Know Me (Truthful Lies Trilogy - Book One) (21 page)

“
Every one of them.”

He raises his
precisely plucked golden eyebrows like I’m
bullshitting.

“
It’s my job to know music. Do you want me
to sing them for you?” I’m feeling cockier now.

He almost grins, waves
his hand lightly over his face like
there’s a fly there. “That won’t be necessary. Those tracks have
that rolling electric bass. And that gut-ripping sound that makes
you
know
you’re in a
club, baby. It’s very...” Again, he waves the hand. “What is that
word, damnit?” He fixes a hard look on me, and his joviality is
replaced by straight business: “
Carnal
. Your mixes have some of it. Not enough, but they do have
it. It’s not your focus. Your focus is a little darker, perhaps
even a little Goth—not in sound, but in feeling. That’s all good,
but my crowd likes
carnality
in
their sound more than moroseness. Did you know your mixes
are
carnal
,
Blaze?”

It’s as if Randy and Xavier disappear from
either side of me, and this man
—who I still can’t figure out if I can trust or not—is
talking straight to me. Talking the straight dope.
Talking music like
he knows it.
“No, uhm,
sir, I didn’t know that.” I take a small sip of the bubbly to wet
my lips.

“
Sir?” He chortles loudly. Then, gone as
fast as it appeared, he’s serious again. “Yes, your music has that.
And more. But don’t let it get to your head. And, for my people,
you need to cool off on the dark, and bring in a bit more of the
sensuality into the mixes. The
carnality.
”

“I can do that.”

“
I’m sure you can. Otherwise Randy here
would not have suggested you to me. So, Blaze, one gig. My guests
will then let me know if they like you. If yes, we’ll give you a
few more sets here. Not necessarily every week. Pay...well...we can
discuss that. You’re no top DJ, so...”

I love it
when people tell me I’m “no top DJ,” like they’re
trying to convince me of it.

“
...say, eight hundred for the first gig.
That’s way more than many resident DJs make.”

It really isn’t bad. Not great for what I
heard guys make here, but it’s not bad. And add it to Randy’s
extremely generous two Gs, and my January is looking pretty
good.

“
What’s in it for you guys?” I look at
Randy and Xavier, not expecting any particular one to answer
first.

Randy looks at Xavier in his gangsta suit.
Xavier doesn’t budge or move, not even his facial expression
changes.

Randy coughs, shifts in his seat. “Blaze,
as Gavin here pointed out: You need friends in this business. At
the moment, I’m making nothing off of this. But I’d like to sign
you for a record deal in a few months. Provided people stay
interested in you. I don’t want to commit to anything yet. But I
hope that, when your name does start getting bigger, that you will
give me top dibs before anyone else, no matter how delicious their
offers might be.”

Randy’s
chestnut eyes are warm and sincere. More sincere
than any of the others in here. It feels like sitting with a pack
of wild wolves when I look at the other two. “I give you my word on
that, Mr. Randy.”

“
Just Randy, Blaze. Just Randy.”

Gavin
throws in his last two cents: “The same friends that take
you up, are the friends who can bring you down.”

He says nothing else.

Neither do I.

The silence is cut by a dude appearing
from a curtain in the back.
(Another thing clubs are in the day, is quiet.) The dude’s
footsteps are like a bass drum. He’s got a buzz cut, and is pretty
trim, but sinewy—low body-fat. He’s holding a folded laptop under
his arm. He walks up to the table and, from the look on his face,
it looks like someone just spat on his mother. He comes over to
Gavin, stands next to him. Gavin doesn’t even spare him a glance.
“Yes?”

“
I’m done.”

Blasé, Gavin says, “Brenda will wire you
the remaining funds, minus three hundred for the damages. We warned
you, Mad-Ass.”

“
Yeah, whatever.” This so-called “Mad-Ass”
(who does look pretty mad) glares at me and says, “You the new one?
This ‘Heaven’ babe everyone’s talking about?”

My skin goes cold.

“
Go ahead, Blaze,” says Gavin. “Mad-Ass
here won’t bite. He’s all talk.”

Mad-Ass clenches his teeth. “He given you
the ‘friends’ speech yet?”

I look at Gavin. His face evinces nothing.
Cold. All business. I nod at Mad-Ass.

“
Yeah, well, don’t forget that the guys at
the top are not the only friends you need. Actually, they’re not
friends at all.” The man’s voice is a deadly growl. “Randy,” he
says. “Xavier.” Then, back at me, “Watch yourself. One day there’ll
be another Heaven-Leigh, just like you, and you’ll be out on your
ass. Just like you’re putting me out on my ass!” He points at me,
almost leaning over the table.

I swallow, wanting to plead innocence.
Because, really,
what the fuck did I actually do
?

Almost too bored to move,
Gavin the Golden Haired flops a
tired hand at Mad-Ass. “Oh, Mad-Ass. Whatever. Blaze here is just
filling a gap. You were out a long time ago. Now, get out of here
before I have security escort you out.”

Mad-Ass looks at me with a
stare that probably kills
rabbits when it’s not aimed at young women. “
Watch
yourself!”

He stomps out, and the
door clangs shut. I actually jump off my
seat a bit.

“
DJ Mad-Ass Hat.” Gavin sighs, folds his
arms. “Lives up to his name. A has-been. Never played with enough
heart. Besides, he got in too deep with Helen.”

Gavin notices my confusion.

“
Big H? Smack?”
Ahhh. Auntie Hazel.
“That shit doesn’t mix well
with DJs. I hope you’re not into that stuff.”

I look over at a fidgety Xavier.
You
fucking
asshole
! I think.

“
Uh, no, I don’t do...H.” I almost
said
drugs
, but I
decide not to go there right now with the current crowd—dealer on
my left; definite user, Randy, on my right, even if only
casually.

The meeting ends and Gavin stands
up
tall, bares his chest
out, takes in a big breath. “OK, Blaze. Two weeks from now,
Saturday.” He shakes my hand.
It’s not cold like I expected, but his eyes are
cold.

Gavin stays behind, the rest of us walk
out
.

I half expect Mad-Ass to be waiting for me
in the main dance-floor section—the “non-underground” section next
door—but he’s not.

Outside, Randy looks down at me with his
pudgy
and friendly face.
His ponytail flicks wildly in the wind. My own hair does the same.
“Did you and Declan talk at all on Saturday?”

I’m stunned for a second, until I recall
Deck mentioning that he and Randy know each other. That they were a
“mutual ear” for each other.

“
Uhm, yeah”
—I cough—“we went to
Tom’s
for a bit, and I hung out with some of his
friends.”

“
Trev and Skate?” Randy’s face lightens.
Color actually returns to his caramel skin.

“Yeah.”

“
Oh.” He smiles a little, and it’s so
genuine that I start to feel a little embarrassed. I look down at
my Skechers. “Well, no point in me hanging around. Good work,
Blaze.” He shakes my hand. Then Xavier’s. “Xavier.
Later.”

After Randy’s gone,
Xavier lights up a smoke. And I decide
enough is enough: “So, what’s in it for you, Xavier?”

“
At the moment, nothing. But, you know,
maybe later...”

It seems everyone wants a piece
of me
“later.”

“
Client of yours? This Mad-Ass?”

He looks away. “What’s it to
you?”

I clench my teeth.
“You know, Xavier, if I hadn’t known you
all my life I’d have turned you—” I stop, not wanting to go
there.

“
What, turned me
in
? Is that what you were gonna say?”

Take a breath,
Blaze
. Take a
damn breath.

“
Whatever, X. Just...damn it...I wish you’d
fucking
—
Urgh, just
forget it.”

He turns on me, puts a finger between my
eyes.
“Look here, Blaze.
She did dat shit because
you
did
it! I just became a means once she was already in it, comprende? So
don’t fuckin come to me and tell me
I’m
da one who killed my baby sister!”

You gave her the H, you
fuckturd. That was all
you.
I never touched that shit!

Hot magma
courses through my veins. I wanna kill him now. I
wanna take my hands and wrap them around his neck and just,
fucking,
squeeze
!

I breathe deeply, get myself under
control.

Because who’s fault was it really, at the
end of the day?

Xavier backs off a little. His eyes start
quivering.

“
L—look, Xavier. Just...” I exhale.
“Forgetting the past, living only ‘in the now,’ I appreciate it,
OK? The gig, the opportunity, I appreciate it. And if you get some
dough out of it higher up the line, whatever. I guess it’s the
business.”

The rage in his eyes chills. But he doesn’t
apologize.

He flicks his smoke across the street
where it lands underneath a poster (“OCCUPY WALL STREET! JAN 27! WE
ARE THE 99 PERCENT!”)

Coolly, with swagger, he
stalks off in his fancy
loafers.

Standing there, wind chilling my
cheeks,
I can’t help get
the distinct feeling that I’ve just been gangbanged by two of the
three guys I just met with.

Oh, wait, there was also DJ Mad-Ass—so,
gangbanged
and
shot.

At home, I call
Mamah.

“
Błażej! Everything OK? Why you call now—on
Monday?”

The only two words I know in Polish
are
dziadzia
(grandpa) and
kochanie,
which is what Mamah always calls me. So we always speak in
English. “No, uhm, Mamah, I just wanted to let you know that I’m
doing really well. Uhm, I made a lot of extra money this
month.”

“
Oh, Błażej, that is good. I am so proud of
you!”

“
Yeah, so I’ll be sending a little extra
over for you—”

“
No! Błażej. That money is yours. We are
fine here.”

“
Mamah, as I said, I made quite a bit
extra—”

“
Błażej, you are not doing illegal work,
are you?”

“
No, no. I DJed at a big party on the
weekend. Made two thousand dollars.”

“
TWO THOUSAND DOLLARS! My god, Błażej!” She
hollers over in Polish to my gramps. I think I hear coughing. He
says something. Then, some more hollering. “
Dziadzia
says he always knew you could do it! Wow!
So, you make this every month now?”

“
Uhm, no. I mean, maybe. I have another gig
set up for next Saturday. I’ll make eight hundred from that one. In
addition to my usual gigs.”

M
y usual gigs don’t pay me shit, but she doesn’t need to
know that.

“
WOW!” She really extends the word. Her
praise makes me feel better. I think that’s what moms are really
for: To help you forget about the
Skitz-Os
and
Mad-Ass-Hats
of the world.

“
So, uhm, it’s no problem at all to send
five hundred through this month.”

“
Oh, Błażej. No, we cannot—”

“
Mamah! Please. I don’t need it!”
A small lie, no
harm. And there is
some
truth in it.

She’s silent. Then,
“We will pay you back, Błażej. I
promise—”

“
Mamah, why must we go over this every
time? It’s no biggie for me. I’m doing well here.” I try my best to
sound convincing. “Who knows, maybe one day you guys can even move
back here?”

Silence again, deafening this time, as it
waits to be filled with an answer I know isn’t coming—an answer
which never comes.

Mamah
’s voice is sad when she speaks again. The kind of sadness
a parent must feel when unable to give her child what she wants.
“Błażej, you know we cannot come back to America. We struggled too
many years. Poland is different now,
kochanie
. Now that it is in EU, there is businesses
opening, people are getting work.”