Chapter 33: Smart Girls Objectify Rock Stars

The song: Shoop by Salt-N-Peppa. Because there is no better song about shamelessly checking out hot guys! Seeing all the Soundcrush guys through our Smart Girls eyes is my favorite part of this chapter....

Marley

When the elevators slide open, I am unprepared for the state of the penthouse.

I don't see a single person I know, and it's utter chaos in here.

At least two dozen men and women are moving swiftly around the main living area of the penthouse efficiently unpacking the kind of black cases you would think are filled with sound equipment.

But these aren't roadies and those cases aren't filled with amps and keyboards.

They hold portable makeup stations, stacks and stacks of color palates, and hair products.

You've heard of a Glam Squad?

This is like a freakin' Glam Army.

Loud music is blaring. Larger wardrobe cases are cracked open with feathers and spangles spilling out. Hairspray and glitter hang in the air. Blond and brown hair extensions are being hung on black boards, displayed like crown jewels.

And in the midst of the mayhem, a beautiful biracial woman with curls piled atop her head is is marshaling her troops like a general, directing different color palattes to different stations while she points two nail technicians to a side table.

She tells Penelope, "Go ahead and prepare the hotel manager for the damages to the bathroom. Tell him we will pay. No problem."

Damages to the bathroom? What the hell is going on in the bathroom?

As I see none of the Soundcrushers, I have a vague anxiety that there has been some kind of fight. Maybe between Mac and Arabella? Or possibly some conflict between them spilled over to Adam and Bodie?

A sudden panic that Bodie might have come to blows with his brothers over that bitch—yes, I said it, she might have deep emotional trauma that drives her behavior but if she talks like a bitch and acts like a bitch, I don't feel to guilty calling her a bitch—in my head—anyway, the idea that Arabella is causing drama for Bodie makes my heart race.

My eyes scan the room, half looking for Bodie, half looking for anyone I recognize. Finally, the beautiful general notices me.

She weaves her way through the drop cords that are being used to light up all the portable make up stations.

"You're Marley, right? I'm Tamara, Bodie's cousin. We didn't actually meet at Labor Day last year," she gives me a hug. She waves a hand, "Welcome to my Parlor of Pretty!"

"It's nice to meet you," I say, captivated by her eyes. They are lighter than both Darius and Bodie's—less amber, more blue-green— but the shape, the lid look, the blink, the brow movement?

I see Darius in Tamara even more than in Bodie.

Both beautiful people with captivating eyes.

My heart starts to race with panic at the idea that I might not be the only one. But then I remember that Tamara lives in LA and the chance of her crossing paths with Daemon is extremely slim.

She gives me a curious look, misreading my anxiety. "It's okay, girlfriend. Don't worry. Being styled looks intimidating, but you don't have to do a thing but relax. It's so much fun," she points to the now assembled row of makeup stations.

I see each has a director's chair with names on them. The names are somewhat interesting. The second to left chair says "Madam." To the left of that the chair reads "TrayKat", but on the right of Madam's chair reads:

Ashlynn

Leed

I wonder if Tamara's intentional "non-shipping" of Ashlynn and Leed says something about her personal feelings, or perhaps just the relative newness of their public relationship. Maybe she ordered the chairs before Leed ordered his publicist to confirm his relationship with Ash.

Either way, Bodie's chair simply just says his name.

"Sorry, the chairs are old. I ordered them for my wedding styling," Tam explains as final chair that says Bride/Groom is installed in front of the last remaining make up station.

Ah. Well. That explains that.

"The guys don't get styled to the last minute because they are like children and will ruin their clothes if they have to stand around too long before go-time. You'll use Bodie's chair when it's your turn. Arabella has her own crew," she waves her hand to the other corner of the room, where no less than four people are busy setting up silver partitions and a much bulkier, purple salon chair.

"This is all for a house party?" I murmur.

"Well, there's a video crew taping at the party tonight," Tam explains. "Trace likes the concept of using clips from a real house party in a future video, or maybe just for soundbytes on the press junket for the super secret summer tour," she whispers.

"Where is everyone?"

"Oh. The guys are out by the pool, drinking," she says casually, apparently having no idea how her statement makes me slightly nervous. "The girls are ruining the paint job in the bathroom getting spray-tanned," she gestures to the left set of double doors. "Except for Arabella, who's natural tone suits her nicely. She's over there, getting waxed."

"Eyebrows?" I ask hopefully.

"No," Tamara bites her lip, looking at the closed door. "I guess she's planning on a go-time of her own."

Oh is she now? She can plan all she wants but I gauran-damn-tee I'm not letting Bodie disappear with her. Hasn't he told me his most recent drug spiral began because of their cocaine-crazed sex sessions?

She sighs. "I hate her. Like really hate her. She's so bad for Bodie, but I have a terrible feeling that she is his Sophie."

"Who is Sophie?" I ask, not following her nearly-internal monologue.

She jerks her head, like she forgot I was there. "Oh. Sophie is a model that Leed used to mess around with. No matter how awful she is, Leed can't resist her. One time Leed and I were hanging out courtside at a Laker's game with Bodie, and he literally walked out on me to have sex with her outside in a limo."

"Was that before or after he became your Babydaddy?" I ask.

"Before. Like maybe, a year before we conceived Ollie," she recollects.

"I'm sorry, there would have been no baby in my future with him," I say. Then I bite my lip and remind myself that I don't look nearly as much like Jasmine as I feel right now, and my sass might not go over well with Bodie's cousin.

She laughs. "Well, you reap what you sew, I guess. When I was modeling and Leed was just a broke college kid, I did stuff like that to him all that time. Truthfully, I probably killed his ability to trust me a long, long time ago. Sometimes you hurt people, and even though they forgive you, they never feel the same about you again."

I think of Bodie's initiation, and the years I didn't share our son with him, and I wonder if Tam might be right. Maybe I am Bodie's Tamara—the Babymama whom he wants to love for his son's sake, but who broke a trust that can never be repaired. Maybe Arabella is not Bodie's Sophie. Maybe Arabella is Bodie's Ashlynn—a broken girl lashing out in pain, who could blossom into the woman of his dreams.

Or maybe not. Because that thought makes me want to scream in defiance.

"Anyway, Arabella reminds me of Sophie. Both demons." Tamara says.

I sigh, feeling guilty of thinking of Arabella as a bitch. "I don't like Arabella much either, but in my experience very few people are irredeemable."

"Hmmmm," Tam says. "Maybe you are right. Sometimes I think this industry makes me...judgmental." Her eyes go unconsciously to Leed's chair. She looks sad.

"Well, sometimes it's hard not to judge. Arabella is a beautiful girl but she is very immature, in every way but her looks," I agree. "She looks like every man's dream girl."

Tam turns to me with an appraising eye.

"You are very beautiful woman, Marley. And that's a professional opinion," she laughs. "Don't let any of these younger, more LA savvy girls make you feel anything less than what you are. You don't have to be blonde and blue-eyed to be a knock-out."

It doesn't escape my attention that Arabella is neither blond nor blue-eyed. There is only one blonde, blue-eyed knockout in SCIC, and she's got Tamara's Babydaddy's rapt attention these days. I wonder if Tamara is really giving me advice or trying to convince herself.

"Thank you for saying that," I tell her. "You still look like your covers. The truth is...I do kind of feel like...a frumpy mom, around the band."

Tamara rolls her eyes. "Girl, you don't have to tell me. I haven't bounced back quite like Mac, I guess maybe because I'm not as young or as much of a freakishly clean eater. I feel...mommish myself. But Ollie is so worth the extra ten pounds and the stretch marks and the bags under my eyes and the dried out hair."

She shows me a video of Ollie and I feel a strange mix of love and nostalgia and anxiety, because he reminds me so much of Darius at that age. They really do share genetics.

I lose my head a little and tear up, watching my son's cousin bat at his toys. "He's so wonderful."

"I know. Everybody says he looks like Leed, but I see my family in him, too. Jamison genetics are strong," she winks at me. Then she tells me how happy she is that Bodie seems to be doing well, and thanks me for my part in helping him.

"So no mom vibes tonight. We're gonna get...gorgeous," she sing-songs with a brilliant smile. She shoos me toward the bedroom for a spray tan, but I ease out to the large patio pool area, to check on Bodie.

It's very warm outside for a midday in May. Feels like it could be July. All four Soundcrush guys have stripped to the waist and are shooting the shit in shades and sweat-sheens.

It is a sight to see. I have to resist pulling out my phone to take a picture. I take a moment to shamelessly objectify these rock stars.

They are all super hot—each in their own way.

Trace has got that kind of guy body that is lean and yet so pleasingly defined—perfect pecs and perfect abs. He's hairless and tan and looks like he belongs in a boy band, except no boy-bander ever had his dangerous attitude.

Leed is taller and his every move—even his stillness—exudes a kind of predatory grace. His shoulders are powerfully built and his torso is deliciously long and trails into those cuts that are so attractive.

Adam has muscles, period. He's not nearly as defined as the other two, but his physique is almost more attractive because he's bulky and masculine and carries himself like he could have just come from breaking a horse or fighting a fire or something.

No doubt they are all sexy, but Bodie has them all beat. Maybe it's because I've been watching the transformation in his body day by day in the basement gym, but it's only now, seeing him stand beside his brothers, that I realize how incredibly hard he's been working on himself lately.

Every single inch of him is strong. His neck has sexy cords and his collarbones pop beneath the his prominent shoulders. His entire torso—eight-pack, obliques, hip muscles— flex in fascinating motion as he laughs. Veins threaten to bulge from his biceps. Even his jaw looks stronger.

And then there is the delectable perfection of his shade. I know that people of all shade, size and creed are beautiful, and I almost married a white guy, whom I found attractive despite the fact that he wasn't that much into me, but if I had a type, it would undeniably be a handsome, fit black man with a nice smile.

And Bodie is the handsomest, fittest black man I've seen in a long damn time. Not to mention the smile, which is even brighter against his newfound depth of color.

Bodie's shade can vary pretty widely and quickly, because he's naturally light-skinned but tans super fast. He's been running with his shirt off these past few weeks and he's a bit darker than what Mac terms his normal butterscotch.

I don't spend any time trying to assign a name to his shade. I'm too busy imaging my hands sliding across his perfect tone.

And his perfect tone.

Damn I Wish I Was Your Lover. Indeed.

It's really been far too long.

Dr. Watkins butts her big fat thoughts in.

What would you say, Marley, if a creepy dude was standing around ogling a bunch of women who were minding their own business?

I'd say I hoped he enjoyed his ogle as much as I enjoyed mine.

Dr Watkins starts to object.

Alright, alright, I'm on the job.

Dr. Watkin's first objective is to scan the green bottles in all four of the guys' hands.

San Pelligrino.

I feel such a burst of affection for these guys, who are so obviously supporting Bodie's sobriety by going with sparkling water instead of beer for their pre-game. Things might change after the performance tonight, but at least they are making a show of solidarity during their first few hours of reunion.

Trace is the first to notice me standing in the shade of the building smiling at them all. He pinches Bodie's super defined neck and shakes him roughly.

"Damn, Marley. What are you feeding this dude? Never seen him this bulked up."

"I'm mostly just feeding him pyscho-babble," I smile at Trace "It keeps him in the basement on the weights and off my therapist's couch as much as possible."

Trace comes forward with a warm, gentle expression on his face. "I don't believe that at all. You do good work, girl." To my surprise, he hugs me tightly and murmurs where no one can hear, "Bodie seems like his head is on straight. Thank you for...everything you do. For him. For me."

It's weird, this relationship I have with Trace. I've never had a personal relationship with a client, and...

Trace is not an easy patient.

A lot of the time in our sessions, he's combative and pissed off. He doesn't like the questions I ask him. He's not satisfied with his progress. He gets angry. At himself. At Ross. At his mother. Occasionally he's angry with Leed or Ashlynn. He's angry with Kat sometimes, though he will refuse to admit it. A good bit of the time he's unhappy with me.

And yet Trace is so much more healthy than he realizes. He has a wonderful ability to process, and an even more beautiful capacity to appreciate his loved ones. He stands up for himself and the people he loves. He learns from his mistakes. He tries hard to see things from other people's perspectives. He is unashamed to be vulnerable with Kat.

He also has difficulty hearing all those really great things about himself.

Thankfully, one thing he doesn't have trouble with is his ability to put our difficult therapist-patient relationship in a box and shut it closed. Whenever I see him in a social situation, he's just a cool guy and he's not stressed at all over the intense professional relationship we have.

I pat his back. "It is absolutely my pleasure," I assure him. "Thanks for inviting me to the party."

"You're family," he says, and for the space of a heart beat I think Bodie has told them all about Darius. But then Trace says. "Our Ledge Angel? You are right up there in importance in SCIC with girlfriends."

"And Babymamas," Leed says hoisting his bottle with a twinkle in his eyes. He turns the look on his brother-in-law, who also has a Soundcrush Babymama, I realize. He and Adam clink drinks.

Wait...does Leed know?

Suddenly his mischievous look isn't trained on me anymore. "Speaking of an SCIC Babymama...hey Tamara!" he shouts.

Tam hold open the door. "What's up?" she asks rather neutrally.

"Have I told you lately that I still think you are a super cool chic and a really great mom and I appreciate the fuck out of you?"

Tam's almost suspicious look breaks into a bright white smile. "Not really, no."

"You are and I do."

"I appreciate you too, Leed."

He swallows more water. "I'm gonna miss you not styling for us anymore."

"I know," she says sympathetically. "But all these artists in here are basically applicants for your head stylist job. So you guys need to choose one."

"That's Mac's decision," all four say unanimously.

Tamara nods. "Fine, but if you let her decide, you don't get to complain." She steps back inside.

I walk over to Leed, Adam and Bodie, trying to ignore their bare muscles. Adam is pulling his shirt back on. Bodie watches Adam cover up and winks at me, smothering his smirk by forcing his lips around his water bottle.

Adam gives me a one-armed, fully-clothed hug and I can't help but laugh. "You think an awful lot of yourself, don't you? You're really not that irresistible, you know..."

Adam is hot, don't get me wrong, but he pales in comparison to Bodie.

No pun intended.

He makes a mock sound of scorn and ruffles my hair. "Why you always gotta give me a hard time? You're a bigger ball-buster than a Heartley woman..."

Adam has already released me, but Bodie is wrapping an arm around me and drawing me into the shade with him. "Now, don't disparage my companion, Adam. We all need to keep her happy. Because I really can't do without her."

The way he's staring down at me in front of his crew, it's mesmerizing. This is different than his behind-closed-doors flirtation.

I just stand there stupidly, staring up at him. My mouth feels dry. I swallow heavily. His smile twitches, like he knows exactly what effect he's having on me.

"Thirsty?" he says mildly, and he casually hands me his half drunk water.

I couldn't summon Dr. Watkins right now if I tried. I feel much more like the girl who went to her knees in front of this boy so many years ago. Except it's like, I've been asleep. No time has passed at all for me. And yet Bodie grew up in all the good ways. His gaze is making me feel...excited. Giddy, even.

This is crazy. What is happening here?

It's like, when rock stars get together, they release pheromones that turn every woman into a giggling, love-sick fangirl.

He looks at the water and gives me the slightest chin tip of encouragment. I take an obedient sip, all while he watches me with possessive eyes.

There's something in the small gesture—me sharing his water bottle— that alters the mood and the air on the patio.

It's like,the game has been rearranged. Tomorrow I might be Dr Watkins, Bodie's vice cop, but today? I'm something else. And all the men here scent and sense the change. Adam almost sighs in relief at the same time Trace makes a small grunt—approval, I think. Leed laughs and leans casually on the wall, holding his bottle up like a toast, or a blessing.

Yeah, it's small thing, but that's how the vibe changes for me. I cross the unspoken boundary from crew to inner inner circle.

I'm one of them now, because I belong to Bodie.

With Bodie? To Bodie? Do I even care which?

While I'm trying to sort out this confusing feeling, Trace clears his throat. "Marley, Bossman six o'clock," he warns.

"And it really does take thirty years for the water to get from the top of the Alps into the San Pelligrino bottle," Bodie says casually, completely ignoring the fact that Riley is approaching at our back.

Huh?

"I'm pretty sure it says it here somewhere," he's peering close to my bottle.

Oh. I get it. He's pretending a sudden interest in my water bottle as the excuse to be standing so close to me.

"I think that story was on the anniversary label. Remember, those weird diamond cut bottles we had in Italy that time?" Trace says casually.

"Right," Bodie snaps his fingers, strolling over to grab another water. "Riley. Hey man. Didn't see you there. Wanna drink?" Bodie gestures behind him at the bar cart.

Riley gives a curt nod. "I'll make me one, thanks. All is set, we can all relax now."

"Not this girl," Leed says, hooking a thumb at me. "She's gotta go to work and get her glam on."

Just then, Ashlynn pokes her head out the door, looking gloriously bronzed and wearing a towel. Trace jokingly wolf whistles at her and Leed growls. "Goddamn, Hotness. Don't come out here like that. These wolves will tear you apart."

She blushes. "I'm still wet from the tan solution. I can't get dressed yet. "Marley," she's giving me a curt come-on flap of her hand. "It's your turn."

"I don't know if that's a good idea or not. Bodie won't be able to recognize his sobriety companion if she flips her color-switch," Adam jokes.

I shoot him a bird without thinking.

"Dr. Watkins!" Bodie laughs. "Not in front of your boss!"

I wince. This is so weird. Am I Dr. Watkins, employed by the Emsworth Agency? Or am I someone else tonight?

"I'm just teasing," Bodie says.

Riley clucks. "It's alright, love. I'm sure flipping a bird at a well-deserving Adam, or getting a spray tan, won't render you incapable of keeping Bodie in check."

I just nod at Riley, but as I turn from him I can't help but feel the dark smile growing on my face.

Riley might be wrong about that spray tan part. I have a feeling channeling Jasmine might make Bodie a heck of a lot harder to keep in check.

Is it so wrong that I know he has to have his hands on Arabella tonight, but I want his eyes on me?

Next chapter:  The girls grill Marley about her "job"...