Brando 2 (11 page)

Lexi
licks her lips like she’s
preparing to bite.

“You
seem pretty certain that you know what Brando will do.”

“I
do.”

“Are
you sure? How long have you known him? Three months? Four? Try four
fucking years with him. Four years that took us from a shitty studio
apartment in Harlem to the Hollywood Hills. Four years to understand
each other, to know how to make each other happy, to know how to push
each other’s
buttons.”

“Those
years don’t
count for anything,”
I
snarl, losing some of my self-control. “You
made sure of that the instant you cheated and left him, left the real
music. All you cared about was money and fame.”

Lexi’s
unfazed. “That
time must have counted for something –
the
only reason you’re
even here is the bet he made to get
me
back.”

I
clench my fists and hold them tightly to my side.

“Maybe
he loved you at one point. But not now. Not after the way you treated
him,” I
say, the shakiness of the words letting both of us know I only
half-believe it.

“And
how exactly did you treat him, Haley? I saw the way you kept your
distance from him on the tour, even though he wanted
so
badly
to have a little taste of whatever it is you’ve
got. I heard about how you assumed the worst of him the second you
heard the Rex Bentley story broke out. You didn’t
even give him a chance to explain, did you?”

I
stand there stiffly, my mouth open as if to say something, but the
shaking tension of my body, the stabbing fears in my mind, are too
much to handle. Lexi’s
got a point.

“You
keep acting like I’m
the one who’s
fucking up your relationship,”
she
continues, “but
the truth is, you’re
the one who got in the middle of ours.”

Lexi
laughs when she sees I’m
too shaken to talk, and starts walking toward the door. She opens it,
and looks back over her shoulder.

“I’ll
tell you one thing you don’t
know about Brando,”
she
says. “He’ll
sacrifice everything he has, for the one thing he wants.”

She
steps through the door, but just before she’s
out of earshot I find my voice.

“You’d
better hope he still wants you, then.”

Brando

I
drive home before going to Majestic to meet Rowland, calling the
small team of college students I hired to manage Haley’s
website and her social media to tell them they need to get their
asses to my place as soon as possible for an emergency meeting. Even
though I drive with all the impatient recklessness of a man with
hours left to live, they’re
in the lobby by the time I arrive, laptops under their arms. I bring
the five of them into my apartment, seat them in the lounge, and
stand in front of them like a general about to give the briefing for
a suicide mission.

“Okay,
guys,” I
say, clapping my hands, “listen
up. The next couple of days it’s
crucial we put a mark on this thing. I’m
going to need all of you to work like motherfuckers right now.
Whatever I’m
paying you, triple it. Now we can’t
stop this story from spreading, but we
can
try and shape the conversation a little bit.”

I
point to a couple of the wide-eyed students opening their laptops
hurriedly. “Steven,
Jessica: You take social media. Haley is nervous about her sore
throat –
she
still hasn’t
had it checked out. She’s
gutted that she missed the New York show, but the tour went great,
she’s
eternally grateful to her fans for their support, and can’t
wait to finish off the album. Act like you don’t
even know about the Rex Bentley thing, you’re
above it, it’s
just some dumb rumor that you’re
way above even acknowledging.

“Ross,
Michelle: Find the freshest, biggest articles on the story –
the
ones that everybody else is linking to. Make multiple accounts, and
comment on them. ‘This
is just a dumb misunderstanding,’
‘how
is this even news,’
‘daughter
or not, her show was still awesome,’
that
kind of thing. Make it seem like the logical reaction to this is
disbelief and scorn for the guys who write about it.

“Simon,”
I
say, looking at him with keen intent, “here’s
what I want you to do. Make a fake account, and message the people
I’m
going to give you the email addresses for. Tell them that you’re
a source close to Haley. Tell them that they’ve
got the story wrong, Rex Bentley is not her father.”
I
pause for a second while he nods. “Mick
Jagger is.”

“What?”
he
says, incredulous. Everybody else turns to look at me. “That’s
ridiculous!”

“Exactly,”
I say.
“You
can’t
kill a story like this, but you can make it so confusing and
exaggerated that nobody gives a shit anyway. Disinformation. When
people don’t
know what to believe, they believe none of it.”

Slowly,
as the idea sinks in, Simon starts to nod, then opens his laptop with
enthusiasm.

“I’m
going to have a meeting at the label now, I’ll
be back later,”
I
shout behind me as I go for the door. “Don’t
let me down, guys. Haley’s
counting on you.”

I
slam through Rowland’s
doors like a bull through the gates, the sound of his secretary
confirming my appointment already behind me.

“I’m
squashing the story, Rowland! Don’t
make any statements from the label, my team is going to handle this.
I know you think this is good for Haley but—”
I’m
already at his desk, standing over it with my palms on the steel when
I notice. “What’s
Lexi doing here?”

I
turn my gaze back from her crossed legs, casually bouncing up and
down, toward the concerned, almost frightened, look on Rowland’s
face. He locks his fingers in front of him on the table and fidgets.

He
talks slowly, carefully, like a doctor on a death ward. “I
don’t
really know how to say this, and I’m
pretty surprised myself, to be totally honest with you, but I—”

“Haley’s
getting dropped from the label,”
Lexi
interrupts with dark relish. “I’ve
just told him. It’s
me or her.”

“What?”
I
say, my eyes switching between the two like I’m
watching a frantic tennis match. “Is
this some kind of
joke
?”

“I
don’t
exactly have a choice,”
Rowland
whispers through gritted teeth, as if Lexi wouldn’t
be able to hear. He raises his helpless eyes to mine, almost like
he’s
begging for a way out. “Lexi’s
pretty much made up her mind.”

I
turn to her.

“Why
are you doing this?”

“I
don’t
like the way this label is run,”
Lexi
says, springing out of her chair and standing beside me. “What
was Haley doing on my tour? She doesn’t
even have a full album out! And you were supposed to be managing both
of us, Brando, but I didn’t
see you running to my side very often.”

“You
seemed to do perfectly fine on your own,”
I
growl.

“Exactly.
I don’t
like sharing. And as long as Haley’s
on the label, I know I won’t
be getting all the support I could be getting. It’s
me or her.”

I
turn to Rowland. “This
is ridiculous. Lexi signed a contract. She can’t
leave, right? Isn’t
that what you told me? That this whole business is about tying up
artists even when they don’t
want to be?”

“I’m
only part artist –
I’m
all businesswoman,”
Lexi
purrs maliciously. “Anyone
tries to stop me from quitting and I’ll
destroy Majestic from the inside. A couple of tweets and I’d
have every one of my fans boycotting your records. Maybe throw in a
sexual harassment lawsuit. Yet another case of the big, bad record
industry taking advantage of a poor, innocent girl. I can bring a
shit storm raining down on this label that you people will never
recover from.”

Rowland’s
face goes white, and he jumps up from his chair. Lexi flutters her
eyelashes and laughs. Now the three of us are standing around the
desk.

“You
see this?”
he
cries, despairingly. “What
the fuck am I supposed to do?”

“You’re
supposed to drop Lexi, and keep Haley!”
I
shout back. “
She’s
the one who killed on this tour, not Lexi!
She’s
the
one with the potential to take us to another level!”

“You
think I
want
to drop Haley? She’s
fantastic, I love her! But I don’t
have a choice!”

“Yes
you do! Lexi’s
giving you one!”

Rowland
slumps back into his chair and spends a full five seconds rubbing his
forehead before looking back up at me. Lexi just watches us, all
self-satisfied amusement and dancing eyes—loving
every second.

“Haley’s
had two hits, Lexi’s
had five. Haley hasn’t
even released an album, Lexi’s
had a number one. The tour was great, but it was still Lexi’s
name on the top of it. Even when you get past the simple numbers of
the thing, I don’t
know what the hell is going on with Haley. One minute she’s
fucking up a gig because she can’t
tune a guitar, the next minute she’s
pulling out of the grand finale to the tour. And now there’s
a weird story connecting her to Rex Bentley that
you
won’t
let me use to her advantage because of her ‘feelings.’”
I
take a step back. I know what’s
coming. “I’ve
made my choice, Brando. Haley’s
gone.”

“Then
so am I,”
I
say, stalking toward the door.

Haley

I’m
still in shock over Lexi’s
visit when there’s
a knock at the door. I stop doing laps around the living room and
pulling at my hair to turn and look at it. There’s
another knock. I step slowly towards it. When I open it, I can’t
control myself. I leap onto Brando, bury my face into his neck,
clutch his back as tightly as a lifesaver. For the past hour I’ve
been wondering if I’ll
ever see him again, if the one guy who can make me feel like he does
is about to disappear from my life forever. The idea alone crushed
me, chewed me up, made me feel like a ghost. Just seeing him again is
enough to make me break down.

“Haley,”
he
says slowly, pushing me off him gently and closing the door behind
him, “I’ve
got some bad news.”

“No,”
I
say, shaking my head and feeling my heart grow heavy. I back away
slowly. “No.”

His
face is serious, unhappy. I pray he doesn’t
speak, gathering every bit of strength in my body to tell him not to
speak, and it’s
still not enough. I bury my head in my hands.

“The
label dropped you,”
he
says, bluntly and sadly.

I
look up slowly, feeling like somebody put a hot towel on my face.

“And
you chose Lexi.”

His
face changes. “No,
I didn’t.
Rowland did. Majestic did. Not me.”
He
pauses, realization dawning. “You
knew about the ultimatum?”

I
nod, steeling myself for an answer I probably don’t
want to hear. “So
what did you choose?”

“Haley,”
he
says, rushing toward me and lifting my face in his hands, “why
are you even asking me that? I chose
you
.
Of course I did. I quit on them. Same as last time. Same as when we
had to go it alone before.”

Something
inside me cracks open, releasing a flood of happiness that flows into
every fiber of my body. I pull Brando’s
face to mine, as if the feeling’s
too much for one person, and the only way I can share it is by
pressing my lips against his. A kiss more intimate than erotic, but
no less necessary.

When
we pull away slowly, Brando gazes inquisitively into my eyes,
brushing away a tear-track from my cheek.

“How
could you even doubt that?”
he
asks gently.

“With
Lexi back and the way things have been going with us, I just
thought—”

“Don’t
think,” he
says, affectionately.

Brando
drives us to his apartment like we’re
racing a jet, only stopping to run into a coffee shop and come out a
few minutes later with a carrier tray of coffees and a bag of donuts.

“Who
is all of this for?”
I
ask, as he puts them in my lap and revs the car away.

“You’ll
see.”

We
get to his apartment and Brando bursts through the door like he’s
about to perform a robbery. I follow behind and try not to be too
surprised when a bunch of college students immediately crowd around
me, grab the coffees, and then go back to sitting around the open
laptops on Brando’s
coffee table.

“What’s
going on?”
I
ask as Brando stands in front of them. “It
looks like you’re
running a sweat shop in here.”

“Haley,
this is Michelle, Simon, Ross, Steven, and Jessica. Guys, you know
Haley.”

They
mumble a distracted greeting in unison like an uncoordinated choir
group. Still confused, I raise a hand weakly in response.

“So,
what’s
the situation?”
Brando
says, his voice turning authoritative.

“We
can’t
do anything,”
Jessica
says, shaking her ponytail. “Every
time we post something about the sore throat we get a hundred replies
– every
one of them about Rex Bentley.”

“Same
here,”
Ross
adds, “we’re
commenting, but it’s
getting lost in the mix. It’s
a drop in the ocean compared to what’s
going on. It seems like every two minutes another site posts the
story. We can’t
keep up.”

“No
takers for the Mick Jagger story so far. Sorry,”
Simon
shrugs.

I
glare at Brando with bewilderment at this last one. He shakes his
head in a clear ‘don’t
ask’ gesture.

“Shit,”
he
says, walking to the window. “Okay.
The bottom-up approach isn’t
going to work.”

“Why
doesn’t
Haley just do an interview?”
Jessica
says. “She
doesn’t
have to go in deep. Just deny it with a word and leave it at that.”