The Complete Tempest World Box Set

by Mankin, Michelle

  “Hey,” I said, phone between my shoulder and ear. I wheeled my bag into the entryway corner where I planned for it to stay parked until I was ready to unpack it in the morning. “What’s up?

  “Oh, dear. What happened?”

  From my tone alone, he knew it hadn’t been a good trip. My best friend and I had been through a lot together. He had been there to pick up the broken pieces when I had lost my UCLA scholarship, and he was a big part of the secret life I now led, one that forced me to lie to my mom, my sister, my brother and just about everyone else. I might sling a lot of bullshit with most people but not with him.

  “The only audition Royce Daniel was interested in involved me on the casting couch with my ankles up by my ears.”

  “I’m sorry MJ, baby.”

  “It is what it is.”

  “So I’ve heard you say. Want me to grab a pint of rocky road from Lavon’s after I finish up at work?”

  “Absolutely. If you bring me moo goo gai pan and egg rolls I might have to marry you.”

  “I’m spoken for, darling.”

  “I know you are. How is Alex doing?” His significant other was Alex Treyall, a big celebrity. At one time a co-star with Shaina Bentley on Pinky Swears, that is before the series was canceled and went into syndication. Alex had moved on to the big screen. His first action film had been the top grossing box office movie so far this year.

  “He’s delectably deliciousness as I have told you many times, but one day you’ll see for yourself if you’ll stop avoiding meeting him in person. He can keep a secret, you know.”

  Maybe he could, maybe he couldn’t. I wouldn’t take that chance.

  I had more than just the connection between my bestie Mike and his boyfriend Alex to worry about because Shaina Bentley, Alex’s former co-star, was his best friend in real life and an item with Warren Jinkins, the lead singer in my brother’s band. Yeah, I know. I see your incredulous yet empathetic nod. Truth is stranger than fiction, so they say. The six degrees of separation in my reality were barely even one.

  “But I don’t want to talk about Alex or I’ll end up as depressed as you sound. He still has another two weeks of filming the new Donavon Blaine film down in Brazil before I get to see him again.”

  “Sorry.”

  “It is what it is.”

  “I’m heading for the shower.” I kicked off my pumps and scooted them beside the potted palm. On another day the twinkling lights Mike had threaded in among the fronds would have made me smile as did all the heavy-on-the-bling touches he had added to our duplex to make it a home. “See you soon?”

  “Sooner than soon,” he returned.

  “Come again?”

  “Nance wants you to work tonight.”

  “Nooooo!” I protested. “It’s only Wednesday.” I mostly worked Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays. At a thousand dollars a performance Nance rarely had me come in during the rest of the week when business was slower. “I’m exhausted. I need at least twenty-four hours to recoup before I even want to think about dancing.”

  “There’s a big spending VIP coming in. He bought out the entire club. He specifically mentioned wanting to see the bathtub number. Paid extra to get you on the stage.”

  “Fuck.”

  “I’m pretty sure he wanted that, too. But Nance told him that’s not part of the deal with you.”

  “Good.” I sighed. She rarely gave me any grief about that anymore. “Usual performance time?

  “Ten thirty, yeah.”

  “So I get my shower. A little time to unwind. Dinner.”

  “We’ll save the ice cream for afterward, alright?”

  “Yeah, sounds good.” I tried to inject enthusiasm into my voice.

  “Yoga and a back rub, too.”

  “Now you’re talking.” I would do just about anything for one of Mike’s magic massages.

  “I’ve got a new peppermint oil that should perk you up.”

  “I love you.”

  “Love you, too, baby. Always and forever plus a day.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  King

  “Déjame solo.” Leave me alone. “Stop yanking my chain.” I raked a hand through my hair while blinking through the eyeball sear caused by the caution tape yellow lamps and fire engine red linens inside my Vegas hotel suite.

  “I just wanna fuck you, bonita.” Sager mimicked. He wasn’t as talented as Miriam when it came to duplicating voices, but he was highly motivated when the prize was mocking me. “I don’t want to know your life’s story. I signed the disclosure. So drop those pantalones and bend over.” Sager chuckled. He and the other guys in Tempest had been having a lot of fun at my expense since the Rock Fuck Club episode I had co-starred in had aired. I started opening cabinet doors searching for the minibar. I needed a drink to put up with his shit.

  “I thought since you’re the self-proclaimed player in the group now that you would have developed more polished pickup lines than that. I can’t believe that worked with the RFC chick…what’s her name…”

  “Raven,” I muttered, filling in when he drew a blank. I remembered that much at least. The sex not so vividly. After all, we had downed lots of tequila that night.

  “Yeah? Well, she’s hot.”

  “She’s taken.” And she hadn’t been with me that night, not really. She had been trying to get over someone, too. Running forward at a breakneck speed without caution or thought because it hardly mattered when your head was screwed on backward. I had vowed to stop doing that myself after that night. Only I had made that lofty resolution before Bryan had mentioned Miriam having a serious boyfriend, one who apparently was pressuring her to move off the UCLA campus to move in with him instead.

  Time to put the obsession to rest, pendejo, I told myself. Miriam Jackson would always be off limits. Up on a pedestal and out of reach where I had purposefully put her so she could have a better life.

  “Yo, King.” Jorge Rodriguez rapped on the door and entered the room without pausing to wait for permission. I pointed to the cell at my ear, and he nodded in understanding, making a zipping gesture in front of his mouth. Sager wasn’t Jorge’s biggest fan. Or vice versa.

  Jorge dropped a Ziploc bag containing some loose weed and a couple of rolled joints on the bed. I knew it was premium stuff. He was a higher up in La Raza Prima, the gang my brother Adrian had been in before he had been murdered by a rival gang member.

  “That troublemaker Jorge with you?”

  “Sí, so what?” My tone was ice. Sager certainly wasn’t here despite me asking him to come after we had wrapped up the European tour. He was too busy playing house with his precious Blue.

  “King, wacho, man. Watch out. The guy’s a total user. He’s no good. El malvado. You and me, we didn’t drag ourselves out of Southside just to turn right around and fall back into it.”

  “Sager,” I warned. There was barely a ‘we’ anymore, not since Melinda T. Belle came along. “Drop it. He’s a friend. One who still remembers how to let loose and have a good time.” An intentional dig. I reminded him over and over how boring he was now that his ass had become all domesticated and shit. “Plus I owe him. If it weren’t for him putting in a good word about April…”

  “No one ever saw that safe house he said would be provided.”

  “Only because it hadn’t been necessary in the end.”

  “Maybe.”

  I sighed. It seemed like all we did lately was go around and around in the same old groove. Jorge opened the Ziploc, passed me a fat one and pointed to the time on his watch. It was already ten thirty.

  Chingao. The Sexxy Club. I had rented it out for us to have a little fiesta fun tonight. “Listen, I gotta go.”

  “Juaquin, wait. I wanted to tell you what Timmons said.” Mary Timmons was the CEO of Black Cat Records, Tempest’s label. Everyone called her the queen because she ruled her company like one and because she was so intimidating. Lately, she’d been riding my ass about becoming a positive role model for the Latino communi
ty. Well, I had blown that big time with my arrest. Two queens in my life. One I couldn’t get away from, the other one I couldn’t stop dreaming about.

  “I know already.” I didn’t need to hear it from Sager. I already knew Timmons’ verdict. She had told War. He had relayed her refusal. To hell with her. That was why I had come to Vegas. I was going to record my own rhymes. Jorge wanted Prima, a Latin record label with backing from La Raza to produce it.

  “She might change her mind. If you come up to Vancouver I think I can get her to give your stuff a listen. Blue says…”

  “I don’t really care what the pixie says,” I interrupted. “And I don’t need Black Cat’s Records’ backing.” What I did for myself was distinct from what we did as a band. Tempest sang about in your face Southside friction and rage. My music carried a different message. I free formed about feeling good, getting high and getting laid, and rapped or sang in English and Spanish using whatever beat I was feeling at the time. I didn’t need Sager’s or Timmon’s support. Ok, maybe not entirely true because mi hermano at one time had been the better part of me, and Timmons’ stamp of approval on my solo stuff might give me the legitimacy I sought. But I knew I wasn’t going to get it any more than I was going to get Sager and me back to the place we had once been. Him and me. Back to back. Brothers against the world.

  What was the point of admitting my needs to them or anyone else for that matter?

  Fuck that.

  I put the joint to my lips, lit it, took a deep drag and let it fill my lungs for a long moment before exhaling. I knew Sager heard me do it. He knew if I was smoking it wasn’t something legal. I did it anyway because it pissed him off. If I pissed him off he couldn’t ignore me.

  That’s how things had gotten between us ever since Melinda had come along.

  “King, you’re on probation, man. Tell me you’re not lighting up.”

  “So what if I am?” I didn’t need anyone telling me what I could or could not do in the privacy of my hotel room. “Don’t be such a pussy.”

  He blew out an exasperated breath. He was probably searching for his sketch pad. We each had our therapy of choice. He drew what he felt. I wrote it.

  “I’ll talk to you later.” Translation. He was done chiding me.

  “Sí. Hasta mañana, hermano.”

  I clicked off my cell and dropped it on the bed. I decided I would finish my joint and toss back a couple of shots with Jorge before we left. The club could wait. They weren’t gonna start the show until the man who paid for everything showed up with his credit card.

  • • •

  Miriam

  “Hey, Ann.” I answered immediately when I saw who it was on the caller ID. “How’s it going?” I put her on speaker and propped my foot on a folding chair in the dressing room to slather more shimmery lotion on my leg.

  “All’s well. How’s Mike?

  “He’s alright. Keeping busy. He misses Alex. How’s school?”

  “Busy, but I got another scholarship offer in the mail today.”

  “Oh yeah? Mom must be ecstatic.” The daughter she approved of excelling again. “Which college this time?”

  “Vanderbilt.”

  “Holy shit! That’s awesome,” I said out loud, but inside I was thinking that Tennessee was a long way away from me. Nearly twice the distance between Vegas and Seattle. I was pulling for Washington State University, a doable and no doubt cheaper plane ride away. “You interested in that one?” I kept my voice neutral. I wanted what she wanted, regardless.

  “It has a great pre-vet program, but it’s a long, long way from you.”

  Emotion made my voice thick. I had tried to trim the emotional strings between us so she could fly unencumbered, but she kept retying them. “You take it if it’s the best thing for you.”

  “That’s exactly what I told you when you chose UCLA.”

  “It was good advice then, and it’s good advice now.”

  “I don’t know what to choose. I’m not sure. I’m kinda still hoping to hear from A&M in Texas.”

  “Texas is pretty redneck. Is it a better program?”

  “For me, yeah. They actually have a veterinary school, something Vanderbilt doesn’t.”

  “Then I hope you get it. Cowboys are cute. Do I need to call someone in admissions to put in a good word for you?”

  “No.” She laughed. “Though having a sister who is going to be a big Hollywood actress someday might sway them.” My heart sank. The chances of my acting career going anywhere lately seemed less and less likely. The depression from earlier returned to engulf me again. “Bry said nearly the same thing,” she continued. “Only he wanted to tell them I was the sister of a famous rock star.”

  “He’s definitely that.” The band’s last album went triple platinum and was still selling so well that their label wanted them to do a follow up greatest hits album and another statewide tour. I was proud of Bryan. Happy for all of the guys in Tempest. Love triangles. Drug issues. Ex’s from hell. Losses and character transformations. Abusive backgrounds that had only recently come to light. Tempest had been through many storms to get where they were now.

  “Our brother’s out back in the studio with mom and Lace. Mom has been trying to talk everyone into road tripping to California in his new SUV to visit you. She misses you, you know.”

  I let out a disbelieving breath. More like relieved I was out of her hair and not causing trouble that resulted in phone calls from the principal once or twice a week.

  “I miss you. I have a three-day break from school coming up. Say yes. We haven’t seen you in forever.”

  Shit. “I miss you, too.” But I had to redirect. “I’ll see what I can do. Maybe I could come to Seattle.”

  “You could, but why can’t we come to you in LA instead? It would be great to see the sun, in addition to seeing you of course. It’s been raining here for a week straight.”

  “When I get things more settled this semester, we’ll plan that for sure.” Maybe I could fly to LA, pretend I was still enrolled at UCLA. Maybe you should just tell everyone the truth, my inner voice chided. Yeah, but no. My truth was going to result in a double homicide. Both my own. First, my brother would kill me. Then my mother would.

  “How are Bryan and Lace doing?” Chicken shit me. I knew I would eventually have to tell them what was really going on. But I wanted to wait until I had a television series offer, a movie role or at least a big commercial to brag about before I dropped the hammer and told them I had gotten kicked out of school and was living in Vegas. So instead of telling the disappointing truth, I redirected again. “Has our silver-tongued brother talked Lace into reviving her singing career?”

  “They’re good, and no, not yet. She’s about to graduate from fashion school, so she could pick up music again if she wanted to. But I think they’re both enjoying each other’s company with him home instead of on tour. Speaking of singing careers, did you hear that Juaquin’s recording in Vegas?”

  “What?” I screeched. My heart raced. I felt out of breath. “No, I didn’t know. No one told me.” Feeling unsteady, I flopped into the folding chair. The cold metal nearly froze my naked butt, but it jarred me enough to help me focus on the shocking news. “Recording what?” I squeaked. “And where?”

  “The rap stuff he used to do for fun. He’s staying at the Cosmopolitan with Jorge. Prima has a recording studio nearby. Bry’s acting like it’s not a big deal, but War is worried about dissension in the ranks, and Sager is pissed because he’s hanging out with Jorge and some of the other guys from his brother’s old gang.”

  “Shit.”

  “I know.”

  Shit, fuck and shit. Everything she said. Vegas with Juaquin in it. And me in the same town with a secret I didn’t want my family to know. Plus Jorge in the mix. The guy was truly a bad seed. A known drug dealer, he had been with Juaquin when he had been arrested recently, but then nowhere around to lend support when the Tempest drummer had been sentenced.

  A true fr
iend he was not.

  But then it didn’t seem like Juaquin wanted those anymore. I followed the band. I soaked up every snippet of news from my brother. While the rest of the guys steadily paired off with full time girlfriends, Juaquin seemed to isolate himself more. Except for Jorge it seemed. And the strippers of course. Lots and lots of strippers. Meanwhile in the land of don’t-go-there-anymore, I pretended the slap downs Juaquin had given me when I had visited the band in New York and more recently in New Orleans hadn’t hurt, but they had. I might try to pretend it didn’t exist anymore but deep down inside I knew I still had a weak spot when it came to the big sexy Latino.

  “I’ll just avoid the Cosmopolitan,” I decided.

  “Why would you need to do that? Are you visiting Vegas?”

  “Oh, shit.” I hadn’t meant that for her ears. “No. I mean I was thinking about taking a trip out there with some girlfriends from school but not anymore.”

  “I thought you were over him.”

  “I am.”

  “Truly? Your voice says you’re not, and so do your eyes. You can’t keep them off him whenever he’s around.”

  “He’s hot. And he was my first real crush. But that’s old news. I have a boyfriend now. Juaquin hardly crosses my mind anymore.”

  Lies, lies, lies. So many lies.

  “If you say so.” She sighed. “But I’m not sure I believe you. You talk about Mike all the time. But you hardly ever mention Frank. It’s like you’re afraid to go all in with him, leaving yourself an opening in case Juaquin ever changes his mind.”

  “Frank works a lot.”

  “I get that. Commercial contractors travel and can’t control their hours, but still. When you’re in love with someone, they should take precedence in the order of conversation over your gay best friend and a high school crush you profess to be over.”