So I Married a Rockstar (10 page)

Just one day ago, I was cursing the day Drax's parents met because they produced the most infuriating demon spawn ever to walk the face of the earth. Now I'm wearing his robe and sleeping in his bed. Oh yeah, and I'm the band's manager...for the time being.

If you would have told me all this yesterday, I would have laughed in your face and then maybe popped you one in the mouth for suggesting I was easy or something. What a difference a few hours and one panty-melting kiss can make! I pinch myself to make sure I'm not actually dreaming. I have no idea how that's supposed to determine whether I'm asleep, but it hurts so I guess that means I'm awake.

"Yes, this would do nicely," says a voice I don't recognize on the other side of the door. "What's back here, I wonder?"

Sliding open the door before anyone else can, I find myself face-to-face with a strange man. A very handsome strange man.
 

"Oh!"

He's dressed to the nines in a custom-tailored suit I know cost more than my current car -- which isn't really saying much, to be honest. His dark brown eyes gives me an appraising once-over, a single thick, black eyebrow launching up his forehead. A stray lock of his slicked-back dark brown hair drapes across it.

I pull the robe tighter up top, but that only makes it gape down low. I feel like a slab of meat hanging in the butcher's window.

 
"Oh, is right," he oozes.
 

Yeah, that's right. This man oozes. Everything about him. He oozes charm, the words he speaks ooze from his lips, his cologne oozes off him in waves, and I'm pretty sure he's oozing hair product. My spidey-sense is screaming 'Run away!' but there's nowhere to run.

"That's enough!" Drax looks ready to bite the head off this guy. Not in a scolding kind of way, but in an Ozzy Ozbourne-with-a-bat way. "We got the message, now get out."

The man's eyes narrow and there's no mistaking that he's dangerous. Ignoring Drax's rage, he takes my hand and lifts it to his lips, never breaking eye contact. I'm breathless with confusion and fear but I don't dare snatch my hand away.
 

Just because I'm in a sleepy stupor doesn't mean I'm stupid. I grew up in San Francisco, about a decapitated horse's head away from North Beach, the major Italian neighborhood. It's safe to say that I know a mobster when I see one.

"And who might you be?" His interest in me sends chills down my spine, and not in the fun way. But if there's one thing I know about dealing with this type of guy, it's to be respectful without showing any fear.

Mustering all the bravery I can, I move my lips into something that resembles a smile and twist my hand in his to shake it. "I'm Lauren Raines, Roadkill's manager."

My gaze never wavers from his, but I try to keep it cordial. I don't want him to think I'm challenging him. But over his shoulder, Drax is seething and ready to pounce. I have no clue what's happening, but it's not good, and one wrong move could make it about a billion times worse.

"Marco Gasperini," he says...excuse me,
oozes
. The twinkle in his eye says he knows I'm more than just a manager. Man, these mob guys pick up on everything.

"It's a pleasure, Mr. Gasperini. How can I help you?"

His slimy smile grows wider. "Oh, I can think of so many ways..."

That's the final straw for Drax. He lunges but luckily Jake and Savory grab him. Marco ignores the scuffle behind him. Cocky bugger!
 

"Let's start with the reason you came for a visit and move on from there. Can I offer you something to drink?"

I can tell he's impressed with my handling of the situation but he's quickly growing bored. Or maybe he's running late for an appointment to break someone's kneecaps. Whatever it is, the smile falls away and is replaced by a dark veil of warning.
 

"Thanks for your hospitality, honey -- more than your, uh,
clients
offered -- but I have other business to attend to. I'm sure the boys here will fill you in."

After one final ogle of my barely contained boobs, he spins around and pushes past the guys -- Drax stares daggers and machine guns at him as he oozes by -- slamming the door behind him.
 

Once I'm sure he's out of earshot, I stuff my fists on my hips in my most 'angry mama' way. "Can someone please tell me why we just had a visit from the mafia?"

Drax is still super pissed. "Why don't you ask that fuckhead," he gruffs, jerking his head toward Frank.

Only now do I realize that Frank has been sitting quietly on the couch during this whole scene, his head hanging low. When he looks up, tears drip off his chin. His wet eyes plead for forgiveness. My stomach churns at the thought of what could cause such a surly buttmunch to bawl like a pre-teen girl.

"I fucked up, Lauren. I fucked up bad."

"You lost
how
much?!"

I can't believe my ears. Hey, I've bought my fair share of dollar scratch-offs but I can't really believe someone would bet $10,000 on a football game. Well, maybe a billionaire, but a starving musician?

Frank drops his head in his hands and starts sobbing again. I want to break his kneecaps myself, and I'm almost tempted to suggest letting Marco have his way with the guy but Jake beats me to it. Now I'm ashamed for even thinking it.

"It's not
our
problem," Jake rants. "We're not the ones who made the bet so why should we have to suffer?"

"Dude," Savory replies, "that wiseguy is going to get paid. He doesn't give two shits who owes him the money. He'll get it, one way or another."

"But I don't have it!" Frank wails. "He's gonna kill meeeee!"

As much as I want to yell at Frank and beat him over the head with a frying pan, it's not going to solve our problem. I take a deep breath and switch gears.
 

"How much
do
you have, Frank?"

He can't even meet my eyes. "Four."

"Okay, four grand. That's well on the way to the full amount. Maybe if we all--"

Frank mumbles something I don't catch.

"What?"

"Not four grand. Four hundred."

The blood drains out of my face -- which might happen soon if we don't come up with Marco's money. I'm at a loss and look over at Drax. He's as shocked as the rest of us.

"How about you guys?" I ask, my voice catching in my throat.
 

I only have to look at their faces to know the answer.
 

They're working musicians, on the cusp of breaking out. And just last night, they not only canceled a very lucrative concert but they also lost their big-time manager. They don't have it.

"Drax," Frank says, casting a pleading look at him. "Maybe you could..."

"Don't even go there, Frank. You got yourself into this mess. We'll help you figure it out, but it ain't gonna be easy."

"So what are our options?" I ask.

Jake pipes up as he cracks his first beer of the morning. "We either pay up by noon tomorrow or he'll take the bus."

I gape. "But this bus has to be worth more than $50,000! That's not fair!"
 

The only sound is Frank sniffling. I know better anyway. The mob doesn't really take fairness into consideration when they come to collect.

"Okay, so we need to find the money. We could sell the bus. I'm sure there's someone in Vegas who will give us at least twenty for it, right?"

Drax shakes his head. I hate seeing him look so defeated. "That asshole has already put the word out to the dealers in town to
not
buy it. No way is anyone going to go against him. We might as well book our bus tickets back to the bay right now."

I want to cry. I was so proud of myself for getting their concert fee, but that check is a drop in the bucket of what Frank owes. This fun, spontaneous adventure is quickly turning into an ordeal. Drax is right; it's time to go home. Well, it was fun while it lasted.

Before I buy the tickets, I check my email, more out of habit than anything. What I see there depresses me even more. Five more replies from venues, all rejections. I'm about to send an email from some college to spam when I catch the subject line:
Urgent reply to your query.

I wrack my brain as the email loads, trying to remember if I reached out to any colleges. Last night was a frenzy of contacting any and every venue in town I ran across. This must have been one.

I'm midway through the email when I realize I've been holding my breath. I scan the rest and let out gust of air. I want to cry again but this time from hope.

"You guys, we might not have to go home just yet." I read the email.

Ms. Raines,

Thank you for reaching out to us. As it happens, today is our annual Founders' Day Festival. The activities occur in the quad throughout the day, ending with a live concert. Unfortunately, the lead singer had to be rushed to the hospital in the middle of the night for an emergency appendectomy. He's expected to make a full recovery, but that leaves us without a band for our grand finale.
 

It's serendipitous that I was informed of the cancelation only moments before reading your timely email. I've researched Roadkill and believe our students will enjoy a concert by them. I'm afraid we will not be able to pay a fee, but you are welcome to sell as much merchandise as you can and keep all the profits.
 

Hopefully your team will see this as a win-win for both parties. Please contact me to coordinate as soon as possible.

Sincerely,

Alicia Woodward

Student Activity Liaison

Drax is standing next to me, trying to read over my shoulder. Normally I hate it when people do that but I'm too excited to care. "Can we make enough on merch to pay off Marco?"

He sits down next to me and takes over the laptop, checking out the school's population. He turns a lecherous grin on me.

"Depends. Did you happen to pack a corset?"

The school grounds are bustling when the band and I arrive to firm up the details and check out the set-up. There are tables with credit card companies offering free T-shirts and Frisbees, non-profits handing out STD pamphlets and colorful condoms, a raucous game of Frolf, and about 10,000 drunk college kids running around.
 

After signing a bare-bones contract and being vigorously informed that the students were off-limits for extracurricular activities, Mrs. Woodward leads us out of her office for a tour of campus.
 

"As you can see, our students enjoy blowing off steam during these types of events."

I spot a girl leaning into a fountain to 'blow off' her lunch and about a gallon of booze, her bestie holding back her hair. I was that girl in school, the hair holder. I catch her eye as we pass and give her a supportive 'I know your pain' smile. She shrugs and goes back to tending to her friend.

The stage is a simple three-foot riser, barely big enough to hold the band's instruments. I'm betting the guys haven't played such a low-tech concert for years.
 

"Old school," Drax says, nodding approvingly. "We got this. We'll just go bare bones."

"I'm pleased it will suit your needs," Mrs. Woodward says. She's an efficient middle-aged woman, dressed in a smart pantsuit. She's pleasant enough but has barely cracked a smile since we arrived. "I'll be leaving here in about an hour. You can set up whenever suits you, but the closer to eight the better. Goodness only knows what these animals will do to your equipment if you set up early."

I almost laugh at her joke but the expression on her face tells me that she's not joking at all. Her pert little nose wrinkles in disgust at a young couple drunkenly grinding on each other nearby. She really doesn't like these kids much.

Savory and Frank step away to investigate the tiny stage while Mrs. Woodward finishes with us.
 

"Your contact for the evening will be Shelby Paxton. Here's her cell in case you need to call. Have a good show."

I punch the number into my phone. When I glance up, Drax is frowning as the woman trundles away.

"Back in a sec," he says and jogs after her.

"Shit, what are the odds?" Jake laughs, already half-lit and it's only four.

"What? What are you talking about?"

He's shaking his spiked head and chuckling. "Shelby. Shit."

"Shelby? Who's Shelby?"

"Only Drax's last girlfriend. Wonder what she's doing out here in the desert."

My body turns icy as the words sink in. I can't stop from watching Drax as he speaks with Mrs. Woodward, no doubt asking about this Shelby woman. I'm dying to know more, and luckily Jake is just tipsy enough that he won't even know I'm grilling him.
 

"Huh," I say, feigning disinterest. "Oh, is this the one he dated for a few years?"

"Yeah, that's the one. Man, he was head over fucking heels for that little cutie. Hard to blame him. Smart, gorgeous, rich. Talk about the whole package. Best thing he ever had."

"Wow, she sounds cool. Why'd he dump her?"
 

Subtle. But Jake doesn't have a clue.

"Yeah, right. You don't dump a chick like that. Drax was the dumpee all the way."

My guts twist up into knots. "Oh yeah?"

"Dude sulked like a pussy for about six months after she kicked his ass to the curb. Fucked with our tour, too."

"So, um, why did she leave?" If Jake had chugged one beer less today, he might have caught the jealousy in my question.

He shrugs. "She couldn't handle the lifestyle. Drax was pretty wild back then."

Unlike now?
I almost snort.

"I guess she didn't want to marry a rockstar."

Whu-whu-whu?!

"Whu?"

"Oh yeah, Drax totally proposed. Got down on one knee on stage at a concert and everything. Next day, she was gone."

The knots in my stomach turn into cold, hard cannon balls. I want to puke. Of course, no one would pay any attention in this crowd. All I can manage to do is clench my jaw and keep my mouth shut.

"Probably didn't help that he was wrecked at the time. I hear girls don't like it when you ask to marry 'em all drunk and shit. Whatever. I don't want to get married anyway."