At the sound of her name, Ashley cringed and closed her eyes. Her arms went slack. She took in a few shallow breaths and opened her eyes. She tried to smile but her lips trembled. Ashley sucked in a deep breath and found a faux smile that would have fooled anyone who didn’t know her.
Kelsey watched as the distress in her sister’s expression turned to unavoidable acceptance. It now seemed clear that any issues Kelsey had with their mother paled in comparison to the ones Ashley and their mother shared. But after Kelsey summoned the strength to speak with her mother, not only as her child, but as an equal, the problems that separated them dwindled away like a puff of smoke. If Ashley and their mother had a similar discussion, with the same amount of honesty without reserving judgment, perhaps they might meet the same end result.
But seeing the almost painful smile on Ashley’s face, Kelsey doubted that would happen any time soon. Besides, that expression told Kelsey that whatever divided those two would need more than a heart-to-heart talk to repair the damage. Emboldened by her own success in this capacity, Kelsey said, “Mom, I’d like you to work with Ashley in the kitchen and set up as many of your delicious appetizers as you can make.” At eight o’clock, when Kelsey planned to open the doors, she wouldn’t imagine many people would order entrees, especially since Scott was going to put on a rock show. For her part, Kelsey planned to ensure that every aspect of the night went as planned, while also attending to those who might apply for positions at either of her restaurants.
Her sister’s smile vanished, replaced with a harsh expression as she mouthed the words “What the hell?”
Kelsey had eluded deep conversations with their mother dozens of times since Ashley left, but she hadn’t skipped the state to avoid having them. That told her Ashley wouldn’t initiate dialogue with their mother, so Kelsey took it upon herself to begin the process. She did so because Ashley wouldn’t have returned home if she didn’t need something, whether from her or Alex, so she decided to use Ashley’s relationship with their parents as a bargaining chip. Alex would agree with the strategy, so she set things in motion. Maybe her sister would thank her later. Because right now, the anger gleaming in her eyes and the flush in her cheeks told her that Ashley wouldn’t be grateful anytime soon.
“I don’t know anything about cooking,” Ashley said through gritted teeth. “Last month, I blew up a Hot Pocket in the microwave.”
Their mother stepped beside Ashley and turned to her with an affectionate expression. “I don’t care why you came home. I’m just glad that you did.”
Ashley’s hardened posture slumped a bit, as though struck by a piercing blow. A moment later, she recovered and looked detached, unfazed that the mother she hadn’t seen in over fifteen years stood at her side.
“Well, it’ll give you a chance to appreciate Mom’s skills in the kitchen,” Kelsey said with a smile that took all of her fortitude to maintain. “Mom will be making batches of five different types of appetizers. Can you give her all the help she needs?”
Ashley stood rigid as she glared at her. “I can.”
“Great. I have plenty to attend to, but I appreciate both of you helping me out. It really means a lot to me.”
* * *
Damon had tweeted as well as posted on Facebook and his blog that he’d be at The Witching Hour today to support the recent opening of his girlfriend’s (a little presumptuous, perhaps, but Damon knew the publicity would only prove beneficial) new restaurant. He mentioned that interested individuals should apply for numerous open positions at both of Kelsey’s restaurants. For a large group of readers who chatted via a forum on his website (not to mention other social media tools) about his relationship status, this announcement would attract quite a lot of attention, which he hoped would result in plenty of candidates for the vacancies Kelsey needed to fill. (Perhaps his readers would mention the positions to friends and family.)
In addition, he looked forward to seeing his readers. It would give him a chance to thank those people who had made his dreams come true. While plenty of novelists took their fans for granted, Damon had no problem admitting that he owed everything to them. If they hadn’t interacted with him through various social media tools, and most importantly written reviews on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and other online retailers to encourage other readers to give his books a try, he would still be working construction jobs.
He spent the last few hours in Kelsey’s office, first stoking his online community to visit The Witching Hour then doing the same for Scott’s (who had a more fanatical group of followers). He informed Scott’s fans that the rock star would be performing a set of twelve songs tonight at the restaurant. Damon hoped that at least a dozen of his readers would show up tonight (because he’d given notice at the last minute), but the way news spread through the Internet by Scott’s fans, who’d dubbed themselves “Mettlers,” he anticipated that about a hundred Mettlers would stop by tonight for his performance.
Since he went beyond Scott’s instructions and stated that the musician would also have a meet-and-greet after his set, Damon suspected the cult superstar/recluse would be upset with him (best case scenario) or get pissed off at him.
But Damon didn’t care about the fallout. He only cared that Kelsey’s restaurant got a second chance to succeed. And since he hoped Kelsey would get a lot of applicants for the positions she needed to fill, it would take some time to interview each of the candidates, not to mention hire and train them, so Damon concentrated on doing everything he could to raise enough money tonight to give her enough time to prepare for hiring and training new staff members. And he knew exactly how to do that: they’d need to sell a lot of drinks. And to do that, they needed to keep people in the restaurant long enough to want to drink, which explained why he’d expanded the set list from Scott’s original suggestion of four songs to twelve.
A few minutes before seven o’clock, just as he exited Kelsey’s office, Damon saw Scott striding toward him with a heavy glare. Judging by the intensity of that stare, Damon presumed that the musician had discovered that he’d be playing three times as long as he expected to, followed by the meet and greet. “Ready for the gig tonight?” Damon asked.
“What the fuck, man?” He’d tucked in his black and red striped button-down shirt into a pair of faded black pants. “Twelve songs? Are you nuts? I haven’t done a show in forever, and now you’re telling everyone I’m doing half of a full set-list?”
At the back of the corridor, Damon caught sight of two musicians dragging in guitars, amplifiers, and cords. It appeared that Scott brought the band from his session recording work for the show. Then he spotted a man holding drum sticks in one hand while dragging part of a drum kit behind him. “You better get warmed up then.”
“I warmed up at the studio, so I’m all set, but I’m not playing twelve songs. And what’s this about a meet-and-greet?”
“You haven’t played live in almost a decade. People quickly forget about an “almost-been” musician if he’s not in the spotlight. And since you’re not hitting bars or clubs anymore, and you haven’t produced an album in fifteen years, you need to build up anticipation for that new album you’re working on.”
“You think I’m working on a new album? Who told you that? I gave that up a long time ago. I visit the studio to work with other artists. That’s how I make a living. Songwriting.”
“But you told Kelsey—”
“And I didn’t lie. I’m writing and recording with Stephen Tyler and Joe Perry from Aerosmith. It’s their record, not mine.”
Damon had of course seen that mentioned on Scott’s website, where it listed a number of songs he’d co-written with Bruno Mars, Carrie Underwood, Pink, and Kelly Clarkson that had topped the charts. Internet chatter speculated that Scott had recently been spotted holding hands with one of the most beautiful actresses on the planet, and he’d been working on separate projects alongside Beyoncé, Eminem, Justin Timberlake, and Taylor Swift. All three rumors irritated die-hard fans, who wanted Sco
tt to return to his hard rock roots by regrouping with his brother, the other half of a duo his fans seemed to put in the same category as Bono and The Edge or Jon Bon Jovi and Richie Sambora.
And Damon had presumed that, since Scott had entered the studio, he’d worked something out with his brother and re-formed their group, Scrap Mettle, which focused on heartfelt lyrics in tandem with crunchy guitar hooks and catchy choruses. Apparently, whatever obstacles that had torn apart their partnership hadn’t yet been repaired.
Nevertheless, Damon knew exactly how to convince Scott to do exactly what his fans expected: “Word is Ashley broke up with you because she didn’t trust you. I guess hearing that you’d perform twelve songs but only end up playing four will only prove her right.”
Scott lunged forward, grabbed a fistful of Damon’s shirt, and reared back his right fist.
“Don’t you dare,” Kelsey shouted, stalking down the hallway behind Scott. “Not until I’m done with him. Then you can rip him to shreds.”
* * *
“Really?” Damon asked, looking as though he believed the phrase “not until I’m done with him” meant they’d soon wind up in bed. “What did you have in mind?”
Kelsey didn’t want to play games. Not now that her restaurant would open within the next hour and her nerves were jittering. She had just checked Damon’s website to see how much publicity he’d done to persuade his readers to visit her restaurant, and he’d done a fantastic job of getting the word out.
But he’d referred to her using one word that stretched the truth, one word that frightened her: girlfriend. When had that happened?
Scott took one glance at Kelsey, then released Damon and stepped aside.
Kelsey took his place and playfully punched Damon in the chest.
“Wow,” Damon said, collecting his wits. “You sure have a strange idea of foreplay!”
She stared at him, emotionless.
“But give me a little time. I’ll warm up to it.”
Kelsey turned to Scott, letting her anger subside. “Thank you again for doing this for me. In case you’d like to see my sister, she’s working with my mother in the kitchen.”
Scott’s animosity disappeared. He turned white. Dazed, he scanned the area around him and ambled down the hall on unsteady legs toward the receiving room. The room was normally used by delivery men to store food, merchandise, equipment, and furniture they unloaded from trucks, but it now served as the place the musicians gathered to prepare for their performance.
With Scott no longer in the midst of this conversation, Kelsey felt her confusion bubbling back to the surface as her cheeks grew warm. “When did I become your girlfriend?”
Damon stayed quiet for a moment, as though picking through explanations. “Well, aren’t you?”
She raised her right fist, prepared to punch his chest again.
Damon caught her wrist. “If this is how you treat your boyfriends, I’m not sure we should be exclusive anymore.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.” Damon lowered her arm, stepped forward, and looked into her eyes. “I’ve waited a long time to meet someone like you. I want a relationship with someone I respect. Someone intelligent and kind and funny and sexy. You’re that person.”
Kelsey studied his eyes with a mixture of fear and anticipation. After all, what woman would argue with being called “intelligent and kind and funny and sexy?” No matter how hard she tried, Kelsey couldn’t determine the depth of his sincerity. And she needed to. Otherwise, she’d wind up like every other woman he’d dated: with him one minute and gone the next.
“Hey, are you guys…” Alex turned into the corridor and stared at them, open-mouthed. He turned his gaze onto Damon for a long moment before gazing at his sister. “I’m okay with…you two, all right?” He headed toward them with a shocked expression. “But right now something big is about to happen: there are over two hundred people outside waiting to get in.”
“Really?” The excitement shooting through Kelsey’s veins couldn’t help but lift her tone. “That’s great!”
“For you, maybe,” said Scott. From behind her, he walked in her direction as three musicians followed him carrying their instruments and gear. “I’ve got half of a full set to do.”
“You’ll be great,” Kelsey said, excited by the prospect of her biggest crush performing for her benefit (even if he’d only agreed because it gave him a chance to see Ashley again).
“You bet your ass,” he said in a firm tone. “I’m gonna blow their fucking minds.” Although he didn’t look as apprehensive as he did when he first heard Ashley was in the kitchen, he now held the same potent intensity he’d always exuded on stage.
She guessed that he would give everything he had tonight to impress Ashley. And who knows? Maybe it would work. She turned back to Damon and placed a hand on his chest, thrilled how his firm muscles felt under her palm. “I’m going to go speak with Nina and Brittany. They’ll be working with Marisa and Cassandra to serve the crowd.”
“Good. I’m going to stock up on liquor. That’s how you’re going to turn a profit tonight.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Scott is a rock star. His fans have been dying to see him for seven years. Don’t you think they’ll want to drink?” He planted a quick kiss on her lips. “Be back in a bit.”
Over the next forty-five minutes, Kelsey checked on her mother and sister, who had all five stoves running at the same time cooking mozzarella sticks, fried calamari, Buffalo wings, potato skins, and chicken tenders. They also spent their time hurrying back and forth, displaying a professional attitude that gave both the opportunity to avoid facing the issues that fractured their relationship.
From there, Kelsey spoke with Nina whose boyfriend Nick planned to work as a bartender beside Damon and Alex at the bar as well as Brittany, Marisa, and Cassandra about what she expected from them tonight as they worked the tables on the floor. Afterwards, she directed Nick’s friends as they moved a handful of booths from the main floor to the back of the restaurant before placing a small stage, which raised only a foot and a half off the ground, along the back wall.
As the band set up their gear, Kelsey got back to the bar in time to help the men set up the staggering number of liquor bottles that Damon had purchased. “How much will that cost me?”
He winked at her. “I’m sure you can find some way to repay me.”
“It’s eight o’clock,” Scott said into the microphone as his band mates took their places on the stage behind him. “I’m ready to burn this fucker to the ground!”
Exhilarated by his fervor, Kelsey rushed to the front doors. Until now, she’d entrusted Marisa with updating the crowd that they’d open at exactly 8:00 p.m., because she didn’t want to feel any more pressure than necessary. But when she reached the entrance to unlock the doors, she stood enraptured by the scene before her.
Over four hundred people stood in the parking lot waiting to gain admittance. (Thankfully, she had the architect design a huge building that could fit—although, not seat—five hundred.) Her vision swirled. Her nerves clenched. She almost lost her balance, even without having moved one inch. She plugged the key into the keyhole and opened the doors.
Screams erupted from the group as everyone filtered into the restaurant, many of them wearing faded Scrap Mettle T-shirts. Among them, at least fifty women, ranging in age from 18-75 clutched paperback books, the younger readers looking amused by the zeal of those around them, while the older readers appeared alarmed by the younger members of the crowd.
Kelsey almost laughed at the diversity among her…customers. Every age was represented. And she hoped to get at least forty applications today (she planned to stand at the other end of the bar, where she’d placed a box of black pens and a stack of applications). And even if that didn’t happen, she hoped her friends and family did a decent job serving her customers so that word-of-mouth reached as many people as possible.
On stage, Sco
tt let out a screeching “Ooooooh, yeeeaaaaaaahhhh!”
The crowd, composed of equal amounts male and female, rushed the stage, hollering with delight as Scott led his backing musicians into a cover version of “Welcome to the Jungle” by Guns N’ Roses.
Among the crowd members, Kelsey’s heart leaped at the sight of her father, suited up in a black uniform: his old police uniform. Although it was illegal to impersonate a police officer, he probably didn’t mind breaking the law since he’d protected it for over twenty-five years. Few people would even notice that he hadn’t attached a gun to his belt, although he’d clipped pepper spray, a baton, and handcuffs to it. But he had the right idea: she certainly appreciated having an impression of law and order when emotions might run high.
He approached her with a fierce stare. “Young lady, you don’t mind a police presence, do you?”
She threw her arms around him. “Thanks Daddy!” She couldn’t help the girlish squeal or the fact that she’d reacted like she was still seven years old. It proved that, no matter how many years passed, her father would always be there to protect her.
When she let go of her father, he smiled and gestured to the crowd. “Now, I’m going to start policing this place so no one gets out of hand.” He pointed to Scott. “He was always a wild one. And to think you invited all his maniac fans!” He pretended to speak with someone on the walkie-talkie attached to his chest as he walked into the crowd.
Kelsey spotted Damon grinning as he served drinks at the bar while collecting mounds of cash, and somehow managing to chat with the women at the bar, most of them clutching copies of his books as though they were not just novels that had moved and entertained them but meaningful pieces of art.
Kelsey smiled, and at that moment, Damon looked up at her, as though he’d somehow managed to steal a part of her heart so that he’d always know whenever she was near. He unleashed a devastating smile of his own then attended to those standing before him.
Scott, who already worked up a good sweat, appeared so locked into his performance that for the first time in seven years, he’d oozed all of the charisma and the striking stage presence that only the greatest front men possessed. He strutted across the stage and tilted the microphone stand toward the crowd for them to take turns singing.
One Last Promise (A Bedford Falls Novel Book 2) Page 25