There was something jackal-like about him. Maybe the jaw. “I’m Guy,” he said. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m your neighbor. I live behind you.”
All at once Jade recognized him. He looked different with clothes on. She recalled watching him and his wife getting it on and she burned with embarrassment—then alarm.
Had he seen her watching them?
“Hi,” she said, holding out her hand. “I’m Jade.”
They shook.
“Sorry to just drop by like this, Jade, but there’s something I want to discuss with your husband. Is he by chance still home?”
“No, he isn’t.” she said. “He left for work an hour ago.” Suddenly suspicious, Jade wondered if this man, Guy, could have seen her with Ronnie?
No, impossible. She’d never met Guy before this morning.
“Can I help you with whatever this is about?” she asked.
“It’s no big deal,” he said. “It’s about the fence that runs between our properties. My wife and I, we’re thinking of fixing up the backyard. The fence, it’s a bit of an eyesore. We were going to put a new one on our side, but we wanted to discuss it with you and your husband first. Fences can be touchy business between neighbors.”
“The fence,” Jade said, smiling with relief. God, she was a paranoid wreck. Soon she was going to be wearing a tinfoil hat to stop people from reading her thoughts. “I would have to talk to my husband, Mick, about that. But I can’t imagine it being a problem.”
“Great,” Guy said. “The other option would be to knock that old fence down and just build a new one that looks good on both sides. My expense. I’d pay for the entire thing.”
Jade pictured the old wooden fence that ran along the back of the property. It was weatherworn and crooked in places and in need of a new coat of stain.
A new fence might be nice.
“Mick usually works late,” she said. “Seven or eight is usually the earliest he gets home. But if you wanted to stop by on the weekend, that might work.”
“All right, I’ll leave it until then. It was nice meeting you, Jade.”
“I’ll be sure to let my husband know you came by.”
♀
Mick returned home at nine thirty that evening. Jade heated up the dinner she had made for him, and told him about Guy, and his proposal. Mick seemed fine with the idea. He finished eating, then went to his study, where he made some work-related phone calls. Jade brought her novel to bed and slipped naked beneath the covers—just in case Mick’s words weren’t just words this morning. He came to bed around midnight, smelling of Scotch. She’d been sleeping but woke up. She lay curled on her side of the mattress, waiting for him to touch her, or to say something.
You feeling like it, hon?
This didn’t happen. He fell asleep almost immediately, and a few minutes later, she did too.
♂
Jade spent each morning the rest of that week sitting in the armchair in the living room, keeping vigil at the front window. The skinny-legged, pot-bellied mailman showed up each day. By Friday, Jade had given up any hope or fear of seeing Ronnie again.
She had been a one-time fling, after all, and this was for the best.
Chapter 11
Anything could go wrong tonight, Mick thought, standing in front of the bathroom sink while he brushed his teeth. They might not show. They might walk off the stage in the middle of their act. They might get in a fight with the audience. They might be so drunk and high they couldn’t play for shit.
Or they might just prove to everybody why they’re going to be the greatest rock n’ roll band on the planet.
It was The Tempests’ final live gig before they took a hiatus from performing to record their debut album. Bob Corker, Jeffrey Griffin, and a few others from Chrysalis would be at The Whisky a Go Go. They had all heard The Tempests’ demos, of course. But none of them had seen the band play live, and this was what Mick had sold them on—the band’s raw energy that they had to “see to believe.” So the last thing Mick wanted tonight was for the five musicians that he had staked his reputation on to royally fuck up.
Jade’s reflection appeared in the mirror behind his. She was dressed in a sequined jacket and the black leather miniskirt he liked but she always thought was too sexy to wear. A black scrunchy held her hair high on her head. Loop earrings dangling from her ears, and the new diamond-studded pendant glittered around her neck.
“You look fantastic,” he said, spitting and rinsing.
“Thanks. Are you ready?” she asked him.
“As ready as I can be.”
Mick drove to the venue, doing his best to ignore the butterflies in his stomach. He hadn’t been this nervous since—he didn’t know when. A long time, at any rate.
He turned west onto Sunset Boulevard, which at nighttime morphed into a sordid bazaar of peep shows, porn shops, neon-lit liquor shops, hustlers, and whores.
Along the mile-and-a-half-long Strip, the sidewalks were packed ten-deep with preppy teenagers from the San Fernando Valley, punks who hadn’t yet realized the LA punk scene had died, long-haired metal heads, colorfully dressed gays and transvestites, shady looking dealers peddling Quaaludes and smack, and a handful of sheriff’s deputies trying to keep the peace.
The Whisky a Go Go came into view up ahead on the corner with Clarke. Situated in an old bank building, and named after the first discothèque in Paris, it’s been one of the hottest nightclubs in America for the last two decades, the launching pad for numerous bands including The Doors, Steppenwolf, Sonny and Cher, the Mamas and the Papas, Buffalo Springfield, dozens and dozens of others.
Tonight THE TEMPESTS was written in big red letters on the marquee.
“We’re here,” Mick said.
Chapter 12
Mick handed the car keys to the parking valet, and Jade followed him to the roped-off entrance of the Whisky a Go Go, which bypassed the rowdy line snaking halfway down the block. There was a narcotic, anti-authoritative vibe to the deep Hollywood scene that made Jade feel intimidated. She squeezed Mick’s hand tightly; he squeezed back just as tightly.
They were a few feet from entering the nightclub when a loud cheer went up behind them. They turned to see a Mercedes with a Kustom Kulture skull and bones paintjob pull into the space where their car had previously been. The driver’s door opened and a larger-than-life man stepped out. He had the biggest, blondest hair and the whitest teeth Jade had ever seen. He wore a torn mesh top, tiger-striped spandex pants, and Capezio dance shoes. Two busty women emerged from the car to join him, one on each arm. With a goofy smile, he waved to the swooning crowd, all the while dispensing huge rock star vibes.
“Who’s that?” Jade shouted in Mick’s ear to be heard above the fanfare.
“David Lee Roth,” Mick told her. Then, with a shrug, added, “Yesterday’s news.”
♀
Someone Mick knew greeted them inside The Whisky and led them to a table where Bob Corker and Jeffrey Griffin were already seated. They exchanged the usual greetings, everybody speaking louder than usual, before Mick started talking business. Jade withdrew from the conversation, content to watch the nightclub fill up with people from all walks of life. The energy was electric. Jade had had no idea how sensational a spectacle this was going to be, and sitting there in the spacious VIP section, avoiding the envious looks from the young women crowded into the standing-room-only space, she realized just how much she had been living under a rock. Mick was a very successful, very important person. He was a somebody. She suddenly felt very proud to be at his side.
The club was not too small or large—intimate, Jade supposed—and not long after it reached its four-hundred-or-so person capacity, the lights dimmed and the opening band took to the stage, four glam rockers in spandex, stacked heels, teased hair, and a liberal application of lipstick, rouge, and kohl. In fact, they looked more like cheap hookers or drag queens than musicians, but they put on a loud, intense show that shook the place to the foundations.
After their last song, a few minutes of tense anticipation passed before the house went black and roars and cheers went up from the audience, the volume already eclipsing anything from earlier in the night. Then, dramatically, The Tempests appeared to shrieks and catcalls and general pandemonium. Unlike the previous band, they were mostly dressed in torn jeans, well-worn leathers, and either cowboy or combat boots. The singer, bare-chested beneath a vest and cap, shouted, “Welcome to The Whisky, motherfuckers!” before an earsplitting guitar riff kicked off the first song.
Jade could barely take her eyes off the singer, the way he suggestively handled the mike stand and seductively moved his body to the music, gyrating his hips and thrusting his crotch at the grasping female fans. The lead guitarist put on an equally entertaining show, spinning in circles or sliding around on his knees, all in a cloud of distortion, reverb, and feedback. At one point the rhythm guitarist sidled up back to back with him, and there was a kind of psychedelic bleating and squawking as their two guitars dodged in and out of each other, conjuring a devilish sonic orgy of sound. When the song exploded into its anthemic second half, the singer’s crooning voice became a demonic shriek while the guitarist’s playful licks turned into a shredding showcase that launched into the ballistic coda. The rail-thin bass player, singing backups, tore off his shades and stomped around so violently he almost toppled over. The curly-haired drummer, elevated on the drum riser beneath the brightest spotlight, smashed his drum kit with reckless abandonment, a huge smile on his face.
And so it went for the next hour or more: seizure-inducing lighting, clouds of dry ice, deafening songs, road crew feeding the band lit cigarettes and bottles of booze.
Then it was over.
Sweat running down his face and chest, silver necklaces and bracelets jingling, the singer tossed his leather cap through the smoky air into the audience, shouted “G’night!” and walked off the stage.
♂
Mick, Bob, and Jeffrey got up to go backstage. Mick wanted Jade to join them. She declined, telling him she was happy where she was, not telling him The Tempests scared the bejeezus out of her.
“I’ll be back in a bit then,” Mick said, kissing her on the cheek.
“I’ll be here,” she said.
Now that Mick was gone, Jade lit up a cigarette and puffed quickly and satisfyingly on it. She still had goosebumps, she realized. Those five guys had—she didn’t know how to put their performance into words. They had talent, definitely. But it was more than that. They had a presence like she’d never experienced, an edge. It wasn’t evil. More like threatening. No—dangerous. That’s how Mick had described them, and he had been one hundred percent right.
Dangerous.
She finished her cigarette and was thinking about stepping outside to get some fresh air when someone said, “Hello, Jade.”
She looked up—and it was déjà vu. Ronnie stood next to her table, smiling down at her.
She felt an instant rush of excitement, then trepidation.
What is he doing here? What if Mick sees him?
“Ronnie?” she said, so surprised she couldn’t think of anything else to add.
He slid into Bob Corker’s vacated seat. “I wouldn’t have guessed this to be your kind of scene,” he said.
“I’m with my husband,” she said, glancing past Ronnie to the milling crowd. “His label is working with that last band.”
“Ah, that’s right. Your husband. Mr. Showbiz.”
Jade’s focus returned to Ronnie. Mr. Showbiz? “Do you often come here?” she asked him, to give her time to think of an excuse to get rid of him.
“Sure. Here, Club Lingerie, The Roxy, The Troubadour, all the hot places. Hey, got an extra cigarette?”
“Actually, Ronnie—I hate to ask this, but you can’t stay here. I can’t be seen with you. If my husband comes back…”
“That wasn’t a question, Jade.”
She frowned. “Excuse me?”
“You said you ‘hate to ask this,’ but you didn’t ask me anything. You made a statement.”
Her frown deepened. Something was different with Ronnie. There was an undercurrent of hostility that hadn’t existed when they’d first met.
“Ronnie, please,” she said, quickly, a note of desperation now in her voice. “If you want to meet me again, just tell me where. But you can’t be here.”
“I’ve been thinking about you, Jade. Have you been thinking about me?”
She glanced past Ronnie again. She didn’t see Mick, but he could be anywhere.
He might be coming back right now.
“Yes,” she admitted, hoping this might expedite Ronnie’s exit.
“Do you think about my cock inside you?”
She blinked. “Ronnie!” she said.
“Tell me how good it felt.”
Her brow furrowed in anger. “What is wrong with you tonight?”
“Wrong with me? I haven’t done anything wrong, Jade. I’m not the married one.”
“You’re acting…you’re completely different. Did I do something?”
“Did you do something?” He chuckled. “Oh yes, Jade, you did something. You did something terrible.”
“What?”
He smiled at her—a predatory smile.
“Tell me!”
“Oh, Jade.”
“This is not funny.”
“I’m not laughing.”
“What do you want?”
“You’ll find out.”
“What does that mean?”
“You’re boring me, Jade. Maybe I’ll stroll around. Maybe bump into your husband. I saw him sitting with you. I know what he looks like.”
“Don’t you dare!” she hissed.
“Give me a kiss. Right here.” He leaned closer to her. “Make it good, some tongue, like you did before. You do that, I’ll go.”
Jade balled her hands into fists. She had no idea how their conversation had come to this, but she was not going to put up with it any longer. “I’m leaving.”
“Maybe I’ll stop by Chrysalis Records.”
She stiffened. Had she told him that’s where Mick worked?
“Do whatever you want,” she said tightly. “I’ll deny everything.”
“Oh?” he said.
“You’re the mailman, Ronnie. You saw me while I was out for lunch. You harassed me.”
“I’m sure the waitress remembers things differently.”
“Okay, whatever—so we had lunch. I let you sit down. I was being polite. But that was it. I went home.”
“If that were the case, Jade, why is it that I know exactly what you look like under that slutty little skirt you’re wearing. Exactly. That little birthmark? You know the one I’m talking about. I could tell Mr. Showbiz about that. I sure could. Or I could just call him up and play the recording I made of you screaming while I fucked your brains out.”
“You’re a liar,” she said, though her entire body had started to tremble.
Ronnie continued to smile at her.
She grabbed her purse and fled.
Chapter 13
Jade pushed through the hot and sweaty crowd toward the stage with such haste she lost a pump and stepped barefoot on the sticky, beer-slicked floor. She retrieved her shoe and pressed on. She was dazed, confused, as if she’d just fallen down the rabbit hole and landed squarely on her head. What had just happened? What was wrong with Ronnie? Had he really meant what he’d said about admitting the affair to Mick? Why would he do that? What had she done to him? Was he a raving lunatic? A schizophrenic? Did he have a split personality disorder?
At the stage Jade beelined to the door that led backstage. When she reached it, a massive bodyguard—he must have been close to four hundred pounds of beer and cheeseburgers—dropped a beefy arm in front of her. Two black eyes pressed into a chocolate-pudding face studied her indifferently.
“My husband is Mick Freeman,” Jade said. “He represents The Tempests. He came back here with Bob Corker
and Jeffrey Griffin. They’re all with Chrysalis Records. I need to see them.”
The man spoke into a walkie-talkie. The response came with a burst of static. He withdrew his arm, already looking past her.
Jade entered a room crawling with partying techies and roadies, many of whom shot her who-the-fuck-are-you glares. She didn’t see Mick anywhere.
In the first dressing room she passed the lead guitarist lounged in a chair, a bottle of Jim Beam in one hand, two young girls sitting cross-legged at his feet. In the next dressing room the bassist stood half naked in a corner with a girl rubbing her bare breasts against him, while the rhythm guitarist lay on the sofa, staring at the ceiling, totally out of it.
Three girls burst giggling from the last room, in which Jade found the singer, now by himself. He sat adjacent to a small table and light-rimmed mirror, picking at a plate of snacks. He had taken off his vest, and his silky jet-black hair spilled down over his bare shoulders. This close Jade could make out the gargoyle tattoos and other Victoria imagery brocading his arms and chest. Unlike his bandmates, he didn’t seem wasted.
“Excuse me?” she said, knocking on the open door redundantly. “I’m looking for my husband—Mick?”
The singer looked at her for a long moment, his eyes dark and probing.
She said, “I’m—”
He snapped his fingers. “Jade.”
She was surprised. “You know me?”
“Mick has a picture of you in his office.” He spoke with a northern English accent.
“Have you seen him?” she asked.
“He was here with Corker and Griffy. But you missed ’em. They went home.”
Jade couldn’t believe this. “Mick went home without me?”
“No, soonshyine,” he said. “Corker and Griffy went home. Mick went to a cash point.”
The Mailman Page 6
