R. Lilley - Rock Bottom

Estella’s swift and firm denial made me smile. I wanted this to work out for them.

“The correct response will always end in Mistress Abelli.”

I felt suddenly like a voyeur, that little tidbit feeling like an intrusion into Frankie’s other ‘side.’

“Yes, Mistress Abelli,” Estella told her in a breathless voice.

“Dayum,” I said under my breath. I knew Frankie was hardcore, but damn me if that stuff wasn’t kind of hot.

Tristan seemed just as happy as I was about Frankie’s potential love match when I called him before bed.

The background noise on his end was bad. It sounded like he was in a small room with about a thousand giggling women.

“Where are you?” I asked him. It sounded like a party or a club.

“At some party for the record people.” He sounded distracted.

“Well, I’ll let you go. You sound busy. Hopefully we can talk tomorrow.”

“Sounds good. Tomorrow, then.”

“‘Kay.”

I hung up, feeling edgy and upset, suddenly plagued by a wave of discontent. Here we were, apart most of the time, and I couldn’t even go out and dance without worrying about what he’d think.

Meanwhile, he was at God only knew what kind of a party. Real trust was an elusive thing for me, given my track record with men, and Tristan’s track record with sex.

He could be doing absolutely anything he wanted, and I’d never know.

I felt our distance so keenly in that moment, not just in miles but in intimacy. What was it that kept us together? We didn’t even live in the same city now, and he apparently didn’t need me anymore.

I tossed and turned all night, tortured by the thought that I may not really even know him at all.

TRISTAN

I hung up the phone, glaring at Dean, who was laughing, draped over some chick I’d never seen before across the room.

The band shared a small house near the recording studio. It was not ideal, being that we didn’t even get our own bedrooms, and the living area was small enough to be useless.

And instead of getting weekends off, like they’d promised us, we worked through them half the time, making it feel more and more like we were living here, instead of in Vegas.

It was wearing on me, to say the least.

And, pissing me off just as badly, the record was being stalled at every turn. Dean had gone into full on self-destruct mode, spouting off bullshit about having creative differences with Kenny, slowing down a process that was already too slow.

Creative differences, my ass . I wanted to beat his face in. He did nothing for the creative side of the band, and messing with Kenny for no fucking reason was more than I could stand.

I took a direct swig from a bottle of Jack, still glaring away. On top of all of his other bullshit, he’d shown up to the house with a van full of groupies, and I’d ended up lying to Danika about the noise.

Cory was out with our new guitarist, and Kenny had escaped to his room. Smart man. I’d have done the same, but after the naked groupie jumping on me in my sleep that I knew had been Dean’s idea, I didn’t trust him, and I certainly didn’t trust any of the strange women that had invaded our place.

What a fucking mess , I thought, taking another swig of whiskey.

Dean caught my glare. He smiled like it had made his day. “What’s up, my friend? Why the bad attitude? There’s plenty of pussy to go around.”

“You know what’s up,” I growled, fists clenched. “No groupies at the house. Those are the rules.”

The women in the room that didn’t want to admit to being groupies loudly protested that. I didn’t care. They were groupies.

I looked around at them. “Out,” I said rudely. I had no more patience.

A few started to leave, muttering ‘asshole’ and ‘jerk’ on their way out.

A few didn’t budge, which just made Dean laugh harder. “What are you gonna do, man, carry them all out?”

“They go or I go, and if I walk out that door, I’m not coming back. You can do this deal without me. I don’t give a shit anymore. I didn’t sign on for any of this.”

That, finally, got him moving, shuffling girls out, and being bad-tempered about it.

I wasn’t bluffing, not even close, and he knew it.

The next morning I woke up hungover and pissed off.

I got dressed and shook Kenny awake. He started, nearly falling out of the tiny twin bed situated on his side of the room. He was the only one I bothered, since we shared the room.

“I’m leaving. Heading back to Vegas for a few days. I’m done with this working through the weekend bullshit. I’ve got a girl back home.”

Kenny didn’t try to stop me. He was good like that, good at reading people, and knowing when they meant what they said. “I’ll tell the producer. Just call me when you’re on your way back to L.A.”

“I will.”

I called Danika once before I started driving. She didn’t answer, which was pretty normal for her. She left her phone all over the place, her ringer turned off most of the time because of school. I settled for sending her one clear-cut text.

Tristan: Heading back to Vegas. Try to get the afternoon off. I’d like to take you out.

I was filling up my tank in Barstow when she finally responded.

Danika: Good. I’ve been missing you bad. Jerry says he’ll watch the kids whenever you get here. What should I wear?

I grinned, happier than I’d been since I’d last said goodbye to her, weeks ago.

Tristan: The tiniest bikini you own. Dental floss would work, too.

Danika: LOL. You are a pervert…Were you serious about the bikini?

Tristan: Yes. Frankie got us a pool cabana for the afternoon at the Cavendish resort.

Danika: Wow.

She was ready and waiting when I pulled up to Bev’s house.

She wore her tiny bronze bikini, my favorite, with a transparent gold cover-up that didn’t manage to cover up a thing. She wore sexy high-heeled metallic sandals that matched numerous gold chains around her neck and wrists, gold sunglasses and large hoop earrings. Her hair hung long and straight down her back.

I was hard as a rock before she’d taken two steps out the front door.

I met her halfway, catching her to me for a short kiss. I couldn’t get into it with her on the front lawn, or I’d lose my mind and traumatize the neighborhood children.

I grabbed the small bag she had in her hand, leading her to the car, and ushering her in.

“Where are your swim trunks?” she asked me as I was settling back into the driver’s seat.

“I have a bag in back. I’ll change when we get to the pool. I came straight here.”

“I thought you were working through the weekend again. How’d you get time off?”

“I took it. I just left. I’m not doing that shit anymore. They can fire me if they don’t like it. I didn’t sign on to move there.”

She stroked my arm as I drove. I kept my hands to myself. It’d been too long for me. My self-control was hanging on by a thread just sitting next to her. I was so horny I felt violent with it.

The cabanas were set up nearly on top of the swimming pool, on platforms set along an aisle that ran down the middle of the main pool.

They were designed like a four-sided tent, one side open to the water. It was large enough for about four people, set up like one huge bed with a dozen pillows thrown everywhere.

It was hot out for fall in Vegas, perfect for a day at the pool. I changed into swim trunks and slipped on some shades, my movements clumsy in my rush.

Since Danika had come in a bikini, she was waiting for me when I came outside. Music was blasting. It was the middle of the day, but parties started early and ended never in Vegas.