“You don’t need to say anything. Just listen.” My arm shot out with power. My fist connected with flesh. I felt skin and muscle give way. Without pause, I followed the first punch with another that doubled him over and shut his smart mouth. When he managed to gather himself to take a swipe at me, I dodged it easily and lifted him off his feet with another blow. The edge of his teeth sliced the taut skin over my knuckles. But I didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop. I rained retribution on him until he went down. That was when I heard the sobbing.
Not his.
Not Footit’s.
Hers.
“No more, Juaquin. Stop. Please. He’s not worth going to jail over. I’m not worth it.”
“Now that is a lie.” Incredulous, I turned toward her. Grey-green eyes bright with brimming tears captured and held me captive. I realized in that moment what she meant to me. The possibility that someone like me could have something so sweet. She was always my spark of inspiration. The reason behind my rhymes. My cure. She calmed me. With that revelation, the red tinge to my vision receded. I regained my control. The asshole was laid out cold on the cracked pavement, cracked like the dream of something special between Miriam and me.
“Miriam.” I shook my head at her as she started to bridge the gap separating us. “Chica bella, beautiful girl, don’t set your affection on me. It’s me who’s not worthy. I’m maldad. Nothing but trouble. There’s darkness in me. Don’t come closer.” I wanted to hold and comfort her, but I warned her off with my blood-stained hands. “Eres una reina.” I reached out and stroked my thumb across the soft round of her cheek. Frowning, I realized that I had marred her pretty face with a startling streak of red. “You’re a queen.” I stared into her eyes willing the truth to sink in deep and take hold. “You deserve a man who is your equal.” I dropped my hand. “Not a guy like me with so much anger he can’t control.” I turned away, relieved to see Addy crossing to her side. The bar owner would take care of her.
“King,” Miriam called, and I stopped, my hand already on the handle to go back inside the building. She had never called me anything but my given name.
“Juaquin. It’s just Juaquin.”
“If I’m a queen you’re the only king I want. Don’t go. Please.”
I didn’t turn to look at her, though her words moved me. Sure, I wanted to believe in impossible things, but I had to be practical and wiser because I was older. This needed to be a clean break like Lace had made with Bryan and War.
“You’ll always be King to me,” Miriam whispered softly.
I nodded once, accepting the name she had bestowed on me, the only gift permissible for me to take from her. A treasure of great value like the woman who had given it to me.
Chapter One
Miriam
Present Day
“Times up.”
“Alright.” I nodded to the PA, a shapely blonde in a skin tight ‘my boss rocks’ tank and ass cheek baring shorts.
Fuck fuck fuckity fuck
I blew the hair I had snarled in my frustration out of my eyes. I wasn’t ready for the audition.
“How many others are trying out for a part?” I asked clomping down the hall after her, trying to rein in the memories of Juaquin running my lines with me. Thoughts of him inevitably pursued me whenever I prepped for a role.
“Just one other besides you.” She performed a quick scan, checking me out, her expression of utter and complete boredom letting me know exactly how little she thought of me in my smart business attire.
Yeah, I thought. As if your rejection could faze me after his repeated ones. But I wasn’t that little girl anymore. I had armor now. I had graduated from the Juaquin Acenado school of you-are-too-young-for-me. Passed advanced courses like I’m-no-good-for-you-besides-look-at-all-these-hot-groupies, and currently resided in the land of just-don’t-go-there-anymore when it came to the handsome drummer.
“Only one other? Well, that’s odd. I thought you were casting three walk-on roles today.” Three attorneys. My agent had hinted that curvy actresses would take precedence. This explained my high hopes and the way I had dressed to look judicial while accentuating my natural assets.
“We are, but two slots have already been filled.”
“But auditions only started this morning.” It was nine a.m. “When I booked the late flight out of Vegas, I was assured I would be the first read through of the day.” I had gotten up extra early hoping to have more time in the green room to work through my lines.
“You will be. Mr. Daniel chose Briana and Christine last night.” She gave me a coy smile. “He was already familiar with their work.”
I just bet he is, I thought. Horizontal on the sheets familiar.
“If he likes you maybe he’ll invite you to his carriage house for a private audition.”
My spine snapped straight. I had received propositions like these too many times to count. It was one of the reasons why I had decided not to remain in California after I had screwed away my UCLA college scholarship. “I don’t do house calls.”
“Are you serious?” She stopped at the end of the hall and lifted her microbladed brows.
“Absolutely.” Huffing to catch my breath and my temper, I stopped alongside her. “I don’t fuck for roles.” I certainly wasn’t a virgin, but what happened with my body happened on my terms. My stomach churned as she rapped on the door with her perfectly manicured hand.
“If that’s the case then you’re wasting your time here.” She pushed open the door in response to the deep male voice from the other side that said only, “Enter.”
“Good morning, Mr. Daniel.” I squared my shoulders and breezed into the room affecting a confidence I didn’t feel, already portraying a role even before I began speaking my lines.
“Proceed.” The middle aged executive producer for the provocative award-winning law series, Court of Angels, leaned back and stretched his arms across the leather sofa taking his sweet time checking me out. His predatory perusal lingered in the usual areas. I swallowed to moisten my dry throat. My mind went blank. The vertical blinds were drawn. He and I were the only ones in the room. I heard a click behind me as the PA closed the door behind her. This was a set up for sex. I knew the scenario. I wasn’t naive. Yet, I stayed because I longed to make those who didn’t know the truth about how far I had fallen proud.
You want to make him proud, my inner voice corrected.
“Yes, Judge Green,” I began the first line from the script. “I believe we have a jury in place that we can take to trail.”
“Trial,” he interrupted.
“WwWhat?” I stuttered.
“The word is trial not trail.” He circled his finger in the air while staring at my chest. “You may proceed.”
Shit. “Yes, of course.” It was a stupid mistake on my part. My dyslexia made it difficult for auditions when I didn’t receive my lines in advance to memorize. I cleared my throat and began again. “The judge is conservative, so we have that going in our favor. However, the defense bases…
“The basis of the defense,” he corrected.
Double shit. A cold trickle of sweat slid down my spine. I suddenly felt like I was back at UCLA, everyone watching as I screwed up because I was too proud to have my scripts read aloud to me. College hadn’t been like high school where everyone knew me, and provisions had been made for my learning disability without me having to ask.
“You know what? Just take off your jacket and blouse. There’s a non-speaking role in an upcoming episode if your rack is as nice at it seems…”
“No.” I pressed my lips flat. “That’s alright.” I had his type of offers all the time. I choose. I say when. My body. My choice. I heard my best friend Mike’s voice inside my head reciting the mantra we had both adopted as our anthem. “No thanks.”
I turned on my heel and headed for the door, no longer hopeful, with nothing but my righteous indignation propelling me forward as the producer called for his PA to send the next one in.
* * *
&n
bsp; Hours and a plane ride to Las Vegas later, I thanked the Lyft driver for the ride home from McCarran International Airport. Grabbing the handle of my bag, I rolled it up the driveway. Two hundred dollars wasted on an overnight hotel stay, three hundred on a roundtrip flight to LAX and at least that same amount on a conservative suit and accessories I would likely never use again.
My cell jangled inside my cross body as soon as I unlocked the front door of my duplex and stepped inside. I muttered a curse under my breath. I was exhausted. I didn’t feel like talking to anyone. I just wanted a shower, my comfy pajamas, and a mind-numbing reality show like Rock Fuck Club until I could get my regrets to recede and sleep to finally overcome me. However, I knew the “Uptown Funk” ringtone well. I might be able to put off my boyfriend had it been him calling. My best friend Mikey? Not so much.
“Hey,” I said, phone between my shoulder and ear. I wheeled my bag into the entryway corner where I planned for it to stay parked until I was ready to unpack it in the morning. “What’s up?
“Oh, dear. What happened?”
From my tone alone, he knew it hadn’t been a good trip. My best friend and I had been through a lot together. He had been there to pick up the broken pieces when I had lost my UCLA scholarship, and he was a big part of the secret life I now led, one that forced me to lie to my mom, my sister, my brother and just about everyone else. I might sling a lot of bullshit with most people but not with him.
“The only audition Royce Daniel was interested in involved me on the casting couch with my ankles up by my ears.”
“I’m sorry MJ, baby.”
“It is what it is.”
“So I’ve heard you say. Want me to grab a pint of rocky road from Lavon’s after I finish up at work?”
“Absolutely. If you bring me moo goo gai pan and egg rolls I might have to marry you.”
“I’m spoken for, darling.”
“I know you are. How is Alex doing?” His significant other was Alex Treyall, a big celebrity. At one time a co-star with Shaina Bentley on Pinky Swears, that is before the series was canceled and went into syndication. Alex had moved on to the big screen. His first action film had been the top grossing box office movie so far this year.
“He’s delectably deliciousness as I have told you many times, but one day you’ll see for yourself if you’ll stop avoiding meeting him in person. He can keep a secret, you know.”
Maybe he could, maybe he couldn’t. I wouldn’t take that chance.
I had more than just the connection between my bestie Mike and his boyfriend Alex to worry about because Shaina Bentley, Alex’s former co-star, was his best friend in real life and an item with Warren Jinkins, the lead singer in my brother’s band. Yeah, I know. I see your incredulous yet empathetic nod. Truth is stranger than fiction, so they say. The six degrees of separation in my reality were barely even one.
“But I don’t want to talk about Alex or I’ll end up as depressed as you sound. He still has another two weeks of filming the new Donavon Blaine film down in Brazil before I get to see him again.”
“Sorry.”
“It is what it is.”
“I’m heading for the shower.” I kicked off my pumps and scooted them beside the potted palm. On another day the twinkling lights Mike had threaded in among the fronds would have made me smile as did all the heavy-on-the-bling touches he had added to our duplex to make it a home. “See you soon?”
“Sooner than soon,” he returned.
“Come again?”
“Nance wants you to work tonight.”
“Nooooo!” I protested. “It’s only Wednesday.” I mostly worked Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays. At a thousand dollars a performance Nance rarely had me come in during the rest of the week when business was slower. “I’m exhausted. I need at least twenty-four hours to recoup before I even want to think about dancing.”
“There’s a big spending VIP coming in. He bought out the entire club. He specifically mentioned wanting to see the bathtub number. Paid extra to get you on the stage.”
“Fuck.”
“I’m pretty sure he wanted that, too. But Nance told him that’s not part of the deal with you.”
“Good.” I sighed. She rarely gave me any grief about that anymore. “Usual performance time?
“Ten thirty, yeah.”
“So I get my shower. A little time to unwind. Dinner.”
“We’ll save the ice cream for afterward, alright?”
“Yeah, sounds good.” I tried to inject enthusiasm into my voice.
“Yoga and a back rub, too.”
“Now you’re talking.” I would do just about anything for one of Mike’s magic massages.
“I’ve got a new peppermint oil that should perk you up.”
“I love you.”
“Love you, too, baby. Always and forever plus a day.”
Chapter Two
King
“Déjame solo.” Leave me alone. “Stop yanking my chain.” I raked a hand through my hair while blinking through the eyeball sear caused by the caution tape yellow lamps and fire engine red linens inside my Vegas hotel suite.
“I just wanna fuck you, bonita.” Sager mimicked. He wasn’t as talented as Miriam when it came to duplicating voices, but he was highly motivated when the prize was mocking me. “I don’t want to know your life’s story. I signed the disclosure. So drop those pantalones and bend over.” Sager chuckled. He and the other guys in Tempest had been having a lot of fun at my expense since the Rock Fuck Club episode I had co-starred in had aired. I started opening cabinet doors searching for the minibar. I needed a drink to put up with his shit.
“I thought since you’re the self-proclaimed player in the group now that you would have developed more polished pickup lines than that. I can’t believe that worked with the RFC chick…what’s her name…”
“Raven,” I muttered, filling in when he drew a blank. I remembered that much at least. The sex not so vividly. After all, we had downed lots of tequila that night.
“Yeah? Well, she’s hot.”
“She’s taken.” And she hadn’t been with me that night, not really. She had been trying to get over someone, too. Running forward at a breakneck speed without caution or thought because it hardly mattered when your head was screwed on backward. I had vowed to stop doing that myself after that night. Only I had made that lofty resolution before Bryan had mentioned Miriam having a serious boyfriend, one who apparently was pressuring her to move off the UCLA campus to move in with him instead.
Time to put the obsession to rest, pendejo, I told myself. Miriam Jackson would always be off limits. Up on a pedestal and out of reach where I had purposefully put her so she could have a better life.
“Yo, King.” Jorge Rodriguez rapped on the door and entered the room without pausing to wait for permission. I pointed to the cell at my ear, and he nodded in understanding, making a zipping gesture in front of his mouth. Sager wasn’t Jorge’s biggest fan. Or vice versa.
Jorge dropped a Ziploc bag containing some loose weed and a couple of rolled joints on the bed. I knew it was premium stuff. He was a higher up in La Raza Prima, the gang my brother Adrian had been in before he had been murdered by a rival gang member.
“That troublemaker Jorge with you?”
“Sí, so what?” My tone was ice. Sager certainly wasn’t here despite me asking him to come after we had wrapped up the European tour. He was too busy playing house with his precious Blue.
“King, wacho, man. Watch out. The guy’s a total user. He’s no good. El malvado. You and me, we didn’t drag ourselves out of Southside just to turn right around and fall back into it.”
“Sager,” I warned. There was barely a ‘we’ anymore, not since Melinda T. Belle came along. “Drop it. He’s a friend. One who still remembers how to let loose and have a good time.” An intentional dig. I reminded him over and over how boring he was now that his ass had become all domesticated and shit. “Plus I owe him. If it weren’t for him putting i
n a good word about April…”
“No one ever saw that safe house he said would be provided.”
“Only because it hadn’t been necessary in the end.”
“Maybe.”
I sighed. It seemed like all we did lately was go around and around in the same old groove. Jorge opened the Ziploc, passed me a fat one and pointed to the time on his watch. It was already ten thirty.
Chingao. The Sexxy Club. I had rented it out for us to have a little fiesta fun tonight. “Listen, I gotta go.”
“Juaquin, wait. I wanted to tell you what Timmons said.” Mary Timmons was the CEO of Black Cat Records, Tempest’s label. Everyone called her the queen because she ruled her company like one and because she was so intimidating. Lately, she’d been riding my ass about becoming a positive role model for the Latino community. Well, I had blown that big time with my arrest. Two queens in my life. One I couldn’t get away from, the other one I couldn’t stop dreaming about.
“I know already.” I didn’t need to hear it from Sager. I already knew Timmons’ verdict. She had told War. He had relayed her refusal. To hell with her. That was why I had come to Vegas. I was going to record my own rhymes. Jorge wanted Prima, a Latin record label with backing from La Raza to produce it.
“She might change her mind. If you come up to Vancouver I think I can get her to give your stuff a listen. Blue says…”
“I don’t really care what the pixie says,” I interrupted. “And I don’t need Black Cat’s Records’ backing.” What I did for myself was distinct from what we did as a band. Tempest sang about in your face Southside friction and rage. My music carried a different message. I free formed about feeling good, getting high and getting laid, and rapped or sang in English and Spanish using whatever beat I was feeling at the time. I didn’t need Sager’s or Timmon’s support. Ok, maybe not entirely true because mi hermano at one time had been the better part of me, and Timmons’ stamp of approval on my solo stuff might give me the legitimacy I sought. But I knew I wasn’t going to get it any more than I was going to get Sager and me back to the place we had once been. Him and me. Back to back. Brothers against the world.
Scandalous Beat (The Tempest Rock Star series Book 6) Page 3