The Bet (9 page)

I look down for a second and giggle a little, before looking back at him. When he’s in this kind of mood it’s next to impossible to keep my eyes away from his.

“Maybe you’re rubbing off on me,” I say.

“Well you’re definitely having an effect on me.”

“Who do you think’s getting the worse deal?”

Brando laughs breezily.

“Well, if I become an A & R guy with some integrity, I’m pretty much finished. And if you end up as a sell-out, you’ll end up as soulless as—” his face drops as he notices something in the corner of the club, a cloud passing over his face and wiping away the spark in his eyes, “her.”

I search for a clue in his eyes before turning around to see where they lead. Somewhere between a sea of black-suited bodyguards and a crowd of people who seem to fade to grey in her presence, I see her. Lexi Dark. Her pink, latex dress standing out from everyone and everything around her, as if she’s somehow more solid, more real. A Technicolor girl in life’s black and white film. Always the radiant smile, the demure pose; so brilliant that it frustrates you to only be able to see one side of her at a time.

I spin back around to Brando, who’s gazing at her like a widow at a gravestone.

“What’s the deal with you and her?”

“I made her.” Brando looks like he’s in pain as he turns around to face the bar, staring at his beer as he talks quietly. “She was mine. My singer. My girl. My everything. Then she burnt it all down and left.”

It’s the first time I’ve ever seen Brando look anything less than supremely confident. Something about the brief glimpse of vulnerability makes me want to do something, anything, to soothe the hurt written in his expression. It’s so strange that I’m almost afraid to ask, “What happened?”

Brando takes a long, slow sip of beer.

“I’m still trying to figure that out myself.”

I place a hand on his broad shoulder, rubbing softly. I can almost feel the heat of the pain inside him. I think about saying something soothing, changing the subject to something lighter, maybe even flirting with him a little more to distract him – but if there’s one thing I know about men, it’s that sometimes they just need a moment alone.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” I say. “Be right back.”

“Sure.”

I take a little longer in the bathroom than I need to, standing in front of the mirror, teasing out my curls and checking my teeth for remnants of the pasta Brando and I shared before coming to the club.

I hear a latch close, except it doesn’t come from the cubicles, it comes from the entrance. I feel a cold chill down my spine, as if something – or someone – just sucked out all of the atmosphere from the room. I know it’s her before I even turn my head.

Lexi Dark.

She stands in front of the door, one hand on her hip. Her red lips projecting a dark control. She looks like a moving magazine cover, every inch of her body always in perfect alignment. I stare at her and wonder why people bother traveling halfway around the world to see breathtaking sights.

Frozen solid, all I can do is watch her. She steps forward, slow but confident, a supermodel sashay to a beat of heels on tile.

I’ve bitched about singers like Lexi a million times. About their fake appearance, plastic assembly-line songs, meaningless lyrics. But standing here, in her presence, her intensity has never seemed realer.

“Well well well, aren’t you a cute little thing?” she says, reaching out elegant fingers, tipped with multi-colored nails, toward my shoulder. She trails her hand across my back to the other shoulder as she steps around me, sending lightning bolts of tension throughout my body. “Brando’s new toy.”

The words are out of my mouth before I have time to think about what I’m saying. “Maybe he got tired of playing with dolls.”

Lexi opens her mouth in excited pleasure. She leans back on the sink, the arch of her back pornographic.

“Good. There’s some fight in you. Brando likes that. Not too much, though,” she leans in toward my ear, so close her cherry breath tickles the hairs on my neck, “
he’s a big guy, but he breaks easy
.”

She keeps her face close to mine, close and dangerous. I glare at her in the mirror, her lips glistening in the bright fluorescent lights.

“Has he fucked you yet?” Lexi says, pulling her head back and stretching out her slender neck. “What am I saying? Of course he has; a pretty thing like you. I’ll bet he can’t keep his hands off you.” Lexi brushes the back of her hand against my cheek. My brain screams for my body to move, but I just watch her in the mirror, encased in the iciness of her touch, trapped in her aura. “I’ll bet he has you right where he wants you: not sure if it’s your body or your career that he really wants.”

Something snaps me out of my cage and I grab her wrist.

“Maybe that dress is too tight,” I say, looking right into her emerald eyes, “your bitterness is showing.”

Lexi jerks her hand away and twists her lips into a semi-menacing, semi-sweet smile. She turns to face the mirror, gently touching the already-immaculate strands of hair that fall lovingly around her striking face. Rolling her hands down from tiny waist to lurid hips. She does it all as if I’ve disappeared, and she’s on her own.

“Just a little friendly advice from someone who knows.”

I watch her study herself intently, like an engineer ensuring her well-oiled machine is tuned to perfection, before turning to leave. She glances at me for a second as she turns, a dark flash in her eyes, then strides toward the door, animal grace and clicking heels. She grabs the handle before pausing.

“Try saying his name when you come,” she says, looking back at me over her shoulder, another cover girl pose, “he really
loves
that.”

I hear her laughing even after the door closes.

Brando

“SETTLING down has made you soft, Jax,” I say, as we carry our boards from the ocean to our towels, panting with the exertion of another ultra-competitive surf.

“What’s your excuse then?”

We dig our boards into the sand and stand for a while to catch our breaths, the glorious LA sun glistening off our wet bodies. I flip open the cooler and pull out two beers, popping the tops with my fingers and handing one to Jax.

“How’s Lizzie?” I ask, as we sit on the towels and gaze out at the rolling sea.

“Excited; I’m taking her to Paris this weekend.”

“What is it with chicks and Paris? I never got it. I mean, what’s Paris got that LA doesn’t?”

Jax gives me a sideways glance and smiles.

“Centuries of complex history and culture? Fantastic cuisine? The biggest art collections in the world? The most sophisticated fashion labels? A beautiful language?”

“Shit,” I say, swigging greedily from the cold bottle. “I’d take a girl with a Bronx accent and a good slice of pizza over that any day.”

Jax laughs and takes a sip. After a few moments he asks, “How are things going with your new protégé?”

“Haley?” I say, trying to suppress the smile I get from saying her name. “Pretty good. Yeah.”

But Jax has been my friend for way too long not to notice. He grins widely when he sees it.

“Damn, Brando. You’re really full of surprises.”

“What?”

Jax shrugs his shoulders, his smile widening a good half-inch.

“You think I’m falling for her?” I boom. “Bro, that’s projection. I mean, it’s good that you settled down, but that shit ain’t ever happening to me. I was born wild and I’ll stay that way.”

“Right,” Jax says, giving me the most unconvinced nod he’s ever managed.

“You don’t believe me? You don’t believe me! Look, she’s great. Talented, sexy, sarcastic as fuck, and she’s definitely a change from the cuties we usually pick up, but bro… Come on! This is me we’re talking about. Brando. Think about it. Brando. Relationship. You can’t even use the two words in the same sentence – they’re like from different languages.”

Jax laughs as he stands up.

“Are you trying to convince me,” he says, as he throws his towel around his shoulders and picks up his board, “or yourself?”

Jax salutes a goodbye and starts walking off, the question hanging in the air like an unconnected cable. Truth is, I don’t have an answer.

After a couple more waves I decide to leave. The sun glints off the chassis of my jeep, obscuring the tall figure leaning up against it, waiting for me.

I recognize her instantly, despite the disguise of a wide straw hat and big, Audrey Hepburn-style sunglasses. She’s wearing a black bikini, teasingly revealed by a lace sarong, and there’s only one girl with a body as poised and as slamming as that.

Lexi.

“I always thought you were hottest when you were surfing. Water dripping between all those muscles.”

I frown at her, wishing I was more annoyed by her presence.

“Where’s Davis? Did they not let him out of the wax museum today?”

“I came alone. I was watching you,” she says, pulling off her glasses to flash me an earnest look. “I wanted to come over and talk…but I hate breaking up a happy couple.”

“You and me were a happy couple,” I say, before my brain can stop the weak, regretful words from falling out of my mouth.

“Were we?” Lexi says.

I look away, trying to ignore the deep thud of pain I get from even seeing her too much. I let the sound of the waves fill my ears, as if it’ll wash away the memories.

“If you came to ask something,” I say, loading the cooler and my board into the back of the jeep, “just come out and ask it.”

She pouts, the way I could never resist. “Can we just sit somewhere and talk?”

I know there are a lot of answers to that question. No. Fuck you. Maybe later. How about next Tuesday? But there’s only one my brain seems capable of giving.

“Sure.”

I take Lexi to a pierside café; it’s got one of the best views in the city, and since I’m good with the owner I know he’ll keep the tables around us empty.

Lexi looks out into the ocean as if she’s seeing it for the first time, or maybe she knows I’ve never been able to resist the taut curve of her neck when her head’s turned. We don’t speak until the cappuccinos are in front of us, as if we both need time to adjust to the other’s presence again. When Lexi takes out a pack of cigarettes and lights one, I know shit’s serious. International pop stars don’t smoke in public. I always thought it was a disgusting habit, but I’d forgive Lexi anything. Almost anything.

“Things aren’t going well,” she says, before blowing out a long plume of smoke.

“Funny,” I say, “’cause the last time I saw you and leatherface you seemed pretty pleased with yourselves.”

“That was nearly a week ago. This is now. A week’s a long time in music – you know that.”

“Your album is at number one in the charts. I don’t see the problem.”

“
Was
number one. Now it’s dropping like a stone.”

She holds the cigarette in her fingertips and leans over her coffee cup. Something about the gesture makes me shake inside, like a hammer hitting a bass piano note. Suddenly I’m not here anymore, not in a fancy beachside LA café, drinking ten-dollar cappuccinos out of oversized cups. I’m right back at the start, sitting with Lexi in a run-down twenty-four hour Brooklyn diner, drinking bitter black coffee from styrofoam cups, planning how I’m going to take her to the top.

“How the hell does that happen?”

Lexi laughs sadly before taking another deep drag, her pink lipstick leaving elegant marks on the cigarette butt.

“Because it’s not about the music to Davis. The music’s just a tool;
I’m
the real commodity. Everything was about getting a number one album. He had this big plan for it. Big launch events all over the US. Social media campaigns. Made-up controversies to keep it on the news sites. I think he even hired a company to boost the online hits, leave fake comments, that kind of thing. It was all planned out. Like a military operation. Propaganda.” Lexi pauses to take another deep drag and gaze at the foam in her cup. “But the music sucked. The music always sucked. With the singles it was fine. All he had to do was put me in the video doing something hot. Or release a song with a controversial lyric that went just a little bit further than what the last empty pop star had done. You hear anything enough times – even by accident – and you’ll start humming it. But now that it’s all out there—now that people can hear the album and judge it for themselves…I guess there’s nowhere to hide.”

I slowly sip my coffee, eyes fixed on her, anger rolling inside of me like a gathering storm.

“So what do you want from me?” I say.

“A friend who might understand? Advice? I don’t know.”

I continue to stare at her as I take another sip.

“Believe it or not, I don’t want us to be strangers, Brando. I heard you’ve got a new project – I’m really happy for you. Honestly. I want to see you do well. Seriously, your latest fuck-buddy is cute enough, and I’m sure with enough work you can fluff her up into something half-decent, right?”

For a moment I say nothing. You know what the worst part is? It’s that Lexi isn’t even being malicious. This is just the way she thinks. In her mind, she just gave me a compliment.

I drain the last of my coffee and pull my wallet out of my pocket.

“What are you doing?” Lexi asks, surprised at my gesture.

“I’m gonna pay for the coffee.”

“Where are you going? We haven’t even spoken properly—”

“I used to think you were perfect,” I interrupt, putting the money on the table and looking straight at her, “so when you left all that time ago, I thought it had to be me that was the problem. I thought Davis knew something I didn’t. That maybe I couldn’t make you a star like he could. But now I know I was right all along.”

“It’s not like that—”

“You wanted this, Lexi. You wanted to be bigger than the music,” I growl, all New York City reserved anger, “well now you are.”

“Brando,” Lexi pleads, putting a hand on mine as I stand up, “don’t go. Please. I don’t have anyone else right now.”

“Then it’s too late,” I say, pulling my arm away, “because I do.”

It’s just a hunch. She’s not supposed to be at the studio for another couple of hours, and she has coffee shifts pretty much every day. Still, Josh is staying at the studio, and at the very least I figure we can share a beer until she arrives. When I pull up on the path outside the studio, however, I can hear my hunch is right.