Chapter 35: Rock Stars Party Like Rock Stars

Trace

It's not even eleven when the boat returns to the dock. In LA the night would just be getting started, but Kat's a Southern girl who has had a curfew all her life, and I wanted to give her the kind of sweet, old-fashioned date a girl like her deserves, so I planned for an early night. She leans on my arm as we stroll back through Spanish Plaza toward the car, with Ben trailing discreetly behind.

"Tired?" I ask her. I hope she doesn't fall asleep in the car. We need to talk when we get back to the hotel.

"Not at all," she smiles. "It's early. I'm totally up for that bar...what was it called?"

I shake my head. "y.p.a? You sure? I thought we'd go back to the hotel, and..." then I'll ruin us by telling you I'm secretly married to your sister. Shit. "Well, you're right, it's early. Maybe we could hang with the guys for a little while, if you really want to."

She beams and skips the last few feet to the car. I open the door. "I've never actually been in a real bar. What if they card me?" she asks.

"This place is chill, no worries."

I hit up Leed as soon as we pull away in the car...because ironically, he's the one most likely to check his phone in a situation like this. Bodie will be bouncing off the walls, Mac will be surrounded by admirers, watching Adam watching her, and Adam will probably be counting to ten in his head, to keep from punching somebody. The King of the Jungle will be holding court, chilling on a couch with bottles on the table.

Me:

You guys still at y.p.a?

Leed:

You mean d.o.a?

Naw

fled to Demo

Me:

What's the scene?

Leed:

PLUR

SCIC in VIP

"Does Leed always text in code?" Kat mumbles as she reads over my shoulder.

"He thinks he's clever. Apparently the first bar was boring—dead on arrival— so they went to this other place, Demo."

"Soundcrush Inner Circle in the VIP section, I get. What's PLUR?"

"Peace.Love.Unity.Respect. It's a rave slogan. Must be a high energy club."

"Do you think they'll let me in?" she asks anxiously.

"Baby, why are you stressin' this? Being with me is an all access pass to anywhere worth going," I tell her confidently.

She rolls her eyes and grins at the same time. It's cute, how she pretends to judge my swagger but she actually loves it. "You up for this?" I ask.

She tries on a little swagger herself, pulling her own expression down to what I usually describe on other girls as bored bitch face. "I could dance," she shrugs.

"Well, if you aren't into it," I tease, tugging at her pout.

She slaps me lightly on the arm and sticks out her tongue. "I've never been to a real club. Can we go? Just for a little while?"

"Let's party," I agree. I knock on the window, give the word, and the driver alters course.

I just want to make Kat happy, until I have to make her sad. If she wants the rock star experience for a few hours, I'm down to give her that.

We roll up to the curb and I signal Ben to come with. Leed must have told management more Soundcrush was expected. The bouncer is already waiving us in. He's not the only one waiving. This probably is not the kind of place that normally cues up a massive line. Soundcrush must be trending on this place's Twitter feed. As we sweep past the hopefuls on the rope, a few people call out my name and Kat's, then the name calls turn into shouts and the night is lighting up like a red carpet. Phone flashes from all directions.

Shit. This is exactly the kind of publicity thing that will keep things going. I should have told the driver to pull around back. Marcy is going to have my ass tomorrow, but it's too late now. I feel Kat hesitate beside me. I lock our fingers together and pull her in tight.

"Head up, and look at me not them, okay? Somebody will get a shot good enough to sell to TMZ, so we might as well own it like we don't care." I tell her, and she gives me a determined nod. She struts past with the sweetest little sashay and the sexiest look of indifference I've ever seen.

I'm both proud and amused at the way she fronts. Like she clubs every night. Like she could care less about the rumors in the gossip mags.

The club is dark, loud and cavernous like every other club in existence, but the crowd is lit. My eyes go at once to the reason—that would be the DJ. He's pushing a legit party, and the floor is packed tight and almost to the thrashing point. I look over at Kat. She's curious and beautiful, bathed in the pink and purplish light. Her eyes are taking everything in, and her body is already starting to move to the rhythm.

"You wanna dance or go upstairs first?" I yell above the punishing noise. I'm not stoked for the floor—my vibe is rock star, not raver—especially as sober as I am—but I'm less cool with leaving Kat alone to dance. She shrugs and waves at Mac on the upper level. I take that as a sign and haul her toward the bouncer at the stairs.

As we make our way up to the VIP balcony, my phone alerts, and I flip it over in my hand. Another text from Leed:

Abort.

Static likely.

You do NOT want to be here.

I guess he just heard about the line outside. Too fucking late, Leed. Damage is done.

When we breach the second floor, I curse under my breath. Leed's warning about static had nothing to do with the celebrity watchers and everything to do with the celebrities that apparently just showed up . I try not to zero in on the obvious source of my rising panic, but look around coolly. There's a huge group of ballers—shit, does New Orleans even have a NBA team? I don't know, but I recognize a couple of Laker's players. They are obviously in town to kick it for some special personal event, because they've brought an LA entourage—including a lot of lady friends.

Leed's ex, Sophie the VS Angel is with them. Also--because the Universe is trying to fucking kill me—Margaret Banks is here.

Margaret, aka Molly--and it's not a complimentary nickname—is a famous-for-being-famous type of celebrity who is Sophie's sometimes sidekick. She's a fireball with pale skin and long raven hair—and I swear I've hardly ever seen her when some part of her outfit wasn't either pink spandex or black vinyl.  She sporting both, tonight. She's a little bit of fun and a whole lot of trouble.

She's also one of only the handful of girls that I have had sex with more than once, but it was definitely not what I would call a romance. More like...an education. Molly...knows stuff. Lots of stuff.

I don't remember how many times we were together. Less than ten for sure. The last time was the most memorable, and not in a good way.

I didn't even know she knew where I lived, because a) she likes to keep the kink at her house and b)I never, ever bring girls home, out of respect for Ash. But Sophie must have broken the code and told Molly my address. Molly rang my doorbell at 2am right about seven months ago--I remember because it was right before Christmas. She said she she had the holiday blues and needing cheering up. She pulled out the handcuffs as soon as she walked in and cuffed me to the metal staircase railing. I guess being a Dominatrix tends to chase away depression, at least for a little while.

I thought it would be ok, to let her stay, just once. I mean, Ash hadn't been home in more than two months. Plus, I was already handcuffed to the stairs and she was already naked, before I could really protest. I was pretty messed up already, too--from an industry Christmas party.

Of course, Ash picked that night to waltz in from a red-eye with her Louis Vitton carry-on, and stumble on Molly and me in the foyer. Neither Molly nor Ashlynn were very pleased. Molly immediately zoned in on the fact that Ash was holding her own set of keys and sporting a wedding ring and much to my surprise, Molly got ugly-cry crazy and stormed out with her most of her clothes in her hand. And the keys to the handcuffs.

Ashlynn was too high to flip out. She just picked up my pants, because I couldn't reach them, tossed them in my face, mumbled "Merry Fucking Christmas, pervert", and locked herself in her room, ignoring my yelled apologies and pleas for help. Fortunately, after a few minutes, even though I couldn't put my pants on, handcuffed as I was, I realized my phone was in my pants pocket, and I managed to reach it.

In a situation like that, you get real with who your friends are. I called Adam. He showed up twenty minutes later with boltcutters, a shit eating grin, and a bottle of something I can't remember. We drank til dawn , but at least we drank away my mortification. He never said one word to Leed or Bodie.

That was the last time I saw Molly. Riley smoothed it over, brokering an understanding between us. Molly has secrets, too. She throws very exclusive, very intimate dinner parties. Fifty Shades Masquerade Shit. I went once and walked out. I'm okay with a little kink in private but I'm not into giving a show on the damn dining room table.

Anyway, Molly would really hate for her grand mother—Silver Screen Legend Margaret Banks—to be scandalized by her namesake's sexscapades. A big chunk of Molly's grandmother's money is in trust to Molly, but she doesn't get it until she's thirty, and her grandmother is a tough lady. She might cut Molly off for embarrassing the family. Right now Molly's looking me over pretty chill, so I'm hoping she's going to be civilized and remember our agreement of keeping each other's secrets.

I don't really know the rest of the people Sophie and Molly are with, but it's obvious we are all one big party now. Bodie is a huge Laker's fan and he's probably partied with these guys before. Someone has ordered top-shelf bottles they are being shared by Soundcrush and ballers alike.

There's no room to sit, so I try to skirt the group of couches in favor of standing at the balcony with Mac, but Bodie calls out to us, so I hunker over the couch and shoot the shit with his friends, Hollywood style. Leed bites on a cherry stem and looks over his shoulder, giving me a wry shrug of sympathy about the Molly situation. When some drunk arm candy stumbles between me and Kat and spills her drink all over Kat's shoes, Leed retracts his lankiness and makes room for her to squeeze in beside him on the couch. She shakes her head and wraps her arms around me. I think she's a little uncomfortable.

"Sit, baby. Leed won't bite. And it's better than standing here and getting showered with rum and coke." She eases down beside him and I move behind the couch, where I can talk with both the group and Mac, who has her back turned from anywhere Adam is.

Leed introduces Kat to Sophie and Molly which was pretty decent of him—saves me the awkwardness. Bodie and one of the Lakers start tag-telling a crazy story about another crazy night that has everybody pitching forward in laughter. Below me, Leed is talking in Kat's ear. I can't hear what he's saying but she's smiling and laughing, so he's probably just trying to make her feel comfortable. He offers her his drink, and she sips but makes a face and I know it must be tequila.

Molly hops up and meets a waiter who is bringing a tray of lime green drinks with glow in the dark pacifiers floating in them. I see Molly fuss over the drinks and slip the waiter cash, and I know she ordered these drinks special. Molly brings the tray over and sits it down like she baked a fucking cake.

"Mollycocks," she says. Yep. Her signature cocktail.

A couple of the anonymous entourage reach for them. Sophie smiles at Leed and takes a glass. Leed looks at her thoughtfully, and slowly reaches for one, clinking glasses with his ex. I stop Kat from taking a glass.

"You won't like that shit," I tell her.

I order her a daiquiri, give the waitress a wad of twenties to bring it back quick-like, find myself a cleanish glass and pour a drink from one of the brown bottles. Don't care which.

Kat seems comfortable enough five minutes later when her drink arrives, and when I turn around to talk to Mac, she's gone. I scan the VIP section, she's not up here anymore, but Adam is, and so are John and Ben, our security guys. I don't want to make a big deal; Mac's a big girl and part of me feels like a chauvinist the way we always "guard" her, but she's kind of a risk-taker with her safety and she's abandoned her hat and sunglasses. She's got her signature rainbow hair down and she's wearing one of her stage costumes and her moon boots.

I'm scanning the floor for Mac when a delicate arm slips around me.

"Hey babe, did you see where Mac—" I immediately stop my hand that was snaking down the girl's backside, because the girl is not Kat.

"No babe, I didn't see where Mac went," Molly smirks.

I pull away from Molly's embrace and glance behind me at Kat. She is still in conversation with Leed. "Hey Molly," I say without much enthusiasm.

"Hey Trace." She pulls my head down toward her mouth. "Wanna find somewhere to fuck?"

I pull away roughly. "Why you gotta be like that? I know you saw me come in with my girlfriend." I have to speak loudly in her ear, but no one can hear over the music.

Molly sips her fluorescent drink thoughtfully. She tips her mouth up to my ear. "I saw you. I just...never thought I'd see you like that with a girl. I didn't think you had a heart. You never showed it to me. Or your  wife."

That's because it could never belong to you, Sweetheart.  Or Ash.But I stop myself from being shitty to this girl whose idea of love is a kink orgy. What twisted her like that I don't know, but I have a feeling that the sex we had—sex I thought of as bizarrely disconnected and only a physical release—might have been the most connection she's had going in a long time, and I feel sorry for her.

"I'm sorry about what happened, Molly. I know Riley explained my...situation, but I should have been upfront with you. I should have told you what was what with me, before we...did that stuff."

She shrugs loosely and smiles. "It's all good." Of course it is, Molly. Always is, when you're rockin' molly.

She tips her head sideways from the neck toward Kat. She know? She mouths at me. About your wife?

I feel sorry for Molly, but I don't trust her worth a damn. "That situation is resolved, so there's really nothing to tell her," I lie.

She looks into the distance and nods. "Well, if your current situation changes, call me," She pops the pacifier in her mouth and sucks suggestively. I give her a noncommittal chin-up and she saunters away, trailing her fingers through Kat's hair as she moves behind her. Kat looks up at her and Molly waggles her fingers at Kat, and since she has Kat's attention, she takes her pacifier out to blow me a drawn out, pouty kiss. Then she skips down the stairs to put her drugs to good use on the dance floor.

Fuck you very much, Molly.

Kat is staring at me. When I meet her eyes, I can't do much more than shrug a little in apology. She twists on the couch and rises to her knees, leaning toward me. I'm there in a second, my arms automatically going around her as she's pulling herself up to meet my ear.

"I think we need a signal," she yells in my ear.

"A signal?"

"Yeah. For you to flash me whenever we meet a girl you've slept with. Next time I'd rather you clue me in, before she does."

I open my mouth, and a surprising thing comes out of it. "I swear to god, if I could, I would take them all back."

I feel her stiffen in my arms. She leans back, a look of hurt on her face.

"I was right? You and Molly?"

I nod, mutely. She twists away from me, and plops back down beside Leed, reaching for her drink.

"Kat—"

She shakes her head and refuses to look at me. "No. Just give me a minute. Just..." She looks up at me with so much confusion, and then she closes her eyes. When she opens them her face is closed down, and determined. She leans toward Leed. "Dance?" she shouts.

He looks from her to me, questioning. What am I supposed to do—act like an asshole? Tell Kat I don't want her to dance with Leed, expect her to sit here pretending to smile while she imagines me having sex with Molly?

Hell no, I won't be that guy. Kat has a right to feel what she's feeling right now—blindsided by one of my ex-lovers. If she needs a little space, she should take it.

I give Leed the go-ahead shrug. He rises with his feline grace and holds out a hand to her. "Come on Little Sister, let's blow this place up," he says.

I watch Leed forge a path deep into the crowd below and begin to roll effortlessly to the techno. Actually, Kat chose an excellent distraction; Leed loves to dance. Kat matches him determinedly, her expression fierce. They move great together; people around them see it too, giving them a little space. She doesn't look up at me watching her, but she doesn't dirty grind him, either. After a few minutes she starts to smile and dance a little more freely, like she's actually enjoying herself, and I breathe a little easier. I don't think she's trying to make me jealous or piss me off by dancing with Leed. She's just working out her emotions on the dance floor.

As I watch her dance, I'm questioning my plan to tell her about Vegas. Can we really weather that tonight, on top of Molly? How much of my bullshit should Kat have to take in one night?

"Come on," Adam tugs once at my arm and points to the bar on the lower level. "That shit is not happening tonight." Mac is down there, sitting up on the bar, her legs crossed and resting on a barstool. There are about ten guys surrounding her and an equal number of shots of all varieties lined up on the bar beside her. She's in animated conversation with the guys—holding up seven fingers, panning it to the entire crowd.

Awww, Macaroni, why you gotta bust Adam's balls tonight?

Mac likes to invent drinking games to play with her many admirers. The one she is playing now is called Lucky Shot. She lets all the guys in the game buy her a shot of their choice. They line 'em up, writing their names on a napkin beneath the shot they bought. She decides how many she's going to drink but she drinks them in a random order. Every shot she drinks earns the buyer a selfie and a post on her Instagram. When she gets to the last shot—usually seven but not always—she makes out with the lucky guy whose shot ends the game. Most of the time it's just a nice, longish smooch. Once or twice, she has ended up with the guy all night.

"Adam, maybe just let it go," I tell him. "She'll kiss the guy and be done. You know she won't take it farther, with the way things are right now. She's just blowing off steam."

Adam's blue eyes are dark and I can feel his anger when he leans close and shouts, "She wants me to stop her. She wanted me to stop her with that fucker in the Green Room, and I didn't. I'm not making the same mistake again."

I groan. It's highly possible that Adam is right. I love Mac like she's my own sister, but she's shaping up to be a man-eater. If Adam really means to step up to the plate with her, maybe he does need to show her he will shut down her bullshit. If he can. Mac's just as likely to bash a bottle over Adam's head and make him lick up the spilled beer.

"You sure about this? It might just piss her off more, Adam," I warn.

"My plan is to talk real nice to Mac and ignore the jerkoffs trying to bend her over the bar. She thinks she's running that shit, but you know the type she attracts since the "Ties that Bind" video —every one of those dudes is a probably corporate suite wannabe Dom who only eats kale and kickboxes seven days a week."

"You mean pussies spoilin' for a fight cause they ain't ever been in one?" I grin.

"Exactly, but they are buff pussies. And there are ten of them. I need a wing man."

Body halts his conversation and is staring at us suspiciously. He joins us, looking down at the Mac situation. "Fuck, we should not have let the label  talk us unto into putting Mac in chains for that video. This happens every time we club. "

"Right?" Adam slaps him on the back in agreed indignation.

Bodie sighs. "Right. You asshats are about to kill the party, aren't you?"

I grin. "Make a choice, man. Are you a baller or a brawler tonight?"

"Shit. I'm a 'crusher, like always," he pounds his fist into his palm.

"Hold up," I pick up a bottle and pass around three generous shots. "To not starting a bar fight."

"I'm not making any promises," Adam says. "But I will post your bail if we get arrested."

"Here's to none of these dudes we are about to fuck-up being pretty boys," Bodie adds.

I point a finger at him, "True dat. The pretty ones sue."

We clink in agreement and knock 'em back.

"Jealous assholes first," I grin as I gesture for Adam take the lead down the stairs. I give the security guys the military "hold" sign and Bodie gives them a "peace out." They know we mean it. Security is for saving us hassles, but when we need to, we take care of our own damn business.

Adam, Bodie and I bust down the stairs to start something stupid.

Stuff is happening in the club! The next chapter is good! Please vote, follow, list, and let me know how ya feel with comments! Thanks! KC