Authors: Sean Michael
He turned the ringer down low and put the peppers on the burners to roast the skins.
At some point he was going to have to break down and eat a steak the size of his head.
Maybe they could go to a restaurant. Him and Jeff, not Lord January.
He would like that, to see Jeff actually go outside.
Like a real person.
He’d have to broach the subject. He doubted Jeff would go out today, but Rye would wear him down, and maybe in a couple days they could do it. Somewhere quiet where they served vegetarian and meatatarian meals.
Somewhere no one would recognize Jeff.
Somewhere trustworthy.
Continuing to ignore the phone, which was still fucking ringing, Rye made the soup and grabbed a package of crackers instead of making toast. He made another milkshake with protein powder for Jeff too. It all fit on a tray, and he headed back upstairs, making sure to close and lock the door on his way.
He totally got the temptation to lock the rest of the world away and stay safe in hiding, but Rye wasn’t going to let Jeff be a prisoner of Lord January’s fame.
“T
HE
BAND
is coming in tonight, LJ, and you have an appearance Thursday night at midnight at Clockworks. Do you need me to order in food and supplies?” Donna asked, her voice warm even over the telephone.
“Yeah. Yeah, that’s fine. Call Rye and tell him when to open the doors.” Jeff stared out the window of his bedroom. It had been good, vacation, but it was over.
All of it.
“Okay, LJ. You feeling ready? The tour starts in two weeks.”
“One week of music rehearsals, one week of dress rehearsal, and then we’re off. Got it.” He was going to die.
Rye came in with a tray of food, moving easily.
“Is there anything you need?” Donna asked again.
“Bri will want M&M’S, Roach likes beer. Scooter and Brandy bring their own shit.”
One of Rye’s eyebrows went up and he mouthed, “Who?”
Jeff held up one finger. “E-mail me all the details for Thursday and make sure Rye gets all the information.”
“You’ve got it. I’ll keep you updated if there’s any change. Take care of yourself, honey.”
“I will.”
He hung up, tried to smile. “Vacation is over. Time to earn my pennies. The band is here starting tonight. The appearances start Thursday.”
“Okay. You don’t need to do the whole January schtick with the band, do you?”
“No. No, there will be some strangers, so I’ll be LJ.”
Rye made a face. “All right. But remember he’s just a shell.”
“He is.” Jeff sighed and stretched. “There will be deliveries today—food and booze, all that. They all have rooms here.”
“Do they know I’m going to search them and their stuff for drugs?”
“Oh, that’s going to go over well.” Roach was going to scream.
Rye shrugged, not looking terribly concerned. “They should be happy I’m letting them bring in booze.”
“I only drink booze when I want to blow fire.”
That eyebrow of Rye’s went up. “And do you do that often?”
“Couple times a week on tour.” Whenever he had to.
Rye made a face but didn’t actually say anything. He set the tray down. “Come and eat.”
“What is it? It smells good.”
“Figs and cheese on crackers, vegetables, and baba ghanoush.”
“Do I like figs?” Jeff came closer, eyes curious.
“You tell me.” Rye picked one up, offering it to him.
Jeff took the bite and nibbled, then nodded. “I like figs.”
“I’m glad.”
“Yeah? The cook will be back tomorrow, and you won’t have to do it anymore.” He was sad. He liked Rye’s food.
“Yeah? Does the cook know what you like?”
“No.” How could she? Jeff hadn’t known.
“Then we’ll have to tell her.”
“Yeah.” Really, he’d just have toast in the morning. It would be enough.
“Hey. I’m still here, and I know you’re not LJ. You need to remember who you are, you look to me, okay?”
“Just remember, if you hate January, that I’m still your friend.”
“I know. Me and Jeff, we’re like this.” Rye crossed his fingers together.
“Yeah. Yeah, good friends.”
Rye smiled that smile where it made his face the handsomest thing around.
He ate another fig cracker, sighing as his phone rang. Roach. He grabbed it, answered. “Roach.”
“Boss. Tonight, huh? You really clean?”
“Yeah.”
“You get religion?”
“No.”
“Great.”
He rolled his eyes, and Rye dipped a carrot in hummus and handed it over to him.
“Thank you,” Jeff mouthed. “You have a song list in mind?” he said out loud.
“Of course I do.” Roach cackled. “I know exactly what all those little bloodsuckers want.”
“That’s my Roach.” He chuckled. “I can’t wait to see you play.” That was the truth. Roach was solid as a rock, unflappable, and cynical as fuck.
“Ditto, LJ. Been too fucking long.”
Ten months. He hadn’t gone that long between tours ever. “I’ll be ready. We’ll rock the house.”
“You know it, LJ. The place full of groupies yet?”
“No. No, not yet.”
“It will be. Live like rock stars, huh?”
He supposed so.
“Okay, LJ, I’ll see you tonight.” Roach cackled some more and hung up.
Jeff put his phone away and headed into the closet. He needed his costume, to become LJ.
He sighed, and he thought he could hear January in the back of his head, laughing.
R
YE
FOLLOWED
Lord January downstairs to meet up with the band, with some misgivings. That the band themselves already hated him—he’d done his drug check when they’d arrived and flushed several joints down the toilet—didn’t bother him.
But Jeff’s alter ego made him itch. He couldn’t help but think that January was toxic for Jeff. It was his job to make sure Jeff didn’t get totally lost.
LJ was in a silk shirt open to the waist, skintight leather pants, and dark, thick eye makeup and heavy silver jewelry.
It was ugly, stark, and weirdly distasteful. Rye wasn’t sure what that said about him as a person.
Was it fucked up to think that Jeff was the attractive one? That the loose, gauzy pants or jeans and sweat shirts, hair clean and loose, was Jeff at his most beautiful?
This LJ character was supposed to be more powerful than his Jeff, but….
God, man
, Rye growled to himself,
fucking focus.
The four guys who made up January’s band let up a cheer as Jeff came down, and Rye scanned the room, making sure it was just them, that there were no threats.
They swarmed January, hugging and shaking, looking him over.
They all had the same basic look: lean, skinny, underfed. The bassist was bald and fierce, her sharp teeth flashing. The percussionist was the only one with any meat on his bones, and he picked LJ up and spun him about.
Rye tried not to growl, made himself stay where he was. These were Jeff’s band members, not vultures.
“Oh, man. You look great.”
An older guy with a terribly scarred face—Roach—looked LJ over. “You know, Scooter, he does. You look healthy. Weird.”
Rye ground his teeth and stayed right where he was, not saying a word.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” LJ flipped Roach off. “And you look like a starvation victim.”
“Sort of been. It’s a thing. You want to work or talk, asshole?”
“Work!” The entire band spoke together.
They settled quickly into the music, and Rye sat back. He couldn’t help but compare this session to the music Jeff made when it was just the two of them.
This was raucous and furious, Jeff screaming and jumping up and down, head whipping around feverishly.
Rye kind of hated it.
It was going to be a long fucking tour.
They played five songs, and then they broke, LJ and Roach’s heads together making plans. The beers came up, and then a couple of people he didn’t know wandered in.
Whoa.
Hold up.
Rye got up and got into their faces. “Excuse me. Who are you?” And how the fuck had they gotten in?
“We won the
101.2 contest
. Lord January! Oh my God!”
Another man walked in, smarmy written all over him. “Marvin Reynolds. LJ’s publicist. They’re with me. Hey, LJ. Looking good!”
“You can all stop right there.” Rye started with Mr. Fucking Publicist, patting the man down. He was going to have words with the man later. He hadn’t been informed of this contest. Not to mention this was Jeff’s house—having fans wandering in and out was crazy.
“What the fuck! LJ, tell this guy who I am!”
Jeff looked over. “You just did, Marv.”
“No one gets in and out without a search, Mr. Reynolds. I’m going to have to ask for your key too.” Luckily the guy was clean, and he held out his hand for the key.
“Dude! LJ!”
“He doesn’t work for me. Works for Donna. Call her. I’m working.” Jeff looked positively tickled for a second.
Rye puffed up, making himself look even bigger, and kept his hand right there, waiting on that key. No one was getting past him until he had it.
The key was handed over. “Your ass is fired, man.”
“Do your worst. And when these ladies’ visit is over, we need to have a word about these
contests
.” Turning to the girls, he managed a small smile for them. “Are either of you carrying drugs or knives?”
“I… I have a pen knife. I was hoping… I mean, everyone knows….”
He held out his hand. “Sorry, no knives.” People were fucking insane.
“You’ll give it back later?” The tiny goth handed over a little knife with vampire teeth sketched on.
“I will.” He turned to the other girl, eyebrow raised.
This little girl looked terrified. “I just… I’m Amy’s friend.”
“Barb! My goth name is Dru!”
“Sorry. Sorry.” This kid was going to lose it.
Rye crouched down in front of her. “Is that a no, honey?” He really didn’t want to have to frisk these girls if he didn’t have to.
She nodded. “I have my phone and money for a cab home.”
“Okay.” He stood and moved to stand behind Jeff.
“Okay, Roach. Let’s do ‘Fucking and Narcoleptic’ for the girls.” Jeff’s voice was husky, rough. “Give them a show.”
Rye kept half his attention on the girls, the other half on Reynolds. Frankly, he was more worried about the publicist than the fans.
The band got to their microphones, and the screaming guitars started.
Rye pretended he couldn’t hear it.
They ran through the songs, LJ writhing, humping the air, the act obscene, ugly. No wonder Jeff didn’t have sex, if that’s what he thought it was. Even kinky sex wasn’t meant to be… vicious.
The girls were clearly pleased, though, screaming and clapping.
Rye couldn’t wait for it to be over.
Finally, the music stopped, LJ breathing hard. “Take five, guys. Need a breather.”
“Lord January! Can you come sign things for the girls?”
Rye sort of hated that Marv guy already.
“Sure. Somebody get me a Sharpie.”
Rye found it and handed it over. “You need some food.”
“After.” Jeff met his eyes.
“Soon,” he countered.
Jeff nodded once and headed over to the girls, muttering low, growling, and making the girls scream.
Christ on a crutch. He reminded himself he needed to get used to this.
The band played another five songs, and it wasn’t until nearly the end of the last one that Rye realized LJ didn’t get the break he asked for.
He stepped forward. “Okay, guys. Break time. And Reynolds? It’s time for the contest winners to be escorted out.”
“Yeah. I’m done,” Jeff said. “You guys staying here?”
Roach nodded. “I’m yours ’til the tour’s over.” The others piped up in the affirmative too.
“Okay, cool.” Rye put a hand on Jeff’s shoulder and guided him toward the kitchen.
“I need to go upstairs now.”
“Okay. I’ll bring your food up, okay?”
“Hot tea?”
For that poor voice. “You got it.” He made sure Jeff got to the stairs and that the door was locked. Then he headed for the kitchen to make a meal. He’d make sure that Reynolds and the girls were gone before he brought it all upstairs too. This whole thing was earmarked for disaster.
He put together tomato soup and cheese sandwiches, along with a strawberry milkshake. He put a teapot with teabags in it on the tray and started the kettle. Then he did a sweep of the house.
Roach was still in the studio, playing with the guitar, making notes.
“Reynolds and the girls get out okay?” Rye asked.
“I think so, yeah. Bri wanted to fuck them both, but the little one started crying, and he scrambled. Unwilling isn’t his thing.”
“Not here at the house, okay? It isn’t safe.” He knew that kind of thing used to happen here all the time, but things were changing now that he was on duty.
“Yeah. Who are you, man? Security?” Roach asked.
“Personal bodyguard. I’m the guy who makes sure he gets out of this tour clean and alive.”
“Cool. I’m not into the speed and shit. Not my deal. I just lead the band.” It was fascinating to watch his mouth move with the scars.
“Good to know. Sorry for the pat down earlier, but I’m not taking any chances.”
“Whatever, man. I don’t give a shit. This is my job. You don’t screw with that, I’m easy. We’re just making music and money.”
“I won’t screw with your job.” Even if he did think Jeff could be so much more real on that front. “Don’t let anyone in.”
“I won’t. There anything to eat in the fridge? Sandwiches?”
“Yep. There’s a list on the fridge. Add anything you want. The housekeeper will pick it up. Night.”
Rye double-checked the doors, reminding himself he had a bone to pick with Reynolds, but they could do it tomorrow.
He headed back to the kitchen to grab their food.
Brandy was in there, making a peanut butter sandwich. “Yo.”
“Hey.” He was going to have to get used to there being other people in the house. Pouring the hot water into the teapot, he then grabbed the tray for upstairs. It was uncomfortable, stressful. He didn’t like his Jeff in so much danger.