A Lush Rhapsody: A Rhapsody Novel (25 page)

I
t’s
four sixteen p.m. the day of our concert in Portland when the call comes. I see the number on the caller ID and my mind automatically registers the time as if I know it’s the exact minute when everything in my life will change forever.

“Yeah,” I answer as I walk through the hallway of the hotel on my way to my room. I’ve been at promo events all day and I’ve got two hours to grab some dinner and change before I have to be at the amphitheater for the performance.

“I’ve got them,” the voice on the other end tells me. Something inside of me knots up and I’m not sure it’ll ever loosen again. My heart races as I tell him to continue.

“There are staff at a hospital in California who were there when Walsh Clark’s wife was brought in for a nervous breakdown three years ago. One of them recorded part of a conversation she had with her sister about sleeping with Joss Jamison.”

“Wait—” I swallow the nausea that’s working its way up my throat. “Tammy slept with Joss? And then told Mel about it?”

“Sure did. Apparently the whole band found out when Tammy had that hospital stay. Clark went off the rails and hightailed it to Texas, Mike Owens disappeared for several weeks until he showed up in Texas too. The bass player went to Hawaii, and Jamison landed in Denver with his old man.”

“Wait, three years ago?”

“Yeah. August.”

Shit. When the band broke up. I remember it. No one could ever figure out what had happened and when they all got back together everyone forgot that they’d ever been apart during that year.

“The band broke up,” I say as much to myself as to the P.I. on the other end of the call.

“Yes,” he confirms. “And I’ve got a video of the press conference Jamison called to announce it. He said at the time the whole thing was his fault. That, coupled with the recording of the sisters talking about what happened, and the reports from the people in that town in Texas about Clark falling off the wagon when he and his wife were estranged—it’s plenty to do the damage you’ve asked for.”

Fuck. Fucking fucking fuck. I scrub my jaw, feeling hot, then cold in rapid succession. This is what I wanted. This is my ace in the hole. The ticket to discrediting Lush with the Super Bowl committee. It’s almost incestuous—Joss sleeping with two sisters, screwing his best friend’s lifelong sweetheart. Not the stuff family-friendly bands are made of. This changes the playing field. Lush’s dirty laundry gives us the advantage.

I hold very still for a moment, listening to the thumping rhythm of my heart. It’s like a clock ticking down the seconds until a bomb explodes. Because that’s what this will be—a bomb in the middle of our two bands. An explosion of epic proportions. And I won’t fool myself into believing it won’t be destructive.

But does it have to destroy what I have with Tully? No. She trusts me, I’ve proven how committed I am to her. She’d never guess that I had anything to do with this. That’s the key. As long as I’m not tied to it I can get away with it. I’ll be sympathetic, which won’t be that hard, because I’ve discovered they’re not really bad guys. I’ll support her through it, I’ll give her everything and anything she needs. And Lush will bounce back. They always do. She’ll be so busy with new albums and tours the Super Bowl will become a distant memory within weeks. If I keep my focus, I can make it through this and win it all—the Super Bowl, the girl, all of it.

“Okay,” I tell the P.I. “Tip off the media, but make damn sure there’s nothing that can connect me or Rhapsody to any of this. I’ve paid you a fucking fortune, I expect you to protect me no matter what, and if any of it leads back to you, you take the fall. Are we clear?”

“Crystal,” he answers. “That’s what I do, it’s why you pay me, and it’s why you’ve got that attorney on retainer for me as well. If I need any advice on the best way to handle something I’ll be sure to call them—on your dime.”

His willingness to do such dirty work makes my skin crawl. I’m doing this for the future of my band, but he does it for cash, plain and simple. I try to tell myself that’s the difference and that I’m not like him. I’m not entirely convinced.

“Fine.” I walk to the window of my suite and look out at Portland in the fading light. Such a beautiful city. Like the girl who lives here. The girl who’s stolen a sizeable piece of my heart. The girl who cannot ever find out about this. Cannot ever find out what I’ve done to her new family.

“All I care about is that I’m not tied to any of it—ever. I’ll pay for whatever you need.”

We finish the conversation and I sit in the living room, watching downtown Portland come alive for the night. The lights sparkle like tiny jewels. They remind me of the way Tully’s eyes sparkle when she smiles—at me, or her sister, or someone else she cares about. I swallow down the bile that surges up my throat. Tully’s one of the best things that’s ever happened to me. I know that. But I also know that she could disappear at any moment. The only way to keep her with me is to prove that I’m worth her time. Someone like Tully’s not going to be interested in a guy who can’t match her in every way. In order to do that I have to prove that Rhapsody is a winner. That I. Am. A. Winner. And the only way to do that is to destroy Lush.

So really, I stand a chance at losing Tully either way. And that’s the fucking worst thing I’ve realized all damn day.

* * *

T
he show goes
off without a hitch, Tully’s parents and grandmother come backstage afterwards and I get introduced. Her mother’s naturally interested in talking to me, her old man is nothing but suspicious. After he gives me the once over he grunts at all of us and takes a seat on the sofa in the green room. I can see where her brothers get the idea that they can dismiss Tully the way they do.

“So you were raised in Philadelphia?” Tully’s mom asks as I hand her a glass of wine. She’s a tiny woman like Tully, with the same dark curly hair, although hers is sprinkled with silver. But Tully’s blue eyes come from her father who’s a big guy, ruddy, and rugged looking in his plaid shirt and Carhartt work pants.

Since we’re in Portland, Lush’s hometown, the band set up a separate reception room for their families so that the wives, kids, and parents aren’t confronted with the normal post-performance shenanigans of the rest of the bands. The afterparties on the tour definitely aren’t family-friendly.

“Yes. Born and bred. I moved to Los Angeles when I got out of high school and I met up with my bandmates there.”

She takes a sip of the wine. “And your family? What do they do there?”

I try not to smile. I’ve met one or two parents of girls I was involved with over the years, but I’ve definitely never had one give me the inquisition like this.

“My father is a business executive and my mother stayed home and did volunteer work.”

“Oh, a businessman. My husband is a contractor. I’ve been running the office since we started the business thirty years ago.”

Tully finally comes back from helping her grandmother find a bathroom. Savvy and Kevin are in the corner chatting with Dez, and her father is watching a football game on his cell phone, glass of scotch in the other hand.

“Mom!” she cries out as she approaches us. “Don’t bore Blaze with stories about the business. He doesn’t want to hear all of that.”

“Tallulah, just because you have no interest in regular jobs doesn’t mean that your friend doesn’t.”

I feel Tully stiffen next to me and I know that this is a chance for me to smooth things over for her.

“Actually, Mrs. O’Roark, my band and Lush are huge businesses. Some bands let their managers and lawyers handle all the business details but in both Rhapsody and Lush we’re very hands on.”

“Really?” she asks, seeming intrigued by this.

I feel Tully’s fingers curl around mine where my hand hangs by my side. I give hers a gentle squeeze as I continue. “Definitely. My bandmates and I help negotiate every endorsement deal and contract we sign, we plan the details of all of our tours, including sponsorships, marketing, publicity, and the employment terms for the crews. Lush even runs a production company, a foundation, and their own songwriting licensing operation.”

“Oh! My. I had no idea.”

Yeah
, I think. You damn well bet you didn’t. Just like my old man has no idea. Well, I’m here to show you and him and the rest of the world the truth.

“Did you know about all of this, Tully?” she asks her daughter.

I see Tully resist the urge to roll her eyes. “Yes, Mom, I did. When I joined Lush I had a three-day long orientation about all of the subsidiary businesses the band runs, and I was given the option to participate in one or more of them.”

Her mother’s eyes grow wider. “You were…and did you choose something?”

Tully looks uncomfortable now, and I’m fascinated to hear her response, because I haven’t heard about this myself. She swallows once.

“Yes. I’m going to be funding a grant to the Portland School System for private music lessons. One student in each elementary school in the district will receive private music lessons on the instrument of their choice for an entire school year.”

Mrs. O’Roark’s mouth rounds into an O of shock.

“Tallulah. I had no idea.” Her voice is soft and full of what can only be described as awe.

Tully blushes, and I give her hand another squeeze for support.

“I, um, always really loved my piano lessons, you know that, and I thought it might be nice for other kids to get to have that experience. The good thing is that Colin’s foundation has a lot of experience with how to manage projects like that, so they’re helping me get it all set up.”

Now it’s her mother who is embarrassed. I see her eyes dart to her husband on the sofa. “Well. I’m very impressed. I guess I didn’t really understand what being in such a big band entailed.”

Tully nods, and I give Mrs. O’Roark my most charming smile. “Can I get you anything else to eat or drink?”

She looks at me as if I’ve unlocked a lifelong mystery for her—her own daughter. “No,” she replies, placing a hand on Tully’s cheek. “I think I should check on my husband.” Then she pauses. “I don’t think I say it enough, but I’m very proud of you, Tully.”

Tully’s eyes blink slowly, and her face softens in a way it rarely does except when she’s with Savvy. “Thank you.”

As Mrs. O’Roark walks away Tully puts her arms around my waist and leans her head on my chest. Even though I can’t see her eyes, her voice is clear when she speaks. “You’re kind of amazing Peterson Davis.”

“Only when I’m with you, short stack.”

That night in my hotel room I hold Tully in my arms after she’s fallen asleep and I pray to anyone who might be listening that she doesn’t find out what I’ve set in motion. I want to be everything for her. I want to be the success she deserves, the home she’s earned, the love she craves. Every day, every decision, every deal. Since I met her they’ve all been for her. That’s what I tell myself as I watch the gray dawn melt into the first light of day and hope like hell that she’s still here in my arms tomorrow and the next day and the next.

S
ometimes I think
my life has been one long series of individual moments strung together by some sort of temporal filament. The inbetween stuff I have no memory of. The beads on the necklace—the moments of significance, the times when words and events and experiences stick with me are crystal clear—those stay with me in vivid detail. I can revisit any of those moments in my mind as if I’m right back there again. I can taste the flavors, smell the scents, touch the people and things that were there with me in those moments. It’s a blessing and a curse, enabling me to relive all the important moments of my life. And some of those moments I’d give anything to forget, but for whatever reason I don’t get to choose.

We’ve been given the day off after the Portland show. I want to show Blaze some of my favorite things in town, so we get up at eight and order room service to get a good start on the day.

“Babe,” he calls from the bedroom as I let the room service waiter in with our cart.

“Yeah?” I smile at the waiter and sign the charge slip. He looks at me with a funny expression and nods curtly before turning and walking out. Huh. Maybe he hates our music or something. The wait staff at these places are usually excited to meet us.

“Do I need a jacket for this field trip you’re taking me on?” Blaze asks.

I pick up the newspaper off the cart where it was laying on top of the dish covers. “Um, no, it’s supposed to be warm today,” I reply absently as I look at the headline, trying to wrap my mind around what I’m seeing.

The front page has a huge picture of Joss, Mike, Colin and Walsh from their very first album cover. They’re all standing in the famous Keller Park fountain downtown. It has a series of stairs that climb as water runs down them. The guys each stand on a different step, Joss at the top, Mike at the bottom, Walsh and Colin in between. Joss has his boots on even in the water, Colin is barefoot with his jeans rolled up over his ankles. Walsh is wearing a fedora, leaning back against the adjacent wall, ignoring the fact that water is pouring down his back. Mike has his shirt unbuttoned, ripped bare chest on display, and his guitar in his hand as he looks at the camera over his sunglasses. It was a famous album cover and may in fact have once hung on the wall of my teenage bedroom although I would never admit that to any of the guys.

But it’s the words below the familiar photo that cause my heart to stop beating for a moment, sending nausea through my entire body as I struggle to process the meaning behind these bits of disease that bleed over my morning—poison running across a pristine piece of white paper.

The Truth Behind Portland’s Favorite Sons.

I look below and see things like “Jamison’s affair with Clark’s wife” and “Clark’s ongoing binge drinking.” Words pop out like, “Questions…paternity…two-year-old Pax Clark,” and “DiLorenzo sisters…sharing everything.”

Then I see my name, and the edges of my vision darken, my breath coming in short, sharp puffs.

Tully O’Roark...Tully O’Roark…Tully O’Roark. Is she sleeping with them? What do they pay her for? Super groupie.

“Hey, are you going to eat?” Blaze’s voice breaks through my panic as he walks into the room.

I look up at him, the paper in my hand. I’m shaking so hard it’s rattling the pages.

“Jesus, baby, what’s wrong?” he asks as he quickly strides to my side. I hold out the paper and he takes it from my hand, eyes quickly scanning the front page.

“Oh fuck,” he breathes out. “What the hell is this?”

I’m trembling, my voice scratchy. “I don’t know. I swear, I don’t know.”

He tosses the paper on the cart and puts an arm around me as he leads me to the sofa. After we sit, he holds me as he pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Don’t panic. You know that half the crap the papers print is bullshit. You guys have the best P.R. team in the business. They’ll get this controlled.”

He presses the phone screen a few times and puts it to his ear. “Yeah, it’s Blaze…yeah she just saw it. She’s here in my room with me. Okay, I’ll send her up….Got it…and hey—if I can do anything to help out just let me know.”

He ends the call and turns to kiss me on the temple. I’ve stopped shaking, but I can’t swallow, I can hardly breathe, and my heart hurts it’s beating so hard.

“The guys are meeting up in Joss’s suite. They need you up there right away too,” he tells me. “They’re going to get this under control, baby. Don’t worry.”

I’m finally able to scrape out a few words, and the first thing that comes out of my mouth is, “She was proud of me. Last night my mom was finally proud of me.”

Blaze pulls me closer, and the pain in his voice is so deep it’s as if this is all happening to him instead of me. “I know, short stack. And I’m so sorry. So, so sorry.”

* * *

I
t’s
ten o’clock that night before I stumble back into Blaze’s hotel suite. I couldn’t face going back to my apartment at the bar. I couldn’t face seeing Savvy and Kevin, their faces dripping sympathy. The questions that they wouldn’t ask but I could tell they’d want to. And the phone calls, the texts, the messages. The whole band’s been on radio silence all day except for our publicists and lawyers, so I have no idea if my mother’s tried to call.

I reached out to Savvy early in the day to tell her I was okay, and I’d be in touch later. Beyond that I haven’t spoken with anyone and I have no desire to now. I can’t bear to hear the disapproval in their voices. The accusations that I’m somehow the band’s new piece of ass, or that the only reason I was even asked to join them is because I was the only one naïve enough to do it.

Blaze opens the door and pulls me into his arms, shutting the world out when he locks the door behind me.

“How are you?” he asks.

I shake my head against his chest. “I don’t know. It’s like a nightmare. All I thought about—all I
could
think about at first—was what this meant for me, for my career. But then, God, Blaze, I saw the guys and Tammy and Mel. It was horrible.”

He stiffens, but keeps his arms around me and when I try to lift my head to look at him he holds me still, his hand on the back of my head, caging me against his chest.

“It’s true,” I say. “But it’s nothing like what the papers described. It was just so…sad. Joss and Walsh and Tammy grew up together, they were best friends, and when Walsh got really sick and had to go to rehab, Joss and Tammy made this mistake. It was one night, but it ruined all their lives for a while. They’ve worked so hard to get back to being best friends and then this happens. And Mel is pregnant, and now she has to have the whole world hear that her husband slept with her sister. It happened before she started dating Joss, but still, it’s humiliating. She doesn’t deserve it, none of them do.”

“Christ,” he says, his voice filled with anguish. “Walsh was in rehab when all of this happened?”

“Yeah. Everyone was so worried about him today. By the time I got there all the liquor in the suite had been cleaned out and he left twice to go meet with his sponsor in another room.”

“I’m sorry he had to go through that.”

I believe him. He sounds sickened by all of it. I guess if anyone can understand what it’s like to be an addict under that kind of stress and scrutiny it’s Blaze.

“But, honestly, the absolute worst part of the whole thing is that the stories suggested there’s a question about Pax’s paternity. You should have seen Tammy. I’m not sure she’s going to come out of this in one piece. The thing with her and Joss happened a couple of years before Pax was born. Before she and Walsh were married too. This bullshit though, it’ll haunt them forever. Have you seen all the rumors about who Prince Harry’s father is? Every five years or so it resurfaces—the photos of the guy his mom supposedly had an affair with, the comparisons of his facial features to Prince Charles’s. It’s disgusting and that’s what they’re going to have to deal with forever.”

Blaze’s hand keeps clenching on my back, almost as if it’s an involuntary reaction that he can’t control.

“Short stack—” His voice is raspy and rushed. “I’m sorry, but I have to go…sign a couple of papers in Dez’s room. I’ll be back in a few minutes. Can you just relax, maybe try to close your eyes and I’ll be back before you know it?”

I pull back and look at him, but the lighting in the room is dim and I can’t see his eyes clearly. He sounds
wrong
somehow, but I guess it’s to be expected. He’s actually gotten to be,
friends
I guess you could say, with my band on this tour, and it’s probably upsetting for him to hear that they’re going through this.

“Of course,” I tell him, laying a hand on his cheek. “Go ahead. I could use a few minutes alone. I think I’ll run a hot bath and soak for a bit.”

He kisses me on the cheek and moves to the door. “Okay. I’ll see you in awhile.”