“So what do you wanna do?” I ask. “Times Square? The Empire State? We should have enough time still for the boat to the Statue of Liberty.”
Haley groans.
“Ugh. I’ve seen those things so many times on TV I feel like I’ve already been there. Didn’t you say you were gonna give me the ‘authentic’ New York? Why don’t you show me the places you used to hang out?”
I breathe in through my teeth. “You sure? The places I used to hang out sure weren’t LA.”
“All the more reason to see them,” she challenges.
I’ve never liked introducing girls to my friends. The last time I did that was with Lexi, and she had a habit of arguing with them and making them hate her, or flirting with them and making me hate her. With Haley, though, nothing ever feels tough. She’s almost too good to be true. I start hoping she’ll disappoint me, let me down, or just show me a flaw, so that not having her will be a lot easier, but she never does.
We take the subway to Brooklyn, and I take her on a whirlwind tour of the record stores, instrument stores, and studios that I know better than I’ll ever know LA, and where the owners treat me like I was just there yesterday. Haley dives into the stacks of records like a kid on Christmas, and drinks in every drop of history from the dirty corners and graffiti-stained walls of the forgotten parts of the city. I watch her face light up as my friends tell her the same stories of landmark gigs and famous musicians I’ve heard a million times, but feel new now that I’m hearing them with her.
We head back to Manhattan and duck into an old Irish pub to have a few drinks, but by the time we get out it’s already gotten dark and the temperature’s dropped a few more degrees.
“You know, the Mercury Lounge is just a few blocks away,” I say, as we step out of the loud bar onto the street. “I got a good tip that there’s a pretty hot, unsigned band there doing their first gig in New York.”
Haley breathes on her hands and rubs them. “Are you trying to replace me already?”
I laugh. “Impossible.”
She grins. “Thanks, but I should really get going back to the hotel. It’s late.”
I know she should go. If she was just one of my artists I’d be arguing myself for her to go home now. To give herself plenty of rest and hot tea and to make sure nothing bad happens. But she’s not just one of my artists. I’ve been waiting to get her alone for three weeks, across the entire country. I’m not going to let her slip away from me again without a fight – or at least a kiss.
“You don’t have a gig tonight, and you’re heading back soon. You should enjoy the city while you can.”
“My gig’s still tomorrow, and it’s cold,” she says, tightening her jacket and folding her arms over it.
“Why didn’t you say so,” I reply, taking off my designer jacket and hanging it off her shoulders. “There. No excuses now. Unless you really don’t want to go?”
She hesitates. “I do, it’s just that…”
“Haley. It’s the Mercury Lounge. And as long as you’re with me, you’re a VIP.”
She looks up at me and smiles with a little nod of defeat. I put my arm around her and lead her to the lounge. Little victories.
The band is surprisingly good, even more so than I’d been led to believe, but I’m too focused on winning Haley over to bother with business. It’s a sold-out show, but I use a connection and get us in late, sliding into the back of the packed room.
They play a slow, bass-led rhythm. Synths swaying around the lead singer’s dream-like vocals. The kind of music that makes time slow, that pulls at your deepest secrets. I stand behind Haley and wrap my arms around her front and feel glad when she puts her hand over mine and presses back against me.
We stay like that for the whole show, moving slowly, her body melting into mine. We don’t even pull away when the band finishes and the crowd erupts in appreciative applause. Instead, Haley twists her head and looks up at me, her lips inches from mine. We look into each other’s eyes, as vulnerable and open as each other, a look that’s full of promises. I move in slowly, more like falling. Her lips part.
“No,” she says, suddenly standing two feet away. “Brando … please.”
It takes me a few seconds of rubbing my eyes and avoiding eye contact before I recover from being stunned by the rejection.
“Okay. It’s fine, I get it,” I say, my voice suddenly sounding like somebody else’s, somebody defeated. “Let’s go get you a cab.”
She nods, backing a few more steps away from me.
What the fuck just happened?
27
Haley
LYING ON MY SIDE, I push my soft breasts up against the hard muscles of his back. I feel the heat of his body, smell the hazy musk of his skin. My fingers trace his side, so delicately I can feel every goosbump. I reach around to his front, run my nails down the central line of his abdomen, down to the base of his cock, already growing. I pull myself closer and for a second it feels like I’m flying, like there’s nothing beneath me.
Then I realize there really isn’t anything beneath me, and slam face-first into the floor beside my bed.
I jump back up to my feet so quickly I see black and white stars zoom past. Through the daze and the mist of my sudden awakening I begin to put the pieces of reality together. I’m in a hotel room, in New York City. Brando’s not really in bed with me (he walked me to my door and left – almost like a real gentleman) and I have a gig tonight.
There’s something else, I think, as I stumble into the bathroom, rubbing the dull echo of pain on my forehead, unable to tell if it’s a headache or the effect of falling out of bed. I stand in front of the mirror, turn on the faucet, and splash cool water onto my face. Another piece falls like a die in the groggy swamp of my sleepy mind.
Brando. His big, broad arms around my shoulders, leaning back against his chest, tracing the thick veins in his hands. In the battle between professional distance and pure, animal instinct, the latter is winning.
“Keep it together, Haley,” I say to my reflection.
Except it doesn’t sound right at all. It sounds like somebody put my vocal cords through a lawnmower. And it feels even worse.
“Oh no, wait. No,” I say, scrutinizing every stab of scratchy pain that each syllable causes in my throat, listening to the random pitch-shifting in my voice. From two-packs-a-day-smoker huskiness to clown-trumpet sharp notes and back again.
“Fuck!” I scream, yanking on yesterday’s leggings, and it sounds like an outtake from the Exorcist.
I run out of the hotel suite and go to the next door, banging like the zombie apocalypse is at my back. I don’t know who exactly is in the next room, but I know it has to be somebody I can trust; we booked the entire floor of the hotel for our crew, band members, and tour managers.
“I am going to tear your head from your fucking neck and—” I hear Lexi say until the second she opens the door and sees me standing there. Her downturned eyebrows suddenly raise themselves in arches. “You’ve got the wrong door.”
“I’m sick! My throat!” I scream with full force, though it comes out sounding like an alien language of squeaks and croaks. Lexi looks at me like I just turned into a giant beetle before I point frantically at my throat, and her confusion quickly turns into wide-eyed recognition.
“Oh! You’re sick! You poor baby,” she says, smiling with sympathy.
I nod so hard I nearly break my neck. I see the flicker of thoughts behind Lexi’s green eyes as she debates what to do, but then she steps aside and opens the door wide.
“Okay, get in here. You’re not gonna get better standing in a hotel hallway.”
I almost sprint into Lexi’s room, not too exasperated to notice how much more lavishly furnished it is than my own, but too panicked – and definitely too incommunicative – to worry about it. I walk in circles, humming and making sounds with my voice as if making the right one will stop it from feeling like I’m inhaling gravel.
“Are you trying to look a
s ridiculous as you sound?” Lexi says, standing to the side watching me. “Sit down.”
I sit on the lounge chair by the window, though I continue to tap my heels and clutch at my throat anxiously.
“Look,” Lexi says, grabbing her hotel key from the desk beside me, “stay here, and stop forcing it. I’m going to go get a doctor, alright?”
“Yes,” I say, and it sounds like a creaky door.
Ten minutes of frantic knee-tapping later Lexi returns followed by a sharply-dressed bald guy that looks kinda familiar. She taps him on the shoulder and nods toward me.
“Hi, Haley,” he says, a note of awkwardness in his voice. “Let me take a look at you.”
I sit still as he kneels in front of me and puts his hands on the side of my head.
“Open your mouth…now stick your tongue out…now say ‘ah…’”
He gazes into my mouth for a few seconds, adjusting the view by tilting my head a few times, then looks toward Lexi, who gives him a stern stare. He stands up, breathes deeply, and licks his lips. I can tell by his face that it’s not good, but I have no idea how not good it is until he says the exact words I’m dreading.
“It’s bad. Really bad. You’ve been singing a lot, and it’s wreaking havoc on your vocal cords,” he says, exchanging a nervous look with Lexi. “You need a lot of rest, hot tea, no singing and no speaking. A couple of days at least.”
“But the gig tonight!” I say, my will to plead with him forcing the words through. “It’s the last show of the tour! It’s New York!”
“Haley, listen to me,” Lexi says, putting a hand on my shoulder and crouching beside me. “I’ve known singers who pushed themselves through things like this and did irreparable damage to themselves. You don’t wanna do this to yourself. Even if it is New York.”
“It’s just a sore throat!” I say, looking up at the doctor for a positive sign. Though I’m still croaking and squeaking randomly, I manage to get the words out. “Look, it’s already starting to go away.”
“I wouldn’t advise you to perform…” the doctor says feebly. Lexi nods him away angrily then turns her attention back to me.
“It’s shitty, I know. But you can’t put your entire career on the line. You’ve gotta put yourself first. And there will be other shows. New York isn’t going anywhere any time soon—I promise.”
I shake my head, tears that I didn’t realize were there falling from my eyes. “Not like this! This is what it’s all been building up to! Where’s Brando?”
Lexi snorts. “Where he always is when you need him: Not here.”
“I can’t do it,” I say, still shaking my head, my voice broken by both the sobs and croaks. “I can’t let everyone down. My band. The crew. The fans. I can’t do it. I won’t.”
“Come here,” Lexi says, putting her arms around me and pulling my head against her soft chest. “You’re a fucking star now, Haley. Start acting like one. It’s not them that got this far, it’s you. You’re paying their bills – remember that. Take care of yourself first, and they’ll always follow.”
She pulls away, her hands still on my shoulders, and we look at each other. She wipes the streaks from my cheeks and I laugh.
“I’ve got to admit,” I say, looking into my lap, “I never thought you could be this nice.”
Lexi smiles with her angular lips. “I wasn’t always a bitch, you know. But this business has a habit of bringing out the worst in you. If you survive.”
“Thanks,” I mumble.
“I know I didn’t make it easy for you, this tour, but you’re going to have to deal with a lot worse than me in the future. I’m impressed though. You came a long way.”
Her kind words only make me feel even more defeated, and my lower lip trembles. “It wasn’t easy. And this isn’t the way I imagined it ending. How am I going to tell everyone?”
“You’re not,” Lexi replies, picking up her phone and tapping out a message. “Let me take care of that. Just do what the doctor said and get some rest. It’s not your job to handle the small stuff. It’s your job to get better.”
I shake my head again as the realization that I won’t be playing finally sinks in.
“I feel so bad about this,” I say to myself.
Lexi looks up from her phone, her expression sympathetic. “I’ve been through worse than this, trust me. It’s not the end, remember that. You know, you kinda remind me of myself – in a funny kind of way. Tough, hard-working, dealing with a lot of shit…”
“Does that mean I’ll end up in a latex dress?” I smile.
Lexi’s face hardens, the pointed lines of her face getting sharper. She gives me a cold look that feels like taking a knife in the neck. I feel my muscles tighten, my spine tingle, my body bracing itself for something violent.
“What the fuck does that mean?” she says in a voice that seems to come from the depths of hell. The voice I imagine people use right before they kill someone.
“Uh…nothing,” I say, my voice barely a squeak. “Seriously…it’s just a joke—”
Suddenly, as quickly as she turned cold, Lexi cracks up into a loud, deep laugh, doubling over as she heaves out huge hoots and snorts.
“I’m sorry,” she says, in between deep gulps of air, “I’m just playing with you.”
“Fuck!” I say, laughing myself, though more from the release of nerves than humor. “You scared the shit out of me. I thought you were going to kill me or something!”
“Ha!” Lexi giggles, picking up her phone and heading out the door again. “No. If I wanted to do that then you wouldn’t even see me coming.”
28
Brando
I DECIDE to give Haley a little space the day after her ‘tour’ of NYC. I’ve never been a patient guy, but then again, Haley’s got me doing a lot of things I never thought I’d do for a girl before. Sometimes you just have to load the bases before you try and hit it out of the park, and right now, I’m closer than I’ve been for a long time. I’m not going to fuck it up at the last moment.
Just after midday, I hear the news, and wonder if I fucked it up at the last moment anyway.
I’m in Brooklyn, at one of the guitar stores I visited with Haley the day before, arranging a pick-up for an amp she liked, when I get the email on my phone. Haley’s pulled out of her slot, and another support artist will be announced soon. I check a few more news sites, almost every one of them confirming her cancellation, the comment sections a shit-show of angry, snarky fans. What the hell is going on?
I’m on the phone to anyone I can get before I even hail a cab, only interrupting the call to hand him a hundred dollar bill and tell him it’s for the speeding ticket.
“Who the fuck did this? How the hell did nobody talk to me about cancelling a fucking show...I haven’t spoken to her since last night! …Well if you didn’t, then who the fuck did?”
I try calling Haley’s phone but it’s turned off, so when I get to the hotel I make a beeline for her room, sliding my key frantically and then slamming the door open like a police raid.
“Haley!”
“What the fuck?!” she says, from the bed where she’s up to her neck in a thick duvet, her hand poking out of it clutching a steaming mug.
“What the hell’s going on?” I ask, marching to the end of the bed. “You’re cancelling the show?”
“I’m sick.”
“But you sound fine! Wait here, I’ll get a doctor,” I say, taking a few strides toward the door.
“I’ve already seen one,” Haley calls, stopping me in my tracks. I turn back.
“What did he say?”
“That if I keep singing without a rest I could fuck up my vocal cords. Permanently.”
I drop myself onto the plush couch at the other end of the suite and cast a hand over my eyes.
“Fuck,” I whisper angrily to the ceiling. “You should have come to me first.”
“Why? Do you know how to perform throat surgery?” Haley quips after a sip of her tea.
I sigh, not in the mood for jokes. “This is bad. Tonight was what this whole tour has been leading up to. The biggest gig of them all. The one we’ve been publicizing the most. Now that—”
“Stop, Brando,” Haley interrupts curtly. “Do you think I don’t feel bad enough already?” I look her in the eye and see the disappointment there, the shame, and I know without a doubt that what she’s saying is true. This isn’t just nerves, or spite. Shit.
“I’m sorry,” I say, getting up off the couch and walking over to her. I sit myself down on the edge of the bed beside her and stroke her hair. “Is there anything I can get you?”
Haley looks around the room. “Well this tea could do with a refill,” she says, offering it to me. I take it and start to stand up, but Haley grabs my arm. “And there is one other thing…”
“What?”
She pauses before answering.
“Go on,” I urge her. “Anything you want.”
“I’d still like to see the show.”
“Lexi’s show?”
She nods.
I take a deep breath and look away. “You’re sick. Are you sure that going to a show is a good idea? We could always just watch it streaming online, with my laptop, or—”
“Please,” she says, still clutching my arm. I look down at her and she smiles.
I’m going to have to learn to say no to her one of these days.
If she’s not going to be up on stage, it’s only right that Haley gets the best seat in the house. I pull the strings to make sure we get a VIP box for ourselves, her bandmates and crew in another. Seeing an ex-girlfriend’s show with the girl I want to make mine isn’t exactly the kind of thing I had in mind when I thought about winning Haley over, but I’ll take what I can get. This tour has turned into a daily round of surprises, and I’ve learnt pretty quickly to roll with the punches.
We make it up to the box surrounded by bodyguards and they leave us at the door. I step inside with Haley and she takes her coat off before sitting down.
“Are you sure you should be taking off your coat?”
The Bet Page 17
