Rocky paused, unable to stop the shiver of dread that ran up his spine. Anything having to do with his old man was a fucking disaster just waiting to happen.
“No friend of my father’s is a friend of mine.” He grabbed his T-shirt and water bottle off the bench, intending to end this call and head back to his room.
“That’s too bad, because he sure talked about you a lot on the inside. Eight years in the same cell and you hear all the stories a man has to tell, and he told me all of his.”
“Lose this number. Don’t call me again, or I’ll have to fuck you up.”
“You’ve gotta understand. I just got out, and life is hard on the outside, and I’m sure you could help me out. Big, famous rock star, you can make it worth it to me to keep your father’s secrets, or I’m sure I can find some reporter who will.”
“Fuck you,” he said, wanting to reach through the phone and rip this guy a new one. He might have been on the West Coast for a while, but the New Yorker came out when pissed off, and this guy’s threats pushed every fucking button he had.
“I’ll take it to the press, I swear to God. Unless you want your mother and the entire dirty mess on the front page, I suggest you come up with a better answer.”
And then the phone went silent, and he was left staring at his screensaver, wondering just how far down the toilet his day could go. If this jerk-off went to the press, his life would hit the pavement so fast he’d have to check his ass for skid marks.
Dash had said that life didn’t allow you to stand still, but he didn’t say anything about it running you over.
Chapter Four
She was going to pretend he wasn’t there.
Lita looked at the two club chairs arranged into a casual conversation area in the grand foyer of the Holmes Estate Mansion. Both covered in soft buttery yellow canvas, they would look great on film and perfectly complement the skin and hair tones of Lita and her interviewee. But something wasn’t right about the configuration. She walked over, grabbed an arm of the right chair, and tugged. It didn’t budge, apparently it was stuffed with concrete.
“Let me help you.”
“I’ve got it.” She tugged again, putting all of her hard-fought-crack-of-dawn-sessions-with-her-personal-trainer-muscles into the task. All she succeeded in was moving the chair a fraction of an inch and ending the effort with a grunt. Not the sexy kind, the embarrassing kind.
“Nice.” Rocky levered a broad shoulder against hers and moved her out of the way. She swore that she saw a hint of smile on the edges of his mouth. The bastard was laughing at her. “Don’t hurt yourself.”
“Thanks.” Lita stared at him, unsure how to take this helpful side of the man who’d spent most of the past couple days glaring and biting her head off. She really didn’t want him to be nice to her at all. All it did was confuse her head and entice her heart.
“What’s that look for?” he asked.
“I’m just wondering how this fits in with your plans to tank my career.”
“I figure you can do that all by yourself.” Rocky leaned in, his scent wrapping around her.
He always smelled so good. Part spice and part outdoors, he smelled like a man, not the perfumed-up pretty boys in L.A. Combine it with his worn jeans, the black T-shirt, and the mass of dark hair pulled back into a loose ponytail, and she was barely holding on to her anger. Angry sex. It would be angry sex. Awesome angry sex. But she would not have sex, angry, awesome or otherwise, with a man who could barely be called an ex.
Rocky continued, oblivious or ignoring where her thoughts were going. “And you were right.”
That got her attention. “I was right? Can I get that tattooed on something? Your forehead? Your ass?”
“Um, no. To both.” He huffed out a little laugh, the dimple in his right cheek making an appearance. She remembered kissing that spot before moving to his mouth, and then lower. “You were right about Callie and Jake. I need to trust them.”
“So you changed your mind about me?”
“No. I didn’t say that.” His expression was hard but tempered with a little bit of, what was that? Apology? Regret? “But I respect that they trust you. So, I’m going to do what they asked and help you out and keep an eye on things at the same time.”
Damn. That answer shouldn’t hurt. Not after all this time. But it did. She should be used to going it alone. Her parents and her Hollywood upbringing had taught her that lesson early, in surround sound. They couldn’t stay married, and used each other, and her, as a pawn in the game of exposure and increased ratings. They’d taught her that it was all about angles and uneasy alliances when they were beneficial. Relationships were disposable for the most part, unless you were really lucky and found the person who wanted you just for yourself.
“Good.” She turned to grab her notes, letting her hair hide her face until she could get her emotions under control. “That’s good.”
“I’m here.”
Lita spun toward the quiet voice behind them. Minerva Hanover smiled at her, shy and a little bit nervous. Callie and Lori’s mother was gorgeous, no one would believe that she had two grown daughters. Blonde hair, big blue eyes, long legs, and the curvy figure of a 1940s movie star. Lori had her looks, but Callie had her quiet strength. Lita knew she hadn’t always been that way, and her difficulties had made her daughters who they were. Now all she had to do was get that on film.
“Hey, Minerva.” Lita walked over and pulled her into a big hug, guiding her over to the chairs. “This is Eddie. He’s the cameraman, and he is going to disappear, and you won’t even know he’s here. In fact, we might have to check him for a pulse. Right, Eddie?”
“Yep.” Eddie nodded and went back to adjusting the camera settings.
“Hi, Eddie.” Minerva gave him a wave.
“And you know Rocky.” She leaned in close to mock whisper in her ear. “He’s the only person in the world who avoids the press more than you do.”
“So why is he here?”
“He’s babysitting me.”
“Really?” Minerva looked between the two of them, her confusion over what was going on all over her face.
“Yeah. But enough about the big, bad wolf in the corner.” She grabbed her hand and pulled her down into the chair. “We have a wedding to talk about.”
“I’m nervous.” Minerva placed her purse on the floor. Her voice was low with a breathy quality that always reminded Lita of Marilyn Monroe.
“Hey, don’t be. Eddie is going to turn on the camera and do his disappearing act, and Rocky is going to blend in with the furniture, or I will kill him.” She gave him a look over her shoulder that he ignored. “It is just you and me, okay?” She signaled to Eddie to start rolling.
“Okay.”
“All right, so what does your mother-of-the-bride dress look like?” Lita lead with a softball question, hoping to ease Minerva into feeling comfortable with her, to make her forget about the camera over her shoulder.
“Oh, it’s this lovely shade of lavender. Callie picked it out for me.”
“Did she make you matching shoes? Too late, Lita realized that she had forgotten to grab her notes from the floor. She’d do this without them. It wasn’t a long interview. Minerva spooked easily, and she’d promised Lori it would be painless. Besides, she only needed a couple of sound bites for her story.
“Oh yes. But I don’t know how I’m going to wear them. I’m terrified that I will mess them up. They are so beautiful.”
“I have a feeling you could get her to make you another pair,” Lita joked as she leaned over and grasped Minerva’s hand, her instinct telling her that the personal connection would work with her. “What’s it like having a rock star marrying into the family?”
“I don’t know much about Jake being a rock star. I don’t listen to his music.” She cast an apologetic look in Rocky’s direction. “But he’s a good man, and he loves my Callie. He treats her well, and he’ll be good to her. A mother knows these things.”
&nb
sp; “I’m sure you do.” Lita maintained eye contact, needing to delve lightly into a hard topic and wanting to tread lightly. “What piece of advice would you give them?”
She shook her head, looking down. “I’m not the person to give anybody advice on marriage.”
“I disagree.” She squeezed her hand, waiting until she resumed eye contact. “The greatest wisdom comes from hard times. Life lessons earned the hard way. Right?”
Long seconds passed while Minerva considered. Lita waited. Experience had taught her that waiting was often the key to interview success.
Minerva opened her mouth, closed it, and then laughed, the sound sweet and sad all at once. “I would tell them to hang on to each other. Don’t ever let go. The only thing that matters is the two of them.” She let go of Lita’s hand, waving her own in between them as if dispersing smoke. “All of this stuff: the music, the shoes, the fame, the papers. That’s all secondary. You put your trust in each other, and that’s all that matters.”
Lita swallowed hard and resisted the compulsion to turn and look at Rocky. If it was only this easy.
“Anything else?”
“You never leave.” Her voice got a little wobbly, but she soldiered on, adding a tiny smile. “You stay. You keep your promise, and you never leave. Love is staying when you don’t want to, when it would be easy to go. You make the hard choice every time.”
Lita gazed at this woman. Life, love had not treated her well, and she’d buckled underneath the weight of the disappointment when her husband left, relying on Lori to keep the family of three afloat. With her background, she wouldn’t have been surprised to have Minerva sing a bitter song about love and marriage. But she still believed in the power of real commitment, true affection, and that was refreshing. It was…hopeful.
And while L.A. was the City of Angels, it was not the dominion of hope. And nothing Lita had seen or experienced first-hand with love gave her the conviction that Minerva had about commitment to one person. She used to think she didn’t want it, but time had taught her she did. She just never thought she’d find it. Correction. She thought she’d found it, but she’d been wrong. And now? Now she wasn’t so sure she’d recognize it or see it with the long shadow Rocky Cardano cast on her love life.
“Thank you for talking with me today.” Lita drew back, signaling for Eddie to stop filming.
“That’s all?” Minerva asked, her expression confused as she fumbled at her feet for her purse.
“It was exactly what I needed.”
“That was, ” She cocked her head to the side, “fun.”
“Well, you don’t have to sound so surprised. Lori threatened to kill me if I made you cry.” Lita stood, giving her another hug before ushering her out of the foyer. “And I think she’s waiting for you in the main room. She said something about seating charts and a white board.”
“Oh no.” Minerva twisted her mouth in what could only be described as dismay. “I think I can make it to the car without her seeing me.”
“Was she always like that? A force of nature fueled by calendars and spreadsheets.”
“Always. She came out of the womb with a planner in her hand.” Minerva waggled her fingers at her as she walked away in a custom pair of Calliope shoes, her shapely legs extending from the sleek pencil skirt.
Lita turned to find Rocky watching her. His eyes were narrowed, jaw tight. He didn’t look pleased.
“What did I do now?” She moved past him, unable to avoid brushing his arm with her own or the urge to lean in and linger. She resisted, feeling him turn, and knew without looking that he was tracking her. Lita bent to retrieve her notes from the floor, stuffing them into her Marc Jacobs tote bag. She couldn’t help sneaking a peek over her shoulder at him. “Spit it out. I know you’ve got something to say.”
“That was good.” He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans, the gesture giving him a boyish air that probably fooled all those blondes he trotted out to the clubs and award shows. But all it did was piss her off.
“Well, I am damn good at my job.” Lita took the three steps necessary to give him the hairy eyeball. “At least try to hide your surprise.”
“I know you are…” His tone had the usual bite, but he stopped, transferring his gaze to a point over her right shoulder, giving every outward indication that he was counting to ten. Rocky leveled his gaze at her again, his voice missing any of the snide tone from earlier. “I just figured you’d go for the kill. Make her cry or something.”
“I’m not Barbara Walters, and I didn’t need to drag Minerva through her heartbreak to get my story. I plan to give a brief history about it in voiceover. I was more interested in her opinion about Callie, Jake, and love. I got what I needed, and she didn’t leave an emotional wreck.” She hefted her bag on her shoulder, letting her frustration at his assumptions show. “I’ve studied and learned a lot in the four years since you knew me. Jesus, give me a little credit.” She was done explaining herself to this man. “And I’m apologizing for the last time for what I did after, but let me be clear, I don’t need or want your validation on how I do my job.”
“I was trying to…” He looked perplexed, reaching out to stop her, to touch her. Either way, she wasn’t in the mood to stay and listen to anymore of his judgmental crap.
“And you know what?” She pushed past him, heading for any place on this estate than this room right now. “I don’t care.”
Chapter Five
Tequila shots, women, and karaoke were a very bad combination.
After a day full of interviews and more wedding plans, everyone had headed to the main hall to blow off some steam. Especially the girls.
Rocky finished his beer and signaled Laz for another while he watched the performance in front of him. Callie, Sydney, Lori, and Lita were huddled around the karaoke machine set up in the main room, drunkenly clutching each other as they belted out some punk-lite, pop song about not liking some dude’s girlfriend and informing him that he belonged with them. They struggled through the verses, but when the cheerleading chant style chorus came, they belted it out like they had a recording contract riding on it.
If record labels awarded contracts for off-key, slurred screeching, they were the next big thing.
“Who thought this was a good idea?” Laz asked, wincing when they tried to reach a higher note.
“The tequila or the singing?” Rocky wondered, knowing what his vote would be.
“Both,” Jake and Laz answered as they flopped onto the huge sofa.
“Amen,” he said.
It was really loud in the silence that suddenly engulfed the room when the song ended, but the ladies didn’t even notice as they giggled and fell over each other, trying to pick another song. Callie was wearing an ugly ass bridal veil with a flashing crown thingy on top, but the one he couldn’t stop looking at was Lita.
Maybe it was the four shots and several beers he’d had tonight, but he was staring, and he was doing nothing to stop himself. She hadn’t once made eye contact with him since entering the room wearing a white T-shirt, a jean mini-skirt, and red cowboy boots. The whole outfit made her look like she was born and raised here in Montana, even though it probably cost the price of a nice little sports car.
But damn, she was sweeter than any little red Corvette.
And she’d look fine spread out in the backseat of that exact vehicle.
The blaring first few chords of another girl-power anthem jolted him out of his pubescent, masturbatory hot girl/hot car fantasies.
“Oh holy hell. Can’t you make it stop?” he asked Dash, tipping back his bottle.
“Why me? You’ve got the brawn.”
“And you’re sleeping with one of them.”
“So what? You were sleeping with one of them,” he huffed out on a laugh.
“A long time ago.”
“And you want to right now.” He pointed a finger at Rocky, daring him with a look to disagree. “Don’t even try to deny it. I just saw you eye-fucki
ng her from across the room.”
“Eye-fuck—” Rocky rose from his barstool, cutting Dash off before he got too wound up. “I know you’re all hearts and flowers right now, but don’t get any ideas about Lita and me.”
“I was just asking if you two were going to get horizontal. You’re the one who brought up hearts and flowers.”
He stared at him for two beats, nodding to acknowledge the hit. “Yeah, but we’re not talking about any of it. I’m going out there to get away from that.” He pointed at the patio outside, then the girls, and then beat feet before Dash got any ideas about following him.
The summer air was cool, and the drinks were starting to hit him hard, so he sank onto the couch, letting the cushions billow around him. He closed his eyes, letting his mind drift over the day, the week, the last four years. He wasn’t drunk enough to delude himself that he hadn’t been happy with his life. The band and their music was amazing, and he loved touring. Playing to a full arena of screaming fans was a high that couldn’t be touched by alcohol or women. And he’d done plenty of both to know.
There’d been the lows, too. Dash taking off and almost destroying the band. His mom dying, the cancer taking its sweet ass time to ravage her body. He’d been able to give her a good life in the end, a few safe years before she’d gotten sick, and he was grateful for that. For a while, he’d been able to protect her. He wasn’t the young kid who could do nothing but sit by in mute, horrified silence as his father delivered his twisted version of love.
In the end, she’d been safe, and that was one of his greatest sources of pride.
It hadn’t been easy. The press was always trying to get some foothold on his private life, and they’d been voraciously persistent during her illness. Rocky had paid a shitload of money for extra security and had his lawyers make sure the hospital staff and her doctors understood exactly what “confidential” meant.
And now it looked like the shit with his father was going to come back again when he thought it was dead and buried in that prison cemetery.
Playing With the Drummer Page 4
