Domination (8 page)

If Josie thought New Orleans was hot and humid it had
nothing on Atlanta. At least the air-conditioning had been functional. The
grand old dame of a Georgia hotel in which Domination was booked, however, was
experiencing some technical difficulties.

Difficulties that turned the place into a furnace and had
Josie sweating through her T-shirt even outside, as if watching a black-haired
beauty sit in on a band interview wasn’t uncomfortable enough.

She was draped over a chaise longue in the hotel courtyard,
lean and curvaceous and almost as tall as Bram, dropping grapes in her ripe red
mouth one by one. The spectacle was so hypnotic some of the journalists couldn’t
tear their eyes away even when addressing questions to members of the band.

Bram didn’t seem interested, exactly, but he didn’t seem
uninterested either.

Josie took notes robotically, her stomach in knots. She
tried to ignore the curious glances cast her way but it was hard. The notorious
Rock Slut was in the house, pretending to be a normal human being. Once they
were finished asking the band the same dull press-junket questions they would
turn to her, teeth sharp and claws out.

But they didn’t. Bucky called time and they shuffled out,
packing away tape recorders and pushing their glasses up on their noses. Had it
been so long ago that she was part of that world? Was she still?

“Too bad about the new song,” said Bucky, perching on the
webbed chair next to hers as if afraid of getting commoners’ germs on his suit.

“Shame,” she muttered automatically. What song? She scanned
her notes.
Def not going to debut new song tonight says Bram smirk. Got some
old beauties to resurrect.
She didn’t remember him saying that but he must
have.

“I’ve called off the hounds, Miss Arrington, but be careful.
No more silliness. I can put the lid on one boiling pot but I have other duties
to attend to.”

“How did you do it? I thought they’d be all over me.” More
importantly, she wondered, what words did Bucky put in her mouth to quash the
scandal?
I’m sorry I’m a rock slut. Won’t happen again.

“All over me would be more accurate.”

“What?”

“I put out a press release claiming that as manager, I
orchestrated a false set of dispatches of a, erm, sexual nature.” He pronounced
it “seksual” and Josie almost laughed for the first time in what felt like
ages. “In order to promote Domination and raise Bram Hunter’s profile on this,
their tour of the Southern United States. It backfired upon a hardworking
journalist who had innocently joined us for this sojourn and for that I was
deeply sorry. Fair?”

“Jesus. More than fair. Should I keep sending the posts to
you?”

“The proper ones, yes. It seems the success of those reports
has not been compromised by my controlling the damage of the other. Your website’s
readership is as strong as ever. That’s to the good for you and for us.”

“I don’t know how to thank you.”

“By keeping it, as they say, in your trousers. No more
shenanigans and for heaven’s sake no more of this ‘blogging’.”

“There’s no danger of that,” she sighed. “Bram won’t speak
to me and
she’s
here.” There was no need to explain who “she” was.

“Trinity.” Bucky pursed his lips. “Very good for Bram’s
creativity but very poor for him in all other aspects.”

“You mean that’s the one—goddess of the nightworld?”

“For the purposes of the trochaic meter, yes.”

It was like meeting the devil after a lifetime of fearing
him. She’d made a mess of everything with Bram and driven him back into the
arms of the one woman she couldn’t possibly compete with.

Got some old beauties to resurrect. Jesus. “She’s the one
who broke his heart.”

He rose and flicked at his gleaming cuff. “And in so doing,
she gave us a number-one recording. Though I don’t recommend trying the
experiment twice.”

She had to get out. Screw the sound check, screw the tour
and screw Bram Hunter and his old girlfriend doubly and sideways. She slipped
on her flip-flops and grabbed her bag.

Of the hotels the band had been booked into, only the
Atlanta one was as big, ugly and charmless as any convention site. She took it
as a sign that it was the end of a glamorous road for her. If Bucky really had
pulled her career out of the furnace she could get another gig. Plenty of
sites—maybe even real magazines, if there were any left—would pay to have
successful blogger and notoriously acquitted Rock Slut on their payroll.

Out in the damp, still Southern air, downtown Atlanta was
fairly big, ugly and charmless as well. But she found a diner, grateful to be
alone and to center herself, free of all the emotional noise of being around
Bram.

She slid into a booth and ordered coffee. The waitress
reappeared with a steaming mug and a majestic slice of pie.

“I didn’t—”

“Hiya, kid.” Artie sat across from her, sweaty and sloppy
and as welcome a sight as she’d ever seen. “Peach is your favorite, right?”

“What are you doing here?”

He shrugged. “Where am I going to go? I still get royalties
from my books and no one’s going to hire this old dinosaur. Thought I’d check
in on my protégé.”

“You’re catching her at a low ebb.”

“I heard. We had a rule back in the seventies—don’t bang the
musicians. Of course, it was a different time so that was something that needed
to be said. I didn’t think I’d need to tell you, Josie. You were always so
sensible. But apparently I dropped the ball.”

She gave him a twisted smile. “Like you wouldn’t have jumped
at the chance if Debbie Harry invited you to her room.”

“That happened countless times!” He affected a look of
shocked innocence. “She pestered me day and night. Eventually, I had to change
my phone number.”

Josie picked at her pie. “I know it wasn’t very
professional, Artie. But it really wasn’t—what happened between me and Bram was
personal.”

“You’re in love with him?”

“Yes, but I was kidding myself.” She looked down at her
plate. “What do you know about Trinity?”

“That’s not her real name, for one thing.”

“Heh. Comes with the territory.”

“Look, kid, Trinity is a black widow. She’s like a planet
with a strong gravitational pull. Bram gets sucked into her orbit and all hell
breaks loose. You know that song—?”

“I know it. Well, she’s back.”

“Back where?”

“With Bram, I guess. Last I saw her she was sitting in on a
press conference collecting rock-critic drool in a trophy cup.”

“I see.” He sat back and looked at her, his eyes solemn. “I’m
not your editor anymore and I have no say, but if you ever respected me, listen
up. If you can’t finish out the tour in a purely dispassionate capacity
unclouded by personal feelings, jealousy, whatever, it’s best not to go on. But
you have to ask yourself whether you can get out of this spider web and soldier
on with a clear head. I think you can.”

“I’m trying. Jet told me it would be best if I left the
tour.”

“Jet? That evil little queen?”

“His intentions are good.” She toyed with her mug, turning
it by the handle. There were no answers in the brown depths of the cooling
coffee. “I was going to try. The…thing I wrote got out but I stayed and fought
for Bram. Then that
person
showed up, which means I’ve lost him. I have
nothing to fight for now.”

“You have your future. You’re ambitious and hardworking and
always kept your eye on the prize. Don’t lose focus now.” He stood and put a
meaty hand on her shoulder. “I’m going to visit the grave of Fiddlin’ John
Carson and hit the road to Memphis. It was good seeing you, kid. This is
everything you ever wanted.”

Was it? Josie felt hollow inside. Maybe she didn’t have a
choice. Artie had said something that applied to her as well. “I guess so. I
mean, where am I gonna go?”

Back to the job to suck it up and enjoy the shit show.

The technical difficulties had apparently spread to other
parts of the hotel. Maintenance insisted it would be a good hour before anyone
was available to fix the lock on her door.

She decided to wait at the bar, nursing a gin and tonic and
wondering whether she’d have to wear shorts and flip-flops to tonight’s party.
Apparently Domination’s label had signed a new artist and they were going to
announce this at a gala at the aquarium. Josie liked jellyfish a lot more than
she did wax figures but was dreading the ordeal anyway.

A presence loomed behind her and Josie spun around,
startled.

“Bram!” she blurted.

Josie was suddenly aware of her damp scalp, crummy vintage
band T-shirt and lack of makeup. Her glasses were slipping down her nose from
the heat and her face felt as shiny as a Christmas ornament.

Bram, on the other hand, looked perfect, absolutely
delectable in black jeans and studded boots. He didn’t move, just stood there,
head bent and glowering.

“I need to talk to you. Please let me explain. You owe me
that much.”

His dark head rose, blank rage in his beautiful, strange
blue eyes.

“I owe you. I
owe
you?”

She chewed her lip and glanced over her shoulder. The
sweltering lounge was empty.

“The other way around then. Look, you’re stuck here, at
least for a while, and I’m going to talk whether you listen or not. I believe
we’re worth saving or I wouldn’t have come back.”

The words came out in a rush without being considered or
rearranged. She had never spoken so thoughtlessly, or so honestly, in her life.

“I trusted you,” he said. His voice was colorless.

“I know, I know. And I let you down but I didn’t betray you.
It’s not in my nature. Who we are is like…okay, listen. There is a part of
myself I didn’t know was there until you brought out, agreed?” She waited in
silence. “All right, I’ll monologue. I didn’t question it. I did everything you
asked and would have done so much more. Partly because you opened my eyes to
who I am and what I really want. And partly because I liked you. Genuinely,
really truly as a person fucking
liked
you.”

He moved closer, reached behind the bar and poured himself a
shot. He wouldn’t sit down but he hadn’t run away either. Josie felt her mental
grip on the rope she was trying to tether to him tauten. She tugged.

“And I wanted to honor your nature, who you really are. Who
am I? Well, I’m a writer. I can’t just go through something as, as apocalyptic
as what you put me through and not process it in some way. I need to organize
my experiences, the way you need to control yours.

“I had to get it all down so I started writing about us. It
was just for me, I swear. You’ve seen everything, done everything, been everywhere.
This was so new to me and almost magical. I wanted to remember that magic.”

“Ambitious little slag,” he said, knocking back the whiskey.
“Funny how it magicked up your notoriety.”

Ouch. “You don’t have to believe me but it’s true—I had
nothing to gain by releasing it. I gave up on ambition, on getting ahead, on
all my old dreams thanks to you. I realized what’s important and it’s only you.
I was going to tell you when we were dancing together in that pirate place.”

He winced at that as if it were an ugly memory.

“But we got to talking and I thought there was plenty of
time. I had no idea the blog would get out.”

“How?”

“What?”

He looked up, hollow-eyed. “How did it get out, Josie?”

“I-I don’t know. Someone would have to have accessed my
computer, I guess.” But it had been locked in her room, hadn’t it?

He remained silent.

“Bram, I really did write all that.” The honesty spilled out
of her, thorny and spiked, raking pieces of her heart along the way. But she
had no choice. “Bucky’s not the Rock Slut.”

“Christ, I know that.”

“Sorry.”

“I have a hard time trusting people.”

“Especially women.”

“Especially anyone.”

“So why me?”

He looked into his empty glass as if it would give up the
answer.

I stayed. I did not give up on you, on us, because I’m in
love with you and your leather pants and your smoking body and the way you
taste and smell and touch me. I’m in love with your voice, your talent, your
drive. I want you, Bram Hunter, the man. Not the rock star. I’ll even put up
with the smoking if it means…

If it means you’ll love me back.

She wanted to say it but she couldn’t. It was too soon to
risk shattering the fragile thing she was trying to piece back together.

“I’m fighting to keep you, Bram.” She let that sink in. “I
thought you like it when I fight.”

His shoulders tensed. She had overstepped. Talking to him
when he was this angry was like navigating a minefield and suddenly she
realized she was not going to emerge without losing some limbs. All her smarts,
all her words—they couldn’t bring Bram back to her. And she had no other tools
in her kit.

She slid off the barstool. “Okay, you know what? This is my
last word on the subject. I don’t know what happened and at this point I don’t
really care. I had everything at stake in keeping that private and you had
nothing. Nothing! My life is ruined but you’ll go on as before as if you’d
never met me. So ride that high horse to the top of the charts, Bram. I’m done.”

“And yet here you are.”

She was breathing so hard her chest heaved. “Here I am.”

“I thought that was your last word.”

Something in her seemed to break. Josie gulped back a sob. “I’m
not her, Bram.”

“Who?” he asked acidly.

“The queen of the damned or whatever. I’m not the bitch who
broke your heart.” She turned on her heel and walked away. “I’m the fool who
broke my own.”

She strode away, her heart pounding. So Bram believed
her—was she supposed to thank him for it?
Thanks for not thinking I’m a
lying fame-whore. Thanks for seeing betrayal around every corner. Thanks for
shattering me into a million pieces. Maybe I’ll write a song about it and have
my own number-one hit.

Tears blurred her vision but she blinked them back. She
wouldn’t let him see her cry. Worse, she had lost track of the elevator bank.
This had to be the biggest hotel she had ever seen—it was like a city within a
city. She found two coffee stands and a gift shop before she caught sight of
the sign.
Eleganza
, it read.
Gala fashion for the American belle.

She
would be there tonight, no doubt—Trinity, the
fake-named black widow with her fangs in Bram Hunter. Perhaps it was time to
take advantage of Bucky’s offer that all of her needs would be taken care of
during the tour. Josie hadn’t so much as charged a meal to her room. Aside from
being put up in a series of fabulous accommodations, she hadn’t spent a dime of
the record label’s money.

A gown hung in the window, a simple sheath in a pinkish
beige tone only a few shades more intense than her skin. The color was
naughtily nude and sweetly innocent at the same time and its high bustline
would lengthen her legs.

She wondered how much a dress like that cost. There was
nothing close to gala wear in the damp mess of her duffel bag, just the black
cocktail dress from the night before, rumpled and dusty and stained with bad
memories.

A newborn could guess that Trinity would be wearing red or
black like the spider she was.

Josie girded herself and stepped through the doors.

* * * * *

“Dammit!” She pulled out the keycard and slid it in again,
hoping confident finesse would convince the thing to unlock. But the little
light blinked red. Her prize, the glorious nude gown, nestled in its garment
bag over one arm as she struggled.

“I see you didn’t follow Auntie Jet’s advice, ducky.” There
was a tsk in his voice, even a little anger.

“I’m chinning up, soldiering on, et cetera. Now if I could
only get this damn door open.”

Jet tried the handle. “Stand back and watch a master at
work.”

“Thanks. So I guess you heard Bucky saved my ass.”

“Yeah. Wish I’d thought of that. He’s a clever boots, he is.
The best part is imagining him as Buckingham Croft, Rock Slut.” He peered into
the slot then produced a slender metal nail file from his pocket.

“Don’t even say that.”

“So you’re staying on?”

“Looks like it.”

“Wicked.” He grunted and the door flew open.

“You’re a magician!”

“Just an ’umble bassist, miss.” Jet tipped an imaginary cap.
“No trouble at all.”

“Jet, wait.” He turned to her inquiringly. “I wanted to ask
you something.”

“Fire away,” he answered warily.

“I promise not to publish your answer but I was curious.
What’s it like, being in this group and being gay? You’re not closeted, which
is great, but how do the fans react? Heavy metal isn’t the most tolerant genre.”

“No, it’s not. It’s hard to explain. Everyone knows but
doesn’t know, you know? I don’t hide anything but it’s not said aloud. If I
hook up with a bloke in a pub on Bourbon Street,” he grinned like a schoolboy, “somehow
no one calls the presses the next morning.”

“You’ve been lucky.”

“So far. Angelic good looks can take you a long way in this
life. Meantime, you count on the givens.”

“Like?”

“Like heavy metal isn’t the most observant genre.” He
shrugged. “People see what they want to see. As long as I look out for number
one, I’ll be all right.”

He shot her a wink and walked away.

This hotel room was as ugly and anonymous as ever. At least
the air-conditioning had come back, although in a weak and bleating state. She
bent her head over the vent, trying to soak up as much cool air as possible
before organizing her notes and handing them to Bucky. He insisted on keeping
her electronics.
All men who don’t trust me, get in line,
she thought.