“You go,” I say. “I need another drink. And another girl. Then another drink, probably.”
We clasp hands and Jax strides out. I turn back to the bar and order another beer. When it comes, I take it straight from the bartender, before it hits the bar, and gulp long and deep. I close my eyes, relishing the coldness, feeling it settle inside of me, reminding myself I’m not empty. I listen to the sound of the bar, the heightened voices, energized by the presence of a star. Somewhere in between the giddy laughter and shouted jokes I hear a nice minor chord change.
I slam the bottle down and open my eyes.
“Oh fuck. You again? Seriously?”
Davis is standing beside me.
“A glass of white wine,” he says to the bartender without taking his eyes off me.
The bartender nods his acknowledgement, and slams down another beer for me – good guy. I grab it and swig deeply.
“Did you forget something, Davis?” I say, keeping my eyes on the bottle. “Your hairpiece, perhaps?”
Davis cackle-wheezes before speaking.
“I just couldn’t resist seeing you squirm a little more, Brando.”
I clutch the beer bottle as if it’ll hold me back.
“Davis, I’d punch you in the face right now if I didn’t think the plastic surgery would protect you better than a hockey mask.”
Davis keeps the grin on his face but I notice him edging back a little. “You know what I love about you, Brando, you’re deluded. It’s almost as if you genuinely think you’ve got some talent. That you’ve actually got something to offer this city. I think that’s what makes it so entertaining. The sheer gulf between what you think you are, and what you actually are.”
“Go pick on someone your own size. I’m sure there are some rats by the garbage cans out back.”
He goes on, as if I never spoke. “I mean, you made all the rookie mistakes. You fell in love with your own talent for Christ’s sake! You made the business personal. You can’t make someone a star when you care about them. That’s just ridiculous.”
“This the kind of crap you filled her head with when you stole her from me?”
“Lexi’s a smart cookie. She knew what needed to be done, and she did it. No second thoughts, no emotions, no doubts. I never stole her. She came to me.” He sips his wine smugly.
My eyes slip out of focus and my body tightens. Enough. I spin toward him and grab Davis by the scruff of his shirt, feeling disgust as I pull his irradiated face toward mine.
“You’re a fucking fraud, Davis. A vulture. A stinking bag of empty words that you spray around and hope will land somewhere to fester. You did nothing. You are nothing.”
“And what are you? What exactly do you do, Brando?”
I shake him in my grip, so tight that I have him lifted almost completely off the floor.
“I’m a manager. I let musicians make their music, help them get their work out there, realize their potential. And I’m fucking good at it. I nurture talent, bring it out of people. I take talent and I make it shine. Because I care – not in spite of it.”
Davis’s lips extend slowly into a smile like some sea creature bloating itself up. A horror movie scene played out upon his face.
“Prove it,” he hisses.
“I already did.”
I release my grip and he drops to his feet, jerking his blazer straight and smoothing his shirt without taking his eyes away from mine. He’s still got that shit-eating grin on his face.
“You think you’ve got the ‘magic touch’? Enough intelligence, drive, and passion to turn somebody into a star?”
“I know it.”
Davis sips his wine slowly, letting my words hang in the air. I grab my beer and glare at him as I swig from it.
“Care to stake something on it? Or are you happy to just scream in my face about it?” he says snidely as he smooths his disgustingly shiny shirt.
“Gladly,” I say defiantly. I suppress the nauseating feeling that I’m about to do something stupid – I’m too far gone for that. Right now all I can think about is wiping Davis’ slug-grin away from his face without copping a violent misconduct charge.
“A bet then, if you wanna call it that. Winner gets ten grand…”
“Pfft…” I say, turning to my beer.
“And the pick of the other person’s acts.”
My arm freezes halfway toward bringing my beer to my mouth. I turn slowly to face him.
“What?”
“If you win the bet,” Davis says, relishing the words so much he’s making smacking noises as he speaks, “you get to take one of my acts for yourself. I’ll cancel all my contracts and ties with them, and hand them over to you completely. If you win, of course.”
I clutch my beer tight, hoping Davis doesn’t see my hands shaking. A slow tremor building in the pit of my chest. I know this is bad. I know this is too good to be true. But Davis has just kicked the door down on a whole lot of emotions I thought I’d packed away for good. I’ve spent the past few years wanting to turn the clock back – and he’s just offered me the next best thing.
Lexi.
I’d get Lexi back.