Brando: Part Two (Brando, #2)

Brando pushes his hair back with his hand and looks up at the ceiling. “Sabotaging your set?”


“What? Is it out of character for her?” I reply, voice drenched in sarcasm. “Does it go against her strict moral code? You’re right. Lexi’s the kind of person who takes criticism constructively, and would be really happy for me if I started upstaging her.”

“Okay, okay,” Brando admits. “It could have been her. Look, Mike, you make sure you take extra care with the instruments for the upcoming gigs. We’ll do soundchecks closer to the concert time, and I want you to double-check everything – not just the instruments, the amps, the mics, the lighting – everything.”

“I swear,” Mike says, nodding vigorously before turning back down the hallway, still shaking his head at the guitar.

Brando turns back to me.

“Look, don’t jump to conclusions, Haley. I know Lexi can seem like somebody poured pure evil into a pair of Louboutins, but she’s still a musician. She wouldn’t do something like this.”

“You heard Mike,” I say, skeptically. “Somebody fucked with my guitar. If not her, then who else? Nobody else hates me like she does.”

Brando shrugs. “Lexi isn’t in touch with reality. She has hundreds of people around her – working for her, depending on her. If she doesn’t do well, they don’t get her crumbs. Any one of them could have thought it was a good idea. Lexi doesn’t have a clue what half her entourage does for her. She lives in a bubble.”

“When do I get a bubble?”

He laughs warmly. “I’m not saying don’t watch your back, I’m just saying that right now you’re doing awesome. And this kind of thing is the price you pay when people start noticing how awesome you are. There’s always someone, somewhere, who’ll try to bring you down. You’ve got to just roll with it, to be tough.”

I let a pouting smile form on my lips, put my hand on his chest, and slowly caress his front from his six-pack to his pecs. “Brando, I’m much tougher than you think,” I say, before pushing him away. “I know I’m in this alone.” I take a few steps backwards down the hall, facing him still. “The question is: Do you?” I say, before turning my back to him and walking away.





Chapter 9


Brando



By the time we get to New York, the final show on the tour, I’m going out of my mind. It’s one thing to want a girl so badly you could fill a book with the things you want to do to her, but it’s a whole new level of ball-ache when she’s everywhere you look.

In every town we go to, I get calls all day long asking for a few minutes with the hot new star, pleading music reporters sounding as desperate as I feel. The photo shoots we did for the first single start popping up on magazines and newspapers, her sexy eyes and slightly-less-than-innocent smile tempting me to tear out the pages and do bad things to myself like a guilty schoolboy. And to top it all off, night after night I have to watch her go on stage and become a guitar-playing goddess, making thousands of fans go as crazy for her as I am. Jealous every time I see her put her lips close to the mic, curling her fingers slowly around it…

I was a bad enough wreck when I lost her, but being near her like this is a torture that even a war couldn’t justify. She’s growing with every show, getting sexier with every victory. It’s not just me noticing anymore, every member of the crew who works with her, anyone who catches a glimpse of her shows realizes that they’re in the presence of something special, that this is the start of a star being born.

The good thing is that Haley’s progress is making everyone work at the top of their game. I’ve never seen so many people willing and eager to do the best job they can out of love for an artist, but the bad thing is that I haven’t had a moment alone with her since our unlit private encore after her first gig. I have to barge my way through a crowd of people every time I want to ask her something.

But I’m not completely out of action yet, and if I have to play a little dirty, then so be it.

I pace a little, standing at the steps of the MOMA. I check my watch and stick my hands back deep inside the pockets of my designer jacket. I miss New York, but not the cold – I find it much easier to look good with fewer clothes on.

I notice her immediately when she emerges from the bustle of people and traffic, how could I not in those tight patterned leggings and the same leather jacket she seems to wear like a security blanket. I smile as she draws near.

“Where’s everyone else?” she asks as soon as she’s in earshot.

“Who?”

She gives out a deep laugh, one that says ‘I get it.’

“My band?” she says, deciding to play the game a little with me. “Aren’t we going on a tour of the city?”

“Oh yeah,” I say, offering my arm for her to take. “Your band is sitting on top of a sight-seeing bus right now, probably freezing their asses off. You, on the other hand, get the special treatment.”

J.D. Hawkins's books