Dirty Maverick (The Maxwell Family)

by Alycia Taylor

  I forced a smile and said, “Glad I missed it then, but it’s good to be back to work.”

  Clint and his assistant filed in and he called the meeting to order. Without mentioning names or job titles, like Molly and Keith had, he went over what they’d just told me. I saw poor Bob slump in his chair as if he was trying to make himself invisible. Clint emphasized the fact that one contestant had forfeited his chance at all the cash and fame and the employee had basically forfeited her career. Hollywood was a harsh place. If you were an actress or actor or even a model, one of the pretty people, you could get away with a lot; those of us behind the scenes, however, not so much. Once you were blackballed, you would play hell getting another production job in L.A.

  Clint wrapped up the meeting and then we were in a scramble to get things ready for the final rounds. The first one that day was at ten, or as soon as the judges decided to shuffle in. The bad thing about being back in L.A. was that all three of them lived there; getting them out of a hotel room was much less trouble than prying them away from their mansions.

  It was after eleven before Diva showed up. The other two judges were fit to be tied and talking all kinds of smack about her before she got there. As soon as she arrived however, everyone was back to kissing her ass. I guess some women were just born with that quality.

  The good news was that things ran different for the final rounds. I’d be in the conference room with Molly, lining up the contestants from one through twenty-four. I told Molly I’d work the front of the line, since I checked and saw that Tristan had drawn number twenty-three. She was working the area where they were seated, sending them to me up front two at a time. I saw Tristan in the back and the way he was looking at me, like a wolf at a lamb, I was happy Molly was there. Even Tristan wouldn’t be stupid enough to do or say something that could put us both in jeopardy…I hoped.

  The contestant’s got to sing a full three-four minute song that day, and the whole show was being filmed and would be fed out a few hours from now as being live. Later on, when we got down to twelve, it would actually be live. In the meantime, we would take advantage of the three-hour cushion between the East Coast and the West. Because of all of that, things were moving excruciatingly slow.

  The contestants were served lunch and there was a table in the back laden with snacks and drinks for them to take at their leisure. It was for us, too, and I was dying for something to drink, but Tristan was next to the table. When he wasn’t madly texting on his phone, he was strumming his guitar and staring at me. I wondered what he was thinking; I couldn’t help myself. He didn’t smile or wave, he wasn’t glaring or looking angry—he was just looking at me. I didn’t want to walk over there and make him think I was in any way interested in talking to him.

  He looked really good that day though. I guess either his agent helped him decide what to wear, or his brain wasn’t quite as muddled as I had thought. He had on a pair of nice designer jeans that were just mildly faded to give them a gently worn look. He wore a light blue t-shirt, and over the top of that, he wore a light-blue and tan plaid button-up that was left open down the front. I was surprised to see that he’d also worn that silver cross he used to wear all of those years ago. He’d gotten a haircut, and it was actually styled, and he was clean shaven. His dark eyes still didn’t have a real clear look to them, but he at least looked like a well-groomed stoner. I was personally wishing he’d shown up looking like shit. It would have gone far in cementing my decision to stay far away from him.

  The room was clearing out by late afternoon and I took the opportunity when Tristan got up to use the bathroom to run over and grab a water and granola bar. There were only three contestants left besides him, two that would go before, and one after. The rest of the contestants had been set free for the rest of the day and would be back first thing in the morning for an elimination round.

  I realized after I sent number twenty-two out that I was holding my breath. I really hoped that he just stood up there like the rest of them had, waiting his turn like a normal human. I should have known that Tristan acting like a normal human was a completely abstract concept. What he did when I called out his number was stroll up next to me like he was god’s gift to the world. I kept my eyes pointed out towards the stage, pretending that I was too busy to notice him. A normal person may have taken the hint, but not Tristan.

  Tristan threw his arm around my shoulders and when I looked at him in shock he said, “Hey sexy,” with a grin.

  I heard Molly clear her throat before I even had time to react. I threw his arm off of me and glared at him. The son of a bitch was still smiling. I’d almost missed that number twenty-two was finished and walking off the stage until Tristan asked, in a low, raspy voice, “How about a good luck kiss?”

  I had my mouth opened to tell him that he’d lost his fucking mind when he stepped in, put his hand on my hip and kissed me full on the mouth. Then he casually turned and strolled out onto the stage, guitar in hand. I stood there for a few seconds, trying to process what the hell had just happened. I could feel Molly’s eyes boring into me from behind. I turned around slowly and with the best “What the Fuck?” look I could muster I shrugged my shoulders.

  I didn’t really know Molly well enough yet to discern what the look on her face meant, but my anxiety riddled brain interpreted it as shock and disgust. I wanted to fade to black.

  MY ROCK #2

  Chapter One

  Tristan

  I alternated between loving and hating L.A. Today, I fucking hated it. I was stripped down to nothing but my jeans and I was still sweating like a fucking pig on a spigot. Supposedly you didn’t need air-conditioners in the City of Angels. Apparently the guy who came up with that idea was from out of town. It was hard to think when it was this damned hot. I had to be back on stage for the next “elimination round” for Fresh Voices in a couple of days and I wanted to knock their socks off. I had kind of thought I didn’t really care about that shit anymore. As long as I had a place to play my music a couple times a week and they paid me enough to pay my bills and have a little left over for recreation purposes, I was good. Then all of a sudden I was back on a real stage with the hot lights in my face and real equipment that didn’t fucking screech in the middle of your set….it was like I was suddenly back home. I ate up the applause, and knowing people were sitting at home watching me on television was addictive.

  I reached for my blunt…this was the fantastic thing about living here in Southern Cali. Being so close to the border meant that I didn’t have to buy shit that some crack head grew in his kitchen or in his granny’s garden out back. This stuff was grown and cut by professionals in Mexico where it should be. They know what they’re doing over there. I didn’t smoke anything but Acapulco Red and it was some good shit. Sprinkle it with some high-grade coke and wrap it in a cigar and you got yourself one mother-fucking good blunt.

  Damn! I really need to stop getting distracted with the heat and my smoke and write this damned song. I want to win this shit. I want a million fucking dollars. I’d never even seen that kind of money. I was sixteen when I started playing music so of course my parents decided to become “managers” like every other fucking child star’s parents in this shitty town. They did okay…for a while. Somewhere along the way the old man got me to agree to sign some paperwork that said he’d be my manager and the trustee for my assets and income until I was twenty-one. I was probably high at the time…and it was probably from something that mother fucker had given me.

  I did my first stint in rehab at seventeen…before Uptown Boyz had even gotten famous. The record producer said if I didn’t clean up my act he would take steps to terminate the contract. The old man panicked at the thought of losing all that cash and he took me to some hide-away cult in the Santa Ana hills that called themselves a rehabilitation facility. I stayed there for a month with a few other “child stars” and I learned a lot. Most of it had nothing to do with staying clean, but when I got out, I kept that part to myself. F
or a while, I kept it together and acted like a good boy…I loved performing and losing that option was the only threat that worked on me. I didn’t have any real friends, what I had were followers…audiences…fans…I was lost without them. Those other shitheads in the band were straight-arrows. They all had mommies that followed them around and made sure they weren’t letting the over-night fame go to their heads. My mommy was busy doing other things….like the record producer and a couple of the daddies and God only knows who else.

  While she was doing them and I was touring and earning fucking millions of dollars, the old man was “investing” my money. By the time I was twenty-one and the band broke up and I went to him and told him I wanted control back of my money there was about fifty grand left. My parents both partied like wild ass teenagers and by the time I relieved them of the paltry sum they’d saved for my future, Mommy was a crack-head and Daddy had gotten a taste for brown sugar in a syringe. Big fucking waste of oxygen, both of them.

  I took another hit off the blunt and wrote a few more notes. My mind wouldn’t be still. I crushed out the blunt and picked up the bong. I needed to lay off the powder for now and calm my thoughts down so I could write.

  Chapter Two

  Elly

  The first thing I did when I got to work on Monday morning was look at the schedule and breathe a sigh of relief. Tristan wasn’t due up again until Thursday. After that the show would go live and if he made the first cuts he’d be in the studio twice a week. I would need to make sure and stay far away from him. I was lucky that Molly was the one who’d seen him kiss me. I had a few days before he came back in at least to either do damage control with Molly, or she had a few days to forget about seeing that kiss. Either way it needed to be forgotten and it needed to not happen again. Molly and I had started becoming pretty good friends. Good enough that I hoped and even prayed a little that she hadn’t gone to Clint with what she’d witnessed already. I had obsessed about it all weekend.

  “Hi Elly,” It was Molly. I guess this was the moment of truth.

  “Hey Molly, how was your weekend?”

  “It was good. My boyfriend and I took his nephew to Disneyland. It was fun, but the kid wore me out.”

  I smiled, sometimes when I heard Molly or some of my other friends talking about the things they did with their boyfriends…just normal, everyday things, I felt a little envious. I imagined what it would be like to have a relationship like that, one that was about normal everyday life and not where the next party was at…or the sex….

  “Hey Elly, can we talk for a minute before we get started?” Molly was looking around to make sure no one else in the room was listening. Everyone was bustling to get things set up. It was what Molly and I should be doing, and I’d rather be doing…but I guess I’d better get this over with before I let it gnaw an ulcer through the lining of my stomach.

  “Sure Molly, what’s up?”

  I almost laughed as she looked around again and then took me by the arm and led me over into the corner. Her suspicious demeanor was likely to draw attention by itself.

  When we got as far away from everyone else as we could she said, “I’m not usually nosy. Some things are just not my business and I’m okay with that. But I like you, Elly and I know how important this internship is for you. I love working with you too. You pull your weight and you make it fun. With all that being said, I have to ask what’s up with you and that Rogers guy?”

  I took a deep breath and for a second, I thought about lying. I couldn’t do that though. She’d come to me with her genuine concern and she’d been honest and direct, I owed her at least that much.

  “Do you remember the band Uptown Boyz?”

  “Yeah sure,” Molly said. “I danced my first dance to one of their songs.”

  I smiled because I had too. “That guy, Tristan Rogers was part of the band. As far as I was concerned at twelve years old, he was the band. At fifteen I still had the crush, but it had waned a bit. After a while the crush faded and I was over it. But then I saw him performing at a bar not too long ago. It was before we had started production and before I had any clue he would be a contestant. We kind of…hooked up that night.”

  “That’s why he looked so familiar! I knew I’d seen him somewhere but I just couldn’t place him. It’s been…what…six or seven years since they quit putting out albums.” She looked like she was thinking about that then suddenly she grinned broadly and said, “You got hot and nasty with an Uptown Boy! Go girl!”

  “Shh!” I told her with a laugh.

  “Seriously though,” she said, “I’m just afraid someone else will figure it out and talk to Clint or Jake about it. You don’t have to worry about me. I won’t say anything….if you really like him you should go for it. Just be careful.”

  “I don’t,” I said, too quickly. “I don’t really like him. It was something that I never do…just sex. I can’t even explain it, it was like being a teenager again and unable to control my hormones.”

  “He’s pretty hot…when he cleans up,” she said.

  “I know, huh?” I said with a giggle like a little girl. Where the hell did that come from? “I think the grunge thing is part of his whole persona now.” I really didn’t. From the looks of his apartment, he was just a little bit lazy, I think. Maybe too busy partying, but I didn’t want to think about that. The real question is why I feel the need to defend him. He’s hardly been nice to me. I had no idea where that compulsion came from, but it was there.

  “So, did he tell you the real reason the band broke up?”

  We had spoken so little that I was probably lucky he even told me his name, but I wasn’t close enough to Molly yet to share that with her. Said out loud it translates into me being some kind of desperate slut who’s willing to have sex with a guy who has nothing to say to her. I’d let poor Susie be my dumpee there for now. Instead I just said,

  “No, he doesn’t really talk about it.”

  “I heard it was because he had to keep going back to rehab. If I remember right, he was in rehab four or five times. I saw an article once where he talked about it. He said that his parents started giving him uppers and downers when he was just a kid.”

  “Seriously?” I’d like to find that article now. It might give me a little insight into the enigma that he was. “That sucks. I can’t imagine having parents like that.”

  “Yeah, I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to work on a show that promotes child stars. I think maybe fame is just too much on a kid’s psyche. They always seem to turn out so messed up. Or maybe the parents who are drawn to put their kids in show business are the messed up ones. I’ll stick to working with adults who act like children,” she said with a giggle. Then she said, “Have you been to his place?”

  I almost visibly shuddered at the memory, but I suppressed it and said,

  “Yeah, once.”

  She looked excited again and said, “Is it really nice?” I remember seeing a magazine spread in Teen Beat one time of where he lived. I was about thirteen at the time and the house was a sprawling mansion in Orange County. I thought about how hard his life must have been to go from that to where he is now.

  “No…he actually lives,” how to put this delicately? “He just lives like a normal person.”

  “Maybe he doesn’t have any money left. I hear that happens to a lot of them too.” Molly was a walking gossip column.

  “Yeah, I’ve heard that too, it’s sad.”

  “I shouldn’t speculate since I don’t know him,” she said, “But he has to be at least close to broke, right? I mean, he’s auditioning for a reality show that promotes new talent when he was already part of a band that traveled the world and sold out concerts…He’s got to be doing it for the money, right?”

  I didn’t really know. I barely knew anything about him except that he was great in bed. I looked up at the clock and realized that it was after eight already and we needed to get to work. I also still felt like I wanted to protect him and I felt bad, lik
e we were talking behind his back.

  “All boy bands must come to an end, right?” I said.

  Molly smiled and said, “Yes, but then they should all go on to become Mark and Donny Wahlberg. They don’t need a boy band to be sexy.”

  I laughed and said, “In a perfect world.” In my mind, I was thinking, that neither did Tristan. I didn’t say that to Molly though. I was already trying to get her to forget about that kiss. “I’m going to start lining these contestants up, but Molly…thank you. I can’t tell you how much it means to me that I can trust you not to say anything.”

  “Ah, it’s no more than you would do for me. What are friends for?” she said. “Just be careful, girl.”

  “You can bet on it,” I told her. As I walked away, ready to get this day moving I felt like the weight that was on my chest all weekend had been removed.

  Chapter Three

  Tristan

  Wednesday morning I had to drag my ass out of bed at the crack of dawn. It wasn’t easy. I tossed back two Rockstar energy drinks and did a quick line, trying to wake myself up. About half an hour later when I got out of the shower, I realized that was a mistake. I was so amped up then that I couldn’t sit still. Fuck! I had to be at the studio to meet with the musicians by nine. It was already ten after eight. I rolled a quick joint and took a few hits off of it. I hoped that would calm my ass down enough that I might be able to concentrate. I think it helped.

  Once I got on the road I remembered that another thing I hated about L.A. was the traffic. Besides the fact that I just loved the feeling that being on the bike gave me, I kept it because it was a hell of a lot easier to weave in and out of traffic than it was to beat the shit out of the morons who were constantly getting in your way. I don’t have a good grip on my temper sometimes and I do suffer from road rage. I blame it on the fact that California is populated by idiots, but since I don’t want to go to jail, I do things to try and avoid it. Sometimes I took a taxi around town if it was too cold or too far to go on the bike. Those drivers are bad-ass. They don’t have to worry about road rage….or even simple laws for driving. If someone gets in their way, they’ll just drive up on the fucking sidewalk. It’s a beautiful thing, as was my driving today on the bike….