When Karma Comes To Call (4 page)

Get it together, Karma.
Things are due to turn around soon. I didn’t have to pick a stage name because my mom was a clueless teen who hoped she’d pass on a perpetual streak of luck. It didn’t work. Still, I could appreciate the sentiment. I used to hate her until I realized she was trapped by the situation the same as I was. Pregnant at fifteen, she never even got a chance to live or finish high school. Not with my father. Maybe what she had with my old man started out good. I like to think that. It would mean she had some happiness before it all went to hell. A local drug runner, Dad was in and out of prison, getting meaner with every trip as he climbed the ladder. He’d always hit Mom when she got lippy or didn’t do things the way he wanted. Eventually the abuse turned into a daily thing. Some of my earliest memories were hiding in my closet while he punished her for some imagined infraction. I’d cover my ears with my hands and hum loud enough to block out the noise, rocking my tiny body back and forth. Eventually, my mom bought me an old Walkman. It became my coping mechanism, and later my saving grace.

The music took me someplace else when I had nowhere to run. She might not have been strong enough to leave him, but I had to give her credit for keeping him off me. The man never laid a hand on me. Maybe that was his last decent action. He said I was the only thing my mother had given him that was worth anything. It was, perhaps, the only shred of goodness left in him. It did a real number on my head, being treated so well by the very monster who ripped into my mom like a specter straight from hell.
Yeah, I’m definitely fucked up for life.
Scars like that don’t go away. They fade. You learn to deal, but they’re always there wrecking your frame of mind when you least expect it. It’s a wonder I didn’t get hooked on something sooner. Back then I was too focused on making it, and not falling into the same trap my parents had.

No one tells you that shit gets worse once you get a taste of success and fame. The pressure, the worry, and the block on your creativity. You’re so concerned about not losing what you’ve gained, you end up disconnecting from yourself, and the unique thing that got you to the top in the first place. I cracked under the pressure. My counselor called it self-sabotage. Told me deep down I didn’t think I deserved any of it. She might’ve been right, but I would never admit it. I did, however, learn to use her coping mechanisms and tried my best to flush out all the evil corroded shit that weighed me down and made me reckless. A year ago, I’d be looking to score to forget about the pile I’d stepped in. Today I’m dealing, and I’ll take that victory.
One day at a time, Karma.

I finish up and step out, drying my body with the towel from yesterday. Taking a deep breath, I wipe off the steamy mirror and peer at my reflection. Today I will be as strong as I need to be. I mouth the words until I believe it, and step outside. Arsen is propped up against the headboard with a rolled cigarette in his mouth. The pungent scent of weed assaults me. He holds up the joint.

“You want in on this?”

I nod my head and sink beside him, taking a long toke and letting it burn in my chest. It brings back memories of hazy days full of writing and relaxation. I smile.

“First time I seen you smile. This your thing?”

“Was for a minute there. Now it’s recreational,” I say. I like that I can be open. The world I live in is so fake and pretentious. It’s the price you pay to sing in front of people. People want to see the glitz, glamor, and perfection that only comes with a shit ton of hard work. It’s exhausting, but when I’m in front of people watching them be moved by the music I created, everything else pales in comparison. We pass and puff back and forth until he stubs out the tiny end in an ashtray by his bed.

A knock sounds on the door and Arsen grunts. “Here we go.”

I can’t help but admire the way the muscles move under his skin as he rolls out of bed and walks to the door.

“I come bringing clothes for the babe,” Chase says.

Her voice brings a smile to my lips. She was the first friendly face I saw, and she has a charisma about her that’s undeniable. It pulls me to her like a magnet.

“Chase,” I cry happily.

“Morning, K. I got you about a week’s worth and all those little necessities men don’t think about.” Chase holds up a black duffel bag and wags her eyebrows.

“Thank you so much. I owe you one.” I smile at her, feeling slightly better at the thought of my things.

“Don’t say that. I might collect,” she says in a sultry voice that brings the heat rushing to my cheeks and other places I don’t want to think about. Now is not the time. I take the bag and look up at Arsen. The hunger in his eyes makes me gasp. In another time and place, I’d be all over him and this opportunity. I blink, and the spell is broken.

“Get dressed, girl, Pres will be coming by soon. Best to not keep him waiting.”

“Y-yeah. Thanks again, Chase.” I take the duffle bag from her and our fingers brush. Sparks fly between us. I gasp and her lips part. We stare at one another for a heartbeat. She clears her throat.

“I’ll see you soon, K,” she murmurs. I don’t mind the attention. I’m perplexed by this fact as I hurry off, feeling like prey.

Dressed in a pair of ass hugging black shorts, and a distressed black T-shirt that says ‘Rock’ across the chest, I’m back in my element. The gladiator sandals complete the look and restore my confidence. I unbraid my mane and let it flow around my shoulders, finessing the curls as best I can. This is a part of a woman’s armor. Never let them see you sweat. Even when you’re shaking in your stilettos, own that shit and look flawless. Make them want to be you or fear you. It’s the only way to make it in this cut-throat industry. The advice had been some of the best I’d ever received. A pang goes through my heart. I miss Billie. The older woman had been one hell of a manager. Her death at the height of my fame had been another contributing factor to my addiction. She’d become the mother figure in my life. Without her, I had no anchor, and like a boat adrift on the ocean I crashed and splintered against the rocks.

Arsen lets out an appreciative whistle. “You clean up nice.”

His voice is sandpaper rough and rubs me in all the right places. With the fear receded I’m picking up on things I missed yesterday.

I want to ask him if the fact that I’ll shove my foot up his ass if he doesn’t stop is enough motivation. I don’t, because I know that would be crossing a line. You don’t pop off at the mouth to someone like Arsen. He has a quiet deadliness about him, like a venomous snake. One direct hit and you’d be on your way to death.

“Guess I need to work on that then,” I say.

His lips quirk up. I think it’s his version of a smile. “Let’s go get breakfast before they call church. Not something I want to do on an empty stomach.”

I watch completely fascinated as the women cook them meals like they’re kings. They’re all different, from bleach-blonde to brunette. A number of age ranges, and dress styles. There were those who wore the stereotypical barely there clothing, but some looked like PTA moms. Fascinated by the inside view of their world, I study them as I eat my oatmeal and try not to draw unnecessary attention to myself. I can see the curiosity, and in some cases hostility, in their gazes. They think I mean something to Arsen.
You’re barking up the wrong tree, ladies. I got no claim on him.
Claim was a big thing around here. From the way they handled their cuts with pride, to the “Property of” tattoos and vests. The last thing I want to do is insult or engage the wrong person.

The air changes. Attention shifts to the people behind me. I turn and see Demon enter with a crew of about eight. I study the square patches on their vests: VP, Sgt at Arms, Road Captain. The titles don’t mean anything to me, but the gathering says they pulled out the big guns. This is their version of the Supreme Court. Arsen wraps his fingers around my wrist and pulls me up. I go without protest. I pray to hell this isn’t a funeral procession as we enter the small room. A massive oak table with the emblem of what looks like a laughing Devil etched into it takes up the center. Expensive leather chairs surround it. I bite my bottom lip and hover in the door frame. I’d take a run for it, but I know I’d never make it more than a few steps. Arsen removes me from my safety zone toward the corner. It might as well have been the jail bars closing behind me.

“Take a seat, Karma,” Demon says. Arsen pushes me down, and I place my hands on my lap.

“Damn, Slayer, what’d you do to her?” a voice asks.

I keep my head down.

“Not shit, bitch is smart and learns fast,” Arsen says.

It’s fucked up how much I like having his approval. I all but preen.

“We talked it out,” Demon says. I peer up and catch his intense stare. Everything is riding on this. I hold my breath. “We’re willing to help you with your problem if you allow us to back you. We need to bring in cash on the books if you know what I mean.”

“Done,” I reply.

“You got shitty luck, girl. The boss running that studio owes some people a lot of money. They got tired of trying to collect and decided to send a message.”

“Are they going to come after me?” I ask.

“We’re working on that. You’re a loose end, rock star. No one likes those.” There’s a lightness to his word. I can tell he’s decided I’m okay to trust.

“What do I do? I have a gig set up in a couple of weeks, and a photo shoot in a few days. I can’t afford to come across as a flake right now. People are going to wonder where I am soon,” I say.

“I told you we’re taking care of it. Don’t worry about anything but doing what you need to do so we can earn. I’m going to have my lawyer work up something, and you can look it over. You got a manager?”

I shake my head. “Mine died, and I never wanted one after …”

“Good, I’ll let Lucky take you over.”

“Lucky?” I ask.

“Our lawyer.”

“I guess if there was anyone you’d want to be Lucky it’d be him.” I cover my mouth with my hands. “Shit, I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

Demon laughs, and it changes his whole persona. “Think I like you, Karma. You good to keep eyes on this one?” Demon asks Arsen.

“Yeah, I got her,” Arsen answers. His raspy response sends chills down my spine.

Chapter Three

Arsen

I sit back in my chair and watch the men rush back and forth, adjusting the lighting. The petite blonde dabs more make-up onto the flawless brown-skinned canvas that is Karma.
Like the girl needs that bullshit.
She’s a knock-out when she rolls out of bed. She sits still as a statue, a fake smile plastered on her full lips. She’s playing their game. They buy her lies, but I can tell she doesn’t like it. It’s a means to an end. This bitch doesn’t belong here any more than I do. There’s shit inside her none of these assholes would understand.
Then where does she belong? With me?
I scoff at my musings. Too much time in close quarters is making me form a soft spot where she’s concerned.

Still, I know a  fellow walking wounded when I see one. Maybe that’s why I can’t get her out of my damn mind. She burrowed her way into my ‘give a shit’ zone, and stayed there like a fucking splinter. I’ve been shadowing her for forty-eight hours, and she hasn’t pissed me off once. It’s a record and an anomaly. I want to explore it and her. It’s more than her curves. It’s her contradictions. She’s more at home with us than she is here. I read people well. My life depends on it most days.

Her breasts are pushed up in the leopard print corset, and the tight black leather skirt clings to her ass and thick thighs. On her feet, the shit kicking combat boots give her an edge that reminds me of an old lady.
What’s it like to be a doll others dress up, pose, and play with?
It’s no shock she turned to drugs. They put her in a damn cage. Just because it’s made of gold doesn’t change its purpose.

“Okay, I suppose this will have to do,” the skinny photographer in the purple scarf and ball destroying jeans huffs.

“Now, Karma, honey, I need you to sell this. I don’t have to tell you how much you need to rock this.”

“I understand, Jeremy. I appreciate you fitting me in.”

“I love a good comeback. You know me, always rooting for the underdog.” He shrugs.

The fuck? Is he insulting her to her face?
I clench my jaw. In my world, this shit wouldn’t fly. I hate sitting here biting my fucking tongue, it ain’t me.

“How about you take the pictures and keep the rest to yourself?” I say

He looks over at me and sputters.

That’s right, asshole, I said it.
“That’s what she’s paying you for, right? Your voice is giving me a fucking headache.”

“I’m sorry, do you know who I am?” Jeremy asks.

“No, and I don’t give a shit either.” I rise from my chair. “We going to have a problem here?”

He purses his lips and gives me a once over. I stare him down.
Go ahead and give me a reason. I’ll eat an asshole like you for breakfast.

“Calm down, Slayer, he doesn’t mean anything by it,” Karma says.

“Less lip, Karma. You’re with us now, so I’m handling this,” I snap.

She opens her mouth and closes it, shaking her head.
Smart girl.

“No,” Jeremy finally answers, much more subdued. “No problems.”

“I didn’t think so.” I sit back down and mean mug the fuck. I hate smug assholes who think they’re better than everyone else.

“Okay, people, let’s look alive. Give me sex, honey. Work those big, beautiful browns of yours and pout those lips.” The rest of the hour is a blur of flashing lights, odd positions, and outfit changes. I’m exhausted just watching. I all but jump from my seat when Jeremy calls it a wrap.

“I’ll work my magic and have these back for you in a few days. We’ll discuss which to keep then, yes?” Jeremy asks.

“Yes. Thank you again,” she says sweetly.
Why did she have to be so nice? I could get cavities she’s so sweet. I never thought that was my thing.

“Hmmm, I think we got some good one’s there, Ms. Good.” He smiles, and I can see an affection for her I missed before.

“You did all the work. I just smile and follow your lead,” she replies, laying it on thick. I can practically smell the bull. She strokes his ego with a few more compliments, grabs her purse,  and hightails it toward me. ‘Get me out of here’
she mouths. I smirk and guide her to the bathroom.

“Why aren’t we already out of here?” she asks.

“Gotta change. I’m not taking you on the back of my bike like that.”

She sighs heavily. I’d pilfered a set of spare leathers from an old lady and made her wear them every time we rode.

“Why? You don’t even wear them,” she says.

“’Cause I don’t care if my skin comes off on the asphalt if I lay down my bike. I do care about yours.”

Her facial expression softens, and I know I’ve already won.

“I know you’re stressed, Karma. I’ll take you for a nice long ride as soon as you’re changed.”

“Fine.” She disappears in the door and returns a few moments later in a pair of leathers, a Pink Floyd T-shirt, and a leather jacket.

“How the fuck do you do that all the time?” I ask as we hit the hallway.

“Just tell myself it’s a necessary evil to get where I want to be. Sex sells, and people and the music isn’t enough anymore. You have to sell  yourself.”

“And what if you lose your soul in the process?” I ask.

“I’d have to own one in the first place for that to matter,” she whispers.

“I know soulless motherfuckers, K, that’s not you.”

“You don’t know me, Slayer.”

I grunt. She has a point, and I’m not about to argue with her. Right now I’m itching to get on my bike and leave this shit behind to become a bad memory.

“Where are we headed?” she asks.

“Anywhere but here. You got other shit to do for work?”

She shakes her head.

“Then we’re riding. You’re going to be with me until this is sorted out, so get used to time on the bike,” I say.

“Is that why you’re a nomad?” she asks, carefully using the word.

“Part of why,” I reply as we step on the elevator.

“Hmmm.” She looks at me, and I’m suddenly drowning in pools of amber and bronze that are full of curiosity.

“What?” I question.

“Just trying to figure you out.”

“Many have tried and failed, K.”

“Because you didn’t want them inside.”

“And you think I want you?” I ask.

She looks away. “Didn’t say that.”

Suddenly I’m feeling like a dick.
What the hell is going on with me?
If it’d been anyone else I would’ve set them straight. With her, I want to see how it plays out. It should scare me, but I welcome the feeling. I been walking around damn near emotionless for far too long. I let the words between us go unsaid as we ride the elevator down. We reach the bottom level and I scan the darkened space. There are too many places to hide in this concrete structure. The boys are working on rounding up info and arranging a meeting, but right now, Karma is still fair game. I keep her behind me as we make our way over to my bike slow as molasses. Once there, I climb on and marvel at the changes the past few days have brought. There’s a damn sissy seat on the back of my bike.

Never been one to let a woman ride bitch, let alone make her comfortable while she does it. But this girl somehow fits into my world and in my life. I don’t mind having her around. Any other bitch, I’d be ready to kill by now. This one knows when to stand up for herself, when to keep quiet, and fuck me if she doesn’t fascinate me. We climb on, and I turn the engine, enjoying the feeling of her limbs wrapped around me and her breasts against my back. The wind and the sun fuel me, making the four walls that held me prisoner this morning a distant memory.

An hour later my stomach is protesting, and I pull into a parking lot.

“You hungry?” I ask.

“Starving.”

“This place work?” I nod toward the mom and pop restaurant.

“Sure, I’m not picky.”

Is this bitch for real?
She’s the most easy-going, real chick I’ve met in a long ass time. The list of things I like about her is getting out of hand. We walk inside, and I’m determined to find a flaw I can’t live with. I don’t get serious with women. It’s opening up for a world full of hurt, and I’m a quick learner. I tried that shit one time, and it landed me behind bars for five to ten. Good behavior and the club’s ties were the only things that got me out early. We walk inside and grab a seat at the back with a view of the parking lot.

An older woman with gray hair, an easy smile, and a paper pad greets us with a smile and two menus.

“Welcome. My name is Gladys, and I’ll be your waitress for the day. Can I get you started off with something to drink?” 

“Can I have water, please?” Karma asks.

“Coke for me,” I say.

“I’ll get those and give you two time to look at the menu.” Gladys hurries away to get our beverages.

“Water? Don’t tell me you’re one of those girls,” I remark.

“You know I’m not. You’ve been with me long enough to know I eat. The lights in the studio are hot. I feel like I’m dehydrated and blind from all the flashes.”

I laugh. I do know. It’s yet another thing I dig about her. She can put away the food.
Shit, am I crushing? If I’m not careful I’ll turn into a pussy.
I roll my neck, popping the bones, and look at the menu.

“How much longer do you think we’ll be waiting before they meet up?” she asks. The place is empty, so I’m not worried about being overheard.

“Not sure, you anxious to be rid of me?” 

“No, but I miss my house.”

“The dorms not your favorite place, huh?”

“Between the partying, and the permanent smell of sex and booze, I can’t say I’ll miss it. Of course room service and cooks are nice,” she says.

I laugh. “Oh yeah?”

She shrugs. “You guys got a sweet set up. I can’t fault you there.”

“I’m shocked you’re not protesting, and calling it chauvinistic,” I say, testing the waters.

“Why? They want to be there. I can see that with my own eyes. No one is making them do this shit. They live for it. Not bad to have a purpose.”

“Are you for real?”               

“What? You want me to be judgmental?” She shakes her head. “You’re looking in the wrong place. I’ve seen how bad shit can get. They got it nice. Roof over their heads, food in their belly, clothing, and choices. It’s more than some.”

Her words have me wondering about her past. Who’s the woman behind the rock and roll singer? Gladys returns and drops off our drinks.

“You two decide?” Gladys asks.

“I’ll have a cheeseburger. Plain, with ketchup only, and fries,” she replies.

“Double that, no onions for me.” I give her a brief smile.

“All right, I’ll get that coming out to you guys,” Gladys says, removing our menus.

“You talk like you know from experience.”

She scowls. “That’s ’cause I do. I wasn’t always Karma Good rock singer.”

“Who were you?”

She wrinkles her nose. “Like you don’t know. I’m sure Clue dug up everything but my mother’s grave.”

“I ain’t asking him. I’m asking you.” 

She sighed. “Karma, the daughter of the neighborhood dope man and his abused wife. A walking disaster, set on the same fucked up course as her parents until she found the one thing that mattered, music.” She squints. “Why do you even care?“

Her upbringing explains her sense of self-preservation and street smarts.

“I’m stuck with you for who knows how long. Figured I could know you better.” 

“Right? And does this inquisition work both ways?” She lifts an eyebrow.

“You can ask. I might answer depending on what it is,” I reply. It’s the most open conversation I’ve had in a long time. The boys know to keep their distance with the personal stuff, and Arden has been with me for most of the tough shit.

“Why the club?”

“I don’t know many people who have a family willing to lay down their lives for one another, do you?”

“No. When you put it that way the clarity comes swift,” she says.

“You get it?” I lean back and study her. Most women don’t.

“Who wouldn’t want that? I think we’re all just looking for the people who will accept us for who we are and offer up the loyalty so rarely found.”

I grunt. Part of her job is pretending. She’s probably doing that now. Telling me what she thinks I want to hear.

“Who takes care of you?” I ask.

“Me.” Her eyes flash.

“Looks like it’s me doing it now.”

“It’s you … now, but it was me before, and it’ll be me after. I don’t depend on anyone else.”

“There’s a Commonwealth of history in that statement,” I say.

“You do a lot of asking and little telling, Slayer.” She rolls my nickname on her tongue. I wonder what else she can do with her clever mouth.

“I don’t hear you asking anything else, K.”

“How’d you find the Dueling Devils?” she asks.