Jagger disappears down the steps, Kip wraps his arms around me, and it becomes tempting to break down and cry, but I wouldn’t. I won’t ever be “Poor Henley” again.
“It’s going to all work itself out,” Kip assures me.
Kip and I have breakfast on the beach. We watch people and make up stories about each of them. We often did this as teenagers, but our stories got dirtier with age. We stay on the beach for a few hours, and thankfully Kip doesn’t bring Jagger up. We decide to hit the market for steaks. I keep a firepit on the beach, and Kip wants to grill steaks and drink around the fire tonight with Jessica and Samantha. They are arriving on the same flight at six tonight. I sent a limo to retrieve them, and Kip and I work on repairing my sheetrock to kill some time. I never would have thought a drummer would know how to make repairs of any sort around a house. He is so cute covered in sheetrock dust. Koi joins us around four and helps Kip finish the repair. After that, we lounge on the deck and nurse our beers. At around five, the doorbell rings. I hurry from the back of the house to answer it and open the door to a floral delivery.
“Ms. Hendrix?” the man asks.
“Yes, that’s me,” I answer.
I sign for the arrangement and set them on my hall table. I pull the card from the center and instantly know the handwriting is Jagger’s.
Two days ago, I made the biggest mistake of my life. I will spend the rest of my days trying to make up for that mistake.
Love,
Jagger
Tears prick my eyes, but I quickly shake them away. Koi and Kip check on me, but I push all the emotions whirling around inside of me as far down as they will go. I won’t let him ruin a great day. Samantha and Jessica arrive around seven, and we get the obvious questions right out of the way. I enjoy the evening. Kip masters the grill. Koi takes care of the salad and potatoes and orders us girls to relax. I’m going to live in L.A. for a while now, and the camaraderie, food, love, and music is what I want to be surrounded by.
Chapter 21
I WAKE, AND WHEN I attempt to turn over, I quickly realize there is an arm draped across my hip and wood in my back. Shit. I went to bed alone, so I panic. I quickly attempt to locate the closest object that can be used as a weapon. My poor heart is about to explode in my chest. I assess the distance from my place in the bed and how long it will take me to grab the gigantic, solid wooden lamp on my bedside table, turn around, and knock the shit out of this asshole.
Do you remember when you were a kid and sounds scared you in the middle of the night? For some reason, those are the nights you have to pee something fierce. You have to hype yourself up enough to throw the covers back and lunge from the bed so the monsters under it can’t grab your feet. This all has to be done in one quick sweep, of course. But how long did you lie there gaining the courage to throw the covers off? That’s where I am right now.
My game plan is to roll quickly from under the arm, throw my feet to the floor, reach to my right to grab the massive lamp, and chunk that motherfucker at this asshole before he can get his hands on me. I bet this is some crazy-ass fan who thinks I love him. I just have to get to know him and all that psychobabble. Here goes nothing. I take a deep breath and count to three, but I haven’t gained the courage yet. I start over with the breath and the counting and decide to end at five instead of three. Still nothing.
The first time I ever bungee-jumped, I walked hundreds of steps to the top platform. Three men jumped before me. When it was my turn, the man ensured my harness was hooked properly, instructed me to turn backward, grab hold of the bars, count backward from three, and then let go. I looked back to see the big red air bubble below that would catch me, and I wondered why I ever thought this was a good idea. Oh yeah, Kip teased a sixteen-year-old girl and said I wouldn’t do it. The man counted back from three, and as he said “one,” he followed with a “go.” I then wondered, am I supposed to let go on “one” or “go.” Shit, I’m so confused, and scared to death. When the man said “go”, I was still holding on for dear life.
“So do I let go on ‘three’ or ‘go’?”
“Which would you prefer?”
“Um, not sure.”
“How about ‘go’?”
“Can you just push me? I don’t really want to know it’s coming. I’m having an issue with committing to letting go and plunging to my death and all.”
The man laughed. “I can’t push you.”
“Please.”
He laughs again. “I can’t. Let’s try it again.”
“Three, two, one, go!”
I let go this time. I don’t know how I found the courage to do it, but once I did, it was exhilarating. My stomach felt as though it was in my throat, and each time the bungee cord reached its end, it would throw me back in the air.
I now lie in my bed attempting to conjure up the same damn courage. I wish this asshole would haphazardly push me out of my bed. I can crawl under it until he leaves. Okay, three, two, one, go! I tell myself.
My plan does not go as planned. Grace is obviously not my middle name. I roll out from under the arm, but as I do, the arm moves and heavily lays weight on my throat and chokes me. The stalker is still sleeping, so I slowly roll back toward Mr. Snuggles and start again. I roll quickly again, and as I try to find the floor with my feet, I realize my roll doesn’t have me rolling off the bed on the right side to catch myself. The next thing I know, my face is flat on the damn floor, and it fucking hurts.
“What the fuck?” Mr. Snuggles says with a sleepy voice.
Now or never, princess. I search deep within myself... okay, not that deep. I just woke up, I’m about to piss on myself, and Mr. Snuggles is stalking me. Let me start over. I search as quickly as I can for my inner Bruce Lee. I push up quickly from the floor, grab the wooden lamp, and come down on Mr. Snuggles face like a ninja! I even made the whole “Hey Ya!” sound. Take that, Daniel son! I got this shit covered.
As the lamp comes down on Mr. Snuggles, he lets out a yell. The lamp bounces off him and then off the bed, landing with a thud against the wall. My cat-like reflexes kick in, and I get my little ass the fuck out of there. As I walk through the threshold, I hear Mr. Snuggles.
“Jesus Christ, Hen. You just hit me with a fucking Mac Truck!”
Shit. I know that voice. I stop dead in my tracks, turn around, and see Rhys holding his face and blood pouring from his hands.
“You snuck into my bed. I thought you were an intruder,” I yell back.
“Fuck! You knew I was coming in early this morning,” he yells.
“I didn’t know you would be in my bed. I have a lot going on and I temporarily forgot. I’m sorry.” I pout. I didn’t mean to hurt my friend.
“Why didn’t you just turn over and see who the hell it was before you hit me with... what in the hell did you hit me with?”
“That big-ass lamp Kip got me for Christmas one year,” I answer with a cringe.
“The one made of solid fucking wood?” he growls. He was starting to look a little angry.
I look up at the ceiling and begin whistling.
“You hit me with a fucking tree,” he screams.
“Your dick was in my back,” I yell back. It was the only thing I could come up with to be mad about on such short notice.
“What in the hell is going on?” Griffin walks in scratching his balls.
Gross.
He looks back and forth between Rhys and me and seems unable to form words for a few minutes.
“What happened to your forehead, Hen?”
I instantly reach up and touch my forehead, which causes the damn thing to start hurting. I run to the mirror in my bathroom and see a big-ass red welt mark in the middle of my forehead. Damn floor! I walk back in, and Rhys is explaining why his nose is bleeding. Griffin is laughing entirely too hard and is gasping
for air.
I shrug my shoulders at him and offer the only excuse I have. “His cock was in my back.”
Griffin really loses it. He rolls onto the bed, and tears spill from his eyes. “Oh God, I can’t wait to tell this story.”
I clean Rhys up and assess the damage. It doesn’t appear that his nose is broken, but most of the left side of his face is already bruising. I apologize repeatedly for the violence, and I really try not to laugh or even crack a smile. Griffin doesn’t have so much gumption. He breaks into fits of laughter each time he looks at Rhys.
Since I beat Rhys with a tree, I figure the least I could do was make him and Griffin some breakfast. Rhys seems to start toward forgiveness with the coffee. Luckily, I make extra food since Koi and Kip show up unannounced.
“Bruh, what the fuck happened to your face?” Kip asks so eloquently.
“Henley hit me with a fucking tree.”
“In my defense, I went to bed alone, woke up with an arm over me, and a cock in my back. I was scared.”
Koi and Kip look between us for several seconds and finally at Griffin, who is busting at the seams to laugh. He doesn’t hold it in long.
“How did you hit him with a tree?” Koi asks.
“I hit him with the lamp Kip gave me several Christmases ago,” I answer.
“The one made out of solid fucking wood? That damn thing weighs a ton,” Koi adds.
“Yeah, no shit,” Rhys declares.
Kip and Koi howl with laughter for a few minutes, and suddenly a very serious look takes over Kip’s face.
“Wait a minute. Why were you in Henley’s bed?” Kip asks.
“I landed at two a.m. When I got here, I came in here to let her know Griff and I arrived. She looked so damn comfy, and I wanted to snuggle with my friend. So, I climbed in and snuggled. Then I got my face smashed in by Jackie Chan over here. She even screamed ‘hey ya!’ at me,” Rhys explains.
Griffin, Kip, and Koi let loose with their howls once again. Now it’s Koi’s turn to get serious.
“Bruh, why the fuck was your dick in my sister’s back?”
“Man, I was having this dream about a certain tattoo artist, and she was going at it with this tattoo model, and they were letting me watch. They had just asked me to join when Kung Fu Hen over here smashed my face in.”
“I can’t wait to tell Stephanie,” I shriek.
“Nu-uh, you ain’t telling her shit. That woman will smash the other side of my face in,” Rhys says.
After a late breakfast, Koi and Kip depart and the three of us lounge on the back deck. Rhys turns on Bob Marley, and we chill out while listening to the waves and the seagulls. This is the life. There have been several moments when I wish Jagger was in this hammock with me, and I fight the urge to cry. I miss the way he envelops me in his arms. I miss the way he smells and the sweet kisses he places on the top of my head or cheek throughout the day. When thoughts of Jagger seem to be too much, I decide to take my mind off it by taking care of business.
“So, are we going to record an album or not?” I ask, breaking the relaxation.
“Fuck yeah, we are,” Rhys exclaims.
The quiet settles in around us, and we all apparently have the same thought.
“How do we replace him?” I ask.
“I don’t know, Hen,” Griffin says with a sad smile.
“We should talk to Caleb’s parents so they don’t hear it from someone else first,” I say.
We are all in agreement. We talk about the sound we would like to go with and the possible ways in which we can begin a search for a guitar player. Part of me is incredibly sad that my music career will go forward without Caleb. I had a connection with him that I could never in a million years find again. I will still enjoy making music, but it will never be the same. I have come to accept it, but it doesn’t make it any better.
Tonight, we all agree to party like rock stars. Jessica and Samantha show up in time to doll up. This is the first time in four years that the three surviving members of Abandoned Shadow will be photographed together. The three of us being together will fuel rumors of another album, and I have no idea how or when it is best to broach the subject with Caleb’s parents.
I wear a little black dress that barely covers my ass. I throw on some Jimmy Choo black stilettos with skulls on the straps. My makeup is smoky, and my hair cascades down my back in loose waves. I spray a little perfume in the right places, and it is time to meet the limo out front. We drink champagne on the ride over to Cashmere’s night club and toast to Caleb who will be missed tonight.
Once the limo pulls up to the front of the club, the attention of the line and the paparazzi turns to us. Rhys and Griffin exit first and then help me and the other two ladies out of the limo. The crowd goes wild, and those flashes from the cameras blind me. We huddle in a group and quickly make our way inside.
The alcohol immediately flows freely in our little group. Some of Hollywood’s elite are already going strong in the club. We enter the VIP area and are seated by the hostess at an empty table. The stares from the rich and famous don’t go unnoticed. I ignore most of the pompous assholes. I do not consider myself in the same league as most of them since I actually know how to treat other human beings. They aren’t all bad, don’t get me wrong, but I have no tolerance for the ones who have god complexes. The good ones are usually really eccentric, which most artistic kinds are.
An hour after our arrival, a very attractive man who looks to be my age approaches the table.
“Hi. I want to send over a round of whatever you are having.” His smile is concentrated solely on me.
“Oh, thanks, man. Who are you by the way?” Rhys asks.
The gorgeous man extends his hand to Rhys. “Kai Scott.”
“As in, the Kai Scott?” Rhys clarifies.
The man lets out a humble chuckle. “I don’t know about that, but I’m a producer.”
“Then you are the Kai Scott,” Rhys states.
“Then I guess I am,” he says, genuinely flattered.
Griffin extends his hand in greeting, and Kai then takes Jessica and Samantha’s hands and lightly shakes. I think they are both swooning a little, which says a lot since Sam is gay. His eyes land on me, and there are visions of me leaned over a sound board in this little black dress. Hey, I may have a broken heart, but this bitch ain’t blind... or dead.
He extends his hand to me, and I accept it. He gently shakes it, never letting his eyes fall from mine.
“Henley Hendrix, it is such a pleasure to meet you,” he finally says.
“Likewise.”
“I never thought I would see this group out together again. It is really an honor to meet all of you,” he says to the entire table.
Rhys and Griffin engage this man, who they obviously know of, in conversation about apparent albums he has produced in the past. I’m reminded of how fast the music industry changes the power players. If you are wondering why these two have a man crush, it has nothing to do with his looks. Great music producers in our world are famous amongst their peers. This is actually a higher status than being famous to the public. If Rhys and Griff have infatuation in their eyes, then this guy must be one of the best producers in the industry. I will have to ask more later.
Jessica leans over and whispers in my ear, “I would do shit to him you wouldn’t do to a farm animal. That motherfucker is so damn fine. Did you look at the bulge in the front of his jeans? I bet he is packing at least ten inches under there.”
I laugh at my audacious friend who so refreshingly tells it exactly like it is. Jessica excuses us to the ladies’ room.
Samantha laughs. “I don’t bat for that team, but damn, I can appreciate beauty when I see it. He was all humble and shit. I actually considered asking him to take his clothes off for a moment. Then I
realized as soon as I saw his dick, I might vomit.”
“He is pretty damn hot,” I say.
“Oh, honey, what is hot is the look that the man was giving you. I think I just saw you engaging in foreplay, and it felt really naughty to watch him undress you with his eyes.” Jessica fans herself.
We decide to join the main dance floor once we refresh our drinks at the bar. My heart hurts when I long for Jagger to be here with his arms around me. I try to be strong and shake the yearning. Once a slow song blares out, Samantha and I dance together since a Laker just asked Jessica’s gorgeous ass to dance. I went to my first and only prom with Samantha since the conservatives in our school had an issue with her bringing a female to the prom. Being the rebel I am, I begged to be her date. I danced as nasty as I could all night with her, just to prove a point. I’m not gay, but I have no problem with my friend being gay. And subsequently, you shouldn’t either.
After a few more songs, we return to our table, and whiskey shots flow freely. We are approached by several actors and fellow musicians, and I enjoy the short conversations with them. I hear repeatedly how each of them hopes we plan to put out another album, and I just smile, keeping it secret for now.
Toward the end of the evening, Rhys leans over. “Kai Scott said he wasn’t getting in our business, but if we ever record another album, he would be honored to produce it. Hen, this guy is like the Rick Rubin of modern rock. He is the shit, and he wants to work with us. Our first album back couldn’t be produced by a better man.”
“Rhys, do you have a man crush?”
“I certainly do, ma’am,” he plainly answers.
“We have to find a guitarist first, Rhys.”
Broken (The Guitar Face Series Book 1) Page 22
