Chapter 68: Nice Guys Draw The Short Straw

Time to check in with Adam and see what's up  on the tour...

Adam

"Good morning, Gorgeous, this is your wake up call," I murmur into the phone with all the love and gentleness I can muster. I've been acting like an asshole for two weeks, and I am determined not to fuck this phone conversation up.

"Hey," Mac's voice is rough with sleep. "You sound wonderful. God, it's so early."

It's three am LA time. Mac and Dev are shooting the video for their song, The Siege, today. At some medieval castle a rich wine-maker built up in Napa Valley. She, Dev, and their teams have to make a crazy early flight to get up there, so I promised to be her wake up call this morning.

Our fight last night was less volatile than the couple of fights before that. Honestly, I think we are just running out of steam. You can only argue so much about the same stupid shit before you just don't give a fuck anymore. When we said our good-byes last night after running in circles until I was almost sober, I did something my anger and my pride, and maybe my state of inebriation, hadn't let me do in the last couple of weeks.

I prayed.

I prayed for a little help, a different avenue, a different view.

Then Riley rolled into my suite ten minutes ago with the morning skim and I thought maybe, just maybe, God has given me the little break we need. Right now, I'm in the best damn mood I've been in since our wedding night, but I'm going to surprise Mac later with the good news.

"It is very early, but all you have to do is roll that fine ass out of bed and shuffle to your waiting car. You can sleep on the plane."

"Hmmmm, maybe not," she says with a strange lilt to her voice.

"You tell Dawes, Dev and all other devils on that plane to back the fuck up off you and let you sleep. It's going to be a long damn day."

"They aren't the ones that might keep me awake," she says gleefully. "Adam, last night Babycakes woke me up. I can feel him moving. Really moving. Little flutters. All the time." Mac laughs a little hoarsely. "Like, right now. I can feel our baby moving. It's so cool."

Bright orange joy starts in my chest and spreads in all directions to hear Mac's laughter, knowing that our baby is the reason.

"Wow. Fucking wow. Shorty, that's incredible. What does it feel like?"

"Like soda bubbles in your throat, but in my belly instead."

I chuckle at Mac's description.

"Damn. That's cute, Mac, I..." I wish I could see her face, put my hand on our baby as she's sharing this with me, but I don't say that. I'm done with complaining on the phone. "I love the way you describe it. I love hearing you laugh about it. I miss you so much. Both of you. You know that, right?"

"I know," her voice is soft. "We miss you too. I'm so sorry about where we are right now. You know that I wish I were there with you. Every single day."

"I know." I do know that. But I also know that there's a part of Mac that loves LA, loves the game. And despite our fights in the last couple of weeks, she's thriving there. All her features are done, and most of the videos for the features too, except this last one with Dev, and only because it's turning into a highly elaborate production.

The label loves the track, and says it will be one of the biggest hits of the year. And they love Dev and Mac together, love Dev's whole noble rapper backstory, love crossing genres and mixing him with Alt Rock's Rising Queen.

It's not hard to read between the lines and see that the label is loving the potential in a love-triangle scenario, too. Mac and I haven't confirmed the rumors of our marriage or her pregnancy, and now that she's been seen several times in LA, all smiles with Dev, and the whole music industry knows that she's left the tour, the rumors have shifted from a Madam marriage to a Madam breakup. Marcy has only confirmed that Mac remains a core member of the band, but is on hiatus from the tour due to "personal reasons."

The video that will drop next week will only fuel the rumors that Dev and Mac are in a relationship. The label is going on all out on for this one. You would think they were filming a feature film instead of a video.

The video is a complicated, multi-strand narrative. One shoot was a straight performance cut, which they've already filmed, another is narrative in which Mac is a celebrity and Dev is fanboy that catches her eye in a club, also filmed already. On location in a VIP section of a club earlier in the week.

The third narrative is shooting today in Napa Valley, in a real fucking castle. It's a fantasy narrative in which Dev imagines he wins the girl that is out of his league—Mac, of course—and they are married in the castle, but in a Bollywood/Medieval mash-up. The concept plays on elements from Dev's background I guess...I understand the dude's dad is some kind of British aristocrat and he has Indian heritage from his mother's side.

Ironic, that I've spent two days with my wife of three weeks, and for the last week all we've been talking about is why she won't move out of the house with her ex-lover or the details surrounding her "marriage" to the British Prince of Rap in a castle in Napa, decked out in a dress that will make her look like a Indian Goddess.

So, yeah. It's not surprising that I day drink now.

But not today. Today I'm pulling my pity up off the bathroom floor, because I've caught a break, and I've got a plan.

I hear some noise in the background at Leed's, and I grit my teeth and say nothing, because I know it's Sawyer, but I fucking refuse to fight about him anymore. It's not that I don't trust Mac to be faithful. That's not it at all. It just crawls all over me to know that Sawyer still looks at her with lust. He did tell the last time I saw him that he had not gotten his fill of her. Call me an asshole, but I don't like some other dude getting hard in the morning courtesy of my sexy wife walking around in her tank top and sleep shorts while they make coffee together.

"Baby, I've got to go soon. The car will be here in half an hour, and I at least have to brush my teeth and get dressed."

"Yeah, I know. But first...what did you guys decide with the director about the wedding sequence?" I ask casually.

There is silence. Finally Mac sighs heavily and says, "They want to shoot the kiss. Not sure if it will make the final edit, but they want to have the footage for sure."

"Yeah, I figured," I say evenly. The truth is, the idea of Mac kissing Dev bothers me, but not as much as her not moving into our house and continuing to live with Sawyer. I mean, Mac's kissed guys for video shoots before. I've watched her make out and simulate love scenes with video actors. I've taken her to bed that same night and never made a big deal about it.

This is a little different, though. Because we are married. Because Dev isn't some random bit actor in a shoot, but apparently, he's now Mac's friend and colleague. She's asked him to bounce back and write a track with her for her EP.

"I'm nervous about it," she admits. "It's gonna be weird."

I want to give her a final warning about the possibility it might trigger her PTSD, but I don't. We've already argued about that exhaustively and she's adamant that she has no anxiety about Dev like that now. She's just doesn't want to be kissing him, because she'd rather be kissing me. She'd told me that she thinks Babycakes is allergic to dudes other than "his" daddy touching her now, because it makes her skin crawl.

Fuck, that's another excellent point for keeping Mac perpetually knocked up. I don't tell her that, though. Instead, I say, "You're a pro. I'm sure you'll make it look hot, even if you are throwing up in your mouth a little bit. Probably he's nervous too. Nervous that I'm gonna bust his face when I see him again."

"Adam—"

"I'm kidding, Shortcake. I promise."

"Good. Adam?"

"Yeah, Gorgeous?"

"This goes a lot better when you aren't drinking," she says quietly.

"I know. I'm gonna cut way back over the Labor Day holiday. Goods news is Arabella is off to some bit part in a show after today and won't be around at all during our Labor Day vacation. So hopefully Bodie will chill and won't be shoving shots in fronts of everyone's faces at all hours of the day."

"I can't wait to see you," she breathes.

With all her features done, I pressed Dawes hard to open up her schedule and give her fours days off. When Arabella got this acting gig and it conflicted with Soundcrush playing the Call-Out over the Labor day weekend, it clinched the deal. We have to have Mac with us in Boston. She's scheduled to meet us there in two days.

"Won't be long," I say with dark glee. It will be sooner than Mac thinks.

I can hear the guys filing into my suite for the morning meeting. It's weird how the meeting used to be in Trace's suite, then got moved to Leed's and now since I'm the "old man" of the group—constantly on Arabella and Bodie's asses—now said meetings occur in my suite.

"I know. I can't wait. I've got to go, but...I.Love.You."

The way she says it—adamant, with emphasis, with the hope that I return her conviction, it makes me realizes she needs more from me than I've been giving.

"Mac, I love you. I love you like the sun and the ocean and the sound of us making music. I love you. You're my warmth and my source and my backbeat."

It's what I told her the morning after we made our baby. I meant it then. I mean it now. I will always mean it.

She laughs—a happy little sound of relief. "Good to know. I needed to hear that."

"I'm gonna show you that, real soon," I warn her.

"Need that, too," she assures me.

Leed's red hair precedes his face as he opens the bedroom door and peeks at me lying on my bed already dressed in a t-shirt and jeans. He flicks a tiny piece of plastic at my face and I bat it away. "We drew straws. You got the short one. Your turn to go get 'em."

"Fuck that," I tell Leed. "You cheated."

Leed grins.

"We're drawing again," as I grab the little piece of straw and haul my ass off the bed. "I gotta go, Shortcake."

"Yeah me too."

"Have a good shoot."

"Have a good show."

When I get out in the living area, Trace and Leed are sipping their hangover cures and our new PA, Penelope, is pouring me one. She makes a batch every morning now. Truth is, we've gamed so much lately we've got our hard party legs back, and despite the long night at Leed's suite party, none of us are hurting much. We draw straws again.

"Damn!" I swear as I draw the short one for real, grabbing the key card to Bodie's room that Riley is holding out to me between two fingers. The guys crow and hoot as I storm out the door.

I hate being the one to drag Bodie and Arabella out of bed. It's not the nudity or the room smelling of sex or even the way Bodie sometimes reacts a little violently if I have to push hard to get him out of bed. After two weeks of having the world's shittiest luck and drawing the short straw more than my fair share, I'm unfortunately over being embarrassed to see Arabella naked and always fully prepared to fend of Bodie's confused aggression.

The reason I hate waking them is the sinking feeling in my stomach as I first open the door and survey the night's damage. I'm not talking about trashed hotel suite. I'm talking about the damage they've been doing to themselves.

I'm hoping for just lots of bottles. Please, just bottles. I can live with pills, but just bottles is better...

There are bottles on the floor. There are no pills on the coffee table, but there's no real relief until I walk over to the glass table top and check it in the sidelight from the window. Then I can breathe.

No coke. That's good. Because last week, there was a fucking lot of coke, and it wasn't so good.

They went hard for two days and after the second show, Arabella was manic—crying,screaming, saying she was so hot she couldn't breathe, that her heart was dying in her chest.

We've all walked the line here and there. I'm hardly in a position to judge. My coke/appendicitis episode was probably the worst off any of us have been in a while, but that was probably more to do with my appendix than how much coke I consumed.

This was something different. This was way worse than when Bodie first got out of balance right after we moved to LA. This was not Ashlynn either—Ashlynn's habits were bad...real bad...but more chronic than acute.

This was fucking overdose level. Leed, Trace and I froze in a huge moment of indecision. Bodie was fucking freaked and thought she was gonna die, and was insisting we call 911. Trace and Leed were worried about Arabella but just couldn't move to make the call. She was talking she was awake, and she was begging us not to call 911. She knew it would be a huge black mark on her brand new relationship with the label.

But I couldn't sit back and let her ride it out.

I grabbed the phone and dialed Riley. He was there in two minutes flat, yelling at us to put her in the tub and dumping ice in with the water to get her temp and heart rate down. He had a doctor in the suite in twenty minutes, giving her an IV and some kind of sedative or something.

She slept it off and was eating waffles and whip cream the next morning with a smile, her worst complaint the minor bruising from the IV.

Bodie was not so great the next morning. He broke down, crying and swearing to us all—no more coke. Not for him, not for her on his watch.

There are two problems with that. It's not Bodie's watch, it's mine. And Bodie has sworn all this shit before.

So I just hope to God that this time, his promise holds. That he actually cares a little bit about Arabella, and that her near overdose scared him enough that he doesn't forget it.

Because every morning, I walk into this suite and hold my breathe, scared shitless of what I might find. And when I find them passed out in twisted sheets from drunk fucking but otherwise okay, I breathe out a sigh of relief. Then the irritation that I have to do this swarms in like a host of bees with my next breath.

It sucks for me, being Arabella's keeper. Moran and her Uncle Randall left her in my care, but she's wound up in Bodie's bed. That's putting a lot of tension between me and Bodie. Bodie would never treat her anything but right when it comes to the bedroom, I'm not worried about that, but the Bodie Party Bus is already too harsh for a nineteen year-old girl.

Then there's the girl herself. Arabella's not a bad person—she actually has a really sweet and fun-loving spirit—but she's just young and immature and has grown up too fast. In some ways she reminds me of Mac—always trying to bring the bad-ass.

I'm trying to get her focused on song-writing as a way to push back the party, but she's starting to look at me like the no-fun grumpus that is always taking her candy way, and that doesn't help our song-writing relationship either.

I'm not worrying about that today. As I bang on the bedroom door, the only thing I'm worrying about is getting her up and out the goddamn door into the car to her acting gig, so we all get a well-deserved Bells Break. I think it will be good for Bodie to take a breather, too. He got all up in this girl way too fast.

Like I do every time I have to do this, I try to ignore their mostly uncovered flesh and slam their bedroom door shut, banging hard for several minutes. Today, I'm lucky—very fucking lucky. Arabella wakes and clothes herself in a sheet before she opens the door.

She yawns, shakes her bramble of brown hair, and rubs her eyes, then looks at me with one eye open, one closed. "No Riley Special for me this morning, Papa Don't Preach?"

Yeah, I like that even less than Preacher.

"You have to get dressed for that. And hurry please, your car is already here." I edge past her, grab Bodie by the ankle and drag him partially off the bed. "Bodes! Get the fuck up! Riley has crazy news!"

"Whaaaat?" he mumbles. I pull him all the way off the bed. "The fuck, man!?!?" He rolls, coming up in a tangle of comforter, looking a little crazed, his features relaxing as he sees my huge grin.

"Adam, what's going on? You don't smile like that since Mac left for LA..." he stares at me suspiciously.

"Get dressed, you gotta here this shit...my suite in five."

———————————————

"So long story short...dead family of raccoons, the whole power series in the stadium out of commission, no show tonight." Riley shakes his head and texts on his phone.

"Hell yeah, the Labor Day vacation starts now!!!" Trace leaps up, arms raised in victory. Leed grins and shoves up out of his chair, meeting Trace's hands in a victory slap. "Riley is there any way..."

"I've already secured the houses on Martha's vineyard a day early," Riley keeps texting, "And the crew is already on their way out. Cars on the way here to take you guys and Strut to the helipad."

Both Trace and Leed descend on Riley, roughing him up by the shoulders as they yell, "Riley for President!!!"

"He can't be President, he's not a citizen," I laugh.

Leed blinks. "Long Live King Riley! God Save Riley!" he chants.

"Fuck yeah," Trace pulls me out of my seat with a rough hand. "We're on vacation for six fucking days! Nothing but sand, sea, and sex!"

"Speak for yourself," Bodie grumbles, sipping his hangover cure. "My sexbuddy just left the building."

"What the fuck, you so whipped your dick won't work on fangirls anymore?" Leed taunts.

"Somebody give Leed the fucking tequila so he remembers what a sad sack of shit he really is," Bodie grins as he pulls his dreads back into a hair elastic.

My phone alerts, letting me know my airline ticket is confirmed.

"Adam, pack your shit quick. Let's get to the fucking Vineyard, man!" Trace is super pumped about this vacation that he planned for us all.

"Yeah, about that..." I hook my thumb Westward. "Imma go get my woman. Be right back." I grab my wallet and a backpack with a change of clothes. I cock my head at Trace. "Want me to bring yours back, too? She is gonna be at the video shoot, you know..."

Mac is feeling friendless out in LA. Apparently Dev brings a posse everywhere he goes, so Mac asked Kat, Street and Bridge to fly up to Napa for today's shoot. There was some conflict that had to be resolved though...some charity thing that Street and Kat were supposed to do today, but they postponed it until tomorrow.

Trace rolls his eyes and makes an exasperated sound. "No way will she ditch Street's photo shoot for her charity thing, after she rescheduled it. But go get our Macaroni and bring her home, man. I'll still have four days with Kat, when she gets here..."

That's enough bullshit with the guys for me. "Deuces," I throw my fingers up.

I ride the elevator down, feeling fucking fine. I'll be in Napa before Mac is even out of the stylist's chair. I'll get to see her all made up in a way I never have—Bollywood— and enjoy her performance as a spectator for a change. Maybe I'll even school Dev on how to smooch her up right, and we'll all have a laugh over the kiss they have to make for the wedding scene.

Yeah, I hate it for those poor raccoons, but I'm thinking maybe God sent me this venue black-out as an answer to my prayers.

Uhhm, okay. Anybody think the Castle/Bollywood Wedding Video Shoot is going to work out like Adam's thinking? Anyone?

Please comment/vote/list/follow if you are enjoying the story. We are getting close to the end now!