by Molly Joseph
Ransom was already shaking his head. No. Slope. Slippery. Full of prickly bushes and pointy rocks. “I can’t lie in bed and hold you,” he said, because that was the plain truth. “It’s not part of my job.”
Two bright dots of color bloomed on her cheeks. “Yeah, I know.”
“Not that I don’t want to help you. It’s just—”
“I know.”
“Not professional.”
“Can we let it drop?” Her blush deepened. “I was just telling you that Marty used to do it, and it used to work for me. But he’s gone now, so…”
Ransom waited for the rest of it, some flailing stab at seducing him, or some vitriol about his part in firing Marty, but nothing else came. Time for you to leave, sport. This awkward silence? That’s your cue.
“Well, good night,” he said. “Even if you don’t sleep.”
“Good night.”
He went sideways through the door and heard it close behind him with a thump. Catastrophe averted. In some horrible way, it was tempting to curl up next to her, but in some other, more rational way, he knew that would lead to all kinds of fucked up shit. She was a client and he was a professional. He was old enough to know better.
He just needed one night with a real woman. That would put all this inappropriate attraction to rest.
CHAPTER FIVE
Breathe
They had four days in Amsterdam before the festival, and by the end of the second day, Lola was losing her shit.
No sex. No partying. No wandering around and getting into trouble with the local club folk. Nothing. No fun.
Oh, he’d take her wherever she wanted to go, but once she was there, he was on her tail like a fucking deer tick, and nothing could pull him away. She’d been sure she could score some ecstasy from the team of EDM producers she met with on Thursday, but no. An entire day in the studio, and he was at her elbow the whole time. The producers loved his suit and red tie, and thought he was cool because he never talked. They dubbed him Random Ransom, and needled him to give opinions on the tracks they laid down.
She wanted to scream at him to go away.
As long as she agreed to walk with him during the day—ugh, those walks—he let her go out to the clubs at night, but by the third night she gave up and stayed in, because nothing fun could permeate his iron barricade of control.
It was hard to hit on potential sex partners when a man in a suit was standing beside you scowling at them. And of course, he did everything he could to look like a fucking DEA agent in his fucking business suits, so no one carrying drugs would even look her way.
She was in Amsterdam, where they had the best party scene, the loosest laws, the strongest drugs, and she was helpless to take advantage of it. Her mojo was fucked up from lack of sex and she was PMSing hard, and everything in life sucked, and it was his fault. This tour was supposed to be the time of her life. Fame could be fleeting, and youth was definitely fleeting. When she explained this to him, he gave her that judgey look that made her want to punch his handsome face.
“You need to stay healthy,” he’d say. “Don’t party so hard. You have a long life ahead of you.”
Just a few more weeks and she’d be rid of him, and then, fuck, she’d party like crazy. She’d reunite with her L.A. posse and make up for all this lost time, and he wouldn’t have any authority over her anymore because the tour would be done. When she told him that, he joked that he was going to keep coming to her for guitar lessons.
But she hadn’t given him any more lessons because it was too hard to be that close to him when she was starved for sex. Just touching him made her wet. No, just looking at him made her wet.
Which really sucked, because she hated him with the fire of a million suns.
If she couldn’t have sex, she at least needed some happy pills before the Amsterdam show. The whole crowd would be high and she wanted to be high too. She was sure she could get something at the venue. She only needed to slip away from Ransom for five minutes to find a provider and make a deal. She’d watched Marty do it plenty of times. She had a wad of cash in her pocket, and room to store the ecstasy tablets in that same pocket once she bought them. If she could buy a few extra, she’d have some for the next show too.
An hour before her set, Lola was ready to rock Amsterdam—and get high. Her hair was done up in fun pins and twists, her makeup was applied, her bikini top was double knotted, and her shorts had deep pockets that zipped. Once they got backstage, Greg gave her the out she needed, taking her to the restricted area to introduce her to the head sound guy, a pierced, tattooed gargoyle who reeked of pot. She pitched into a discussion with him about the songs on her set list until Greg got bored and wandered away. As soon as he was gone, she asked the guy if there was anyone backstage who could sell her some ecstasy.
His chubby cheeks spread in a smile. “You want Rave Dave.”
“Hell, yeah, I want Rave Dave. I need Rave Dave. Show me where he is. Quickly, please.” She looked over her shoulder, but Ransom wasn’t allowed back here and Greg was chatting up a dude in the VIP area.
Five minutes later, Lola had made the acquaintance of Rave Dave and scored a bonus quantity of the best ecstasy available. It took all her money, but he assured her the tablets were epically pure. “Don’t take too much,” he warned after she popped the first pill. “You’re small. Start with one.”
“I always take two.” She waved her bottle of electrolyte water. “I’m super hydrated. It’ll be fine.” She took the second one and zipped the rest of the tablets into her shorts pocket just as Greg came meandering back.
“All set?” he asked.
“All set.”
They returned to Ransom, who stood by the stage entrance looking out at the audience. “You ready for this?” he asked, turning back to her. “Biggest crowd yet.”
She detected a note of admiration in his voice. It made her feel good that he respected her work, but it also made her feel guilty. He was trying to psyche her up to do a sober show when she’d just pounded two doses of ecstasy.
She didn’t want to deceive him. It was just that he didn’t get it. He didn’t understand how the rave thing worked. She had to feel the music in a more heightened way, especially in a huge venue like this. She had to escape into it. She had to let go in order to let her music go.
The act before hers was winding down, and she still wasn’t feeling much effect from the ecstasy. While the techs set up for her time slot, she broke one of the extra tablets in half and washed it down with lots of electrolyte water. The water didn’t taste so bad once you got used to it, and the electrolyte boost helped before a show. She stuck in her ear plugs and hopped up and down on her toes. A familiar floating feeling suffused her as the ecstasy began to take effect.
God, very nice. Nice shit. Rave Dave had come through for her, and it wasn’t too strong at all. Since she had two entire hours to party, she took the other half of the tablet when Ransom’s back was turned.
There, three pills was the perfect amount for a big gig like this. Now she was ready. Hell yeah. The festival field was packed. There were thousands of ravers swarming in front of the stage like ants on an anthill. Balls bounced in the air. Glow sticks waved and lights flashed in psychedelic patterns that made her heart sing. These were her people and this was her life, and she was going to surround them in sick beats until they were off their heads.
She looked to the side and saw Ransom standing at the top of the stage stairs. Not leaning, or sitting on the edge of the platform the way the techs sometimes did. He always stood straight and tall, and watched her just like a bodyguard would. She didn’t know why that made her feel so tingly and pleased. Maybe it was the ecstasy. She noticed him putting in his ear plugs, and thought she’d better put hers in too.
Oh, yeah. She had them in already. Ha.
At last they announced her. Gibberish, gibberish, gibberish, LADYYYY PARADIIIISE. The crowd went crazy and Lola felt warm and magical and radiant with love. She was Lady Par
adise, and the Paradise groove was magnificent. She kicked in the first set of beats, watching the electronic tones dance in the air like fairies. One rhythm led to another, and to another, woven together with melodies she’d dreamed of her whole life. I love you, I love you, I love you. This was the acceptance she craved, the feeling of fitting in. All of this was love, and she incited her people to dance harder as strobe lights raked the crowd.
She felt so free when she was playing a set. All the notes she needed were programmed into her computers, and all the songs were at her fingertips. Sometimes she sampled other songs she liked, wound them into her own melodies until they twisted into new delights. No set was the same, and no song was the same, except the recorded versions her label distributed. She created the live music from her heart, so even the people who followed her across Europe from festival to festival heard new things at every show. You’re welcome. I fucking love you.
A photographer flitted around her as she played. She flashed him a smile and a peace sign. She couldn’t stop grinning. The thing about ecstasy was that it could make you feel all powerful, like the God of your own world. She tried to remember she wasn’t all powerful, but it was hard when the music was jamming and the lights were flashing in perfect rhythm. Energy surged through her veins until she wanted to jump out of her skin. She wanted to dive into the crowd, but then the pills might fall out of her pocket, and besides, Ransom had told her not to. What had he said? He’d make her run five miles.
Right now she felt like she could run twenty-five miles. Two hundred and twenty-five miles. She looked over at him. He frowned back at her. What was wrong with him, seriously? Out of the jillion bazillion people on this field in Amsterdam, he was the only one who wasn’t shaking his ass. Too bad, because he had a great ass. She hadn’t gotten laid in forever. How many days since Marty left? And Marty sucked in bed. She preferred the professionals, the gigolos, but she couldn’t always find them, and now…
Too bad Ransom was so uptight in the fun department. He’d make a great gigolo if the bodyguard thing didn’t work out. She imagined dragging him onto the stage and making him feel the music. If only she could make him feel, they’d both be so much happier. She’d take off his clothes and dance naked with him on top of the sound console, then throw him down and fuck him in the middle of the stage, with the lights and fog machines, and the ravers dancing, and the beautiful beats rattling their souls as they found ecstasy.
Ecstasy. Ha. She started laughing as the music built to a hammering crescendo. She wasn’t laughing because anything was funny. She was laughing because life was amazing, and people were amazing, and her bodyguard was gorgeous even if he didn’t dance. Maybe she’d ask him to fuck her when the set was over. He’d probably say yes. Men always said yes to her.
“That’s the plan, that’s the plan,” she sang, even though no one could hear her over the music. The photographer snapped another photo as she pressed a button, killed the buildup and initiated the drop. The stage rattled so hard from the bass, it felt like it was falling apart. The crowd went apeshit and Lola jumped in manic bliss. She could have jumped forever, for five miles, easily. She felt like she was jumping ten feet in the air.
The crowd was a blur, but the beats went on, and her mind raced to keep up with the beautiful world. The stage manager swung by, holding up two hands. Wow, ten minutes to go? What had happened to the time? She’d been playing for almost two hours, but she could have played four more hours. Forty more hours. She laughed again. Yeah, as long as the pills held out. She started building toward another massive drop, the final drop. She’d make it a masterpiece.
She wove the beats in a new way, driven by the glittering images in her head. This beat goes here. This beat goes there. These melodies play together nice. Oh, so nice, like E minor and C. She swayed, waving her hands in the air. The crowd was an undulating mass, illuminated by a blinding light show. Yes, yes, yes, jump, jump, jump, me, me, me, me, me, you, you, you, you, yooouuu…
When the drop came, it was crazy hot. She almost did a stage dive. She almost ran to the edge of the platform and threw herself into the beautiful sea of people, but her chest felt aflame with all her happiness, and she worried she might set the crowd on fire.
Instead, she danced until the end of the song and took a bow. The crowd’s love rolled toward her like a neon tide. She basked in it as the ravers screamed her name. PARADISE! PARADISE! PARADIIIIIIISE!
She loved these people. She adored them. She blew a few final kisses and ducked behind the sound console to get her water. She felt so wonderful, so happy and high. Rave Dave had the best fucking shit on the planet, the most phenomenal shit of all time. She decided to sneak another half pill before she was back in Ransom’s clutches, just to celebrate, just because she’d fucking killed that set.
“Great show, Lady,” someone shouted.
She swallowed and turned, and saw the chubby cheeked sound tech from backstage. They shared a fist bump. The photographer gave her a thumbs up. The crowd still roared her name, but she had to go. She waved and headed toward the stairs. Greg met her at the edge of the stage.
“Amazing set, babe. Crowd went out of their minds!”
She couldn’t stop smiling. “Thank you.”
“What can I get you? Need more water?”
She ignored Greg and danced over to Ransom, pulling out her ear plugs. “Did you love the set? Did you totally love it?”
He didn’t smile. He didn’t look like he’d loved the set. “Are you ready to go?” he asked.
He was so beautiful. His voice was so deep and rich and beautiful. “You’re beautiful,” she said, wrapping her arms around his waist.
“Right.” He gripped her elbows and tried to dislodge her. “I think we need to get you back to the hotel.”
The photographer returned, documenting her deep love for her bodyguard. She smiled and waved at the man, then turned and licked Ransom’s face for the camera, because his stubble felt amazing on her tongue. Greg laughed. Ransom held her waist hard. Wow, he was strong! She flung her arms around his neck and his warmth was her warmth. She wanted him inside her. He was so strong and beautiful, a perfect specimen of manhood.
“I want your manhood,” she said, wrapping her legs around his waist. Greg wouldn’t stop laughing. The backstage was crazy with people, but all she could think about was how great it felt to be in Ransom’s arms, with her body pressed to his. He started walking, turning his face away when she tried to kiss him.
“I love you,” she said in his ear, then nibbled his earlobe. “I want to fuck you so bad. I want to fuck you and fuck you and fuck you. I love you so much I could fucking eat you.”
He didn’t say anything, but she was pretty sure he felt the same.
*
Ransom carried his writhing client onto the bus to the sounds of Greg’s maniacal laughter.
“What the fuck?” He spun on him. “Are you high too? Seriously? What the fuck is going on here? What did she take?”
Greg worked to compose himself, then held up his hands. “Nothing. I gave her nothing.”
“She’s—” He ducked away as she licked his jaw again. “She’s off her face, man.”
“She wants you.”
Ransom tried to pry Lola away, but as soon as he removed her, she was on him again like a spider monkey.
“I love you,” she said for the fortieth time. “You’re so strong.”
“Jesus.” They didn’t pay him enough for this. He grabbed her shoulders and tried to catch her gaze but she was flying in the ethersphere, and Greg was a giggling mess.
“It’s Amsterdam,” her manager said, waving his hands like there were still beats. “Everyone’s high here. She played the set of the century. Didn’t you see?”
Oh, yeah, Ransom had seen it. She’d been pure joy, pure genius. Pure ecstasy. He’d thought she was sober. He’d been so fucking impressed with her performance until he realized she was chemically altered.
He’d fallen in love with
her a little as she reigned over that massive crowd and spun a seamless set of pounding melodies. He hated this electronic shit, but even he had to admit the set was inspired. She’d inspired him, and then she’d devastated him because after all his efforts to reform her, his client was high again. He had to figure out how, and why, and keep it from happening again. He’d only left her alone for the sound check, entrusting her to Greg’s supervision.
He scowled at her tripping manager. Lesson learned.
Now she was clinging to him, a quivering bundle of sexualized nerve endings riding a chemical high. She reached down again to fondle him. The worst thing was, his body responded to her. It responded to her energy and boldness. It responded to Lady Paradise, who’d stood on that stage and made the world a million different sounds and colors.
“Stop that,” he said, pushing her hand away from his thickening cock.
“I love you. I want you to fuck me.”
“I know you want me to fuck you, but I didn’t give you permission to touch me that way.”
She didn’t seem to care. He patted her down at the same time she groped his body. He found what he was searching for in her left zippered pocket. He removed the bag of ecstasy tablets and held it out of her reach when she started grabbing for it. She climbed him like a junkie and he let her fall when she lost her grip on him. Greg laughed while Lola wailed, and then she laughed too. “Oh, fuck,” she giggled, clutching her chest. “My heart. Jesus.” Her features tensed, then she burst into laughter again.
Ransom stood over her, watching her. “What do you mean, your heart?”
“I love you,” she said. “I love you, bodyguard.”
He knelt beside her and tried to take her pulse, but she squirmed and reached for him again. “Stay down,” he ordered, in a voice harsh enough to subdue her even though she was high.
She lay back and watched him, winding her fingers through her wrecked hair. Her pulse rate was alarmingly high. He put a hand over her chest, over her skimpy bikini top, and felt her heart pumping faster than any of the beats she’d played.
