Someone finally comes over and takes my bags from me to put them in the bus. Thankful to have use of my hands again, I make my way to the folding table that’s been set up with coffee and tea and grab a cup of Starbucks. I turn around just as a big black limo pulls up in the parking lot a couple of dozen feet from me. The driver hops out and walks around to the back passenger side just as Joss is stepping out. They chat for a moment and then the driver shakes Joss’s hand and they smile at one another.
As the driver goes to the trunk to get Joss’s bags out, I see Joss lean down into the open door of the car and talk to someone inside. Then he stands up and helps hand out a long-legged blonde wearing nothing but a mini-dress and fuck-me pumps. Her hair is a perfectly shiny curtain that hangs to her waist, and her breasts are so obviously fake that I almost spit out my coffee when I see them. How she keeps from tumbling over like a top-heavy cake, I don’t know.
From behind me I hear Walsh mutter, “Well, he went for the full-on rock-star entrance I see.”
Then Mike responds with, “What the fuck? Why does he always have to be such a prick?”
“Dude, you’re just pissed you didn’t think of it,” Colin jokes.
My initial reaction is to be disgusted with Joss. To sneer, along with Mike, at what a clichéd dick he is. But as I watch him show the girl around the outside of the tour bus and introduce her to a few roadies and Dave, I really look at both his face and his body language. He does everything with her as though he’s onstage, even looking around frequently, as if to see if anyone is watching. He smiles at all the appropriate moments, laughs and jokes with everyone as though he’s the host of multimillion-dollar party, but that same bleak look from my photos is in his eyes the entire time. And when he touches her, it is with no passion, no interest at all. He touches her as though they are filming a commercial and she is an actress he met moments before.
After a few minutes, Joss walks the Barbie doll back to the waiting car, yanks her skinny ass up against him, and parties with her tongue for a good half a minute. The roadies catcall and wolf whistle; Walsh chuckles and rolls his eyes. I feel nauseous.
Once the girl is safely tucked away in the back of the car, Joss turns around and executes a little bow for the crew. They all laugh and cheer some more. Then he walks briskly to the bus. I wonder if anyone else sees him wipe the back of his hand across his mouth as he goes.
Joss
I’M SITTING in a captain’s chair on the bus, turned toward a window, watching the state of Oregon pass away behind us. We’re an hour out on the road and heading to Los Angeles, because really, where the hell else would you start a mega-famous rock band tour?
Tammy has been shooting daggers at me all morning, and I take a really perverse satisfaction in the possibility that my little production might have bothered her. Since screwing Katrina last night did nothing to make me feel better, I thought maybe becoming who Tammy thinks I am might. I rake my hand through my hair at this thought, wondering when I became such a bitter jerk.
The irony of the whole thing is that I have no idea if Tammy saw all that shit or not. When I stepped out of the car, all prepared to make my big entrance, the very first thing I laid eyes on was Mel. She was standing by the coffee table, a green beret on her head and a steaming cup of coffee in her hands. As I looked her direction, she brought that cup of coffee up to her cherry red lips to take a sip, and bam. I’d never wanted to be a coffee cup so badly in all my life. After that, I stumbled my way through my little deal with Katrina, and all I could see or think about was Mel. Which is so incredibly fucked up. I can’t even go there.
She’s entirely different than Tammy. There’s this softness to her where Tammy is all hard edges. Mel reminds me of a room from one of those Pottery Barn catalogs, where everything is pretty and relaxing and feels like home. Tammy is Architectural Digest—sleek and gorgeous but not user-friendly.
This contrast makes me question how I could possibly be attracted to them both. They don’t look alike—well, with the possible exception of the really fantastic racks—sound alike, or act alike. Yet, I’ve been torn to pieces because of Tammy for more than a year and now find myself inextricably drawn to Mel. I feel like she’s some sort of magnet and I’m a piece of iron, slowly inching my way toward the undeniable force. I’m afraid that, like a magnet and iron, the closer I get, the stronger her pull will be.
During my worship of the window, Mike went back to bed in his bunk, Colin threw on a set of headphones and is playing a game on his laptop, and Tammy retreated to a back bedroom to holler at more people on her cell phone. The two security guys are up front with the driver, leaving Walsh, Mel, and me the only ones here in the main cabin.
“Joss, man, you going to grace us with your presence sometime today or is this the bus of silence?” I hear Walsh chide from across the aisle.
I swivel my chair away from the window and give him a smile. It’s definitely not his fault I royally screwed up my life. I need to quit avoiding him simply because it makes me feel like crap to be near him.
“Nah. I need to talk some or my vocal cords will shut down and I won’t be able to sing.” Walsh grins at my bullshit. “Any more of the coffee left on this rig?” I ask.
Mel smiles from her seat near Walsh. “Sure. How do you take it?”
My heart skips a beat at her beautiful smile. “Um, just a little cream if there is some. Do you mind?”
“No. It’s right here.” She stands and moves to the small kitchenette that takes up the front portion of the bus. I watch the way she quietly moves, her limbs fluid and silky. After she pours me a cup and one for Walsh as well, she sits back down, but in the seat next to me. My heart stumbles, and I recognize the tingle of electricity that zips through me.
“Did you know you smell like lemon meringue pie?” I ask, unable to control myself now that she’s so close.
Walsh busts out with a snort but doesn’t say anything.
She giggles, but it’s not the kind of phony giggle that groupies give me when I sign their chests. It’s an authentic, girly giggle that is accompanied by a little bit of a blush.
“It must be my shampoo,” she says. “It’s some sort of lemon stuff.”
“Well, you’re going to have to keep the bus stocked with pies, because lemon meringue is my favorite and now that I’ve smelled it it’s all I can think about.” I wink at her, feeling somewhat self-conscious. I haven’t practiced being charming in a hell of a long time, and I’m a little rusty.
“He’s not bullshitting, Mel,” Walsh adds. “He once ate an entire one all by himself in less than two minutes. He used a mixing spoon. I kid you not.” He grins at me, and I can’t help but smile back at the memory. We were twelve, he had chocolate cream, and I had lemon meringue. He bet me that I couldn’t finish mine before he finished his. I won, and then we were both sick the rest of the night. Didn’t do a damn thing to diminish my love of the stuff though.
“Well, I don’t have any pie at the moment,” Mel says. “But here—” She leans over to her former seat and reaches into a box sitting next to it. She comes out with a doughnut that she hands to me. “Lemon-flavored jelly-filled doughnut.”
I take the magical morsel from her and down it in about two bites, which has Walsh shaking his head. “Still got it, man,” I tell him with my mouth full of Mel’s pastry.
“You suck. Just wait until we get to L.A. I’m hitting up the first bakery we find and then we’ll see who the real champion is.”
We all laugh, and I can’t remember the last time I was able to enjoy my best friend like this. Somewhere deep inside, I feel like Mel is a catalyst for joy.
WE ARRIVE in Los Angeles at one a.m. Everyone is exhausted and bitchy from sitting for fourteen hours. We check into the Beverly Wilshire, and even before I head to my suite, I know I won’t be able to sleep. Nighttime is the worst for me. It was night when it happened, the biggest mistake of my existence, and ever since, I’ve been unable to sleep at night. I usually pass out
from complete and utter exhaustion around five or six a.m. and then get up sometime around lunch, which is actually my breakfast. Luckily, I’m a rock star, so no one gives a shit when I sleep.
I dump my stuff in my suite and decide that a run would do me good. After tossing on a t-shirt, shorts, running shoes, and a backwards Portland Trailblazers cap, I take the elevator up to the rooftop and hit the twenty-four-hour fitness center the hotel maintains for guests. As much as I’d prefer to run outside, this is first and foremost L.A., land of nonstop cars and pavement. In addition, Dave would no doubt call in the National Guard if he found out I’d left the hotel on foot at night without the security detail. I don’t have my ass insured by Sotheby’s or anything yet, but it’s pretty well understood that I’m not to take any unnecessary risks with my person these days.
Upstairs, I hop on a treadmill, throw my ear buds in, crank the Amy Winehouse, and start pumping my legs. I’ve been going steady for about forty minutes when I see a flash of movement out of the corner of my eye. I look through the windows in front of me to the outdoor pool that sits on the hotel’s roof. I see a slim body arc into the water. Golden skin and a flash of deep red hair cause my breath to hitch. I watch as the form glides back and forth across the water for several minutes and then finally surfaces at one end. She tosses back her wet hair and leans her arms on the edge of the pool. Mel.
I slow the treadmill down until it stops before I grab a sweat towel to wipe off and head outside, that magnetic pull guiding my every movement as if my body has no self-determination. I come to a stop at the edge of the pool and look down at her.
She lifts her head and squints at me. “You’re awake too?” she asks nonchalantly.
“I am,” I say as I squat down so we’re closer to eye level with one another. “But then I’m usually awake this time of night. What are you doing up?”
She grimaces. “I, uh, wasn’t so thrilled with my accommodations.”
“Wait, what? Are you serious? Tell me what the problem is. I’ll have them get up there and fix it right away. Or I’ll get you a new room. As much fucking money as we’re spending on this place, you should get anything you damn well want.” I move to take my iPhone out of the armband, but she gently touches my knee.
“No, no, it’s nothing like that.” She looks oddly uncomfortable, so I sit my ass down on the concrete pool deck, take my running shoes and socks off, and stick my feet in the pool next to her.
“C’mere.” I motion with my index finger and she scoots closer to me. I lean down a touch and hold my hand out. She grabs it and I pull her over in the water until she’s between my feet. She wraps her arms around my shins and uses my legs as floats. My shins are really fucking happy, but other parts of me are jealous. “Tell Uncle Joss all about it. What’s wrong with your hotel room?”
She sighs. “My sister. She’s great and everything, but she can be a little—”
“Bossy?” I interject.
Mel laughs. My heart skips. “That’s a diplomatic way of putting it. Yes. Bossy. And she seems to think I’m still twelve. So, apparently, she booked me into suites with her and Walsh the whole tour.”
I raise an eyebrow at her but decide not to comment.
“Exactly,” she mumbles. “Well, the last thing I want to do is spend the whole summer listening to Walsh bang my sister. I mean, eww. I also don’t want to have to worry about parading around naked in my own room.”
“I’m sure Walsh would have no problem with you doing that,” I tell her very seriously.
She rolls her eyes at me. “Yeah, well, Tammy might. I told her to change the arrangements from here on out and she was a bitch about it, so I decided it was better to come out here than to keep arguing with her.”
A drop of water is slowly rolling down her chest, making its way into her cleavage. I’ve noticed this at some point during the conversation, and now I can’t keep my mind or my eyes off of it. I clear my throat, knowing by the silence that it’s my turn to say something. Then I look up at her face. She’s grinning at me as if she knows exactly what I’ve been thinking.
“What?” I say with faux innocence.
“Dog,” she replies.
“No, just human, and male, and all that entails.”
She laughs but pushes back from the wall of the pool with her feet. I catch her by squeezing my legs together, however, and I continue to hold her while she runs her hands along my calves. It feels so good and so natural at the same time. I don’t think I’ve ever been this relaxed with a woman I hardly know.
“But hey, I have the solution to your hotel problems.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah, because you see, I’m actually your sister’s boss, so she can argue with you all she wants, but she has to do what I say. I’ll tell her to change your bookings to your own rooms. You’re not Tammy’s little sister on this trip. You’re our documentarian, and as such, you get a room just like any other member of the team.”
She gives me a glittering smile that catches the brilliance of the lights around the pool. “Thanks, Joss. I really appreciate that.”
“Sure thing.” I smile back at her, and I realize in that moment that I have smiled more today than I have in the previous four weeks combined. Mel is like a ray of sunshine, and I think I might like having her around.
EVENTUALLY MEL hops out of the pool, nearly poleaxing me with the tiny scrap of fabric she’s using as a swimsuit. Like everything else about her, it is unique. Technically a one-piece but only because there are narrow strips of fabric that run down each side between the top and the bottom, the whole thing is a deep emerald green, which seems to be one of Mel’s favorite colors. The top is cut in a scoop and the bottoms are cut high on the legs. Overall, I think it may be the best-looking swimsuit I’ve ever seen, and I consider myself somewhat of an expert on women’s swimwear.
We both sit in lounge chairs and talk. She’s remarkably easygoing and quick to laugh. She brings a lightness to everything and it’s so welcome to me that I feel like a man who’s been in a desert for weeks and suddenly found water. It’s as if I can’t get enough of her worldview, the way she looks at things and speaks about them.
“So, this cat of yours. It’s named after some ancient area of the Middle East that was also called Babylon, and it’s all because the cat babbled?” I shake my head. “That’s the most complicated way of naming a cat I’ve ever heard.”
“It made perfect sense at the time. I had just finished shooting this exhibit on Ancient Babylon for the campus newspaper, and I found Messy hiding out under the stairs at my apartment. He was hungry and wet, and for about three days he made these weird noises. I told him to quit babbling and then I remembered the exhibit. I didn’t want to name him Babylon. That made him sound like a stripper.”
“Well, darlin’, Mesopotamia makes him sound like a chick, so either way you’ve emasculated the poor thing.”
“Actually, I did emasculate him, very literally. With help from the vet of course.”
“Jesus, Mel. Don’t you know not to be so cavalier about shit like that with guys? God, I might have to go lie down now. I’m not feeling so hot. Poor fucking cat.”
She laughs, and it’s like pretty wind chimes in a summer breeze.
We spend a long time talking nonsense like cat neutering. It’s past three a.m., and Mel has her feet in my lap as she explains how and why she got the rhinestones glued to her toenails when we hear a sharp voice come from the darkness beyond the pool deck.
“Mel? What the fuck? I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
Tammy emerges from the gloom like a dark angel ready to avenge her sister’s honor. She’s wearing a short satin robe, and the first thought that comes to my mind is why the hell she’s walking around the hotel dressed like that, but I remind myself that she’s Walsh’s problem, not mine.
Mel slowly removes her feet from my lap and replies to Tammy. “Well, I’ve been here the whole time. And I’m twenty-four years old, so you can stop wi
th the controlling crap, Tammy. Mom and Dad haven’t paid any attention to where I am at three in the morning in years. There’s no reason you should either.”
I’m surprised that the sweet, sunny girl I’ve been with for the last hour has this other side to her. She can stand up for herself, and there’s some redhead in there for sure. I think it’s a good thing. She’s spunky, and with a sister like Tammy, she needs to be.
Tammy crosses her arms, cocks her hip, and generally looks pissed off. “Well, excuse me for worrying about you. I’m not trying to control you. I just figured at some point you’d want to come go to sleep.”
“Is Walsh asleep?” Mel asks.
Tammy rolls her eyes and then glances at me. “Yes,” is all she says.
“All right, well, it is late. I’ll come on back and try to get a few hours in before I need to go to the auditorium in the morning.” She turns to me and speaks quietly. “Thanks for hanging out with me, Joss. It was fun.”
I smile at her. “Hey, I’ll have insomnia with you anytime.” I stand and give her a small hug before she gathers up her stuff to head downstairs.
As Mel and Tammy are about to leave, I call out, “And Tammy.” She turns and looks at me darkly. “Mel wants her own rooms from here on out. Make that happen.” I give her my back and walk away.
Mel
WHEN TAMMY and I get out of the elevator on our floor, she grabs my arm and yanks me into the suite.
“Geez, Tammy, what the hell?” I jerk my arm away from her. When she turns toward me, her face is like some sort of mythological devil. She’s raging pissed and I have no idea why.
“Are you out of your damn mind, Mel?” she hisses at me.
I cross my arms and widen my stance. Even though I’m in a towel, I’m going to adopt a fighting position if she’s got her bitch on.
A Lush Betrayal Page 4
