Rock Star

by Roslyn Hardy Holcomb

  Bryan opened one stormy blue eye, convinced that he had to be having a particularly ghastly nightmare. Perhaps it was alien abduction, or maybe he was having an episode of sleep paralysis like he’d seen on the Discovery Channel last night. That was the only conceivable explanation for the fact that Bobby Tom Breedlove was in his room at the Four Seasons-Houston, rudely shaking him awake.

  Though he was fairly certain that he didn’t want to know, Bryan felt compelled to ask his former manager the obvious question. “B.T., what in the hell are you doing in my room? Who gave you a key?” He rubbed his hand over his face, making a mental note to have whoever was responsible fired. “For that matter, what in the hell are you doing in Houston?”

  B.T. waved some legal documents in his face. “This is why I’m in Houston. We’ve got a lot of work to do…”

  Bryan sat up on the bed. “B.T., I don’t give two good goddamns about you or your contracts. You don’t work for me anymore.”

  B.T. blustered, “Boy, who gives a damn about a contract? We’ll deal with that later.” His sharp glance indicated that there would indeed be a reckoning later. “These are divorce papers. Maria said she’d file them in two weeks if I don’t get you and Callie back together.” B.T. began to pace. “What the hell did you tell her, anyway?” he asked accusingly.

  Bryan looked at B.T. in astonishment. He’d never thought Maria would go this far. It had never occurred to him that she would play the ultimate trump card. “I told her the truth, B.T. Why would I lie to her? You’re a scum-sucking maggot. I thought it was time she knew that.”

  B.T. had no doubt that Maria, who knew him better than any human being on earth, was already more than aware of his character flaws. But he was shell-shocked by her draconian reaction to this situation. Frankly, as he’d pointed out to her, he’d done far worse. But of course, he’d never interfered with Bryan’s love life before. Apparently that was the Rubicon he was never permitted to cross as far as Maria was concerned. It would’ve been nice if she had told him that in advance. It seemed only fair that if she were going to draw a line in the sand, the least she could do was tell him about it! They had had many disagreements over the long years they’d been together, but she’d never made this type of threat before. She had told him, without equivocation, that the fate of their entire marriage hinged on his ability to repair the damage he’d caused.

  Why the hell had he brought those boys home in the first place? Damn, they’d been nothing but trouble! But extraordinarily profitable, he had to admit. B.T. had a brief moment of panic. For the first time in his life he doubted his own abilities to manipulate events. He’d felt he was taking his life into his own hands in boarding that flight to Houston to confront Bryan, but frankly he’d had no other choice. Bryan was one of the most mule-headed people he knew, and he wouldn’t talk to him unless he was forced to. No other means of communication would work. He had to resort to a face-to-face confrontation. He truly expected at least a broken nose for his trouble, but thus far Bryan hadn’t resorted to violence. B.T. wasn’t sure that even he could deal with Bryan in his current mood, but the time for self-doubt and reflection had long passed. He simply didn’t have time for such indulgences now.

  “Well, that’s neither here nor there. I’ve got to get your woman back or I’m going to lose my wife. So we’ve got to get to work.”

  Bryan didn’t respond. He had no intention of trusting B.T. again.

  B.T. wanted to strike him in exasperation but knew that would definitely not get him what he wanted. Bryan was perfectly capable of hitting back, and right now he looked as if he’d like nothing better than an excuse to kick his ass. With great trepidation, he decided that he’d have to go with the one trick he almost never used: the direct, honest truth.

  B.T. waved the divorce petition in Bryan’s face again. “I know you don’t believe a thing I say, but if nothing else, you’ve got to know that I’ll do anything to keep from losing Maria.” His voice cracked and he paused briefly. “Hell, maybe I haven’t played fair with you, I probably haven’t played fair with anybody, but you know I love Maria. There’s no way in hell I can live without that woman and you goddamn well know it. Will you please help me get her back? I know you don’t owe me a damn thing, Bryan. But could you find it in your heart to help me?”

  Suspicious of B.T.’s motives, but somewhat mollified by the humility he had shown, and the fact that B.T. had at least as much to lose as he did, Bryan moved to the edge of the bed to hear what B.T. had to say. He had always suspected that B.T.’s seemingly indomitable drive for financial success was based in Maria’s family’s rejection of him. He was determined to keep her in an even grander style than she was accustomed to in order to prove them wrong, no matter who he had to walk over to accomplish his goal. Bryan could empathize with B.T.’s feelings, but he’d be damned if he was ever going to trust him again.

  “Okay, look, this weekend Storm Crow’s going to be on Saturday Night Live.” Bryan raised his brows. “Yeah, I know Audioslave was supposed to play, but the producers booted them for y’all,” B.T. replied briskly. “Y’all are a bigger story right now.” His quick grin froze in response to Bryan’s snarl.

  Bryan marveled at his former manager. B.T. had pulled yet another behind-the-scenes maneuver. “Yeah sure, just what we needed, another reason for Chris to be pissed at me,” he snapped sarcastically. He and Chris Cornell, the lead singer for Audioslave, had a long-standing feud harkening back to Chris’ Soundgarden days. At this point, Bryan couldn’t recall what had initiated the bad blood, but he was pretty sure this wouldn’t help.

  “Oh, and guess what? Harley Joseph will be the guest host.” B.T. grinned again, knowing Bryan would be impressed with his awesome feat. Booking a band on such a high-profile show at this late date was an almost unheard of accomplishment, and with Harley hosting, the ratings would in all likelihood go through the roof. This would give Bryan an opportunity to solicit some positive publicity about his relationship with Callie.

  Damn! This was a coup even by B.T.’s standards. Harley Joseph was the star of one of the season’s biggest new shows, The Shelter, about the director of a group home for runaway teenagers. Though the show had the potential to become downright treacly and clichéd, Harley’s edgy and flawed character kept it fresh and cutting-edged. Harley was the brightest star of the television season and a lead contender to be People Magazine’s next ‘Sexiest Man Alive.’ But even better for their purposes, Harley and Bryan were good friends who hung out regularly whenever they happened to be in the same city. They’d met when Harley approached him to do the theme song for The Shelter. The song had been a big hit for the band, and Harley and Bryan’s friendship had taken off. Bryan wondered whose bed B.T. had gotten into to secure this gig.

  B.T. continued enthusiastically, “Anyway, I’ve already booked you guys to go to New York Wednesday for the show.” He lowered his head, then looked up at Bryan through half-closed lids. “By the way, do the guys know what happened?”

  Bryan gave B.T. a disbelieving look. “Of course they do. What the hell did you expect me to tell them?”

  “All right, all right.” Bryan was astonished to see that B.T. actually looked embarrassed. “Anyway, I’ve booked you on a couple of shows while you’re in New York. You’ll do Letterman and Conan. I’m still working on Leno.”

  Bryan stood up; his intimidating stance was not at all diminished by the fact that a pair of Calvin Klein briefs was his only attire. He moved as close to B.T. as possible. “I just want you to understand one thing, B.T. I’ll do this dog and pony show because it’ll help get those maggots off Callie. But I want the dogs called off today. I don’t want another reporter anywhere near Maple Fork. You understand me?”

  B.T. nodded eagerly. “No problem, I’m already working on that.”

  Bryan paused for a moment, looking down as he collected his thoughts. When he looked up again B.T. stepped back, unnerved by the fierce rage he saw in his protégé’s eyes. For a brief moment Bry
an reminded him a snarling wolf, and he thanked whatever gods that might still have an interest in him that his rage was directed at someone else. “And B.T., I don’t care if it takes every dime I’ve got, I want The Naked Truth’s ass on a platter. I don’t care what we have to do, but I want them to pay. When I’m through with them, they’ll never mess with Callie again!” Bryan growled grimly.

  B.T. rubbed his hands together sinisterly, happy to see that at least for the moment, Bryan was actually angrier at the tabloid than he was at him. He’d hoped he would want to take this tack. He loved it when a plan came together. “It’s all part of the plan, my boy, it’s all part of the plan.”

  Chapter 18

  Callie smiled and thanked the customer as she handed over her purchases. There were still at least three customers waiting to check out, and she had never needed a cup of coffee so desperately in her life. Surely one more cup was all it would take to ease the throbbing tension headache that had her in its unrelenting grip. At the very least it would clear her mouth of the sawdust taste that left her feeling as though she’d licked the floor of a barn. The noise level in the store strained nerves already made sensitive by lack of sleep. Over the past couple of days she had grown accustomed to the constant buzz of reporters and photographers milling around the door of Books and So Forth. Yesterday several had come into the store harassing her and the customers. Initially, she’d simply tried to ignore them, but when they started asking customers how they felt about shopping in a store with a bordello upstairs, she’d called the sheriff’s department to have them removed. The deputies had made it clear that they could not come into the store unless Callie gave permission. Thus far, the reporters seemed to be complying with the orders. Though she was appreciative of the deputies’ assistance, their intervention had presented another set of issues.

  Shortly after the deputies left, Callie was flat on her stomach on the floor trying to rescue several magazines that had fallen behind the magazine rack when she looked up into the corpulent belly of Graham Pettway, the local sheriff. Scooter, as he was called, at least behind his back, had attended high school with her and Tonya. Though he wasn’t stupid, everything about him gave the impression that he was not particularly bright. He was tall and balding and had somehow managed to combine a mullet with a really bad comb-over. With the greasy strands of hair falling to just above his collar, he looked like Billy Ray Cyrus’ “Where Are They Now” picture. Though sheriff was an elected position in Etowah County, Scooter had pretty much inherited the job from his deceased father and had run unopposed in the previous election. Having basically won a job no one else wanted, he took a great deal of pride in his alleged law enforcement abilities, and vowed to stamp out crime in Maple Fork, whether any existed or not. Having retrieved the wayward magazines, she got up with a cheerful greeting. Scooter was rarely seen anywhere near any type of reading material, and he quickly made it clear that this wasn’t about books.

  The sheriff rocked back on his heels, a mean feat considering the proportion of belly he had to cantilever in that position. “Callie, you know everybody in town is talking about that story.”

  Callie rolled her eyes. “Scoo…I mean, Sheriff Pettway, I know you’re not coming to talk to me about that.”

  “You know I’m all about enforcing the law, and if you’ve got…” he glanced around at the other customers and lowered his voice. “Working girls operating out of this establishment, I’m going to have to bring you up on charges.” Scooter prided himself on being up to date on police lingo. Apparently no one had bothered to tell him that police shows on television are not the best source of information.

  “Who in their right mind would try to run a business like that in Maple Fork? We’re an hour or more away from any major city!” Callie exclaimed, her irritation evident. She knew Scooter would sell his own mama for political advancement, but this was a new low, even for him. “Sheriff, the story was in a tabloid, for crying out loud, not in a respectable newspaper.”

  Scooter nodded knowingly, rubbing his chin in a way that would probably look intellectual on anyone else, but somehow made Scooter look dumber. “I know all about those drug-using Hollywood types. I saw you flitting around with that rocker and I knew something was up then. I told my deputy that anytime you see a white man with a black woman, there’s some shenanigans going on.”

  Callie had to bite her lip to contain the impulse to ask Scooter if he knew that from experience. Of course, he’d have to pay a woman to sleep with him, that is, assuming that he could even find his manhood under that massive belly.

  Scooter continued spewing his senseless invective. “What else could it be besides prostitution? You’re trying to be like that Heidi Fleiss, and I’m not going to have any of that going on around here, so you just know that I’ve got my eye on you!”

  Callie was amazed at her restraint. Had she not had a store full of customers, she would’ve given Scooter an earful for his blatant disrespect. The foul racism was astonishing for an elected official who was supposed to work for all the citizens of Maple Fork. There had been some talk about him being unnecessarily rough with black suspects, and now she could see the source of that behavior. She knew he was only looking for an excuse to arrest her, so instead of giving him the tongue lashing he deserved, she gave him her sweetest smile. “Tell you what, Sheriff, why don’t you watch me real closely right now. I’m about to go to work.”

  Scooter perked up. “Really?” he asked eagerly. “What are you about to do?”

  Callie walked briskly towards the break room. “I’m taking out the garbage. Last night I saw a huge rat out by the dumpsters. I’m sure you’ll want to visit your kin.”

  It took him a moment to digest and interpret the insult. Then he stopped in mid-stride and looked around the room. Clearly the presence of customers prevented his responding as he would have liked. Instead, with a grunt of frustration, he turned and left the store with an ominous, “I’ll be back.”

  Callie crossed her arms across her chest, primarily to restrain the urge to shove him out the door. “I’ll be waiting, jackass,” she muttered under her breath.

  * * *

  Even with the paparazzi being kept outside, she still had to deal with the people inside the store. There had been a sudden influx of customers generated by the media’s presence. There hadn’t been this much excitement in town since Emmitt Whitehead’s emus got loose and ran right down Broad Street. It had taken days to round up all the contrary birds. Of course, there hadn’t been any television cameras or reporters around when that happened. A regrettable fact actually. Nothing like a rampaging herd of emus to drive even the most determined paparazzi out of town.

  Even during the holidays, they never had crowds like this. The participants behaved as if in a poorly choreographed square dance; the people came to rubberneck at the reporters, and the cameras recorded the people. Under better circumstances, Callie would’ve been amused. Of course, the situation would have been funny only if the cameras were not pointed at her. Fortunately for her balance sheet, some of the people actually chose to buy books and magazines while they were there, so at least the fiasco had a profitable silver lining. She, Tonya, and Roshonda had worked constantly for the past two days, both on selling and restocking the shelves. Though the store was usually crowded on Saturdays, today it was almost standing room only. There couldn’t possibly be this many people in Maple Fork, Callie thought. Maybe folks were coming in from some of the surrounding communities to participate in the spectacle.

  Callie was ringing up sales while Tonya and Roshonda helped customers on the floor. She was gratified that at least the townspeople did not seem to believe the tabloid story. Some of the customers had gotten quite ugly with the reporters and others had reminded Callie that they knew the stories were all lies. They’d known her since she was a child, they’d said, and certainly knew her better than a bunch of California crazies. She didn’t have the heart to tell them that The Naked Truth was headquartered in Florid
a. As far as her neighbors were concerned, everything that was evil or insane had to come from California or New York. Besides, Florida wasn’t really a Southern state anymore. With all the snowbirds, it had pretty much become a suburb of New York City. Their support had lifted her spirits somewhat, and she was able to work during the day with some semblance of normalcy. But she still couldn’t bring herself to talk to Bryan. She didn’t really blame him for what had happened. In truth she faulted herself. After all, she’d entered a relationship with the man knowing full well how treacherous fame could be. Her daddy had always warned her that her good name was all she had. Well, she had jeopardized hers for…for what? Callie squelched the tiny voice that told her she’d risked it all for love. Sometimes love simply wasn’t enough, she whispered to herself fiercely.

  She thought it best to simply make a clean break with Bryan and leave it at that. The tour would be over in a week or so now, and she could make arrangements to return his gifts to him. Surely he would understand what that meant. If not, she would probably have to talk to him briefly, but by then she would be feeling stronger and better able to handle it.

  Ever since the story had broken the telephone had rung constantly with other tabloids wanting to get “her side of the story.” She wondered if tabloid reporters had moonlighting jobs as telemarketers. The similarity in their technique could not be mere coincidence. No matter how many times she declined their absurd offers, they continued to call. Every time she left the building there was a photographer there to snap her picture. How many shots of her taking out the garbage or making the daily bank drop could they possibly need?

  There was a brief lull in the clamor from the reporters, and then the door buzzer rang. Resigned to having to deal with yet another customer, Callie looked up, pleasantly surprised to see Granny, owner of the restaurant next door, striding purposefully towards her. Granny was a very large woman, standing well over six feet. She had a massive bosom and in her youth she had been called a handsome woman. Now she was simply stately. Her mahogany-colored skin was still smooth and soft as a girl’s though she had to be well into her seventies. She’d told Callie once that she never went to bed without smoothing Vaseline on her face. That ritual had apparently left her skin virtually wrinkle free. Callie was overjoyed when she saw that Granny carried what had to be one of her legendary apple-pear pies. It had been months since Granny had made one. Though she’d had no appetite for days, the sight of that succulent pastry set her mouth to watering. Granny placed the pie on the counter, then pulled Callie aside. There was a disgruntled murmur from the waiting customers when Granny pulled Callie away, but Granny quelled any discord with a sharp glance and a raised eyebrow.