The Widow and the Rock Star

by J. Thomas-Like

  The Widow

  a n d t h e

  Rock Star

  J. THOMAS-LIKE

  Also by J. Thomas-Like

  The Widow and the Will

  Copyright © 2014 J. Thomas-Like

  Cover Art by James, GoOnWrite.com

  Author Photo by Chasing Light Photography

  All rights reserved.

  First eBook Edition: July 2014

  Second eBook Edition: April 2016

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The author takes full responsibility for any errors and holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  For more information:

  http://www.jthomaslike.com

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Dedication

  For Daddy

  The one person I wanted most to make proud. It took longer than you could last, but I hope I did it.

  For Nevada

  It’s no Waiting for the Sunrise, but I think you’d like it, anyway.

  Acknowledgements

  To Mom, Jeff and Amy: I finally did it!

  Thank you Laura for your beauty and Chris for your talent. I look forward to many more photo shoots.

  Thank you to my special friends, some of whom may or may not think they resemble certain characters. You know who you are.

  Please don’t sue.

  This never would have happened if it weren’t for WRITE CLUB!

  A special thank you to Natalie and Mary for going above and beyond. Jason, Brian, Philly and Matt, you were also instrumental in this particular work and I can’t thank you enough. And to all the former members of WC: you gave me years of excellent critiques and generous support. If not for you, I might not have kept going.

  Powerhouse Summit Members: you ROCK! I am forever grateful for your advice, guidance, and encouragement to get this book out there.

  Last, but NOT least, my extraordinary husband. You believed in me from the start, encouraged me through the tough spots, was patient during the manic times, and didn’t divorce me for having a crush on my male leading character.

  HEY! I love ya!

  Chapter 1

  “Good morning and thank you for calling Glendale Bank’s online technical support department. My name is Joe. How may I assist you today?”

  Shit. I spit the sip of coffee I had just taken back into the cup.

  “Yes, good morning! I’m having some difficulty logging in to my account. It keeps telling me the password is invalid.” Grabbing a tissue, I wiped away the small drip of liquid crawling down my chin.

  “Yes ma’am, I’d be happy to assist you with that. Could I have your first and last name, please?”

  “Vivienne Stark.” I made sure to spell it for him. I listened to Joe tap on the keyboard I couldn’t see, imagining a head and two lone hands floating in space with no body. I answered all of his questions to verify my identity then waited for him to reset my password. He prompted me to log in again while he stayed on the line to make sure the new password worked.

  “Success!” I smiled as the page with my financial information slowly loaded, but I could feel the grin slide off my face and my heart begin to race. Both accounts had a zero balance. What the hell? I tried to click on each one for more information, but error boxes claiming the accounts had been closed popped up on the screen, one after the other.

  “Uh, Joe? All my balances are reading zero here and I’m being told my accounts are closed. Is there some problem on your end?”

  “I don’t have actual access to your accounts, ma’am. I would have to transfer you to customer service.”

  “Please do that,” I muttered through clenched teeth, irritated with all the delays so far this morning. First, the password not working. Then waiting on hold for twenty minutes for a techie. And now my accounts all saying zero and closed? What the fuck?

  Fortunately, I didn’t have to wait more than a minute before my call was answered in the order it was received. Another two minutes and there would have been hell to pay.

  “Good morning and thank you for calling Glendale Bank’s customer service department. My name is Maria, how may I assist you today?”

  “Good morning, Maria. I’m looking at my account information online and it’s saying both checking and savings are at a zero balance. I’m a little confused by that. Could you take a look please?” I did my best to remain calm and pleasant.

  “Yes ma’am, I’d be happy to assist you with that. Could I have your first and last name, please?”

  Rolling my eyes, I once again proved I was me. I waited for Marie to say there was just a computer glitch or the system was in the middle of an update. Or someone else somewhere else had made a huge mistake but that everything would be just fine.

  It’s a good thing I wasn’t holding my breath.

  “Ma’am, it shows here that all funds were withdrawn yesterday and the accounts were closed.”

  “What?” I screeched. “By whom?” So much for calm.

  “Let me check.”

  More tapping that synced with my thumping heart. Sweat popped out on my upper lip.

  “Anthony Lyleson closed the accounts and requested a cashier’s check in the amount of $762,412.36.”

  “Son of a bitch!” My cardiac rhythm hit a new high while adrenaline dumped into my system, instantly giving me the shakes. My armpits burned with prickling sweat. “I thought there had to be two signers on any withdrawal requests or checks? How could he do this without my signature?”

  “You aren’t in California ma’am?”

  “No, I’m in Michigan.” I was hoping I wouldn’t vomit.

  “One moment please.”

  I began to feel lightheaded, like I was going to pass out. I leaned over in my chair, putting my head between my knees. My fre
shly dyed red hair surrounded my head and brushed against the floor. The faint smell of ammonia filled my nose, bringing me back to my senses. Anthony Lyleson. Tony fucking Lyleson. The man I had put in charge of my charitable foundation was a lying, thieving rat bastard.

  “Your signature appeared on the check he presented, ma’am. I can email you an image of it to the address we have on file.” Maria’s lack of emotion fueled my overloaded anger circuits.

  “Do it!” I snapped as I sat straight up. I sucked in my breath with the instant swooning headache that thumped my skull.

  While I waited for the email to arrive, I jumped up and began pacing across the squeaky wooden floors in my dining/living area. Each creak filled my ears and mingled with the sound of blood rushing through the veins in my temples. If this didn’t bring on a migraine, I didn’t know what would. What the hell was I going to do? Three quarters of a million dollars up and gone. Poof! I blinked back a wave of furious tears as Maria spoke to me with her unaffected tone.

  “If this was an unauthorized or fraudulent transaction, ma’am, I’ll need to transfer you to our fraud investigation department.”

  “Wait!”

  I wanted that email before I let Maria escape back into telephone outer space. Too late. Muzak burst through the speaker on my phone, causing me to wince. I let out a shrill scream, the tail end of which pierced the eardrum of the operator who once again thanked me for calling and asked how she could help.

  Help? She could help by turning back the clock! Just then the new email bell went off and I dove back into my seat in front of the laptop. As I spoke to the fraud operator, I pulled up the attachment to be confronted with a poorly forged copy of my signature below Anthony Lyleson’s on a check from The Widow’s Path Foundation. Never mind the signature wasn’t even close to mine, but Tony had been stupid enough to misspell my name by leaving out an “n.”

  I spent the rest of my morning arguing with people at the bank. Trying to convince them I hadn’t authorized the embezzlement felt like an exercise in futility. I couldn’t count the number of times I asked the bank officials if I would really misspell my own name. Eventually they agreed the transaction was fraudulent, but they wouldn’t admit it was an error on their part or assume any responsibility whatsoever. A police report would have to be filed, an investigation conducted. My presence in California would be mandatory as soon as possible. They opened a new account on which only I was authorized. I needed to wire funds from my personal account immediately so that checks written to numerous families would not bounce. Shit, that was all those struggling families needed. Glendale Bank swore up and down they would honor any check that arrived before the wire transfer. They also promised under penalty of lawsuit that they would contact me directly and immediately if any of the checks looked suspicious.

  I didn’t hold out much hope the cops would catch Tony. He had probably left the country right after leaving the bank. How Andy Dufresne of him, ala The Shawshank Redemption, although Andy was a good guy and Tony was turning out to be the scourge of existence.

  I also called my agent, Jake Rushmore, to let him know what was going on. He freaked out more than I did. He was more worried about the negative publicity than the money actually being missing.

  “You need to get out here ASAP,” he huffed over the line after spewing a string of curses.

  “I know—”

  “I’m serious. Get your ass on a plane today!”

  “Jake, I—”

  “I’ll get Ariadne to book your flight. Ari! Get on the net, get Vivienne Stark out to Los Angeles by tonight!” He was shouting and I could picture his face growing a deeper shade of magenta by the moment.

  I pursed my lips and listened to him prattle on about damage control, press releases and getting me on TV as soon as possible. Of course he wouldn’t be concerned with the hundreds of widows and widowers and their families the foundation was meant to help. That would be my burden. Jackass, I thought, rather unkindly.

  I held the phone away from my face and shouted his name as loudly as I could.

  “Jake!”

  “What?!”

  “Just email me the info and I’ll be there.”

  “Okay. Look for it shortly. Talk to you later.”

  Even though the thought of eating anything made me want to hurl, I went to the kitchen to find a sandwich. If my blood sugar dropped any lower, I’d be comatose before I could get out to California. I mixed up tuna and mayo, and then spread it on bread. I tried to take small bites and chew thoroughly, but the food just didn’t want to go down my throat. It wasn’t getting past the lump of guilt that had settled there. I tossed the sandwich aside and grabbed my phone. I called my local bank and put into motion the wire transfer of almost all of my savings. It still wasn’t nearly enough, not even half of what Tony had stolen. My stomach lurched at the thought.

  “War widow” wasn’t the title I planned on putting on my business card of life. I reserved that spot for the word “writer.” But publishing a fictionalized version of my personal tragedy forever linked me with both. The Widow’s Path turned into my opus. Originally self-published as an e-book through Amazon, word of mouth and social media sent it skyrocketing out of the atmosphere. The publishing company offered me a contract and within six months, the book was on the New York Times Best Seller list and nominated for the National Book Award.

  For something that began as a tear-stained, rambling journal entry, no one was more shocked than me when it became a success. For a dozen years, it was nothing more than a narrative of the debilitating pain in my heart. Every day I would vomit the words onto a page in an effort to purge myself of the agony. Instead of leaving it behind and moving forward, I remained in my mental shroud of mourning. A life of pain and bereavement was much easier than learning to live or love again.

  Around year fourteen, I started playing around with the idea of fictionalizing it. Why not try and put it out there to help in the income department? I could change all the “I’s” to “she” and “her.” Give “her” a name and a happy ending. The main character could find love again and have a real life, even if I couldn’t or wouldn’t. I pitched the idea to my writer’s group buddies and they were immediately on board. They knew the truth about me and thought my story would make a compelling read for people who’d struggled with the same issues.

  When The Widow’s Path blew up, thousands of letters and email messages poured in, mirroring my own grief and horror. All manner of survivors wrote saying the book touched them and gave them hope, even if they cried through most of it. They wanted to know how I could see what was in their hearts and minds so well. They thanked me for telling “their” story. Because I fictionalized the book, it was a closely guarded secret that it was based on my own personal experience. Only my family, friends, and Jake knew about it.

  Till that point in time, I’d already indie-published a steady stream of romance/chick-lit novels at a rate that allowed me to earn a modest living outside the nine-to-five box. But The Widow’s Path brought in the crazy money. Paying the bills was no longer a worry. Shopping for store brands instead of name brands was a thing of the past. Savings accounts and retirement plans were in my future for the first time in my life. Anyone outside of my inner circle probably thought my life was perfect.

  Something was missing, though. I was pretty sure the universe was telling me to let go of the past, go forward, shed my widow identity and live like a normal person. It was too scary a proposition for me. Instead, I racked my brain for a way to do good and give back without having to put any more of myself out there than I already had. I wanted to help people and do charitable works to pay my good fortune forward. I just didn’t want to be ostentatious or obvious about it.

  The idea I finally got wasn’t even my own. A nonprofit organization benefiting veterans approached me for an endorsement and donation about six months after the initial media explosion surrounding The Widow’s Path. I immediately agreed to the donation, but declined giving a
n endorsement. If I was going to put my name on anything, it was going to be something I controlled. Hence, The Widow’s Path Foundation. Publicly, it was meant to help and support the widows, widowers and children of fallen soldiers. Personally, it was a way for me to continue to hide within the safety of widowhood and avoid real life.

  I donated a third of the profits of the book to get the foundation up and running. I started making cold calls to friends, family, and anyone I had a connection to in order to keep the funds rolling in. My mom and my friends helped to organize local fundraisers, send out flyers, and with the day-to-day details of the fledgling organization. My first mistake was letting Jake take over the publicity, and things went wild. Press inquiries were nonstop. Donations poured in from all over the country when the word got out I’d started a foundation. I needed someone to take over and do all the hard work I was so unprepared for. Jake gave me a list of names to vet of reputable people who’d been in charge of large charitable organizations in the past. Tony Lyleson’s name had not appeared on that list. It was just my bad luck he had turned up at one of the many fundraisers we held. He schmoozed me so expertly, I was hooked like a stupid walleye out of Lake St. Clair.

  Within six weeks, Tony Lyleson was the front man of The Widow’s Path Foundation, leaving me free to return to my life of obscurity in St. Clair Shores, Michigan. He convinced me to move the foundation to Los Angeles, where he lived, so that he could solicit the celebrity set for larger donations and glowing endorsements. He promised success for the foundation beyond anything I’d ever imagined. He spun tales of televised benefits and A-list rock stars and bands performing at them. Tony convinced me that The Widow’s Path Foundation would one day be as philanthropic as The Red Cross. I was mesmerized by his charismatic passion and apparent commitment to the cause so near to my heart. I was addicted to the idea that I could finally make more of a difference in the world than by filling it with whimsical fiction and keep myself hidden away in the ’burb where I was born and raised. I trusted so easily, so stupidly.