The Essential Jagged Ivory (Jagged Ivory Boxed Set)

by Lashell Collins

  She simply couldn't take her mother's bitterness any longer. And the older Mercy got, the worse it became. Soon, every boy she dated was compared to Mike Holland by her mom, and Rosie took great pleasure in warning her to choose wisely, or else she would find herself raising a child alone like she did. Mercy couldn't take it anymore. So she decided early on that once she was able to start looking at colleges, her first choice – in fact, her only choices – would be schools on the west coast. California, to be more specific. She wanted nothing more than to be back in the sunshine state and near her beloved father again, and she would do anything to make that happen. Even study her ass off in order to become “college material.” Anything to get away from Rosie Holland's constant negativity.

  “Thanks for the offer but … it's not necessary,” Mercy said quietly. “I think the less time Mom and I spend together, the better.”

  “Well the offer stands if you change your mind.”

  “Okay,” she smiled, really wanting to lighten the mood and talk about something fun. “So, how many cities are we going to hit in Europe this summer? And how should I pack? I shouldn't need anything too dressy should I? Maybe I should go shopping before we leave.” Mercy couldn't help the animated tone her voice had taken on, and she was aware that she sounded a bit like a fired-up teenager. “I swear, I'm so excited I don't know how I'm going to stand myself this summer!”

  Mike laughed at her enthusiasm. “Well, just please try to calm down a little before we take off, okay? You know, this summer is going to be a little bit of a test for you. After this, you may decide you don't want to be anywhere near Holland Management. Since you've been here the last four years, you've been exposed to a few of my clients and other celebrities, and you've been very poised and sophisticated. But, I know that you have a special affinity for Jagged Ivory, and you may have a little trouble being objective where they're concerned. You might even be a little star-struck,” he teased.

  “What?” Mercy asked, sounding offended. “I'll be cool. You know, I did know them before they became famous, Mike. They might not remember me but … I certainly remember them. I know they're just regular guys. I'll be fine!”

  “Okay,” he conceded. He didn't like to hear about her adventures in the seedy bars and clubs of Hollywood, and he hated it that she and her friends went to those places alone. “But you know, touring is not one big glamorous party, honey. Not for the manager, anyway. It is constant work making sure things run smoothly. And if things go wrong, if musical equipment doesn't reach the next stop on time, or the tour bus breaks down, or there's a glitch in travel plans, or someone gets arrested, God forbid! Whatever … it's all on the manager's shoulders.”

  “I get it,” Mercy said, taking a sip of her white wine. “But I thought you said this trip was my graduation gift and that I wouldn't be working.”

  Mike smiled at his daughter indulgently. “And I meant it. I want you to enjoy yourself and have fun this summer, honey. I know you love this band so … happy graduation! But I also want you to pay attention and try to learn something. Decide if you think this is a career you really want to pursue. Okay?”

  Mercy nodded with a smile. They ate their dinner in silence for a while and Mike's phone began to buzz. Frowning, he glanced at the screen and then shut off the ringer without answering it.

  “Who was that?” Mercy asked, already knowing the answer.

  “Alison,” Mike replied dismissively, turning back to his dinner.

  “Alison the hottie make-up artist who thinks you hung the moon? That Alison?” Mercy teased him, and Mike gave her an annoyed look, but kept eating. “I like Alison. I think she's sweet. And she's crazy about you.”

  “She's exasperating,” Mike mumbled under his breath.

  “She's pretty! And she's fun; why don't you like her?”

  “Mercy, eat your dinner,” he said, ignoring her question and stuffing in another mouthful.

  “I think you do like her,” she teased.

  “Mercy,” he sighed, rolling his eyes.

  Mercy smiled and shook her head slightly. “You should date more, Mike. You work too hard. Besides, my friends are always talking about how hot you are. It's very creepy! But they're not wrong, you know. As dads go, you're … somewhat handsome. And very charming.”

  “Thank you … I think. And stop calling me Mike,” he frowned. “And I don't have time to date.”

  “Everyone has time to date,” she corrected. “You'll go mad if all you do is work all the time.”

  “Is this the lackadaisical attitude I can expect from you as an employee?” he asked in a very fatherly tone, and Mercy rolled her eyes at him as her shoulders slumped.

  “Of course not! I'm just saying that I worry about you,” she protested. “You need to blow off some steam every now and then. Have some fun! Relax!”

  “I am relaxed. And I'm having fun, cooking dinner and sharing a meal with my favorite girl. No better way to blow off steam,” Mike insisted.

  “Okay, that's just sad,” Mercy replied with a pitiful expression. “You are in desperate need of female companionship. From a female you're not related to,” she added before he could say anything. “When was the last time you got laid?”

  “Whoa!” Mike's fork clanked loudly as he dropped it against his plate and he looked up at her in shock, his face reddened in embarrassment. “That is completely out of line, young lady!”

  “What? It's just a simple question! We're both adults.”

  “I am not discussing my sex life with you!”

  “Fine! Jeez, you're jumpy tonight. Don't call me Mike! Don't ask about my sex life!” Mercy's voice was sarcastic and mocking as she imitated him and made a face. But when she looked up at him, she could see that he was trying unsuccessfully to stifle a laugh. When she smiled at him, the dam burst and they both exploded in laughter.

  When they finally calmed down, he placed his chin in his hand, leaning his elbow on the table as he gazed at her. “I love you so much, honey,” he said, smiling at her. “I know I don't say this often, Mercy … but I'm very happy you came to school out here and I got my little girl back.”

  “I love you too, Daddy,” she beamed.

  Chapter Two

  The roar of the crowd still rang in his ears as Noah ducked out of the back entrance of the venue and piled into one of the waiting SUV limos with his bandmates and an entourage of bodyguards, sidekicks and women. Seated next to the window, he ran a hand through his short, reddish-brown, curly hair with a sigh. Then he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a pair of dark, mirrored sunglasses and slipped them on, concealing his light, blue-green eyes from the world. The rolling party was already well underway, and Noah sat back and watched from behind his shades as Buzzy began to cut a few lines of coke out on the console between the seats, and Cory lit up a joint.

  “The crowd was fucking amazing tonight,” Benji exclaimed as he reached for Cory's joint and took a hit.

  “That's why I love New York, man,” Otis replied, smiling as he opened his flask and took a quick swig of bourbon. “The energy's always fantastic here. Perfect place to end this leg of the tour.”

  “Can't beat the energy back home,” Noah spoke up, taking the offered joint from Benji's fingers and bringing it to his lips.

  “You gonna share some of that, baby?”

  Noah turned and looked to his right, to the gorgeous stranger seated next to him. He looked her over for a good long minute, and then slowly draped his arm around her, pulling her toward him, and held the joint between her lips as she took a drag. He wasn't sure who he had to thank for scoping this one out and bringing her backstage but, whoever it was knew his tastes well. She would do.

  He took another hit off the joint before handing it back to Cory. Slowly he glanced around the back of the SUV at the available pool of women, and he noted with pleasure that there was something for everyone. Each of his bandmates seemed to have a definite “type” or preference, and their handlers had become experts at s
eeing to that particular need while on tour. The back of the limo was a veritable smorgasbord of pussy: leggy blondes for Cory – not that he would take advantage of it, redheads for Benji, Latinas, Asians and other exotic ethnic types for Buz, curvy brunettes for him. As for Otis … well, O would fuck just about anything in a skirt, so he wasn't picky.

  As the party moved from the back of the limo into Buzzy's hotel suite, the debauchery grew. They were joined by the guys from Flying Pigs, their opening act on this leg of the tour, and a few dozen assorted friends and partiers. Soon, there was a virtual orgy going on with a ton of booze, an ample supply of weed, coke and other party favors, not to mention various couples engaged in a wide array of sexual acts, all in plain sight.

  Noah, ever the laid-back people watcher, took up his usual post in a corner of the room and quietly observed the depraved scene going on around him. Nursing a bottle of Jack Daniels and appreciating the nice, mellow high from the pot, he watched in fascination as Buzzy and Otis sweet-talked their way into a threesome with some really hot Black chick. They had her completely naked in no time, and she wrapped her legs around Buzzy's waist as he picked her up and impaled her, pumping slowly while Otis entered her back door. They moved with a delicate, practiced rhythm, and Noah was well aware that the double-team was one of their favorite plays. Otis had tried, in the past, to get his brother to play that game with him, but Noah just wasn't interested in threesomes. Not that kind anyway. When he fucked a girl, he wanted her full attention.

  He smirked at them, shaking his head slightly at the scene, and turned to look around the room. Lately, the party scene just did nothing for him anymore. When the band was first starting out, struggling to get gigs and make a name for themselves, the party was always a welcome release at the end of a hard-won show. And then, once they'd gotten a record deal and dropped their first album, their popularity seemed to explode overnight. Back in those early days of stardom, the party had begun to serve as a different kind of release – a sort of escapism from the record industry pressures, the press, the paparazzi. It became a coping mechanism of sorts. A crutch. Noah understood why his bandmates reveled in the scene … why they overindulged at times. He did get it. He just didn't feel the same way anymore. He was over it. For him, the stage was the real escape. The real high. And he knew that it would be another three days before he was allowed to feel that high once more.

  Sighing heavily to himself, he slowly stood up with a determined air. He knew that he had to find something to fill that void between now and then, one night at a time. And since he refused to get swept into the drug pit, his go-to vices were either working on new music, drinking himself into oblivion, or screwing the night away. Or some inventive combination of the three.

  He quickly scanned the room, his eyes assessing the prospects. Selections chosen, he made his way across the room to where a group of partiers sat drinking and doing lines of coke and passing around hits of acid. Sitting on the fringe of the group was a cute little brunette with a tiny waist and full hips and breasts. That classic hourglass, pin-up girl figure that drove him nuts. She was talking and giggling with a friend who didn't have half the body, but did have a pretty face and long, silky brown hair. Noah knew that neither one of them could be much over 18. He hoped they were both at least that old, anyway. He wasn't about to stop and ask for ID though.

  It took him only seconds to convince them both to leave with him, and as he neared the door with his small harem, Benji caught his eye.

  “You leaving?” he asked, sounding somewhat disappointed.

  “Yeah,” Noah replied, draping an arm around each girl. “I think me and my new friends here will go have a private party of our own.”

  “Yeah, okay,” Benji smiled. “See ya on the bus.”

  “Yep.”

  *****

  Noah heard pounding, and he wasn't entirely certain that the noise wasn't coming from inside his own head. It would stop for brief moments and then begin again, louder and more instant.

  “Ohh…” He groaned, hoping some acknowledgement would make the noise stop. But it was no use, the pounding came again.

  “Noah!”

  The voice was familiar and annoying. And suddenly Noah realized that the pounding in his head was only magnified by the loud pounding on his hotel room door. Slowly, he dragged himself up into a sitting position and looked around. He was alone. But the empty bottles of Jack and Jim scattered about the room reminded him of the previous night's affairs. He didn't remember much. Only that his two young companions had worn him out, which had been his intention. And he remembered waking up in the middle of the night, screwing them both again, and then handing them off to the band's security detail to get rid of them before passing out once again.

  “Noah! Come on, man; you got a plane to catch!”

  Getting to his feet, Noah found his discarded jeans lying on the floor and pulled them on as he clumsily made his way to the door. Opening it slowly, he glared at his guitar tech with murderous eyes.

  “Will you please shut the fuck up,” he whispered, leaning his head against the door.

  “You look like shit, dude,” his friend said as he entered the room.

  Noah sighed, ignoring the comment as he softly closed the door and turned to look at his friend. He ran both hands over his soft, curly bed-hair, holding his head gently and really wishing the pounding would end. “What time is it, Aaron?” he whispered.

  “You've got just over an hour to get on the bus.”

  “Alright. Thanks for having my back, man,” Noah mumbled.

  “Hey, you asked me to help keep you on track this tour,” Aaron replied. “That's all I'm doing, man.”

  Noah nodded slightly. On Jagged Ivory's first world tour, three years ago, he had gained the disdainful reputation of constantly being late to arrive on the tour bus. It angered his bandmates and their manager because it sometimes threw them way off schedule. Of course, back then he had been too much into the party to care. But things had changed this time around. He had changed. But just for some extra insurance, he had recruited his trusted guitar tech to act as his alarm clock on days the band needed to be on the move.

  “Is the gear taken care of?” he asked softly, still hating the sound of his own voice inside his hurting head.

  “Yeah, gear's all stored and loaded, ready to go,” Aaron replied. Noah grinned at his friend. Always eager to please and very professional in his duties, Aaron was one of the best guitar technicians in the business, and Noah was well aware that, since becoming his tech three years ago, Aaron had become sort of a pseudo-celebrity himself among guitar fans because of his proximity to Jagged Ivory and his inside knowledge of the band's sound.

  “Alright. I'm getting in the shower. Thanks for the wake-up call.”

  “Yeah, man,” Aaron replied as Noah walked past him and headed for the bathroom. “Want me to order you some room service?”

  “Not unless it's hair of the dog,” he mumbled, closing the bathroom door.

  He turned on the water in the shower, and then stood at the toilet and relieved himself for a moment. Then he stepped over to the mirror above the sink and gave himself a good once over. Aaron was right. He did look like shit. A ton of whiskey and virtually no sleep will do that to a person, he guessed. His normally rich olive skin tone looked almost sallow under the harsh florescent light of the bathroom, and his eyes were slightly bloodshot. The stubble on his face made him look scruffy, and he knew that he should probably shave, but he didn't have time. He made a face at his reflection and turned away.

  A minute later he stood beneath the flow of the hot water, wishing the steam would purge his system of the lingering hangover and knowing that wouldn't happen. His tattooed arms stretched out before him, his hands braced against the tile wall as he hung his head and allowed the warm water to hit the back of his neck in a hydro-fueled massage. He wished he could linger here for longer, but he knew that he had to get moving. Grabbing the soap, he began to wash up, reluctantl
y.

  When he finally stepped out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel, he was slightly annoyed to find Aaron still in his room, but not surprised. The kid seemed to take his duty of getting Noah on the bus on time very seriously.

  “Hey … wasn't sure if you were serious or not about breakfast so, I ordered you some pancakes and coffee,” he said, motioning to the room service cart next to him. “And I got you this,” he said somewhat sheepishly, opening up a plain brown bag and setting a fifth of Jack on the cart beside the pancakes. Noah looked at him with raised eyebrows and watched the kid's face redden. “Well, I … I didn't know if you were serious…,” he mumbled, letting his explanation fall to the wind.

  “How much time have you spent with me on the road, Aaron?” Noah asked, trying to hide his amusement.

  “Uh … well, counting the last tour … I guess it kind of adds up to … almost two years,” he worked out quietly.

  Noah nodded. “And in all that time, you still don't know when I'm joking and when I'm not?”

  “Um … well, sometimes I do,” Aaron answered, his face flushing in embarrassment once more. “Usually, I do but … You know what, I'll just get rid of it,” he said, taking the bottle and putting it back into the bag.

  “No. Don't get rid of it,” Noah said firmly. “It'll come in handy later, I'm sure. I'll just put it in my bag.” Noah couldn't blame the kid for his confusion. If this had been the last tour, he would have had no problem drinking his breakfast. But after that tour ended, he felt like he had hit a wall. Like he had reached a point where either the alcohol or the music was going to take top billing in his life. And after watching Benji struggle … it was a no brainer.