“No problem, we’ll leave,” Justice says.
Instead of running, my threat pulls Shamus closer.
“From your fans. Wanted you to know that they’re pulling for you.” Insistent, he holds out a folded piece of paper until I take it, and I forget to count.
Drawn on a fast-food placemat, is graffiti done in shades of love. It looks like the inside of a very popular girl’s high school yearbook. So many well wishes, paragraphs of goodwill. Through a blur of tears, I read every word of encouragement. I laugh aloud at a marriage proposal written above a heart with JS+NK in the middle of it and how I wish I could find JS and give him a big fat ‘Yes!’ with all his friends watching. Personalized, it means the world to me. Tweezing the edges with my fingers, I lay the priceless gem on the bedspread and carefully pour over each word again.
“Thought you’d like to have it,” Shamus says and it’s then that I remember they’re even there.
With a watery smile, I say, “Thank you. It’s…everything.”
He nods, and I can tell he’s pleased to have pleased me. Interesting.
My voice sounds like it’s wearing a sweater when I say, “I’m disappointing them.”
Shamus shakes his head. Why does it feel like he's going to hug me? Before I can think anymore, Justice steps forward, almost holding his brother back. “But you don’t have too. We may look like sharks to you, but we come with a life raft in our teeth.” He holds a leather briefcase up and gestures towards the foot of the bed. “May I?” He asks.
I look at the hulk of man that’s passed the weigh in and ready for a fight and give Shamus a little seasoning. “I don’t know, Shamus. Your brother’s asking to be invited into my bed, what do you think?”
The set of his jaw tightens, and the sleeves of his jacket hang on for dear life, but his voice is neutral when he says, “I think you can trust my brother with your life.”
“All I needed to hear. Proceed Justice,” I say.
Justice pulls a sheaf of paper from the briefcase. “Los Angeles isn’t the place for you, Nova. It’s time to take a break.”
With a soft smile, he walks over to the door to close it.
“Leave it open!” I say, maybe a decibel too loud because Shamus takes two steps towards the door like he’s afraid I’m going to really start hollering. I’m not that crazy, yet.
Lowering my voice, I say, “It’s the staff. They said I had to leave the door open at all times. If you close it the nurse with all the tubes will come in and that one does not play. Continue.”
“Thank you,” Justice says. “It’s a lot of mumbo jumbo, but what it comes down to is this. We guarantee a total of fifty shows. We take care of the advertising, the venue, you just be you,” he says.
What kind of money are we talking about?” I ask.
“Right now, $100,000 per show.” And Justice is serious.
I laugh, I can’t help it. “Is this some kind of a joke?”
I check beneath the pillow for a mic. “Am I being punked?”
Serious as a heart attack, both men watch my antics. They can’t be serious?
“Oh gentlemen, I hate to break it to you. But I’m NovaKain. I’ve sold out football stadiums, had my own TV show…”
Resolute, Justice says, “And you just got kicked out of the Grammy’s. We’re taking just as much risk on you as you are on us. I mean, look where we’re holding this meeting. It’s a good round number to start with.”
With a sigh, I grumble, “I shouldn’t have told you that story.”
Shamus steps to the side of my bed and adds a little sweetener of his own. Smiling, he says, “Those other shows you mentioned? Were you in charge of every detail? Down to the outfits you’ll wear and the songs you’ll sing. Because you will be with us.”
I look up into his hopeful we can do this expression.
Deadpan, I say, “$200,000.”
“Agreed,” he says, without missing a beat.
Justice says, “Bro, you want my shirt too?”
“You said so yourself, Britney’s making half a million a show. I can afford it,” Shamus says, and he keeps looking at me with that wide open, I won’t hurt you look. He’ll do. He’s a pushover, A giver. An enabler. A man after my ever-longing addiction.
Justice shrugs. “It’s your money.”
To me, he warns. “But that’s the rock bottom price. You got me? No more raises until you’ve earned them.”
A mover and a swayer, he’ll be the one to get things that I need.
“Can I see it?” I ask sweetly and hold my hand out.
“Of course! Look it over. Think about it and get back to us. Here’s my card,” Shamus says.
Taking the sheath of papers, I don’t stop to read, I just flip to the end and turn it over. Surprised, I look up. “No comment section? Where would you like me to list my demands?”
Justice blinks twice before asking. “Pardon me, your Highness. Demands?”
I flip him off, but my eyes never leave the suit. He is a magnet that pulls my eyes.
Specifically, his soft lips. I stare openly until first one corner, and then the other lifts into an embarrassed smile before I realize. “You are blushing,” I say.
“Because no one ever looks at me that way. Need a pen?” Shamus asks and pulls a silver one from the inside pocket of his suit. Very nice, it’s monogrammed with an M in the middle of a green shamrock.
“I’m keeping this,” I say.
“Fine. Does that count toward your list of demands?” Justice asks.
I ignore him and try to make my list. But it keeps getting tangled up with one thought.
No one ever looks at me that way.
And, it’s me who’s blushing. Glancing sideways, I catch Shamus smiling down at me and roll my eyes. Okay, I know it wasn’t that way, but how was it that I was looking at him?
Who knows, I scrawl my demands on the back of the paper and hand it to Mr. Smiling Green Eyes.
But the pen I keep.
“This outta be good,” Justice says and reads over his brother’s shoulder.
Nova’s Nonnegotiable Needs
Whatever you’re paying me, add 10% and that money goes directly to charity.
No drug tests, ever.
I get to keep my assistant, Kiki Boloba.
“Kiki Boloba? Is that even a person?” Justice asks.
“Yes, that’s her stage name. She’s my assistant,” I say.
“Then why does she need a stage name?” Justice asks, and since I have no idea why, I’m glad when I see Shamus smiling.
Without consulting with his brother, he says, “Yes, to the first two, but it has to be a big no to the second, I’m afraid.”
My face falls. “Why not?”
Placatingly, he says. “Nova, you really have to ask? Whatever you’re paying her, ask for a refund. I’ve seen your name in the papers more in the last few days than I’ve seen my own. And mine’s on the front of my casino! No. She hasn’t handled you properly.”
“Really? And how should I be handled?” I ask.
“With care,” he says softly.
No one ever thinks of me that way. Those two little words flow over my soul, kissing old hurts along the way.
Until reality lays a path of destruction in their wake. “But I need her. Especially, if you want me to live in Las Vegas? I don’t know a soul there,” I whine.
“You know me,” Shamus says.
When I’m out of excuses, the real one pops out. “If she doesn’t come, who will get me…things?” I ask in a small voice.
Fuck me shades by the door smiles. “You just get to Vegas and I’ll personally get you everything you need.”
I want to believe him.
He’s the hardass, the one that will be making the rules. Shamus is the enabler, the pushover, already in my corner I can tell. But this one, he keeps his cards close to his vest.
“Justice come here. Remove your glasses please,” I say.
He does. Down to the hin
t of a crinkle at the corner, ready to twinkle, they’re the same as his brothers. Full of the same kindness, but most importantly, the same honesty.
“Brutal honesty. Do you believe in me?” I ask, staring him in the eye.
Justice doesn’t break eye contact, just shrugs, and says. “Never heard of you, but I believe there’s a 50/50 shot in everyone.”
Well, it isn’t undying devotion, but it’s a start.
“And you’ll get me anything I need, Scout’s honor?” I ask, holding up two fingers.
Bored, he says, “Whatever.”
And I believe him. In a river of bullshit, you recognize the truth when it floats by.
Telling the truth huh? I don’t know what game these two are playing at.
“Where do I sign?”
Justice folds a page back and points to a yellow arrow stick it.
“Here,” he says, but Shamus puts his foot down.
Incredulous, he asks, “Wait a minute. You’re not even going to read it?”
As I dot my I with a heart, he goes on like a mother hen. No one at the door, at the very least protect yourself…
All of it’s just a jumble of words that can be reorganized into new meaning. I saw it when he came in the door. Enabling his way into my room. The placemat, it was a good touch. The addict in me recognizes the enabler in him and she wants out. Wants to rub against his leg a little.
I give him a smile with the contract. “No need, just tell me where to be and what I need to bring. Three days from now. It was so nice meeting you two, I forgot where I was.” I look around the barren room and lament my cage.
Shamus commiserates. “Would it help if I talked to the nurses at the front desk and ask that they backdate your hold, to include time served? When they get it, that is.”
His lips keep moving, but I’m distracted by the crazy lady banging against the inside of my skull. Screaming at the top of her lungs. ‘WE AREN’T EVEN ON A HOLD YET? “What the…”
He goes on, yada yada, but it’s too late.
Holding on tight to the sheets, so I don’t jump up and run out on my new bosses, I ask. “Excuse me, I’m sorry. Did you say, I’m not on a hold?”
Reluctantly, Shamus looks to Justice for help. But he’s already shaking his head and stepping aside as I do, in fact find the will to get out of the bed on wobbly legs.
“Jackass! The one instruction Cody gave us, and you had to go and tell her?” He says. The scathing look his brother gives him I know. “That wasn’t part of the plan was it, Shamus?”
And he winks. I knew it. Shamus, my man!
To test my theory, I ask. “Shamus, you wouldn’t happen to have a little walking around money, would ya?”
“Yes ma’am.” The enabler in him is already pulling out his wallet and gesturing for his brother to do the same.
It’s like I was sleeping, just biding time, counting asbestos ceiling tiles and now Prince Shamus has awoken me with information. I’m free.
There’s no time for modesty now. The big red alarm is bleating in my head, go, go.
I drop the hospital gown to the floor and instantly regret it. My naked body is stained. Attempting to rub at the black spatters, I explain. “It’s charcoal, I threw up.”
Before I start the mad search, through cupboards and drawers for my clothes.
“What the fuck was I wearing?” I ask, trying to find a leg-hole in the sequined hand-towel of a skirt. Sliding my bare feet into my Ugg boots, I raise a hand and say. “Toodles, boys. Times up.”
“Try not to overdose…. again,” Justice says. I know he’s trying to sound snarky when he says it, so why does it sound like he’s my big brother looking out for me?
Shamus leans down and this time, I know he’s going to kiss me.
I meet him halfway. Hell, he can fall on the floor and play dead, I’d be more than happy to do all the work.
When his hand touches mine, something happens. It starts at my feet and like Novocain, spreads until my whole body becomes still. The next breath I take echoes in my head. This is what peace feels like.
Grateful for this moment his touch provides, I must look like one of my fans when I look up into his eyes.
Taken aback, he studies my face. “You’re a beautiful woman, Nova.”
Not a teeny bopper, girl, chick, kid, or ho, I’m a beautiful woman.
I am, I think with pride…as he leans down.
Of course, the cockblocker in the fuck me shades picks right now to say. “Shamus!”
Before Justice totally ruins our moment, I reach up and pull him closer.
“Come here,” I whisper.
I just want a little taste, just enough to wet my lips, and then I’ll quit. I promise.
He leans down, but he’s fucking tall. “Closer,” I mouth.
When he’s close enough that I can smell Irish Spring. Fuck it.
My hands tangle in his hair, my lips find his, and I kiss him. His exhale becomes my next breath. His hand is firm on my back as he holds me in place.
“I just want to know what a hit of you feels like,” I say and touch my lips to his one last time. A firm touch that is returned.
“Time to go,” I whisper, and the men leave without giving me grief. I’m doing a once over before I leave and a tall Asian man with good everything bows at my door. For a girl that had no prospects a few minutes ago, I’m flattered.
“Hello,” I say.
In the most non-threatening manner, he introduces himself and explains he’s been sent to talk to me and see if I meet criteria to be placed on a 5150.
“What criteria is that?” I ask, mimicking the openness of his face.
The smile on my face doesn’t falter, in fact, it gets bigger. How not to be a crazy person flits through my head and it hits me. Do the opposite of me.
Luckily, the casino guy clued me in. As he talks, two phrases pop out of the mumbo jumbo. Danger to Self, Danger to Others. Don’t be these. I think.
With just the right amount of polite interest, I nod in all the right places. When he stops to take a breath, I give a brief nod. “Let’s get started, shall we?”
Chapter 11
Shamus
“Don’t say a fucking word Justice,” I mutter, but it’s no use.
“I’ve got just one thing to say. What part of don’t move didn’t you understand. Told you not to move and you flinched. And that’s it. I’m not going to say anymore.”
Right there, that little shrug on the end, that’s all Uncle Tommy. So much like my uncle looked at the hospital. A look that asked where the fuck was I to let an invalid stroke patient step in front of a bus, on my watch.
The car starts right up.
“Pull over right here,” I say.
“What for? I’ve gotta work tonight, Shamus.”
“Just want to make sure that she makes it out of there.”
He doesn’t need to know I just want another look, something to take with me to Vegas.
And there she is. I catch a glimpse of her as she dives into the back of a Black Sedan, windows tinted and drives out of my life.
Disgusted, my brother says, “Wipe that stupid grin of your face. That kiss back there?” He says and waits till I look at him. “That’s how they say goodbye.”
Too protective already, I ask. “Nova?”
“Shamus, I don’t want to sound like a dick, but she’s one of them. One of the beautiful people. Just don’t get your hopes up, big brother. Clear your mind of every assumption you have about her. That poor defenseless girl? With the flirty pout and big guileless eyes that say, ‘who me?’ It’s a decoy. A slight of hand trick. She wants you to keep your eye on the pout while she steals your wallet. Only she didn’t need a gun to hold us up. You handed over the cash.”
You just broke the Handler’s Number one rule. Hand them their money, not yours.”
“The last thing I need is you trying to tell me how to spend my money,” I say and change the subject.
“Speaking of…this
mechanic look you’ve got going on. The jeans and ripped t-shirt is good for tooling around LA in a convertible, but if you want people to see you as more than a sex object, you’ve got to look like someone who can handle it.”
“Look who's speaking, underneath that suit you’re just as badass as me.”
“That’s right, under the suit. I wear my badass on the inside. Maybe you should do the same.”
Justice drops me at the airport. “You’re not coming?”
“Nah, I’ve got someone I’ve gotta see tonight. Talk to you soon brother.”
Uneasy, I walk through the tarmac. I almost asked her, right there at the end to come with us. Don’t try to do this alone, let me help. But I saw in her eyes, she wasn’t ready. Some battles, a girl needs to fight alone.
In the end, she’s a grown ass woman.
So, I get on the plane.
Chapter 12
NovaKain
My Uber premiere waits in front of the hospital and I’ve never been so glad to slam a door in my life.
“The Staple please,” I say and settle back into the seat.
Howard Stern is on the radio, and he’s talking to none other than fucking Rusty. Talking about me like I’ve already got a set of wings.
The shock jock says, “Heard she’s on a psychiatric hold. Absolutely bonkers. The Grammy’s gave her the boot. Those beat off posters they put up of her all over Hollywood have been torn down. It’s a crying shame. Tell me, do you still love her?”
“Love? I just hope I’m still the beneficiary on her will. You know…in case she doesn’t make it,” Rusty says and they both yuck it up and I feel like throwing up.
I lean forward and tap the drivers arm. “Turn that off please.”
“You don’t like Howard Stern?” He asks.
“No.”
Driving the rest of the way in silence, I’m relieved when he pulls up in front of the trendy hotel. “Don’t leave. I’ve just got to get my guitar.”
“Okay,” he says, but the engine’s still running.
“I’m serious,” I say.
Revving the engine once, he asks, “How serious.”
I give him a look over my shades as I pull the wad Shamus gave me out of my boot. “About three hundred dollars serious.”
Rock Bottom (The Handler Series Book 1) Page 9