Chapter 32: Drummer Boys Have Performance Issues

The song:  come thru by Jeremy Zucker. So sweet and I think it describes Bodie perfectly. He's so exhausted dealing with everything and he needs Marley's comfort more than even he realizes. he's just trying to keep it together and be everything to everybody.

Bodie about a month later

"Why do I even have to go to school today, when you are both getting ready for the party?" Darius complains.

"Cause you are bouncin' off the walls and gettin' on my nerves," I joke with him. Darius knows I'm kidding. He rolls his eyes at me.

"Mahhhhhrrrmmleeyyyyy," Darius complains. That's his new thing. Combining her name with mom, making it come out somewhere between Mom and Marley. It's real sweet, much nicer than just calling her Marley, and I can tell she secretly loves the special nickname. "Come on. You guys are spending all day downtown getting styled and photo-ready."

Marley leans across the backseat of the stretch and cups his cheek. "You are one of the beautiful people. You don't need a spa day, and you have a major test today. There's no good reason for you to come downtown and hang around in the suites just to be bored. Besides, you have a plan. You are going to ride up to the band house in the limo with Will and his parents, right?"

"Speaking of Will, there he is. Don't you guys want to lord it over all your friends that you will be hanging with Mayhem and D-Thrills tonight?" I nod at Will, leaping over the back seat of his parent's convertible as they laugh at him and wave goodbye. Darius gives me an eye roll and Marley a quick kiss and jumps out of the stretch I've leased for the weekend. Marley and I follow him out, to speak to Will's parents.

Turns out that Will's parents aren't just super nice people, they are industry types. Will's dad Randall is a sound engineer in a downtown music studio, and his mom Sonya is an AP on The Walking Dead.

Which means, they are used to way bigger A-listers than me. Rappers, tv stars, famous movers and shakers in the both the music and film industries. They didn't bat an eye when Marley invited them over for dinner a couple of weeks ago so we could hash out the celebrity/security thing for flying Will along to Disneyworld with us last weekend.

They have the impression that Marley and I are dating, and I didn't correct them. I just asked them to sign an NDA, and that way it doesn't matter what they think.

We got along so well with them that I invited them to come up to the band house for our big grand opening party tonight. There will be some other industry people that they will know, thanks to Mac  being tight with several local rap artists and their crews.

I clap it out with Randall, and he thanks me again for the invite.

"It's gonna be pretty dope," I tell him with a grin. "Trace won't be satisfied until the cops come at least three times, I'm sure."

"He's only kidding," Marley assures Sonya. "There will be other young people there besides Will and Darius. Adam's oldest nieces and nephews, and some young cousins of the Ballards. It will be PG-13."

"Prolly more like NC-17 in the main house, but definitely PG 13 in the teen party pool house," I wink at Sonya.

"Will's been with his dad in the sound booth when he worked on Mayhem's album. Unfortunately, he's seen it all," Sonya rolls her eyes at her husband.

"Hey, I made him go hang in the lobby when May's posse ordered the strippers," Randall grins. She reaches over and covers his eyes. "Amazing you could mix that track with your eyes closed, huh?"

"I'm skilled, what can I say?" he jokes.

We say our goodbyes amid laughs.

I resist my natural instinct to throw an arm around Marley as we walk back to the truck. I am careful now, not to touch her in public.

When we climb back into the truck, I try, for maybe the fiftieth time, to hold her hand. She squeezes my fingers with a warm smile but disengages.

She won't let me linger in affection in private anymore, either.

Not since Bells is back.

Still, when it comes to our daily routines, Marley is super cooperative and friendly with me. We still get along. We still work out together. We still read together. We still have fun with Darius.

But she never returns my flirtations anymore. She just ignores them and moves past whatever insinuations I make in a totally professional way.

It's only when Bells is with us that Marley changes. You'd think she would become Dr. Watkins. It's more like Dr.Watkins/Prison Jaz. Arabella gets the shrink talk and I get the sassy attitude.

But for the next thirty minutes, I still get my girl. Sweet Jasmine.

"Can't wait to see your dress tonight," I tell her.

Like always, she ignores the sexy voice and mild flirtation. "I enjoyed shopping for it with Ashlynn. I really like her so much."

"Ashlynn is one of the nicest women I've ever met, when she's not high or hurting. I'm glad she's on track now, and I'm glad you like her."

I'm real glad, because Ashlynn could very well be SCIC for life, and Marley already is...just like Tam.

"I'm looking forward to tonight," she says mildly. "It will be so fun to see Soundcrush in action again."

"Yeah. It will good to be back together."

I flex my fingers, which are mildly sore from my obsessive solo practice over the past few days. We've been on hiatus for nearly six months and haven't played together once. Tonight we are doing a set at our first band house party. The renovations are finally finished so it's a housewarming of sorts. It's also a warm-up for our Grammy rehearsals that are quickly approaching.

"What time are we picking up Arabella?" Marley asks, the lightest tension in her voice.

"Ten. We have some time to kill."

"We have time to drop by for your drug test. Also for that session you've been putting off," she reminds me.

Her face turns to mine, searching. I smile at her and touch her freckles. "Come on, Marley. It's a fun day. Can't we just get breakfast and chill?"

"The fact that it's a fun day is exactly why you need a session. To reinforce your sobriety goals and strategize how to stay sober tonight."

Dammit, she's right. I know she's right. But I also know that the session is going to suck because there's an issue we have both been avoiding.

I give the driver an address for the lab, and Marley calls ahead to let them know I'm coming. It's routine now. The label requires me to test every week at this point to make sure there is nothing but methadone in my system. We are in and out in ten, and then I tell the driver to take us to the coffee house near my mom's place and I call ahead there myself.

This is our new habit for sessions. We decided to separate our professional relationship from our home life. So the difficult shit—the counseling, the Arabella issues, the phone conversations we have with Riley or Marcy about business—they happen at either the coffee shop we are headed to or the one around the corner from our house. We don't do that shit at home, especially not with Darius in the house. At home, we keep it casual and we keep it fun.

I especially like this coffee shop on the North side. They have this back nook that they will clear out for me, so Marley and I can have the ambiance she loves—the twinkle lights, the coffeehouse music, the smell of the beans—but without the hassle of our session being disturbed by timid fans seeking a selfie.

When I get the manager on the phone, I put in our order—a flat white for me, a machiatto for her and also ask him for the "special."

The old coffee shop Marley and I used to go to as kids closed down. They used to make these weird bacon, raisin, and oatmeal cookies. Sounds weird, but they were fucking good. Of course, the new coffee shop doesn't have them, but when Marley and I started hanging out here a lot last month—our decompress spot after dealing with Arabella— I asked the manager to find someone to make them. They keep them in the back for us, and put them in the case whenever we drop by.

Marley doesn't know I did that. She thinks that it's an amazing coincidence they have our old favorite breakfast cookie, and she thinks when I ask for the "special" that I'm just asking them to clear out the nook of any patrons that might be there.

When we hit the shop, the chic at the counter gives us a bright smile and says, "You're all set." They put our coffees and cookies on the table already.

Marley smiles as she bites into a cookie. I relish her face as she chews. I know any minute now, she's going to flip her switch and become Dr. Watkins. I get about two minutes of her raptured expression. I imagine kissing her neck and making her have that exact same expression. Then I imagine tracing her jasmine tat and turning the expression into sighs. Then I imagine tonguing her clit and turning the sighs into choked off moans—

"What are you thinking about?" Her voice is bright and curious. "You look so...intense."

"You want an honest answer?" I say.

"I always want you to be honest with me."

I brush a crumb from her lip with my finger. "You sure? It's not something Dr. Watkins is going to want to unpack in our session."

She sighs, and turns her head to the side, breaking our contact. "Sexual fantasies only make our situation more frustrating, Bodie. We've talked about how we choose our thoughts."

"I know. I'll just eat my feelings instead," I wink and shove an entire cookie in my mouth.

She takes another and chews manfully. I laugh. I get that's her way of telling me she needs to eat her sexual feelings, too. Even though she's hurt and maybe a little bit jealous of Arabella, she still wants me, just like I want her.

God, are we ever gonna get there?

Two months into this maddening relationship and none of our real issues are close to being solved. In fact they are worse. Arabella is causing a ruckus every other day. Daemon seems to fill in on Bell's  days off to pressure Marley for parental rights.

It's like they coordinate.

Bells is bad enough, but they only way I can get Daemon off Marley's back is to literally bribe him with cash.

She doesn't know I'm doing that, but if I transfer five large into his account when he comes around, he gets the text alert during the middle of this threatening speech. So far, when that happens, he'll walk away with a "I'm not letting this go, Marley. If you won't let me see Darius soon, I'm going to get a lawyer."

So far, he hasn't, and Darius has no interest in seeing him either. Not since he overheard the true nature of Daemon and Marley's relationship.

It has occurred to me that perhaps I'm providing Daemon with the retainer fee to get that lawyer, in five thousand dollar increments. Fuck it. I don't even care about the money, or if ultimately I'm paying for his lawyers that my lawyers will have to fight. All I care about is getting him off the damn property at that point, so Darius doesn't have to witness his mother and "father" fighting over him.

But right now, I know that Arabella and Daemon are not the issue that Dr. Watkins is going to put before me. I can tell from the set of her mouth what she's going to say before she says it. The same thing she has said for the last two weekly sessions.

"So. Bodie. You understand what happens when the label gets this week's drug test, right?"

"Yes," I say patiently. "Moran will call Riley and bitch that I am out of compliance with the agreed upon step-down regimen."

"And you understand that as your team, you and me and Riley will have to respond to that? I can no longer justify the delay, Bodie. We were supposed to cut your dose three weeks ago. Arabella's...sudden reappearance and her instability was a good reason to delay."

"And heading to LA is not?"

"We need to get you stepped down before LA. And then hopefully again before the tour, depending upon how you feel in LA."

"I'd rather do it in LA, once we get there..." I say, as I take the top off my coffee and finish the dregs. I lean out of the nook and chuck deuces at the barista for two more.

"That's not a good plan. You will be working. You will be networking, making appearances, attending industry parties. We need to address any cravings that result from the step-down before that."

"I disagree. Keeping busy will make it easier to step-down. I'll just push through. I'm not going to use just because somebody at a party offers me a line, Marley. Even if a whole line of people offer me weed, pills, coke, whatever. I'm not going to let you down."

Her professional coolness cracks. She gives me a heartbroken look. "Bodie...I believe you." She puts her hand over her heart. "I really do believe you are working very hard to stay sober and I have faith in you."

I lean forward and pull her hand into mine. "Thank you. You have no idea what your faith means to me."

Reluctantly, she pulls her fingers from mine. "But as your therapist I have to think of best practices and counsel you to move forward with the step-down before we change routines..."

"No."

"Why?"

I rub my face. "We have two weeks left with Darius before we leave him with Pat and TJ for three weeks. I don't how I'm going to feel, stepping down on the methadone. He shouldn't be around that, and I don't want to send him away early, either."

"You have a lifetime to spend with Darius, if you choose your sobriety now."

"You can't know that," I say softly. "There are no guarantees. I've missed so much. That loss of his childhood, it makes every day with him seems...so fucking important."

I didn't think her face could look any more transparent but suddenly she looks...breakable.

Her expression is like cracked glass that could shatter into bitter tears.

I switch couches and sit beside her, putting an arm around her, pressing my lips to her temple. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. The way I feel about that—it's not your fault. You are giving me the gift of my son every day and I feel so fucking grateful for that. I shouldn't focus on that loss. Let's just focus on the good. Please don't cry."

She sits very still. I can feel her breath ragged, on the verge of a crying jag. I fold my arms around her, not pulling her in, just circling her space. Shielding her, trying to give her strength.

How can this woman who is so strong, who has been through so much, be so vulnerable to the dumb things I say? Why do I wreck her like this? It's the last thing I want to do, but it happens practically every time I open my damn mouth. At least since the first fight we had about Arabella.

She looks up into my face. "I won't send him away, while you step-down. He knows about your drug problem, your methadone therapy. I will explain everything to him about how you might feel during a step-down week. We can slow the pace, watch movies instead of wage nerf wars. We will lay off the teasing and pranks that might make you irritable. I will not let Arabella or Daemon cause a drama. I will protect your space and have security protect your space and Darius will help, too. He can stay, Bodie. You are going to be fine during the step-down. You'll see. It's just an increment, not a full detox. I promise you, you will still be good for our son. You need your family, your support, to get you through it. That's me and Darius."

I bend my head over hers. "I just want to be strong for him. For you. I hate the idea of being...weak again."

"Taking the steps to get drug-free is showing us your strength," she whispers.

We sit with our heads close, breathing in each other.

"Okay, lets do it. Tomorrow. Together."

I kiss her temple again. I press my unspoken love in a line down her cheekbone, stealing heaven.

Her fingers slide up my neck and jaw in response and eventually, heaven is denied me. She pushes me very gently away.

"Please don't do that," she croaks hoarsely. "Please don't hurt me."

"I would never hurt you," I swear to her.

"You're going to be kissing her in a few hours time. It already hurts."

"Fuck," I growl and press my forehead to hers. "Don't you think I hate this too?"

She pulls away. "Yes. But it still hurts."

I want to tell her the truth—we can abandon this private party and the publicity planned afterwards if she would only let me take her home and right to her bed.

If she would close the curtains to everything else and open to my love—I would probably be done for. If she showed me all of herself and was brave enough to take on all of me, I couldn't put anything between us for one more day.

One honest hour with nothing between us but the slick of our sweat would be all it would take for me to chuck my fate, abandon all my decency and break up with Arabella on Instagram right after.

But that's not the case. As long as Marley's holding me off, not fully trusting I can stay sober, not believing I can protect us from Daemon, well then...at least her walls are keeping me somewhat sane. Outside her walls, I can remember that I have responsibilities other than stripping her to her soul, demanding she meet mine.

Yeah. Cockblocked as I am by Marley's fears, I can actually still remember I give a shit about Darius, my band, my career, and a girl I've practically ruined with my impulsive "love."

"Bodie," Marley whispers, and I realize I'm still holding her close as the barista approaches.

I ease away from her to the end of the couch, swinging up a foot on knee and smiling at the girl bringing our coffee. Everybody that works in this place has a NDA now, I'm not worried about her reporting that I'm kissing on my therapist's temple, but this space is only semi-private. I don't want to attract the attention of patrons who might be watching her approach and straining to catch a glimpse of who is getting table service while they stand in line.

The rest of our session is...typical. We talk about the alcohol and potential drugs I will face at the party tonight. We talk about who will drink and who won't. We talk about strategies to stay in sober circles most of the time, and how to interact with the drinkers. We talk about my favorite non-alcoholic drink and keeping one in my hand to avoid drink offers.

We talk a little about drugs, but Trace has put the word out there will be no drugs on his dime and no overt drug usage as teenagers and conservative neighbors are invited. Security will curtail anyone that openly recreates. That doesn't mean there won't be pills available in every pocket, however. We talk about how I should network outside of my close friends with either Marley or Leed or Riley as a wingman to avoid offers and temptations.

We talk about focusing on the fun of performing and being with the band. We talk about the fact that Mac will not be drinking either because she's nursing. We talk about the fact that none of my bandmates will be partying like rockstars, given the guest list and their own changes in life circumstances. Adam likely won't drink at all if Mac's staying sober. Leed and Trace will drink lightly even after the performance because they care more about interacting with their girlfriends on a big night than getting carelessly wasted.

When Marley asks me if there are any other strategies I can employ to stay sober, I confess to her that I'm still smoking in stressful situations and I'm bringing cigarettes tonight just in case. She laughs and says she might bum one if Arabella gets too out of hand.

It feels good to laugh with her. She feels it to, because that's where we end.

It's a short drive to a drastic change in circumstances.

When we enter the mudroom at my mother's house, my mom and Arabella are speaking in tense tones in the kitchen.

It's just their constant, usual, low-level bickering. Marley sighs. I pat her on the back, careful to keep my hand from sliding south where it wants to go as I push her reluctantly into the kitchen.

Silence reigns as my three women come face to face and prickle at each other.

Bells finally breaks the silence. "Marley...ugggg," she sighs. "I didn't know you were coming to the hotel."

"Arabella Burns, you just stop right there. Marley is just as much a part of SCIC as you are—" my mom begins.

"Ronna, I really don't need you to defend me against Arabella. I appreciate your support but I can answer for myself just fine, thanks—"

"Well excuse me—"

"Bodie, why is she coming to the hotel?" Arabella whines. "She's just working tonight. She doesn't need to be styled."

Jesus, I'll tussle with the Maneater any day rather than face this crew.

I put on my best smile and throw open my arms. "Ladies, ladies," I wade in with a kiss for my mother "No need to fight. There's enough of me to go around."

My mother hugs me tight, squeezing my biceps. "My gracious, you're bulking up, Bodie. I've never seen you so fit. You must be doing something right."

She cuts a side-eye to Marley and gives me a wink.

Ahhhh, so a few weeks of being Arabella's keeper and my mom has seen the light. She recognizes my Babymama's worth now, huh?

"I'm trying, Mama. I'm...very committed," I murmur.

"Are you now? Well, dropping your fake girlfriend might go a long way toward showing it," she mutters where only I can hear.

Dr. Watkins is too busy asking Arabella about her methadone treatment and Arabella is too busy complaining about the side effects to hear our conversation anyway.

"I'm giving her the medicine, just like the doctor instructed," my mom interjects. "I wrote everything down. You don't have to worry."

Marley smiles my mom a genuine smile. "I'm not worried. I know you are on top of her regimen. Although her team really needs to provide her with a sobriety companion in LA."

"I don't know why I can't just live with you, Bodie," Arabella whines.

"Because that would be a step in the wrong direction, Sweetheart," I say patiently. "We broke up in Thailand for good reasons, remember?"

She's silent. I know she remembers damn good and well what we devolved into. We were both just fucking another person in our bed, and at least to me, it felt like shit. Way way worse than any meaningless but fun fangirl sex I've ever had. It felt sad and lonely.

"We were both in a bad way," she says.

"Cause we aren't good for each other." I remind her.

"Can we please talk about where we are with each other privately, later?" she asks.

I shrug. Private is a relative term, as I try my best not to spend much private time with her. I don't want to give Marley's imagination the chance to turn even the slightest tint of green when she thinks about me and Bells.

"Arabella, Bodie has made his boundaries clear. It's not fair of you to prey on his sympathy."

"You stay out of it, Marley. Just because you are his vice cop doesn't mean you can butt into our relationship, okay?"

"Your relationship with Bodie is built on false premises."

"We're just on a break," Bells snaps back. "All that could change with one good make-out session in VIP tonight."

"Hey," I say mildly. "Nobody's making out in VIP. The paps will get what they need at the rope, maybe on the dance floor." They aren't listening to me, they are bickering.

I drop another kiss to my mom's cheek. "You are saving my life, taking care of her, until we head to LA," I tell her. "I'm sorry she's so...toxic."

My mother snorts. "She's horrible, but she's nothing I can't handle. Some paperwork came for her I think you should look at, though. She's not concerned about it all, but it seems pretty serious to me..."

"Paperwork?" I turn to Arabella. "What paperwork?"

She stops arguing with Marley and rolls her eyes. "It's nothing. Empty threats. All your fault, really, for making me go to that drug test."

"I didn't make you. The label made you," I remind her. "Where is it?"

"I don't know. Ask your mother," Bells pouts and goes to the fridge for a Perrier. My mother retrieves it from the kitchen desk.

Jesus. It's not "paperwork."

"This came by courier? And he put in in Bell's hands?"

"Yes."

"Bells, you've been served. This is a breech of contract lawsuit. The label is suing you."

"Randall said not to worry about it, that there was...what did he say...nothing that could be done. I'm sure it will go away, just like your breech of contract, now that I'm on the same methadone program as you..."

Bullshit, it's nothing to worry about. If they are serving Bells for breech then that means they consider their obligations to fulfill her recording contract and promote and distribute her songs null and void.

My heart starts to race.

I look at Marley. "Can I see you for a second?"

I usher her onto my mom's back deck. "I know that I was pretty out of it that first week on methadone, but I didn't get served a lawsuit that I don't remember, did I?"

She rolls her eyes. "No. Of course not, Bodie."

"You're sure? Nobody brought papers?"

"No."

I call Riley and ask him the same thing. "Bodie, if you were being sued by the label, I guarantee I would know about it," he says dryly. "We have an arrangement with Moran. Do your fucking step-down and you're golden, alright?"

"Yes, Marley's reducing my dose tomorrow," I assure him. "But what do you know about Bells?"

He's quiet. "As far as Colossal is concerned, it's not going any further."

I hate this fucking industry talk. "What does that mean? The lawsuit is not going any further? It's just an empty threat?"

"No, her future as a recording artist at Colossal is not going any further."

"Are you sure? Her uncle told her not to worry about this."

"Because it's done, Bodie. Moran wants to schedule a break-up for you two, post Grammy's, of course. It's too much trouble to rearrange those weeks' appearances."

Shit. I watch Bells bickering with my mother again. As happy as I am to hear I will no longer be required to officially date Bells, I worry that a media break-up is really bad timing for her sobriety right now.

"Well don't you think somebody should explain all this to her? She thinks the label is just posturing to scare her straight."

"Then let her think that. Let her be scared straight. Let her try to redeem herself. Maybe...perhaps...something might be done for her then."

"What does that mean?"

"I don't bloody well know, Bodie," Riley snaps. "Arabella Burns is not my client. I don't spend my time strategizing to position the careers of every musical up and comer sabatoging themselves with bad habits. I concern myself with our musical family—Soundcrush and Strut. But I do know if she keeps using, she's going to end up dead. So if her uncle—her manager—wants to soft-pedal her contract release in order to straighten her out, I'm not going to interfere in what her people think is in her best interests. Are you?"

I'm still watching Arabella. My mother offers her a plate of breakfast which she accepts with a fake smile. When my mom turns her back, Arabella sticks her tongue out at her. I sigh.

I think about how hurt Marley is with Arabella between us, and yet how gracious and cooperative she has been at home. How she puts Darius first. How she puts her job—my sober welfare—second, and how she works so hard not to lash out in her hurt. She works every day not to hold this difficult situation against me. Her soul is beautiful and patient and wise.

Compared to Marley, Arabella is a spoiled child. I honestly feel like a fucking perv, having had a relationship with her. My only comfort is that I certainly wasn't the first dude. Not by a long shot.

"Bodie?" Riley prompts.

"No, I'm not going to tell her anything different than what Randall is telling her. She's finally on track with treatment. I don't want to set her back," I say grimly.

"Good man. Look, I'm here at the club, checking the VIP for the post party appearance. We've never done an appearance here, but the venue should suffice for a nice photo-op. I'm giving the go ahead for Marcy to tip the paps. The club will release Soundcrush's arrival on their twitter an hour before we arrive. It's going to be a madhouse. Make sure you prepare Marley?"

"Will do."

"Also, check your email and sign the appearance contract. Have Arabella do the same. What's your ETA to the hotel? The stylists are there and so far only Madam and entourage have arrived..."

"We are on our way in fifteen," I tell him.

"Excellent. See you in a bit." He hangs up.

"All good, then?" Marley asks anxiously.

I squeeze her shoulders. "We are. Me, you, us, Soundcrush, I mean," I cast a glance at Arabella. "She's in big trouble and she doesn't know it. Can't know it, until she gets her shit together. Maybe her manager will work it all out for her somehow, by then."

"What does that mean for you and her?" Marley asks me.

I shrug, feeling guilty even before I evade. "Nothing changes. It's all...up in the air right now. Riley said to sit tight with her."

Marley's lips tighten. "So you have to keep dating her."

"Not forever. Just...for a little while," I say. That's not exactly a lie. Moran hasn't given an official break-up directive, has he?

Marley nods, looking somewhere in the vicinity of my chest. "Cheer up, girl. We'll probably get rid of my ex before we get rid of yours."

She groans. "Not funny."

"No, I suppose not," I sigh. "I do sort of have the beginnings of  a maybe-plan to get that gun back."

Marley's cinnamon eyes snap to mine. "Really? Tell me."

I smile and shake my head gently. "No can do, Mama. It's not legal, and I'm not making you an accessory."

"You're not going to do something stupid, are you?"

"Not me. But it just occurred to me, looking over the guest list tonight, I know a tough guy who gets his kicks fucking with real bad guys."

Marley's face tightens in worried comprehension. "You don't mean—"

I put a finger to her lips. "Shhhhhh. Not your problem to worry about. Leave it to me. Now listen. I gotta do this thing with Bells, all night long. There will be press at the band house too. Not paps, but legitimate press. Can I ask you to try to think of the whole night like...a video shoot? And maybe ask Adam how he copes with that? Because even since they've been married, Mac has shot five feature videos and made out with at least three randoms on set, and Adam is totally cool with it."

"We are not married-in which case that serious of a commitment might offer some salve to the wound of you making out with a stranger for a video shoot—and you are not Mac—you are not nearly that mercenary with your lips and hips—and Arabella is not some random, she's your ex girlfriend, the last person with whom you've had an intimate relationship and someone you admittedly still care about—and I am certainly not Preacher—I don't come running if you snap your fingers and forgive your fuck-ups if you bat your eyes." she glares at me.

"You sure?"

I snap my fingers.

She slaps my pec.

I bat my eyes.

She slaps me harder.

"Worth a try," I mutter. "Okay, let's get this over with."

I collect my "girlfriend" and we make the drive to the hotel.

There are paparazzi waiting for our limo exit. Arabella is reapplying her lipgloss. "Deal with her, Bodie. I don't want her in the shots."

Marley is sitting as far in the corner away from me as she can possibly get, her arms folded across her chest, staring out the window. I sigh, and press the button to call to the driver. "Can you drive Marley around the park once and then bring her back to the hotel please?"

"Sure thing."

"Marley, we have the penthouse booked. You won't be able to get up there without a key card. I'll send Vance back down to the lobby for you, okay?"

She keeps looking out the window. I hate leaving her alone like this. When she gets out of the limo, I know the paps will surge her, expecting a celebrity, but they will leave her alone as soon as they don't recognize her.

"If the paps get in your face, just walk right through them. Don't shove them, just walk at them like you are going to run right into them and they will let you pass."

She nods.

"You know what, scratch that. Just stay in the limo. I'll have Vance come all the way out to you..."

"Oh my god, Bodie, she's a nobody. The paps aren't going to harass her. Stop making such a big deal!" Bells hisses.

"Mind your own goddamn business," I growl at her.

Arabella makes a hurt sound.

Marley sighs and turns to me with a warm smile. She picks up a condiment spreader from the cracker tray in the limo bar. "I'll be fine, Bodie. I'll just shiv anyone that hassles me, okay?" She cuts her eyes to Arabella, who doesn't notice because she's fluffing out her eyebrows now.

I grin at Marley. "If you do it, don't get caught."

"Go," she whispers and in that one syllable I hear plainly that she hates this.

I hate it, too. In this moment I'm about to step out of this limo with Bells, I realize, there is only woman I want sharing my spotlight.

And I'm sending her around the park and sneaking her into the hotel like I'm ashamed of her.

Well, this shit isn't going to get any easier the longer I delay.

I put on my sunglasses and throw open the door, pulling Arabella to her feet playfully.

She giggles and falls into me, and I make a show of righting her purse that falls off her arm and wrapping my arm possessively around her waist.

"Bodie, Bodie—can we get a kiss to put those break-up rumors to rest?"

I keep walking until the limo is pulling away. I hope Marley isn't watching out the back window as I take my sunglasses off and grin at Arabella in my best imitation of affection.

I cup her face and kiss her thoroughly as camera's flash repeatedly. Arabella slips her hands into my jean pockets and presses her body to mine. I slide a hand in her hair, angling her head for a better shot.

I feel nothing. Her kiss feels cold and her body, through quite familiar to me, somehow feels foreign.

After the generous photo-op, I follow through with fixing her smudged lip gloss as I grin at her. I lope my arm around her shoulders.

"Come on, baby. Time to pre-game," I say casually. The label doesn't want me to be a heroin addict, but of course sober living is just as uncool. So I have to pretend to be a functional drunk like every good rock star.

"Arabella, Arabella—how do you feel about Bodie? Did you guys break up? Are you back together? Is it love?"

"It's love, right, baby?" she gazes adoringly at me.

I kiss her again so I don't have to respond and then I manage to drag her away from the paps without it looking like I'm dragging her away.

"Don't do that," I hiss. "I'm not going to comment except through my publicist. They can get their pictures and make up their fake stories but that's it, and I mean it."

We are in the elevator now, and I turn Vance around and send him back out for Marley.

As soon as the doors close, Bells is wrapping her arms around me and trying to kiss my neck as I try to untangle myself.

"Don't be so fucking mean, Bodie. We used to like each other. A lot.I just got out of hand with the drugs and was acting crazy. Can't we just, try to have some actual fun tonight? I'm so fucking stressed. I know you are too, I can feel it."

She's rubbing my stomach. I pull her hands away. "Fucking stop. I mean it. We aren't hooking up. We are over and this is just a publicity romance. That's all."

She holds up her hands. "Fine. I was just trying to be nice and offer since we are stuck together. Have you even had a decent fuck since you've been home?"

"There is more to life than fucking, Arabella."

Her mouth rounds in a O. "Oh damn. Is the methadone affecting your...performance? The literature said that could happen..."

I stare at the ceiling refusing to answer her. If she thinks I can't get it up, maybe she will stop offering sex every time I see her.

"Bodie," she says again. "For real? Oh shit, I'm sorry..."

The elevator doors open. "Come on, let's get ready," I say pushing her into the crowd of SCIC.

Goddamn.

I need a cigarette already.

Well, things with Arabella in the mix seem pretty tense, huh?

Fun with the band coming up! And then of course, they'll all be heading out to the club. Not sure what's going to happen there. Have we had any good club night in this series yet? How do you think that's going to go?