Bodyguards: A Twin Menage Romance (Mandarin Connection Book 9) Page 3

  All that changed on my seventeenth birthday. For some reason, I had been humming a tune in the shower, and began to sing it out loud.

  Lois came running into the bathroom, (don’t all mothers do that?), and told me to turn off the radio.

  Which was weird, as we didn’t own one.

  When she realized I had been singing, and doing a pretty decent impression of Beyoncé, she got a strange look on her face.

  Then, she ran back out.

  At least I could finish my shower in peace…

  A short time later, I found myself being dragged from one talent agency to the next.

  Lois had asked a friend to record a short demo tape, where I repeated my Beyoncé act. Her friend, Tom was a long-time guitar player, and he’d been in many bands over the years. His most recent one lacked a singer, and, after listening to my bit, he suggested I try a few other tunes.

  Over the next week we spent almost all my spare time in the studio, as Tom added backup music tracks, and tuned my voice. He was very helpful, and it wasn’t until much later that I realized he had a crush on Lois.

  What finally came out of the sessions was a decent rendering of a Janis Joplin / Britney Spears combination of sounds. I had the ability to add a quavering contralto, and hit some good high notes.

  Tom signed off on the project, and soon Lois was shopping it around.

  Tom even got me a few gigs, backing for his band.

  At first, it felt silly, but pretty soon I started getting noticed.

  Then, it happened.

  Almost two years had passed since my demo tape sessions.

  Thanks to Lois, I was now lead singer in a small rock band, “The Dire Boys.”

  Tom had moved on to other projects, and women. Apparently, Lois was just a crush, and he was a rolling stone…

  She didn’t seem worried, and had me try out for about a dozen local bands. She’d settled on “The Dire Boys,” mainly because she liked their music.

  They were a bunch of horny guys, and even though they tried making a move on me once or twice, Lois made it very clear I was off-limits to them, if they wanted me to sing for them.

  It was awkward at first, but soon I was more of a sister than someone they wanted to fuck.

  We did pretty well, and even won a few battles of the local band competitions.

  It wasn’t the big time, but we were booked solid for months.

  Since I had finished high school, I was thinking about going to a college that might be able to provide me with a small music scholarship.

  I’d goof around during the week, practicing with the band, or singing solo.

  Apparently, I’d gotten good enough to attract some real attention.

  One night, Ron Stone, a handsome dude with long blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and a pair of lips that looked very kissable, asked me out for a cup of coffee.

  He was the lead singer of another band, one that was doing a lot better than “The Dire Boys.”

  I didn’t see anything odd about his request, so I went with him.

  Ron told me that the current female vocalist of his band was pretty strung out, and unreliable. He confessed that the band had only kept her on this long because of a misguided sense of loyalty, but her recent behavior had ended up with her getting arrested and sent to rehab.

  Ron frowned as he related this story, and I watched those dreamy eyes take on a look of sadness.

  “How can I help?” I asked him.

  Ron swirled a spoon in his tea, and then took a sip. His blue eyes regarded me, intensely.

  He nodded.

  “Look,” he said.

  He twirled the spoon some more, smiling tightly.

  “Look, Cheryl, you’re pretty good. But, you’re kind of young…” he started to say.

  I rolled my eyes at him.

  “Hah! I didn’t mean it like that!

  Then, he leaned in close and took hold of my hand.

  “How would you like to be our vocalist?” he said, simply.

  I was stunned.

  Ron’s band, “The Dukes of IRL,” was pretty well known, and had even managed to cut a few albums. One of their songs was a top 100 single, for a few weeks.

  “And, would you like to start dating?” he smiled.

  He leaned over and kissed me, and I found out I was right about those lips.

  But, as I mumbled my agreement with my mouth full of Ron’s tongue, I had no idea how wrong I was about everything else about him.

  Chapter Three

  Ron’s band all agreed I met their ‘look,’ and they listened to me belt out their hit single, which was pretty catchy. I could feel their eyes on me as I sang the words, bouncing and swaying to the rhythm.

  When I finished, I waited for their verdict.

  Ron was smiling, a Cheshire cat grin plastered on his face.

  “What did I tell you?” he asked the band.

  The drummer, Mark, gave me a look.

  “She can sing, all right,” he said, with a bit of a growl.

  “But Allison is not going to like this at all, Ron,” he added.

  “Leave Allison to me, Mark, okay?” Ron replied. Suddenly, I noticed he wasn’t grinning, and I sensed that maybe there was something off below his surface charm.

  The bass player, Dave, gave me a wink. His gold grille was dazzling in the light, and his smile was warm.

  “Don’ let them boys bother you, girl. Just keep doin’ what you doin’,” he drawled, his Caribbean accent thick. His black body was lean and taught, and his dreadlocks rolled down his back. He pulled out a spliff, and fired it up.

  “Come here, girlie, and have some of God’s medicine!” he grinned.

  I took a puff, and nearly coughed myself to death!

  The other band members laughed and partook of Dave’s weed. When they offered it to me, I shook my head no. Once was enough. I was already feeling light-headed.

  The keyboard player, Pat, gave me a look, rolling her eyes.

  “What a lightweight!” she sneered, taking a pull from a bottle of Jack Daniels.

  I felt her judgement, and wondered if it was a good move for me to leave “The Dire Boys.”

  We sat around, jamming for a bit, when Pat came by and looked me up and down, holding her bottle of whiskey.

  “Ron and Allison were a thing, Cheryl. You’d better understand that, before you get in too deep here,” she warned.

  “I can take care of myself,” I said brazenly.

  She shrugged.

  “You sing better than she does, that’s for sure,” Pat replied.

  She leaned in close, and I could smell the whiskey on her breath.

  “I like girls. I like you,” she purred.

  I felt slightly embarrassed. I had never been hit on by a woman.

  “I’m flattered, but…” I stammered.

  Pat leaned back and laughed.

  “Boy! The look on your face!” she giggled.

  “You’re okay, you know that, Cher?” she said, and smacked my upper arm with the bottle, which was nearly empty.

  I smiled awkwardly, and went to stand next to Ron, who was tinkering around with another chord combination. It sounded like something Paul McCartney would have written, if he’d been born in Alabama.

  Ron played the tune for a few moments, then looked at me. He had this distant look in his eyes.

  “That was beautiful,” I whispered.

  I was awestruck.

  “Well, it ought to be. Paul McCartney wrote it a long time ago,” he joked.

  “Wait. I know all the Beatles songs?” I asked.

  He just stared at me with that look, again.

  He sighed.

  “You want to fuck?” Ron said.

  I was a virgin.

  “Yes,” I answered.

  We lay in Ron’s bed.

  It had gone terribly.

  I had no idea what to do, so I spent most of the time kissing him, or tugging at his limp manhood. He played with my boobs, but stayed away
from me other than that. He kissed great.

  But I felt put off, and even when I tried, I just could not get into the mood.

  After a while, he rolled off me.

  Nothing had happened. It was really unsatisfying. I wondered if it was because he was thinking about Allison.

  Ron lit up a joint, and offered it to me. I shook my head no, and he just shrugged.

  I put my clothes back on, and sat on the side of the bed.

  “If you want to stay on, you’re going to have to lie to the others and tell them we’re fucking,” he suddenly blurted out.

  “What?” I replied, shocked.

  “I don’t think we are compatible, but, as the lead guitar, I’ve always got to have to be seen to be banging the lead singer. It’s just how things are, Cheryl,” he added, nodding to himself as if in agreement.

  “I don’t understand?” I said, confused.

  He sat up; his limp dick pasted to his thigh.

  I unconsciously pulled a face. I suddenly had zero sexual interest in Ron.

  He looked at me with those blue eyes.

  “Look. We are an up and coming band. We are going places. I’ve made some deals to see to it we are going to have a decent shot at an album, from a big production company, in two months. That’s going to happen, whether you are lead vocals or not, okay, Cheryl?” he explained.

  “But, part of the deal is I need a beard. A cover, so that people will see that we are all together, do you dig it?” he asked.

  I shook my head. I didn’t understand. All I wanted to do was sing.

  Ron sat back, lying on the pillows, smoking his weed.

  “I have certain…tastes…that are difficult to explain. I need a face, a girl, to deflect suspicion, at least until we hit it big. After our first two gold albums, we can part company and I don’t give a shit,” he told me.

  I looked at him, as though he were a bug.

  I was aghast.

  “You need to put on a show, like we are sleeping together, when we are out in public. Once we are off stage, you can fuck whomever you like, but don’t get caught. That won’t go over well with my…investors. They value discretion,” he said ominously.

  I stood up.

  “Maybe I should just leave now, Ron. Thanks, and all that, but…” I began.

  Ron leapt out of the bed, stopping me from leaving by blocking the door.

  “Maybe I haven’t been clear, Cheryl. You are in the band. That’s the deal. You get fame, you get to sing. You get to travel and maybe one day you’ll get enough money to do your own thing. But there are rules,” he said, growling.

  “Get out of my way, Ron,” I said.

  When he didn’t move, I tried to push past him.

  He grabbed my wrists and twisted, hard.

  I yelped out in pain, and then he punched me in the stomach.

  I fell to the ground, writhing and breathless. I flashed back to that day Jimmy had hit me with the baseball.

  This was far worse.

  I saw Ron standing over me, that distant look in his eyes.

  “You keep your mouth shut, and you’ll be fine. If you say anything, I guarantee your career is over, Cheryl,” he hissed.

  Then, he walked back to the bed, and got dressed. When he left, I was still holding my stomach, weeping.

  Chapter Four

  Ron was right about “The Dukes of IRL.”

  By the end of the year, we’d cut a deal with Bullwhip records, and it looked as though it might go gold.

  We were getting air play all over the place, showing up on download sites and even had two television gigs.

  We began to do shows on the road, and sold out every one.

  Ron was ecstatic.

  I played at being his girlfriend, hanging on his arm at parties and making it seem as though he were the only man on the planet worth having.

  Some of the tabloids put out crazy headlines, and made it seem more than it was.

  The reality of it would disappoint their readers, for sure.

  While I didn’t exactly outright hate Ron, outside of that one night he never laid another finger on me.

  The other band members thought we were sleeping together. We shared rooms, and Ron would jerk off with enough vigor that it sounded as though we were fucking. But he rarely came, if he did it with me in the room.

  I would read a book, or watch tv, and moan or make some kinds of noise, if he thought the others needed some reassurance.

  Allison had been informed she was out of the band, and when she came out of rehab, she ended up joining some church group and becoming a missionary to Africa.

  Pat gave me knowing looks, and we chatted once in a while.

  Dave and Mark left me alone, except at rehearsals.

  All the while, a strange thing was happening.

  Our reviews were pretty good, but the one main component of all of them was how well I sung.

  At first, it was just flattering to be noticed, but soon it led to some friction.

  A band is, after all, a team. And, if one of the team is a lot better than the others, problems can arise.

  And that is exactly what happened.

  “Julliard?” I said, astonished.

  “THE Julliard?” I repeated, my head spinning.

  Lois just smiled and held the acceptance letter in her manicured fingers.

  She was looking very smug, as if she’d just pulled off an impressive stunt.

  “I believe the words you are looking for are ‘Thank you, Lois!’” she said.

  I ran over and hugged her tightly.

  “Watch the dress and hair, darling!” she chuckled.

  I had happy tears, but I also heard the tone in her voice. I stepped back, smiling and weeping, and noticed that Lois eyes looked mirthful, but not in a happy way. I realized she wasn’t really happy for -me-. She was happy because some puzzle piece of her own plans had fallen into place.

  Still – Julliard!

  Wow!

  Telling the band I was leaving was one of the hardest things I ever had to do in my entire life.

  I thought losing my Mother was tough, but this was far more emotional. She wasn’t ever coming back. I knew that. I had accepted it, and even though I missed her terribly, I made my peace with the reality of what had happened.

  But these people – they had been my friends!

  We were a team! Musicians!

  I was in the studio, telling them that I’d gotten a full ride to Julliard, one of the most prestigious music academies in the entire world, and I got the sense that they felt I had just taken a gigantic shit all over their dreams!

  They were making me feel completely awful about something for which I am sure Mother would have sung my praises to the hilltops!

  “See ya!” Pat said. She barely looked at me as she went off to the bathroom.

  Ron and Mark shrugged, and followed her. I guess they were going to do some blow or something.

  I didn’t care.

  Tom just said “Good luck! You’ll be missed!” and went back to forging the soundtrack for the album we’d been recording.

  Dave was the only one who had offered any semblance of congratulations.

  “Look, mon,” he said. “You doin’ what you gonna do, you know? But these others, they may not admit it, but they jealous. You got a good voice, good instincts. You young. You too new at this, still,” he said, wagging his fingers.

  “What should I do, Dave?” I asked. I didn’t really expect an answer, but Dave put his hands on each of my shoulders.

  “You do you, mon. That’s all an all what we all gonna do, and it be what Rasta want,” he whispered. He kissed my ears!

  Then, he slapped my ass!

  It stung!

  “Always wanna do that, Cherry!” he laughed, his voice booming.

  I couldn’t help but laugh as well…

  Three months into my studies, Lois informed me that the band was suing me for breach of contract.

  “Don’t sweat it, swee
theart!” she joked. “It’s part of the deal!”

  “What does Daddy think?” I asked her.

  “Oh, don’t you worry about him. He’s got his own problems,” she said.

  There was menace in her voice.

  I felt suddenly afraid for my father. I didn’t know why.

  He was capable, and if his marriage to Lois had any cracks in it, they were hidden very well. They always appeared a perfect couple when I visited and we’d go to dinner or the theatre.

  I didn’t see anything.

  But once again, Daddy saw it before anyone else.

  And it didn’t do him any good at all.

  I studied hard for three years. I learned music theory, and to play the piano, and also became decent enough with a guitar. I used to strum out little tunes, humming and writing lyrics. My classmates were all talented, and most of them were from wealthy families.

  I didn’t feel exactly left out, but I did find myself spending a lot of alone time.

  The whole thing with the band had left a sour taste in my mouth for the music business.

  Lois and Daddy had managed to deflect the brunt of the lawsuit away from me, and so I didn’t worry as much as I might have.

  Lois was fierce, and I was glad, suddenly, that she was in my corner. She countered the suit, hiring some very expensive attorneys. They went after Ron and the studio, which really upset me. What had Tom to do with all of this?

  One day, feeling a bit lonely, I dialed up Tom’s number.

  “Hello, Cheryl. I can’t talk to you while your stepmother is suing me, sorry. Please speak to my attorney,” he said automatically.

  “Tom! Wait!” I pleaded with him.

  “I didn’t mean for it to go this way! I’m sorry! Really!” I cried.

  There wasn’t anything for a moment or two.

  “Cheryl, I know that this is all just business. Let me give you some advice, okay?” he said, calmly.

  “Off the record, and I’ll deny all of this if you tell anyone,” he warned.