Rage

by Michelle Pace

  barely see her dark-lined eyes through her veil of blonde bangs.

  ‘Take me back to our room, and you’ll find out.”

  Luck had been on Nathan Clayton’s side since the day his

  was born, but he felt like the luckiest move he ever made was

  walking into the burlesque club where Saffron tended bar. She

  was his perfect playmate, and though he was afraid he was fall-

  ing in love with her, he smiled like a fool.

  “As you wish, Mistress. Lead the way.”

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  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Stephanie snapped a photograph of a little girl in a red pea

  coat through her telescopic lens and then erupted in a tired huff.

  It was a crisp but clear September morning, and she was at the

  very least grateful to be able to sit outside on the balcony.

  Though she undoubtedly had the best view of any invalid in

  London, she’d had it up to her eyeballs with bed-rest and wanted this baby out now. She stared out at the River Thames over the

  plate of crackers and fruit she balanced on her swollen belly. She wondered how long Phillip would be in the studio today. After

  sending him out at midnight on a hunt for Funyuns, a green ap-

  ple and Strawberry Quick, she figured he’d knock off early and

  come home for a nap. Steph smirked at the thought. If he knew

  what was good for him, he’d just catch a quick one on a couch at Abbey Road Studios; if he came home, she’d put him to work on

  the crib again.

  She assumed the guys wouldn’t be working long today an-

  yway. Nathan’s wedding had been the day before, and he was on

  his honeymoon. Steph pictured Saffron and Nathan hiding their

  Anglo-Saxon flesh under goth-black umbrellas as they cruised

  down the Nile, and she laughed so heartily that her plate nearly toppled off her gut. All at once the baby seemed to do a 360 inside her. Steph screeched loudly as her uterus seemed to twist

  inside out. A sudden sheen of sweat coated her skin, and she

  sucked in air. She heard footsteps thumping along the floor-

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  boards toward her, and her dear friend and former assistant, Gerald, appeared. He knelt at her side, his black skin sweaty in his cobalt blue skin tight exercising ensemble. She guessed he’d just returned from trolling for men at the gym.

  “Are you okay?” he gasped, his brown eyes bugging out.

  Steph nodded unhappily, holding her side and Gerald heaved a

  sigh of relief, fanning himself.

  “Whew. I thought someone was sacrificing a wild boar up

  in here.” He grinned at her slightly, and she tossed one of her

  crackers at his face.

  “I’m losing my mind from boredom. I’ve taken the same

  picture of the same boat three times. And it’s not even a cool

  boat. Entertain me, Gerald!”

  “I’m all over it. Cheyenne’s on her way.” He glanced at his

  cell phone. “She made me promise to wait so she could narrate

  the slide show.” When the doctor explained that her blood pres-

  sure was too high and ordered her to convalesce for the last

  month of her pregnancy, Steph was relieved. Her agent, Debz

  had done an awesome job booking her exclusively in France and

  the U.K, but the baby had sapped all of her energy, and she was

  more than ready to quit working. With Steph unable to attend

  Nathan’s wedding, they were suddenly without a photographer.

  She recommended Gerald to take her place. He’d flown in from

  Chicago earlier that week. and they’d had a great time catching

  up, but Steph was disappointed that she couldn’t wander London

  with him and show him the sights. The wedding had been so

  close yesterday—in a private garden less than five minutes away

  by car—and she’d begged Phillip to let her go. But he was still

  fabulously overprotective and wouldn’t budge. From the details

  Phillip and Gerald leaked over last night’s dinner of Indian take-out, she could tell she missed the event of the season.

  The doorbell sounded, and Cheyenne sauntered in carrying

  a large basket of Steph’s favorite treats.

  “Hey!” Cheyenne smiled, coming out onto the balcony

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  where Steph was propped up like a giant queen bee. She looked

  thin and well rested. Steph wanted to kick her over the balcony

  into the river.

  Gerald put a hand on his hip. “Do you really think she needs

  more food, Chey?”

  “She’s eating for two, Ger.” Cheyenne chuckled, tossing her

  chocolate brown hair.

  He gave Steph a long sideways glance. “Two what? Water

  buffalo?”

  Steph blinked at him. “I hate you all.”

  After Gerald had a chance to shower, he and Cheyenne

  pulled chairs up next to Steph’s chaise lounge. The basket of

  treats was spread around them like the world’s most unhealthy

  picnic, and they’d settled in for the weirdest slideshow known to man. Stephanie had traded her plate for her laptop and they were scrolling through the digital pictures of Nathan’s and Saffron’s hand joining ceremony. Steph’s mouth hung open.

  “Oh…my…God.” She murmured, clicking the mouse.

  “Yep.” Cheyenne concurred.

  Gerald pointed to the screen proudly. “Notice the way I cap-

  tured the light radiating off her rhinestone bra?”

  “Stunning. Wait. Is that David?” Steph asked, her voice

  suddenly small like that of a frightened child. She was having

  trouble processing the images as reality.

  “Yes. He got the privilege of being one of the slave men

  carrying the bride’s litter.”

  “That’s far better than what she made Nathan do.” When

  Steph cocked an eyebrow at her, Cheyenne elaborated. “When

  she stepped down from her litter, he had to be her stool.”

  “You have got to be joking.” Steph stared at Cheyenne.

  Gerald nodded at the mouse. “Click twice more and see for

  yourself.”

  Cheyenne giggled, but it soon turned into a chortle. “You

  should have heard the vows.” Gerald had been in the act of tak-

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  ing a drink and sprayed bottled water all over the balcony.

  “It came out my nose, you bitch.” He laughed.

  Two hundred pictures later, Stephanie had had her fill. Plus

  the baby was stomping on her bladder with both feet.

  “I have to pee. And go shave my eyeballs.”

  “Thanks for sharing.” Gerald’s grimaced comically, but he

  offered his hand to help her up. The moment she stood, there was a sudden sound of rushing water. Gerald jumped back from

  Steph in horror and hid behind Cheyenne who stared at the

  ground wide-eyed.

  “I guess I waited too long to go.” Steph deadpanned.

  “I think we need to call your husband.” Cheyenne replied

  without missing a beat.

  “I think you need to buy me new shoes.” Gerald chimed in, sounding mortified.

  “Gerald, go get the car.”

  His ebony face was nothing short of incredulous. “You go

  get your car. She’s not getting in mine like that.”

  Cheyenne huffed and flung her keys at him as she dialed her

  phone with one hand. Steph bent to scoop up her cam
era and felt

  a shooting pain in her back. She dug her fingers into Gerald’s

  arm and refused to let go. He winced, but wisely said nothing as he led her to the front door. She decided this was the perfect time to freak out.

  “Oh shit! Where the hell is my bag? I thought I put it right

  by the door!” she said, feeling a tingly sensation in her fingers and toes.

  “Take a deep breath, Steph; we’ve got everything you

  need.” Cheyenne held up the bag as she held out her phone with

  the other hand. It was ringing and on speaker phone mode.

  When he answered on the second ring, Phillip sounded as

  panicked as Steph felt. “Cheyenne?”

  “Phillip…its go time.”

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  From the moment they crossed the hospital threshold,

  Steph, who was contracting every ten minutes, was begging

  every staff member (including a passing janitor) for drugs.

  Once they reached the maternity ward, a friendly faced old

  nurse leaned down and took Steph’s hand in both of hers.

  “Sweetie, just breathe. Your birth plan says you want to do

  this naturally.”

  Steph blew a hair out of her eyes. “That was then, and this

  is now, Sister.”

  “Let’s get you settled in your room and you can talk to the

  doctor about it. You should know it won’t be as good for your

  baby.”

  Steph’s face contorted as if she was being tortured, and she

  choked out a shriek. One hand grasped at her side, the other

  grabbed the front of the nurse's scrubs. When she spoke, her

  voice had dropped an octave. “Listen, Florence Nightingale: this baby is three quarters Irish, and she’s a Brier. Her liver can take anything you can dish out! Now get me something for the

  fucking pain!”

  Gerald cackled, and Cheyenne covered a wide smile.

  “So you’re having a girl?” Cheyenne’s faux innocence

  made the color run out of Steph’s cheeks. Panicked eyes shot

  around the hall as if she expected a camera crew. It was under-

  standable. The paparazzi have been following Steph since she

  started showing.

  “Don’t tell Phillip. He wants to be surprised,” she begged.

  While Gerald wheeled Steph off to her birth suite, Cheyenne

  headed back downstairs to the entrance to wait for Phillip. Five minutes later, Bret’s tricked out SUV pulled up to the door. Phillip jumped out before they came to a complete stop and rushed

  through the doors as if he were in a disaster movie. David and

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  Scot trailed behind him.

  Phillip whipped his head in either direction then looked

  helplessly at Cheyenne. “I can’t remember where the maternity

  ward is!”

  Cheyenne pointed to her right, and Phillip lit off down the

  hall like his hair was on fire.

  Scot crossed to Cheyenne and greeted her with a peck on

  the cheek. His looked amused. “The whole way here he was try-

  ing to remember Lamaze.”

  “And Bret told him just to remember the beat to “We will

  rock you” and to quit being such a sissy boy,” David laughed.

  Cheyenne shook her head. Since Sarah had given birth to twins

  last spring, the lead guitarist now had four kids, so the veteran father could dole out such casual advice.

  “Laugh if you want, but I feel very sorry for Phillip right

  now.” She replied as Bret moseyed in the door. “Steph said

  they’re having a girl.”

  “Oh thank the lord. Phillip’s boy name was atrocious.” Scot

  ran a hand through his long hair.

  David titled his head to the side. “It wasn’t going to be Phil-

  lip Junior?”

  “No worse. Bartholomew Callahan Kersey.”

  “I just threw up in my mouth.” Bret shook his head critical-

  ly. He glanced at his watch facetiously. “So…let’s see…first

  baby…water broke less than one hour ago…I think we should go

  have some lunch and buy a novel or two at the gift shop.”

  David’s phone rang, and he held up a finger to them. “Hey,

  Babe.” He answered, “No…no hurry. She just went into labor,

  and the baby’s not going anywhere. Keep your flight for tomor-

  row. I miss you more.”

  As David wandered off with his cell phone to his ear, Chey-

  enne and Scot exchanged a smile. Yara was in New York for

  Fashion Week, but she still called David about once an hour and

  texted more often than that.

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  As they followed Bret to the gift shop, Scot took Chey-

  enne’s hand. “Do you think I should go get Liam?”

  She shook her head. “No. He’ll throw a fit if you pull him

  out of school early. I’ll text Kara. She can just pick him up at his normal time and bring him straight here.”

  “Cheyenne, its nursery school. He’s three and a half.

  They’re not studying trigonometry.”

  “You tell him that.” She replied as she wandered down the book and magazine aisle. She froze when she saw her book on

  an end cap. Her autobiography I Married a Rock Star: My Life with the Boys in the Band had spent four months on the New York Times Best Sellers List. She was trying her hand at fiction now that Liam was happily in school. She loved writing without

  tight deadlines and had to credit her husband for pushing her to make the transition from music journalist to author. Though she

  occasionally submitted pieces to Adam, she was no longer on the

  payroll at The Sound Wave. Running in the circles she did, she often stumbled across great new acts and interesting tidbits of

  musical interest, and Adam’s magazine would always get first

  dibs.

  “What the hell is this?” Bret asked, pulling Cheyenne out of

  her reflection. She turned and saw him holding up a Fury lunch-

  box. They all commenced laughing so loudly that the clerk

  shushed them.

  “Oh my. You know you’re a sell-out when kids drink

  chicken noodle soup out of your head,” David chimed in as he

  pulled out a thermos that featured a close up of Phillip’s seductive face.

  “Does anyone else find this inappropriate for grammar

  school?” Scot flipped the lunchbox over to the backside which

  featured the name of their album, Freudian Slip.

  “I’m getting one.” Bret announced, taking the thermos back

  from David.

  “I want one,” Cheyenne whined.

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  “Well, this one’s mine, so bugger off.” Bret taunted her.

  “I’ll see if there are any more in the back.” The clerk

  snapped her gum without looking up at them.

  “Oh, Lord.” Scot shook his head.

  As her most recent contraction passed, Steph wearily leaned

  back against Phillip. She’d been sitting between his legs and

  he’d been rubbing her back when it came, and it was a mon-

  strous one. She’d been at the hospital for three hours. Her con-

  tractions were now six minutes apart, and she’d nearly jacked the nurse in the mouth when she checked her a few minutes before

  and claimed she was only two centimeters dilated.

  Phillip wrapped his arms around her and kissed her cheek.

  “You’re doing great, love. You’re so fearless.”

 
“Uh, shut up and get off of me, Phillip. I can’t breathe.” She

  pushed his arms away and tried to move forward.

  “I do believe you’re on me.” He joked, and she rolled her

  eyes and scooted toward the edge of the bed. She’d had the epi-

  dural, and it had made it even harder to move around than usual.

  There was a light tap on the door, and Cheyenne poked her

  head in.

  “Need a break?” she asked, her eyes meeting Phillip’s.

  “Yes!” Steph and Phillip said in unison. Cheyenne covered

  a grin.

  “Your family’s downstairs. They brought you some shep-

  herd’s pie.” Phillip reached out to touch Steph’s shoulder, and

  she yanked it away.

  “Need anything?” he asked, looking dejected.

  “Yep. To have this baby out of me. Can you do that, Phil-

  lip?” She pointed to her mid-section with both hands. As she

  moved toward the restroom, she muttered. “You certainly had no

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  problem putting it in there…”

  Cheyenne snickered, and Phillip uttered a long suffering

  sigh. On his way out the door, Steph saw him mouth the words

  “thank you” to Cheyenne. A simple nod was her only reply.

  As Steph returned from the restroom, another contraction

  gripped her. She had a stricken look on her face.

  “I changed my mind. I can’t do this.” Stephanie’s voice

  sounded strident, and during her trip to the restroom she’d been horrified at the enormous bags under her eyes.

  Cheyenne nodded and handed her a cup of ice chips. “Now

  you know why I only wanted one.”

  “You called Cedric and Dad, right?” Steph slowly lowered

  herself onto the bed. She hit the call light and made a half-assed attempt to put her baby monitor back around herself.

  “Yes. I called everyone on the list. Cedric just called back

  and said he got a flight for later this afternoon. Your dad and

  Shirley are flying out tomorrow morning.” Steph smiled at that.

  Her dad had recently started dating his long time senior editor.

  She figured he had decided to seize the day after having a minor heart attack nearly two years before. Though he still owned The Sound Wave, he no longer acted as Editor-In-Chief.