as I saw her wrestling something out of the trunk. The nut had brought Aunt Pearl!

  "Yoo-hoo! There's my Queenie Baby," Aunt Pearl called as she crept along the walkway with her walker. I waved to her from the safety of the stage.

  "You brought your Granny?" Billy asked in surprise. "And what's with Queenie Baby?"

  I ground my teeth. "My sister brought her, and Queenie Baby is a term of endearment," I replied, wishing for the thousandth time that Granddaddy Hacker had picked a different nickname for me.

  "Your sister," he said with interest and squinted to see her.

  "Don't even think about it," I warned. "She's married with three kids."

  Undeterred, Billy replied, "Nothing in this world better than a MILF. Right, Andre?" He glanced down at his bodyguard.

  "I wouldn't know, Billy," he said easily.

  "Aw, c'mon. I know you've had your fair share," Billy said. "Everywhere we go he's got women throwin' themselves at him. It would give me a complex if I didn't have all I could handle already."

  Yep, I could see that, I thought as I stole a glance at Andre. He looked to be all bulging muscles and six-pack abs under his well-tailored jacket and fitted linen slacks.

  I watched Ashley approach with growing dread. Having Billy Prescott chase after her may be too much temptation.

  "I am such a fan," Ashley gushed as soon as she got within shouting distance. I could see she was wearing one of my tank tops, and it was just a little too small for her. She had on a teeny-tiny jean skirt and a pair of jeweled flip-flops. With her long, blonde hair and petite stature she looked like a Disney princess.

  I always feel a little awkward and hulking when standing next to my little sister. Not that I didn't have my share of admirers. I'd been told with my long blonde hair and blue eyes I had the willowy beauty of Grace Kelly. Unfortunately, the likeness stopped there. I wasn't known for my grace. My mom called me a bull in a china shop and put her knickknacks away when I visited.

  Billy eyed her appreciatively. "Always happy to meet a fan. Especially the hot ones," he purred.

  Ashley batted her eyes and gave him a big smile.

  I was about to gag. "Can we play some music already?" I asked.

  Aunt Pearl finally scooted her way up to the stage. "Whew," she said, "now that's a workout! Well, would you look at that," she said, pointing to Andre. "He looks just like that fella I saw on the internet last night."

  Ashley and I both gasped. Andre looked confused. "Let's go sit down in the shade, Aunt Pearl," Ashley said.

  "You should've seen the size of it," she whispered to Ashley as they walked away.

 
"See what I mean. Even the old ladies got a thing for him," Billy said with a nod to Andre.

  Andre shrugged.

  "But I'm going to score me a piece of that right there," Billy said with a wave to my sister.

  I strummed my guitar. "That's my sister, you ass!"

  He turned on me. "You know you don't have to be here. This is my pilot. We can find another hack band anywhere."

  The guys in the band, who up to this point had been silent, suddenly jumped in. "We been playin' longer than you've been alive," Will said. "And I don't appreciate you talkin' to Diana and her sister like you been."

  Billy glared at us and yelled for Roger.

  Roger strolled over, crisp and fresh despite the heat. "What's up Billy?" he asked easily.

  "I'm not feeling this band anymore. I can't work with them," Billy complained.

  Roger ran his hand through his stylish salt-and-pepper hair. "We're on a tight schedule here. This has to be finished today."

  Billy folded his arms and flicked an imaginary piece of lint from his sleeve, saying, "Well, it's them or me."

  "There's just not time, Billy," Roger pleaded. "I told you finding another band on short notice might be a problem when you gave your guys the week off. We were lucky to find these folks." Roger gave us a smarmy smile.

  Billy sighed heavily. "Fine, but not her," he said, nodding towards me. "I'm not workin' with her."

  "That's fine with me," I huffed.

  Brian piped in, "We're a band. If Diana's not welcome, then this gig is done." The other members nodded in agreement.

  Billy held out his hands in exasperation. "See this is why I don't have girls in my band. You guys are so whipped that you'd give up a shot at the big time just because she tells you to." He jerked his thumb at me as he leaned against the rope railing.

  I was done. I opened my case and put my guitar away. Time to find a martini and some air-conditioning. "You are a rude, arrogant, disrespectful prick," I said, as I stood up. "And so not worth my time."

  He laughed. "Hey, Andre, bet you a bill I have 'em both before the weekend's over."