Wicked White

by Michelle A. Valentine

  I shake my head. “No, because I’m pretty sure I got to know Ace Johnson pretty well over the last month. You can introduce me to Ace White slowly.”

  He shakes his head. “You don’t need to know Ace White. He’s a fucking poser and I hate him.”

  I frown, not liking the way he’s speaking about himself. “Ace . . . he’s a part of you. Don’t say that.”

  “But it’s true, Iris. None of what Ace White does is me. It’s all an act. It’s not my kind of music, clothes, or even the fucking hairstyle—the record label that discovered me . . . that was all part of my contract. I signed it because I thought it was my big break and that someday Mopar Records would give me a shot to become the artist I really want to be. Singing this lame-ass pop rock that I didn’t have any creative input on isn’t me.”

  I reach over and thread my fingers through his. “Is that why you left?”

  He shrugs. “That’s part of it. No one in that business gives a damn about me. I was just a voice and a face to them, not a person. They discounted my feelings and, well, it was the tipping point when my foster mother, Sarah, was on her deathbed and they wanted to stop me from going to her because I had scheduled shows. She was the only person in this world that ever took the time to love me—to care about me. I was going to be damned if I put people who didn’t give a shit about me before her, so I left—just walked out and walked away from everything. I was tired of killing myself to make everyone around me rich while making myself miserable.”

  My heart squeezes in my chest. “I’m sorry they treated you that way.”

  He frowns. “That’s why I’m never going back. I signed a contract, and I’m sure if they find me, they can threaten me with enough lawsuits that I’ll give in, so that’s why I’m running. I don’t want to be found. I don’t want to be forced back into the spotlight.”

  Everything begins making perfect sense. “So if they get to close to finding you here . . .”

  “Then I’ll leave,” he whispers. “Only now, being with you like this . . . it’ll make it impossible for me to not look back.”

  Ace takes both of my hands in his. “I don’t know exactly what this is, but it’s real, and I’m tired of trying to fight it. I want you . . . and I want to see where this leads. If the reporters or my bitch of a tour manager, Jane Ann, get too close, I want you to leave with me.”

  I gasp. “I can’t just leave this place behind . . . I have to stay and figure out how to get the taxes paid so everyone doesn’t lose their homes.”

  “If the time comes, I’ll pay for the taxes. You can leave Birdie or Adele in charge, and we’ll leave—just you and me.”

  I debate what exactly I’m agreeing to here if I say yes—a life on the run like a fugitive. “I don’t know if I can do that.”

  “It won’t be forever, Iris. We’ll come back eventually, after the frenzy surrounding the band and my disappearance dies down. What I need is a good attorney who can read my contract and give me some solid advice.”

  That doesn’t sound so bad. His plan seems logical, and I completely understand his reasoning for not facing the label and the media until he’s ready. But besides all that, I don’t want to be without him. He’s worth leaving everything behind for a while.

  Finally, I nod. “Okay. I’ll go with you when the time comes, but in the meantime you can talk to Mr. Stern. He’s the attorney who handled Gran’s estate, and I’ve known him my entire life. You can trust him.”

  Ace nods. “Okay, we’ll have to go to Sarah’s house in Columbus and get my contract so the attorney can go over it.”

  Ace grins and pulls me into him, suddenly seeming extremely happy. “Thank you.”

  “For what?” I ask, confused because I haven’t really done anything to be thanked for.

  “For agreeing to leave with me, and”—he gives me a wry smile—“for agreeing to be mine. No one has ever belonged to me before.”

  I raise my eyebrow, not believing that this sweet, intelligent, beautiful man before me has never had anyone be his before. “No one?”

  He shakes his head. “No one has ever been the total package before—just you, Iris. You’re the one.”

  This is all happening so fast, but I don’t care. I’m not going to allow the logical side of my brain to ruin this happiness for me. For now I will revel in it. For now I am his.

  ACE

  I readjust my arm and then trace my fingers along Iris’s skin as she sleeps. Now that I’m allowed, I can’t bring myself to stop touching her. I always feared that having the chance to share intimate moments like this with her would cause me to have an addiction, and I was right.

  I sigh as I watch her in peaceful slumber. Yes, I’m afraid that it’s far too late for me to back out of this now. She’s already taken a piece of my heart, so I don’t know at this point if it was ever possible to stop this from happening.

  It’s almost as if we were fated to be.

  I place my lips softly against her forehead, and she stirs, moving slowly, stretching her muscles awake. “Good morning, beautiful.”

  She snuggles into my side and pulls the blanket up around her shoulders. “Good morning.”

  “Are you hungry?”

  She nods and then giggles. “Yes, considering we skipped dinner last night and went straight for dessert . . . all night long.”

  A grin spreads across my face as I remember back to exactly how many ways we had our dessert last night. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of hearing this stunning creature moan my name in moments of unadulterated bliss.

  A little growl rumbles low in her belly and I laugh. “Yes. I will most definitely have to remember to feed you from here on in.”

  “If only we could live on the dessert alone, then we’d never have to leave this bed.” She sighs happily.

  “That’d be nice,” I agree, and then her stomach rumbles again, causing me to sit up. “I’ll be right back.”

  She frowns and touches my wrist. “Don’t take too long.”

  I laugh and touch the tip of her nose with my index finger. She’s adorable when she pouts.

  I whip into the kitchen and grab the pizza box out of the fridge. I go to the cabinet Iris got the plates from last night and get a clean one and begin loading it down with as many slices as it will hold.

  After heating the food up in the microwave, I grab a can of soda from the fridge and rush back into the bedroom.

  I sit on the edge of the bed and set the plate between us. “Sustenance.”

  “Indeed.” Iris smiles at me, her green eyes dancing with amusement, and I know there’s something weighing on her mind. “Can I ask you something?”

  I raise an eyebrow and eye her with mock suspicion. “I thought you said you Internet stalked me. What else could that inquisitive brain of yours want to know?”

  She blushes. “I really am sorry about that. I just wanted to know you.”

  “It’s okay, Iris, really. It’s fine. I would’ve probably done same thing if I were in your shoes. You didn’t know me from Adam, and I was acting like a crazy man—so hot and cold with you.”

  She sighs. “Still, it was wrong, but I’m glad we’ve got everything out in the open now.”

  “Me too,” I agree. “So what is it that you want to ask me about?”

  “Well . . .” she begins, but hesitates. “Last night—the tattoo about Shakespeare and the quotes—how do you know all that stuff? Most guys can’t even name one classic play, let alone use Shakespearean quotes in just the right moments off the top of their heads.”

  I take a drink of soda and then pass her the can, from which she eagerly drinks. “It started when I was about thirteen or so, I guess. My foster mom was a huge reader. She loved the classics, and her favorite was Shakespeare. She always told me a man who could quote the lines from one of the most romantic men of all time could woo the heart of any woman. So, being the loner I was, and desperate to find a girl who would love me someday, I did like I always do—I studied. The crazy t
hing is, I ended up loving it. The written word is a beautiful thing. It’s one of the things that initially inspired me to write songs.”

  “So did it work?” she asks with a shy smile, and I tilt my head, causing her to elaborate. “The quoting?”

  I grin at her wickedly and raise my eyebrows suggestively. “You tell me. You’re the only girl I’ve ever exposed that side of myself to.”

  “I am?” she asks timidly.

  I nod. “No one has ever inspired me to say them . . . that is, not until you. You, I could write songs about all day.”

  She bites her bottom lip, and I love the look of adoration on her face as she stares at me. “I love that I inspire you. I hope I continue to do that.”

  I reach over and cup her cheek in the palm of my hand. “Just by being, you’ll do that.”

  After we finish our breakfast of leftovers, I reluctantly kiss her good-bye so I can go back to my own trailer to shower and change my clothes. While eating our pizza, we made plans to drive to Columbus to Mom’s house in order for me to retrieve my contract. Iris convinced me that Mr. Stern is a trustworthy man—one who is perfectly capable of letting me know what my options are.

  I told Iris what it was like at Mom’s funeral and how reporters seemed to be everywhere I turned, cornering me and not allowing me to grieve the loss of the only mother I’d ever really known. Instead, the reporting leeches were interested only in getting the scoop on why I had walked off stage and if I had any plans to return to fulfill the rest of my tour.

  I don’t understand why they even care. Honestly, I never got this much press before. Paparazzi were never an issue. I guess the world is just that intrigued by what would motivate a guy like me to walk away from everything he’d worked hard to get. Someone walking away from money and fame rarely ever happens.

  When I make it back to Iris’s place, she opens the door and wraps me immediately in a warm embrace. “I missed you.”

  I nuzzle into her neck and inhale the sweet floral scent of her body wash and perfume. “I’ve been gone less than an hour.”

  She sighs against me. “I know. I can’t help it, though, I find you kind of addicting.”

  My heart beats faster, loving that my crazy obsession with her is, well, a mutual thing.

  I pull back and ask, “You ready to head out?”

  She nods. “Let me grab the keys to the car first. I figure it might hide you better than that bike.”

  My girl’s so smart. “Good thinking.”

  She tosses me the keys and I catch them with ease. “You can drive. You know where we’re going.”

  The drive to Columbus goes by rather quickly with Iris along for the ride. She brought along a few of her favorite CDs of musical soundtracks but can’t manage to get them to play, so we opt to sing together. I surprise her by actually knowing a few of the lyrics to the songs she sings.

  “Did you study theater too?” She laughs, still amazed by my knowledge of the subject.

  I shake my head. “No, but I did join the choir in high school. I took any opportunity I could to sing. It didn’t matter what it was, as long as it had soul behind the words, I loved it.”

  Her green eyes widen and she stares at me from the passenger seat of the car with her mouth agape.

  After a moment of her just looking at me like I’ve grown another head, I can’t help myself from asking, “What?”

  She shakes her head like she’s waking herself from a daze. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve said the very same thing. I actually drive Birdie nuts with my opinions of today’s music. It lacks soul.”

  I smile, loving that we’ve found another thing we connect on. “That’s exactly what my problem is with all the shit music I’ve been turning out to the world as Wicked White. The lyrics don’t mean anything substantial. I hate that I don’t get to lend more than just my voice to a song. They tell me how to sing—even what kind of emotion I need to feel when I sing it. The songs—they’re just not me.”

  Iris furrows her brow, her green eyes fixed on me. “Can’t you just demand to have input? I mean, it is your career.”

  I sigh as I adjust my hands on the wheel. “Believe me, I’ve tried. Jane Ann, my manager, is intractable when it comes to making changes that can affect her bottom line. Fans are eating the crap up that the band has been putting out, so she has denied me at every turn when I suggest any kind of change.”

  “I’m sorry, Ace. I can only imagine how tough that must’ve been for you.”

  I reach over and take her hand in mine and bring her knuckles up to my lips. “Thank you. But it doesn’t matter anymore, seeing as how I never want to go back. Not to the way things were, anyhow.”

  When we pull into my old neighborhood on the east side of Columbus, I keep my eyes peeled for any cameras, but to my surprise when Sarah’s old, white two-story comes into view, there’s not a single soul on the street.

  Hopefully I’m no longer the hot story and they’ve moved on.

  I park out by the curb and cut the engine. There’s a mountain of emotions building inside me as I sit here. On one hand I can’t wait to show Iris where I grew up, but on the other hand I know I’ll be gutted the moment I step through that door. When I buried Sarah, I couldn’t bring myself to go inside. I stayed in the hotel and came by only to make sure the place was locked tight before I took off. I knew right after she died the wound to my heart was too fresh to handle coming into a house that reminds me so much of her, but I think with Iris by my side that I can handle it.

  This isn’t exactly the best neighborhood, but shockingly, the house appears to be untouched.

  “Hey,” Iris whispers softly and gives my hand a little squeeze. “You okay?”

  It’s then I realize I haven’t said a word since I shut off the car, but simply sat here gazing at the house, building the courage to go inside.

  I nod and give her a small smile. “I’m fine, just a little sad, I guess.”

  “I understand. At first, being at home without Gran, it was rough. In a weird way, throwing myself into going through her things made me feel closer to her. It reminded me of all the good times I shared with her. It’s going to be hard when you first go in there, but I’m here for you, and I promise, it’ll be okay.”

  I lean over and cup her face, bringing it to mine so I can kiss her lips. We both shut our eyes, trusting in one another, knowing we’re here for each other even when it seems that we are lone souls in this world. It’s nice to not feel so alone anymore.

  “You’re amazing, you know that?” I tell her.

  She blushes. “I think you’re pretty great too.”

  After a few more stolen kisses, I take a deep breath. “I think it’s time we go inside before I end up taking you right here in the car. I’m sure the neighbors would enjoy the show, but, well, you know how I feel about sharing you.”

  Iris laughs and my heart warms. Her laughter is one of the best sounds in the world and is quickly becoming one of my favorite things.

  “We better go then.” She gives me a wry grin.

  We walk hand in hand up the sidewalk. I fish out the keys, and when we step up onto the small concrete porch, I unlock the door.

  Even though Sarah was only my foster mother, she treated me like I was her real flesh and blood. When I turned eighteen and she no longer got paid to keep me, she never once made a move to kick me out. Instead, she encouraged me to stay and go on to college once I graduated high school. Even when I did leave to attend Ohio State, she kept my bedroom exactly the same, like a real mother would do for her son. That’s how I knew she really loved me. I mean, I thought she did prior to that because she showed it in every one of her actions toward me, but that proved it. Before her, I’d never lived with someone who wasn’t always anxious to get rid of me.

  I flip the lights on when we enter the small living room. Sarah always kept the curtains drawn shut, said the light affected the television and irritated her when she tried to watch her daytime soaps.

 
; The rest of the house is just as she left it: magazines on the coffee table, her nearly empty coffee mug from what I’m sure was her fifth cup that day, and of course her small library filled with classic books next to her television.

  Iris steps in and immediately focuses her attention on the small bookcase near the front door that houses all of Mom’s favorite photos. “Is this you?”

  I come up behind her and wrap my arms around her waist and rest my chin on her shoulder. My eyes zero in on the picture of me in junior high with slicked-back hair she’s pointing to. “Yep, that’s me.”

  She laughs. “Are you wearing a tuxedo in your school picture?”

  I laugh as I recall the day clearly. “Yes. I was an usher in Mom’s cousin’s wedding and I fell in love with the tux. I was nearly fourteen and had never worn anything so fancy and didn’t want to take it off, so Mom paid a couple extra days rental so I could have my school picture taken in it the following Monday after the wedding.”

  She leans back into me and I burrow my nose into her hair and inhale her scent again. That’s becoming one of my most favorite scents.

  “You were too cute,” she says and then twists so she can gaze up at me. “Will you show me your room?”

  I nod and pull on her hand to follow me. The old stairs creak under our feet as we climb to the second level. When we reach the top, I pull her down the hall to my old bedroom. Before I take her in, I yank her against me and back her into the closed door and crush my lips to hers, causing her to groan.

  I pull back to gaze upon her face, trying to halt myself from becoming too excited.

  She’s grinning. “Are you always so anxious when you bring girls to your bedroom?”

  I lean my forehead against hers. “I’ve never brought a girl here before. I just wanted to kiss you one last time before you go in and see my room.”

  She cocks her head. “Why?”

  This time it’s me who blushes. “I’m afraid when you go in there you might question my manliness.”