The Rhythm

by Moira Callahan

  Dennis chuckled at that. “Being from New York you probably haven’t done a lot of in-city driving.”

  “None. I have a license of course since I occasionally have to travel for my job, and I prefer getting myself around. I was beyond relieved to find out Ms. Franks had arranged for a driver to get me around L.A. I’ll tell you; I had nightmares about attempting to find my way around let alone dealing with L.A. traffic.” She tipped her head and asked the question his comment had brought up. “Is my accent that horrendous?”

  “Not at all. It’s there in certain words and when you get talking about something fast. For the most part all I could say for certain is you’re from the East Coast.”

  “Good to know.” Jennifer looked around them as they creeped slowly forward. “Is this typical?”

  “The crawling parking lot?” At her soft affirmative, he shrugged. “Most days. Some are better than others while there are some days you wish flying cars were real.”

  “Ah, but then you’d have to deal with all that air traffic and the air traffic jams. I see it being another form of the same nightmare.”

  He gave a hearty laugh at that and agreed with her. For the rest of the trip they talked about the city, the weather, and the movie stars, of course, and had a bit of fun. It was the best two-hour trip she’d ever had, and one she’d enjoyed while trapped inside a car no less.

  When Dennis pulled up to the ten-foot iron gate with a matching pair of snarling wolves on it, she frowned. “Where exactly are we, Dennis?”

  “The compound,” he said in an ominous tone.

  “Say what?”

  “I’m teasing you,” he told her. Grinning at her, the jerk dared to snicker when she glared his way. “The band loves their privacy but agreed it was easier to be all on the same lot of land for security reasons. They bought up a crapload back before they were super famous, and the land was still relatively cheap. When they started to make money, they began to build what they call the compound. Each of them has their own house, and, therefore, their own space to do what they want. Being all within the same area means less chance of someone getting through the net of security. They also have a couple of guest houses for when one or more of their family members pop up to pay them a visit.”

  Something in Dennis’s tone had her frowning, but she held her tongue. She wasn’t allowed to grill any employees about the band without Christine’s express written permission. If an employee volunteered information, it was an entirely different scenario.

  “I’m guessing I’m in one of the guest houses until we head out?”

  “Yes ma’am, you would be correct. Ms. Franks will be here to meet you, show you around, and then you’ll head over to Jeremy’s place where the band is putting together a bit of a welcome meal for you. If you don’t like spicy food avoid Shade’s meatballs. They look innocent enough, but you will regret it.”

  Seeing as he was serious, she kept the tone of her response the same. “Got it, beware the meatballs. Anything else I should be aware of on this coming meal?”

  “The extra napkins are kept in the drawer next to the fridge, left side. Jeremy tends to be stingy about giving you enough to make it through the meal. Not sure why he’s that way, but it could be a holdover from the lean years of the band before they hit it big when they needed to watch every penny. And here we are,” he said suddenly.

  They pulled up outside a quaint single-story building with a knee-high white picket fence. Grinning at how adorable the place looked, Jennifer slid out of the car while Dennis collected her luggage and laptop. “This is cute,” she said as he led her to the door.

  “The other place is bigger, but Ms. Franks thought this might suit you more. She didn’t want to scare you with too much space all at once.”

  Given she’d grown up in a two bedroom apartment with her parents until moving out for college, and now lived in New York in something smaller than what her parents had once had, it probably was a good idea. Too much space tended to intimidate her a bit. The foyer of the home was bigger than Jennifer’s bathroom back home she realized upon entering the house. Shaking her head, she turned when her name was called. Five feet, nine inches of ice princess on six-inch stilettos came her way with her hand out.

  A quick wipe of her hand to her jeans and Jen stuck her own out to shake. “Ms. Franks, a pleasure to finally meet you.”

  “And you, Ms. Mitchell. Dennis, would you mind taking her bags to the bedroom for her? Thank you, dear,” Christine said. Returning her icy attention to Jennifer had Jen realizing she likely looked frightful from the flight and long car ride. “However do you manage to look fresh after your trip? You must share your secret.”

  Fresh? Her? “Uh, no secret. Honestly, I feel more than a bit grimy. Is there somewhere I could freshen up before we get too far along in whatever is planned?”

  “Absolutely. Down the hallway is the bedroom, the bath is to your left as you go through the door. Thank you, Dennis,” she said to the man as he returned. “While you are doing that, Ms. Mitchell, Dennis let’s talk about our departure on Sunday shall we?”

  “Of course, Ms. Franks.”

  Scurrying up the hall, Jennifer shut the bedroom door and took the space in. Yeah, these people’s idea of cozy seriously differed from her own. Her entire apartment could fit in the bedroom with some space left over she was sure. Groaning, Jen grabbed her makeup kit out of her luggage and headed into the bathroom. Expecting more extravagance didn’t quite prepare her for the large, opulent space.

  “Seriously? A whirlpool tub?” She might have a bit of a space phobia, but that wouldn’t stop her from trying the tub out later. For the time being she would splash some cold water over her cheeks, change her top, and then go off with Christine Franks to wherever she was to go in this weird place. “We definitely aren’t in Kansas anymore.”

  Chapter Three

  Lance set the last dish down on the table before stepping back to look the layout over. He was having yet another internal debate about how wise it had been to convince his bandmates to allow Jennifer Mitchell into their midst. He was flip-flopping between it being a genius plan and it being the dumbest thing, to date, he’d ever done.

  When he’d broached the subject with Christine after reading the packet Jennifer had sent, she’d given him an hour-long spiel of why it was a bad idea.

  “This is the worst idea ever, Lance. If you guys want to do an interview, fine, but taking a fucking reporter with you on tour is dumb.”

  “Did you bother to read her packet before dropping it off to us?”

  “Of course I did. I’m not saying the woman doesn’t have skills, she does. But if you have her with you guys that long she’s going to see and record shit you don’t want out. Shit I don’t want getting out. If you were all a bunch of fucking Boy Scouts maybe I’d consider it for a week, but you are not. Not a one of you is. It’s my job to protect you, to protect your image for your fans, and to keep you from doing dumb shit like this.”

  “Ultimately it’s our life, isn’t it? Our career. I’m not saying we don’t owe you, Christine, because we all know you took a huge risk with us. One that’s paying off for everyone in ways no one could have predicted. It’s time to open the doors more now. For ten years, we’ve been pestered, peppered, and generally stalked by the paparazzi to get an insider’s look. I’m not saying this will solve it. I’m also not saying this will stop the fans from trying to break into our hotel rooms or into our homes. But I think it’s time we gave in some on our privacy.”

  Her astonished look had mirrored those of his band mates when he’d proposed the idea to them as well earlier in the day. Lance was the most private person out of the entire band, with good reason. The fact he was suggesting it was enough for them all to question if he’d gone off the edge into the deep end.

  “Look, we all know I’m the first to say no comment, and hustle off. But we can’t keep doing that forever. Eventually, it’s going to cause our fans to turn disgruntled and turn their
favor away. We’re already starting to see some of that. We need to stop the wave before it turns into a tsunami that buries us. I’d much prefer to keep playing the massive venues than become a dried-up old fart lounge singer playing for quarters and maybe a free meal.”

  She hadn’t had an argument for that. Thank goodness.

  “Read the packet again, and I mean truly read it, Christine. Jennifer Mitchell is the only journalist I’d want telling our story in a magazine or anywhere else.”

  Drumming her perfectly manicured French tips to her glass desktop, she’d eyed him up and down as if calculating how to ditch his body. “Fine, I’ll read it again. But if, and that’s a mighty big if Lance, I agree to this we do it my way. Are we clear?”

  Knowing when to give in on an argument, he’d quickly agreed. “Yes ma’am.”

  The wheels had been set in motion after a horde of meetings with Christine, the lawyers, and the band all crammed between crazy rehearsal schedules. They were also finishing recording in the studio on one song for an upcoming album they were working on. They’d be finishing the album after the tour while they prepped for their next tour overseas.

  Now Jennifer Mitchell was on the property, and according to Christine, with their manager making their way toward Jeremy’s house. Rubbing his hands on his jeans, he couldn’t get over how nervous he was. It was the same bout of nerves he got before they went on stage each night. The ones that took two solid songs to settle down completely and the roar of the crowd to soothe.

  “For someone whose idea this was, you’re looking fucking nervous man,” Shade Benson commented. Setting the jug of ice water on the table. Victorious’s bass guitarist shot him a curious look.

  “He’s got the hots for the writer,” Mark Devon piped up. Shooting their rhythm guitar player and keyboardist a dirty look, Lance looked back at Shade with a shrug.

  “Let him be you guys,” Jeremy Shane said. Their lead singer clapped him on his shoulder with a smirk Lance didn’t trust. “The man’s allowed to have his crushes.”

  Shade gave a snort and went over to where Chase Vanguard, their lead guitarist, was pulling the meat off the grill.

  “Shade is right, man, you look nervous. What’s up?”

  Lance wouldn’t normally explain himself to anyone, but Jeremy had been his best friend growing up and the main reason Lance was still alive if he was going to be honest with at least himself. Yet he couldn’t seem to form the words to make his best friend understand. “I don’t know man. It’s…” Huffing out a breath, he shoved his hands through his blond hair. “I haven’t met, let alone spoken to the woman, and she already has me tied in knots. There was something in her writing.”

  Jeremy nodded slowly. If anyone would understand, it was him. Jeremy knew the power of words. He’d belted out more than his share to bring crowds to their feet screaming for more or made them sob uncontrollably. Words held a power few other things could. “Hope she lives up to what you’ve built in your mind, Lance. I don’t want you getting hurt by this.”

  “Thanks,” he muttered. Hardening his heart against the weird feelings the unknown journalist had already evoked, he gave his friend a tight smile. “I’ll survive.” He’d survived a lot over the years, only part of which Jeremy knew. The man might be his best fucking friend in the world, but there were some things that he’d never share with another living soul. Things he’d take to his grave one day.

  “I know you will. Doesn’t hurt to be careful. Don’t be a dick. We need her to paint us in a halfway decent light.”

  Snorting, he shot a look toward Chase. “I’d be warning our guitarist over there about that shit. God only knows what the fuck will come out of his mouth.”

  “I’ve already warned him. I doubt it’ll do any good. Besides, if she’s going to be with us for four months, she’ll need to get used to all our eccentricities. And the foul mouths we all have. Might help her figure out why Christine never lets us near the press.”

  A knock at the door stopped Lance from making a smart-ass reply. All talk ceased while Jeremy went to answer. “Christine, Ms. Mitchell I’m guessing, come on in,” he said. Stepping aside Jeremy waved the women inside.

  Christine strutted in like she owned the place, her six-inch heels clicking across the floor as she approached him. “Chin up, Mr. West. She’s not nearly as scary as I may have made her out to be.”

  He gave her a grunt, but his attention was firmly on Jennifer Mitchell. Jeremy was introducing her to the band one at a time working their way to him. Then she was in front of him and he had no clue what to say.

  “And last, but certainly not least, is our drummer Lance West. Lance, this is the lovely Jennifer Mitchell, who shall be traveling with us for the next four months.”

  He stuck his hand out to shake hers while still scrambling for something to say. Chase helped by filling the void in his usual, tactful manner.

  “At least she smells better than the lot of you after a few weeks living together. I for one am eternally grateful for this. And she’s prettier than you too.”

  “Be careful there, Chase,” Shade piped in. “You’re going to make your other five hundred girlfriends jealous if you keep that up.”

  “Shit, I’d throw them all aside for a chance at Ms. Mitchell. What do you say, sweetheart? Care to walk on the dark side?”

  “Ignore him,” Lance rumbled. Throwing Chase a look, he squeezed her hand gently before letting go. “He’s housebroken eighty-five percent of the time which means we tolerate him.”

  “And he’s back in record time,” Mark said. “How’s that burn, Chase?”

  “Boys, quit trying to overwhelm her on day one and make her run for the door. Sit your asses down and let’s eat. Mark, did you make your mama’s coleslaw?”

  “Yes ma’am I did. Wouldn’t be a meal without it.” Mark pulled a chair out for Christine and earned a pat to his cheek. As soon as her attention turned from him he stuck his tongue out at the rest of them and plopped into the seat next to her. “I made sure it was extra creamy, exactly how you like it.”

  “Suck up,” Jeremy muttered.

  “Kiss ass,” Chase added.

  Lance shook his head and looked down at Jennifer. She looked confused and a bit shell-shocked. “Come on, Ms. Mitchell. Let’s get you a plate before the horde of locusts descends.”

  “Jennifer, or Jen, either one works,” she said.

  Pulling out a chair, he gave her a smile. “Jennifer it is then. Now, what would you like to drink? We have ice water, margaritas, beer, wine, iced sweet tea, or milk.”

  She had a deer in the headlights look for a split second before the corners of her mouth kicked up a bit. “Water is fine for me, thank you.”

  “Dig in, I wasn’t kidding. They’ll only behave for a set period of time before they swoop in. Get what you want now if you don’t want to lose a hand.” He moved around the table to pour her water, passing it over before he got Christine a glass of her preferred red wine.

  When he finally sat, he found Jeremy giving him an odd look. Not wanting to touch on it with Jennifer at the table, he ignored him and dug into the food. Lance knew he’d hear about whatever was on Jeremy’s mind soon enough. Definitely not a conversation he was looking forward to.

  Chapter Four

  “What the fuck was that?” Jeremy asked Lance the instant the others had vacated his house.

  “What was what?”

  “Don’t you fucking play dumb with me, bro. What was all that at the dinner table? You pulling out her chair, purring her name and then being weird for the rest of the meal.”

  Shrugging, Lance slouched down in his chair and kicked his feet up onto another chair across from him. “I have no clue what you are talking about.” He was still attempting to figure it out for himself. There was no way he could actually explain it to his friend.

  Jeremy stared at him, his mouth moving like a landed fish before he let out a string of swear words that would have had his mother kicking his ass around th
e block. “Is she going to be a problem for you on this tour?”

  Lance frowned and shook his head. “Would you quit asking random questions and come out with whatever the fuck is on your mind already. I’m not a damn psychic, you need to speak plainly.”

  “All right, how’s this then? Are you going to bang her, rock her world, and then toss her aside while ignoring her for the remainder of the tour making the entire time fucking uncomfortable for the rest of us?”

  Lance stared at him with an urge to plow his fist into his friend’s teeth. Curling his fingers in to make a fist, he fought the urge. He couldn’t adequately form a response to such an idiotic question.

  “I figured.” Sending him a smug look, Jeremy leaned back in his chair. Lifting his beer, he took a long drink before tipping the bottle to him in a mock salute. “You totally are crushing on the reporter. How fucking adorable. I had to be sure, bro. Never seen you act like you have been since you found out she’d agreed to come along for the ride. But expect a lot of flak from everyone on this.”

  “You son of a bitch.” Whipping the pillow from behind his back, he threw it at his laughing friend. Lance couldn’t believe he’d been played. “I hate you.”

  “No you don’t. You’re only pissed because you didn’t see that coming. Jesus, how long have we been friends? You totally should have known I’d be the first to bust your chops.” Jeremy tossed the pillow back to him and settled in his seat again. “What’s going on in your head?”

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. Setting his beer aside, he shoved his hands through his hair, and then slid lower in the seat. “I need to hit the drums for a while. Clear some of this shit out of my head. Maybe then I’ll know what is going on. Right now it’s all a jumble of bits and pieces of random thoughts.”