Off the Rails

by Isabelle Drake

  Holly offered Madison a weak half smile and shrugged. “Sometimes stuff like that works.”

  “But you lied. That’s asinine guy behavior.” Warming up to her disgusted attitude, and glad to have a target for the frustrations of her life, Madison added, “I thought lesbians were gentle and kind. Loving. True promoters of womankind. Honest, do-gooding feminists. I thought lesbians hated guys. I thought they went for girls because they didn’t want to have anything to do with guys and the stupid rude crap guys dish out.”

  “No. We like girls because we like girls.”

  Stupid, simple, logical answer.

  Madison went back to her makeup.

  “Mr. Moonilgio is looking for you.”

  “Did you say something to him about me?”

  Holly widened her eyes and flattened her palm across her chest. “I’m not like that.”

  “Well, is he smiling and looking like he has something good to say? Or stalking around, looking like he’s getting ready to tell me to get lost?”

  “How the hell should I know? He’s a man. I never know what men are thinking.”

  “Thanks a lot. I think I liked it better when you were a liar.”

  “I can go back to…lying.” She swayed toward Madison. “I’ll lie with you if you like.”

  “Oh, please. Let’s not go through all that again.”

  “Can’t blame a girl for trying.”

  “You did try. Not that I don’t appreciate the offer.” Madison finished her blush and reached for the spritzer of water. “Thanks for the heads-up,” she said, spraying her face a couple times.

  “Have a good set.”

  After Holly closed the door, Madison scooped up all her stuff—makeup, six different tubes of hair products, clips, pins and random makeup pencils—and carefully packed it into her bag.

  “Hey.” The door swung back open, and Mr. Moonilgio stuck his head in. “Do you know some jazz singer named Sandra Williams?”

  Madison swallowed hard and cringed. Twice in one week was two times too many to think about her.

  He took in her face and chortled. “You two aren’t friends?”

  “No.” Translate as ‘Hell no’. “But I know who you’re talking about.”

  “She’s sitting at the corner table. She saw your name, asked about you. Maybe she wants to do a duet.”

  Madison could practically hear the guy rubbing his hands in delight. “You sure you two aren’t friends?” he asked, the hope shining like dollar signs in his eyes.

  Madison managed to choke out, “No, we’re not friends.” Translate again as ‘Hell no’. Add in ‘I am not going to do a song with her’.

  “Not the right attitude, sweetheart. I could get someone to take your place in fifteen minutes.”

  Madison stood up and tugged her tight black minidress into place. “I’ve got everything under control. I promise.”

  “You better.” And with that he tucked out, leaving a cloud of disappointment and doubt behind.

  * * * *

  After her set, which did in fact go great, Madison tried to get out of talking to Sandra, but the ever-popular singer was waving her arms and pointing to the empty chair at her table in such a way that Madison simply could not ignore her. So she sucked in a deep breath, shifted her face into what she hoped passed for a pleasant expression, and strolled over and said hi.

  “Oh-my-God! Madison! Sit down! Can I get you a drink?”

  Why is she smiling?

  Doesn’t she know I hate her?

  “Really, can I get you a drink? Hot tea? Water with lemon?”

  “No.” she replied, sitting carefully on the edge of the chair so she could make a quick exit. “But thanks.”

  “I had no idea!” Sandra gestured to the stage. “I remember hearing that you sang, but shit, girl, you can sing.”

  A compliment? From the golden girl? Madison shrugged to look like she didn’t care about the praise, but inwardly glowed. She’d remembered Sandra as an egotistical bitch who somehow managed to hang on to a reputation as being really nice and a hard worker. “Thanks.”

  “Are you totally booked? Here? Do you work other places, too?” Sandra picked up her glass of red wine, waving it around as she spoke. “I’ve been out of town for so long, in New Orleans with my husband, I’m sorry if I’m being stupid.” She paused, took a sip, then went on to ask, “Who does your representation?”

  Madison looked away from Sandra’s flawless face. This was so not what she’d been expecting. This outpouring of compliments and curiosity, what did it mean?

  “So?” Sandra asked, leaning forward.

  “I just started here.”

  “Are you booked? For the next couple months?”

  Madison stared stupidly across the table at the other girl.

  “You’re wondering why I want to know. Here’s the deal. Did you get an invitation to our reunion? After they sent those out, the committee called me and asked if I wanted to do a couple songs.” She took a sip of her wine, then flashed an I-am-such-a-genius smile. “I thought it might be fun. But I’m thinking what might be even more fun is if you did a couple songs, too. Before me. Not really a warm-up, but…you know… Something…cute. What do you think?”

  “Cute? What do you mean by cute?”

  “You could wear a wig like my hair and a dress like my dress and sing a medley of my songs. It would be awesome! You could be my mini-me!”

  Chapter Eleven

  Catfight

  “Fuck no.”

  The distance across the table and between the chairs vanished as she and Sandra swooped in.

  “I’m not sure I heard you right,” she hissed, all perfect makeup and expensive hairspray.

  “You heard me right. Fuck no.”

  Instead of pulling herself together like Madison should have, she listened to the tiny devil crouched on her left shoulder. It was small, but damn compelling. At that second in her life, anyway. “There’s no fucking way I’m going to sing as your fucking mini me. I wouldn’t sing on the same stage as you if—”

  Sandra loomed closer, snarling and amazed. “If what?”

  The tiny shoulder devil was too busy giggling to help Madison with a snappy comeback. “If—if anything.”

  Sandra snorted, and spilled fat drops of wine onto the table as she waved her glass around. “That is the lamest insult I’ve ever heard.”

  The ugly haze of resentment swelled in Madison’s brain, blocking out any good sense that would have told her to shut up because nothing good could come from what she’d gotten herself into. Total embarrassment was only a breath away, and unfortunately, Madison breathed it in and said, “I’m sure you’ve heard plenty of them, so you ought to know.”

  Sandra stood up. “When did you turn into such a bitch?”

  Madison shot to her feet. “Fuck you.”

  Sandra swung first.

  Her open hand glided across Madison’s cheek with enough force to send her back a couple steps. After she whacked the back of her calf on a chair, Madison righted herself, lunged forward and reached for a fistful of Sandra’s perfectly styled hair. Within seconds, the two of them were pushing and pulling, swearing and stumbling.

  Mimicking the motion of some hockey player she’d gone out with in high school, Madison grabbed the back of Sandra’s shirt and flipped it over her head. Sandra continued to swing her arms, but she looked like some kid who was doing a very poor job of pretending to be a ghost. Except that Sandra was wearing some lacy number that was barely holding in her unnecessarily large breasts.

  Madison would’ve laughed if her whole body wasn’t hurting, and she wasn’t trying to decide whether or not she should grab Sandra and throw her to the ground or run for the door.

  The door.

  Definitely.

  Madison backed up, spun around, but ran smack into some guy.

  “Whoa, where you going, sweetheart?”

  Still thrumming with the adrenaline and stupidity that got her into the mess, Madison
grabbed at the hand clutching her upper arm. “Let go of me, you asshole.”

  “I’m not an asshole,” he said, keeping hold of Madison’s arm.

  Madison was finally getting around to being embarrassed, so she patted her hair into place and sniffed self-righteously, as though Sandra had forced her into such unbecoming behavior and she was only doing what she had to do. Totally unsure of the protocol required for such an event, Madison let the man guide her back to the table then stood stupidly while he righted the chairs. Sandra, trying to pretend she wasn’t a mess, sat down and glared at them both. The man sat down and pulled out a chair for Madison. Madison sat, eyeing Sandra carefully. The other woman, who had managed to get her shirt back over her obnoxiously large breasts, did not look happy, to say the least, but she didn’t open her mouth to protest either.

  He waved off the bouncers, who had been waiting until things stopped before swinging down from their bar stools, explaining that he had everything under control, then introduced himself to Madison and added that he wanted to see her to perform at the reunion. Not as Sandra’s mini me but as her own very sexy, well-singing self.

  Sandra snapped, “Why don’t you get the hell out of here?”

  Madison took a deep breath, trying to keep from picking up where they left off. “I was trying to but—”

  “But what? Are you too stupid to find the door?”

  Enough was enough. Madison hopped off the chair and made a beeline for the exit.

  “Wait, Madison—” Sandra’s husband called from behind, weaving through the tables to catch up with her. He reached her right before she ducked into the hall that led to the back door. “I’ll pay you three thousand dollars to sing at the reunion and—”

  Madison had had enough of their train wreck. “What are you talking about?”

  He flashed her a deal making grin. “I’m Sandra’s manager, and I make all the arrangements.”

  “What did you not understand about what’s going on here? I’m not going to—”

  Sandra had come rushing after him and was whispering furiously in his ear. Madison paused, annoyed at herself for being curious.

  Mr. Sandra scowled, shook his wife away and turned back to Madison. “Two thousand bucks for five songs. Four before she goes on, one with. Sandra picks the duet. Forget the mini me bullshit. You in?”

  Chapter Twelve

  Downright Naughty

  Two thousand dollars was a lot of money. Combine that amount of cash with the opportunity to show off and it was nearly impossible to pass up. That was why, after doing her own short opening set for the reunion crowd, Madison found herself standing backstage, waiting for their duet while Sandra sang. From a corner, she watched the singing superstar strategically position herself in front of the ridiculously oversized floral arrangements she called her set. The giant paper flowers, all in shades of pink and white, were about seven feet tall and resting in vases made of green papier mâché. There were three identical bouquets and Sandra was moving from one to the other, dramatically resting her palm on each before moving on.

  The faces of the crowd were blurred by the intense stage lights but Madison already knew who was out there—everyone from five years ago. And Drew.

  Tia appeared beside Madison, carrying two flutes of champagne. “You were really, really awesome and everyone knows it.”

  Madison made a show of smoothing out her low-cut, lipstick red dress then patting her upswept hair. “Thanks.”

  “You still have to do the duet, right?”

  Madison stopped making a big deal of herself. “Yep, in about thirty minutes.”

  Tia held out one of the flutes. “Here. This will make it more tolerable.”

  Tia’s date appeared at her side and spoke. “She’s right. Y’all’s hot tonight.”

  Ugh. Him.

  Really. He should have had the courtesy to stay dead.

  Tia had told Madison she’d wired her bumpkin money for bus fare, but still…seeing him there made him so…real. And worse than that, he reminded her of all the crap that she’d put herself through since that stupid invitation had shown up in her mail.

  All for what? Where was the glittering ray of joy she’d been expecting to burst into her life when she impressed everyone with her amazing self? Where the fuck was her prize?

  “You have to admit”—Tia lifted her own flute in a silent salute, and continued on with a fairly decent impression of her good ole boy’s accent—”he cleans up real nice.”

  Madison gave the Tia’s roughneck pet boy the once-over. She was right. He looked good enough to eat. “What about—?”

  “I made him promise not to talk to anyone but me—and you.” Smoothing out his blue silk shirt, she added, “Isn’t that right, darlin’?”

  He nodded compliantly and took a sip of champagne. They stood like that for a few minutes, watching Sandra stroll around the stage to position herself in front of the preppy-girl-gone-wild arrangements.

  “I saw Drew in the hallway.”

  Madison ignored Tia, choosing to sip her bubbly instead, and fume silently over the fact that she didn’t feel the way she had expected to. Nothing had changed for her. Not really. She’d bought a gorgeous dress with her ill-gotten gains and shown everyone what an awesome singer she was, but the fact that she could sing her ass off was, while impressive, no big deal to them. Because, apparently, they’d already known. If only she’d known that they’d known.

  “I asked around, he’s totally and completely single.”

  And has two functioning legs, so if he wanted to find me all he’d have to do is walk around and look. I’m right here.

  “He’s here by himself.”

  Madison continued ignoring Tia while she faced some hard facts. It wasn’t the fault of the reunion witches that she’d made an ass out of herself trying to be somebody other than who she was. All in all, she was a semi-happy, unemployed singer-slash-actress waiting for a big break that would eventually come because she really did have talent. Her life was certainly nothing to hide from. Why had she been so stupid about the whole thing?

  Tia cleared her throat in a not so pretty way. “I didn’t spend all this money and go through the hassle of bringing up my own playmate to watch you stand around and sulk all night.”

  “I’m not sulking,” Madison replied, staring at the champagne bubbles zipping around in her glass. “I’m focusing. I still have one more song to do.”

  “You’re working up to a major sulk. I can see it on your face.” Tia got that all-business tone in her voice. “You kicked ass on stage, and by now you’ve got to know you have nothing to prove to anyone but yourself.”

  “I have another song.”

  “In twenty-five minutes.” She gave Madison a shove toward the side hall. “Go do something now.”

  After stumbling forward, Madison paused and spun, glancing back at Tia, who was cuddling up to her pet. Unless she wanted to end up witnessing someone else’s intimate moments—again—she only had one choice. She set her champagne flute on a table then she shoved her way through the back stage door and marched on. It was as easy as that because there he was right at the end of the hall, kicking a Pepsi machine with as much determination as she remembered him applying to those ridiculous all-school computation contests. All the insecurity of the past months spun together with the giddy memories of that one long Skype session and bubbled to the surface and somehow turned into an unruly, untamed lust.

  “Keep it up and I’m going to call security,” she said as she moved toward him, her heels tapping against beige tile lining the back hall.

  He gave the machine a final whack then stepped back, sliding his hands into the pockets of his dark brown suit pants. “Hey, Madison,” he said, looking her up and down. She felt every flick of his stare, and it was a hundred times more intense in person. Madison’s heart skittered, and her whole body had an out of control, crazy, electrified feeling. But if he’d felt the same for her, he wouldn’t have pushed her away by giving
away the committee.

  “Why the look?” he asked, his smile dropping as quickly as it started.

  “The committee—”

  “I know, great, huh?” He strode toward her, the movement of his hips drawing her gaze. “They’re still at that desk, passing out the tags and swag bags. Imagine that—being stuck there, saying hi to dozens of people we don’t want to really talk to, instead of”—he waved around the empty hall—”being here. Just us.”

  Geez, she was stupid sometimes. “That’s why you gave the committee to them?”

  “Yeah. Of course.” He shrugged, his thick shoulders looking just as awesome in the suit jacket as they had in the green T-shirt. Marching forward, still wanting to take her frustration out on him, she said, “Also, now that we’re face-to-face, I should to apologize for saying that rude crap to you at the Harvest dance.”

  Confusion swam across his angular face. Clean shaven, she noticed. Smooth and probably warm to the touch. He shoved a few tumbled-down sun-bleached locks from his eyes and looked down at her, the corners of his mouth starting to twitch with a held-back smile.

  “Hello!” She pulled up in front of him, noticing how up close his blue gaze was even more demanding, more intense and so damn sexy it was making her way too hot and jittery.

  It was his turn to look at her lips. “What are you talking about? What rude shit?”

  He was so close she could feel the heat of his body, smell the tang of his aftershave. And his voice… It was a hundred times sexier in person. How unfair that he could walk into her life after all these years and make her lose control all over again. “The Harvest dance? Our senior year?”

  For a smart guy his face was really blank. “Um…”

  “Don’t tell me you don’t remember.” Madison shoved him back, satisfied when his shoulders thumped against the wall. “How could you possibly not remember? I’ve been remembering that stupidity for over five years. It’s very, very rude of you to not remember.”