Never Say Never (2 page)

            “And
I can't remember the days before you pumped all those steroids and developed
those biceps,” I replied sweetly. We laughed and hugged, and I grabbed Luc and
pulled him into our group embrace. “Come on, guys, I heard they did a spread
for us backstage. I don't know about you, but I'm starving.” I was always
starving after a shot – the expenditure of energy worked up a pretty intense
appetite.

            “Let's
clean up later,” Geoff assented. “Come on, I'm hungry too. And thirsty. Let's
seize the moment.”

            We
followed one of the staff workers into the back room, where we gasped at what
we saw. There in front of us was an enormous table covered in black velvet
cloth, piled high with buckets filled with ice – champagne and vodka bottles
floating in them – and a mouth-watering spread of food: olives, pates, oysters,
and several tiers' worth of delicious-looking chocolates. Everything was as
elegant as I'd have expected it to be. Then again, Veridium was the kind of
club that made its name on being elegant.

            “Courtesy
of Mr. Maxwell Simmons,” the club manager said, smiling broadly. “He wants you
to have the best amenities while you're here – as a thank you for such a good
show. And he hopes you'll make a habit of coming back here.”

            “Tell
him thank you for us,” I smiled widely. “We really appreciate it – me and the
guys. We all do.”

            “I'll
let him know,” the manager vanished through a mahogany door. For a moment as I
looked at the food, I felt almost guilty. I'd been used to the royal treatment
my whole life. I'd never been carded at a single club, no matter how exclusive
or expensive – certainly, nobody here cared that any of us was under twenty-one.
I'd been offered freebies like this my whole life – it was one of the perks of
being Keith Knight's daughter. Everyone wanted my picture taken in one of their
clubs, next to one of their friends. But as I looked over at the others, I felt
embarrassed, turning pink. While Steve's family was relatively wealthy, neither
Luc – whose dad was a police officer and whose mother was a teacher – nor Kyle,
who'd been raised by his aunt, my dad's housekeeper, after his dad got sent to
jail, had anything like the upbringing I'd had. It was one of those things I
tried to forget about – one of the few things that separated us. But when we
got treatment like this...

            “How
did you score this one?” Geoff looked at me, grinning widely. I couldn't help
but feel annoyed – he'd found my insecurity and picked up on it.

            “Actually,”
Luc broke in. “It was me this time.”

            I
turned to Luc in surprise. “Oh?” I felt relieved.

            “Max
Simmons' daughter Cinna really likes our music. She's a big big fan – if you
know what I mean.”

            “She's
a big big fan of
yours,
you mean?”

            Luc
blushed. “That's exactly what I mean.” He looked through the door and pointed
her out, but he didn't need to. Six foot two and wearing designer minis that
cost more than several bottles of the finest champagne, Cinna Simmons was every
inch the stereotype of the LA socialite. She wasn't just beautiful – she was
expensive
– every part of her molded into perfection by the best tailors and surgeons
money could buy. She caught sight of Luc through the door and waved, her
perfectly-aligned cheekbones turning pink with pleasure. Steve had already
wandered off, and had his arms around the two blondes. Luc went over to Cinna,
who embraced him with more-than-platonic intensity, and I watched as Kyle
quickly became submerged in another crowd of female fans.

            “Looks
like everyone's partnering up,” I said to Geoff as Kyle vanished.

            “Yeah,
guess so.” Geoff took a step closer to me. “Which incidentally leaves us just
where I want us to be, alone.”

            He
lightly placed his fingers on my arm, moving them up to my shoulders.

            Annoyance
coursed through me. If there had ever been anything romantic between me and any
of the band mates, it had long been repressed on all our sides out of the
interest of our continuing friendship. We knew exactly how many bands had
broken up because of personal infighting – and we didn't want that to be us.
Only Geoff didn't listen. In the past few years, it seemed, he’d gotten it into
his head that he was irresistible – that no woman could ever refuse him. And
somehow this made me the ultimate prize. I was off-limits.

            I
gently removed his fingers and stepped back, making my stance clear. “Geoff, I
don't want to have to tell you again. I'm not into that and you know it. I
can't date you, Geoff. I can't date
anyone
from the band.”

            “Guess
I just have to quit, then...” Geoff sighed heavily. “Then would you break your
rule?”

            “I
remember when the band was your life,” I couldn't help snapping. “You wouldn't
even have thought about quitting then.”

            “I
guess you're just special then, Neve.”

            To
my immense relief, Kyle reappeared with a chilled bottled soda for me. “Trying
it on again, are we, Geoffrey? I'm warning you, Geoff – charm doesn't get far
with Neve.” He handed me the bottle and we clinked bottles. “Isn't that right
Neve?”

            “Absolutely,”
I said. “Like he said, Geoff. Charm won't get you an inch.”

            “Miss
Knight?” A male voice interrupted our conversation.

            I
turned around and my mouth dropped open. Before me stood Dick Slayton – the
most powerful producer in the record industry. And he had just addressed me by
name.

            We
all fell silent, an expectant pause washing over us.

            “Yes?”

            “I
enjoyed watching you perform tonight,” he said and my stomach began to tense up
with terror. “Your band has a lot of promise.”

            He
motioned for me to follow him, and we went over to a private corner of the
room. “I'm glad you think so...” I started. “How
much
promise, exactly?”

            “Miss
Knight, I'll be truthful here. You’ve got talent – raw, primal, animal talent.
But what you need to work on is technique. That energy you had tonight – it's
great. But you can never guarantee a thing like that. When a room works – it's
magic. But when it doesn't – you need to make sure you have solid technique,
solid practice under your belt to keep things going. Before RRR can consider
you, we'd like to see a few more performances under your belt, a bit more
polish in your sound.”

            “Oh...”
My face fell and my stomach dropped.

            “But
in a few months' time, Miss Knight, I think you should drop us another
invitation. I'd be most interested in seeing where you go from here, and I get
the feeling that if you improve as much in the next few months as you've done
in the last few, we might have room for you at our label.”

            “So
this isn't a yes or a no?”

            “There
are no guarantees in life, Miss Knight. If you want an answer, we'll need to
see more. I certainly look forward to seeing where and how you develop a few
months down the line.”

            I
wasn't sure whether to feel ecstatic or crushed. On the one hand – this wasn't
a firm “yes,” far from it. Mr. Slayton didn't think we had what it took just
yet.

            On
the other hand, “in just a few months...” My heart began to beat faster and
faster. Could we really have the potential to make it big?

            “We'll
definitely get a few more performances in, sir,” I said, nervously shaking Mr.
Slayton's hand.

            “Glad
to hear it, Miss Knight,” said Mr. Slayton, bowing his head ever so slightly in
a farewell as he walked off.

            I
returned to Kyle, who was sitting alone – Geoff having gone to try on his
charming-rocker act with a few girls more into it than I was. I shook my head.
When we were kids Geoff had been great – respectful, smart, passionate about
the band. But lately, it seemed that all he cared about was getting girls and
doing drugs. His performance in the band was slipping – we all knew that, but
none of us wanted to admit it. He had talent, but he practiced less than any of
us.

            “What
did he say?” Kyle turned to me with his enormous blue eyes.

            I
told Kyle what Mr. Slayton had said.         

            “Hmm,”
Kyle considered, putting his arm around me. “Well, don't worry, Neve. We'll get
there in the end – even if it means practicing every day for the next six
months. Have we ever let you down yet?”

            “No,”
I admitted, smiling slightly. “You haven't. We'll get there. I know it.”

            Kyle
looked deep into my eyes, and I could feel the warmth – the trust – in his
gaze. “I have every faith in you. In us,” Kyle said gently.

            “Thanks.”
I rested my head against Kyle's chest as he gently pulled me towards him. There
was something so reassuring about his touch. I'd gotten a lot of teasing about
my relationship to the four so-called hotties of The Never Knights from the
girls at USC, but I knew they were wrong. What I had with Kyle – what I had
with all the boys, since we were kids, except maybe Geoff – went beyond
attraction, beyond sex. We were like family: a relationship more important than
mere romance.

            “We're
going to do it our way,” I said. I knew the alternative – capitalize on my
dad's name, get a reality TV show and a record deal in ten seconds flat if I
was willing to throw up at a nightclub or get into a catfight or have sex on
camera and leak it to the press. All I needed was a camcorder and a willing
partner and I'd be top of the tabloids in no time.

            But
I didn't just want fame. None of us did. We wanted something bigger. We wanted
to change the world with our music, with our art.

            “I
know he makes it hard for you,” said Kyle, and I knew immediately he was
talking about my dad. “But if you
do
make it – you'll do it the way he
did. As hard-headed and stubborn as he is.” He coughed slightly and flushed
red. “Speaking of your dad, my aunt says your parents are expecting you home
this weekend.”

            He
always got a bit embarrassed. I loved Mrs. Jostens, his mother's sister and my
dad's long-suffering housekeeper, but neither one of us liked to acknowledge
that he'd grown up as the live-in nephew of my dad's live-in maid.

            I
groaned and rolled my eyes, trying to steer the conversation into a topic we could
both relate to.

            “I
was looking forward to a night out in the dorms. I've only been in college for
two weeks!”

            “I
know, right?” Kyle laughed. “Then again, when I tried to use the washer in the
dorm laundry room it got jammed – apparently someone left about twenty condoms
in there as a joke and they clogged up the whole machine. I wouldn't mind some
home-cooked food and an ironing board.”

            Kyle
shot me his signature angelic smile.

            “You
can take me home,” I said. “You haven't been drinking, have you?”   

            “I
had a couple of sips of beer an hour ago – but I'm definitely under the limit.
Unlike Geoff.”

            “I
don't want
him
taking me home!” I announced hotly.

            “Was
he being creepy again?”

            I
rolled my eyes. “It's not cool. I've said 'no,' I mean 'no,' and that's that. I
didn't want him before, and I want him even
less
now that I know
apparently he doesn't take “no” for an answer. What girl wants to be
brow-beaten into having sex with him?”

            “You
want me to have a word with him?” Kyle said.

            “No,”
I said. “
I
want to have a word with him. When he's sober enough to
remember what I said the next morning. If he cops a feel one more time while ‘checking
the mic’ I'm going to hit him with his own guitar...”

            We
were interrupted by the sound of crashing glass from the other room, followed
by a male moan of pain and a girl's shriek.

            “I
didn't do anything!” she was screaming.

            We
rushed into the other room to find Geoff in the middle of a shattered glass
table, wincing in agony. His arm was covered in blood.

            “He
wouldn't leave me alone...” the girl's voice faltered. “I finally pushed him
away – he sort of staggered over and fell into the table...”

            “Oh,
for fuck's safe, Geoff...” I went over to him. “What have you done...?”

            “Ouch...”
The alcohol had evidently numbed Geoff to the severity of the pain. Shards of
glass were sticking out of his arm; it was painful just to look at him.

            “Call
9-1-1,” I said, my voice automatically reverting into “responsible mode.”
“Responsible mode” was one of those things my dad had been careful to teach me
early on – he'd watched one of his first band mates die from choking on his own
vomit after a night of drinking, unable to save him, and it wasn't an
experience he wanted me to repeat. “We need to get him to the hospital, now!”

            “Already
called,” Luc walked over.

            “Geoff
– you're gonna be fine, but you've got to stay still, okay...?”

            “I
think I broke my arm...” Geoff was murmuring. “How am I going to play guitar
now?”

            Luc
and I looked at each other. Geoff was right. Looking at his injuries, I could
tell he'd be out of commission for a while.

            “You're
fine, Geoff; you'll be fine. Just wait for the paramedics to come help you,
okay?”

            But
I knew with a sinking feeling that we'd need to hunt for a new guitarist....