Saving Her Harem

by Alexis Adaire

  Now they’re down to the final two songs. As we finish another late breakfast, the guys one by one leave the kitchen to prepare for today’s first session. I realize it’s just Ian and me at the table and decide to investigate something that’s been bugging me.

  “Ian, can I ask you something private?”

  “Of course, love.”

  “Did you have sex with Holly?”

  He laughs gently.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “What’s funny is that I’m literally the only one in the band who didn’t have sex with Holly in Paris. She made the rounds that week.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  He ponders the question. “I suppose by the time she finished with the others, the idea was no longer that appealing to me.”

  I smirk. “So a woman isn’t desirable if she wants to sleep with the entire band?”

  Ian laughs again. “You’re the exception, obviously. Holly was putting feathers in her cap, nothing more.”

  “Jason says he doesn’t remember much about being with her.”

  “Of course he doesn’t, he was on ecstasy and drunk out of his mind, at the same time. That was before we all decided it was time to dial it back, chemical-wise.”

  “You really don’t think he remembers?” I ask, unconvinced.

  Ian looks at my sympathetically. “Kelsey, you know Jason has been with a lot of women. We all have. None of us remembers them all. But that’s our past.” He gives me a hug and plants a kiss on my forehead. “You are our future. Mine, Jason’s, all of ours. And if you think too much about what happened before you met us, it’s going to drive you crazy.”

  “I know, but—”

  “Then stop.”

  He kisses me, on the lips this time, a soft, gentle kiss. Then another. Then I kiss him back. Before I know it, Ian and I are in the middle of one of those searingly sexy kisses.

  When he breaks the kiss, he says, “We love you. All of us. That’s all that matters now.”

  * * *

  I take my seat in the purple chair and put on my headphones, and watch as the musicians put theirs on.

  I don’t like the look on Jordan’s face, though. He looks like he’s spoiling for a fight.

  Sure enough, the first big disagreement comes during the recording of the first song, a mid-tempo number called Everything You Ever Wished For. Jordan wants to try it faster, to “make it rock a little harder, because for fuck’s sake, we’re supposed to be a rock band.”

  Nick and Zilla quickly shoot down that idea, saying the tempo is perfect as is. Ian and Jason agree. Then Zilla turns to Brandon and asks, “What do you think?”

  Before he can answer, Jordan says, “Who gives a fuck what he thinks?”

  “Brandon gets an equal say,” Ian proclaims. “He’s a member.”

  “No, he’s a guest.” Jordan sneers the last word, then looks in my direction. “Why not ask her what she thinks? Maybe we should get the cook’s opinion, too. And the gardener might want a say.”

  Everyone glares at Jordan.

  “I like the tempo,” Brandon says. “Speeding it up will ruin it.”

  “Bollocks. What the fuck do you know?”

  “Jordan, enough.” Jason is getting pissed off now. “You’re outvoted.”

  They get the basic tracks recorded: drums, bass, and two guitar tracks. When it comes time for the keyboard parts, the tension escalates.

  “Okay, Brandon’s got organ and synth,” Ian says.

  “I’ll lay down a piano track,” Jordan interjects. “I have something very cool in mind. Very sexy.”

  Ian corrects him. “Actually, you’ll be sitting this one out.”

  “The fuck I will.”

  “The fuck you will!” Jason is in his face now.

  “Hey!” Zilla shouts. “For fuck’s sake, let’s just record this.”

  Jordan backs down and Brandon prepares for the first take of his organ part. The engineer’s voice comes over the headphones. “Ready? Everything You Ever Wished For, track five, Hammond C-3. And… rolling!”

  I hear four clicks, then the song begins. Brandon’s organ part is dead-on perfect, and I’m really starting to hear the difference between his professionally trained skills and Jordan’s self-taught ones. I look around the room and see smiles everywhere.

  Except on Jordan, of course. He listens intently, then look over at Brandon quizzically.

  “Hold it! Hang on, hang on.”

  Everyone glares again.

  “Sorry, but I have an idea, okay?” Jordan joins Brandon behind the keyboards and says, “What if you try it more like this…” He plays an organ part that’s very different from what Brandon had written for the song. “Something like that, y’know? Not so stiff. More feel.”

  Brandon doesn’t react at first, instead looking at the others for guidance on how to respond. I know my guy well enough to see the doubt in those hazel eyes. He may be confident about his playing ability, but he’s still unsure of his place in the band now that its original keyboardist has reappeared.

  “Thanks, but I got this,” is all he says, dismissing Jordan, who fixes him with a stare before retreating.

  They manage to get music tracks for the song finished, telling Jordan he’ll have a harmony part to sing when they record the vocals, so he won’t argue that he isn’t on the song at all. It’s difficult enough without having to deal with the after effects of leaving him out altogether.

  By the time they get to the second song later in the afternoon, tempers are starting to fray. When Jordan again interrupts Brandon’s playing—this time during a piano part—Harem’s newest member loses it.

  “Forget it. I’m not going to play it that way.”

  “Listen, mate,” Jordan says, “I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you have. I made my first million while you were shitting your pants.”

  “Yeah, but these songs need something you can’t give them.”

  “And what might that be?”

  Everyone is holding their breath for Brandon’s response.

  “Depth. Harmonic sophistication. Subtlety.”

  Jordan obviously knows an insult when he hears one. His teeth clench as he glares at Brandon, who doesn’t back down.

  Suddenly Jordan’s right fist explodes, catching Brandon flush on the cheek and knocking him back into the huge Hammond organ. He recovers quickly and slams Jordan against a nearby speaker, sending it crashing to the ground.

  Chaos erupts and there’s yelling everywhere, including a loud scream from me. The other guys all rush to separate the two, with Jason arriving first. I hear ripping sounds as Brandon and Jordan have each other by the shirt and refuse to let go when Jason steps between them.

  The room is sheer madness, with the producer and engineer rushing in from the recording truck to see what all the commotion is about. It takes a while to get everyone separated and calmed down. Everyone except Brandon, that is, who is angrier than I ever imagined he could be. None of us had any idea sweet Brandon had a temper.

  The dust finally settles and Brandon is breathing normally again. That’s apparently too tranquil for Jordan’s taste, because he looks Brandon’s way, laughs, and shakes his head disdainfully.

  Brandon steps out from behind his keyboard stack and walks toward the front door.

  “I’m outta here,” he says to everyone behind him. “There’s no amount of money that’s worth this. You guys need to make a decision one way or the other.”

  “Keep walking,” Jordan says. “Nobody gives a shit.”

  “Brandon, wait,” Ian and Nick say almost simultaneously.

  Brandon stops suddenly and takes a deep breath. Then he turns around and approaches the band again. He looks at Ian and says, “Sorry,” then throws a punch that catches Jordan square on his jaw and sends him tumbling backwards into Nick’s drums.

  Cymbals crash to the floor as Brandon stalks out of the room. Jason starts to follow, but Ian stops him. “Give him a few minutes to cool off.�
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  Meanwhile, Jordan has picked himself off the floor and is massaging his jaw. He looks around the room and sees that everyone is scowling at him.

  “Fuck that Yank todger. In fact, bugger off, the lot of you. You guys used to be fun.”

  “And you’re the same as you ever were,” Zilla says. “Not a whit of difference from age fifteen.”

  “What of it?” Jordan demands. “You’re all so fucking grown up now. You fancy yourselves as serious businessmen, but you’re nothing more than record label arse-kissers.”

  The session ends on that note. Nobody is in a mood to continue.

  I hurry outside to talk to Brandon, hoping I’ll be able to calm him down, but he’s nowhere in sight.

  12

  Breakfast is a sad affair, despite Ella’s delicious cooking. We still haven’t heard from Brandon, though we’ve all tried calling and texting.

  “He’s probably worried that we were thinking of bringing Jordan back in permanently because of the legal issues,” Ian says. “Making them work together.” As usual, Jordan didn’t join us for breakfast. It seems rising before noon is an insurmountable task.

  “Or simply kicking him out to add Jordan,” Nick adds.

  “Nah, Brandon knows we’ve already decided to keep him and dump Jordan as soon as Griff gives us permission,” Zilla says. A few seconds go by as everyone ponders that, then Zilla asks. “Doesn’t he?”

  Jason sighs. “Yes, we told him. Then we started recording and Jordan is suddenly back in the picture. We could have made it more clear to Brandon that Jordan being here was a legal matter, and that we’ll get rid of him permanently as soon as we can. But we buggered that one, didn’t we?”

  Nobody says anything for a while, until Nick pipes up. “Well, now we’re fucked.”

  The guys discuss whether to resume recording in Brandon’s absence and decide instead to focus on getting just the drum and bass tracks done for a few songs, leaving the rest for later.

  When the session begins and Jordan finally shows up, he takes issue with the plan. “What’s the big deal? I’ll play all the fucking keyboard parts. It’ll sound better. That kid was a bit of a tosser anyway.”

  I sense tempers about to flare again, but the matter is temporarily set aside when Griff walks in, a serious look on his bearded face.

  “Gentlemen, it’s time we had a meeting.”

  As everyone gathers, Griff says to me. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave the room, dear.”

  “I understand” I step outside to get a bit of sun, and a few seconds later Jordan comes strolling out as I’m standing next to Griff’s black Mercedes.

  “Well, well,” he says, “looks like you and I are in the same boat. A lifeboat, at that, banished from the luxury liner.”

  “Do you have to be a total dick all the time?”

  He gives me that slimy grin of his.

  “But I hear dick is what you’re into. Lots and lots of it.”

  “Grow up, Jordan,” I say as I walk away. I need to get away from this idiot, so I head toward the three-door garage. Ian mentioned it was originally a stable for the horses and had been converted years ago. I step in, locking the door behind me in case Jordan decides to follow.

  When I find the light switch, I’m stunned to see six cars in the garage, three across and two rows deep, all gleaming. I recognize a classic Jaguar from the Sixties and a vintage Rolls Royce, and what I think is a classic Porsche. The other three are newer, all sleek exotic sports cars that look fast as hell just sitting there.

  I walk around, peering inside each car and marveling at the amount of money represented inside this old building. Despite my knowing that Ian paid a fortune for Wolfshire Court, I tend to forget how wealthy these young men are. I recall that while I was researching Harem online before I met them, I learned that they’re each worth roughly two-hundred million American dollars. And Ian and Jason are worth even more because they get composer royalties. In front of me right now is probably several million dollars’ worth of automobile.

  My phone buzzes and I look to see a text from Griff.

  Done. Need to see you for a sec by my car.

  I hurry back to the front of the house and see him standing alone.

  “Where’s Brandon?” I ask.

  “I don’t know. He hasn’t contacted me. To be honest, I wouldn’t even know where to begin looking. I don’t want to contact his family in the state and start a panic, so I think it’s best to give him a little more time.”

  “I hope he’s safe.” I don’t know why I’m worried. Brandon is a big boy who can take care of himself, and he has plenty of money. It’s not like he’ll be living on the streets or starving.

  “I’m sure he’s just tired of Jordan’s nonsense, as we all are. If it were up to me, I’d send him packing right now, but that would cost Harem dearly, I’m afraid.” He looks past me and says, “Speak of the devil…”

  I turn to see Jordan approaching. Griff wait until he’s within earshot before saying, “Jordan, I urge you to heed my warning: Cut out the nonsense. All this shite is your fault, and the band is this close to tossing you out on your arse. You don’t want to test me any further.”

  “Things will get back to normal now that the kid has taken off.”

  Seriously, how can this man be so clueless?

  “He’ll be back, and you will cease your fucking around or else.”

  “I promise to turn down my cheekiness,” he says with an insincere smile. “It’s all in good fun anyway. The Yank is too thin-skinned for this business.”

  Griff scowls at him. “Bugger off now. I need a word alone with Ms. Lambert before I get back to London.” When Jordan is gone, he says, “I wanted to let you know that I’ve wired the money to your account.”

  I start to protest, but he holds up a hand to stop me. “Now I know you said you didn’t want it, but you’ve earned every penny of it, and then some. Kelsey, I can only imagine the kinds of things you had to do over the last three months to keep those ruffians in line. You sacrificed your body to keep them happy, and you were right to think that was the only way to make this work. It’s bloody brilliant, it is. You certainly know your business and I won’t hesitate to get in touch if I need you again in the future. Knowing these boys, that’s quite likely.”

  While I’m trying to wrap my brain around what I’ve just heard, Griff continues.

  “In addition to the one million dollars we originally agreed on, I included an extra two hundred-fifty thousand for you going above and beyond by accompanying the boys here to Wolfshire. You obviously knew how important this record was.”

  I’m stunned. I don’t want this money. Yes, this was our agreement when I accepted the job of rehabilitating Harem’s image after Jordan’s Amsterdam publicity nightmare. But I told Griff when we left Fiji that I was going on tour with the band because I loved these men and wanted to be with them, to ensure they behaved themselves while finishing the tour dates.

  “I can’t accept it, Griff.”

  “You have no choice, my dear. I gave the order to the accountants this morning. By now the money is sitting in your account.”

  Before I can respond, he adds, “You’re free to leave Wolfshire and return to the states as soon as the recording is finished, of course.”

  I’m so shocked by the comment I remain mute as he climbs into his car and drives away.

  Does he know something I don’t know? Was my leaving discussed in the meeting inside?

  * * *

  Jordan doesn’t join us for dinner. He’s only been there half the time anyway, so nobody is surprised, especially considering what took place earlier. He’s the main topic of conversation, though.

  There isn’t much talk about Brandon because the guys seem convinced that he’ll be back.

  “I’ve gotten to know the kid pretty well,” Zilla says, “and there’s no way he’ll walk away from this. Musically, it’s the best situation he’s likely to find. Financially, it’
s definitely the best.”

  Nick adds, “And my god, can you imagine a young guy like that walking away from Kelsey here?”

  Everyone laughs, but the thought bugs me more than I’d admit. Even if Brandon rejoins Harem, I still fear he’ll one day realize he’s only slept with one woman in his life and will want to see what else is out there. I do believe he loves me, but he’s young, so that could be a passing infatuation as well. It crosses my mind that he might have gotten Holly’s phone number, and maybe called her.

  At dinner, I don’t ask the boys about our future together. I’ll have time for that once the album is finished, and right now they’ve got enough to think about without having to reassure a concerned girlfriend.

  The guys busy themselves with an evening poker game. I consider going to bed early, but decide instead to take a little walk first. The recent turmoil has left me feeling upside-down and I want to try to de-stress a little.

  The evening air is amazing tonight, warm and smelling of fresh-cut grass and roses. It’s already getting dark out, but the koi pond and the rose maze are both illuminated, so I head off in that direction. After stopping to see the fish, I decide to stroll around the rose maze.

  Ian said the one-acre maze was added to the property over a century ago, and the boxwood hedges that make up the walls are the original plants. Some decades ago, rose bushes were planted alongside the hedges, narrowing the paths but elevating the entire experience to something otherworldly. With the nighttime floodlights scattered here and there, the brilliant color of the roses is lost, but the smell… oh my god, it’s intoxicating.

  I wander around, breathing in that heavenly aroma. I’ve managed to make it all the way to the pool a couple of times, so I’m pretty sure I know the way. My efforts are rewarded when I turn a corner and see the glowing blue water surrounded by stone. Ian had the bottom of the pool painted a shade of blue that makes the water seem tropical. As I look at it, it’s almost like being back in Fiji, looking at the amazing bays.

  It occurs to me that a swim would be the perfect way to try to let go of some of the stress I’ve been storing up all day. I know I won’t be able to completely settle my troubled mind, but anything will help.