Nocturnes (8 page)

Lola. Taking three guys. At once. Up the ass. While I filmed.

And let’s not forget the lube.

No
idea what to make of that shit. Total loss for words.

Shades walks in, face pale, fauxhawk sticking out all over the place, looking about as chipper as I feel. He shuffles to Letty and kisses the top of her flaming red head. “Why’d you let me drink so much, pussycat?”

She smiles. “So I could take advantage of you while you were passed out.”

He rubs his ass and winces. “That explains a lot.”

Frustration ignites the fuse at the base of my spine. The ensuing explosion has its way with my mouth. “Do we
have
to talk about anal today?”

Letty laughs. “
You?
Don’t want to talk about
anal
? What’s up with that? Dude, you’re the king of buggery. I know you were dying to take my ass—or maybe even Shades’s—for a spin that night behind the bus. Don’t deny it.” She folds her arms over her too-small T-shirt, belly button winking up at me, and taps a bare foot under the long, plain pajama bottoms.

Shades balances his gaze between us. “Really?
My
ass? That’s fucked up, man.”

“I licked your balls,” I say. “Or did you forget that part?”

“Must’ve blocked it out. Besides, licking balls and fucking asses are two totally different things.”

Indeed.

The toaster goes
pop!
and I drag my fruity kill onto a plate. The sweet smell riles my stomach to rebel, but I rip into the shit anyway. Gotta absorb some of this alcohol so I can make room for more.

“Did Toombs and Jinx get back yet?” Shades says.

Letty glances at me. “Jillian went to pick them up a couple hours ago. Should be here any time. She said we need to be ready to record after noon.”

Great. Work. Not that I mind it, but I’d love a little time to play mental catch-up on my adventures at Nocturnes. I’ve been obsessed with Lola since the first time I saw her, but damn. Knowing that woman is a walking biohazard is a huge downer. And coming from
me
, that’s saying a lot. The shit I witnessed won’t be leaving my memory any time soon. No condoms with all those guys. Recipe for fucking disaster with a side of oozing sores. I’m rather fond of my dick, thank you.

Not to mention, that Duane guy would like nothing better than to have his way with me if I show my face in Nocturnes again. And Lola told me to stay away.

Fuck, I’m torn. What exactly would I have to gain by going back there? Another black eye? More unrequited lust? An incurable case of dick rot?

Do I really want Lola enough to risk all that?

The front door opens, and a commotion follows. Jillian bitches about the wait at the airport. Heavy footsteps reverberate off the hardwoods. Clunking and rolling. Jinx and Toombs guide their wheeled suitcases through the hall toward the stairs. I lower my head too late. Jinx pauses by the kitchen entry, tilts her chin up, and stretches for an upside-down kiss from Toombs behind her. My stomach churns.

“Hey, you guys. How was your trip?” Letty calls.

Jinx startles. Her cheeks redden when she sees me. Toombs fills in behind her and slips his arms around her waist. I hate the way they touch each other. Fucking hate it.

“Good.” Jinx avoids my eyes. Just as well. “My brother’s recital was amazing. And seeing my family rocked too. How was Mardi Gras?” Now she faces me. Because any time partying or alcohol is involved, Rax must be involved by default.

If the shoe fits…

“Shades and Rax are hungover, if that tells you anything,” Letty says. “Me? I took it easy. Got a fuckload of beads, though. I saved some cool drum ones for you. You wanna see?”

Jinx smiles. “Sure.” She follows Letty out of the kitchen, leaving behind the guys and Jillian, who drops her ass into a chair at the table and waves Toombs over.

“Plant it. We’ve got shit to discuss.” She smacks the table twice.

Moving slowly, Toombs takes the seat farthest from me, next to Shades, who seems thoroughly entranced by the crispy flakes floating in the white sea inside his bowl. Toombs winces when his ass hits the cushion. Jinx must’ve done a number on him recently. Maybe she dildo fucked him. Or caned him as he came. He loves that.

I shove in another bite of artificially flavored fruit pastry and look away.

“Mardi Gras is over, and it’s time to get serious about recording this album,” Jillian says. “We’re scheduled in the studio in a couple of hours. Griff, the new producer, wants to share his vision for the record. Give him input. If you don’t like something, tell him. He knows what works and what sells, so I want you to be open to trying different things.”

She turns to me. “Rax, I need you sober for the next couple of weeks. I’ll let you off the hook on the weekends as long as I don’t get any more calls from the police station or hospital. But I’m dead fucking serious. You fuck this up for the rest of us, and I’ll put your ass on a plane back to Athens and find someone who can handle it.”

Of course you will, bitch.

Shades glances at me, then lowers his head to snag another spoonful of cereal. Jillian points back and forth between Toombs and me. “And whatever this silent treatment shit is, get the fuck over it. As guitarists for Killer Buzz Float, you two have the tightest musical relationship in this band. I want to feel every harmony, every lick, and every syncopated rhythm like an orgasm in my ears. Audio jack-offs. Got it?”

Avoiding my eyes, Toombs nods, his goatee twitching. I press my lips together and nod too. Jillian opens her cigarette case and pulls out a smoke. She vacates the kitchen and heads toward the courtyard in the back of the house.

Shades pushes out his chair and stands awkwardly, bowl in hand. He opens his mouth a couple of times before actually speaking. “I know tensions are still high, but if there’s anything I can do…” He roughs his hair. “You cats know where I am.”

He dumps his unfinished bowl in the sink, and Toombs and I are alone.

A full minute of silence fills the icy air between us. Toombs rises from his seat. “I saw your mom and dad for a few minutes. They asked about you.”

I nod. Our parents are next-door neighbors, so this is no surprise.

Toombs’s silvery gaze hits mine head on. “Thanks for getting Jinx’s mom a job at your dad’s bank.”

Toombs never thanks anyone for anything, so I’m a little surprised he mentioned it. He doesn’t wait for me to reply. Just shuffles out of the kitchen toward the steps.

As I watch him go, lyrics to a song form inside my head.

You fixed me

I broke you

Same old story

Nothing new

I’m poison

Body so numb

Heart bled dry

No longer recognize

The stranger I’ve become

Without you

I don’t have a clue

Don’t know what to do

Without you

A few moments later, I mount the stairs and return to my room. I haven’t written anything in my notebook for days, but now seems as good a time as any to get back into the habit. I jot down the words. When I finish, I sit on the bed and thumb through the wrinkled, stained pages. The lyrics, doodles, song ideas, and rhythms within date back to 2007. Some of it makes me smile, but mostly it hurts. Every single fucking line in here is about goddamn Toombs.

That’s going to change.

I toss the notebook onto the dresser and pick up my phone. My mom answers after a couple rings. Her craggy voice tells me I woke her up.

“Hi, Rax. How you doing, hon?”

“I need money, that’s how I’m doing.” I follow up with a laugh in hopes of charming the cash out of her. Being the only begotten son to a community bank owner and a professional layabout who’s BFFs with Zoe Zoloft, Penny Prozac, and Veronica Vicodin has its advantages.

She sighs. “Your father said no more money. You’re cut off.”

“What? Oh, come on. I need it to buy—” I glance around until my gaze hits the Fender resting against the red wall “—a new guitar. I broke mine.”

“I want to help. I really do, but he’ll kill me if he finds out I sent you more.”

“Tell him you need a new pair of shoes. I won’t ask again after this. I swear.”

“This is the fifth time you’ve called since you left on your tour. And the fifth time you’ve needed money.” She pauses, the accusation weighing down our connection—both the phone and emotional varieties.

“Mom, please. You know I love you. Help me out just this once?” I fine-tune my tone to desperate pleading and cross my fingers. “It’s only a thousand bucks.”

“Rax, this is it. I’ll wire you a thousand, but after this, you’re on your own. I mean it.” Irritation frosts her voice.

Of course she means it. Just like she meant it the four times before.

Score. “Thanks. I promise. Never again.” Until I run out of money in a few more days.

She exhales heavily. “How’s recording going? You getting a lot of work done?”

“Oh yeah. Tons. Working hard every day.” I shake my head and roll my eyes.

“I saw Toombs on Sunday. He said you two had some sort of a falling out.”

My turn to exhale. “Yeah.”

“I won’t get in your business, but you’ve been friends since you were little kids. I hope you can get past whatever came between you.”

I doubt it. Jinx isn’t going anywhere. “I’m sure we will.”

“Friendships like yours are rare. Don’t let something silly destroy what you spent years building.”

“It’s no biggie,” I lie. “We’ll work it out.”

“Okay.” The word is neutral. Her tone is argumentative. She doesn’t believe me. “Text me your details, and I’ll send the money when I get out of bed.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“I love you, Rax.”

“Yep. Later.” I end the call.

I’ll work out this shit with Toombs, all right. I’ll work it out all over Lola’s naked body. My mayorship in Pussyville has officially reached the end of its term. I’m now a man on a mission. It’s time to engage in some reckless, inappropriate behavior with a hot slut. I’ve got nothing to lose. If Lola and everything that’s wrong with her can’t make me forget Toombs, nobody can.

Side B: “Hear My Train A Comin’”

After a week off, I return to Nocturnes. The cameraman never turned in my ring, and as a result, my “vacation” has been one stroke of bad luck after another. I knew it would happen. Every time I let that ring out of my sight, bad shit befalls me.

In the last seven days, I broke a heel, almost snapped my neck falling down the stairs at my loft, spilled coffee all over a brand new designer outfit, accidentally dropped my phone in the hot tub, and locked myself out of both the car and my apartment. Twice.

On top of that, Mamochka and Papochka have appeared in my dreams every night since my last stint in Hell when I lost the ring. I think they’re trying to tell me something. Maybe warning me? About what, I haven’t a clue. Whatever the reason, it can’t be a coincidence. That ring was Mama’s most prized possession. Even though it’s probably worth nothing, I’ve kept her band with me at all times since they were killed. As long as I’m wearing it, things are fine. Whenever I take it off…

I shake my head as I enter through the employee door. I check with Kay to see if the ring turned up. Nope.

God.

Rico hasn’t said a word to me since our meeting in his office. I hope that means I’m forgiven. I was
this
close to going to Charlie and spilling how Rico threatened to kick me to the curb, but then I realized Charlie might have done the same. I guess it’s best to keep quiet about saving my own neck. I still can’t believe I went down on that slimeball Rico. And swallowed. I shiver.

He’s a sick fuck. Best to stay as far away from him as possible.

I have to find the camera guy to get my ring back. None of this bad shit would have happened if I hadn’t lost it.

Out of sorts, I drop off my bag in the dressing room locker and don a black thong and bustier. Kristina’s not around, so I keep to myself. Once dressed and slathered in makeup, I wander through the main floor at the club in search of customers.

Though I’ve got plenty of cash in the bank after my last gig in Hell, I need to dance. I need the release, the high, the buzz that lets me know I’m alive. I love the burn in my legs and arms after a kickass performance. I love the looks on guys’ faces after they’ve witnessed me giving the pole everything I’ve got. Most of all, I love making people happy with my body. It’s what I was born to do.

The bruises—physical and emotional—from my last trip to Hell have mostly healed, and powder does wonders for covering up lingering evidence of unpleasantness.

I spy a businessman in a suit sitting alone in my section, so I sidle up to him. “Hi there.”

“Um, hi.” The guy looks surprised and fumbles with his glass before taking a big drink.

“You in town for a conference?” I can always tell. If the suits aren’t a dead giveaway, the awkward blunders are. I feel a little sorry for men like this. Their wives suck in bed or don’t put out at all. The guys start testing the unfaithfulness waters by going to adult clubs. Pretty soon, they’re buying themselves lap dances. Illicit affairs follow. Wife is still sitting at home, eating bonbons, oblivious to the turn her husband’s other life has taken. If only she had paid a little more attention to his needs…

I’ve heard every variation of the same story, and it still surprises me how little married people communicate. No wonder the divorce rate is so high.

“Yeah, I’m in IT.” He stretches his arm over the back of the banquette and balls his shaking hand into a loose fist.

I scoot in beside him. “Where are you from?” Always pay attention close to the customer. I try to unearth one nice or interesting thing about my potential client and use that as a focal point for discussion. Once you break the ice and get some of these guys talking, they’ll buy you anything. They’re desperate for someone to listen, to notice. Outside of this place, many of them feel sexually invisible. I can fix that and make them feel special. If only for one night.