by MV Ellis
“Well, look who’s not just a pretty face now, eh?” I smiled at my use of his words against him. “I think that’s a great idea.”
“Oh, so I take it from that statement that you find me pretty. Interesting. Not that I’m surprised.” Fuck.
That hadn’t been what I’d meant to imply at all. I mean, I obviously did find Rome attractive—stupidly so, in fact—which was probably obvious by the way I’d come like my life depended on it when we’d got it on at the Sonata Awards, but damned if I wanted him to know that I still felt that way. Besides, I hadn’t acknowledged that I remembered him from that night, or recognized him in any way, and I had no intention of doing so.
He didn’t seem like someone who lacked compliments, and given that I was going to have to work with him for the next year, I didn’t want there to be any more awkwardness between us than there already was. I planned on pretending that the whole mind-blowing sex among the coats debacle had never happened.
I was about to jump in and explain that calling him pretty had been accidental, but I figured that would probably only make the situation more awkward. Still, my cheeks flamed red hot—again. Shit. I looked away, embarrassed to be blushing like a coy little schoolgirl a second time.
“Don’t worry, Rome has two settings: flirty, and obscene. I’m pretty sure that when he’s lying dead and cold on the slab he’ll be flirting with the mortician, and making filthy remarks as she bundles him into his coffin. Don’t take it personally, he literally can’t not. It’s in his genes.”
I’d read about that too. His brother, Marko, was legendary in ballet circles for all the same things Rome was known for on the classical music circuit—drinking, smoking, cursing, womanizing, and pretty-much making a damned nuisance of himself wherever he went. Oh, and for being one of the legendarily best dancers ever to have pirouetted the planet.
“Well, that’s a cheery thought, and hopefully he won’t be hitting on any mortuary technicians any time soon, but in the meantime, thanks for the heads up. At least I’ll know not to take any notice if it happens again.”
“Hey. He said it’s not personal, not me. I can assure you that it’s very much personal as far as I’m concerned. I can’t and don’t fake this shit. He just doesn’t understand how I’m wired, that’s all. You can thank those frigid Anglo genes for that. He’s all lights-off vanilla sex and holding hands on picnics. I’m not.”
“Jesus, Rome, really? You’re going to play the ‘King’s a cold fish’ card again? Not that it’s relevant in the professional situation we’re in right now, but none of what he just said is true. I’m not even close to being vanilla. What he means is that I’m mostly polite and generally follow social protocols. To him this translates as being a limp dick.”
“Hey, I didn’t say anything about your dick, but judging by the strain in your pants, I’d say that right now it’s anything but limp.”
I tried so hard not to immediately look at King’s crotch, and failed miserably. My eyes were drawn in that direction, despite my brain screaming at me to look away.
Sure enough, either he needed bigger pants, or he was sporting wood. My money was on the latter.
“Well, as fun and funny as this little double act you have going on is, I sense that it’s going to get old soon, so can we just agree to keep things strictly business from here on in? We’re not here to flirt or carry on like teenagers. We’re here to do a job, so can we please just do it?”
Chapter 13
Rome
* * *
Watching her blush like that meant that King wasn’t the only one at attention below the waist. In the short time I’d known her—including our first encounter—it had been a rollercoaster of feelings toward her: anger, irritation, confusion. But somehow, they all seemed to lead to the same place—my dick. And above everything, if she was around, I was always aroused as hell. From what I could tell, K seemed to be in the same position.
Interesting. The whole thing. The fact that no matter what Quincy did, it turned me on, was a definite source of curiosity for me. Pissing me off was normally a surefire way to kill a boner in seconds, but not with her. Then, there was the fact that the Boy Wonder and I were clearly hard for the same girl. I could feel something brewing in the air, for sure.
Often we might both find the same woman attractive, in the purely aesthetic sense of the word, but it would be unlikely that we’d both have the same depth of attraction. We tended to favor different things in pretty much every avenue of our lives, except music. Women were no exception.
Fact was, the shy and retiring, blushing-virgin type was normally more his speed than mine, but it was also true that Quincy didn’t actually fit that profile. Yeah, she’d just blushed like a thirteen-year-old, but I knew from personal experience that she liked to get her freak on, no matter how conservative she appeared to be.
On top of that, since the moment we’d almost literally run into each other in the parking lot at the record label, she’d been nothing but sharp-witted, and even sharper tongued. That was way more my type than his, yet he seemed to still be in the game.
Add in the fact that—unlike that night at the awards— in the harsh light of day, and stone cold sober, she was pretty much immune to my brand of “charm”; it seemed like I had a challenge on my hands. I really wasn’t sure what to make of her, which was one of the reasons I’d suggested the getting-to-know-you thing.
Of course, I had a selfish endgame in mind—getting to know her better meant figuring out what buttons to press to bring her over to the dark side again—and the fact was: she intrigued the fuck out of me. A plus point of the whole plan was that hanging out and shooting the breeze together would genuinely help us work together better—at least, that was the hope—so it was a win-win.
“Now at the risk of playing into the worst clichés of my bad boy reputation”—I looked pointedly at Quincy, repeating what she’d been saying about me when we’d walked into the rehearsal space before—“how about we do this over drinks? I mean, there’s no surer way to get to know one another than to break the seal on a bottle of the good stuff together, right? In vodka veritas, and all that, right?”
“That’s not the saying though, it’s ‘in vino veritas’.” I shot King a “shut up and die” look.
“I know that. Jesus. Must you always be so uptight? It still works, right? Get drunk, loosen your lips… Yes?”
Sometimes I wondered how we ever worked together at all. I’d struggle to find two more different people if I tried.
“Yeah.”
“Then stop correcting shit, take the stick out of your ass, and fucking go with the flow for once.”
“Not to sound like I have a stick up my ass—”
Why the fuck is she talking about her ass? I’m about to lose it in my pants.
“but it’s not even 10 a.m. It’s too early to be getting trashed.”
“Nonsense! Where I’m from, most people would be halfway through their first bottle of vodka of the day by now. The others would be splashing it on their cornflakes.”
“What the fuck are you talking about, dude? In Brooklyn most people are on their third almond matcha latte right about now.”
“Shut up. You know what I mean.”
“Well, not really. You realize you’ve been here longer than you were ever there, right? There’s only so long you can blame all your bad behavior on the good ole’ country. I bet you don’t even remember the place.”
“That’s not how it works, man. Even if I live here until I’m ninety-nine years old, I’ll always be Ukrainian-Russian first. It may be hard for you to understand, because your peeps have been here since the fucking pilgrims, but home is where the heart is, and mine will always be there, even when I can’t remember it anymore.” I took a breath, and reminded myself not to sound like a crazy person.
“But, to humor you inozemtsi, how about we get Bloody Marys? It’s basically a meal in a cup. Soup, really. Breakfast soup. There’s vegetables, and vitamins. It’s a fucking healt
h elixir. Like an alcoholic smoothie. You guys can have that to make yourselves feel like you’re not morning-drinking, and I’ll have the same. I’ll just skip the tomato juice. And the celery. And the lemon slice. And the seasonings. And the Tabasco. And the Worcester Sauce. And the ice.”
“So you’re having plain vodka?”
“Right. And your point is?”
“No point, just clarifying. Blame it on my boring stick-up-the-ass pilgrim-descended self. We like to lock down the details.”
“Okay. Well, the detail is that I’ll be having vodka, straight up. Just like God intended. And now that we’ve done the fucking admin, can we go get drunk, please?” I was getting more impatient with every passing moment.
“You mean go get breakfast smoothies?” He was enjoying dragging it out, just to piss me off.
“Yeah, that too. Whatever man. Let’s bounce.” Fina-fucking-ly
Quincy was looking at us as though we each had two heads, clearly unsure of what to make of the whole song and dance.
“You coming?” I jutted my chin her way.
“Umm… yeah. Sure? Okay. But, can we go somewhere that serves coffee as well as breakfast smoothies, please? If I start drinking alcohol now, even the vitamin-enhanced variety, it won’t be pretty in a few hours’ time.”
“Pretty is boring. Pretty is overrated. Pretty isn’t going to get good music written. Pretty will get us safe, boring, forgettable songs. We need gritty. We need real. We need raw. We need messy. That’s where the gold is.”
“Okay, well, all the same, I’m going to have coffee. I know my limits, and I’m not about to start trampling all over them looking for gritty, real, raw, and messy. That has landed me in trouble before, and I don’t intend to repeat past mistakes.” She looked at me pointedly, as though I didn’t already know that she was referring to our encounter in the coat closet.
She stuck her chin out slightly, and her jaw hardened, along with my dick. Why the fuck did her stubbornness make me want to show her my own version of raw, gritty, real, and messy, in the bedroom—or the cloakroom? Game on, Que Violin. Game. On.
Chapter 14
King
* * *
I watched Quincy’s facial expression change from skepticism to wonder, as she took in her surroundings. It might not have looked like much from the outside, nestled as it was between two shop fronts, but inside it was a different story altogether. The domed ceiling and elaborately tiled floor were impressive, even to those of us who’d been there hundreds of times before.
“What is this place?”
“Doubting Thomas.”
“I’m not. I’m just wondering where I am, is all.” She looked irritated—an expression I was getting used to seeing on her, and perversely, kind of liked.
Rome laughed in the background.
“That is where you are. It’s the name of the place. Doubting Thomas,” he explained.
“It’s a private club. As in members’ club, not nightclub,” I continued.
“Right. Well thanks for explaining. I’m clearly some kind of hillbilly yokel, as I’ve never heard of the place.”
“Not at all. It’s one of this city’s best kept, and most fiercely guarded, secrets. You’re now part of a small and specially selected circle of people who have access. Come on, let’s go inside.” I walked her into the bar area, and felt a strange rush of pride as I noted that Quincy seemed impressed by what she saw.
She didn’t strike me as the type to be easily awed, despite what she’d said about feeling like a yokel, so I felt like I’d won something by eliciting admiration from her. It was dumb—like some high school kid trying to wow the most popular girl in school with his brand new car, or phone.
I spotted an available clutch of seats in the furthest corner of the room. It was perfect—secluded, but comfortable and intimate, with a long couch and several easy chairs. I tried to keep my pace to a disaffected saunter, but I was ready to break into an Olympic-gold-winning sprint if it looked like Rome was going to reach the sofa before me. As it was, he seemed genuinely unhurried, lagging behind slightly while Quincy trailed me more closely.
When we reached the seats, I threw myself onto the soft leather couch and patted the space next to me, motioning to Quincy.
“Come sit. Make yourself at home. Mi casa, and all that.”
A look of uncertainty flashed across her face, her gaze quickly flitting from me to Rome.
He shrugged, his facial expression saying, “do what the fuck you want,” as he dropped casually into one of the nearby easy chairs, flopping his leg over one arm and reclining extravagantly.
“Except this isn’t your house.” Why was she looking at me as though I was offering her a poison apple?
“Yeah, but it’s his club membership, so same thing. Sit down, he’s not going to bite you.” Rome was typically irritable, making me wonder why he’d even suggested the chemistry session in the first place. He didn’t seem to be trying too hard to put Quincy at ease.
Her look of uncertainty was replaced by one of irritation, but she sat down anyway.
“Great, now let’s drink.” Rome glared pointedly at me, and I looked around for a member of the staff to come take our order.
As a server approached, Rome stood up again.
“I need to pee.”
“Thanks for sharing that gem, but once your age is in double digits, there’s really no need to keep people updated on your bladder and bowel movements. A simple ‘excuse me’ would more than suffice.” Her wit was on point.
I stifled my laughter.
Rome shot Quincy a look of pure fire, and if she wasn’t careful, she was going to get burned. She may have already screwed him, but it was clear that she didn’t know what she was dealing with in Roman Ivanenko. I almost felt sorry for her. Almost.
“You’re wasting your breath with him, I promise you. He’s literally unteachable. In all the years I’ve known him, despite my best efforts, he’s rejected all attempts at house training. Seriously, save yourself the high blood pressure and resign yourself to it now. It took me too long to learn that lesson, and I’ll never get those years of my life back.”
“Ha! Never too late to teach an old dog new tricks, especially if that dog wants to spend time with me.”
“Excuse me, but this old dog can hear you talking about him. And in point of fact, I don’t want to spend time with you, I have to, remember? This whole thing is like court-ordered community service. I have no fucking choice. I’ll be going for that pee now.” He gave her his most panty-melting smirk and slinked away across the bar to the bathroom.
“I apologize on his behalf. Honestly, it might seem otherwise, but I swear he can’t help half the shit he does. It’s like pissing people off is some kind of compulsion.
“That’s bullshit. He’s a grown man, and there’s clearly nothing wrong with his brain. So how hard is it to obey the most basic of social conventions?”
“You’re right about that. I hate to say it, but he’s a borderline genius. Musically speaking, I mean. But as for maintaining social customs, it’s just not the way he’s built.”
“So why do you work with him? I mean, it would drive me crazy.”
“Believe me, it does. The number of times I contemplate doing him bodily harm each day is probably some kind of fucking record, but when we make it into the studio, it will become clear.”
“If we make it,” she corrected.
“He’ll come around. Trust me.” I smiled, my tone soft.
“I don’t. Or him. Not yet, at least.”
“Fair enough. That’s probably a good call.” She was a wise woman. She smiled back, and it went right up to her eyes. I felt like she’d given me the keys to the kingdom. “But despite outward appearances, he’s a good guy. I mean a good friend to me. I’d trust him with my life, and in fact, have done on several occasions, and here I am, alive and kicking to tell the tale. He always has my back. Always will.”
“I’m glad for you both.”
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“Are you fucking with me?” It was hard to tell. Sarcasm seemed to be her default setting.
“No, not at all. You can’t put a price on true friendship, but in our fast and fake social-media-ready society, so many people don’t have that. I won’t pretend to understand the dynamic between the two if you, because I honestly don’t get it at all, but if you two do, who am I to doubt it? It’s clear that whatever it is, it works for you, especially musically. I’ve listened to a lot of your stuff now, and some of it is pure genius, like you say.”
“Yeah. You’ll see when we get into the studio. He’s out of this world.”
“It’s not just him, though. I can hear your influence in those recordings, so don’t discount your role in the partnership.”
“Trust me, this is not false modesty—his talent is genuinely a once-in-a-generation thing. I’m just glad I get to bask in the halo of his genius every day.”
“That’s as may be, but sometimes genius needs to be directed, or harnessed. I think that’s what you bring to the party, which makes what you guys do something that can be enjoyed by everyone, not just hardcore music fans. Seriously, you’re lucky, the two of you. That kind of friendship and partnership is rare.
“True. Some days he can be my worst enemy, but as much as he pisses me off, I love the stupid son of a bitch, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Chapter 15
Rome
* * *
“Aww… did I miss some kind of D&M? Is this the part where I say I love you too, bro, then we hug it out and ugly cry together?” I knew it was a dick move, but I also knew that I didn’t like the way the two of them had cozied up to each other while I’d been in the bathroom.
“Shut up Rome. Can you try not to be a douche for just one second?”
“Why would I want to do that?” It was a genuine question.
“Because the cold, hard, and heartless routine gets a little old sometimes.”
