by Cari Quinn
No defenses could have withstood that kind of attack.
She’d continued telling herself that after she’d returned to the belly of the plane. She avoided the couch and sat with Lila. Both of them quietly reviewing things on their phone.
She’d seemed to know that Margo needed the quiet and no questions.
Margo had read a book for the rest of the flight. What book, she had no flipping idea. The words had kept her mind busy but she hadn’t retained a damn thing.
She’d ridden with Lila to the hotel and left the band to travel together. Simon’s gaze had trailed her from stairs to concrete, to blacktop to leather interior.
His eyes had burned through the silk of her blouse, the summer wool of her pants. There’d been no escape after that move in the small hallway.
She hadn’t been able to hide the want. And she was so good at hiding it. She curled her fingers over the high-necked camisole that she usually wore under a suit jacket.
It left far too much of her shoulders and back visible to wear it alone.
Except tonight.
She’d own tonight. There really wasn’t anything else she could do. If she didn’t burn off some of this, she was fairly certain she was going to lose her mind.
She showered and wound her hair up into an intricate twist. She added a gold ear cuff that she wore on special occasions. Playing the violin meant she couldn’t wear a lot of earrings, but she did like the effect.
It climbed her right ear with a flourish of diamonds and aged gold leaves. She played up her eyes with liquid liner and a pale shimmer over the arch of her brow. She stained her lips a deep wine red and covered the matte finish with a mirror shine gloss.
Her sister’s bangles were still tucked into her travel case so she stacked them along her arm to jangle and flash against the jet black silk she wore. Two condoms also had gotten into her bag and she was damn sure she hadn’t put them there.
“Juliet.”
She shook her head, but tucked one into the pocket of her skirt. She was feeling too dangerous tonight. If she was going to do something stupid, at least she would do it with a level of intelligent preparation.
Her arches still hadn’t forgiven her for the last evening of heels, but she stepped into her suede heeled boots anyway. One more night of torture.
A column of black over the English rose of her skin.
She’d match Simon tonight and whatever happened after that would be that. She was tired of staying inside the lines.
Eight
“If one more cell phone is stuck in my face, I’m going to break it.”
“Quit your bitching, Nicky. This is the first of many weeks of interviews.” Simon tipped a bottle of water to his lips, drained it, and uncapped another one. His damn throat was like sandpaper from the interviews.
“Don’t remind me.”
Interviews and press were a necessary evil and for the most part Simon didn’t mind them. The release of Rise was definitely a lot more intense than anything they’d done yet. He didn’t want to own up to how many times he’d checked their rankings on iTunes.
And now they had another mini-concert to showcase the new songs. No matter how many times they practiced the new songs, they still felt fresh to him. Like they were finally finding who and what they were supposed to be as a band.
Lila came up behind them and crouched between him and Nick. Jazz was holding court at the end of the buffet tables they’d brought out for them to sign posters and albums—actual vinyl records—for the fan giveaways.
Simon knew his own signature was little more than an S and K with scribbles at this point. He’d done at least a hundred of them between interviews.
She set a new package of metallic Sharpies on the desk. “I thought you might want to know, that little clause in your contract?”
Nick’s face grew wary. “Yeah.”
“Now, Crandall, stop looking at me like I’m about to take away your new toy. This is the good clause.”
Nick sighed. “I’ll be the judge of that.”
Simon tucked his hands under his arms. “Whadya got, beautiful?”
“See. This one knows how to butter a woman up.”
“By all means enjoy his buttering,” Nick muttered, his eyes going cool.
She rolled her eyes. “Your clause was a bonus if you hit gold status and Rise has officially hit platinum twice.”
“Holy shit,” Simon said and leaned forward. “That has to be a better one, right?”
“It means each of you gets a two hundred and fifty thousand dollar bonus.”
Nick sat back, his face completely blank.
Simon punched him. “Holy fuck!”
Nick’s eyebrows drew forward and he stood and excused himself.
“I thought this was good news,” Lila said.
Simon swiped a hand down Lila’s back and watched his best friend head for the side door. “It is. I do believe Nicky boy is going outside to barf.”
“What?” Lila spun on her ever present four-inch heels. “Why?”
Simon cupped Lila’s face and laid two huge kisses on either chick. “Because we aren’t used to getting good news. And that is epically good news.”
Lila batted his hands away. “And that equates to tossing his cookies?”
“He’s an odd dude.” Simon pressed a hand to his own jumping belly. “Can I tell everyone else?”
“Yes.”
Simon stood and helped her up. “We couldn’t have done it without you, Dragon Lady.”
“I doubt that, but I’m very glad I helped.”
He looked over her blond head to find Margo coming down the side stairs. She was all in black again, but this time it was a mix of vamp and innocence. Both of the traits that seemed to pour out of Margo when she let the musical side of herself free.
She turned to the side and the slinky silk she wore hugged her curves. She lifted her arm to point to the stage and a hint of purple teased from the side of her blouse.
So much skin and yet so very covered.
She turned and went back up the stairs. As the little pleat at the back of her skirt kicked up, he glimpsed the stretchy band of lace at the top of her inky thigh-highs.
Jesus fuck.
He turned away and pushed that thought of his mind. That wasn’t going to help anything. It was bad enough that he had to do a ninety minute set with her knowing she was wearing garters.
He was a dead man.
When he could breathe again, he turned his attention to Jazz. “Pix, where’d Gray get to?”
“He went to get me a juice. I’m feeling a little spin-ish.”
Simon cupped her elbow and dragged her around the table. “Sit down.”
“I said ish, not actually spinning. I’m fine.” She laughed and cupped her hands over her baby bump. “I’m fine, Simon.”
He looked over her shoulder and saw Gray walking quickly across the club from the bar.
“Oh good, you got her to sit.” Gray came around the table and crouched beside her. “Orange pineapple.”
“Two of my guys waiting on me. Look at that.” Jazz took the bottle of juice and uncapped it before taking long drink. “My sugar just got a little low, don’t wig out you two. I burn more calories with small fry than I do alone. And you know how much I eat alone.”
Simon shrugged. “She can out eat me on a good day.”
“Exactly.”
“Well, how about some good news.”
Jazz shifted on her chair to sit up straighter. “I like that kind of news.”
“We just hit double platinum.”
“No way!” Jazz jumped from her chair and tackle-hugged Gray. “That’s like two million downloads or buys or whatever, right?”
Gray lost his balance and the two of them landed on the floor, Gray taking all of her weight.
“Oh, shit.” Jazz was laughing so hard she was squealing.
“Better news—remember that clause in our contract?”
Jazz curled herse
lf into Gray’s lap. “There were a lot of clauses.”
“This is the bonus clause.”
Jazz spun in Gray’s arms and wound her arms around his neck. “Oh, holy shit. That’s awesome.”
Simon lowered his voice. “Two hundred and fifty large—each.”
Jazz burst into tears.
“Whoops.” Simon patted her shoulder awkwardly.
“What did you do to Pix?”
Simon looked up at Deacon. “Gave her some good news.”
“It doesn’t look like good news.”
“Happy tears.” Jazz sniffled and reached for Deacon’s hand. He pulled both Gray and Jazz off the floor.
Jazz threw herself into Deacon’s arms. “We got this amazing bonus for our record sales.”
Deacon stroked a gentle hand down her flashing braids. “Is that so?”
“Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, dude!”
Deacon’s hand stilled. “Each?”
“Yes.” Jazz bounced back. “I can’t even. We can get our house.” She turned and threw herself into Gray’s arms. “Babe, we can buy our house.” And then the tears started again.
Simon jammed his hands in his pockets. He knew they were supposed to be good tears, but man, there were a lot of them. Then Harper walked over and the lot of them were squealing about houses and babies and he decided it was a good time for a break.
He wandered out to the main part of the club. New York had been slick blues and red and this was industrial rust. Copper and dark browns with moody lights.
He liked it better. It was gritty and honest. The building had been through a few different incarnations and you could see it in the layers of the place. The ghosts of the past that were looking for something.
Like him.
Rough, rusty spots that had a bit of a spit-shine, hoping for better. A catwalk that hung above the bar and looked down on everything. Helluva vantage point for the show.
That’s where he’d go.
His arms ached to climb up there and get a look at the surroundings. But that would have to wait. Lila was incoming with her ridiculous heels and suits that shouldn’t belong at a rock show and yet...she did.
She’d quickly become important to all of them, even if he wanted her schedules to burn in the fiery pits of hell. She was miles better than their old manager. At least Lila played to their strengths instead of trying to force the band into the mainstream version of a typical release party.
They weren’t there to schmooze. There was some of that required, of course, but for the most part she wanted them playing up to the camera and building the buzz. She didn’t trot them out in front of a row of reporters and hope for the best.
She hand-selected bloggers, YouTube sensations, and even some of the smaller fry people that had supported them in the beginning. She was damn savvy and the fact that she was a brain trust on top of it all seemed incredibly unfair to all the other people in the music business.
They had to work hard to keep up.
“Mr. Kagan, you are late for an interview.”
“Sorry, was dealing with the Kleenex commercial that is our pregnant drummer.”
“Oh.” Lila flicked a glance over at the still sobbing Jazz. “Do I need to go over there?”
The fact that every part of her expression clearly wanted him to say no urged him to tell her yes. But he couldn’t do that to her. Lila didn’t deal well with tears either. It just caused her to bark orders.
“Nah, she’s good. They’re all excited about the house money you and Ripper Records just added to their nest egg.”
“Oh. Well, that’s great.” Her brow furrowed.
“Yeah, I can tell by the look on your face.”
Instantly, her forehead smoothed. “I aim to increase their wedded bliss.”
He barked out a laugh. “No you don’t. You see the white picket fence and three more babies.”
“Plenty of women have had babies and careers, Simon.”
“And Pix will be one of them. Don’t worry, she doesn’t know how to be away from her drum kit for long.”
“You seem very sure of yourself.”
“And you should stop drinking Nicky’s hater-aid.”
Lila hugged her iPad to her chest. “Excuse me if I worry about your careers. You are just exploding onto the scene now and you guys are going to disappear in a few months. Are you sure I can’t convince you to find an interim drummer?” Her face was earnest and serious all at the same time. “It would solve a lot of problems.”
“The band doesn’t work without Jazz and you know that.”
Lila sighed and looked at her peep-toe shoes. “We could try it.”
“We could try it, but it wouldn’t work.” He laced his hands behind his head. “Then where would you be if we had to back out?”
“Backing out isn’t a good idea.” Lila’s gaze turned determined. “Not a good idea at all. The insurance is a nightmare and every contract we sign with a venue could come back and bite us in the ass due to the revenue they’ll lose if we miss a show.”
Simon’s hands fell to his sides. “What if someone was sick?”
“Let’s just keep everyone healthy, shall we?” She tried to walk by and Simon caught her elbow.
“What if something happened?”
“Let’s put it this way. The tour is your major moneymaker. Missing just one show could set you back half a million.”
“Half a...” Simon swallowed. “That much?”
“Between what you get to play from the venue, the merchandising, and what they have to go through to return tickets…yeah, it’s not good.”
Simon frowned. The business side of music was a fucking buzzkill.
One of the dozens of minions that were crawling all over the space walked by with a bucketful of iced water bottles. Simon snaked one out of the huge red bin with a quick smile at Lila. “I’ll just hydrate now.”
“Good thinking.”
Simon squashed the minor tickle that had been following him around since rehearsals. The half-dozen interviews hadn’t helped calm it down either. When the club got near capacity, he escaped to the VIP bathroom section and turned all the hot taps on.
Twenty minutes before curtain meant he really needed to warm up. The problem with being the lead singer was that most people wanted to talk to him more than the rest of the band. Which meant he taxed his voice.
When they were doing regular shows, he was able to do the morning radio calls and then rest for the remainder of the day. This week had been nothing but talking.
He needed to kill it tonight. This was his home turf and people were watching, but not just because Oblivion was from the Los Angeles area. An equal number of people were waiting for them to fail.
And failure wasn’t an option. Not now. Not when they were this close to making something of themselves. If they rocked out enough, they could write their own ticket.
They didn’t have to worry about venue insurance. And a quarter of a million bonus would look like chump change if they continued on the path they were on.
Pushing it all out of his mind, he went through a few of the scales that worked for him and kept an eye on the clock.
Deacon opened the door and slipped in. “Hey, Pretty Boy. How’s the warm-up? Sounds good from outside.”
Simon turned off the taps as he made his way down to the last sink. “Between the cover song we’re doing and the one from the Twitter contest, I need all the help I can get.”
Deacon took care of the purpose for his visit and met him at the sinks to wash. “You can sing ‘Jet City Woman’ in your sleep.”
“Lyrics are easy. Hitting Geoff Tate’s lower registers then quick highs...yeah. I’ll have some of Harper’s famous tea on stage tonight, that’s for sure.”
Deacon slapped him on the back. “I’ll take care of it.”
Simon turned off his tap. “Ready to do this shit?”
“Hell yes.”
He followed Deacon out and they circumvented
the crush of people to find the stairs to the backstage area. Deacon swapped out his dress shirt for a Doors T-shirt.
“Hey, there you are.”
Simon turned to Jazz’s voice. “Hey Pinky.” He flicked the peek-a-boo locks of hair she’d deftly arranged in her dark hair. Since she’d gotten pregnant, she’d been having a little too much fun with the fake hair since she couldn’t dye her own.
“I got a present from a fan for you.”
“Oh yeah? Is it sexy?”
She rolled her eyes. “Is that all you care about?”
He chewed on his bottom lip and paused. And because she got even more exasperated, he nodded. “Mostly.”
“Normally it just goes in the crazy box, but man, this was way too cool. Especially with the song we picked for the cover.” She snapped out a ripped out T-shirt. The fan had even torn out the sides like he preferred.
“Jesus. You’d think she...she?”
Jazz nodded. “Yeah, it was a woman.”
Simon wiggled out of his shirt and tossed it on a guitar trunk.
“Geeze, Simon.”
He took the shirt from her and arched one eyebrow then the other until they danced. “Nothing you haven’t seen before, Pix.”
“I see your chest almost as much as my husband’s.”
“Clothing is restrictive,” he said with a shrug.
He tossed the shirt over his head. “This, however, is not. Awesome.” He looked up and Margo stood in the sidelines, her dark eyes heavy-lidded as they skimmed down his body.
Jesus fuck.
Thankful that the shirt was a little long in the front, he tugged it over his buckle to hide his instant reaction to Margo. “Like the show, Violin Girl?”
Instead of the embarrassment he was going for, he saw only interest in her eyes. “Creative use of Michael Hutchence’s face,” she said.
He grinned and turned around. “Even better from the back.”
Jazz ticked her nails down the sliced back. “I need to do that to some of my shirts. It’s hot under these lights and the tadpole definitely kicks up my temperature gauge.”
“Not sure you can call it a tadpole when you’re carrying around the equivalent of a soccer ball.”
