Phoenix Rising Rock Band: The Series

by Kathryn C. Kelly

  “They’re going to waste, Georgie,” she’d huffed.

  “I didn’t buy them, so it isn’t my fault,” I’d retorted, in a completely pissy mood.

  Sloane has been gone for a week, without any of the quick visits I’d gotten used to. I’m feeling physically better, although mentally I’m floundering. I can’t seem to stay off the gossip sites, where Sloane is spotted with women around him at whatever function he attends. Just as the world knows me, the dancer chosen to perform with Sloane is instantly famous. Rhea hovers near him in almost every photograph. He appears quite cozy with her.

  Fucking asshole. The only reason I’m here and he’s there is for him to have the freedom to stick his dick in a bunch of different girls. He swears he hasn’t touched another woman. He also promises as soon as extra security is in place, he’ll send for me. Whatever. After a month, he should have whoever he needs for my security detail.

  I spend my days downstairs and my evenings upstairs, staying close to the house, my safety zone.

  Abby shakes my shoulder. I haven’t responded to her greeting.

  “Hey.”

  She sets a bag down and slips onto the stool next to mine.

  “Shopping again?” I ask with amusement.

  Not a day has gone by since we’ve been in Denver that Abby hasn’t gone shopping.

  “Remember, the other day over dinner you were discussing what ‘K’ stands for on the periodic table?”

  Abby has been talking my ear off about science and world history. In a weird way we’re teaching each other. Without the pressure of teachers and tests, and my family expecting me to fail, I realize I know a lot about science and English Lit. Not too much about history, though.

  “I remember the kalium talk,” I tell her, giggling at her scowl. She thinks if potassium has to have one letter, it should be one that’s included in the word, and not from its Latin origin. “What about it?”

  “I’m thinking about going back to college,” she announces.

  “Wow, that’s awesome!” I’m so happy for her. I didn’t know she was considering the move, but Abby is extremely smart. She’ll do well. “What will your major be?”

  She waves the question away. “I need to take the SAT. I took a practice test and scored a six twenty-five.”

  Unfamiliar with the test, I’m lost. Nothing college related was discussed with me when I lived with my parents. They didn’t consider me college material. “Is that good?”

  “That’s fucking abominable! A perfect score is twenty-four hundred, so you tell me.”

  “Don’t get discouraged. If you study, you’ll pass with flying colors.”

  Shrugging, she pulls out two thick books from the bag she brought in. “Can you help me study?” She nods to the books. “You can quiz me. It’ll save your husband a ton of money, too.”

  I lift a brow. “How so?”

  “It’ll keep me from shopping every day.”

  Shaking my head, I sigh. “I don’t think Sloane left his credit card for you to spend thousands of dollars every day.”

  “Well, the asshole left it with the wrong person then.” In typical Abby fashion, she dismisses whatever she doesn’t want to hear. “I’m very good at spending money and he knows this. He should’ve given the card to you, right?”

  “I don’t want his stupid credit card,” I mutter, and switch back to our original topic. “As far as me helping you, absolutely not. You want to succeed, not fail, so me tutoring you is the worst idea, ever.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  I tell her about Sam, the tutor Sloane hired for me and fired five days later because of my poor scores. A funny look crosses her face when I say the tutor’s name before her expression evens and she snorts.

  “Oh, please. Sloane was jealous. Five days isn’t enough time for anything.”

  Silently agreeing that Sloane didn’t like Sam around me, I don’t address Abby’s speculation. I tell her about the tutor Grandma got for me. I failed then, too.

  Her face falls. “Georgie, pleeaaassseee,” she whines. “The pressure won’t be on you. It’ll be on me.” Her eyes light up and she snaps her fingers. “Oh, I know! Why don’t I get a GED study guide? Obviously, I need to refresh my memory on certain topics. Do you know what I mean? Then, we move on to the SAT book.” She claps her hands. “Let’s make up rewards for ourselves?”

  “Rewards?”

  “If I’m going to put myself out there for this SAT, why don’t you think about doing it, too? If we pass, we can go to Monaco for a girls’ getaway.”

  “Monaco? As in the country? The one bordered by France on three sides and the Mediterranean Sea on the other.”

  “Jesus, Georgie? You know that shit?”

  “What shit?”

  “Geography. Hello?”

  “Oh. Well. I just remember how tiny it is. Besides, I read up on it in some book.”

  “See? You’re perfect to help me!”

  “I think I’d need to have a diploma or a GED to take the SAT.” Oh my goodness! An idea strikes me. “Ummm, do you think I could study for my GED?” I ask timidly. “I mean I’d be helping you. Maybe, I’d retain some of the information.” My face heats in embarrassment at Abby’s blank look. She squints at me and I bite my lip.

  “Could you do it, Georgie? Whenever you put that type of pressure on yourself…” Her voice trails off. “Ah, fuck it,” she says breezily. “Why not, right?”

  “Do you think I’ll pass?”

  Abby shrugs. “Maybe, if you have it in your mind you’re helping me, instead of thinking about studying for your GED, you won’t feel pressure, so you’ll pass.”

  Excitement gathers inside of me, and I nod. “Okay. I’m in.”

  “Awesome!” Abby chirps with excitement and bounces to her feet, full of energy as usual. She grabs her bags. “I have a date.”

  “When don’t you?” I ask with a smile.

  “You should go on one,” she says casually. “I have this great guy to fix you up with.”

  Zelda and I exchange glances before I glare at Abby and lift my hand to show her my wedding set. I never take the rings off. Sloane never had one.

  “I’m married. Remember?”

  “Georgie, love, I’m not telling you to sleep with another man. Just get out of the house and have fun. You’re getting your figure back. You have all these pretty clothes. And you have nowhere to go and nothing to do.”

  “I have wedding gifts to get to.” As much as the media has pointed fingers at me for the damage I’ve done, I receive gifts for Bryn and me from around the world. Fashion designers and famous models. Movie stars and music people. CEOs and COOs, and their wives.

  Abby is teaching me the proper protocol about a lot of things. For instance, with the gifts, some people I personally called—yes, she really has famous people’s personal phone numbers—others I sent handwritten thank-you notes with a nice message. And then, others, it was a quick, typed thank you note. My signature was scanned into a computer and added to this last group, which comprises three-quarters of a very long list. “And baby gifts, too.”

  “Think about my suggestion,” Abby persists, ignoring everything else. “You’re wasting away in here.”

  “No. I’m being Bryn’s mother and Sloane’s wife. As soon as he gets security, he’ll send for us,” I say sullenly, my attempt at conviction in Sloane’s reasoning not believable. I sound hurt. I blink at the opened cookbook, the words blurred by my tears. The dire words Grandma spoke on the day of my wedding wreaks havoc with the fairness I should offer Sloane.

  Clucking and putting her bags down again, Abby hugs me, but I stay rigid, afraid to let go. If I do, I’ll fall to pieces.

  “Just because he’s sleeping around, doesn’t mean I have to. It isn’t as if I’m some innocent little girl. When we met, I had a lover. If we hadn’t exchanged vows, I’d take another one,” I lie with defiance. To sleep with anyone else, I’d have to fall out of love with Sloane.

  “It�
��s all right, babe,” she swears. Her phone rings and she grabs it from her purse. A look I can’t place crosses her face as she looks at the screen and uneasy laughter escapes her. “You’re right,” she says, no longer looking me in the eye. “Sloane loves you. You understand why he’s doing what he’s doing.” Her phone rings again and she flushes. “I have to take this call.”

  She leaves so fast she forgets her packages. Glancing in Bryn’s direction, I find her still peacefully asleep, so I stand and reach for Abby’s stuff.

  “Found anything you’d like to have on the week’s menu?” Zelda asks me.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Would you sit for a minute?”

  I give her a quick glance, then look away. “Abby forgot her things, so I want to bring them to her before Bryn wakes up.”

  It’s so hard being a good mom and a good wife. It’s even worse when I’m married to an idiot. Sloane needs me to trust him, and believe that we’ll be together in the end. But it’s hard seeing so many different women around him. To me, he’s acting no different than before we married.

  Zelda’s kind brown eyes study me and a smile tips her lips up.

  She hugs me. Unlike with Abby, I break down and sob against the cook’s shoulder. She lets me, humming to me like I do to Bryn. Just knowing she’s here for me gives me strength. I don’t have to do this alone, until I have my husband back with me.

  “He doesn’t have to be seen with all these different women.”

  She walks to the refrigerator and pulls out a pitcher of lemonade, then gets two, tall glasses and returns to the breakfast bar. She pours both of us a glass. I drink deeply, not realizing I’ve cried so much I’m nearly dehydrated.

  “Mr. Sloane needs a Come-to-Jesus moment. Whatever he’s doing right now, you’re letting him slide. Standing by your man is well and good. When your man’s a jackass? Don’t do it. He needs to put up or shut up. If you want to give him a pass until your birthday, just do it. Block out whatever you hear or read and have it in your head, you’ll straighten things out then.”

  “He always wanted me with him before.”

  “Before was then. This is now. Then is never coming back. Now is here and is all that really counts. Be the lady of the house and plan your attack.”

  If only I knew what that should be, I’d happily proceed. As it is now, I’m at a loss.

  “Sloane!” The girl yanks her bikini top off and jumps into the swimming pool, squealing my name. I’m at another party. This time it’s hosted by the band’s old music producer. We’re trying to get him on board for the album. I’ve worked to mend fences with my devotees and record execs, as we put together the short-tracked new album.

  “Come in with me,” she yells, splashing around, laughing when three more people jump in—two of them fully clothed.

  Smiling at her, I light a cigarette and release the smoke. “No can do.”

  “Pretty please?” she pouts.

  Someone touches my back and draws my attention away from Pool Girl. I glance over my shoulder and discover Silver, completely naked.

  “Hi, Sloane,” she purrs.

  I smirk. “Silver.”

  She brushes past me and I spot Rhea emerging from the pool, as nude as Silver.

  “Sloane!” Rhea yells, stopping at the bar set up at the edge of the patio. She rubs her pussy.

  “Sorry, babe. Not interested.”

  She throws me a disappointed pout as if I’ll care and change my mind about taking the pussy she keeps offering me. She should be fucking happy I let her hang all over me for photographs. As my onstage dancer, we’re stirring up publicity and anticipation for Rhea and I performing together at my concerts.

  Of course Georgie doesn’t believe me.

  Monogamy is easier than I expected, although I’m still amazed that my entire attitude has made such a three hundred sixty degree turn. My cock lives in a state of shock, too. We’ve gone from fuck machines to almost fucking celibate. No, to completely fucking celibate. Counting my own hand jobs is out.

  Sometimes, I feel as if I’m losing my manliness, especially when she questions me, then dismisses my explanations as lies. Then, I remind myself her lack of trust has been hard-earned. The only way to help her is by offering her patience and understanding. And, even if answering her questions tempts me to say fuck it and fuck another woman, I can’t betray Georgie.

  Grabbing a drink from a passing waiter, I head inside, so fucking restless. It’s quite crowded in the house and noisy as hell. I don’t want to be here, so I finish my brandy and head to the car I’m using during my stay here. In forty-five minutes, I arrive at the mansion we’re renting. It’s silent and dark when I walk in, so I flip on the lights just as my phone rings.

  Seeing Abby’s number, I answer immediately as I walk to the living room. “What’s up?” I ask as I head to the bar and pour myself another drink.

  “The sky. The moon. The stars. The sun.”

  “What do you want?” I snap. “Is that more fucking understandable to you?”

  “You’re in a lovely mood.”

  I down the scotch. “Abby—”

  “If Georgie asks about me being in college, tell her I didn’t go.”

  “Why the hell should I do that? And why the fuck would she ask that?” Outside of questioning me about the women I’m photographed with, she barely asks me anything anymore. “What are you concocting now, Abby?”

  “Besides your complete romantic downfall and financial ruin because you’re such a jackass?”

  “Yeah,” I return sarcastically. “Besides that. Why wouldn’t you tell Georgie you have a bachelor’s degree in art history?”

  “She needs to study without pressure,” she explains, her voice slightly lower.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “For her GED.”

  I’m still not following the convoluted brain of my aunt. “How is you not going to college important?”

  “If she’s helping me study for the SAT—”

  I grab the crystal decanter and stalk to the couch. I may need to find another fucking bottle to figure this out. “And. You scored eighteen or nineteen hundred on the test.”

  “My God, Sloane. For someone so smart, you’re completely fucking stupid,” she hisses. “No pressure on Georgie if she thinks she’s doing it mostly for my benefit. You wouldn’t fucking imagine the stuff she knows. Everyone has crapped over her for so long, she’s bought into it.”

  “That’s a great idea.”

  “I know,” she says haughtily. “Now, anything else?”

  “You called me. Is there anything else you need to tell me?”

  “Got your credit card statement recently?”

  “Yep.” Not giving her the satisfaction of knowing how she pissed me the fuck off, I guzzle from the bottle. “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.”

  “When’s one for Georgie arriving?”

  More guzzling for me. “When I get one for her.”

  “When is she joining you?”

  “In a few days.”

  “She doesn’t believe it’ll ever happen.”

  “She needs to trust me,” I retort, frustrated with my nosy aunt’s interference.

  “Why the fuck should she trust you? I wouldn’t trust you either with your history.”

  “Do you have anything else to say?” I ask crossly. “Otherwise, this conversation is over.”

  She disconnects without answering. I stand and head to the music room, where I’ll spend the night with my scotch and my guitar.

  Chapter Twenty

  Although I hate to create even more drama, a week after Abby suggests a date, I take her suggestion, though I don’t mention it to Sloane during our daily calls. Stubbornness interferes with me mentioning joining him. If he wants me there, he’ll send for me.

  The press is tearing me apart because of what he’s doing, speculating that I’m turning a blind eye to his cheating because I’m too young to know better.

 
For a few days, they stopped bothering me. Then, boom, they’re staking out the house again.

  Emory Lawson is a blond like Abby—this family has a fucking thing for golden hair. He’s tall and he’s a businessman. Not quite my cup of tea, but it beats sobbing my eyes out over my dickhole husband. I’ve pumped my milk and changed my mind about going a dozen times. I haven’t let Bryn out of my sight since we arrived in Denver. Even when I’m taking a shower, Abby is in the bathroom at the vanity with Bryn in her arms.

  Not healthy for me or my baby. My attachment to Bryn makes Abby even more insistent on the importance of my date. But the intruder hasn’t been caught. Sloane’s mansion is secure, especially entry to the second floor, unless someone manages to get through a window or one of the patio doors. Only Zelda, Sloane and me have access via our finger scans onto the second floor from any of the inside staircases.

  Now, as I sit in a downtown restaurant, my depression starts to settle into me. No matter what Sloane has done or who he’s doing, I miss him so much.

  Glum, I gaze out the window at the photographers waiting for me to exit. They were right outside the gates of Sloane’s mansion. Only two cars followed Emory and I. I don’t think they were sure it was me. Apparently, the others called their posse, though. It’s ridiculous outside.

  “Georgiana?” Emory calls my name in a sing-song voice.

  “Sorry.” My chin rests in my palm as I lean on the table. He’s been talking about his bottom line and projected forecasts and shit I really don’t understand even with the studying Abby and I do. It’s fun and takes up two hours of my day, every afternoon. She’s doing fantastic. Surprisingly, I am too, so I’m still excited about my plans for my GED.

  However, tonight, I’m on a date and he deserves my attention.

  “Do you like to read?” I ask, to start up the conversation.

  Another thing Sloane and his family like are blue eyes. Emory’s eyes are bright blue and they’re twinkling now.