by Tripp Ellis
I called Scarlett back right away and congratulated her. I put the call on speakerphone. "I'm here with Jack. We just watched the trailer. It was amazing. You look fantastic."
"I'm so excited!"
"You're making your old man proud," JD said.
"You guys are coming for the premiere, right?"
"We wouldn't miss it."
"The press tour is starting up. Things are gonna get really crazy."
“Just don't let it all go to your head," JD said.
"I won't. But I can enjoy this moment."
"As you should."
"Gotta run,” she said. “Love you guys. Oh, by the way, I have something to tell you when you get out here. Show you, really.”
JD groaned. “Should I be concerned?”
She laughed. “You’ll see.”
The call was over as quickly as it began.
JD's enthusiasm was tempered with concern. "I just hope this isn't too much too soon.”
"She'll be fine," I said.
"Yeah, but I have a feeling her whole life is about to change."
Scarlett had been in Los Angeles pursuing the acting thing for a while now. She had her ups and downs, starring in a low-budget horror film that never got released. Topless photos from the set were leaked on the Internet. She had dealt with the tabloids, crazy stalkers, and invasive paparazzi—all within the span of the year.
With the release of Bree, and her upcoming role in Ultra Mega 2, odds were good that Scarlett would become a household name by the end of the summer blockbuster season.
As far as I could tell, she'd been keeping her nose clean and hadn’t relapsed. Los Angeles can be a dangerous place for a person with a history of substance abuse. Everything is available and at your fingertips, especially when you're a rising star.
This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. A door that opened quickly and could close at any moment. All it would take was a few missteps. I figured she had enough life experience under her belt to recognize that now. At least, that was my hope.
We left the station and grabbed lunch at Diver Down.
Teagan greeted us with a smile as we sat at the bar. “What’s shaking?”
“Same ol’, same ol’,” JD said.
She dug two ice-cold longnecks from the tub and popped the tops with a hiss. She slid them across the counter.
“You read my mind,” JD said, reaching for the bottle.
She frowned. “I think it’s coming back.”
JD lifted a curious brow. “What’s coming back? Your psychic powers?”
“Don’t mock me. I saw on the news you guys found a body in a steel drum. It was a girl, wasn’t it?”
“Did they say that on the news?” I asked.
“No, but I had a vision flash in my head. Not a pleasant one, either.”
“You wouldn’t happen to know who the girl is? That didn’t flash into your head, too, did it?”
She frowned at me. “No, it doesn’t work like that. And I’d prefer that it didn’t work at all.”
There always seemed to be dire consequences when Teagan used her supposed psychic abilities.
“Do you guys know what you want for lunch?”
“The question is do you?” JD teased.
“Shut up,” she sneered.
“Seafood platter,” JD said.
“Crawfish étouffée,” I added.
“Coming right up.” Teagan punched in the order.
We sipped our beer and shot the breeze. The trailer for the Bree Taylor project played three times on the flatscreen behind the bar during the course of lunch. The studio was doing a big marketing push.
Teagan freaked out when she saw it. “Oh, my God! Is that Scarlett!?”
Jack grinned from ear to ear. “My greatest achievement.”
“I’ll say. She looks stunning. Are you sure you’re related?”
JD frowned at her.
My agent called during the meal. I hadn’t talked to him in a while. I figured I'd be hearing from him soon.
I liked Joel. He was one of the good guys in a business that was filled with sharks and vipers. I had become an accidental participant in the business. My chance encounter with Bree turned into a whirlwind of studio meetings and story deals.
"Unless you’ve been living under a rock, I’m sure you've seen the trailer by now," Joel said.
"I have."
"Fantastic, isn't it?"
"It really is. I'm impressed."
"The studio is being very tight about the project. No pre-screenings. No advanced press screenings."
"What does that mean?"
"It can be good, it can be bad. If the film is a stinker, they certainly don't want the press to get advanced screenings."
I frowned. "You think it's a stinker? The trailer looks great."
"It wouldn’t be the first crappy movie with a great trailer," Joel said.
I cringed.
"That said, all of my sources tell me it's fantastic."
"Do you trust your sources?"
"I don't trust anybody. But I've acquired a good nose for bullshit. So, I'm pretty confident that we've got something that could be an awards contender here. Whether it does well at the box office is another story. Time will tell."
"Fingers crossed," I said.
"The studio's gonna fly you guys out, put you up, all the usual perks. There will be pre-parties and after-parties. You guys will have a blast. David Cameron has finished post-production on Ultra Mega 2. They’re dropping the first trailer next week, and the premiere is a month after the Bree Taylor project. You're gonna have a pretty crazy summer. David's gonna take a little time off, then he wants to go full-speed ahead with the television show."
"Sounds good to me."
"I'll touch base soon. Things are about to get exciting," Joel said before ending the call.
We finished eating and headed over to Mega Music. The music store contained every instrument and recording gadget known to man. We had the afternoon to kill until band practice, and this was a pretty good way to spend the time. Rows and rows of guitars hung on the walls in all colors: Ferrari Red, Neon Green, Jet Black, and more. There were stacks of amps and cabinets. Drums and cymbals. A recording section was home to high-end microphones, keyboards, and speakers.
“This is great,” JD said, “but I don’t need to spend anymore money here.”
“Don’t worry. I’m the one spending money today.”
7
I made a beeline for the bass guitars. After all the drama we’d been through recently with Crash breaking his wrist and needing to find a temporary replacement, I figured it was a good idea to pick up a cheap bass guitar and start practicing—just in case we ever got into a bind again. Plus, I had to admit, the one time that I did jam with the band, it was fun.
I had done some research online, and I knew what I wanted. I grabbed a cheap Squire Mini Precision Bass from the rack, found an amp, and plugged in.
The bass was finished in gloss black and had a maple fretboard. The mini bass was smaller than a regular P-Bass, and that was fine by me. I just needed something to noodle around on in my stateroom. I figured with a little practice, I'd be able to hold down a groove. And for a couple hundred bucks, I couldn’t go wrong.
I plucked the strings and started playing a Wild Fury song that Crash had taught me.
JD chuckled. "I see where this is going."
"We need backup systems in place," I said.
We always planned for contingencies on the battlefield but had been woefully underprepared when it came to the band. We were all flying by the seat of our pants. As manager, I decided it was probably a good idea to start making plans for every possible scenario. If it can go wrong, it probably will at some point.
I fumbled through the song, and JD sang along. It put a smile on both of our faces.
I liked the guitar. It felt good in my hands. I gave it a look over for blemishes or other defects that might give me a little negotiating room on the pr
ice. There were fingerprints all over it. It had been pawed on by more teenage boys than the prom queen.
I unplugged it, grabbed the small practice amp, and carted them both up to the counter.
The pasty-faced salesclerk with hair that fell into his eyes tried to upsell me on a hard case. But since the bass came with a nice soft case, I declined the offer. This wasn't a collector’s instrument. I didn't care if it got beat up. Besides, dings and scratches would give it more character. People pay good money for relic’d guitars. Kind of like buying jeans with holes in them—you pay more for the holes.
The amp was small enough to fit in the front trunk of the Porsche, and I slid the guitar into the backseat. We cruised to the warehouse district and pulled into the parking lot of the practice studio.
The rumble of a band playing inside filtered into the parking area.
We hopped out of the car, and I grabbed the bass guitar. JD clicked the alarm, and the lights flashed.
I left the practice amp in the trunk. Nobody knew it was in there, and I didn't think much of leaving it. I slung the soft case over my shoulder and headed toward the main entrance.
The usual band of miscreants hung outside, smoking cigarettes and wasting time. There were plenty of pasty faces, dyed jet black hair, eyeliner, and studded bracelets. Somehow, despite living in the sunshine capital of the world, these kids managed to see less daylight than your average vampire.
"Yo, what's up, Thrash," one of them said, lifting his hand to high-five.
Thrash was JD’s stage name.
JD smacked his palm, returning the gesture. “Rock 'n' roll!"
“Alright, alright!”
We pushed inside the warehouse and ambled down the dim hallway. As usual, the lingering smell of illicit herbal substances filled the air.
The band was tuning up as we pushed into the practice space. Styxx was behind his candy-apple red drum set, adjusting the toms. Dizzy was on guitar, his fingers racing up and down the fretboard. Faye thumped out a groove on her bass. The sultry little vixen had one more show with the band. Crash would be getting his cast off any day now. We’d cut it off once before when we got in a bind, but he’d been warned not to remove the second one prematurely.
I glanced around and noticed that he was conspicuously absent. There were two groupies on the couch.
"Where's Crash?" I asked.
Dizzy shrugged.
My eyes flicked to Styxx, and he repeated the gesture. "I don't know. Why don’t you ask Faye?"
There was more than a hint of disdain in his voice.
"Don't look at me,” Faye replied. “I’m not his keeper."
Despite the rules JD had put down, the two had a little something going on. JD didn’t have any room to talk, having broken the rules himself.
Crash was head over heels.
And what guy in Crash’s position wouldn’t be?
I got the impression that Faye didn't respond to Crash with quite the same enthusiasm.
Faye was an alluring little platinum blonde with a short pixie cut and pigtails. She wore a tight tank top cut up to accentuate her assets, and her short miniskirt sparked naughty desires. She wore tall Dr. Martens and was an alternative rock princess. She was quite captivating in a dangerous, life on the edge, rock 'n' roll kind of way.
I pulled my phone from my pocket and called Crash’s cell number. After a few rings, it went to voicemail. "Hey, where are you? We're about to start practice. Call me back."
Despite having the cast on his arm for the last six weeks, Crash never missed practice. He was always there, cheering on the band—even when he had to sit on the sidelines for their biggest show.
Wild Fury was his life.
My suspicious eyes turned to Faye. "Is there something you're not telling me?"
"Like what?" she asked innocently.
"Is there some specific reason that Crash would be avoiding practice and my phone calls?"
She looked at her fretboard and continued to noodle, shifting uncomfortably. "I don't know what you want me to say, man. I don't know where he is."
"When was the last time you talked to him?"
She shrugged. "A couple days ago."
"I thought you two were close."
"Excuse me, what business is it of yours?" she snapped.
"I get concerned when a member of the band doesn't show up," I said.
"Look, did we come here to jam or not?"
"Let's do it," JD said.
"We worked up a new groove," Dizzy said. "Styxx has got lyrics ready to go and everything. Let's try it out."
Styxx handed JD a crumpled piece of paper with lyrics scribbled all over it. JD studied the incomprehensible mess and somehow made sense of it.
I wondered how Crash would feel about the guys writing a song without him.
Styxx clicked off the beat, and Faye and Dizzy thundered in, laying down a heavy groove. JD bobbed his head, listening to the music, getting a feel for it. They played the verse and the chorus, and when they circled back around to the verse again, JD belted out the lyrics in a high-pitched howl.
I grinned.
It had potential from the first bar—these guys had something special, there was no doubt about it. They ran through the song a couple times, working out the bugs. JD played with the phrasing here and there. By the fourth or fifth time, it sounded polished.
Curious onlookers filtered into the room, looking for a free show. The band ran through their setlist and wrapped up 45 minutes later.
By the time it was over, the place was packed. The band was lauded with raucous applause and cheers. There was that vibe in the air, and everyone around knew they were witnessing something special—on the ground floor as Wild Fury built a name for themselves. As the opening act for Chloe-C in New York, they had cemented their reputation on a national stage as a hard-hitting party rock band that could put on a hell of a live show.
I just hoped things weren’t about to implode.
8
Band practice was never just practice. There was always an after-party. As usual, we ended up at Tide Pool with JD buying the drinks. Harper, at the outdoor bar, kept the drinks flowing, and JD handed them out. He raised his glass to toast, "Good times and good friends!"
We all clinked glasses and sipped our beverages.
I tried calling Crash again, but it went to voicemail. I checked my phone for missed calls or texts, but he hadn't replied.
I pulled Faye aside. "Do I need to be concerned about him?"
She shrugged.
"Look, I know it's none of my business, but it's sort of my business. What's going on with you two?”
She stared me down for a moment, took a deep breath, then let out a long exhale. "Okay, look… I like Crash. I really do. But he’s trying to move this thing along way too fast. I mean, he professed his love for me the other day. How am I supposed to respond to that?"
"Crash is a good guy."
"I know he is." She frowned. "I feel terrible. I'm just not ready for a relationship yet. It’s too much for me to think about at the moment. I want to play my bass, have fun, and I don't want to answer to anybody. I don't want to become somebody's possession. I don't want to have to pick up the phone when I don't want to pick up the phone."
"I get it. You're young. This is the time of your life."
“It is. I told him I wasn't ready for a committed relationship, and that wasn’t what he wanted to hear. We haven't spoken since. I think he's probably pretty hurt and pissed off." She frowned again. “You met my last boyfriend. Complete jerk. Controlling, manipulative, cheater. I'm just not in a position where I can get vulnerable again."
"Don't project your last boyfriend onto Crash. He's not that guy."
"I know. I know.”
"I get it. If you don't get close, you don't get hurt."
She nodded.
"But don't let a good thing pass you by because you're scared.”
Her face twisted as she thought about it. "I know. You're right.
But I just can't fall in love on someone else's timeline. I really like Crash. Like, a lot. But I can't say that I'm in love with him right now. That's not to say that I might not be in the future. But I just want to take things one day at a time and see how it goes. I mean, I'm not that girl that you give me one good orgasm and I'm head over heels. Doesn't work like that for me."
I chuckled. “As long as you guys are straight up with each other. That's all you can do. Just don’t play games. Don't lead him on. Don't break his heart."
"I already broke his heart." Her face crinkled with disappointment. She was silent for a long moment. "You really care about these guys, don't you?"
"Yeah, I do. This little band of misfits is like a second family to me. And JD is like a brother."
Faye smiled, “They’re lucky to have you looking out for them."
She lifted her glass, and we toasted.
“One more show,” she said.
"One more show."
We sipped our whiskey.
"You’re gonna be so glad when I'm gone, aren't you?" she muttered.
"I'm eternally thankful for what you’ve done for the band, and I’m in awe of your talent."
"A diplomatic answer."
I smiled. “I’m looking forward to things getting back to normal."
She laughed. "Normal? Is there such a thing, really?"
I chuckled. "No. You're probably right.”
“You give good advice,” JD said, having caught the tail end of it. “Maybe you should listen to yourself?”
I rolled my eyes.
My phone buzzed my pocket. I snatched the device and looked at the screen. It had to be bad news. I answered the call, and the sheriff grumbled through gritted teeth. His voice was tight, almost on the verge of breaking up. “I need you and JD to get over to the corner of Sunbeam and Pearl ASAP! Officer down.”
My stomach twisted with dread, and I grimaced. I didn’t even want to ask who.
“Chuck Atwood’s been shot.”
“We’re on it. What condition is he in?”
9
