A Lush Rhapsody: A Rhapsody Novel (20 page)

I
’ve been walking
for hours through the streets of San Francisco—rich neighborhoods, poor neighborhoods, up hills, down hills, in endless traffic, and along the bustling wharfs. I breathe in the odors of the city—diesel, sweat, cigarette smoke, fish. It becomes a miasma of sounds, scents, and colors swirling around and around in my head like the shit that Dez said swirls around and around in my heart.

Goddam Dez too. Fuck him. He doesn’t get it. But then he never has, and I can’t blame him for that. Only someone raised by Peterson Davis the Second would understand what I do. Only someone who’s had the privilege and the burden of my upbringing would be able to fathom doing the things I do. But that’s what sets Davises apart. That’s why we win. Always. As much as I sometimes wish I weren’t, the fact is that I’m a Davis—through and through—and so I’ll win too.

Problem is, winning this time is going to cost me more than it normally does. And I hate that, but I also hate that Dez can’t seem to understand the opportunity we’re being handed. The P.I. I hired is finding a lot of leads that will tarnish Lush in the eyes of the NFL. It’s our golden ticket, and I fully intend to use it.

I feel the familiar itch under my skin as I walk through a rapidly declining neighborhood. Dez’s words hammer away at my conscience. That fucking conscience my father told me to jettison years ago, but I’ve never been able to unload fully.

“They put their trust in you, man.
She
put her trust in you. How the hell can you turn around and do this?”

I scratch at my left arm, and my steps falter as I feel the dark descending on me. If fucking Dez would have just kept his mouth shut I’d be fine. Yeah, I know what I’ve set in motion isn’t the thing a good guy would do, but it’s the thing a winner would do, and when we’re standing on that stage at halftime at the Super Bowl it’s the thing that we’ll be grateful for. Even Dez. Because as Zen as he is, he’s not in Rhapsody because he wants to lose. He likes the awards and accolades as much as any of us do, he just doesn’t want to have to be the one to make the hard choices that get us to the winner’s circle.

The hard choices are my arena. They always have been. I’m the one who made the decision to dump our first lead singer when critics started saying that our music was better than our singer could perform. I was the one who walked away from a sure-thing recording contract because it didn’t include a tour. We were new, fresh off the club circuit, and it was a contract with a solid label, wide distribution on all retailers, and some big market radio placements, but no tour. And the fact is, touring is where the real money is. Dez and the other guys were scared to say no, figuring that we were looking a gift horse in the mouth, but I knew we couldn’t tie ourselves down to a deal like that for two years. If we were going all the way, we had to be willing to hold out for the whole package. I said “no” to the deal, it was a huge risk, but sure enough, a few months later we got the real thing complete with an international tour.

“Hey, man, you want something to make your night betta’?” a big guy with sagging jeans and a red baseball cap on backwards asks as I walk by the shadowed alcove where he’s leaning, almost invisible here in this part of town with few streetlights and fewer open stores.

I glance at him, my mind spinning with the temptation. I draw the line at smack, but I bet this guy could get me some crank and that’d do just fine.

“I got a girl down the block, man,” he tells me, taking a small step out of the shadows. “She’d treat you real good. Or if you like boys, I can get you one of them too.”

Fuck. He’s a pimp, not a drug dealer. I swallow, disgust pouring through me at the idea of human beings bought and sold on street corners.

“Nah, I’m good, thanks, man,” I tell him as I pick up my pace.

“You sure? She’s fine, this girl, got a pussy that’ll make you beg for more.”

I shake my head and keep marching along, fighting the urge to ask him where the closest dealer is, because I know there is one, there always is—somewhere nearby. And I’m walking through this shithole of a neighborhood in the dark alone because part of me is praying that the local dealer will see me, approach me, make me an offer I can’t refuse. If I could get a hit Dez’s crap would get out of my head. I just need a few hours in that empty head space and I’ll get straight on all this shit and recommit to what I'm doing to insure we get the Super Bowl slot. I don’t need the goddamn doubt and guilt right now, and some powder would erase that like it erases everything.

As I approach the end of the block I see the girl that the pimp must have been talking about. She’s obviously fucked up, her eyes at half mast as she stumbles around the corner, yelling out to any cars passing by.

“Hey, baby!” she calls. “I got you some sugar right here.”

As I get closer I see that beneath the transparent skintight top are breasts that are barely developed, and beneath the plastic miniskirt are hips that haven’t rounded and legs that are spindly and too long for her adolescent body. When I get within a few feet I look into a pair of eyes surrounded by cheeks that haven’t yet shed their baby fat. A large purplish bruise mars her jaw on one side, and when she opens her mouth to proposition me she’s missing a tooth in the front.

She’s all of fifteen and she might be the saddest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.

“Hey, baby,” she slurs. “You want some sugar? I got me lots of tricks. Only twenty dollars, baby. I’ll make you feel gooood.”

I stop, and my gaze darts to her skinny arms that jut out from her shoulders, her hands planted on her hips. The track marks on the tender flesh of the inside of her forearms tell me the only story I need to know.

“How much do you need to make sure he’ll let you take the night off?” I ask.

Something indecipherable crosses her face, but it’s gone as fast as it came. “You want to have me all night, baby?” She takes a wobbly step closer.

“I want to help you get someplace warm and safe for the night,” I tell her.

She looks suspicious now. “You one of them preachers? I don’t need no Jesus man trying to change me. Take your bible shit and go somewheres else.”

I shake my head and take my wallet out of my pocket. “No Jesus, I promise. No strings, just a night off. Here—” I hand her five hundred dollars. “Give your pimp his cut, then get yourself a room for the night. Watch a movie, eat some dinner. Get a good night’s sleep.”

She stares at the cash for all of two seconds before she’s snatched it out of my hand.

“You for real?”

“Yeah.” I shrug.

“You crazy, you know that, right?”

I give her a small smile. “You’re not the first person to say so.” She takes a step back, tucking the money into her top at the same time. “Hey,” I say before she can take off across the street. “Do me a favor?”

“What?” she asks, giving me the stink eye again.

“Don’t use tonight?”

Her eyes go clear, the haziness transforming to something sharp and sad all at once. She tips her chin at me. “Yeah, all right, baby. For you.”

I lift my hand in a wave and watch as she teeters across the street on her sky high heels. When she gets to the other side I see her pimp appear and take the money from her before he grabs her elbow and drags her off down the street. Just before they turn the corner she looks back at me, and the guilt on her face is impossible to miss even from this distance.

Fucking drugs. Fucking addiction. Fucking men who do this shit to little girls.

Before I can move on up the sidewalk my phone rings for the umpteenth time in the last few hours but this time I pull it out of my pocket to look at the screen. It’s the one person I’m willing to talk to. The only one who’ll make me feel like a human being again, and oddly it’s also the person whose trust I’m betraying unforgivably, irreparably, unconscionably. I swipe the screen and put the phone to my ear.

“Tully,” I answer quietly. “I think I need you.”

* * *

T
he diner
I find is a classic. The menu says it’s been here for over seventy years. The décor is straight out of a 1950s movie, black and white checkered floors, long soda fountain counter, big booths upholstered in red vinyl. I’ve just ordered a large chocolate milkshake when Tully comes in. I see her before she gets to the door, she hops out of a Town Car at the sidewalk in front, and I’m sure Dez is inside—maybe the rest of the band too. But they don’t get out, and the car drives off down the street as Tully enters the diner looking around for me, stress etching her beautiful features.

When she sees me the relief melts off of her, and she trails it all the way through the long shotgun style restaurant until she reaches my booth in the back corner, where she slides into the seat next to me and throws her arms around my neck.

“I was so worried,” she whispers. “Please tell me you’re okay.”

I wrap my arms around her tiny body, pressing all her sweet, warm curves against me and breathe her in—apple, ocean air, and Tully. I’m nearly crushed by the magnitude of my emotions, my heart racing, my limbs tingling.

“I almost did it,” I tell her, my voice nothing more than a rasp. “I almost used again.”

She pulls away, placing both hands on my cheeks and looking me deeply in the eyes. “But you didn’t,” she whispers. “And that’s what matters. You didn’t.”

I nod, swallowing to try to clear the emotion from my throat so that I can breathe again.

She kisses my lips tenderly before she lets go of my face, picking up one of my hands instead and holdling it as though she can transfer her strength to me by simply touching my fingertips.

“Did you buy?” she asks, and I’m surprised that she would think to ask.

“No. I promise.”

“Okay, then everything’s fine. I’m here, everyone’s waiting for you whenever you’re ready to see them—you did the right thing, you picked up my call, you told me where to find you. There are going to be some hard days, Blaze. But you made it through this one, and you’re okay.”

I am suddenly so overwhelmed by my feelings for this woman that I think I might explode if I don’t act on them. I need her. Desperately. Like she’s my new drug and I’m in the strongest throes of addiction.

“I need you,” I choke out, grabbing the back of her neck and bringing her mouth to mine without any finesse at all.

Our tongues tangle, teeth clashing, lips slipping and sliding over each other. Her breathing is unsteady, and pure want roars through me like an eighteen wheeler that’s lost its brakes. My skin grows tighter and tighter, and I press my fingers into her shoulders hard enough to leave bruises.

“Blaze,” she gasps.

“Come with me,” I growl, pushing her out of the booth so I can stand. I grab her wrist and haul her through the diner, the waitress and two other customers who are there hardly even give us a glance.

By the time we hit the back hallway where the restrooms are we’re practically at a run. I scan the various doors in the small, dark space and see two unisex bathrooms.
Maybe I do have some good Karma left
I think as I twist the knob on the second one and pull her in after me.

I press her against the door of the tiny room and reach down to press the lock in the handle at the same time.

“I need you so much,” I growl, leaning in to her, my arms propped against the door next to her head. “Please tell me I can fuck you. I might die if you say no.”

She doesn’t answer me with words, pulling my head down for our lips to meet instead. She kisses me hard and long before she pulls away. I’m gasping, my breath coming in rasps as I grind into her.

“Baby. I don’t want to take advantage, but I’m a fucking knotted up mess inside. You’re the only thing that can unravel it—you unravel me, Tully. Every time I’m with you I come undone.”

“I’m here for you,” she whispers. “I want to make it better.”

That’s all the encouragement I need, and I fuse our mouths together, like I wish I could fuse our souls, because she has a beautiful one, and mine is so terribly tarnished.

I press against her harder and put one hand under her knee, encouraging her to lift and open for me. Her leg comes up around my hip. I bend my knees finding her sweet spot and grin against her mouth when she sighs in ecstasy from the motion.

“The denim, baby. It’s got to go.”

She drops her leg and unbuttons her jeans. I’m too impatient though and I bat her hands out of the way, shoving the tight fabric over her ass and down her slender legs until they gather around her ankles. I grab her hips then and spin her, reaching up to place her hands against the wall as I manuever her to bend slightly at the waist.

She’s breathing as heavily as I am when she arches her back, rubbing her beautiful ass against me. “God, are you trying to kill me?” I ask, on a breathless snarl.

Her only response is a wicked chuckle that makes my balls tighten up to a point of pain. I run a hand along the small of her back, pushing her t-shirt up, mesmerized by so much smooth ivory skin.

Leaning over her back as I slide a finger along her slit to see how ready she is, I whisper in her ear, “How bad do you want this, short stack?”