Beats (19 page)

I meet Letty on the bus at noon. I’m not sure where the guys are. Toombs was packing up his drums as I walked out of the hotel. There was no further dialogue. No more accusations. No more warmth.

He cut me off cold turkey, and I don’t blame him. The message was clear:
Pull it together for the band.

I’m left wondering if our entire interlude at the hotel was just a ploy to get me to write some music. Maybe it had nothing at all to do with
us
.

“What the motherfucking fuck did you do to Rax, you hot little fox?” Letty lifts her hand for a high five. I hit it numbly. “Dude has a black eye and a big fucking grin on his face. You must’ve given him the ride of a lifetime. I need details.”

I shake my head. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“What? You can’t leave me hanging like this. Man, I’m about to bust a nut just thinking about what the three of you got up to. Did you take pictures? Video? How were they? What does Toombs’s cock look like? Does it bear the number of the Beast? I’ve heard he’s given women near-death experiences with that wang.”

I wave her off and drag my bag to my trundle. She follows.

“You punched Rax in the face, didn’t you?” She grins like an idiot, nodding, pride illuminating her eyes.

I face her. “Yeah. I punched him. He deserved it. And I’d like to punch him again and again and again. But I won’t. Once tonight’s over, so are we.”

Letty does a full body shake like a dog after a bath. “Wait, what’s tonight?”

Shit. Stupid big mouth. “Nothing.” I empty my clothes into the trundle and slam it shut. Next stop is the bathroom. Letty rides my heels.

“No, no, no, Jinx. Stop. What the fuck is going on? Did Rax do something to you? He didn’t…force himself on you, did he?” Her eyes are wide. Concerned.

“No.” Not really. But kind of. “I…” I toss my toiletries onto the couch and rub my eyes. “I can’t get into the details, but I promised Rax I’d give him one night when we hit New Orleans. I just want to do what I have to do and move on.”

“That’s some kind of fucked-up shit you got going on.” She studies me for a long moment as if waiting for me to elaborate. I don’t. “As long as you’re okay with it.”

“Yep. I’m okay,” I lie.

“So…there’s no hope for you and Toombs, then? You two make the cutest couple. Surely, you can work it out.” Disappointment weighs down her raspy voice.

I can’t look at her. I shake my head. Maybe one day I’ll tell her this insane story, but the wounds are too fresh, too painful right now.

“Well, if you change your mind, there’s always steps eight and nine: sext him hard, and let him know what he’s missing when you’re not around. Guys love a good sext session. Gives ’em something to look forward to.”

No texts from me. And as long as Toombs has Rax, anything I’m doing is irrelevant.

Jillian climbs aboard with the guys flanking her. Clunking ensues from somewhere behind the bus. Freddie must be loading Toombs’s drums into the trailer. I lower my head and move aside to let Toombs and Rax pass. Neither says anything. Shades and Jillian pull up beside Letty and me.

“It’s about an hour and a half to New Orleans,” Jillian says. “We’ll be there around 2:00. Freddie’s going to drop you guys off at your temporary digs in the Quarter so you can decompress before the show tonight. Megaphonia has us set up in a six-bedroom antebellum courtyard house. When you see this place, you’re gonna shit yourselves. Plenty of room to spread out and every amenity—all a block away from Bourbon Street. And it’s just a streetcar ride from the studio. You’ll be kings and queens for a couple weeks.”

Letty’s face lights up, and she turns to Shades. “Holy fucking hell, we’re gonna shack up, baby. Just think, we can fuck
in a reallive bed
any time we want.”

“That’ll be the life, pussycat.” Shades grins, fists the front of Letty’s shirt, and puts her in a heavy lip lock. Letty practically dissolves under his grip. Jillian curls her lip, waves them off, and heads for the coffee pot.

I turn away. Great. The same house. At least we’ll have separate bedrooms. I have a feeling I’ll be spending most of my free time alone in mine. Assuming I still have a job when we arrive.

My phone vibrates against my butt cheek. I pull it out. A text from Mom:
U won’t believe this. Just got a call from Rathbone Bank. New job starts next week. Finally caught a lucky break. Details later. I love u.

A chill zaps my spine and cracks its way up to electrify the hairs on my nape. I guess the blood is dry on the contract I signed with the devil. I climb into my bunk. Just before snapping the curtain shut, I catch Rax’s eye. His knowing grin tells me he’s ready to collect on our deal.

Step Eight:
Sext Him Hard

February 25 – New Orleans, Louisiana

Eyes wide, I stand before the haunting, magnificent old house juxtaposed on the dirty streets of New Orleans. Adrenaline spiking, I pat the ancient bricks to ensure the place is real and not a figment of my imagination. Yep. Totally real. Wow.

This is the most gorgeous piece of architecture I’ve ever seen. Built in the 1870s, the home is a perfect fusion of past and present: wrought iron gates and railings, columns, planters overflowing with fragrant, bright flowers. And if the front of the house isn’t breathtaking enough, the inside blows my mind.

The six of us wander through the huge foyer and spread out over the polished hardwood floors and Persian runners. The front parlor greets me on the left. Done up in Greek revival style, this room boasts marble columns with white and blue walls. The formal dining room with golden candelabras, delicate china, and wall tapestries sits to the right of the entrance. A red-carpeted staircase stretches up to the second floor and dumps visitors onto a wide landing overlooking the downstairs.

Each of the bedrooms upstairs has a different color scheme, but the old Southern style holds throughout. High ceilings and doors, four-poster beds with mosquito netting, elaborate crown molding, fireplaces in most rooms, huge gilded frames featuring local art, naked wooden rafters, stained glass windows, ceiling fans spinning lazily, crystal-stringed chandeliers. This place is a dream come true.

Letty and Shades chase each other through the hallways, laughing and stopping every few seconds for quick make-out and blatant groping sessions. I head for the smallest bedroom, which is actually huge, and claim it as mine. Yellow walls, lovely floral paintings, a full-sized bed with a carved wooden headboard in Rococo style, an immaculate brocade comforter that matches the heavy golden drapery over the windows. Feeling totally out of place, I unload my meager belongings into the chest of drawers. At least there’s a washing machine here. My clothes are in serious need of cleaning.

Another vibration from my phone. I lay it on the dresser. Rax. Of course.
Any word from ur mom?

As if he doesn’t know. I text back,
Yes. Thx for ur help.

After the gig tonight. Red room. Fantasies will come 2 life.

I snort. His fantasies. Not mine.

Whatever
. No sexts for you, asshole.

Of course Rax took the red room. It’s the one with suggestive pictures and the bordello theme. It might have also had whips and a cat-o’-nine-tails pinned to the wall. If nothing else, tonight will be an experience I’ll never forget. My stomach gurgles.

Feet plunk on the wooden boards outside my room. Letty’s laughter fills the hall. A door slams. Great. She and Shades are my new neighbors. I won’t be sleeping much with those two going at it like rabbits for the next couple weeks.

Sure enough, giggles, moans, and the bang of a headboard against the wall crank up. I scan the room for my drumsticks, grab them off the dresser, and bound out of there. I need my drums, but Freddie’s already taken off for the venue with them. Nowhere to go but the courtyard.

I stroll into the lush jungle-like realm that seems so out of place in the center of this nitty-gritty city, yet so welcome with its peaceful fountains, ornamental fish pond, and Spanish moss hanging like eerie accents from the trees.

Wild energy courses through me. I need to beat something. Hard. I walk along the path, bending at random intervals to tap out rhythms on the steppingstones, iron railings, whatever surface will withstand the pounding.

Toombs says he likes to be hit. Right now I’d hit him out of spite. And Rax too. What the hell am I going to do? I’m standing on the edge of a canyon, crying out for help, and finding it, but the price is so damn high. So many problems, so few good solutions.

The man I love wants someone else. The man I hate wants me. The band I need is about to kick me out. The family I yearn to help depends on me to have sex with a guy I wish I could get away from.

Movement from above catches my attention. I glance up. Toombs leans against the iron wrought railing surrounding the second-floor porch, watching me. His gaze is harsh, unforgiving. I wish I knew what he wanted from me. I wish he didn’t unnerve me so. I wish I didn’t resent him for the crushing truths he threw in my face this morning.

Nothing changes the fact that I’m out of beats. For him. For the band. For myself.

I check my watch. Four thirty. Time to don my whorewear, as Letty calls it. Quite fitting tonight. Our last show for this tour, and instead of celebrating, I get to pimp myself out to Rax Wrathbone so my family can eat and my brother can have piano lessons.

A quick flip of hair over my shoulder reminds me of Toombs’s sweet gesture as we lay in bed this morning. I think braids are in order. My salute to the man I love.

I meet his eyes, and something passes between us. Understanding. Disappointment. Loss.

At least we’re on the same page.

I leave the courtyard and return to my room. The bustier Letty found for me on our shopping excursion comes out of the drawer, along with some black skinny jeans. I make my face pretty with lots of makeup and color my lips a bright shade of red I wouldn’t normally be caught dead wearing. Then I part my hair down the middle and French braid it into two blond whips, tying off the ends with rubber bands. Unlike the braid Toombs wove, these won’t unravel. I’ll keep them—and my pride—together no matter what.

I study myself in the mirror. I am not this person.

Tonight, Jinx the Chameleon lives on.

A couple hours later, I settle behind my kit at one of the biggest venues in the French Quarter. Whistles and screams rattle my eardrums. Killer Buzz Float’s final show for this tour features a wall-to-wall, packed house.

If I can’t mine some new music in the next couple of days, this could very well be my swan song. Maybe even the last time I ever play onstage.

My entire career as a musician flashes before me in the blink of an eye. All the highs and lows, the good and the bad, the hopes and dreams. What a ride it’s been.

Letty flashes me a huge, proud grin. I fake one back at her. Rax stares at me, fingers choking the neck of his guitar, licking his lips as I throw out a three-count with my sticks. He’s so preoccupied with me, he doesn’t even notice Toombs bouncing his gaze between us. I do my best to ignore them both and focus on the rhythm, the excitement from the crowd, the memories I’ve made with this band.

The fans fade around me, the ups and downs of the past few months blend into the background, the stage lights bleach out the stains of my time with Rax and Toombs. Gianna is the only thing that remains in this crucible when the fires snuff out. Pure, raw Gianna.

My feet work their magic, casting spells on the pedals. The drumsticks spin across my knuckles in between crashes and taps. My hips thrust in a new dance that powers my appendages. I forget everything and trade in my memories for new, unexplored feelings. Doors in my mind close. Windows open. One force powers all forward motion: The Rock.

Somewhere along the way, I lost track of that universal presence that gives art life. The Rock is heart and soul. Beginnings and endings. Abstract form and concrete energy.

I lift my head and peer across my silver and black cage to freedom past the stage where fans bounce and sing along with Letty. In this moment, I am The Rock. I am control and force and beats. I’m the foundation of the band, the solid surface on which all notes depend, the spark that ignites dancing feet and fist pumps.

Clarity settles in my foggy brain and sweeps away the smoke. I know who I am now. I don’t need anyone else to define me or hold me up when I’m not strong enough. There’s no longer a need to hide behind a façade. I’m Jinx Hardwick, and I have a right to be heard like everyone else. It’s time to stand up for
me
. To take responsibility for my actions. To believe in myself.

As the last cymbal chokes and the fans rally around the stage in support of Killer Buzz Float, stomping their feet and flashing devil horns, a shudder zings up my arms. My mother was right. This throne is where I was meant to sit. Every night. I’ll never be happy doing anything else. Beats are my life.

I stand and toss my drumsticks over my bandmates’ heads into the throng. Fans fall over themselves trying to catch them. Grabbing my towel, I exit the stage and brace myself for what I have to do. Once I finish my business with Rax, I’m wiping the slate clean. I’ve got songs to write. Damn anyone who gets in my way. Toombs included.

My bandmates follow me off, exchanging high fives and butt slaps. Jillian waits for us with a bottle of champagne. She pops the top, and foam sprays all over the place. Letty screams a ragged battle cry. Shades kisses her quiet. Rax and Toombs bump chests and slap palms together in a long fist clutch. They look into each other’s eyes and smile. God, how I envy Rax. But after tonight, he’s not my business anymore.

As champagne is poured, I slip into the shadows and head for the exit.

“Jinx,” Letty calls after me and runs over. Her pretty face glistens with sweat. “You’re not leaving. We have to celebrate. This is our last stop on the tour. Can’t party without our little drummer girl. Come on. Have a drink.” She tugs me toward the bar.