Vanni: A Prequel (Groupie Book 4) (19 page)

“I said that you could stay in one of the bedrooms, but I haven’t offered you mine.”

My frustration rises. What kind of fucking game is she playing now? “So what am I doing here?”

“You,” she says as she reaches for another toast point and scoops some caviar onto it, “are getting a glimpse at the good life.” She hands me the toast.

I tentatively take the bite. I’ve never had caviar before, because the idea of eating a clump of fish eggs had never done much to turn me on. The little black pearls are even less appetizing in person, but I figure what the hell? It is slightly salty as it pops on my tongue, and I try to hide my distaste. I wash away the sweet fishy taste with my full flute of champagne.

She chuckles. “Don’t worry. You’ll get used to it. Trust me.”

“How can I trust you when you’re trying so hard to sabotage me? You want me to perform on Friday night and you haven’t let me on your stage once.”

She shrugs. “You’re getting plenty of rehearsal with your band.”

“That’s not the same and you know it.”

“Are you a professional or not?” she asks.

“I’m professional enough to know that I need to test the sound system and choreograph the lighting, and study the sheet music and perform with my accompanying musicians to perfect the set that is oh so important to your event. Do you want me to impress these people or not?”

She chuckles again as she touches my face. “Oh, Vanni. So close and yet so far.” She stands. “You can select whichever bedroom you wish, but for your convenience I’ve put your things in the blue room on the second floor, since it’s the biggest guest room I have.”

“Blue’s my favorite color,” I murmur. She just grins.

“Of course it is.” She fills her glass one last time. “Goodnight, Vanni.”

I sit there for long minutes afterwards, blinking in confusion as I try to process this unusual string of events. How the fuck has this become my life? I’m sitting in an opulent, Park Avenue penthouse, with one of the most powerful women in Manhattan just right upstairs, locked tight in her bedroom while I twist in the wind regarding the show she hired me to perform. I’ve got a chance to make it or break it in less than two days, with no idea how I’m going to make it all work.

I finally climb the spiral staircase. The blue bedroom is on the opposite corner of what clearly has to be the master suite. It’s the only one with a closed door.

A man’s robe hangs on the back of the door in the guest room, clearly waiting for a new occupant. I place the bucket of champagne on the nightstand next to me as I flop down on the mattress.

I don’t bother to undress until the next morning, when the sunrise pierces through the sheer drapes covering the large window across from the bed. According to the clock on the nightstand, it’s a little after eight o’clock on the morning.

I shuffle across the floor to the private adjoining bathroom, where I shed my second-hand clothes that Chelsea had hand-picked for me. I step into the large shower with etched glass doors, and a window that points straight out over the city, including Central Park. The products they had purchased the day before sit along the ledge, unpacked and ready for me to use.

It takes me about an hour to duplicate the hair and the clothes the way that Frankie had suggested.

By the time I head back downstairs, I’m wearing camel-colored leather pants, an open shirt made of natural, breezy fabric, with leather on each wrist and silver rings on each hand. My hair is styled, brushing against the back of my neck and over my shoulders.

I pad barefoot into the formal dining room, which has its own wall of windows with yet another amazing view of the Park. Tina sits at an enormous glass and chrome table, with two place settings prepared out of the dozen that could probably fit there. She eats fresh fruit for breakfast as she reads the paper.

“Morning,” I say before I take my seat in front of the other place setting, right next to her. Bertram appears immediately, placing a full breakfast of steak, eggs, toast and hash browns, in front of me.

Tina’s eyes scope over me thoughtfully. Finally she smiles. “Now that’s more like it,” she says as she toasts me with her mimosa.

We arrive at Sedução by nine-thirty, before anyone else. I sit at the bar, drinking some coffee, when Sasha arrives for her shift. “How’s it going, Joe?” she asks as she puts her purse away under the counter.

“Fantastic. I’ve got the dream gig, didn’t you hear?”

“I did,” she says. She glances down at my coffee. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you that you shouldn’t drink caffeine if you’re going to perform?” She turns away to get the pitcher of hot water, which she pours into a cup. She cuts her first lemon to add it to my drink, along with some honey, before pushing it across the bar to me.

“I don’t have to worry about that, apparently. Since I have no idea when I’m going to get on that stage to rehearse.”

She leans across the bar. “Always be prepared, Vanni. Rule one in this business.”

I rub my tired eyes with one hand. “Is that the rule is this week? I can’t keep track.”

As it turns out, Sasha is absolutely right. Frankie is replaced by Arturo, the music director. He pulls me onto the stage, where he sits at the piano and I stand next to him. We talk about what kind of music he wants to do and what kind of music I like to do, to find a nice middle ground for my set. He pulls almost all of his inspiration from my new look. “I see you more retro,” he says. “Like the dirty rocker boys of days gone by. A virile and unapologetic rule-breaker.”

I nod. Sounds good to me.

We finally select five songs for my set, two of which I routinely perform with Yael and the guys. I spend the rest of the afternoon familiarizing myself with the other two. I keep an eye out for Tina, but she’s otherwise occupied. It makes it easier to get frustrated when I can’t ace the new songs like I’d like. After a couple of restarts, Arturo holds up a hand. “Hold on. I have an idea.”

He hops off the stage and walks to the bar, where Sasha prepares the cash drawers. She can barely put them up before he drags her down center stage, where she faces me. He grabs a chair for her to perch upon before he hops back up onto the stage and back to his piano. “Sing it to her,” Arturo instructs.

I glance down at Sasha, my unwitting audience of one. The song, like all the songs in my set, is overtly sexual, about a boy’s first time with a woman. It’s old, originally released in 1982, so I haven’t yet memorized the lyrics, which I think is way more important than learning how to sing it to anyone in particular.

Arturo doesn’t seem to care. “Come on, man,” he says. “Get into character. Do your thing.”

I sigh and he begins to play. I try to remember the words and I mess up more than once. Arturo finally sighs in exasperation.

“Don’t look at the sheet music. Look at her.
Feel
it. The words will come.”

“Fine,” I grumble as I sit on the edge of the stage. I look at her. She’s looking at me. I try to imagine what it would be like to be alone with her, in a hotel room, where I could take her into my arms and do what I’ve been learning to do so well: seducing a sexy girl to sleep with me. If we were alone, it would be no problem. I’ve practically done that in my sleep over the last few months.

I take a breath, shake my head to clear the cobwebs and start again.

Strangely, Arturo is right. The more she responds to me, the more I’m pulled into the song. I ease right into the scene, where I can sing every word like I mean it. It affects her. I can see it in her slightly widened eyes. It only empowers me. I hop down off the stage and walk over to her, slithering around her like a snake, singing into her ear, watching how her pulse races in her neck, and her cheeks flush rosy read. I miss some words, but I don’t stumble.

And at last we get through the song all the way through.

The second time it’s easier, and the third is even easier still. When I look up and see Tina watching me from the other side of the room, I feel victorious indeed.

Finally I check my watch. It’s time to go. The driver waits for me just outside the club, but I have him drop me off a few blocks from Yael’s. I’m not ready yet to tell them what’s going on.

Unfortunately Bobby is through waiting for me to come clean. He corners me in the kitchen as I warm water for my throat. “What’s the deal, dude? You come in every day, looking more and more made over from the day before. If this is some new dress code at that pizza place, I’m not buying it.”

I sigh as I cut up a lemon for my water. “Fine. I’ll tell you but you can’t tell anyone else.”

“Who am I going to tell?”

I glance both ways before I reveal my secret at last. “I’m pretty close to getting us a gig with Sedução.”

His brows lift in surprise. “Get the fuck out of here.”

“No shit,” I confirm with a curt nod. “She evidently saw something she liked the other night. She’s just polishing my image, to make sure I can cut it on her stage.”

“Sweet!” he exclaims as he claps me on the back. He does that a lot, like his personal high-five. “But why keep it secret?”

“Because there are no guarantees. Because I don’t want to get the guys’ hopes up. Because I’m not completely sure if I trust her yet.” I lean a little closer. “Essentially she’s using me for arm candy to get back at her ex. I agreed, because she dangled booking the band in front of me.”

A slow smile crosses his face. “So what do you know? Giovanni Carnevale has crossed over to the dark side. Never pictured you as the type to play escort, but to each his own.”

“I’d sell my soul to the devil to get us away from playing dive bars for peanuts. If I have to go back to Cynzia’s, I’ll cut my wrists. Besides, it’s just sex. Look at what we do at our after parties. At least this has a point.”

“They all have a point, buddy boy,” Bobby says with a grin. “But good on ya, man. If you have to prostitute yourself out to make it, there are worse options. At least she’s hot, for an older chick.”

I think about how cool and collected she is, so in charge of every little thing in her world. You bet your ass she’s hot.

And I plan to learn a lot from her. Just look at how I’ve transformed this far.

Oddly, telling Bobby about the truth of what is happening at Sedução is quite liberating. I guess I didn’t realize what kind of burden I was carrying around with the lies. I no longer feel guilty as we part that night, when I hop in the hired car to head back to a swanky penthouse on Park Avenue.

“Hey, Bertram,” I say to the valet as I enter.

“Sir,” he says, very polite and proper.

“Is Tina home yet?”

“She’s already retired to her quarters, sir. She asked me to inform you that there is a light supper prepared in the kitchen if you are hungry.”

“Fantastic. Thanks, Bertie,” I say before I make my way to the enormous gourmet kitchen.

I spend most of the night prowling the house, acclimating myself to my temporary quarters. There’s a grand piano in the living room, which I finally get to play. I don’t expect to stay here long, not much longer than tomorrow night anyway, so I figure I’ll enjoy it what limited time I have left as a guest.

It looks like a place right out of a magazine. Each and every bedroom has its own color scheme. Mine is blue, one is crimson, another is yellow, all deep reach colors offset by ivory crown molding and shelving in each room.

As I wander from one room to the other, I start to wonder what color Tina’s bedroom is.

I steal along the carpet down the hallway towards the master suites. There is more art on the wall, and sculptures sitting beside and on top of tables, making the long hallway look less like a home and more like an gallery. It doesn’t take long to realize that everything has a sensual theme. There are nudes, both male and female, as well as abstracts that resemble parts of the human anatomy.

Finally I come to a stop in front of the double doors leading into her private suite. I lift my hand to knock, but decide against it at the very last second.

Instead I head downstairs to the private outdoor garden just off of the living room. The balcony is spacious, with stone flooring and bubbling fountains. The sounds of the city below rise like music in the air, so when I spot the hot tub tucked away in a private corner, there’s only one thing left to do. The night air crawls along my bared skin like invisible fingers when I strip to nothing and let the stress of my busy week ebb away under the pulsating spray of hot water.

I’m practically asleep when I hear her voice. “You had better to get to bed. We have an early day tomorrow.”

I open an eye and spot her where she stands just outside the doorway. She wears no robe this time, only a mint green negligee made of silk. Her dark hair spills over one shoulder and her light brown eyes track me like a cheetah on a prowl.

“I thought you were already in bed,” I say as I close my eyes and rest my head.

“You didn’t come looking for me, so I was forced to come looking for you.”

My eyes snap open and dart back over to her.

She heaves a dramatic sigh. “But I guess if you weren’t going to make your move the other night, you’re not going to make your move.”

I close my eyes again. Another game. I had made my move and she shut me down. “I figured if that was what you wanted, you’d tell me.”