A Postseason One Novella: Rock F*ck Club, #2 Read online

  "Yes." Were they tracking my cell, too? Kinda creepy. “Our taxi just drove over the bridge.”

  "So you’re thirty minutes away. Ms. Smith is sending me out to get her a coffee. Would you like me to get you one as well?"

  "Yes, thank you." That was thoughtful of her, but even so my heart plummeted knowing the meeting I had hoped to avoid until tomorrow was already here. "And make it two. Marsha West is coming with me." I was going to need all the support I could get. I knew Suzanne Smith better than I wanted to. It was going to be a late night, and it was going to be anything but fun.

  "WELCOME BACK TO New York." The formidable exec lifted her gaze as Barbara stepped ahead of us into her corner office to announce us. “Sit down. We need to get started.” She set aside the papers she had been perusing and stretched out her hand to indicate the leather and chrome chairs in front of her desk. More like the hot seats. Marsha and I had been in them before. It wasn’t an experience that I relished repeating.

  "Thank you, Miss Michaels." She dipped her chin to acknowledge the white and green to go cup with the protective sleeve that her assistant placed in front of her. “That will be all for now.”

  The blond with her hair pulled back in a severe chignon like her boss’ mouthed a silent ‘good luck’ to me on her way out. Before it could settle in that we might have an ally in a place I never expected to have one, Smith addressed me.

  “You made good time from the airport.” She settled back into her cream colored high-backed chair and picked up a pen. “La Guardia’s unpredictable these days with all the construction.” She rolled her expensive-black and probably real gold writing instrument back and forth between her perfectly manicured but ring-free hands. “And speaking of blowing hot and cold. She leaned forward and taped her pen to the stack of papers atop her desk. “Here you two are."

  I recognized my signature and Marsha’s on the top of the stack.

  I could see that we were going to get right to it. No segue. No build up. Right to the throat. I straightened my spine and braced for the barrage. Suzanne Smith more than held her own in an industry full of alphas. I knew better than to appear to be weak.

  "We’ll start with you, Miss Winters.” The exec’s hazel-green eyes remained as raptor sharp as I remembered. “You sat in that very same chair not long ago and promised me eight more episodes, eight more cities, eight more rockers. You went on record denying a relationship with the Dragons’ lead singer. I emphasized that you had to be perceived as a player for the series concept to work. I made it clear that it was nonnegotiable.” She narrowed her gaze. "Yet, you ignored my directives. You lied to me.”

  "We filmed eight cities and rockers." My voice wasn’t as firm as I wished.

  "Technically, yes. I’ve been going over the footage with my team and the beta-watchers. I’ll get to my observations in a moment. But I’ll tell you upfront that I consider you to be in material breach of your contract."

  Dread pooled in the pit of my stomach.

  "So the question is how are you planning to make amends?"

  "I’m here. I take full responsibility for my actions." I didn’t want Marsha to get into trouble, and I also remembered Lucky's directive to do whatever it took to appease Smith.

  "There were two of us when we started Rock Fuck Club," Marsha added firmly. “And the two of us together will make things right.” She glanced at me, and we exchanged a firm nod.

  "Excellent. So are you both prepared to return the funds you received from my company plus the customary reparation of one and half times that amount for damages?"

  Holy fuck!

  "Um, no. I mean I could return most of the advance I received.” It was relatively untouched, less what I had given to my best friend to cover her debts. “But I don’t have anything beyond that."

  "I only have the salary I was given for being a production assistant." Marsha turned as white as the legal documents looming on the exec’s desk.

  "Well. Then we’re left to salvage this mess. Something I’m not overly fond of doing." She shook her head. "It’s certainly not what I envisioned at the beginning when Barbara first outlined the Rock Fuck Club proposal."

  "Barbara?" My brows rose. "You mean your secretary?"

  "Don’t look so surprised." She nodded. "Barbara has a background in music. She’s very tuned in on social media trends. In our line of work it pays to know what’s happening in real time and to act quickly and decisively." She made a tsking sound. "Usually. In this instance we’ll just have to see how things play out after I view the final product." She pinned me with an expectant look.

  "What do you mean?" I squirmed in my chair. “What more is there to do?”

  "We must re-film certain scenes."

  "Which ones?" I gulped.

  "The vignettes with the other members of the Dragons, of course. Not to mention the one with Spencer himself."

  "We're redoing entire episodes?" I croaked.

  "No. Not entirely." She rolled her pen again and honed her predatory gaze on me. "The one with the drummer, Mr. Harris will only need a partial redo. BDSM is a popular fantasy. It’s sexy the way you both portrayed it, but it’s not enough. Viewers need to see some kissing, some tenderness, some actual aftercare on camera.”

  "Ok, I guess." Lucky had said to do whatever it took to make the boss happy, but he also made it very clear how he felt about me with other guys.

  "The painting thing was a complete disaster. It’s startlingly dull after the titillating episodes that came before it. And it sends an inconsistent message."

  "And what is that?

  "It rips the viewer off. After investing in eight episodes of sexy, edgy programming about a woman exploring her sexual preferences. What they’re left with is someone doing everything she can to avoid intimacy in order to appease a jealous lover. A relationship contractually prohibited, by the way."

  Yes, that pretty much summed it up.

  "Which leaves the last one." The rolling of the pen between her palms stopped. "If the lead singer of the Dragons is going to be the culmination of your journey, your sexual ideal, then the viewers actually need to see it. To get the visual payoff. You and Marsha put your heads together. Script out your solutions and email them directly to me. If I find them satisfactory, we’ll call the crew back in and get back to work."

  "But maybe Lucky and the guys won’t agree to redo those scenes with me."

  "Oh, they will. Each one signed a contract much like yours. Mr. Morris and I have already taken care of the logistics. The band has an upcoming show in New Jersey. All the parties involved will remain here in the city afterward to film. They’ll only lose a couple of days off. A small price to pay. For them. For Marsha. For you.” She tapped her pen on her desk as if it were a gavel. “Rock Fuck Club is going to cement my reputation. It will make you a household name. Women exploring their sexual interests on their own terms without judgement. That’s the original theme. That’s the focus of the launch for the first season. That’s the way the series will continue under my supervision, and that’s the way I’ll ensure that it ends. I won’t accept anything less.” She let go of her pen. It rolled to a stop on her desk. “You screwed up, Miss Winters, but I’m going to fix it. We’re going to do more than just salvage Rock Fuck Club. We’re going to make it a huge success."

  I STEPPED OUTSIDE WMO in a daze. Beneath the shadow of the huge building, I felt like I was right back where I had started, only with one notable difference. I now knew exactly what I stood to lose. Lucky. And everything we had found together. What Smith was proposing would put it all at extreme risk.

  Kissing Rocky? Sexy aftercare with him? When I knew Lucky would handle it about as well as he had the initial scene? Which was to say…not well at all.

  And Alec. The symbolic painting of the Dragon logo on my back by him and the rest of the band. It sounded like she wanted to scrap the whole thing. What in the hell could I come up with to replace it? What would be tantalizing enough to satisfy the exec, but yet t
ame enough to keep Lucky from hating me?

  At least the last one, the abrupt scene before Lucky and I had taken off for Morris’ penthouse, would be easy enough to sex up. If Lucky wasn’t furious with the results of the other retakes.

  “Hey.” Marsha tapped my arm. “You ok?”

  “Hardly.” I gave it to her real. “But much better than I would’ve been if I had faced Suzanne Smith’s wrath alone.”

  “You’ll never be alone while I have any say in it.” She grabbed my hand and squeezed it.

  “Oops. Sorry. Hey.” Barbara stepped out of the building and glanced back and forth between Marsha and me. “You two took off so quickly I didn’t get a chance to give you your hotel information.” She pointed over my shoulder. “I booked you a room at the Hilton Midtown. I would’ve booked two, but…”

  “We’re good with one.”

  “I imagine you are. You seem tight.” She looked a little envious. “I had a close friend once, or at least I thought I did. In the end she was just being nice to me because she had a thing for my dad.” My brows rose. That sounded awful. “But anyway, your friendship was what I found most engaging about your YouTube channel. It’s sweet how you look out for each other.”

  “Yeah, we do,” Marsha said. “And we used to be a lot more fun before your boss came into the picture.”

  “Suzanne can be severe at times.” Barbara glanced over her shoulder as if she feared Smith would throw open the glass door and berate her.

  “So Barbara,” Marsha said to regain the assistant’s attention. “Is there a good bar at our hotel?”

  “I think it closes at nine.” Barbara tucked a lose strand of her hair behind her ear.

  “What kind of bar closes at nine?”

  “Ones in Midtown. Most of the workers have already gone home for the day by then. It gets deserted down here around now.”

  “You sound like you know from personal experience.”

  She nodded.

  “She works you late a lot, huh?”

  “Yes. But the pay’s good. And it’s a foot in the door inside a field that interests me.”

  “How’s that?” I asked, remembering Smith’s words earlier.

  “Music production involves a lot of the same skill sets I use here. I don’t play an instrument or sing, but I’ve been told I have a good ear. I’d like to discover new acts. Help in the recording studio. Maybe have a label of my own one day.”

  “That sounds really cool,” I looked at her in a new light. With her professional demeanor softened as it was now she seemed younger, more like a contemporary and less like a Suzanne Smith clone.

  “Know any place close that’s still open?” Marsha queried. “Someplace you can come with us so we can get to know each other better? Preferably with alcohol? Someplace we can have some fun?”

  “YOU SURE YOU’RE up for this bestie?” Marsha peered at me skeptically. “The last rider who got thrown didn’t look so good.” She hooked a thumb over the chest high wall that corralled a mechanical bull and padding of dubious quality. A bucket even stood by at the ready in case someone needed to hurl.

  Um, no. I wasn’t sure. But I wouldn’t admit it. I still remembered how to have fun. We’d done some shots. Now it was time to cinch up my wild and crazy belt a notch. A little Manhattan mayhem Texas style.

  “I can do this,” I confirmed, trying not to lose my nerve as I watched a staff member in a Johnny Utah t-shirt usher off the second guy in a row who had face planted on the mat after only a three second ride. “I’m no tenderfoot, Mars. Let me show ‘em how it’s done.”

  “You’re hard core, girl. But I wouldn’t do it if I were you.” She shook her head as they opened the gate beside us and let in the next person in line.

  “Might as well. I’ve already signed the release forms. Besides, I need something to do besides worry about a situation that has no easy solution.”

  “True. I’m all for ill-advised distractions. But wouldn’t it be better if we just went back to the bar with our new friend Barbara?” She winced as the most recent rider slash victim landed on the padding only inches away from us. “Safer?” she added wryly.

  “Since when did you or I ever go the safe route?”

  “Since never.” She grinned and dropped her gaze to the woman in the rhinestone encrusted cowboy boots who was currently crawling away from the victorious bull. “How was it?”

  “My girlfriends convinced me they would go easier on a woman.”

  “They’re never easier on the women, honey.” Mars shook her head and pointed at the control booth. “That guy over there’s getting his kicks outta using that mechanical demon to make us look stupid.”

  “You’re probably right,” she muttered, straightening her hat. “Makes me want to try it again just to spite him.” She started to spin around to go back, but the gate attendant grabbed her by the shoulders.

  “Uh-uh. One ride per night, Calamity Jane.”

  “Fine.” Calamity wobbled toward the gate, then stopped in front of us. “You next?” she asked Marsha.

  “Nope.” She hooked a thumb at me.

  “Well good luck to you, sister. My advice? Approach it like the rest of rough things that come at us in this life. Stay loose in the saddle. Go with the ride. But whatever you do, hold on tight to those reins.”

  "THAT'S THE THIRD time he's tried to get a hold of you, honey." Marsha put her hand on my shoulder, or at least I think it was hers. It could have belonged to one of the guys who kept coming over to the bar and hitting on me. There had been more than a few since we had entered the below the street level honky-tonk themed bar.

  "I can’t talk to him yet, Mars." My words were muffled into my arms. I had them crossed on the bar and my face pressed into them. We still hadn’t come up with a solution. We’d been full of grandiose ambitions before the shots, but I was so plastered now I couldn’t even hold my head up without the room spinning. "I’m too wasted to deflect. He's gonna hate me when he finds out what I have to do. He should hate me. I’m too much trouble. He should choose easy. Take what those groupies are offering."

  "You know he’s not interested in that scene. He's in love with you, Raven. He's gonna be mad, sure. Every relationship comes with its share of troubles. But he’s gonna be more understanding if you level with him upfront."

  "He’ll hate me if I tell him now. He’ll hate me if I won’t. What's the difference?"

  "The difference is you wouldn’t be keeping it from him. You're building trust. It’s better that you break it to him yourself before his record label does."

  Her cell rang. Not mine for a change. Hallelujah. Maybe Lucky had given up for the night and gone to bed.

  "Hello." Marsha’s voice sounded far away like she was at the end of a long tunnel. "Yeah, Lucky. She's sitting right beside me, but she can’t talk. She's totally trashed."

  "Mars, don’t tell hm tht." I tried to lift my head, but only ended up bumping my chin on the bar. It was wise that Barbara had already gotten into a taxi and headed home for the night. I was way past the point of being fun.

  "I’m putting her on speaker. You’re gonna need me to translate. She's slurring her consonants, a sure sign that the light’s about to go out."

  "Raven,” Lucky said my name in his I’m-the-boss-of-the-tour voice. F. U. C. K. My spine tried to snap straight, but it only managed a weak quiver. Absent my usual sass, there was only longing. Plus, a big dose of regret that I was pulling him into my drama yet again. "Marsha, is she still there?"

  "She’s here. Barely. Her eyes are open, but they’re glazed like a Krispy Kreme."

  "What's going on, Angel? Why are you avoiding my calls? And why in the bloody hell are you getting pissed in public? Wherever you are please tell me Marsha isn’t recording you."

  "Hey frontman. Marsha here. I resent that last remark. I told you I would look out for her and keep her off the grid. And I have. Mostly. You're girl's a little strong-willed. I tried to talk her out of riding the mechanical bull. But sh
e thought she had something to prove. And I wouldn’t doubt that some guys might’ve filmed her. Not because they recognized her, but because maybe they were imagining her riding them instead of the bull."

  "Bloody hell!” he exclaimed. “Marsha you're bollucks as a bodyguard. She would’ve been safer with Sky as her chaperone."

  "STAY WITH ME, bestie." Marsha somehow got me through the hotel lobby and into the elevator. I had surfaced a bit from my alcohol induced stupor during the cab ride from the club. The lights of Times Square shining on the back of my eyelids like the sun had dissipated some of my tequila fog. But by the time we checked in at the Hilton things were blurring in and out again. "Don’t you dare puke in here.” She put her palm on my sternum and propped me up against the wall of the elevator when I started to list forward. “The guy at the front desk reminded me three times if you toss it anywhere they're gonna charge my credit card a five hundred dollar clean up fee."

  "But..." My eyes going wide, I put a hand over my mouth and felt my ears pop and my stomach drop precipitously as I watched the numbers on the elevator panel rocketing higher.

  "Thirty-three," Marsha announced way too cheerily and took my arm. "C'mon."

  "Slow down," I warned her as she linked her arm with mine and half-dragged me down the hall. "The floor is wavy." I swallowed repeatedly. The odds were about fifty-fifty right now on that cleaning fee.

  "It’s not, but don’t worry. We're at our room."

  “Yay,” I said weakly, leaning my shoulder into the wall beside the door.” My vision wouldn’t clear. I squinted to focus but that only narrowed my foggy field of vision. She fed a card into the reader. It whirred and clicked. “Here we go, honey.” Marsha took my arm again and helped me inside the room. A whoosh of musty air hit me as the door closed behind us. Spotting the bathroom on the left, I immediately veered into it and dropped to my knees in front of the toilet. My bestie joined me just in time to pull my hair out of the way. Heave after heave, I rejected the excess tequila. She stayed through several wracking bouts, stroking my spine soothingly between eruptions.