A Lush Betrayal (15 page)

She smiles. “So all this time, Portland thought you were a native son, and in reality you’re from here?”

I nod.

As if she understands what I wanted out of this trip in a way I couldn’t even explain myself, she starts to ask me questions. I talk and answer, and before I know it, I’ve spent nearly an hour walking around the streets I remember from my childhood, talking about things I haven’t thought of in years. It reminds me of a time in my life when I was happier, more carefree. Even though the old man didn’t come see me much when I was in Denver—and never when I was in Portland—I always felt closer to him here. As if he might show up at any time. As if, by looking at the tops of the giant office towers he helped build, I was somehow seeing him.

Life with my mom meant school, which I never enjoyed, and her job, which took most of her energy. But at my grandmother’s, it was her and me. We spent our days together, and when she got tired of me, I’d roam the neighborhood for a while, meet other kids at the school playground, swing from the porch roof, then come back home where Grandma would be waiting with a plate of cookies and a video of Star Wars. It was the best, and so was she.

Mel and I walk back to the car from the schoolyard and I tell her about the time the kid down the street and I lashed my wagon to his bike. I rode in the wagon and he pedaled like a bat out of hell until we hit an uneven spot in the sidewalk and I flew out, skidded five feet on my face, and landed in the gutter. She’s laughing and asking where the scars are when I realize she’s also taking photos.

“How do you do that?” I ask as I step closer to her where she’s standing on the sidewalk.

She lowers the camera. “Do what?”

“Take pictures without me realizing it?”

She looks thoughtful for a moment, her juicy lips pursed in a way that makes me want to kiss her hard and long.

“I don’t know. I guess when you’ve taken enough pictures, it’s second nature, so you can talk and shoot at the same time.”

I run my finger up her arm, watching in fascination as little goose bumps break out along her skin.

“You’re amazing,” I say, and I lean in and kiss her softly on the cheek before she can stop me.

She blushes, and it’s so fucking cute I nearly leap around like Tom Cruise on the Oprah Winfrey show. I want to tell the world that Mel DiLorenzo is the most spectacular woman I’ve ever known.

“Joss,” she says with a warning tone in her voice.

I smile at her, grab her hand, and start walking back to the car.

“Yes, Mel?”

She gives me a sideways glance. “Behave yourself.”

“With you? Never.” I laugh and so does she. I keep ahold of her hand as we walk in the waning sun, along the sidewalk leading to my grandmother’s house, in the city my dad helped build. It might be the closest to Heaven I’ve ever been, and I wonder, not for the first time, where being a rock star fits with all of this.

W
HEN WE
get back to the hotel, I’m immediately accosted by messages and crew needing me. Mel heads off to her room, Jeff hot on her heels. She glares at me when he starts to follow her, but I pretend I don’t notice.

The concierge shows me the stack of about one hundred and fifty messages that have been left by fans trying to get into my room. I take the whole damn batch and toss them in the trash. I appreciate the hell out of my fans, but as I’ve said, I don’t enjoy waking up with strangers touching me.

Next up is the crew chief asking me if I’ll come over to the auditorium to check out the setup. There are some unusual aspects to the venue and he’s concerned our standard stage format won’t cut it. I tell him I’ll meet him there in an hour and go to hunt down Mike.

When I knock on Mike’s door, I can hear music blasting from inside. I can’t tell if
he’s
playing or his iPod is on though. I know knocking will be useless, so I ask his security guy to open it up.

“He’s, uh, entertaining someone right now,” the guy warns me.

“Yeah, seen it before. I’m already scarred,” I reply as I walk in the door he’s holding open for me.

I start yelling as soon as I hit the entryway to his suite. “Mike! Dude, we got to talk about the show tomorrow!”

The music is coming from the bedroom, and Mike’s not playing. It’s a Stevie Ray Vaughn solo that goes on for about five minutes. I step over the various articles of clothing strewn across the living room and go to the bedroom door, where I start pounding.

“Mike! Finish it up. We gotta go to work!”

I hear a girl’s voice shriek. A moment later, the music is turned down.

“Mike? Dude, we’ve got work shit to discuss, get out here.”

I hear his deeper voice, and then the girl squeals some more. Finally, the door swings open and there stands Mike, leather jockstrap and nothing else on, a pair of handcuffs dangling from one hand.

“Jesus, man. Get something the fuck on before you greet me, will you?”

He smirks and leans against the doorframe. Over his shoulder, I spot a naked woman with enormous false tits and bleached hair. She gives me a slippery smile and bats her fake eyelashes. I’m sure she’d do me too if I asked.

“You’re the one barging into my room, dude. You get what you get,” he replies.

I sigh and try really hard to look anywhere but at him.

“They’ve got problems at the venue. They need us to come down and look at the stage setup.”

Mike snorts. “Is that right? And why do I need to come along?”

He’s obviously been drinking, he’s in asshole mode. I press the bridge of my nose between my fingers, feeling a headache coming on.

“Well, you are the lead guitarist, and you move around on stage as much as I do. I figured you’d care about how it was set up. Surely,
shawty
in there can wait or come back or something.”

“And what if I say, ‘No’?”

I’m losing patience with him. “Then I guess you can’t bitch if the stage isn’t what you want tomorrow. Look, come or don’t, but quit standing around like an asshole giving me crap for no reason.”

He chuckles. “You got it, King Joss.” He pushes away from the doorframe and grabs the edge of the door itself. “I’ll be down in fifteen minutes.” He pauses. “I’ve got something to finish up first.” Then he slams the door in my face.

All I can think is,
What the hell did I ever do to make him hate me so damn much?

Mel

I
T’S THIRTY
minutes before the performance, and the Pepsi Center Auditorium in downtown Denver is buzzing like a giant hive full of bees on crack. Joss has been hard at work all day on last-minute changes to the stage setup so I haven’t spoken to him. I’m not sure if I’m relieved or sad about that. However, he’s made sure I’ll think of him. My morning started with breakfast delivered to my hotel room, “courtesy of Mr. Jamison,” and since then I’ve received a dozen red roses with a note informing me that my usual seat in the wings of the stage will be waiting for me at showtime. The misgivings I have about getting involved with him haven’t dissipated, but I can tell he’s going to be very hard to resist.

As I wait for the last couple of warnings to ring before the show starts, I walk to the hallway leading to the dressing rooms and lean against the wall, scrolling through some shots on my camera. I’m deleting useless garbage to free up space on the memory card for the show when suddenly the door to the rest of the auditorium flies open.

I hear Jeff saying, “Look sir, without word from Mr. Jamison we can’t allow you back here no matter who you are.”

I walk to the doors as one of the crew comes ambling through. “What’s going on?” I ask, as I lean around him to look outside.

The crew guy huffs out a laugh. “Just some batty old dude claiming to be Joss’s dad.” He rolls his eyes and keeps on going. I feel my heart skip a beat as I peer out the door and nearly lose my breath when I see Jeff facing a man in his early fifties with sandy blond hair and green eyes I would recognize anywhere. His skin is weathered and tan, but his body is still in great shape, and the line of his long, lean muscles is beyond familiar. I think I would know who he is if I simply saw him walking along a street somewhere.

Without thinking, I bolt through the doorway, putting my hand on Jeff’s shoulder.

“Hey, why don’t you let me deal with this?”

He looks at me skeptically and leans down to whisper in my ear. I keep my eyes on Joss’s dad, who’s watching us carefully. “It’s some nutty guy. We get them all the time. You don’t need to worry about it.”

I give Jeff my best
I’m the boss
look that I stole from Tammy and say, “You can stand nearby, but I know what this is about, so can I talk to him for a minute? Please?”

Jeff sighs and steps several feet away, where he gets on his walkie-talkie but keeps an eagle eye on us.

As I turn to face the man who helped create Joss Jamison, I wonder for a minute at my own audacity. Who the hell am I to get involved in this? Maybe I should be calling for Tammy or Walsh? I mean, I’ve only known Joss for a few weeks. But then I remember that I was the one he took to his grandmother’s house yesterday. I was the one he told about his dad. I was the one he put that ultimate trust in. So, I stride forward and put my hand out as I say, “Mr. Jamison? I’m Mel DiLorenzo, a friend of Joss’s.”

Relief washes over his face as he realizes I’m accepting who he is.

“Joseph Jamison,” he says as he shakes my hand. “Joseph Senior.”

“Joseph…
Joss
. I never knew,” I answer in surprise.

He gives me a sad smile. “I imagine it’s not something he chooses to publicize.”

“So you knew Joss was in town?” I ask as I gesture to some folding chairs sitting nearby against the wall. We move to them and sit down.

“I try to keep up with the band,” he answers simply. “I thought about seeing them when they were here two years ago, but well, it’s not easy, you know. We uh…haven’t seen each other in a lot of years.”

That’s an understatement,
I think to myself. “So what made you decide to come this time?”

He clears his throat and looks blankly at the wall across the hall. I watch his profile, and I’m disturbed by how much he looks like Joss. How can people not see it? How is he not mobbed in public by people mistaking him for his famous son?

Finally he shakes himself a little as if getting rid of an uncomfortable thought. “I heard about his mom dying,” he says quietly. Joss’s mother passed away about a year and a half ago. “I guess, well, I know he’s a grown man—a rich man—but I didn’t want him to feel like he was all alone in the world, you know? As long as he had his mom, I always figured he was better off without me. I wasn’t much of a dad. I don’t have a knack for it. But Joss, without a mom or brothers or sisters, I’ve been alone my whole life. I didn’t want that for him.”

He hangs his head, and my heart aches for his honesty and for how terribly close to the truth he is. Joss
is
alone in the world, and I can see it every time I look into his eyes. I can also see how much he hates it. Could this man change that for him? Is it my place to make that decision? I can send him on his way or I can bring him past those doors and change Joss’s life forever. Maybe for the better, but maybe not.

I take a deep breath, thinking through the ramifications of this. I know I can’t presume to make the choice for Joss, but I need to ensure that he has a choice to make. “Mr. Jamison—Joseph—the show is about to start, and I can’t let you see Joss beforehand. You can understand that, can’t you?”

He looks up, worry etched along the fine lines of his face. “I don’t want to do anything that’ll interfere with the performance. I just want him to know where I am. If he ever needs anything, you know? And also that I’m real proud of him. His mother did a good job with him. He’s ended up being a fine man.”

I smile at him, feeling warmth in my heart that I have no right to feel. “You’re right,” I answer. “He is—a really great guy.” I surprise myself with how much I believe the words I’ve just said. I pause and then take the plunge. “Will you come back to this door right after the show to see him?”

His face breaks out into one of those Joss Jamison smiles. The smile that sets women’s hearts on fire. Joseph Jamison Senior is no slouch in the looks department, and my guess is he’s plenty popular with the ladies in his own right.

“That would be great, Miss DiLorenzo. Will you meet me back here then?”

“I will,” I tell him. We shake hands, and he heads out to the seats to watch the show.

As Jeff walks me back inside the restricted area, he asks, “Was that guy legit? I didn’t even know Joss had a dad.”

“Everyone’s got a dad somewhere, Jeff,” I tell him without really answering his question.

He nods like he understands.

“He’ll be back at the end of the concert. Just have him wait until I get here, okay?”

“Sure thing, Mel. See you then.”

“And Jeff?”

“Yes?

“Let’s keep this between us for now. It’s up to Joss what he wants to do with it.”

Once again, his nod says that he gets it. Really gets it.