“You’re the lead singer, right?” he said.
“Yes,” she replied.
“You’re the face, the body, the very image of the band,” he said, his tone instructional. “That makes you their leader, Cassie, don’t ever forget that.”
She looked back at him for a long moment and realized that what he was saying was basically true. As the “front man” she was what people thought of when they thought of Fast Lane. But their leader? That would take some getting used to. She nodded, indicating that she understood what he was saying.
“Anyway,” he said, “go ahead and talk to them, see what they think and then get back to me.”
“Okay,” she said nodding, “can I even ask who we’re going to open for?”
“I suppose,” he said seriously, then grinned. “A couple of bands you might have heard of,” he told her. “There’s Jordan Tate—"
“Might have heard of?” Cassie exclaimed.
Brenden grinned. “And then there’s us,” he said.
“Us?” she asked, looking almost terrified now.
“Sparks,” he qualified.
“Oh my God …” Cassie muttered, shocked beyond all thought. She put her hand on the dashboard in front of her trying to calm herself down.
“Let me get this straight,” she said, her voice sounding a bit shaky. “You want us to open for not one but two multi-platinum bands?”
“That’s the idea, yeah,” Brenden said, holding back his grin.
“And who’s butt do I need to kiss for this honor?” she asked.
Brenden laughed. “I guess that would be mine,” he told her.
“Consider it on my list of things to do,” she said, starting to smile.
“I’ll do that,” he said, grinning back at her.
“So why two of your powerhouse bands?” she asked, her logical mind taking over again.
“Well,” he said, “we’re all coming out with albums around the same time, Jordan’s was first and mine will be out in two months. And since Fast Lane is right in line with that, I figure why not make it a four-way promotional tour for the label.”
Cassie nodded, still looking a bit shell-shocked. “You’re going to give them one helluva a show,” she said sincerely.
“That’s the plan,” he replied, smiling benevolently.
“And we’re opening,” she verified.
“And you’re opening,” he answered.
“Holy shit!” Cassie said, finally letting her excitement really show.
Brenden smiled, enjoying the feeling of making someone else’s day. Being the owner of a big record label was for the most part a major stress, but it did have its really good days. Today was one of those.
Brenden dropped Cassie back by the studio and headed for home.
The next day, Brenden called a meeting of the bands going on the tour. He sat in the conference room at the Badlands offices. He had his feet up on the table, leaning back in a chair at the head of the conference room table. His eyes skipped over all the platinum records on the walls, and the framed artwork of various highly successful albums in the label’s history. He reflected on things as they stood in his life; things were going great. Tabitha had started college recently, attending UCLA to learn about business. He and Allexxiss, his wife, were approaching two years of being remarried. They were even talking about maybe trying for another child, but nothing had been settled yet. Things were going great, better than they had in years.
A few minutes later Tommy from Fast Lane came in with the drummer, Johnny Sands. Terry Newbi, the bassist, and Greg Overroy who played rhythm guitar, followed shortly thereafter.
“Where’s Cassie?” Brenden asked, gesturing for them to sit in the chairs around the conference table.
“Don’t know,” Tom said, looking a bit nervous. “I’ve called her a few times but she didn’t answer, so I’m assuming she’s on her way.”
Brenden nodded, not looking pleased.
Devlin arrived next, with the other three members of Sparks. Jake Tally the drummer, a big guy with arms of steel, and a propensity for young women. Davey “Shots” Berry, the rhythm guitarist, nicknamed for his habit of drinking anyone under the table with tequila. And the bassist Ronnie Dots. Brenden always called him “Donnie Rots,” having never been able to keep it straight when he’d joined the band. It had become the group joke.
Next to arrive was Jordan’s backing band. Jordan arrived ten minutes later.
“Always gotta make an entrance, huh?” Brenden said to her.
“That’s what rock stars do, Beege,” she said, moving pointedly to sit next to him, her gold eyes on his.
“Uh-huh,” he said, breaking into a grin.
“Still no Cassie …” Brenden said, his lips twitching in annoyance.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Sparks,” Tommy said. “She’s usually really prompt …” He spread his hands in futility as he spoke.
“Who’s Cassie?” Jordan asked, always wary of other women.
“The lead singer for Fast Lane,” Brenden told her.
“Oh,” Jordan replied simply.
“Tommy, you let Ms. Roads know that if she misses another meeting with me, she’ll be looking for a new profession,” BJ said, his tone no-nonsense
“Will do,” Tommy said, nodding and thinking, Shit!
“Alright, moving along here,” Brenden said, his voice taking on a crisp businesslike quality. “I need a list of the songs you want to do on the tour. Keep it to a max of about twelve, I don’t want to keep people there all night.”
The meeting proceeded and ended two hours later. Cassie never appeared. Brenden was not pleased. The last thing he needed was a prima donna lead singer that couldn’t be counted on.
****
Cassie waited up all night to tell Mike about the tour, but he didn’t come home until five in the morning, and he smelled like booze and another woman’s perfume. Even so, she told him about the tour with Jordan Tate and Sparks.
Mike snorted sarcastically at what she told him.
“What’s that for?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.
Mike shrugged. “You know what it’s for,” he said.
“No,” she said in a very controlled voice, “I’d like you to tell me.”
Mike moved to the kitchen counter, looking back at her like she was stupid for having to have it spelled out.
“You don’t seriously think BJ Sparks wants you on his tour because you’re a good singer, do you?” he asked, his tone dripping with cynicism.
Cassie opened her mouth to answer but closed it again so she could rein her temper in first. She clenched her jaw, grinding her teeth to keep from cussing him out. Finally, she leaned against the opposite counter, crossing her arms in front of her, and looked back at him.
“If not for my singing, then what?” she asked.
Again, Mike looked at her like she was an idiot. “You’re on this tour, because he wants to fuck you,” he said nastily.
Cassie narrowed her eyes at him, not liking how easily he could dismiss her talent, and mad as hell that he always assumed women always fucked their way into things. She shrugged, looking directly at him.
“Better him than you,” she said, turning to walk out of the room.
He grabbed her back by a handful of her hair, yanking her back to him painfully. She cried out involuntarily. He twisted her around, his face suffused with color in his fury.
“That’s been it all along hasn’t it? You fucking little slut!” he screamed at her.
“Let me go, Mike!” she yelled, not bothering to answer his question.
It wasn’t a question; he already thought he knew. He’d assumed all along that she was out to find someone else to lay. He never understood that if she wanted someone else, she’d just leave him. It wasn’t like he was big time or anything. His band barely paid the bills, let alone made him rich. So why would she stay if she didn’t want to be with him?
Mike tightened his hold on her hair. “I’ll let you go
when I’m done with you, Cassie, you got that?”
She hissed in pain, tears coming to her eyes. She was mad, but she was helpless to stop Mike. He outweighed her by a hundred pounds at least, and there was no way she could fight him off and win. But she had no intention of giving in to him, it just wasn’t in her.
“Let me the fuck go, Michael, or I swear to God, I’ll kill you!” she yelled, kicking backwards to try to hurt him.
Her boots connected with his shin making him yelp and let go of her. She jumped away, turning to face him, ready to tell him to get the fuck out. She was stunned when he slapped her hard in the face. Cassie lost it then, going after him with her nails, raking at his face and neck. He fought her off, picking her up and throwing her across the kitchen into the other room. She landed on the floor with a yelp and looked up to see him stalking toward her. She looked behind her and saw a beer bottle on the coffee table. She jumped up and grabbed it, smashing it on the end of the table, and turned on him.
“You come near me, and I swear to God, I’ll cut you, Mike!” she yelled.
She was shaking, but he could see she was serious. He stopped, his eyes still blazing. “You belong to me, Cassie, to me,” he told her, as if saying it could make it so. “No one else is going to have you, I’ll make sure of that.”
“Don’t come near me, Mike,” she warned, backing up toward the bedroom.
He kept stepping forward every time she stepped back. Finally, she threw what was left of the bottle at him, ran into the bathroom, and locked the door. He pounded on the door, yelling at her to open it up. She looked in the mirror and saw blood trickling down from her lip. She wiped at it, then stared into her own eyes. What the hell was she doing? Why was she with Mike? She didn’t even know anymore, it had just become easier than moving out and causing a big scene with him, but this was too much.
Mike continued to pound on the door and scream at her, threatening her one minute, begging her the next. Cassie sat down on the floor, waiting to see if he would break it down. Eventually he worked himself up to the point of doing just that. He kicked it open with more force than Cassie would have expected. She backed up into the shower, but he came after her, grabbing her by the hair and dragging her out. She got away from him, threatening him over and over that she would kill him. They yelled and screamed at each other for hours. There were times when things would calm down, each going into another room, but then he’d start on her again, calling her a slut and a bitch. By five o’clock that afternoon, Mike was feeling the effects of his late night. He lay down on the bed and was asleep a few minutes later.
Cassie stared down at him thinking he really didn’t consider her much of a threat. Shaking her head, she walked to the closet and started pulling out clothes. She was just putting clothes into the third bag when she remembered the meeting she was supposed to attend that morning.
“Fuck!” she yelled.
She grabbed the phone off the cradle next to the bed, and walked into the kitchen, dialing Tommy’s number with shaking hands. Tommy answered on the third ring.
“Tommy, it’s me,” she said.
“Cassie, where the hell are you?” Tommy said, his tone indicating his irritation. “You missed the meeting with Sparks and he’s pissed.”
“Shit, I know, Tommy, I know, I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head.
Mike was going to fuck this up for her, she could just tell.
“He told me to tell you that if you miss another meeting with him, you’ll be looking for a new career,” Tommy said.
Cassie closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the cabinets. She was sitting on the floor in the kitchen.
“That pissed, huh?” she said wryly.
“That pissed, Cassie,” Tommy said.
“And you’re pissed at me too, right?” she said.
“You’re not on the top of my Christmas list right now, no,” he told her.
She bit her lip, wincing because it hurt. “Look, I’m sorry Tommy, I really am. I’ll go see if I can smooth it over with BJ okay?”
“How are you going to do that?” Tommy asked, sounding skeptical.
“Hey, I have a map of the stars, just like every other hick in this town,” she told him.
Tommy chuckled, shaking his head. She was one of a kind that was for sure.
“Go for it, Cassie, we can use any help we can get at this point,” he told her.
Part of her wanted to tell Tommy what had happened. But she knew he’d be over to the house in a heartbeat to beat the hell out of Mike, and that wouldn’t be helpful at all. No, she was just going to get out of this situation. She had no idea where she was going to go. Maybe she’d end up having to tell Tommy anyway; she may have to crash at his place.
She hung up with Tommy then and went to pack her car. Once she was done she spent twenty minutes putting makeup on, doing her best to hide the bruise around her eye and the bruise at her lip. Then she set out to find BJ Sparks’s house. She hadn’t been kidding about having a map of the stars. Thankfully, BJ’s address was on there. It took her an hour to find the place and another hour to work up the nerve to ring the buzzer at the gate.
Finally, she took a deep breath and buzzed the gate.
“Yes?” came the crisp voice of security.
“Cassie Roads to see Mr. Sparks, please,” she said, doing her best not to sound nervous.
“Hold on,” said the security officer.
She waited, wondering if he was going to come back and tell her to get the hell away from the gate. She was just starting to think she should leave, when the gate started opening.
Taking that as her cue she drove up the long driveway. She pulled up in front of his house, a big white mansion, with trees and incredible landscaping all around the front. She got out of her car and walked up the steps between the Roman-style columns, to the opulent front door. She rang the bell and a minute later a younger man answered the door. He was dressed in slacks and a collared shirt, and had an air of efficiency about him.
“Mr. Sparks said to send you up,” the man said, opening the door wide to allow her to enter.
He turned and pointed to the stairs, a long elegant winding affair carpeted in a deep rich sapphire Persian-style print.
“His office is up those stairs, to the right, and all the way down the hallway to the double doors. Make sure you knock first,” he told her.
Cassie nodded thanking him.
She walked up the stairs, trying to think of what she could say to get herself out of the hot water she knew she was in. She didn’t want BJ Sparks thinking that she was some kind flake that couldn’t be counted on to show up for things. It wasn’t her style; the day had just been a bit on the dramatic side for her. When she got to the double doors, she leaned her head against the cool wood, trying to gather her thoughts before she knocked.
“Come,” he called from within.
She opened the door and there he sat, behind his large desk, pen in hand. She was at a loss for words for a few moments. He was looking at her now, his cool blue-green eyes appraising her.
She was standing under the foyer to the huge suite, so she was partially in the shadows.
“Mr. Sparks,” she began, “I know I missed the meeting today, and I’m really sorry.” She stepped forward in an effort to show her sincerity.
His eyes narrowed then. “What the hell happened to you?” he asked.
She didn’t realize he’d just seen the bruises on her face.
“I had some personal issues come up today …” she began, her voice trailing off as he got up and strode over to her.
His hand reached up to touch her neck and he tilted her chin up with his thumb. She knew then that he was looking at the bruises. When she was able to lower her head again, his eyes connected with hers.
“What happened?” he asked again, his tone very serious.
She swallowed, afraid that her dramatic personal life might make him think twice about wanting to work with her.
�
��I got into an argument with my boyfriend,” she said finally, unable to think of any other plausible answer.
“An argument?” he asked. “Don’t you mean a knock-down, drag out brawl?”
“Things just got out of hand,” she said, trying to lessen the impact of the entire incident. “And I bruise real easily.”
“Don’t make excuses for him,” Brenden said shortly, as his eyes scanned the rest of her face.
His thumb rubbed gently at the makeup that covered the bruise at her mouth. She flinched when he pressed too hard. “So, what happened?” he asked again, gentler this time.
“Oh, the usual things,” she said, trying to keep from telling him too much that he wouldn’t want to hear anyway.
He pinned her with a serious look. “What was the fight about, Cassandra?” he asked sounding like a father now.
She pressed her lips together, sure that when she told him, he’d kick her off the tour. But she couldn’t really see lying to him.
“About the tour,” she said.
“He doesn’t want you to go?” Brenden asked.
“He doesn’t think I have a right,” she told him.
“A right?” Brenden asked, looking surprised.
“Well,” Cassie said, sighing, “he doesn’t seem to think I can sing.”
“He’s deaf?” Brenden asked.
Cassie laughed softly. “No, he’s just …” she said, shrugging when she couldn’t think of a good way to put it.
“Jealous as hell?” Brenden asked.
Cassie made a face to indicate that he’d hit the nail on the head.
“Nice,” he said, shaking his head.
“Oh, it gets better,” she said, grinning.
“Better than this?” he asked, gesturing to her bruised lip.
“Oh yeah,” she said, pursing her lips in disgust. “He says that the only reason I’m on this tour is because you want to fuck me.”
He looked back at her for a long moment, his lips curling in a sardonic grin. “Well he obviously hasn’t seen my wife …”
“Well, I guess he just assumes you’re still the bad boy of rock and roll,” she said, using air quotes on the last part.
In the Fast Lane Page 3