Two Polluted Black-Heart Romances

by Kevin James Breaux

  “I’ll make it vanish——and like a clever magic trick, I’ll slip it into my costume. No one will ever see it.”

  “Okay.” Sabrina shook her head. “Fine.”

  The driver knocked on the door, opened it, and offered her his hand. Sabrina had never met the man before. He’d said he’d worked for the record company his entire life. He was overly polite, which created an uncontrollable urge inside her to act the same.

  “Miss London, we have arrived.”

  “Thank you, sir. Thank you for the ride and for all your hospitality.” Sabrina smiled and then prompted Weston to exit first. “Weston…”

  After Weston stepped out, Sabrina drew a deep breath and peeked over her shoulder. A backless dress may not have been the best choice, but my wings are my trademark. The producers will no doubt want to see my tattoo in person. She breathed deeply and exhaled slow. Next time, I go plunging neckline, show some cleavage, take the attention off my back and put it on my front where it should be. She smirked, her self-confidence seemingly returned.

  As she stepped from the limo, Sabrina gazed at her cell phone.

  No new calls. Damn it, Moss. Where the hell are you? You can’t be dead.

  “You okay?” Weston asked.

  Sabrina steadied herself on her heels. You can do this, Sabs. You got all those modeling jobs yourself. Your charm. Your looks. Your skill. You can do this.

  “Miss London, they are waiting for you on the top floor. A representative will meet you in the lobby and escort you up.”

  “Thank you.”

  “No, thank you. It’s been my honor, Miss London.”

  Sabrina nodded to the driver and then looked to Weston, who was doing his job, keeping watch on all things. Sabrina drew a deep breath, and realized that in this terrifying moment, she felt the safest she had in days.

  Perhaps, I’m better off without Cade.

  “Sabrina?” Weston urged a response. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine. Just taking it all in. It’s a big moment for me, you know.”

  “I do.”

  Sabrina adjusted the jeweled bangle on her wrist. “Okay, let’s go. My future awaits.”

  Weston led the way into the building, a newer forty-floor high-rise that was designed in a double-tower style, with more glass than Sabrina could imagine. The thing shimmered like a giant award statue. She wondered if that had been the designer’s plan, or if it had just worked out that way.

  When the automatic door opened for Weston, Sabrina giggled. She remembered a time, long ago, when Weston had battled with an automatic door sensor that would not recognize him no matter how dense he made himself. It was early on in his service as her bodyguard. There had been a dare, and her counter-challenge was for him to open the door without touching it or mimicking a human form.

  As she walked through the door now, into the noisy lobby, she thought about how Weston refused to accept defeat. In her mind’s eye, Sabrina could still see him, or what little of him had been visible, his hand waving around in an effort to set the door into motion. Sabrina nearly laughed out loud when she remembered that, for all his efforts back then, he just could not figure it out. Sabrina had won the bet when she made a paper airplane out of a page of a magazine and flew it into the direct path of the door sensor.

  “Miss London? Miss Sabrina London?”

  A skinny man in a red suit jacket waved his hands wildly at her. The way the man moved, combined with his big, open-mouthed grin, reminded Sabrina of a character from The Muppets.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m Sean Gardner, Peter Rubie’s assistant. We spoke on the phone.”

  “Oh, right. Nice to meet you, Sean.” Sabrina shook the man’s hand, but his attention had quickly refocused on Weston.

  “Who is this?” Sean asked. “Oh, wait, I didn’t realize you were dating a member of Daft Punk.”

  Sabrina laughed. Weston did look like one of the Daft Punk guys. She couldn’t wait to tease him about that gem later. “No, he’s my bodyguard. Sorry, his other uniform is at the cleaners.”

  “Well, let me welcome you all to RCA Studio D. Not as classic as the old Studio B, but a great new home for the top brass when they have business out here in Los Angeles.”

  Sabrina took an all-encompassing look around. “I can see that.”

  “There’s a food court, a restaurant, a bookstore, a salon, and a gym down here in the lobby.” Sean pointed. “Have you ever been to the restaurant?”

  “No.”

  “It’s owned by Rob Dyrdek. Former skater turned TV mogul,” Sean explained. “Maybe you saw his show when you were a kid, it was called—”

  “Rob and Big,” Weston whispered.

  “I was going to note The Fantasy Factory, but I see your bodyguard has a taste for the true classics.”

  Sabrina nodded. “He does.”

  “And for bladed weapons.” Sean added with a touch of sarcasm.

  “Can I be honest, Sean?” Sabrina leaned in to the man. “He really wanted to carry his Uzi. We argued about it the whole way here. Of course, I told him that was inappropriate.”

  “Heavens…” Sean looked stunned. “Well, could he put the big knife away at least?”

  “What knife?” Weston said softly; the machete had vanished, just like he said it would.

  “I’m sorry.” Sean rubbed his eyes. “I guess—well, I guess, I mistook that long sash on his belt for a scabbard.”

  “It’s okay. Happens all the time. That’s why we have a running joke about it. See, Weston likes to Live Action Role Play.” Sabrina looked at Weston and smiled. “He’s made swords and shields out of cardboard and tinfoil for years. Don’t worry, Sean. I told him to leave his toys in the car.”

  “Oh.” Sean nodded. “Well, I have seen all sorts of bodyguards come in and out of this place. One guy had a pair of brass knuckles hanging from his neck. Said it was a necklace charm.”

  “I’ve seen that before.”

  “Not like this. This bodyguard must have been seven foot tall. In my opinion, he didn’t need weapons.”

  “I don’t need weapons either,” Weston said.

  “I—”

  “You were escorting us upstairs, Sean?” Sabrina interrupted.

  “Yes. Yes, I was. I have the penthouse key right here. So please, join me in the elevator. I promise the music inside will be only the very best.”

  Sabrina laughed at the man’s joke, regardless of its shaky delivery.

  Here we go.

  Sabrina, knowing all eyes would be on her wings, was last to step into the elevator. Her natural ability to keep them hidden always became more difficult when under such intense scrutiny. She compared it to carrying a full glass of water upstairs. Sabrina only had an issue with her wings when she knew someone was gawking at them.

  I could do it. I could release them right now, and this Sean guy would be in for the shock of his life. Sabrina smirked with the thought. One day, Sabs. One day.

  The elevator doors opened to a large greeting area and massive front desk with the letters RCA in black and white. Oddly enough, it reminded Sabrina of Kintner’s offices, what little of them she had seen. Momentarily absorbed in those thoughts, Sean and Weston passed her and the elevator door began to close.

  “Miss London?” Sean called out. “This is our stop.”

  Before she could raise a hand to prevent the doors from closing, she felt a cold draft—Weston. He caught the door and nudged at the small of her back to goad her out. Even in his costume, his abilities were not confined. Sabrina made a mental note to ask him just how greatly his powers had grown over the years. She had shied away from asking Mira a similar question once. Sabrina had always been unsure if the answer would comfort or disturb her. Now, she had lost her chance.

  “Miss London?” Sean called out once more.

  Weston piped up this time as well. “Sabrina?”

  The force on her back was too much. Sabrina took a step and was finally out of the elevator. Her heart pou
nded in her chest, and her grip on her purse tightened.

  Now or never, Sabs. Now or never.

  “I was just thinking about all the great talent that has probably rode that elevator.”

  A new voice broke the tension in the air; it was filled with confidence and tenacity. “No greater than the talent you possess. Good day, Sabrina.”

  Sabrina recognized him right away: Peter Rubie, CEO of RCA Records. He was more handsome than his pictures, and for a man in his mid-fifties, he appeared to be in great shape. Of course, the British accent was icing on the cake.

  “Good morning, Mr. Rubie. It’s nice to meet you.” Sabrina greeted him with her best smile.

  “Call me Peter, and my, my, you are as lovely as you are brilliant.”

  Sabrina blushed. “Thank you.”

  “Gonna make Shakira jealous, this one,” he said and then looked to his associate. “Right, Sean?”

  “Shakira who?”

  “Indeed. And who have we here?” Peter said to Weston and then leaned over his assistant’s ear. “That’s not a Daft Punk is it?”

  “No, sir.” Sean nodded. “That’s Sabrina’s bodyguard.”

  “I see. Every artist comes with an entourage. I expected you would have another three or four lovelies with you.” He nodded. “Maybe a brawler or two.”

  “My friends are all…busy.”

  “Too busy to watch you woo the head of a record company with your beautiful voice?” Peter arched a brow. “What are they doing, solving world hunger?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Who needs them? All I need is you, Sabrina London.”

  She nearly choked. Alexander Kintner had said the exact same thing, and with Peter’s hand on her arm like Kintner’s had been, it conjured up the man himself.

  No. Sabrina blinked, and her vision cleared. She suspected she had been caught with a blank look on her face; her reflection in Weston’s helmet proved it. When Weston looked away, Sabrina snapped out of it and plastered on a pleasant smile. “Shall we begin?”

  Recording Her Feelings

  Everything moved so quickly.

  Sabrina felt that, within a series of a dozen dizzying blinks, she had met Peter Rubie, was introduced to the development team, and was whisked away with a bottle of water and the promise of greatness to the other side of the building: the recording studio.

  She took another sip of water while she twisted her bracelet around and around her wrist. She imagined she looked like Moselle the way she was nursing from the water bottle clutched tightly in her hand.

  Damn it. Moselle, I could’ve used your support today. You, Mira…even him…Cade Robert Lawton—the bastard.

  “Can you hear us?” a voice came through the intercom into the small recording booth.

  Sabrina looked across the room to the studio. It was aglow with a myriad of colored flashing lights. It was like looking at the set of a sci-fi movie when she looked at Peter Rubie, his assistant, Sean, and the board operators, all lit up by the lightshow—and the way they were seated, they looked like they belonged on the bridge of the Enterprise. Sabrina smiled as she wondered if Weston had the same thought. All those afternoons that you made me watch reruns of Star Trek with you, you big dork, she thought as she looked at her bodyguard.

  “Miss London? Do you hear us?”

  Sabrina nodded and gave a thumbs-up.

  “Good,” Sean replied. “Take a moment, steady your breathing; then give it a go.”

  “Okay.”

  “Levels are good here. We’re ready when you are, Sabrina,” Peter’s voice had an urgency his assistant’s did not.

  “Thank you, Peter.”

  “No need to be nervous. You’re not the first musician to forget their lyrics when they stepped into one of my booths,” Peter added. “Just relax and feel it. Feel it all.”

  Feel it all. Her earlier years flashed back to her, the years when she had felt it all. She had spent years numbing herself to the world and those in it—drugs, alcohol, sex, anything that would dull her senses or steal away her mind had been welcome. Feeling it all, she thought, would mean dropping all my guards. Sabrina didn’t know if that was possible after all that had happened.

  “Ready?”

  “Ready.”

  She closed her eyes when the music started to play and began to sing.

  You ain’t gonna taste my flesh again.

  You ain’t gonna steal my soul again.

  You had your chance,

  we danced that dance,

  you chose yourself;

  you walked away

  It felt like there was nothing else.

  You take what you want,

  take what you need.

  When asked to stay,

  you took the lay.

  When asked for help,

  you put a bullet in my brain.

  You ain’t gonna taste my flesh again.

  You ain’t gonna steal my soul again.

  You had your chance at my heart,

  but you chose my blood; I would’ve given you both.

  I would’ve given you it all.

  (whispers) I had before.

  You filled my holes,

  and left so many new ones to bleed.

  When asked for your protection,

  you made me a deal.

  When asked for your trust,

  you hurt me so bad I could no longer feel.

  You ain’t gonna taste my flesh again.

  You ain’t gonna steal my soul again.

  My body’s filled with blood and tears.

  Never for your tongue to taste.

  My body’s warm with love and fears.

  Never for your cold hands to clutch.

  My body belongs to me now.

  You got what you made.

  I hate your black heart,

  Cade.

  Sabrina opened her eyes as the music faded away and the first thing she saw were stunned looks on everyone’s faces. Behind them, Weston clapped.

  I did it. I fucking did it.

  The intercom buzzed. “Sabrina…”

  She could see Peter speaking. He sat back in his captain’s chair, a big grin painted across his handsome face.

  “Sabrina, that was outstanding.”

  “Thank you, Peter.”

  “I trust that with a few tweaks, that song is going to crush the charts and dominate them a long, long time.”

  Sabrina jumped up and down with excitement.

  “Sabrina, this is Sean—”

  “I can see you, Sean.” Sabrina waved.

  “Oh, right, yes, sorry.” Sean waved back. “I just wanted to add: Wow. You really touched me.”

  “She’s gonna touch a lot of people,” she heard a slightly muffled Peter say.

  “As long as I’m the one doing the touching,” she said, smiling.

  Everyone in the studio laughed. Even Weston nodded with approval.

  “So tell me,” Peter said, talking over the conversation, “do you have another brilliant song for us, Sabrina?”

  “I hope so.”

  “Do you need anything before you sing it?” Sean asked.

  “I could use some more water.”

  “We’ll send some right in.”

  Sabrina fixed her dress as a young assistant rushed from the back of the studio to the booth. The girl, who had a streak of pink hair, looked as anxious as Sabrina felt. Sabrina opened the booth door for the girl and said thank you before she even received the water. All the courtesies today were infectious.

  “Here you go, Miss London. Room-temperature water.”

  “Thanks.”

  When the girl handed Sabrina the new bottle, she did so with a long string of mumbled words.

  “What did you just say?”

  “I—I only wished you luck and said…y-you’re my idol…”

  “Oh.” She smiled at the girl. “Thank you.”

  Sabrina unscrewed the cap and shook her head a little as she watched the girl rush
off, making her accidentally spill a bit of water.

  “Sabrina?” Peter Rubie’s voice came over the intercom. “You well, love?”

  “Yes, just spilled a tiny bit of water on the floor.”

  “No worries, dear. You concentrate on singing, not that wetness down there.”

  “Oh-kay…”

  Sabrina took a long drink. The booth no longer felt small. She no longer felt fear, only joy. She wanted to enjoy the moment to the fullest. She wanted to release her wings and spread them wide. She no longer cared. She no longer worried. She felt unstoppable.

  “Ready?”

  “Ready.”

  Once again, a smooth and moody beat began to play. Although it was the first time Sabrina had heard the music, samples stored for common use she guessed, she innately knew how to fit her lyrics into it and belted out the first word, holding the note.

  Drowning.

  I’m drowning,

  drowning without you.

  You were my life vest.

  You kept me afloat.

  You were my friend,

  my best friend; I should’ve treated you better.

  I’m drowning,

  drowning without you.

  You kept me safe.

  You kept me alive,

  my own devices had failed; I should’ve realized you saved me.

  I’m drowning,

  drowning without you.

  You kept me clean.

  You kept me sober,

  my life changed for the best; I should’ve kept you close

  close to my breast.

  I’m drowning,

  drowning without you.

  You kept me low; I wanted to get high.

  You kept me wet, when I was dry.

  You were so cold to the touch,

  ice in my eye.

  How can I be so thirsty now,

  when I’m drowning?

  How can I be so empty now,

  when I’m so full?

  I’m drowning,

  drowning without you.

  When the music faded, Sabrina wanted to cheer. She knew she’d nailed another one.

  “Sabrina.” The intercom buzzed with Peter’s voice. “I’ve heard enough. I’m gonna fast track this—all of this. I want a release as soon as possible.”

  “Really?” she said, taking in Peter’s giant smile.