Rocked Up

“Sure,” I tell him, plastering a fake smile on face. “Let me get washed up though.”

“I’ll have the driver take us to the hotel,” he says.

This way there is no escape.

I nod. “Let me just get my purse from the dressing room.”

I turn and quickly hurry over to the dressing rooms down the hall, needing some last-minute courage from Brad.

But when I burst inside, it’s empty save for Arnie.

“Where is everyone?” I ask him.

“They’ve gone to a bar, love,” he says.

“Without me?”

He smirks. “Seems like they knew you have some business with your father.”

I hate the fact that I’m going to be missing out on a fun night. I wonder if I can join them afterward. It would all depend on my father and how strictly he’s watching me.

I just nod and turn around as Arnie calls out after me. “Don’t ruin anything for Brad, Lael. He’s doing his best.”

I give him a dirty look. Like I would do anything to jeopardize that.

It’s not long before I’ve shimmied out of my sweaty leather pants and taken a nice hot shower and I’m joining my father at the hotel bar.

It’s quiet here, which is probably why my father picked it. Everyone else is out on Bourbon Street or other places in the Quarter. He has a booth in the corner and I slide on in, expecting a lecture.

Surprisingly, my father doesn’t lecture me much. Not at first. I sip on a hurricane while he has a glass of cognac and he talks about the music industry.

By the time I’m done my drink and have ordered another, then he starts.

He folds his hands in front of him and gives me a stern and loaded look.

“Lael,” he says. “You know I do a lot for you, don’t you? Do a lot to keep you happy. And I know we’ve lost touch a bit when you left to go backpacking. But I do my best to do right by you. I hope you know that.”

I nod, wishing the server would hurry. I need that second drink, stat.

“But I’m hearing some rumors and I’m concerned,” he adds.

“What about?” I ask carefully, trying to look innocent.

“For one, I know you’re not traveling in the other bus.”

“That was better for band morale. I play better when I bond with the guys.”

“And that brings me to the other shit. Bonding. I don’t want that. You hear? You don’t need that. Especially with Brad Snyder.”

“Brad and I are just friends. Co-workers, even,” I tell him, smiling gratefully at the waiter who drops off my hurricane.

“That’s not what I’m hearing.”

I eye him suspiciously. “What are you hearing?”

“Lael, please. I have eyes and ears everywhere. I understand that he was your crush, I get it. A musical idol, even, I don’t know. I get that all. But you can’t…involve yourself with that boy.”

“Brad is twenty-seven,” I remind him. “He’s hardly a boy and he’s someone capable of making his own choices.”

“Brad started from nothing. He would be nothing without me. I’m like a father to him, do you know how much responsibility lies in our relationship? I overlook and oversee everything he does. I made him, Lael, I did that. I made him what he is. And sometimes he feels ungrateful. Someone who was truly grateful wouldn’t be breaking my wishes like this. You don’t bite the hand that feeds you.”

I don’t say anything to that. No matter what I say, my father is going throw something back at me. Everyone always owes something to Ronald Ramsey, including me. It’s never the other way around.

“Look, princess, the thing is I’m looking out for you.” His tone is sweeter now as if he’s trying a new approach but even his sweet tone is off-putting. “I just want the best for you. That’s why I do everything for you. I only have your best interests in mind. You know, the Ramsey name is a legacy. Something to hold on to, to be proud of. It’s a brand you represent.”

I suck back my drink, hoping it goes straight to my head. Oh, I get it. It’s not about what’s best for me, it’s about what’s best for him and the Ramsey name.

“You know that the media is already talking about that you got the role because of who I am…”

Actually, every interview I’ve done has only reflected on me favorably but I don’t bother bringing that up.

“And I don’t want them to think that,” he continues, swirling his cognac around his glass. “What’s worse if you hook up with Brad. That’s not good. Not good at all. The media will then turn it around and say you’re in the band because of him. You don’t want that, you don’t, Lael. You want to say you’re here because you’re talented.”

I meet his eyes. “Do you think I’m talented?”

“Of course I do.”

“I’ve never heard you say it.”

“Look, do you think I would let you have a chance at this if you were just going to make a fool of myself?”

What about making a fool of myself? I think.

“You’ve got talent. You’ve got the chops. I see it. Everyone does. Now do the right thing for everyone and preserve it. Don’t lower yourself to Brad’s standards, don’t become part of the rumor mill. Keep your head up.”

“Or else?” I say.

He glowers at me. “Or else there will be problems.”

Problems like making Brad disappear? I know it was probably just an idle threat but still.

“You know he was last with Lindsay Lyons. That relationship, as fake as it was, helped her career. He’s going to be with someone else next, someone else from Ramsey Records. You don’t want to mess that up, believe me. You don’t.”

I swallow hard.

“I got to go, Lael,” he says suddenly, getting up. He leans across the table, looking me dead in the eye. “Remember what we talked about. We don’t want any problems. You don’t want any problems. Brad doesn’t want any problems.” Then he straightens up. “I’ll be off in the morning, going to New York. I’ll see if I can drop in again soon. You’re doing good, kid.”

Then he leaves, as abruptly as he showed up.

I sigh and try and get the attention of the waiter to get another drink. When I don’t see him, I decide to mosey up to the bar and get it there. Quicker service anyway and no one likes to sit at a booth alone.

But when I grab a seat on the stool, I notice I’m sitting right next to Jean Marc. The French musician I love and whom Brad seems to hate for some reason.

“Hey,” I say to him.

He turns and looks me up and down. “You are Lael Ramsey,” he says in his accent.

“You know who I am,” I say brightly.

“I do. How can I not? Look at your hair, it’s so bright. And you play so well.”

It’s funny, back in the day I would be overjoyed to have Jean Marc sitting next to me but now that we’ve played the show and I’m exhausted, plus the fact that I slept with Brad, I don’t feel that same pull.

Still, he seems like a nice guy, if not a bit pretentious. I mean, who wears a silk neck scarf and a fedora?

“Thank you for the compliment,” I tell him. “I heard you put on a great show tonight.”

“You didn’t see it?”

I smile to myself. Brad would be so happy that Jean Marc knows we didn’t catch his show.

“No, we got to the venue late,” I tell him.