Loving Link

by T. D. Hassett

  “There’s something I need to tell you. I was going to wait another week but…” He shifted his weight to his other foot and put his hands in his pockets. “I’ve been seeing this girl for a while and, well, she’s going to have my baby. She’s due next February. I’m hoping to get her to agree to marry me.” Damn, he sounded like a scared teenager talking to his dad. This was ridiculous; he was a hugely successful star with all kinds of money. Fuck, he was thirty, not seventeen, certainly old enough to settle down and raise a family.

  “Are you nuts? You want to marry this girl? Are you even sure it’s yours?”

  Link clenched his hands into fists and narrowed his eyes. He’d never disrespected his father, but right now he needed to bring his temper under control. He turned away, looking out the bay window at the manicured greens of the golf course. Some sailboats bobbed on the lake in the distance. He wanted to get away from his father, get away from the constant push to succeed musically, to be the superstar his parents wanted. “I’m sure, and I love her. She’s not a groupie or an illusion; she’s a real person with real talent and not all this artifice.” He swung his hand around to indicate the gilded cage his father called a home. All bought with Link’s money.

  “You’ll be throwing away a lot of your appeal if you marry this girl. Your fans want the fantasy you give them: rock star with a different woman every night, parties all the time. Look, son, I know that’s not really you, but it’s what sells, and this business is all about image. A family man with a house on a cul-de-sac running kids to soccer matches isn’t very marketable.” Lionel Senior put his arm on Link’s shoulder. It was the most affection he’d shown Link since he was a boy. His eyes widened in sympathy as he patted his weathered hand on Link’s back.

  “Dad, I don’t care about the marketing anymore. Let someone else be the bad boy of Becket. I want a life of my own. In fact, I can’t think of anything better than running my kid to soccer practice and living in the suburbs.” Link smiled wistfully at his dad and was rewarded when the old man let out a chuckle.

  “Okay, son. I guess it’s about time I stopped trying to live vicariously through you and thought about bouncing a grandbaby on my knee. I can’t wait to meet this girl that’s landed you; she must be something else.”

  “That she is, Dad, that she is.”

  Chapter 49

  Madison

  The heat wave was never going to end. Madison stood sweltering on the street next to the box truck that contained all of her worldly possessions. She probably could have moved all of her things by herself in a rented U-Haul, but Link had insisted on hiring movers to pack and move all of her stuff over to his brownstone. It was just as well; lately she was just so tired.

  Link was at the studio with the Becket guys today, work finally starting in earnest on their sixth album. She was glad of the privacy though. She needed to poke around what was to be her new home unobserved for a while. Three burly guys had packed up her stuff in a couple of hours, tossed it in a truck, and drove it to Park and Lexington in Midtown East, where Link lived. Now they were diligently bringing her boxes and lamps up into the brownstone where all of her things would look woefully inadequate next to his pricey possessions. She wiped the sweat from her brow and walked back into the cool house. This would be her new home until they could come to an agreement about moving. Madison didn’t necessarily love the idea of living in New York City; she actually preferred the suburbs, but feared moving away from where the jobs were. Link had been offering his entire world to her on a silver platter, and she still couldn’t let go of her worries. What if he got bored with her? What if once she was fat and awkward with pregnancy she disgusted him? She’d never known her own father—he’d left before she was born—and the string of husbands that followed tended to have little interest in her, at least until she hit puberty. Madison shivered as a chilling memory surfaced.

  Husband number four had walked in on her stepping out of the shower. She screamed and reached for the towel left draped across the shower curtain rod.

  “Well, looks like Maddie is getting all grown up.” He leered and reached his stubby fingers to the towel she clutched in front of her. “Let me get another peek at those new baby titties you got.”

  “Just leave me alone, Al. I gotta get ready for school.” Madison pulled the towel more carefully around her and pushed past him. Her hands shook as she pulled the door the rest of the way open and ran to her room.

  “You’ll show me, darling. I’m the man around here, and I’m the one that pays the bills that keep us in this castle,” he shouted at her and laughed.

  Madison could hear him shut and lock the bathroom door and cringed at the thought of him in there sitting on the toilet and thinking of her. She couldn’t eat for the next couple of days, wondering if he would corner her somewhere. Susan was so happy living in the tiny bungalow house and playing housewife that she wasn’t sure what to say.

  In the end it didn’t matter. Al got fired from his construction job. He was caught by the lead contractor bringing prostitutes into the tract houses under construction. Susan flipped out and filed for divorce. Normally Susan wasn’t so quick to dump a husband, but she knew another contender for the title, and this candidate had a better job. Madison never had to say anything. Al was out of their lives and a new “daddy” found.

  She rubbed her goose-bump-covered arms and put her mind back to settling in to the brownstone.

  Madison walked through the building directing the movers on where to put her boxes. Most of them could be stored in the basement; it’s not like Link needed her microwave or set of casserole dishes. The only things she would unpack would be her clothes, toiletries, and personal knickknacks.

  In less than thirty minutes the movers had deposited all her belongings and hit the road. With the house empty she could fully explore. She wandered up to the third floor and opened a heavy wood door. Light flooded the hallway from the room. She entered, marveling at the curved wall of windows. The only furniture in the spacious room was a drafting desk with a vase filled with irises. She walked up to smell the flowers and noticed a card addressed to her. She unfolded the crisp paper and read, a smile slowly dawning on her face:

  Madison, I thought this room would be a perfect studio for you. A plumber will be coming in to hook up a sink, and you should pick out whatever supplies and furniture works best for an artist. I can’t wait to go house shopping with you and find a place where you can design a permanent studio.

  Love, L.

  It was such a sweet gesture. Would she get used to all the money? This freedom to pursue her dreams without worrying about making rent or buying groceries was a new feeling. Madison had always budgeted carefully, fully cognizant that she was going to school on Thomas’ dime. Now she was finishing her first trimester and about to become quite dependent on someone else’s dime, at least if she was going to live the way Link’s income allowed.

  Last night Link had Delmarco’s restaurant deliver a five-course meal to the brownstone. They’d dined on gourmet food, and then she’d finally told him her wild idea. He was amazingly supportive, asking all kinds of probing questions about her business plan and marketing ideas. She hadn’t known how much of an entrepreneur he was until then. Link was quite the Renaissance man.

  “I want to create a line of custom temporary tattoos. People will either pick out flash work, or I can design something based on their description and make it into a temporary tattoo that will last up to four months. They can even order multiple copies and keep the same work indefinitely. No needles, blood, or pain, and the best part is that if they change their mind it can be removed,” Madison explained, sipping her chocolate milk from a heavy glass goblet.

  “That kind of takes the sin out of getting a tattoo doesn’t it?” he asked before taking a bite of tiramisu.

  “Let’s just say I have seen some horrible tattoos that even Lori G couldn’t truly cover up, and laser removal is no joke. As an artist, I don’t want to tell people to ho
ld off on getting Tweety Bird inked on their neck, but sometimes I just know it shouldn’t be a forever kind of thing. With my product, someone on the fence could get a custom design for a trial period, and if they loved it, it could be inked on permanently.” She got up from the table and walked over to Link’s seat. “Not everyone can have such a beautiful dragon etched into their flesh.” She unbuttoned his linen shirt to expose his tattoo and kissed the head of the dragon on his shoulder. His hands wrapped around her and pulled her onto his lap, kissing her warm lips.

  The memory of what happened after left her whole body tingling.

  Madison spun away from the flowers and wandered into what would be her new bedroom. It was a dark room, all bold colors and heavy wood furniture. She climbed up on the giant four-poster bed and sniffed the pillow. Yummy, it smelled wonderful—an intoxicating blend of Link and his shampoo. She rolled onto her side and glanced at a small digital frame on his nightstand. It was the eight-week ultrasound she’d had, their baby just a little tadpole-looking blob with a flashing heartbeat looped to play over and over. Madison’s eyes filled with happy tears. What a sweet thing for him to want to wake up to every morning. She stayed there watching the digital loop until her eyes slipped shut and she fell asleep.

  Chapter 50

  Sasha

  It had taken a few weeks to do it, but her plans were finally falling into place. She’d learned to call Christopher only at four-thirty, the time when Thomas’ mousy new wife was at her pregnancy work-out class and the housekeeper was watching her son. The first couple of times she’d called he hung up on her. Finally she got him to talk a little by telling him how sorry she was and that she was very sick and couldn’t see him. It was near impossible to keep the venom out of her voice when she asked how his father and Uncle Link were doing. “Christopher, you know if I wasn’t so sick I would be with you, you know that, right baby?”

  His quiet voice came back over the line after a long pause. “Yeah, I guess so. I just can’t believe Daddy didn’t tell me you had cancer. He kept telling me you were really busy working.”

  “Well, now you know that if there was any way for it to be safe I would be with you all the time.” Sasha tapped her pen impatiently on the coffee table. Just give me what I need, you little shit. “So were you able to get the phone numbers Mommy needs? I really want to call and let them know I’m in the hospital.” She shook a cigarette out of her almost-empty pack and lit the tip, inhaling deeply.

  “Well, can’t I just give them your number?”

  “No, I told you before, Christopher. I can’t get calls at this number; I can only make them; it’s complicated.” Sasha tapped some ash into an empty soda can. Bingo. She picked up her pen and scribbled some numbers onto a scrap of paper and hung up. Her eyes twinkled and she smiled, thinking about how close she finally was. One quick call to Peyton offering her Link Jacks served up on a silver platter, and she would be done. Francisco had been following Link around for the past two weeks learning his schedule and taking all kinds of pictures. He had some decent shots to sell the tabloids. That was good for him because she wasn’t planning on cutting him in on her deal with Jimmy Snow. She’d been the one on her knees having to suck that bastard’s pudgy prick, not Frankie. She was the one who should profit. Frankie could take his measly picture cash and go back to his frumpy wife. Maybe Maria would enjoy starring in his porn buddies’ little basement movies. Sasha had bigger plans.

  Chapter 51

  Madison

  One more hour to go. She dipped her needle back into the ink well and lined her gun up to the stencil. She was doing a portrait piece on a young father’s back, and the work was slowgoing, the pungent smell of rubbing alcohol and blood not helping her bouts with morning sickness. She couldn’t wait to get further into her second trimester and be done with nausea.

  A gentle knock at the door turned her client’s attention and she barely pulled the gun up in time to avoid a false line. “Please don’t move,” she admonished. “Okay, come on in.” Maddie glanced at the door, and her face fell. Oh no, not Robert. Why wouldn’t he just take no for an answer and go back to London? She straightened her shoulders and waited for him to speak.

  “Evening, Madison. The receptionist permitted me to come back here. I am sorry to interrupt your work.” Robert adjusted his tie and looked down his nose at her.

  She knew he had zero respect for her art, and nothing made that more clear to her than his disdainful expression. Damn him, and damn her for letting it bother her. “What do you want, Robert? I really don’t think there’s anything left to say.” Madison wiped her client’s back, thankful that he was keeping his face against the table and not craning his head to watch.

  “Do you think we could speak privately?” He put his hand on his hip and waited.

  “Sorry, but I’m working. I can’t just stop now.” Madison ran her tattoo gun in emphasis.

  “Fine then, I will say what I came to say and be gone. I just wanted to remind you that my offer still stands. I know you think you know what you are doing, but you are so young and, well, with age comes wisdom and clarity. I offer you my insight and experience and beg you to reconsider continuing this relationship with a juvenile playboy. We could have a wonderful life, and I know I am ready for fatherhood—”

  Madison cut him off. “As I have said, multiple times, this is my life and my mistake to make. Thank you for your insight, but please, butt out of my life.” He was so frustrating and condescending. How could she have ever gotten involved with him? She looked at his thinning blond hair and tortoise-framed glasses and wondered how she had ever thought him dashing and charming. He was an almost middle-aged snob looking for a wife to boss around and mold. He didn’t know the first thing about her.

  “Fine then, lay in the bed you made. I’m flying out first thing in the morning.” He turned to the door and tossed back, “You are making a big mistake; he’ll screw around on you and leave you penniless with your bastard.” He slammed the door behind him, rattling the ink bottles on the counter.

  “Sorry about that, old ex-boyfriend thing,” she explained to her still quiet client.

  “No problem. You should move on; that guy sounds like a real douche.” Her client turned his head to speak and gave her a friendly wink.

  Madison couldn’t stop herself. She burst out laughing, imagining stuffy Robert’s expression if he’d heard himself referred to as a douche. He’d be apoplectic.

  “Okay, let’s get this portrait finished up. Your wife is going to love it.” Maddie resumed her work, still a bit shaken by Robert’s dire warnings.

  Chapter 52

  Link

  It was busy, but not packed tonight. He’d been avoiding Hell on Earth the last few weeks, but Mickey had called up begging for him to put in an appearance. He’d been avoiding the club for Maddie. He loved being at home with her, but he did owe his partner some support for the business, and his presence meant crowds, like it or not. Besides, Madison was working late, and with her out, the house would just feel empty. He’d been trying to follow a few conversations from various people at his table, but his thoughts kept returning to Madison.

  She was so stubborn. He’d begged her to quit the tattoo parlor and just work on her business plan from the house, but she wanted to continue at the shop. He’d considered just buying the shop from Lori G and outmaneuvering her that way, but it seemed too controlling. He loved Maddie and wanted her to be happy; he just worried about her doing too much. She was really tired lately but still determined. When she wasn’t working she was in the art studio drawing flash designs or painting.

  A few members of the band Freak Show sat around the table drinking beers and talking about an upcoming tour. He liked the guys but wasn’t in the mood to talk shop tonight. He’d been in the studio every day for weeks now working and dreaded going on another tour. It used to be fun, but with Maddie pregnant he just wanted to be home with her. Maybe Tommy wouldn’t want to do a tour until next summer, after all, hi
s wife was due next month.

  Link tipped his beer back and took a long swallow. He leaned back in his chair, dropping his head to just brush against the long red velvet curtains that covered all of the walls. Rock music blasted from the speakers set strategically around the room, but you could still hear the dance music emanating from the second floor of the club. Just then, Bethany and Peyton sashayed up to his table, appletinis in hand.

  “Guess who I found and wanted to bring over?” Bethany oozed the words out, obviously not on her first martini. Fucking great. He’d have to fight off the octopus again or maybe just not let her join his group.

  “Oh, hi ladies. Bethany, this isn’t a good time. I’ve got these guys here and we’re deep into planning a summer festival with Becket as special guests, so can’t really, you know…” Link shrugged insincerely and turned back to the singer from Freak Show.

  “Don’t be an ass, Link. Go ahead, Peyton, have a seat. These boys could plan a concert in their sleep, they don’t need all night for that.” Bethany pulled another chair up to the crowded table for Peyton and plopped her skinny ass down on the bench seat next to the drummer. “You don’t mind some friendly female company now do you?” she gushed, patting the man’s knee in a suggestive manner.

  The drummer just smiled and motioned for a waiter to bring more drinks.

  “Let’s get this party started. Tequila shots, salt, lemons, and beer chasers all around,” she called.

  Link tried not to growl. Fuck. He would have one more beer and then he was done. He just couldn’t deal with his manager always throwing Peyton at him. He didn’t need any more model girlfriends or tabloid headlines. He just wanted some fucking peace and quiet to play music, to compose, to be with Maddie, and have their baby without all the bullshit.

  The waiter arrived with a tray loaded down with shots. Peyton pushed a blue one toward him. “Go ahead, Link, one shot won’t kill you.”