The Complete Tempest World Box Set

by Mankin, Michelle

  “Ok, Dad,” I agreed, surprising him and myself. “One song. ‘See if I care’.” We had co-written it together, shortly after I had been introduced to Dizzy the first time. I remembered it well. I had stuck out my tits at the handsome guitarist, feeling a flush of triumph the moment his gaze had dropped to my chest. I knew his reputation. I had been so eager to discover what all the fuss was about until he had introduced me to Sager. Dizzy might have been tempting, but Sager Reed was the real danger. Dizzy I had only wanted to conquer. Sager I had wanted to keep.

  I zipped off my ski jacket and dropped it to the stage floor. Moving to the keyboard, I tracked more than a few guys ogling me which I chalked up to my slimmer figure. I tapped a few notes to give my dad the key. He grinned. He always seemed so happy with me on stage. He laid down a wicked beat to go with my intro that set my low rise, jean clad hips in motion.

  A spotlight suddenly popped on me. It warmed the pale skin of my shoulders and midriff that my aqua and white stripped asymmetrical halter left bare. My impulsive what-the-fuck spirit reveled in it.

  You were born for this, my keeping-it-real voice encouraged me. You know you miss it.

  It was true. I did love the music, especially the performing. It was only that I craved hurtling down a mountain at highway speed even more.

  “Give it up for my beautiful daughter, Melinda.” My dad introduced me pride ringing in his voice and shining brightly in his eyes. But I wasn’t here to please him at the moment. I was here to stick it to her. April was certainly focused this way now. Her eyes met mine as I leaned toward the mic, hovered my mouth near it, my warm breath misting the metal mesh covering it.

  Love is a game

  You play by my rules

  It’s always the same

  Let me take you to school.

  You’re only there

  For me to use

  I know it ain’t fair

  But I never lose.

  So love me or leave me

  See if I care

  It’s only for fun

  If you weren’t aware

  Don’t give me that look

  That go to hell stare

  Say what you want to

  See if I care.

  Heart on a line

  The player gets played

  I’ll take it for mine

  Then throw you some shade.

  So love me or leave me

  See if I care

  It’s only for fun

  If you weren’t aware

  Don’t give me that look

  That go to hell stare

  Say what you want to

  See if I care.

  “Bye, Dad.” After acknowledging the applause, I grabbed my jacket, shrugged it on and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll call you later.” I turned away before he could talk me into another number. I messed with my hair, shielding my face as if that would keep me from seeing April if she looked my way. Stepping off the stage, I skulked back through the crowd like a coward. My body jostled this way and that as I threaded my way through it. I breathed a sigh of relief when I escaped to the hallway without incident but froze solid when I heard the familiar voice.

  “Mel, wait up.” I turned to see April closing the couple of feet that separated us while drying her hands on a bar towel. Her eyes narrowed as they swept over me. “What’s going on with you? Are you losing weight?” She frowned.

  “Not enough. Not that it matters,” I managed to squeak. It was difficult to feign nonchalance when your throat felt like it was closing up.

  Don’t be a wimp, my inner voice chided. Stick up your chin. You can take whatever she dishes out. I cocked my head to the side aiming for neutral inquisitive instead of straight out confrontational as I slid my fingers into the front pockets of my jeans. They rode lower exposing more of my midriff and the newly hollowed expanse between my hip bones. My wide belt with its colorful bottle caps dug into my flesh. I had it on the last rung now. I was finally ready to go down a size, but unfortunately new jeans weren’t in the budget. New ski poles took precedence.

  “Things are busy here,” she replied. “You know how it gets on Saturday night. Your dad always draws a big crowd.” She stepped closer but less confidently. Surely she wasn’t nervous like me. My heart thrummed inside my chest. I couldn’t get a read on what she was thinking or how this was going to go down. Maybe I shouldn’t have sung that song after all.

  “Yeah, a few people still remember who he was.” I shrugged a shoulder, my tension making the motion awkward. “Anyway, I gotta get going,” I muttered. “I’d say it was nice seeing you, but we both know better.” I spun away.

  “Hold on.” Her fingers closed around my arm, bunching the puffed sleeve of my ski jacket. I turned to face her. We were only inches apart now.

  “About the way I acted at the party…” She trailed off biting her lip. “I was mad. I’m still mad. What you did. It was wrong…”

  “I know. I’ve apologized. I’m sure you remember.” I lifted my chin while hoping my pathetic desperation to be forgiven didn’t show. “I can’t undo what’s already been done, April. You moved on. So did I. What more do you want from me?”

  “I don’t know.” She released me as if repulsed by the self-recrimination that glistened in my eyes. “I just…you look so lost and I remembered all the times you…we…” She trailed off glancing away for a moment before meeting my gaze again. She sighed. “I don’t see how we can ever be friends like we were before.” Her brows dipped together. “If it had just been me involved, maybe. But what you did nearly got my family killed.”

  My breath hitched in response to her words, but my pride was pulling all the strings now. I didn’t want her feeling sorry for me. I cranked my chin higher.

  “I don’t want you to feel like you can’t come into the Mine,” she continued. “I don’t want you to sacrifice your other friendships just because you’ve lost mine. The guys…”

  “It’s ok.” It wasn’t. It hurt like hell. “I appreciate what you’re saying, but I’m good. I don’t need this place anymore.” I waved my hands flippantly. “I’ve got new friends. On the circuit. On the team.”

  “Do you?” She studied me a long beat. I didn’t think she was fooled. “These new friends, were they the ones who advised you to do those photos with only the crisscrossed skis in Maxim?”

  “Maybe.” My lips flattened. “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Nothing really.” Her hands went to her hips. “It’s just that you…” She shook her head, obviously baffled that I had agreed to the revealing pictures after hearing me disparage my figure so many times. She knew how insecure I was about my body. How I hated myself for all the failed diets and stress induced binging. Try as she might, she had never been able to convince me that my lush curves were sexy. “It just doesn’t seem like something you would do on your own,” she concluded.

  “Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think. Maybe if you did you would have confided in me. About James and the abuse. About you and Dizzy. Instead of letting me think that he was into me, instead of using me to cover up what you two were doing.” My voice caught, tangling back up into the knot of hurt inside. So many things would have turned out differently if she had trusted me enough to tell me what had been going on.

  “Ok, Belle.” Her features hardened. “You know what? It was a mistake for me to come talk to you.”

  “Yeah, definitely.” I swallowed, fighting back the swarm of angry tears.

  “Do whatever you want. Regardless of the consequences. Keep rushing headlong into trouble. I don’t care anymore.”

  “I don’t need you to care, April. I’m on my own now. I’m making my own way. So what if it’s in a way you don’t approve of. What gives you the right to judge me?” I narrowed my eyes, torching our friendship to ashes with bullshit words. “You know what I think? I think maybe you’re just jealous. Maybe you’re worried that Dizzy wasn’t pretending with me after all. Maybe you’re afraid he’ll see those
pictures of me in Maxim and he’ll regret what he’s been missing.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Sager

  I borrowed the keys and took King’s Hummer on the twenty-minute drive up Burrard into Shaughnessy, the most exclusive neighborhood in Vancouver where the average home price was seven and a half million. I figured arriving by a taxi wouldn’t be cool. But beyond that concession, I didn’t change anything for my appointment with Mary Timmons, the Queen of Black Cat Records. I didn’t dress as casually as King might have, meaning only that the white t-shirt and the light blue button down I had thrown on over it had been freshly laundered instead of wrinkled ones from the floor that he would have happily chosen. But I wore jeans like all of the rest of the guys in the band, my favorite dark rinse pair with only a little fraying at the hem.

  I was pretty minimalist, function over fashion, when it came to attire. Don’t get me wrong, I was grateful to have nice things to wear considering the way I had grown up. We all were, but unless it was a special occasion like this meeting I preferred to let my tats express my inner truths. Wide wavy tribal markings, a Fender bass and a paint brush of my own design with the inscription—Pain doesn’t define me, I define my pain—lay beneath the bunched up sleeve on one of my arms. Inked on the other was a crown with Jude’s name and a sun below it casting five rays each penning a phrase—Take a sad song, make it better, don’t be afraid, let it out, let it in.

  I rolled the windows down since the air was unseasonably warm. Blasting the Black Keys out the upgraded sound system speakers, I rested my left arm on the frame glancing at the chocolate leather cuff, a gift from her, the one I couldn’t forget. I knew King wanted me to get rid of the accessory and move on from her, but I wasn’t ready yet.

  When I arrived at the Queen’s palace, I turned the Hummer into the driveway and braked before a massive pair of iron gates emblazoned with Black Cat Records’ roaring lion logo. Doing my best to look presentable instead of windblown, I finger combed the thick swath of bangs out of my eyes and punched in the code she had texted me.

  The gates slowly yawned open. Once through, I reduced my speed to a crawl, the Hummer’s tires crunching on the gravel driveway. I gaped through the windows at the tree lined, perfectly manicured lawn. The grounds seemed as expansive as a golf course. My dealings with the Black Cat CEO had always been in a business setting. She dressed like a million bucks and I knew that her label raked it in, but it was strange to actually experience firsthand all the trappings such wealth afforded.

  At the end of the drive a three story Tudor style mansion draped in ivy loomed. I parked the Hummer beside a concrete fountain, dropped my Wayfarer shades into one of the cup holders and cut the engine. A baldheaded dude in a black and white uniform emerged from the would be castle and descended the red bricked front porch steps to greet me.

  “Good evening, Mr. Reed. Ms. Timmons is expecting you. If you’ll kindly follow me.”

  Nodding my agreement while trying not to appear overly impressed, I jogged up the steps in his wake and ducked beneath the arched portico. The front door was accentuated with black metal and the entryway I stepped into on the other side was tiled in beige travertine. A sprawling staircase with dark wood spools and an iron railing led to the next level. The foyer was illuminated by a triple tier empire style chandelier that would have looked right at home in a medieval castle if it had been outfitted with wax dripping candles instead of bulbs.

  “Ms. Timmons awaits you in the library.” The butler turned stiffly to the left, made his way down a short hallway and rapped on a set of French doors before pressing down on the latch on one side and pushing it open.

  “Madame?”

  “Yes, Stan? What is it?” She lowered the documents she had been perusing and set them down on the surface of a massive wooden desk that looked like a replica of the one in her corner office at Black Cat. Lifting a pair of black half-moon reading glasses that reminded me of my own to the top of her head, she peered across the room at me, her gaze brightening as if she had been so engrossed that she had forgotten our appointment until that moment.

  “Mr. Reed is here to see you,” the butler announced.

  “Thank you, Stan.” She gestured to one of the chairs opposite her desk. I stepped into the room but dipped my chin to let her know I preferred to remain standing. The chair looked about as uncomfortable as the one in her Kitsilano office. A quick inspection confirmed many similarities in the spaces with some notable differences. Here the large crisscrossed paned window overlooked the fountain outside instead of English Bay, and the bookcases brimmed with tomes with spines in muted colors and antique fonts rather than framed records and awards. Most of them looked really old and given the slightly musty smell in the room, I suspected that many were first editions. How I would have loved to check a few of them out.

  “Will there be anything else, Madame?” Stan inquired formally. I reluctantly turned my attention away from the literary lures on the shelves.

  Mary’s eyes searched mine inquisitively. “Are you hungry, Mr. Reed?”

  I shook my head.

  “Thirsty, perhaps. Would you like something to drink?”

  “No, I’m good.” I shrugged. I was more interested in the books at the moment than anything else. I had never been into the required reading in school, but now that I read for myself I loved the escape and inspiration a good book provided. I wondered if maybe Mary might feel the same way about reading, if so the titles she had collected might reveal a lot about her.

  “Very well, Madame. If you should need anything else just ring my cell.”

  “Thank you, Stan. Any other business can wait, for the moment I don’t wish to be disturbed.” She dismissed the butler with a regal lift of her chin. It seemed that she might be as formal in her home as she was at Black Cat. I wondered if she even knew how to relax. Mary rose as soon as the doors clicked closed, bringing both hands to her waist as if to tug down the hem of her jacket but instead smoothed her top as she realized that she wasn’t wearing one. She was dressed casually like I was but her jeans looked like expensive designer ones and her soft baby blue cowl necked sweater was definitely high grade cashmere. The color made her eyes seem a softer shade of grey than usual, and the elegant cut flattered her shapely breasts and slim hips as if custom made. She looked infinitely feminine. Approachable even. Not the descriptors that most often came to mind when I thought of her.

  “How are you this evening, Mr. Reed?” She circumnavigated her desk removing it as a barrier between us. Lips frosted in a nude gloss curled up at the edges as her eyes met mine.

  “Sager,” I insisted.

  “Yes. Well. I’m still your boss. Impossible for us to forget that.”

  “I don’t know if it’s completely impossible. Seeing you here inside your home, you’re different than you are at work. Prettier,” I admitted without filtering, while wondering which one was the real Mary Timmons. Did she prefer to keep everyone at arm’s length with her imperial air or was it a necessary tactic, a learned defense in a cutthroat industry? What had happened to War with Morris was a testament to the unforgiving, impersonal nature of the business.

  She studied me for a long moment as if carefully considering my words. I returned her gaze.

  “I’d like to paint your portrait,” I offered, interested in studying her more, wondering if I could capture both sides of her personality on a canvas. “If you’d allow me to.”

  “That’s very flattering.” She circumvented my request as gracefully as she moved though I saw that she blushed. The warm pink on her cheeks melted away the remaining frost from the Queen. “It’s been a long time since I’ve received anything so…” She cleared her throat. “So genuinely offered.” She looked away as if to regroup. “You’re a very talented artist. Mr. R…Sager,” she self-corrected when I frowned. “I’m very interested to see what you have for me so far on the project I commissioned. You said over the phone that you had a couple of sketches already completed?”

>   “Yes. Yes, I do.” I flipped open my sketchbook, smoothing my fingers over the open pages as I laid it on her desk. Mary came forward, and I felt the same familiar flutter of nerves I always experienced whenever I shared my art with someone new. These were the originals. I kept copies on my iPad. Sometimes I messed around with graphic software but nothing beat the feel of a charcoal pencil beneath my fingers.

  Well except a perfectly tuned bass string or the creamy soft skin of a certain blue eyed pixie.

  “Adam,” Mary breathed. “Oh Adam.” I turned to look at her. All the color had drained from her face. She carefully lifted the sketchpad from the desk, bringing it to her cheek as if it were actually a small five-year-old child who could press a kiss there and not just a representation of one. Cradling the pad to her chest, she crossed the room, her movements no longer graceful but awkward and pained. Even the line of her spine appeared suddenly fragile as she stopped in front of the window, her shoulders collapsing inward as if to shelter a heart that had become too vulnerable.

  The Queen of Black Cat Records wasn’t cold at all, I realized. It was only that she hid her warmth behind a shield of ice.

  “Ms. Timmons. Mary,” I called softly, moving to her and touching her shoulder lightly the way Abuelita had done many times with me whenever I had been upset. “Are you ok?”

  “Yes. No.” A broken sob escaped. “Can a parent ever be ok after losing a child?” she whispered. “His wide innocent eyes, you captured them perfectly. He trusted me till the end though I didn’t deserve it.” I’d had no clue. She hadn’t given me any background details, just the photographs to work from. Her pain was palpable, slicing into me, making my heart bleed for her, as well as reopening old wounds of my own. “It killed something inside me each time he endured another procedure that in the end changed absolutely nothing. Then that last terrible week in the hospital. He was so small and struggled so very hard to breathe. My brave sweet little boy comforting me, telling me not to cry. Then the nightmare of life support and having to make the decision that no parent should ever have to make...” Her voice became as insubstantial as a wisp like the memories that haunted her. I felt her shoulder begin to tremble beneath my hand.