Ball Peen Hammer

by Lauren Rowe

  Without waiting for Dax’s reply, Reed saunters over to the small refrigerator in the corner, grabs a beer, and then plops down next to me on the couch.

  “Hey, Reed,” I say, putting out my hand. “Keane Morgan, Dax’s brother. Also known as ‘Frick.’”

  “Yeah, I remember you from our week in paradise. You’re pretty hard to forget.” He chuckles. “Peen, right?” He shakes my hand. “Nice hair.”

  “Thanks. Good to see you again.”

  Reed looks at Zander. “Hey, ‘Frack.’ You were at Josh and Kat’s wedding, too, right?”

  Zander nods and puts his hand out. “Zander Shaw.”

  “That’s right. Great to see you again, Zander. As I recall, you stole all my money in a poker game the night before the wedding.”

  Zander laughs. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”

  “Apologies are cheap. I’ll just exact my revenge on you when you least expect it.”

  Zander chuckles.

  Wow. I’m surprised Reed remembers Zander and me from my sister’s weeklong wedding-shindig in Hawaii last year. Sure, Zander and I partied with the dude plenty of times during that incredible week—my brother-in-law, Josh, rented out an entire swanky resort for all their wedding guests and we partied nonstop like it was 1999—but that was almost a year ago, after all. Plus, Reed was obviously having so much fun partying with his inner circle of best friends, Josh and Henn included, I didn’t expect him to remember anyone else from that week, least of all peons like Zander and me.

  “Excuse me for a sec, guys,” Reed says, holding up his phone. “I’ve got to respond to an ‘emergency.’” He rolls his eyes and looks down at his phone.

  When Reed begins tapping out an email with obvious annoyance, Zander and I exchange a “wow, this dude’s got so much fucking swagger” look. Even if I’d never heard of Reed Rivers and didn’t know he’s got the hottest indie record label in the world right now (which would mean I’m living under a rock, because the dude’s all over magazines and celebrity websites on the daily), I’d nonetheless be leaning over to Zander to whisper, “Who’s the guy with the big dick?”

  Speaking of big dicks, The Talented Mr. Ripley’s feeling mighty lonely. I glance at Maddy longingly across the room. Damn, I wanna fuck that little vixen again. I pull out my phone and tap out a quick text: “I wanna bone the fuck outta u so fucking bad, Maddy Milliken. Do u LIKE making my balls hurt, u evil woman?”

  When her phone buzzes with my incoming text, Maddy grabs it from her pocket, looks at it stone-faced, types something in reply without displaying a hint of emotion, and stows her phone in her back pocket again.

  My phone buzzes with an incoming text and I look down.

  “Yes,” Maddy’s text says, and nothing more.

  Ooph, talk about swagger. Damn. That’s a sexy girl.

  “So, hey, Keane,” Reed says, drawing my attention away from my phone. “You still Seattle’s answer to Magic Mike?”

  “Yeah,” I say, shocked Reed remembers what I do for a living. “Still livin’ the dream, dolin’ out fantasies to the horny ladies one lap dance at a time.”

  Reed chuckles and looks at Zander. “And do you shake your ass for a living, too?” Reed asks politely. “Sorry, I don’t remember what you do.”

  “Naw,” Zander says. “I’m a personal trainer. When I shake my ass, I do it behind closed doors for one special lady at a time, no cash exchanged.”

  “Nice.” Reed smiles. “You live in L.A.?”

  Zander shakes his head. “Seattle, with Keane. We’re actually thinking about moving to L.A., though. Peen’s got some big auditions this week and I can do personal training anywhere.”

  Reed looks at me. “Auditions?”

  “A bunch of different stuff. We’ll see. It’s all up in the air right now.”

  “He’s being modest,” Zander says. “He just got signed to one of the top talent agencies in L.A. Modeling, acting, the whole nine yards. They’re big.”

  “Which agency?” Reed asks.

  I tell him.

  “Oh, a good one. Congrats. The real deal. Keep me posted—” Reed’s phone buzzes and he looks down at it, obviously reading something. “Fuck. I gotta answer this. Excuse me.”

  While Reed busies himself on his phone again, I gaze across the room at Maddy. Sexy little thing. Ooph. I tap out another text to her. “Ur ass is sexy in those jeans,” I write. “Can’t stop thinking about how I slapped it last night.”

  Maddy pulls her phone out of her pocket and looks at it. This time she can’t help but smile at the message before she stows her phone in her pocket, without replying.

  Damn, that’s some serious swagger. She didn’t even reply? Nice. She’s keeping me guessing. I love it. I type out another text: “After 22 Goats, right after the headliner has started their set, meet me just outside the side exit.”

  Maddy glances at her screen again, taps out a reply, and shoves her phone back into her pocket without even a glance in my direction.

  My phone buzzes with an incoming text. “YASSSSSSSSSSSSS,” Maddy writes.

  “Oh my fucking God,” Reed mumbles, stuffing his phone into his pocket. “This little diva on my roster doesn’t like the bodyguard we hired for her. What a pain in the ass. I guess he wasn’t ‘attractive’ enough for her.” Reed rolls his eyes at us as if to say, “You know how it is,” but, of course, Zander and I don’t know how it is when an artist on our label demands a new bodyguard. Reed’s eyes train on Zander. “Hey, do you happen to have any training whatsoever in any kind of fighting techniques?”

  “Um, yeah. Some. I’ve done quite a bit of boxing and kick-boxing over the years.”

  “Perfect. You ever thought about being a bodyguard?”

  Zander bristles. “Why? Because I’m black and I’ve got muscles?”

  “Uh, yeah,” Reed says without hesitation, and we all chuckle at his honesty. “You’ve got the perfect look—and that’s more than half the job description for a bodyguard in the music industry. This isn’t the secret service, man—the music biz is all about an artist having a ‘dope entourage.’ We leave the real security to the professionals.”

  “Gotcha,” Zander says, smiling. “And, yeah, to answer your question, I’ve thought about throwing my hat in that particular ring lots of times. I was just keeping you on your toes.”

  “As you should.” Reed pulls out his card and hands it to Zander. “Well, if you wind up moving down here, shoot me a text. Maybe I’ll give you a test run with one of my particularly annoying divas—see if you’ve got the chops.”

  “Thanks.” Zander shoves Reed’s card into his pocket. “I will.”

  “Everyone loves Zander,” I say. “Better make your divas sign a waiver ’cause they’re all gonna fall in love with him.”

  Reed laughs. “Awesome. Well, definitely give me a call when you move down here.” Reed turns to me. “So how’s Little G? I haven’t seen that kid in months.”

  “Oh my God, she’s getting so big. Hang on.” I pull out my phone and show Reed and Zander the latest video of Gracie in the bathtub with my sister.

  “Whoa,” Reed says, laughing. “She’s huge. Shit, man, time’s flying. I gotta get up there and say hi to that kid so she doesn’t forget her favorite uncle.”

  “Hey now,” I say. “Dem’s fighting words, Reed Rivers. I don’t give a shit who the fuck you are or how many platinum records you got hanging on your office wall, nobody tramples on my sacred territory as Little G’s favorite uncle.” I point at my hair. “No one can compete with this shit, dude, so don’t even try. When it comes to being a cool uncle, I can’t miss ’cause I’m practically a toddler myself.”

  Reed’s laughing his ass off. “What’s the deal with the hair, by the way? Bad acid trip?”

  Zander laughs.

  “Oh, you think it’s funny, Z? Nice of you to laugh considering I dyed it to help you get laid.”

  “I can’t even begin to fathom how those two things are connected.”

  I tel
l Reed the whole story and he seems highly amused.

  “Wow,” Reed says. “Now that’s a wingman. You owe him one, Zander.”

  “Yeah, I know. Peenie’s the best,” Zander says, clinking my beer.

  “You can party with me anytime, Keane. Sounds like you’re a good dude to have around.”

  “I’m just a giver, Reed—it’s a blessing and a curse.”

  Reed laughs. “So did Faraday give you a ration of shit for your hair?”

  “Of course. You know him. No one’s safe under the best of circumstances. Add blue hair to the mix? Forget about it. I believe Josh’s comment was, ‘Hey look, the entire cast of My Pretty Pony took a shit on Peen’s head.’”

  Reed chuckles. “That sounds like him. What’d your brothers say?”

  I purse my lips, thinking. “Well, let’s see. Ryan sang the ‘C is for Cookie’ song from Sesame Street.”

  Reed busts up. “Nice.”

  “Dax said he wants to fuck me now because he’s always had a thing for Marge Simpson.”

  Reed and Zander laugh pretty hard at that one.

  “Well, that’s interesting,” Reed says.

  “Someone said Thing One crapped on my head while Thing Two barfed on it. I think that was a one-two punch from Kat and someone else.”

  “Ah, Stubborn Kat,” Reed says. “She never disappoints. Love that girl.”

  “You can have her.”

  Reed laughs. “Did anyone say, ‘Hey, Little Boy Blue, where’s your motherfucking horn?’”

  “Shockingly, no.”

  “Okay, well, that’s my contribution.”

  “Cool. Thanks for playing. You’re now an honorary Morgan. In fact, I tell you what: I’ll bump Kat outta the family and you can take her spot.”

  “Thanks.”

  There’s laughter from the other side of the room. Maddy’s got all three guys from 22 Goats cracking each other up in some sort of group interview.

  “What’s the video they’re shooting?” Reed asks.

  “Some sort of promo for the album release. I’m not sure,” I say.

  “Really? Well, that’s not necessary. I’ve got an entire marketing department working on all kinds of stuff for the album release, including professional videos. They certainly don’t need to do an amateur one—we’ve got it covered. In fact, that’s why I’m here tonight—to tell the guys about something cool I just got lined up for them for the album launch.”

  I bristle. I don’t particularly like the way Reed just said “professional” and “amateur,” implying Maddy’s some kind of hack. “Well, either way, you’re probs gonna want to have this video Maddy’s making in your vault, brah,” I say. “Maddy’s no hack. She’s studying film at UCLA and she won a top award at this prestigious documentary film festival last year. I saw her film and I’m not exaggerating when I say it’s fucking brilliant.”

  Reed looks over at Maddy, clearly surprised.

  “I bet when you see the video she’s doing for Dax, you’re gonna want her to do more of the same for your other bands, too. She’s just that good.”

  “Wow, I had no idea,” Reed says, still staring at Maddy across the room.

  “Hell yeah. She’s a star on the rise. Mark my words.” I tell Reed a bit about the awesomeness of Shoot Like a Girl and he seems genuinely interested.

  “It’s really that good?” he asks.

  “It’s incredible. I’m a complete imbecile and even I thought it was amazing.”

  Reed pulls out his phone. “What’s it called again? Shoot Like a Girl?”

  “Yeah. It’s sick, man. She thinks she’s about to get limited distribution, actually. At least on Netflix.”

  “Wow. Awesome.”

  “And her next movie’s gonna be about stripping. That shit’s gonna be next lev.”

  “Basketball and stripping?” Reed chuckles. “Now there’s a girl with her finger on the pulse of what people wanna see.” Oh, yeah, Reed is definitely intrigued. “Huh. I’m always looking for talented people to shoot tours and promo. I’ll take a look at that movie of hers and check out the video she does for Dax and the boys. Thanks for the heads up.” He looks over at Maddy again, his eyes trained like lasers on her.

  “Sure thing,” I say, my pulse suddenly pounding in my ears. Whoa, it’s all of a sudden clear to me this Reed guy is an epic hunter—totally next level. A Master Yoda. And he’s looking at my girl.

  There’s a long pause.

  “Um, hey, Reed,” I say. I clear my throat. I really don’t like the way he’s looking at Maddy. “Reed?”

  It’s suddenly occurring to me I have a rather unique window of opportunity in this moment to test Dax’s bullshit theory about the Armageddon that would supposedly result from me fucking Maddy Milliken. I probably shouldn’t say anything to Reed, I know—Dax would kill me if he knew. I glance at Dax across the room. Bah. He’ll never know. “So, hey, Reed, can I ask you something?” I say.

  Reed peels his eyes off Maddy and looks at me. “Sure.”

  “Do you give a flaming shit who I sleep with?”

  Reed looks surprised. “Um...” He makes a face like I’m a lunatic. “Well, I guess it depends. Is this your way of saying you want to sleep with me?”

  I laugh. “No, I’m straight.”

  “Okay. Well, then. Are you intending to sleep with my mother or sister?”

  “No.”

  “Are you planning to sleep with any girlfriend of mine, past or present, or any woman who’s even remotely on my radar screen?”

  “Um.” I get a sudden pit in my stomach. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, after all. “That depends. Is Maddy Milliken even remotely on your radar screen?”

  Reed looks across the room at Maddy again, his eyes like lasers.

  I’m expecting him to reply immediately with “Of course, not.” But he doesn’t. To the contrary, he’s looking at Maddy like he’s seriously considering whether to stake his claim or not. My stomach clenches violently. Oh, shit. What have I done? This is so not good.

  Reed looks back at me, his face unreadable to me. “No,” he says evenly, like he’s just made an actual decision—like, if he’d truly wanted her, Maddy would have been his for the taking.

  I exhale with relief. “Then, no, I’m definitely not planning to sleep with anyone, past or present, even remotely on your radar screen.”

  Reed shoots me an amused look. “Then I believe the answer to your initial question is ‘No, Keane, I don’t give the slightest fuck, flaming or otherwise, who you sleep with.’”

  I exhale with relief again. “Cool.”

  “May I ask why you’re asking me this utterly bizarre question?”

  “I’m not at liberty to say,” I reply, leaning in conspiratorially. “But lemme ask you another question that might illuminate my thinking for you: What if, hypothetically, I were to sleep with Maddy Milliken—who happens to be the little sister of your best friend’s girlfriend—and what if I were to somehow fuck it up with her and piss her off and make her hate me, which, of course, wouldn’t be the plan but you never know with me, ’cause I’m kind of an idiot—would you somehow hold my fuck-up with Maddy against Dax?”

  Reed looks baffled. “Uh, no.” There’s a very long beat. “So are you telling me Dax is having some sort of paranoid meltdown about the album release? Is that it?”

  Whoa, smart dude. I nod. “Meltdown might be a stretch. More like a freak-out. I think maybe the stress is getting to him a wee bit.”

  Reed winks. “Thanks for the heads-up. Not unusual with first-timers, especially with the guys like Dax who carry their band.” He smirks. “And I suppose it’s especially understandable if a guy’s heard some of the rumors about me.”

  “What kinds of rumors?” Zander blurts, his eyes wide.

  God, I love Z. As big an idiot as I am, I never would have asked that particular question, for fear of what the answer might be. But Zander just barreled right ahead, God bless him.

  Reed waves his hand dismissive
ly. “Oh, you know, rumors that make me out to be a vindictive motherfucker when someone crosses me.” He swigs his beer and chuckles. “In particular, I’m guessing Dax heard this one rumor about what I allegedly did to a guy signed to my label after I found out he’d fucked my girlfriend.” Reed’s jaw muscles pulse.

  There’s a long beat.

  “Uh... any truth to that one?” Zander finally asks.

  Reed smirks. “Let’s just say I made sure that fucker’s album went down in flames and no other label would touch him with a ten-foot pole.” He smiles and winks. “But, trust me, that fucker deserved it.”

  My stomach clenches. “Whoa,” I manage to say.

  Reed shrugs. “Some things are worth more to me than money, boys.” He takes a calm sip of his beer. “A lot more.”

  “Oh,” I say, my cheeks flushing. “Sounds... reasonable.”

  “But Dax doesn’t have anything to worry about,” Reed adds breezily, his jaw relaxing, his eyes sparkling. “I’m putting the full muscle of River Records behind 22 Goats, trust me. Six months from now, they’re gonna be at the top of the charts, a household name. In fact, that’s why I’m here tonight—to tell them some fantastic news about something I just lined up for them that’s gonna launch them into the stratosphere.”

  “Awesome,” I say. “Dax will be stoked to hear it. I think maybe he worries you only signed 22 Goats as a favor to Josh and Kat.”

  Reed scoffs. “Bullshit. I’d never sign a band as a favor to anyone, not even Josh. Business is business, man. I don’t fuck with the reputation of my label and my other bands by signing anyone I don’t believe in one hundred percent. If I sign a band, it’s ’cause I’m gonna do everything in my power to make them huge.” He raises his eyebrow. “Unless, of course, a guy in the band fucks my hot girlfriend—in which case I don’t give a shit how much money I’ve sunk into his band or how much I like their fucking music, they’re going fucking down.”

  I clear my throat. Holy shit. This dude’s intense. “Gotcha,” I say.

  Reed smirks. “Well, no worries like that with Dax, right?” He takes a sip of his beer. “Trust me, when Dax and the boys hear what I came to tell them tonight, they’ll have no doubt about my commitment to their success. Speaking of which...” He puts down his beer emphatically and stands up. “Hey, guys, you got what you need for the video? I’ve got some good news you’re definitely gonna wanna hear. Gather ’round, boys.”