Hope to Lie (DeSantos Book 2)

by A. R. Case

  Crank glanced between the two other people in the room. “Huh. I’ll be damned, you are perfect.”

  “Oh, I’m far from perfect.” Alexis wasn’t exactly addressing anyone in the room.

  Chapter 16 — Pawn

  A week and a half before the show

  The winter sun heated up the spot near the balcony where Alexis set up her gear. The mandala of electronics was the sum of ten years of hard scrabbling. Her first microphone got moved to the “sell” pile. A new one, to the other side. The in-ear monitors and studio monitors, to the sell pile. Her laptop, now four years old, was with the microphone, as was the Scarlett and her headphones. The sampler sat in the middle on her lap. She should pawn it.

  Chris walked in, startling her.

  “You’re home early.”

  “Fucking Hammond. Canceled the contract.”

  “Oh no. Vianne got to him, huh?”

  Chris shook his head. She had, and he hadn’t set up the dinner like he promised, but those weren’t the only reasons he’d backed out. “Ellis turned down the waterfront deal as it stands. It went south from there.”

  Alexis bit her lip. Dylan had an adequate sound system, but it wasn’t great. She’d been on the phone all morning talking to the club about their setup, and to sound engineers to find something to rent for the gig that would augment the house sound. Luckily, she’d found out about the issues early, so she still had time to pawn her gear and get someone down for Friday. But they were expensive.

  “You working?” He looked at the gear spread out around her.

  “Not exactly.”

  He settled in as close as he could without disturbing the piles. There was even a pile of clothes. “What are you doing?”

  “Sorting.”

  A nod stopped halfway on the way back up. Chris tilted his head and looked at everything. “Why?”

  “It’s nothing.” She packed the Scarlett audio interface and the microphone in her bag. The sampler went with the other pile.

  “You moving out on me?”

  She glanced up, trying to determine if he was angry. “No.” God no, if she didn’t have a place to stay, she’d have to give up everything. Being able to crash at Chris’s was the only thing keeping her alive right now. And she was so close.

  The keep pile only filled half her duffel.

  “I got…” She stopped. “It’s for the gig this week.”

  Chris looked at the piles. “Don’t you use that when you sing?” He pointed at the in-ear monitor she’d put in the sell pile.

  She’d have to make do with the house monitors. With only four hundred dollars in her bank account, there was not enough to cover everything. She had no gigs to pay for food, about a hundred in pawnable gear, and the rental and sound engineer was over six hundred because she wasn’t going to scrimp on this.

  “Alexis?”

  “I need to rent additional sound gear.”

  “What’s the problem then?” His face changed. “You’re not pawning your stuff, are you?”

  “Ugh!” She slapped her hands on the floor. “Don’t start.” The momentum from hitting the floor helped propel her to standing, and she promptly walked as far away as she could.

  “Start what?” He followed her to her room.

  “The responsible adulting lecture.”

  He crossed his arms and leaned on the door jam. “How does that go?”

  Alexis glared at him.

  “Okay, let’s look at the options. What are you working with?”

  Her glare dropped downward. “I’ve got four hundred and six dollars, and thirty-two cents.” She patted the bag next to her. “I can’t sell this stuff, in case it falls through, but the other stuff might get me over a hundred.”

  “What about the other members of the band?”

  “I didn’t ask.”

  His eyes closed. One opened, and his face was twisted up. “How did you do shows before? Did you rent or…?”

  “Chris.” The tone of her voice was dangerous.

  He sat down next to her. “Talk to me, okay?”

  “I don’t need you helping me.”

  He gave her the side-eye. “I’m trying to get you to think rather than react.”

  “Caveman biker asshole.”

  “I haven’t been called that in years.” A smile of amusement quirked up one corner of his mouth.

  “Okay, I’m thinking.” Her face twisted up in distaste. “Dylan has a sound system. But if I use his, he will hold it over my head, and then he’ll expect to sign with us if the label likes us. And that’s not going to happen because I am not putting up with his drunk ass screwing everything up.”

  “When.”

  “What?”

  “When the label asks you to sign. You’re going to be a star, remember?”

  She dropped her head so he couldn’t see her eyes. “Thank you.”

  “I could help, you know. You don’t have to go to Dylan.” A part of him felt proud to say that.

  “But you just lost your contract.”

  “And I got that shit with Crank on the side, decent credit, and equity. It’s not like I’m going to starve. How much?”

  “Absolutely not. No, nyet, nein, non, Méiyǒu.”

  “Wow. Five languages.”

  “Seven, no, eight. Spanish, Portuguese, English, and Italian all say no.”

  “Where did you learn all that?”

  “Waitressing on the boardwalk. They ship in people from all over the world for the tourist season since there aren’t enough workers who live here full time.”

  “I wondered how you made money.”

  “I don’t like you right now.”

  “Yes, you do.” He changed the subject. “Speaking of Dylan, did you find a different bassist yet?”

  She picked at the blanket.

  Chris tapped his foot, trying to wait her out. If she hadn’t thrown a fit about getting an adulting lecture, he would be telling her everything that was going through his head. But it wouldn’t get them anywhere. “You haven’t, I take it. Does he know it isn’t a permanent gig?”

  “Ugh! Now I hate you.” She walked out, then came back in. “My room. Get out.”

  Chris laughed, stood up, and kissed her. “You’re cute when you’re mad.”

  She bit his lip but not hard. “I might have to use Dylan and the others on Friday. But all of them know it isn’t permanent.”

  “Put your stuff away, there’s going to be an advance once you sign. You can pay me back. Get the good sound system, and forget asking Dylan for shit. And a word of advice, talk the band lineup over with your agent before you sign. Get his take on things to be certain you can’t get sued. I’d hate to see you have that hanging over your head right as you get started.”

  He moved to leave, but she gripped him tight. “What am I going to do?”

  “About?”

  “I’ve never been rich.”

  “Ah.” He smiled. “You technically won’t be rich. I wouldn’t get your hopes up too far. It’s not like you’re going to have more than six figures. In fact, you might not even get six.”

  “Six, as in a hundred thousand dollars?” Her knees buckled.

  Chris moved her back to the bed so she could sit.

  “For framing, I went through just over three hundred and seventeen thousand last quarter in materials.”

  The shock on her face was visible. “You said you weren’t rich.”

  “I’m not.” He kept his eyes locked on hers. “The business is expensive, I take a salary which keeps me solvent, but in good years, the bonus makes up for it. Now, this isn’t an adulting lecture, it’s advice. Do not think that a hundred thousand dollars is a lot of money. A half-million is not a lot if you’re spending it faster than it gains interest. If you invested the whole of it right
now, you’d be okay, but rich people expect you to spend on bullshit stuff, and there’s always someone asking for more.”

  “Vianne.”

  “Precisely. And there are going to be a lot of people making assumptions about you and your wealth. If you fall into that trap, you’d better be able to keep up with it or the money will disappear.”

  “Are you going to be okay without that contract?”

  His face flickered. “It won’t be good this year, but I’ll survive. Frankly, that woman was costing me more than the contract was worth.”

  “You fell into the trap.” She smiled.

  “Yeah. So don’t do as I do, got it?”

  Her laughter was contagious. When it died down, she asked, “How do I get smarter without making the mistakes?”

  Chris shrugged. “Educate yourself. You won’t be able to cram in a legal education, but you should be able to look up what to expect, and some of the terminology. I can help if you want.”

  “Deal, personal assistant.”

  “Did I just get another job?”

  “Absolutely.” Her grin got wicked.

  ~~~~~~~

  Later that week

  Chris’s phone rang. “Hey, Rock Star, I was hoping you’d call.”

  “Hey, yourself, bad boy.”

  Chris smiled at the nickname. “How’d it go with the agent?”

  “Well, let’s see. He spoke that lawyer language magic hoodoo. I fell asleep. And I can’t seem to remember much after that, except I’m supposedly having Justin Beiber’s love child. And Lord knows that’s a damn lie because I’m more of a Neymar, Jr., girl, so someone slipped me a mickey when I wasn’t looking.” As if her story wasn’t outlandish enough, her voice betrayed her lies.

  “Justin Beiber, huh? Bigger or smaller than I am?”

  “He ain’t got nothing on you.”

  Chris laughed. “So seriously, you okay?”

  “Flying pretty high right now. He says he’s going to negotiate for six figures, and no Dylan.”

  “Yeah? A good six, or just okay six?” After doing their research, Christ helped her prepare for negotiations, including what she should tell the agent to turn down for being too low.

  “A little better than okay, I guess. He will work for me to keep author rights. If things go well on Friday, he says I’ll need to get in the studio by March, and the first release has got to be done by June in order to go on a six-month tour and promo. If I hit two releases before the two years are over, I’m golden, they’ll have to add on to the contract.” She stopped. “Chris, a tour. I’m dying. This is so crazy.”

  “You ask about the long stop we talked about?”

  “Five years.”

  “That’s good, you won’t be stuck with the label if they aren’t helping you, or they get bought out. And the key-man?”

  “He’s on board a hundred percent.”

  “Where are you now?”

  “Oh, that’s the best part. I’m waiting in this swanky VIP lounge for the car service Ellis paid for. It’s got a television in the bathroom, mounted on the wall next to the toilet so you don’t miss a thing. And there’s mirrors everywhere.”

  “The agent isn’t being a creep, is he?”

  “No, he already left. He’s on his way to New York. There’s a second label he’s courting. Says he’s trying to set up a bidding war for Friday.”

  “That’s good. Which lounge?”

  “Honestly? I haven’t checked. It’s got red wallpaper. I was blown away by the bathroom TV thing. Oh, and I got mistaken for a hooker downstairs.”

  Chris sat up straight. “What?”

  “Some old dude offered me five hundred bucks to give him a blow job. I told him my lawyer charged five times that to screw me in the ass. I don’t think he thought I was funny.”

  “Be careful.”

  “Yes, Mom.”

  “Alexis, I’m serious. If it’s the place I’m thinking it is, you’re safe there. But don’t go wandering around. Especially now that it’s dark.”

  “What? You think I’ll get robbed, or abducted? You do know I lived under a park bench in Central Park for a month one summer, right?”

  He shuddered just thinking about it. “I don’t know if that was truth or a lie.”

  “Lie. It was a basement in the Battery with a broken door, and five other kids, one was only twelve. Shit. Forget I said that, Chris. Okay?”

  “I will definitely try to forget that. Shit.” His mind wandered for a moment.

  She was laughing again, telling a whopper of a story. That was a good thing. With this contract, there’d be changes. He didn’t want to lose her, but the opportunity she now had was more than he could compete with. As they talked, he tried to keep it as light as possible. That way, when the time came to say goodbye, it wouldn’t hurt as much. He didn’t know if it would be her that got hurt or him.

  Chapter 17 — VIP

  The hall was packed. Alexis peeked out at the crowd. Crank was sitting with the Philly president, Redd, up in the VIP section. The two were seated at the tables held for her guests. Chris was currently in the green room with Tony and his wife, Susan, the four people from the labels, and her agent. The band she’d assembled were professionals, except for Dylan. It had been difficult to practice on short notice. Luckily, Bob from the Cave had canceled open jams for the week.

  They made it here, too. Bob and a couple of the bartenders from the Cave were out there. About twenty of her friends from Atlantic City had made the trip to support their fellow musicians on stage. But mostly it was a sea of leather coats. Many of the men wore their Brigands patches openly. The opening act, a local band from Philly, was supposed to be the headline act for the night. The strings Crank had pulled bumped them down to opener. She tried to talk to them when they set up, but the Brigand bodyguard hovering behind her kept their answers short. They passed her in the narrow hallway, loading their gear out.

  “You sounded good,” she told the singer as he passed.

  He glanced at her before looking around for her biker bodyguard. “Thanks. Good luck tonight.”

  “Hey, when you go upstairs, the lady in the gray dress is the label rep, and the guy with her in the blue tie is her assistant. Don’t talk to him, talk to her. And the guy in the Hawaiian shirt, he’s a promotional consultant. He talks a lot but some of it is gold. The other guy, he’s the one with the checkbook.”

  The singer stopped. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because I appreciate you guys giving up the headliner for us. Good luck up there.” Her eyes traveled upward, indicating the green room.

  His face changed. “You rock. Thank you.” He glanced at the stage. “Knock ‘em dead.”

  “Always.” She grinned.

  Chris shot Alexis a thumbs up from the stairwell above where she waited. Then, he and the others exited on that level to take their seats in the balcony that overlooked the stage. The techs they’d hired finished and gave her a sign they were ready for her to take the stage. She checked the scene on her level. The crowd rivaled some of the New York clubs she’d been in. She passed the signal to the band. Dylan was off to the side, slamming his beer. She glanced at the guitarist. He’d seen it, too. She counted to five, then led the way to take the stage. Some of the bikers in the front whistled. For them, she gave her wickedest smile. Then, she pointed up to the table with Crank, Tony, Redd, Susan, and most importantly, Chris, and gave a wink in his direction. “For everyone out there right now wondering who the fuck I am, who the fuck cares? Let’s rock this motherfucking roof off! This is for you.” Right on cue, the guitarist lit it up. She jumped in and the rest of the band followed. It didn’t matter if this one was for the contract, the people here needed a show. Alexis Canens, Chris’s rock star, was going to give it to them.

  By the third song, the crowd was right up against
the stage. Two of the biggest guys in leather jackets moved to each side to keep the people off the stage itself. Alexis launched into an original, one of the simpler ones they’d practiced that week. Dylan missed the intro, but the rest of the guys were rocking it. She followed it up with another cover so she could keep the crowd. It had a solo for the guitar, so she strutted to the side where Dylan was. She swung an arm around him and off-mic said, “We’re rocking it, don’t get scared.”

  He glared at her, then remembered he was on stage and smiled. It was more like baring his teeth at her. If her words got him angry, she didn’t care. He played better angry. True to form, the next original went much better.

  For the three-quarter mark, she slowed it down. “I think only one person in the crowd has heard this one.” She waved at the balcony. “Hey, Chris.” The lights dimmed to just a spotlight on her. The guitarist switched out to his acoustic and began strumming. The rhythm he set became her heartbeat and her blood. The lyrics verbalized the love she had for the stage. At a certain point, the song shifted. It morphed into starlight on tattoos and scars. The love for these things echoed the prior verses. Her focus was on the darkness of the balcony. Lights from phone screens lit the crowd, and she transformed them into the city skyline at night through her song.

  The last echoes from the guitar faded.

  It wasn’t the applause she looked for in the pause. She was looking for the mood. Happy was good, even some sad was okay. Bored was not. Some of the crowd in front had pressed in, others had faded back to pair up. The latter meant she had to take them high again. They had three covers lined up for the finale and had picked them for a crowd like this. By the last one, she’d figured out where the label representatives were and made certain they were acknowledged when she thanked the crowd.

  They left the gear in place to tear down after everyone left and gathered at the landing of the back stairs.

  “We fucking rocked!” Dylan slapped the drummer on the back.

  The guitarist squeezed past him. “We? You fucked the intro on the first original.”