by Julie Adams
The meeting takes hours and I’m hustling into the next before I have time to even process the first.
Why is it every time you sign a starving artist holding onto nothing but a dream they turn into giant prima donnas? Suddenly a contract makes them a headlining act selling out venues? Nope. Not even a little and I was the one that had to bring them back down to reality. Until they sell out like a star, they aren't going to be treated like one, paid like one, spoiled like one.
By the end of the day, I’m frustrated as hell and have no way to vent so it’s festering into a bad attitude. The office has mostly cleared out and even though Caroline offered to stay I sent her home. She has a life outside of her job and I don't want to trespass on that more than I have to.
Mostly, I just want to be alone.
From my office, I have a great view of the city. The lights brightening up the graying sky. Pushing away from my desk I go to the piano keyboard by the window and tinkle out a few notes. A variation of the melody from last night. It’s the beginning of something that I can't quite get and it's been driving me nuts.
I’ve written quite a few melodies for some of my artists under a pseudonym. But I haven't written anything in nearly six months and it is stifling me. Music is my outlet in a way nothing else can ever be. Not even sex, although that comes a close second.
I close my eyes and picture Lily at the cafe this morning. The way the pink sweater made her skin look creamy and smooth. The way she licked her lips after sipping her latte. The way she moaned when tasting something delicious. My mind wanders further going into a fantasy of my hands slipping beneath the soft knit sweater and sliding over her warm skin. My tongue teasing hers, tasting the sweetness of her last drink.
My fingers move across the keys and the song starts taking shape. I keep going until I memorize the notes and find the right arrangement. It's flowing now.
I pull a sheet of music from my desk and scribble it down. Holding it up against the city light I feel my heart begin to race. It’s far from perfect but it's something and that is better than nothing.
Excitement runs through me and I want to celebrate. I need a good drink and a good fuck. Now that I think about it, it’s been a few months since I had the company of a woman in my bed. I have been too busy and too taciturn to venture out to the clubs looking for a hookup.
But tonight I feel like changing it up. I yank off my tie and slip it into my desk drawer. Running my hands through my hair hoping to get rid of that just off the job look.
I lock up the office behind me and make my way downstairs. There are still musicians and engineers working in the booths. I wonder if they are experiencing the same elation that I am at having created something.
The brisk air fills my lungs and cools my face. Damn, it’s refreshing. I shove my hands in my pockets and begin walking towards the nearest place that serves alcohol.
Walking through the door, several heads turn at the wind coming in with me. I can't help but smirk when several women look my way. Their gaze drinking me in. My face, my suit, my body. And the lack of wedding ring. Though I’m not sure that would stop some of them. I’m not a genius about women by any means but I know the look of lust when I see it.
Tonight will be my lucky night. I can feel it.
A slow sexy R&B song from America is playing over the sound system. I order a beer and sit at the corner of the bar. There are attractive women everywhere, most of them seemingly single, too. I won't lead them on. They'll know what I want and that I'm not going to end up Mr. Right.
A hand on my shoulder makes me stiffen in my seat. I turn quickly, coming uncomfortably close to another man.
"Excuse me, are you Nathan Erickson?" I look the man over. American with a heavy New York accent. He's average in all ways except for his expensive suit and the way he carries himself, like he's got money, like he's got power and is used to exerting it.
"Who's asking?" I ask relaxing, this isn't a guy ready to fight. Some lover of a lover ready to put me in my place. It’s happened more than once. Just about every fight I’ve ever been in has been because of a woman.
He thrusts his hand out at me, "Patrick Beringer," I raise a brow. That name means nothing to me. "Manager of Shadows of Sins." His smooth act slips. I've thrown him off his game. Good. If this is about business I want to see the man not the showman trying to sell me on his product.
His eyes dart behind me to someone he must be here with. I cut the guy a break. "Of course," I say as if I knew all along. "Nice to meet you. How did your session go today?"
"Good. You got hell of a setup over there, the guys really loved it."
I smirk. "Isn't your drummer a woman?"
"Yea-yes, she doesn't mind being called one of the guys." He shrugs it off and I want to argue that I'm sure she does mind to some extent.
He looks behind me again. I turn to see what he's staring at. There's Jaxon Marks. Lead singer of Shadows of Sins. He's sitting on one of the white tufted couches drinking from a glass and surrounded by beautiful women. He's wearing his sunglasses and I can't see his eyes, but I have a feeling he's watching his manager. His presence explains all the women here.
"Something I can do for you, Patrick?" I ask taking a pull from my beer.
"No. Jaxon was just wondering if you wanted to join him celebrating the successful work day." I chuckle. Celebrating a successful day at work means eight hundred dollar champagne and an entourage of security and women.
A gorgeous curvy bleach blonde with extensions and bottle tan shakes her ass to the song and shoots a look my way. Her tongue flicks out and licks her lips sensually.
Fuck it. A sure thing works for me.
"Lead the way, Mr. Beringer."
Jaxon lifts up his shades and shakes my hand. He seems perfectly sober and more respectful than his persona would have me believe. "Nice to meet you. I gotta say, your studios might be my favorite in Europe." He smiles revealing white teeth and dimples that sell out tickets to young teenage girls who were into bubblegum pop music just months before.
"Thank you." I say sitting down.
"Please enjoy whatever you like, my treat." He spreads his arms indicating the buckets of alcohol on the table in front of him. He jerks his head at the girls and shoots me a wink letting me know I can have my pick.
It takes approximately half a song for the lip-licking blonde to make her way to my chair. At first she just dances around me. Then she's on the arm. And then she's in my lap. All in the span of a song.
Jaxon and his manager aren't paying any attention, they've got their own distractions.
My lapdance lasts for about 20 minutes before the rest of the band shows up. Bassist, drummer, guitarist. They all grab a beer from a bucket and find a seat. Jaxon makes quick introductions and they each give me some kind of acknowledgment.
The blonde looks at the rest of the band seeing if there's anyone more eligible. But they've been quickly claimed. Even the drummer has a girl wrapped around her neck pressing her breasts into her back. She plays along but there's no enjoyment in her eyes. She’s just playing her part. Doesn't want to be here but has nowhere else to be either.
I'm on my second drink when the blonde places my hands on her ass as she gyrates. The bar is getting quite the show for a weeknight.
I wish I were more into the woman on my lap. She’s beautiful but every word that comes out of her mouth is an echo of something one of the other women has said or is to gush about how great Shadows of Sins is, or worse, how nice my suit feels and how she loves expensive fabric against her skin.
We both know what’s happening tonight. She can lie to herself and say that she might ensnare a rich man in the business but really she knows she’s taking a long shot on a Cinderella dream that doesn’t happen between women like her and men like me. Maybe if I were in the band it would.
I grab her and pull her closer so I don't have see that look in her eyes. The one that says she's empty inside.
<
br /> She buries her face in my neck, her tongue flicking at my earlobe. I'm peering through the crowd as she works her mouth lower on my neck.
A flash of muted pink catches my eye. Such a pretty color contrasting against dark strands. The woman flips her hair as she laughs and my heart does something funny. It's her. It's Lily. Instantly my cock twitches. One look at her and that's all it takes. The woman is like a walking aphrodisiac.
The blonde giggles against my shirt and grinds against me harder. Thinking my erection is because of her. I grip her hips to slow down her painful shifting. She’s bobbing in my way and I can’t see the bar. I look around her as best I can.
Lily grabs her drink from the bartender and disappears into the crowd again. Leaving a trail of turned heads in her wake. She is by far the most stunning woman in this place.
"Take me home and I'll show you just what I can do without any of these," The blonde says plucking at a button on my shirt. It’s such a bad line, I force myself not to laugh.
"Funny, I thought you liked my suit so much you might like to sleep with it instead," I say with a grin to silken my barb. She throws her head back and laughs, not getting it.
"No. I want the man. Every inch." She eyes my package. Already soft again, despite the constant gyrating it's been receiving.
I think again of that pink sweater. I can’t have her and I need release. "Let's go." I grunt lifting her out of my lap and seeing the lust in her eyes. "Nice partying with you. My studio is always open for you." I shout over the music to the band.
Grabbing Gyrator’s hand I pull her out the side door and onto the street. I can’t help but notice the drummer's jealousy as I got up to leave and she was stuck there. One of the guys.
In the dark corner of the alley the blonde starts ripping my shirt from my pants and going in for my buckle. "Not here," I mutter gripping her hands and handing them back to her. I can’t believe she’s ready to go right here after meeting me just an hour ago. That's a brazen streak I seldom see.
She licks her lips again and looks at me with big excited eyes. "Then where? I need you," She whispers in a fake breathless way.
I can tell she’s eager to go somewhere fancy. I pull her along. There’s a business hotel down the street.
The hotel is plain, made for business not pleasure. She masks her disappointment well. As soon as we get in the door she strips off the tiny dress and stands in front of me in neon green lingerie.
I look her over, not an ounce of fat or even muscle. Just a painful hollowness, fueled only by partying.
She drops to her knees and starts on my belt again. I close my eyes and lean against the wall.
Why isn’t this working? This wasn't a problem I had. Ever. Not while shitfaced drunk or exhausted. I always got it up. Her hands run up my thighs and she reaches around to grab my ass burying her face against the crotch of pants.
Not even a twitch.
What the hell is going on?
I pull her up and push her back towards the bed. "Take it all off." I order. She giggles and begins to slide the bra straps down, her breasts straining against the lace.
I take my cock in hand and begin to stroke while watching her strip.
She's in nothing but her heels when I sigh. I’m doing nothing but making myself sore. I'm completely flaccid.
"Need help?" She asks eagerly. I can tell it’s fake, that she has had this problem with other men before. Probably those with too many drugs, or too many years and not enough of the blue pill.
A few more hopeful strokes and I give up. "No. I'm too drunk and tired." I mutter zipping myself back up and redoing my belt. I’m not drunk but I’m also not a complete asshole and I’m not going to tell her that I’ve slowly become repulsed by her tonight. She doesn't hold a candle to the woman I spent the morning with.
She eyes me incredulous but not hurt, then she shrugs and bounces up off the bed and pulls on her clothes. "It happens." She’s completely nonplussed.
"I'll pay for your cab home, or wherever you wish to go." I grab my wallet and pull out fifty Euro and hand it to her.
"Thank you." She smiles. "If you change your mind." She pulls a card from her tiny purse and slips it into my hand.
The door closes as she leaves and I look at the card. I laugh, show business can be the worst.
Honey Danes
Model/Actress/Performer/Dancer
I don’t bother reading the rest of the contact details. I toss the card into the rubbish bin and call concierge for a car to pick me up.
I look down at my crotch. It might have just saved me from a lot of trouble.
That night in my bed, I keep dreaming of dark hair, silky skin and full pink lips all over me. A pink sweater rubbing against bare skin as I explore her body.
The next morning I wake up rock hard and ready to explode. I go into the shower to finish what the night phantoms had started.
Five
Lily
Beth follows me from the kitchen to the dining table, precariously balancing her laptop in one hand and her coffee in the other.
It's been two days since my breakfast with Nathan, and Beth has scarcely talked to me about anything else.
"Lily, look at this one," she says spinning the computer to face me. It's a photo of Nathan from some entrepreneurial website. He's in standing behind his desk, his hands splayed on the smooth wooden top, he looks powerful and dominating. He's not smiling but staring into the camera like he's about to bring someone to task. Or, like he's about to spank you for being wicked.
Yes, Mr. Grey. I take a sip of water and look away before I dream up any more theories about that look. "It's okay, I guess,"
"He's sex in a suit! With all respect to your brother- whom I wouldn't trade for the world by the way."
I laugh. "He didn't proposition me, Beth. He merely offered to help me book a band."
"Sure, because that's what all handsome, successful, rich men do in their spare time. Rescue women and offer to help them with work." She says sarcastically.
I hate the way she says he rescued me, especially when I wasn't in any real danger.
"I'm just not ready for that kind of thing right now," I say.
"I'm not saying start a love affair. I'm saying have some sex. Good, new, all-night-long kind of sex. You deserve it. Sacre bleu, you need it."
She's right, it’s been so long since I’ve had sex. Way over a year. And damn near that long since I had an orgasm. Stress had put me off in the States and I was hardly ever alone in the apartment. So the big O was put on the back burner.
"If I thought he was interested in that I might,"
Beth beams. "So call him! We could really use a solid band, you know?" Her eyes go round, and I swear they glisten like a puppy's. I think she really means I could use a solid bang.
"Okay, enough with the sad face. If I haven't booked an acceptable band by Friday, I'll call him. But strictly professional. No funny business."
"Mon chéri," She drawls, smoking up her voice and really going all French Marilyn Monroe. "He's French, all business is done with the hope of leading to pleasure." She really believes all French people have her mindset when it comes to love and sex.
I shake my head. "But I'm American, and all my business is done with the hope of getting my sister-in-law off my back." She shrugs, and I envy her ability to be so adorable.
The next day we’re back at the theatre. Construction is once again underway. The crime scene tape cleared and the serious investigators gone. Even for its normalcy, looking at the stage still gives me the creeps.
"This place is going to be the death of me," Brent mutters popping an antacid and chewing scornfully.
"Too soon for those kind of jokes, honey." Beth replies looking up from her laptop.
Even that doesn’t get Brent to smile. "I need some good news. But all I'm getting is that we're behind schedule now. That this and that needs to be fixed, and no one wants to work in the cu
rsed theater. This debacle has really fucked us. Of all places to off yourself, why here? I wasn't that big of an asshole."
"He was drunk, and probably not thinking clearly." I try to soothe. "We'll get everything together. Just think a few more weeks construction will give us more time to line up a band."
Brent sighs, his head dropping into his hands. My pep talk clearly not having the desired effect.
I have to do something, they’ve both done so much for me. They are letting me invade their space, live rent free and pay me weekly. I owe them. Pride be damned.
I leave Beth alone to comfort Brent. The swan room is calling my name.
It’s exactly as I left it. My notepad still laying discarded on the dresser. I crank up the space heater and burrow into my sweater.
I hold my phone out in front of me and stare at it like it might attack. My heart speeds up and my mouth waters. Breathe, it's only anxiety, it can't hurt you.
No. Not today. Tomorrow I will call. I will figure out how I’ll ask for his help tonight and then tomorrow I’ll take action. No matter what Beth says, this is business. I am not doing this for myself, I am doing this for them.
I'm not ready for a serious intimate relationship. Not yet. Not when memories of the past are so fresh.
Regardless of what I tell Beth, or what I tell myself in the brighter moments. I am still healing, still broken in places and still not ready to have a man so close to me. Even if my body is screaming for it, my mind is telling me no.
I force my hand to my side and ball it into a fist. I had been rubbing at my scars and hadn't even realized. A physical reminder of just how naive and blind I had been.
Not again. I won't allow myself to go that route until I can trust myself not to paint someone into the pretty picture I desire so much it clouds my judgment. Not until, I can look at someone and see all their flaws, their secrets and know it isn't a lie. That they aren't a liar.
Getting comfortable in the warming room I pull out my IPad. I have to find a band. I scroll through band websites and social media feeds. Some popular bands are touring Europe right now. Maybe I can convince one of them to go back to their roots and play a little up and coming place like this.
