King of Nice

by R H Tucker

  They’re sitting at a small table, with what appears to be two mixed drinks in front of them. She leans into him, her arm already over his shoulder, and says something to him. He chuckles, looking as calm as I’ve ever seen, and she playfully taps his chest. Her fingers run down his chest, slowly, then over his stomach. Reaching up, he places his finger under her chin, while her hand ventures somewhere under the table. He looks more than calm. He looks like he’s enjoying this.

  His eyes close, a small grin forming over his lips, and I almost gag. Opening his eyes, he shifts closer to her, and their mouths finally connect. His hand floats around her neck, holding her close, and I do everything in my power to not think about when he did that to me. Her missing hand is still somewhere under the table, but she leans into him, their kiss going deeper.

  I’ve had enough. I march over to them and shout, “Hey!” EJ’s face snaps toward mine, his eyes wide. “Enjoying yourself?” I scream at him, and immediately feel everyone around us quiet down.

  Crystal wears the same expression as EJ, and her hands jump to her own lap. “Uh, wait—”

  “You’re a piece of trash,” I yell at him. “King of Nice? More like King of Sleaze!” Without thinking, I grab one of the drinks sitting in front of them and throw it in his face.

  “What the hell?” he screams at me, genuine astonishment lacing his voice.

  “Don’t ever talk to me again!” I shout and spin on my feet, walking out of the VIP section. As I do, I see our label mate, other artists, and a few music and gossip writers take in the whole thing.

  31

  EJ

  “Skye!” I shout out, jumping up from the table and redoing the button on my jeans. What the hell was I thinking? “Skye!” I shout again.

  “Leave me alone!” she yells back.

  I know this is the plan, that this is what she told me to do, and everything is going according to how she said it would. Even with all of that, I feel like I just cheated on her.

  “Hold on!” I finally catch up to her just before she reaches the door. Grabbing her arm, I turn her around to face me, and my heart cracks. Her eyes are red, and tears are running down her cheeks. “Skye …”

  “I can’t do this,” she whispers. I try to pull her closer, but she yanks her arm away. “No. No, EJ.”

  “I don’t understand. You said—”

  “I know what I said. And it worked.” She wipes her eyes, but it doesn’t do any good. More tears fall, and more pieces of my heart crumble. “Let me go, EJ.”

  “But—”

  “Stop!” she screams, earning more looks from people around us. “It’s over, EJ.”

  The words are painful and form a lump in my throat. But she says them loud enough that everything is twisted. I don’t know if she’s this good of an actress, and she said the words loud enough for everyone around us to hear, or I really did hurt her. She doesn’t give me a chance to ask, though. Turning back around, she exits the club. I take another step to chase after her, but now I’m torn. We didn’t talk about what happens after.

  Looking around, I feel everyone’s eyes on me, and a new feeling comes over me. I’ve been in the background for so long while Derrik and Maddox have had the drama-filled events—the looks, the hushed whispers behind their backs, and everything in between—but I never thought about the aftermath. And I certainly never thought I’d feel as guilty or pathetic as I do now.

  “EJ,” Crystal whispers behind me, taking my hand. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  I follow her out of the club because what else am I supposed to do? That doesn’t mean my mind isn’t a thousand miles away from her and her words. This was the plan. This is exactly what should’ve happened, only it feels like everything has gone completely wrong. And Skye’s tear-covered face is etched into my brain now.

  We get outside, car horns blaring into the Las Vegas night sky, and Crystal leans closer, wrapping both of her hands around my arm. “EJ, I’m sorry about what happened. But I’d still like to finish what we started if you do.”

  My nose wrinkles, and I look over at her. She stares back, wide eyes, and an alluring smile still in place. Is she for real? She just saw Skye catch us and throw a drink in my face, all while shouting at me. Whether she thinks Skye and I are serious or not, she has to believe whatever everyone else does, which is that we were together. And she still wants to hook up with me after that?

  The car Maddox and I came in pulls up to the pick-up spot, and I open the door for her. “Where are you staying?” I ask.

  “Caesar’s, why?”

  Motioning for her to get inside, she does, and I lean forward into the car. “Hey, Jimmy. Caesar’s Palace.”

  Jimmy, our driver, waves back at me, and I shut the door. The last thing I see is Crystal’s confused and annoyed face.

  “Damn, that was crazy,” Maddox says, slapping me on the shoulder. It instantly flips a switch in me.

  “You!” I scream at him, and he glares back at me, confused. “Why the hell did I listen to you? Oh my God, you’re such a complete tool.”

  “Watch yourself, EJ.” He puts a finger in my face. “I didn’t come up with this plan. That was all you two. All I did was tell you how to make sure it goes off without a hitch.”

  “I can’t believe I listened to you! You told me to just go with it! ‘Whatever Crystal wants, just go along for the ride,’ you said. That Skye would catch us—”

  “And she did!” he yells back at me. “I thought that’s what you wanted?”

  “Maddox, that girl almost gave me a hand job with twenty people standing around us.”

  “Oh, shit!” He grins and starts laughing.

  “It’s not funny!” I shove him.

  His laughter evaporates, and he scowls at me. “EJ, Skye caught you. That’s what was supposed to happen, right? Sounds to me like everything went according to plan.”

  Letting out a long sigh, I stare at the sidewalk. He’s right. Everything happened exactly how Skye said it would. Now we just have to wait for the headlines to roll out tomorrow, talking about me cheating on her and how heartbroken she is. It’s no one’s fault. So why do I feel like I made the biggest mistake of my life?

  It was a mistake. It might’ve taken me a while to figure that out, but I have now. It was a huge mistake. Page Five is the website that’s been trending with the headline, “King of Nice Breaks the Heartbreaker.” I can’t bring myself to read the article.

  Skye isn’t returning any of my text messages or calls again, but I know I need to talk to her. I need to tell her how I really feel and that I regret ending our plan. I don’t regret the deal itself because then I would’ve never gotten to know her, but I wish I would’ve spoken up sooner and told her how I was really starting to feel.

  So that’s what I’m finally doing. They say better late than never, so I’m hoping that’s true. I’ve been backstage at the show, waiting for the band to show up. The group that performs before them just finished, and The Electrocutes are scheduled to go up next, but I haven’t seen any of them or their gear being pushed around by stagehands to set it up.

  An MC walks out on stage, and I check my phone for the umpteenth time, but still no missed messages from her. “All right, everyone,” the MC starts. “We have a fill-in artist that’ll be taking the stage, so please welcome, for his very first time performing at Rocket and Moon, DJ Krispy!”

  “What the hell?”

  Half of the crowd cheers while the other half looks around, unsure what’s happening. That’s what I’d like to know. As the MC walk off stage, I hurry over to him.

  “Hey, excuse me,” I call out. “Aren’t The Electrocutes performing during this slot?”

  “They had been,” he answers, looking over a clipboard. “But their label pulled them earlier. I guess they have a tour coming up, and their dates got mixed up.”

  “Oh, okay. Thanks,” I reply. Dates mixed up? I remember Skye telling me about the tour they have for four weeks, but it doesn’t start
for three more days. Something doesn’t feel right.

  I hurry back to our hotel and stop on their floor. Getting to their door, I find it open and a cleaning lady inside, wiping down their countertop. It could just be maid service, but all of their stuff I’ve seen strewn about on the table and in the kitchen is gone.

  “Excuse me,” I call out to the lady.

  “Yes?”

  “The girls that were staying here? When are they coming back?”

  “Sorry, no one is coming back. The room was checked out this morning.”

  My face drops, my head hangs low, and I run my hands over my face. After a quick glance at me, the housekeeper returns her attention to her cart of equipment, grabbing a bottle of cleaner.

  They left. She left. And the deal is finally over.

  32

  Skye

  Roxy and I live together in Pasadena, while Leah lives with her aunt about ten miles away. After we graduated from high school in Long Beach, we all moved out here because it was closer to our record label’s office and recording studio. Which is where we’re headed now.

  Leah’s driving her car, which we all usually travel in when we go out and have fun. It’s an old Toyota Corolla hatchback, with a silver paint job that’s chipped. She named it Butch. We always laugh about it when we get in the car and go out for a party or for food. “Come on, let’s hop on Butch,” we’ll say, and giggle about it.

  No one is giggling or having fun right now. As a matter of fact, Leah is in the driver’s seat, ignoring me, Roxy is in the passenger seat staring out the window, and I’m silent in the backseat. They’ve been jumping back and forth between giving me the silent treatment for the last couple of days, or telling me how much I screwed up.

  “You guys, I’m sorry!” I cry again. Neither of them replies. “I would’ve performed. You have to believe me.”

  Roxy glances over her shoulder. “Yeah, like you would’ve been sobered up by then. Skye … you really screwed up.”

  Leah scoffs. “You’re not much better,” she snaps at Roxy.

  Roxy looks over at her, but can’t respond. Leah’s right. And I feel horrible about it because I dragged Roxy with me.

  “I get that you were torn over everything,” Leah continues, stopping at a stoplight. “But what you did? Forget the fact that we’re in this thing together. You’re my friend. My sister. I was scared, Skye.”

  “I know. I’m sorry!”

  After I left the label party, I went back to our hotel and stayed in my room for the rest of the night and the following day. Leah decided to let me be, but Roxy kept trying to get me to go out and do something with her. I didn’t realize how much catching EJ and Crystal together would affect me, even if I knew what I was going to find.

  I finally decided to get out with Roxy the night before our last performance, mostly to try and get her to shut up about it. We hit up every bar and club we could get into. And the ones we couldn’t get into, we bribed the doormen with VIP passes to the festival so we could. After the third bar, Roxy attempted to get me to go back to the hotel, but my thoughts were swirling with EJ again. Being drunk and thinking about when EJ and I spent the night together was not a good combination, and I refused to go back. She might’ve been able to drag me, but not without me causing a scene, another thing I regret.

  I don’t remember getting back to the suite. After the fourth bar, sixth shot, and third vodka and Red Bull, I can’t recall anything. From what Roxy told me on my head-pounding car ride home from Vegas, I drunkenly dragged her up and down the street, screaming at her and strangers, and pole dancing with a stop sign. Then, when she was finally able to get me back to the hotel, I threw up everywhere. Leah called our manager and told him we weren’t going to be able to perform our last slot. They packed my things, we checked out of the hotel room, and made our way back.

  Now we’re on our way to our manager’s office. I still feel horrible, both physically and mentally, but emotionally, too. EJ and the Kings perform tonight. I’ve been doing everything I can to forget about him, but I can’t.

  Leah parks the car in the garage, and we head inside. There aren’t a lot of people in the lobby, and we’re not mega-superstars like the Kings, but I feel like every set of eyes are on me. I hide my face with my hand, my hair falling in front. We enter the elevator, the silence still brewing between all of us, and finally get to Scott’s office.

  “Girls,” he acknowledges us, getting up from behind his desk. “Please, take a seat.”

  I sit behind Leah and Roxy, while Scott signs a sheet of paper in front of him, then sets it off to the side on a stack of others. Taking his seat, he crosses his fingers over his desk, and looks over us. “So, let’s get right to the chase. What happened?”

  Leah and Roxy glance at one another in front of me. I speak up before either of them can. “It was my fault.”

  His green eyes stay on me, lifting a brow.

  Scott’s a great manager. He fought for us when Rich Records, a major record company, wanted to low-ball us on royalties because we were a “group of teen girls playing rock stars.” He said those were their words exactly. When we told him we’d never sign with that label, he said finding another company might be difficult, but we stuck by our guns, and he stood with us. Three months later, we had a great deal with a reputable record company.

  “I got drunk the night before, and I screwed up,” I explain. “I’m sorry, Scott.”

  “Drunk?” he questions, directing his attention at Leah. She’s always been the default leader in our business meetings.

  “It was … bad,” she says, her tone low.

  Letting out a long sigh, Scott stares at his hands. He nods slowly, then looks up at me. “Do you have a problem?”

  “No,” I answer, but it’s so small I almost don’t hear it myself.

  “Skye, I’m serious. You’re great girls. I will not be the manager known for letting one of his clients end up dead from alcohol poisoning or spinning their career into oblivion. Or both. Do you have a problem?”

  “No,” I answer more confidently. “It’s not a problem, Scott. It was just …” I feel even more embarrassed than before. “I had an argument with … someone. I overreacted. Completely. It won’t happen again, I promise. I’m really, really sorry.”

  He shakes his head in disappointment. “Well, if your performances at Rocket and Moon hadn’t gone great, I’d be in a much worse mood. Plus, your records sales and downloads are up thirty percent.”

  Roxy and Leah both glance back at me, slight smiles on their faces.

  “You mean … We’re still on for the tour?” I ask, daring to have a little hope in my voice.

  A confident grin appears on Scott’s face. “You are.”

  All three of us look at one another, shaking with glee. “But,” Scott adds, letting the word hang in the air, “Skye, no more of this. I promise you, if anything happens on this tour, I don’t care if you say you have a problem or not, I’m pulling you from the tour. I’ll book you in rehab myself.”

  “Nothing will happen. I swear.”

  He nods, returning his attention to his desk, reaching for another paper. “Good. I’ll send you guys the info about your tour bus tomorrow.”

  “Tour bus?” Roxy asks, the joy dripping from her voice.

  He chuckles. “Don’t get your hopes up. It’s basically a minivan.” A slight frown crosses my lips. “Hey, better than traveling around in Butch, right?”

  Glancing at one another, we all start giggling, agreeing with him. A few more days and we’ll be on the road, and playing to crowds of fans. Granted, it won’t be anything like Rocket and Moon. We’re opening for a slightly more known band than us, Strange Tides, and we’ll be playing in clubs that hold audiences anywhere between fifty to four hundred people. But I think that’s what I need. No big stars or bright lights. Just getting back to being with my girls and playing music. And trying to forget EJ.

  33

  EJ

  We’re hanging ou
t backstage, as the act right before us finishes with their last song. Maddox taps his drumsticks over his knee, and Derrik hangs out with his girlfriend, Zoey, talking about something. It’s been annoying me all day.

  She hasn’t been to all the performances this month, but since this is our last show, Derrik had her flown in. I like Zoey. We all went to school together. But it’s annoying me because they’re being stupid-cute with one another and it reminds me of Skye.

  Not that we were ever a real couple, or acted all stupid-cute with one another. You know stupid-cute, even if you think you don’t. It’s when you exchange giggling whispers, peck one another with kisses, and never, ever stop holding hands. Yeah, stupid-cute. But ever since the deal went up in flames—or exactly according to plan, I still haven’t decided which—I just see Skye’s heartbroken expression. And I continue to wonder what would’ve happened if I had called it off or at least brought up the possibility to her. Instead, I went along with the entire thing, all up to the drink-thrown-in-my-face finish.

  Letting out a groan, I get up from my spot and head toward the door.

  “Hey, we’re gonna be up right now. Where are you going?” Derrik calls out, breaking his attention away from Zoey.

  “I’ll be back,” I call back without looking at him, walking through the door.

  Listening to the music floating through the air, I aimlessly wander backstage, trying to avoid everyone, when my cell phone rings. It’s Alicia.

  “Hey,” I answer.

  “EJ, I’m sorry I haven’t been in contact sooner. I got held up with my agent at a production meeting. But I made it, and I’m walking to the VIP suite right now.”