Domination (3 page)

“Everything looks good, Josie,” said Artie over the phone. “I’m
going to clean up the text a bit to put it in our online format then I’ll send
you the document specifications for next time. Or someone will do it.”

“Is the end that near?” Josie asked anxiously. She knew she
should be worried about herself and the
Rock Star
staff but she couldn’t
help but worry about Artie’s future.

“The place is half packed up, the little gray men have come
to go over our accounts files. I’m glad you’re not here, kid.”

Indeed. She glanced up at the opulent furnishings in her
suite, yesterday’s dirty jeans blemishing the rose velvet settee. The penthouse
was the opposite of the anonymous, badly lit magazine offices. Which didn’t
mean she felt at home here.

“I’m sorry you have to be. I should have another dispatch
for you tonight.”

“What’s the next stop?”

“San Antonio.” She refreshed the emails on her laptop. Still
no itinerary from Bucky. They’d have to load the bus and move out if the band
was to make its live radio appearance before playing the Freeman Coliseum that
night.

“Well, leave the dateline off, Bob Woodward. This isn’t
Associated Press. And don’t bust your balls getting it done. We’ve gotta
massage the launch, build up excitement. Get butts in seats.”

“Or eyes on screens.”

“Yeah. You take care now and don’t let the big bad wolf eat
you up.”

She clicked off.
Too late for that,
she thought
uncomfortably. Was this what she was in for, going from city to city, being
spanked and abused and commanded, all while sending out decorous half-truths
about the tour to the reading public? Writing was the only thing she’d ever
done—truthfully, the only thing she did well. She had never been able to just
let experiences happen. They had to be digested, structured and translated into
words, pushed through for strangers to witness at one remove.

But Bram wanted his secrets kept and that meant keeping what
had happened between them to herself. In honoring this she had no way to
process the extraordinary journey he’d guided her through, from hard-working
good girl to supplicant, on all fours with her ass on fire.

Time to put it out of her head. She went down to the lobby,
hoping there was some decent Mexican food nearby to help sop up the weird mix
of alcohols in her belly. She had never before accepted drinks while on the job
but this one was different. It would be her life for the next two weeks. There
were some escapes not worth putting on hold.

The two buses squatted in the circular driveway outside the
lobby doors, their engines running. Impeccable in another suit, this one
windowpane check, Bucky stood frowning at his watch. He looked up and
impatience turned to annoyance.

“We are about to leave, Miss Arrington. Where are your bags?”

“What? I never got the email.”

“It was sent earlier today after the band meeting with a
specific directive not to be late.” He sighed. “I can give you ten minutes but
no more.”

Josie ran back to her room, stuffed her meager goods into
the duffel, double-checked for her equipment and scurried back down. How the
hell had she not gotten the email? She must have checked it a hundred times.

“I hope this does not bode for the future,” he said sourly
as she heaved her bag and her half-starving body aboard. The bus doors closed
with a farting sigh.

She nudged her way past a snoring Kraxis and nodded at
Varian, who looked up from the rib he was gnawing on and sneered. Bram was a
lean shadow in the dark recesses of the bus, reclining on a bench, his head
propped up in one hand and a pencil in the other. It wouldn’t do to run over to
him like some crazed groupie, much as she wanted to. He looked up, sent a lazy,
unsmiling wink her way, and looked back down at the page. Country music rang
through the speakers, all tears and bourbon. Yuck. She hated country.

She took a grateful seat next to Jet.

“
Wilkommen
,
bienvenue
, welcome,” he said. “When
in Texas…” He indicated a sauce-smeared pile of ribs, brisket and bones. Had
these guys ever heard of side dishes?

She helped herself to a plate of barbecue but passed on the
beer.

“Do you only speak in quotes?”

“Darling, all the really choice things have already been
said. I spread the wisdom of our literary elders to the world while Bram thinks
up new rhymes for ‘blood’.”

That seemed a bit unfair but Josie realized she should
research Domination’s lyrics so she knew what Bram was singing about. More than
blood, surely. There couldn’t be that much to say on the subject.

“Did you sleep well?” Jet added slyly. “You look positively
radiant.”

“Like a top, as you English say.” She had slept so soundly
she woke up boneless and confused, the blackout curtains hiding the early-afternoon
light, not even recognizing where she was.
There’s something to be said for
a late night of rough sex,
she thought.
Does wonders for your rest
cycle.

“Well, don’t get cozy. This will be a short ride, Bucky
tells us. See you at the show.”

Josie felt dismissed, although Jet’s smile was kind on his
delicate, girlish face. She took a notebook and pen as cover and made her way
to the back where Bram was scribbling.

“The muse strikes?” she ventured, sitting down. His lean
form stretched across the bench like a jungle cat at rest.

He nodded at the pen. “Silly tool, that.”

“It’s just a front. You said I wasn’t allowed to quote you.”

“Not exactly, Josie. I think you can figure out what’s
publishable, what’s indiscreet and what’s actionable. Still, use a pencil. You’ve
clearly never been north of Leeds.”

That had been one of Artie’s tricks. He learned it on the
road with Iggy Pop, somewhere in New Hampshire in January. The ink in his pen
had frozen and he’d lost half a day of band shenanigans and solid-gold quotes.

“What are we listening to?”

“Lefty Frizell.”

“Not familiar.”

He didn’t look up. “A songwriter can learn a lot from any
genre, if the quality’s good enough. Lefty, Hank, Merle—they had a lock on
heartbreak. Universal emotion, that. Take a butcher’s at the lyrics before you
judge.”

Heartbreak. Even Bram Hunter knew the feeling. She wondered
who the girl had been and what she had done to him.

“What are you working on?”

Bram scowled. “My last will and testament.”

“Oh.”

His black-ringed blue eyes started into hers. “A song, love.
It’s generally a song.”

She sat mere inches from his body but could feel the heat of
it. She wanted him to touch her, just a stroke on her back or a squeeze of her
waist. But he twiddled the pencil and frowned at the notebook.

“Have at it. Sorry for interrupting.”

The ride wasn’t more than ninety minutes but to Josie it
seemed like an eternity. The glow of the morning had faded and the barbecue sat
uneasily in her belly.
I forgot I get motion sick,
she thought grimly.
This
is going to be a long two weeks.

Especially if Bram ignored her the whole time, writing songs
about girls who had broken his heart.

Then again, neither of them wanted the rest of the band—much
less the rest of the world—to know what had gone on between them. “Between you
and me,” he had said. And it would stay that way.
Stop being such a girl,
she
told herself.
He’s not your boyfriend. Get to work.

* * * * *

The live radio appearance wouldn’t reveal anything new and
anyway, Josie was on board with the band for exclusive content, not rock
platitudes available to anyone within the station’s broadcast range. She holed
up in her suite—another beautiful set of rooms, these furnished in sunset
colors—in the cool, low-slung white adobe hotel. The air-conditioning froze the
back of her neck as she typed into her laptop.

It’s Day Two of the World Domination Tour and we’re
rolling into San Antonio, Texas, everyone very tired after last night’s
debauchery. [See previous post. Artie, link here please.] Bus rides are as boring
as backstage, I’m sorry to tell you, with fewer groupies. But we did have
barbecue and lots of it. And, needless to say, beer.

Struggling to keep Bram out of her post had reduced her
writing to bland mush. As she tried to think of something fascinating to report
that didn’t involve sucking his cock, her phone rang.

“Josie! Tell me everything!” Melanie squealed.

Josie laughed to hear her roommate’s high, sweet voice.
Melanie was a wannabe singer, working backup gigs around L.A. and waiting for
her big break, just like everyone else in that city of dreamers. She was
excitable, relentlessly optimistic and had a debilitating crush on the lead
singer of Domination.

“Didn’t you read the first post?”

“Yeah, but I know you got some dirt on Bram Hunter. What’s
he really like? Did he keep that accent up the whole time?”

Melanie wasn’t the sharpest pencil in the box but she had a
big heart.

“He’s a Brit, Mel. That’s the way he talks all the time.”

“So how hot is he in real life? Does he really drink panther
blood? Does he have a girlfriend? She must be so beautiful.”

“Smoking hot, no on the panther blood and…”

Did he have a girlfriend? Mel was right about one thing—if
he did she had to be as supernaturally gorgeous as he was. Another reason not
to dream about holding hands and walking on the beach with the likes of Bram
Hunter.

“I haven’t seen him with any girls.”

“Then I still have a chance. Cool beans!”

“Mel, you haven’t said anything about the blog post.” Josie
was anxious to get feedback from someone who wasn’t paying her. One of Artie’s
dictums that had always stuck in her mind was to be aware that what they did
was subjective—you never truly know if you’re good at it. Some great talents
spin their wheels, some idiots inexplicably fall upward and any writer can expect
a hundred different reactions to the same set of words. It made not just
writers but any creative person needy for outside validation.

“I read it, Josie. Sounded pretty cool, the party and all.
You made the show sound really exciting. I liked that part.”

“But…”

Josie could just see Mel twisting a blonde curl around one
finger while she searched for the right thing to say.

“It’s not a big but or anything, but it didn’t feel like
you. Usually I have to look up half the words you use, and this one seemed
kinda…simple? Bloodless. Is that a word?”

Josie had forgotten that for an airhead Melanie could be
weirdly insightful. Even Artie hadn’t pointed out she’d lost her mojo. He had
one foot out the door of the business anyway. She had to stop depending on her
editor to fix her flaws. She was on her own now in the cybersphere.

“Thanks, Mel. You’re a peach.”

“I never know if you’re being sarcastic.”

“It’s usually a yes but not this time. Really, thank you.”

“Okay. Not sure when I can call again. I’m doing open mikes
every night and still waitressing at Cantor’s. But try to reach me when you get
a break. And if you get
anything
on Bram Hunter, you have to swear to
tell me first!”

Josie laughed again. “Take care, Mel. Break a leg.”

She looked at her computer screen.
It’s Day Two. Bus
boring. Barbecue and beer.

Jesus, could this be any duller?
Mel was
right—bloodless, toothless, colorless. Bram’s little bargain had put her in a
bind. Without the lead singer’s curious magnetism, animal sexuality and wry, laconic
way of speaking, it was just another dispatch. The blog might have been an
update from a political candidate’s campaign tour but even less interesting.

Bram was the heart of the band, its voice, its focus and the
reason thousands of screaming girls descended on their shows and hotels. They
wanted a taste of that primal erotic power he carried around like an energy
source. And
that
she did have access to.

So Mel wanted to hear the dirt. Josie wasn’t ready to spill
the details of her night to anyone but writing a fresh blog would refresh her
mind as well, pour some muscle back into her work. She quickly set up a new
blog, established hardcore privacy settings so that only she could read it.

Adventures in Submission
—that was simple and to the
point. She took a deep breath and began to type.

He stalks me like a jungle cat, slow, hypnotic and
predatory, infused with some exotic substance no other could claim. Is it the
panther blood he’s reputed to quaff on tour? Who knows? Wherever he gets it
from, Bram Hunter is the living embodiment of raw, mind-bending sex. As I was
about to find out…

That night’s show was like the first one only it seemed
there were even more girls. Blonder ones with bouncier boobs, higher hair and
louder screams.
Everything’s bigger in Texas,
thought Josie, rapidly
typing notes from her perch on the catwalk.

Working on the private blog had energized her. It felt good
to process the explosive night with Bram, even if she had to steel herself to
type the dirty words. Not that dirty words, acts or feelings could be avoided
if she was going to be honest. As always when her writing was on fire, she
discovered truths about herself just in her choice of phrasing and the way she
structured the paragraphs. The journey she had been on with Bram felt like a
purely sexual one but now she saw it was emotional as well. He had broken down
her barriers and resistance and allowed her to see the truth about herself.

The truth was she loved it.

Not him, just it, she told herself firmly. She had never
thought of herself as “that kind of girl”—whatever that ridiculous,
old-fashioned phrase meant—but putting her domination on the page drew out the
central reality of her desires. No man had teased, pleasured and satisfied her
like that before and the desire she saw in his eyes, the way he licked his lips
at the sight of her, how impossibly hard his cock felt in her mouth—that was
satisfying too, if a little scary.

There had to be more than one man out there who could give
her the same. Maybe not as sexy as the one onstage, whipping his midnight hair
in a frenzy, his muscular chest slicked with sweat, but someone she could be
seen talking to in front of others and not risk losing her professional
credibility.

How to find a guy like that? Online dating?
Hi, I like
long walks on the beach, Mexican food and being spanked,
she thought.

Time enough to worry about that. Josie had a job to do. She
felt more free, looser somehow, like an athlete who had stretched well and was
ready to compete. No description of the bus ride could save it from being
boring but at least she had been funny, cracking jokes at the expense of Kraxis’
crude Viking habits, drawing Varian as waspish and aloof, playing up Jet’s wit
and gentle melancholy.

As to Bram, it was easy to draw him as alluring and
mysterious on the page, since he was like that in real life. By keeping him in
the shadows she would only build up curiosity and, with any luck, more hits for
the
Rock Star
site. Of course eventually she’d have to give the public a
morsel of the real Bram. If a neutral set piece starring him was out of the
question she’d have to get an interview soon.

Bucky sidled up next to her and leaned over the railing.

“Good show tonight,” she shouted.

“They’re all good.”

“You like Domination’s music?” she asked, surprised.

He pursed his lips. “Great heavens, no. I’m a Brahms man,
myself.”

You would be.
“So what are you doing managing a rock
band?”

“Making a living, like anyone else. A particularly lucrative
one. I happen to have excellent managerial skills and a deep knowledge of the
business. Also, those barbarians don’t know quite what to think of me, so they
do pay attention at least a quarter of the time.”

Excellent managerial skills…and yet he had neglected to send
her the schedule that afternoon. She decided not to ask. Anyone who could
intimidate the brutish Kraxis into following orders was not someone whose wrath
she wanted to incur.

“When do we leave for…?”

“Baton Rouge. I sent you the full itinerary and departure
times, Miss Arrington.”

She checked her emails again. Just one from Melanie she
would open later.

“I’m sorry. It’s not there.”

He frowned at his phone. “Message sent 13:48 to Arrington
dot J at—”

“It’s J dot Arrington,” she interjected. “Common mistake.”
After 1:30. She would have been awake but not by much. Something pinged in her
head, something Bucky had said to her earlier. She tried to focus but it had
already faded.

“I don’t make mistakes. How very odd. At any rate, you
should have it now. I came to relay a message. Bram requested you appear at
suite number ten after the performance.”

“Oh. Won’t I be riding back to the hotel with the band?”

He slipped the phone into an inside breast pocket. “He won’t
be riding with us. Leave about an hour gap but if you have to hang around
outside the door, I suggest you do so. Bram abhors lateness, as do I.”

Her face fell. She had been hoping for another lesson in
erotic discipline. But if Bram was staying backstage for an extra hour he
obviously had another student in mind.

Let it go, girl,
she thought.
Remember you want
romance as well. You want those long walks on the beach.

Ugh, sand in your hair and seagulls crapping all over the
place. Walks on the beach were overrated.