Vanni: A Prequel (Groupie Book 4) Page 15

  I sit on that stool all the way to closing time, trying to wrap my mind around it. I’ve had quite a few beers and quite a few shots by then. Cheryl wants to call a cab, but I assure her I can walk. “You’re more than welcome to join me, though,” I slur.

  “Go on, now,” she says with a wave of her hand. “You know I would rip your shit in half.”

  “And I’d die with a smile on my face,” I grin. But she ain’t having it.

  “Go home. Get some sleep. You’re going to need all the energy you can get to be a world-famous rock star.”

  “All the more reason for you to sleep with me now, so you’ll have a story for all your grandkids.”

  She laughs. “I already told you, I don’t date white boys.”

  “Fine,” I say as I pull out my money clip. “But you’ll regret it one day.”

  Her eyes widen when she sees the stash of cash in my hand. She bends closer with a harsh reprimand. “About as much as you’ll regret waving all that cash around. Are you nuts?”

  I shrug. I don’t care. After the day I’ve had, money means nothing to me.

  At least I think it means nothing until I realize after about two blocks that I’m being followed by a couple of young, rowdy punks from the bar. I walk a little faster, and they keep a steady pace to catch up to me. Within minutes they’re both on either side, and they crowd me towards a dark alley.

  “Give me your money,” one of them says, the minute they have me obscured from the street.

  “Fuck you,” I slur. Like I’m going to give my Aunt Susan’s money to a couple of meatheads in wife-beaters and camo pants.

  The other guy delivers a punch I’m not expecting, right to my abdomen, till I bend over at the waist. Before I can stand upright, the other guy elbows me on my back, dropping me to the ground. Both of them deliver kick after kick until I’m broken and bleeding and wholly unable to stop them from pulling out the money clip.

  I hear them laugh as they take off down the alley. This isn’t the first time I’ve been mugged, but it’s the first time it really hurts, since they’ve taken off with nearly a thousand dollars I can’t afford to lose.

  All because I wanted to be a big man for Tina Nunes. I’m such a fucking idiot.

  I moan as I roll onto my back and look up at the night sky. I can just picture Aunt Susan looking down on me from heaven, shaking her head in disappointment. “Yeah, I know,” I murmur into the night air, to no one in particular.

  Whether I’m Old Vanni or New Vanni, I know I’m a mess. Did I really think I could have any kind of instant success?

  I deserve to be in the gutter precisely where I lie.

  CHAPTER TWELVE:

  I don’t go back to Fritz’s for the entire summer. At first, I’m too embarrassed to show my face after the mugging incident that left me with a couple of broken ribs and a black eye. After the visible injuries heal, I realize that my ego is still smarting. I know I can’t bear to see Pam again. If I see that wedding ring on her finger, or, God forbid, meet Mr. Doug himself, I might just pop a vein. The more I think of how she married somebody out of the blue, the angrier I get. We had flirted almost non-stop for months, but she never bothered to tell me that she was seriously involved with someone else? Here I was thinking she was the anti-Lori, but she had been harboring secrets of her own. She made it sound like they were just trying out a relationship. Now she is bonded to him for life, and that’s what marriage is to me. A lifelong, sacred bond.

  I know what happens when a spouse skips out of the relationship. I saw what happened to my mother when my dad split. I heard her crying herself to sleep every night, even years after he’d left. It made me hate the bastard more than I ever thought possible. I hated my absent father from the time I was five years old, and I realized that I didn’t have a daddy like everyone else in my school.

  He left Mama. He left me.

  How do you do that after you promise someone forever?

  And how could she promise anyone forever? If she is truly in love with this guy, how come I could see the longing in her eyes the last time I held her in my arms? I felt her body yield to me. I knew then it was just a matter of time. Now I’m being denied something, something that I really didn’t know how much I wanted until it was taken away.

  She’s playing a game with a big risk. One thing I do know about this New Vanni. He doesn’t like being denied.

  He hasn’t been able to get Tina Nunes out of his head either, although that obsession isn’t just about sex. Who the hell did she think she was to tell me about swagger?

  After the next gig, I single out a couple of twins to take back to our hotel. It’s another steep price tag to portray the status of rock star, but it’s easy to forget those minor details while I’m fucking two gorgeous sisters at the same time.

  They think I have swagger.

  They think I’m worth a good fucking, no matter who they have waiting at home.

  By now I know better than to ask.

  It’s easy to work out my frustrations with them. They’re down for anything, and the more depraved we get, the more vindicated I feel. So what if Tina thinks I have no swagger? She’s not the only club in Manhattan.

  By the end of August, we’ve performed at nearly a dozen clubs, several more than once. The groupies multiply by the dozen at each new show. Yael has been working the Internet angle, finding a bit of a following thanks to the music and videos that he has posted on his official music website and social media.

  I let him handle all the online stuff. I’m much better face to face. Both Bobby and I are the hound dogs of the band. We romance the groupies at each and every show, with a special VIP party at whatever hotel is nearest to the venue when we’re done.

  After four months, my savings account has shrunk by half. I’m paying more money than I have coming in. I know that if something doesn’t change soon, I’ll need to go back to Cynzia’s just to stem the bleeding.

  It only strengthens my grudge against Tina Nunes, which I take out on every single wide-eyed groupie who waits back stage just to see if she can get some time with her favorite new rock star.

  I realize at this point that I’ve become a total manwhore, but I’m okay with it. I’m in the prime of my youth, and what is that for if it’s not to sow some wild oats? No one is getting hurt in the equation. I give them the time of their life and they polish my ego like a freshly minted penny.

  Everyone’s happy. No one is playing games. It’s just good old fashioned casual sex: all the orgasms, none of the guilt.

  Bobby makes a hell of a wingman, and together we rack up the conquests left and right. After a while I know that the money we invest into the VIP rock star experience has dick to do with building our brand. We are getting our rocks off with good looking girls who dream about fucking guys in a band.

  But like I said, no one is playing games. We never even make it past the hotel bedroom. We offer a night of raunchy sex and that’s it. No phone numbers, no last names… no expectations, no disappointments.

  It keeps my mind off Pam for the most part. The girls Bobby handpicks for our hedonistic orgies tend to fit a specific type, so none of them have the voluptuous curves, which still makes me hard as a rock whenever I think them. They’re all young, anywhere between 18-22. They’re all gorgeous, the kind of beauty that would stop traffic. And they all want one thing and one thing only: they want a guy who knows how to fuck them.

  Who better than members of a naughty rock band?

  I’ve dusted off more sexually charged covers to include in the set. The crowd really gets into them, especially when I shed my shirt or bring girls on stage to dance with us while we perform.

  The dancing is critical, because that’s how Bobby makes the final cut for our VIP party. If they’re willing to jump on stage and show us their moves, we know that they’ll be game for a more intimate setting. Most times we’re right.

  I’ve only been wrong once, with a tall redhead who wanted a more one-on-one encounter. She tri
ed to get me to her private hotel suite, but that’s not how this game is played. We play on my home turf or not at all. It’s just easier.

  Honestly I prefer the easy conquests. They’ve helped me heal from the sting of Pam’s unexpected elopement.

  Yet there are nights when I lie in my bed at the brownstone, staring at that ugly chair that Lori bought for the house. I have to admit that I had planned on making love to Pam in that chair. It was only fitting. The lying bitch who never believed me had left behind a memento of her tired, ordinary tastes. I needed to cleanse it with an enthusiastic tussle with a woman who had, essentially, inspired me to chase after my dreams and make them a reality.

  Somehow I must be holding onto hope that I’ll get Pam into that chair in the end, otherwise I would have turned it to kindling by now.

  Every time I stare at it and I get angry all over again. I become confused all over again. I wonder, over and over again, who am I going to get to fuck me in that chair now?

  I end up throwing a lot of angst into my songwriting. We’ve got a few of my songs in the set, but most of the original stuff is Yael’s and it’s heavily instrumental.

  If Yael has a problem with my horn dog behavior, he hasn’t said anything. Most of our expenses have been out of pocket, rather than robbing the band, which had been his problem with the last guy. The music is more important to me than the sex, which I prove to him every single time we rehearse or write songs together.

  All our current bookings are in the more modest, mid-range clubs as a result. I have no idea how to fix it, or even if it’s my place to do so. This has always been Yael’s baby, so I defer to him constantly.

  That changes the first week of September 2005, when we face enough invitations to perform outside of Manhattan that we must think about transportation for the band.

  Bobby finds the perfect solution, an old RV that looks like a relic from the 1970s. It looks like shit but the price is right.

  So right, in fact, that I have just enough money left in my savings to cover it.

  “I can’t ask you to spend your last dime on this,” Yael says as he looks over the vehicle. We need it, or something like it, to hit venues outside the city. Not only does it have enough room for all of us and our equipment, it gives us room to grow. We can go coast to coast in this dream machine, which is what I instantly dub her.

  “Maybe not if I’m just a hired singer for the band,” I say, letting the implication hang there in the air for a bit. His eyes finally meet mine. “I do this, we become partners. I think you know we have something special here. And it’s not a one-man show anymore. We have a kickass band and I want to see where we can take it. As brothers, and equals.”

  I hold out my hand. Yael stares at it for a long moment before he brushes past me and stalks away.

  “Let him mull it over,” Bobby tells me. “I’m sure he’ll come around.”

  It takes our first gig to Boston, where we use every last nickel we make to pay for rental van hauling everyone to and from, when he finally concedes.

  I write the check to the dealer, leaving less than a thousand dollars in my account. The situation is critical, and now that the band is half mine, I know it’s up to me to do something about it.

  I head to Fritz’s for the first time in months, to talk to Pam about booking a show.

  At least, that’s what I tell myself. The minute I walk into the door that deceptively sunny October afternoon, I know that I’ve been waiting for the excuse to come back, to see her again–to have a reason to interact with her.

  She has her back to me as I approach the bar. She’s talking to one of her distributors, placing her order for the booze she’ll need. A plain gold band adorns her left ring finger. It doesn’t hurt as much as I think it will. It might have, had it been loaded with diamonds. Then I’d probably feel like a second-rate shit who couldn’t shine Doug’s fancy shoes.

  At this rate, I see him the same way I see Tony. He’s playing with the toy I wanted, so clearly he’s worthy of my envy as much as my disdain. Since I don’t know the guy at all, it makes it easy for me to twist him into whatever pathetic caricature happens to bring me the most satisfaction at the time.

  Knowing he could only give her some tacky Vegas wedding and a cheap, bargain-basement wedding ring makes me feel superior, even though I couldn’t give her any better even if I wanted to.

  I say nothing as I sit on the stool at the end of the bar. I wait patiently as she conducts her business. Her voice coats my tense nerves. I realize I am nervous to see her again. When was the last time that had happened? When she turns to face me, our eyes meet and I swear I feel lightning shoot to my core. God, does she have to be so beautiful?

  She gulps hard before she walks to the end of the bar where I sit. “Vanni,” she says softly. Every nerve ending jumps in response.

  “Pam,” I greet in return. “Or is it Mrs. Doug now?”

  She sighs deeply as she reaches me. “I’m sorry you had to find out that way.”

  “Me, too. You could have told me that it was even a possibility. Then I would have left you alone.”

  “Would you?” she challenges. Then she shakes her head. “Look. It doesn’t matter.”

  “It matters to me,” I murmur. “Why’d you do it?”

  She swallows hard. “I love him.”

  “Bullshit,” I say. Her eyes dart to mine. “You wanted me. I know it. You know it.”

  “That has nothing to do with me and him,” she tells me, but she won’t look me in the eye. I know she’s lying.

  “Are you pregnant?” I ask softly. It’s the only other thing that makes sense.

  “What? No!” She’s clearly flustered. “Why does it matter where or when?”

  “I just want to know when you knew. One night you’re dancing in my arms. The next you’re flying off to Vegas to marry some family friend.”

  “I just knew, okay, Vanni? Can we just… can we just start over as friends or something?”

  I stare at her until she takes a step back and drops her eyes. “I think you know the answer to that.” I watch the flush rise up her neck and into her face. “But you’ll be happy to know I’m not here for that.”

  Her voice trembles when she speaks. My dick twitches as I watch her mouth, that sexy, beautiful mouth with those full, tantalizing lips. “Why are you here?”

  “I’d like to book my band here.” Yeah, I said it. It’s my band. I did it, lady. I made my dream a reality. Suck on that.

  She scoffs immediately. “We barely even have a stage.”

  “I’ve watched entire bachelorette parties get on stage and sing the numbers from the Rocky Horror Picture Show. We can make it work.” She takes a deep breath. I know she’s running through every excuse in the book to turn me down. “You can bill it as a Bensonhurst boy does good. It’ll give me much needed exposure and it’ll fill your bar to capacity.” You’ll also get to see how many girls I can get every time I open my mouth to sing. Think about that next time you climb into bed next to whatshisname. “I plan on getting local press to promote it. Everyone in the neighborhood knew my Aunt Susan, and she’s a huge part of the reason I’m even in a band.” As are you. “It’s a win/win for both of us.”

  “I don’t know,” she stalls.

  “Do you have to run it by your husband?” I ask, purposefully spiteful.

  She glares at me. “No.”

  “So what’s the problem?” I reach out for her left hand, which is on the bar in front of me. I hold it up to inspect the plain gold band on her finger. “Afraid you’ll realize you’ve chosen the consolation prize?”

  She yanks her hand back. “Do you have to be such a dick?”

  “I’m not trying to be a dick.” Yes, I am. “I just need exposure and I thought who else would I turn to, except the person who started me down this path in the first place?”

  From the look on her face, I know I’ve just sunk the basket. Fuck Tina Nunes. I have plenty of fucking swagger. It helps me negotiate a de
al like I’ve been doing it all along, rather than leaving it to Yael. It was his band before. It’s our band now. I start my negotiations high, which she counters with something more modest. It’s almost a sexual act getting us on the same page, figuring on fair compensation, though it’s less than what we ordinarily pull in.

  I figure a gig is a gig, and any amount is better than zero. At least that’s how I plan to pitch it to Yael and the guys.

  I don’t leave the bar until we settle on a date. One: I’m not going to let her blow me off. Two: It makes me ridiculously happy just to be with her again. I can see in her eyes that, married or not, she still wants me. This is good news for New Vanni, who is all about gratification. It gives me a couple of months to perfect this new persona, the one that will make Pam second-guess jumping into a marriage with whatshisname.

  I want to punish her even more after spending the afternoon with her. If that means I have to keep putting myself in her face, to remind her of what she gave up, then that’s what I’ll do.

  I know that doesn’t make me a nice guy, but I’m beginning suspect that nice is not on the short list of the New Vanni’s qualities. He’s got determination, ambition and a healthy ego, and, frankly speaking, nice isn’t always compatible with those things.

  Old Vanni was a nice guy. He was raised to be a nice guy. And where did that get him? He ended up alone while his “nice” girlfriend screwed his best friend behind his back for months, right when he needed her the most.

  Old Vanni or New, I wasn’t going to make that mistake again. Love is for suckers.

  Hell, I think I’ve found the title to a new song. I work on it as I hop over to Manhattan to let the guys know the big news.

  “You did what?” Yael asks.

  “I got us a gig. It’s at my neighborhood bar.”

  He scoffs as he returns to his guitar, tweaking notes for a new original song. “First stop, Bensonhurst. Next stop, the Cleveland. Maybe Sandusky. I know. Cucamonga.”

  “That neighborhood is invested in me. What better way to sell out a venue?”