Chapter 15: The Best Moms Send Tough Love

Introducing a new character in the first person--Bodie's mother. Sometimes we need to hear what a mom thinks about these rock stars. I hope you like her, cause I love her already. And I may not be the only one crushin' on Ronna (hee-hee-hee)....

The song: Family Business. Very appropriate. . Chance the Rapper has remix of this song, but I thought we'd kick it old school with Kanye.

One more note. In case you are wondering the name Ronna rhymes with Mona. As in the the Mona Lisa...

Ronna Jamison, several weeks later

I brew coffee and tea. I figure the Brit will go for tea, but I know nothing about the man that he's bringing with him, about the man he said could help us.

I take a tray to the ridiculously large living room, trying to ignore the echoes of my footfalls striking on trendy concrete floor.

My eyes flit to the built-ins like they always do, when I find myself feeling ungrateful for this beautiful home. I smile at a picture of Clay when he was about five years old. The thought that I should tell him I'd like a smaller home fades.

He's so proud that he can install me in a big fancy house in a safe neighborhood like this. And it's not that it doesn't sometimes come in handy—I have friends and family that visit, and I host some luncheons and meetings for the various charities I'm involved in.

The space is very convenient and comfortable, during those times.

But most of the time, I'm one person in a house built for a bigger family.

Family.

I return to the kitchen table, which is littered with photographs, cardstock, washi tabe and various scrap-booking supplies.

I'm making a scrapbook of Mrs. JJ's sevientieth birthday bash.  I pick up a picture that I've looked at a thousand times in the last week since I had them printed.

Life is full of unexpected turns. When I decided to throw her that celebration last month, I had no idea where that decision would lead me.

But maybe it was meant for me to host that party in the park of our old neighborhood. Maybe that one moment led me to the key to saving my son.

I flatten the photo between my hands and raise them to my face, like a prayer. I ask for Clay's safety, because there's a dread in me, these last few weeks.

My son is not okay.

He's been in trouble before. When I realized how deep into gang life he was, it was too late for me to do anything but be there for him, during his jail time.

But once he got out, I did everything in my power to correct the mistakes I had made raising him. He was always smart, and mature, and I left him alone too much, working night shifts. That's what let him fall into that gang.

So when he got out of juvi, I did the hardest thing I've ever done.

I told my son, he wasn't welcome in my home anymore. I told him he had to go live with his uncle—my older brother by a year— and prove his worth. It hurt me much more than it hurt him, because the boy knew, I wasn't angry with him. I wasn't even disappointed in him, not after all the long years he was in juvi.

No. I was only loving him the best way I could—not letting him return to the door of gang life. Putting him in that college town, where I knew his brain and his pride and his ambition would fire.

I knew he would get himself in school.

I was right about that, but I never saw the music coming. I mean, I knew the boy liked to sing and dance as a child, that he was a natural born performer, always making up song parodies and raps and even singing his spelling words. I knew he took to the drum-line in band like a fish to water. But the other instruments, and the exceptional talent he showed for a drum kit? I guess the talent was always there, but the skill grew during his music therapy in detention.

Sometimes I wonder if that talent just sparked into Clay from a unique combination of genetics, or if it was some latent gift came from his father, because we've never had anyone particularly musical in my family. Maybe it was the only good thing Tyler Hale ever gave his son.

Well, except the good looks, of course.

Clay looks very much like his father, just burnished to caramel perfection. He's truly one of the beautiful people. But it's his good heart and his fun-loving nature that makes him so charismatic and attractive.

I look again at the photograph between my hands, searching. No, there's not much there of Clay. Not in a still picture, although there's something about the way the boy's brows and eyes squeeze when he's thinking. That's hard to capture in a picture and hard perhaps, for anyone to see except me, but I've seen that expression Clay's whole life.

But I see...something else, something much more undeniable.

The doorbell rings, and I tuck the picture in my pocket and go to greet my guests.

The Brit looks exactly the same as the last time I saw him, some years ago. Dark spiky hair, striking eyes behind his glasses, a practiced smile.

"Ms. Jamison," he moves in to give me the LA air kisses as I usher them into the foyer. I hug him back, but I can't help but laugh.

"A handshake does just fine down here in the South," I tell Riley.

"Right, of course." He gestures to the unfamiliar, handsome man with the saddest eyes I've ever seen. They are dark, seemingly unreadable, but for some strange reason, I have the impression of dull flashes of pain.

Like lightening behind a cloudy night sky.

"This is Varrick Von, President of Sentinel Security," Riley explains. "Varrick, meet Ronna Jamison."

Varrick blinks at me. "You're...Bodie's mother?"

"Yes," is all I say. Since the boy became famous, I've gotten this exact response to every introduction to a Hollywood type.

You would think, in the world of botox and eternal youth they live in, it wouldn't surprise them that I look too young to be his mother. But human nature never changes.

People think the mother of an adult should look, matronly, at the very least with subtle signs of age. Crows feet, laugh lines, whatever. But the women in my family have good genes. We age well. My mother, me, my niece Tamara, too. And of course, I am only forty-two years old, because I was fifteen when I had Bodie.

I think of the boy's mother, and how patterns repeat themselves.

"It's very nice to meet you," Mr. Von says, reaching for my hand, holding it between both of his. "I understand you're very worried about your son."

"Bodie--"  I always refer to him the way he prefers, except in my thoughts of course, "Bodie calls me without fail, twice a week. From juvi, from gigs at college bars and coffee houses, from the video sets, from world wide tours. I haven't heard from him in three weeks. If he can't pick up the phone from a vacation, I'm almost positive he's in a bad way with drugs. So yes, I'm very worried about him."

Varrick blinks again.

"Ronna is a...well, she's much like us, Varrick. She doesn't pull punches." Riley smiles at me. "This is not the first time she's brought Bodie's drug problems to my attention."

"Last time, I let you and Leed handle it, and you told me he was sober," I frown at Riley, gesturing for them to sit on the tapestried sofa. I take the identical one, opposite from them as I pour coffee and tea.

"He was completely off pills for more than year," the Brit tells me. "Touring is...a big temptation. It's exhausting, and no one is more physically tested than a drummer during a long tour. I knew he was taking some amphetamines to get up for the shows, about midway through the tour. I should have put a stop to it. I didn't. There are some people in this world...who can manage self-medicating. Bodie's best friend Leed being the example I am thinking of. Bodie is not one of those people, however. I should have kept a tighter rein on him.This is on me. "

I can tell from Riley's tone, he actually believes that.

"No, this is on Bodie," I tell Riley, offering him tea. "But he's my son and I...I have to do something. This can't go on."

"I want to assure you, Ms. Jamison—"

"Ronna, please."

"Ronna," Varrick nods at me, with the hint of a smile. "The seriousness of this situation came to my attention about a week ago, and I've looked into Bodie's whereabouts. As of three days ago, he was functional enough to walk into a bank and withdraw a large sum of cash. I even had the bank forward me security footage."

He rises and sits down beside me, thumbing his phone to show me the video. I pull the reading glasses from the top of my head so that I can inspect Clay carefully. He's moving restlessly in a chair as he waits for the transaction. So much skinnier than last I saw him. His expensive "designed dreads" are frayed and coming apart at the ends. Occasionally he scratches at his neck.

"He's..." I search for the word, "jonesing for a fix? That's why he's at the bank? To get cash for drugs."

"Those are my thoughts as well," Riley says grimly.

"Who's the man with him?" I ask, looking at the small blonde fellow I don't recognize.

"His name is Connor Ryan. He's an Irishman—an ex pat that lives in Thailand. Officially, his occupation is a club promoter."

I look between the two men. "What does that mean?"

Varrick grimaces. "It means clubs pay him to fill their floors with notables and beautiful people, to increase the club's popularity. So he makes it his business to befriend visiting celebrities and usher them around the resort areas. Provide them with...whatever they need to party."

"So he's a pusher?" I say, handing Varrick the phone back.

"Yes, most likely," Riley says, looking away.

"Most assuredly," Varrick corrects. He glances at me. "Ronna, Riley doesn't want to worry you, but I can tell you're the type of woman that appreciates straight-shooting. This situation with Bodie, it has the potential to become very serious. Much more serious than a drug binge in Thailand. That man—Connor Ryan—he's a person of interest to the Thai government. And the Thai government inflicts harsh penalties for drug crimes."

"How do you know this?" I ask Varrick.

He wets his lips. "Before I acquired a contract security firm, I worked for the US government, in intelligence. I have a lot of resources I can pool to gather information. This man, Connor Ryan? He's a known drug exporter. He has a muling system of young people that travel back and forth to Ireland and deliver drugs there. Family business. These ex-pat drug dealers, they never think they are going to get caught in a third world country, but it's only a matter of time before the Thai government makes an example of him. And his prominent clients are likely to be implicated as well."

I look from Riley to Varrick. "Well, what are we gonna do about it?"

Varrick says, "I'm going to Thailand to extract Bodie. And the girl."

"Arabella, you mean," I sigh. "She's still with him?"

"Unfortunately," Riley rolls his eyes, but Varrick gives him what I think is a disapproving look.

"Yes, I hope she's with him. Very much. To be perfectly honest with you, she's the reason I'm taking a direct approach to this situation. I don't usually do field ops anymore. But her uncle is the one that came to me with a direct plea. I'm going to bring her home to him. And your son to you."

"Her Uncle?" I snatch my glasses off and look at Riley. "The girl's uncle is more on top of this situation than you are? Where the hell have you been in this, Riley? Bodie's drug problem is his doing, but isn't he an "asset" who's job it is for you to manage? How could let this situation unravel this far without letting me know?" I gesture to Varrick's phone. "It looks to me like my son is far beyond a pill habit. Tell me the truth. Is Bodie hooked on heroin?"

"I don't know. That's the truth, Ronna. He was definitely not that far gone on tour. There was some cocaine at one point, but he seemed to back off that, and self-regulate. But I see...what you see, in that picture. I think he's in a very bad way. I'll admit, I've dropped the ball here. I've let my personal frustrations with this type of situation interfere with my job."

"What does that mean?" I ask.

Riley looks to the ceiling. "It means I'm bloody well tired of baby-sitting addicts, Ronna. I spent the better part of last two years dealing with the drug problems of Trace's companion and helping Leed keep Bodie on track. My role has changed as their manager. Now I deal with their business concerns as well as their personal issues. Plus, I have another band I manage. I can't be everything to every single one of them."

"Well it sounds like you better get someone to help you with all these personal problems this band has," I say firmly.

He nods, "Yes, I've been thinking of increasing staff as well. Perhaps...a sobriety companion for Bodie, when we get him back."

"We will get him back, Ronna. I promise you that." Varrick says. There's a surprising amount of emotion in his voice.

I look at this man with the dark, flashing eyes beside me. "I'm sorry, but this seems...personal, to you."

He searches my face. He glances at Riley, then back at me. "It is personal. I lost someone I cared about once, in a similar situation. As did you, I believe—Riley?"

Riley stares at Varrick. He takes his glasses off and wipes them. "Hmmm. You really do your homework, don't you, Varrick?"

"I'd say we are cut from the same inquisitive kind of cloth, Riley," Varrick says grimly.

I don't know what their undercurrent of insinuation is about, but I have better manners than to ask. Instead, I rise, and walk over to the built-ins, taking a small photo from it's frame. I pull the picture of Jasmine and Darius from my pocket and hand both photographs to Varrick.

"When you find my son, you give him these two pictures, and you tell him...his mother said to get his butt on a plane, because he has responsibilities here."

Varrick shuffles the pictures, comparing. His eyebrows raise in understanding. "Who is the woman to Bodie?"

"Her name is Jasmine. A girl Bodie knew when he was a teenager. That's her son, Darius. He's twelve years old, and he's under the impression that his father is a man named Daemon Turner. I tend to disagree."

Riley perks up. "What the bloody hell are you insinuating."

"Just a moment, please," Varrick says calmly, as he looks at the second picture.

A twenty year-old in a green service uniform—the kind of picture all the soldiers took before they were shipped off to Vietnam.

"And who is this?" Varrick asks more softly, searching my face.

"My father, Clayton Jamison. He and my mother were married right out of high school, about a year and half before he number was called in the draft. He was killed in Vietnam, shortly after I was born. The only thing I have of his, is this picture and the flag my mother received at his funeral. So Varrick Von, head of Sentinel security, ex-government intelligence operative, I need you to promise you are bringing my son home in better shape than his grandfather."

Varrick closes his eyes for a brief moment. He rises and lays a hand on my shoulder. "Bodie is alive, Ronna. He's an asset to his pusher. I guarantee you, Connor Ryan has him on a short leash. If Bodie and Arabella are shooting up heroin, that guy is dosing them carefully to keep them on their feet and in the club. I will find your son, and I will bring him home. I promise you."

I put my hand on Varrick's that rests upon my shoulder. Assurance floods me, more from the heat of his skin than from his words. "Thank you," I smile at him. "I don't why exactly, but I believe you."

Then I point a finger at Riley. "Varrick's going to bring him home. You are going to get him clean."

Riley nods his head but his words don't match. "Easier said than done, Ronna."

Varrick winks at me. "Maybe not," he hands the pictures over to Riley. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but this woman's name is not Jasmine, is it? I'm pretty sure I saw her profile attached to Sound Crush's Inner Circle, already..."

Riley's brow ruffles in curiosity as he ruffles the pictures. "Bloody fucking hell!" he cries as he looks at me. For once, he's completely flustered.

"This..this...this is Marley Watkins!" he stammers.

"Who?"

"Marley Watkins. She's...she's...well, she's so many things to so many of them. She's Adam's friend. Trace's counselor. She was Bodie's recent...aaahhh...I have the feeling she and Bodie had a romantic interlude back in the late summer."

I put my hands on my hips. "Well, that doesn't surprise me, because she's also Jasmine Jones—the girl my fifteen year old son was following around like a puppy one spring, thirteen years ago. I didn't think their romantic interlude got very far—she was a little bit older than him, and I didn't think she saw him like that— but I guess I was wrong."

Riley is peering closely between the pictures. "The resemblance is...remarkable. The boy looks just like your father."

"I know," I say dryly.

Riley looks up at me sharply. "Bodie doesn't. He doesn't know about this. I'd stake...I'd stake my own career upon it. There is no way Bodie has been aware all this time that he may have a son. I didn't even know Marley had a son. She does not share this information, and it's not easily visible from a brief background check, either. The boy...he doesn't live with her, I know that much. I made inquires about her lifestyle, as I do with all Soundcrush intimates."

"Hmmmm," I say. "That part is true. Darius lives with Pat Turner, his grandmother. But as for Bodie not having any idea about the boy, well he can explain to me exactly how that's possible when Varrick brings him home. I want to him hear from him, how it is that I have a twelve year old grandson that grew up down the street from us, that I didn't know about. I've given my own granchild halloween candy and didn't even know it. Didn't have a damn clue! Then I don't see him for a few years and he hits puberty, and bam! He looks just like the picture of my father I've been staring at my whole life.

"And here's another thing, too," I tap beside my eyes. "The child thinks just like Bodie. I can see the sharp little wheels turning in his brain, twisting his little eyebrows and squeezing his eyes, just like my son. My wayward, baby-making, drug-shooting, lying, missing, in-big-trouble-in-Thailand-and-in-bigger-trouble-when-I-see-him son!"

I cover my face, not wanting to cry in front of Soundcrush's manager and this handsome man I don't know. I try to turn away, but Varrick chuckles and grabs me by the shoulders.

"Hey, Ronna," he says gently. "You want to come along to Thailand with me? I could use a sidekick like you. I'll be good cop, you can be bad cop."

He's teasing me, to stop my tears before they start. I remove my hands from my face and tug on my blouse. "No thank you, Varrick. I'll leave the mercenary work to you. I think the pictures of Clayton and Darius will be enough to get Bodie on a plane home."

I point at Riley.

"You find out everything—and I mean everything—about Marley Watkins. And about Darius. His birth certificate, his school records. If his grandmother has a guardianship, that kind of thing. If there was a paternity test, you find it."

"Yes ma'am," Riley says, his heels practically click together like a soldier receiving orders. I snort at him. "Not for me, Riley. For Bodie, when he is ready. When he asks you for it."

"Oh," Riley says, almost embarrassed that he was so willing to fall in line with an overbearing mother. "Right."

Varrick removes his hand from my shoulders. He purses his lips and stares at me. "And you, Ronna? You don't seem like the type to sit idly by and twiddle your thumbs. What are you going to do?"

"Oh, I have a little detective work of my own to do. Specifically, I want to know whether or not my old friend Pat Turner knows or suspects that she stole my grandchild and raised him as her own."

Varrick surpresses a smile. "Tread carefully, alright? Resemblances can sometimes be deceiving. And you never know what kind of Pandora's box you might open..."

"Of course. You think I don't know how life things in work in that hood? I lived in it my whole life, until four years ago."

Varrick hold out a hand to me. "Well then, Ronna, Riley...it seems that we have an operation to execute. Codename: Reunion."

Riley smirks. "I'm not sure why Matt del Marco is so skeptical of your abilities, Von. You seem a right sharp chap to me."

Varrick shrugs. "Matt is old school. He doesn't trust anyone he hasn't drunk under the table at least twice. It's not a particularly bad way to judge a man's character—to catch him with his defenses down."

"So he stole half your personnel and started his own security firm, because you wouldn't take a pub crawl with him?"

"I didn't take it personally, but yes, he did. All because I only drink alone," Varrick says.

"Why is that?" I ask him, but I can tell from the flash in his eyes—that's not a joke at all. The man has pain. Old pain. I know a thing or two about hiding that.

Of course, I've been over Tyler Hale for twenty-seven years, but it's a difficult thing, to see the echo of a man that gave you your life's greatest rejection in the child that gave you your greatest joy. And whenever I see an expression on Bodie's face that looks so much like his father, I guard my own expression, never letting my son know his beautiful features have pricked at old wounds.

"There's simply no one I trust with my secrets," he says smoothly.

I nod. "That, I can believe, Varrick."

The two men leave, and I return to the scrapbook. I force myself not to linger too long over Darius' pictures.

I have to finish the damn scrapbook before I take it down to my old neighborhood to see if Pat has any pictures to add, don't I?

Well, then, Bodie's smarts definitely come from Ronna's side of the family don't they?  Have you ever noticed how some men seem to gravitate towards women who are like their mothers? I see a lot of similarity in Ronna and Marley's personalities, do you?

Are we shipping Ronna and Varrick or is that gonna take some time? Remember this is all BEFORE we suspect Varrick is a bad guy. Before Leed tells Riley that Varrick was Ash's dom. So poor Riley, thought Varrick was a good guy, then thought he was a bad guy, and then found out he was a good guy with a troubled past and some misguided loyalty to his brother.  I guarantee you who is NOT gonna be shipping them....a certain Lion. I wonder how Bodie is gonna feel, if he is gonna share Leed's opinion of Varrick...

Hee-hee, I love these  twists of time. Anybody watching the Netflix Series Witcher? It's like this, with three overlaying time frames and so complicated, even I didn't figure out the time was shifting between the three main characters until like the FOURTH episode! Then BAM! I realized...this is all been happening over THIRTY YEARS not at the same time!!! Now I've watched the whole season twice because I'm obsessed with catching all the details of the overlapping times, just the way that I plant them into my books, hahah!