Find Me (Truthful Lies Trilogy - Book Two) (13 page)

“
Anyway, he
’s got
one
more chance with me. And Gavin, well, he got these chains
and BDSM shit in the back room of his club, you know. Well, you
gotta understand that stuff’s all consensual. Gavin knows about
punk-asses. It comes with the territory: Almost every week, some
punk gets frisky with a woman in that part of the club. Or vice
versa. Last week, some dude had his cock whipped by an over-eager
dominatrix. Anyway, Gavin’s seen how ugly this shit can get:
Violence between the sexes. He wasn’t as forgiving as me. He told
Xavier he wasn’t gonna accept no woman-hitter into his club. Never
mind a residency, Xavier’s lucky if he ever gets into da fuckin
club for a drink!”

“I see.”

“
Blaze, I told you you got talent. You do.
Your way is guaranteed. That I can promise you. If you don’t screw
it up with powder or any of the other shit all these other punks
get into, no one can get in your way. You hear me? You must never
forget that.”

“Wow. Uhm, thanks, Mr. Dhawan.”

“Randy, Blaze. Randy.”

“
Th—thank you.”

“
No need to thank me. Look, I know you and
Xavier go back. I mean, I know a
little
about it. But just keep in mind that people change when
they’re with their
mujer
. You
understand?”

“Clearly.”

“
Good. Now you take it easy. Nothing’s
changed. I’m gonna text you some login details for the Members Only
section of
Sacrament
’s
website. Gavin’s making a big deal about your show. And the buzz
you created last week Saturday at
House Market
has moved up into the levels where it
matters—behind the curtains, where it counts.”

“But I’ve been checking out the forums.
Nothing much is being said about my set anymore.”

He laughs. “Like Gavin told you on
Tuesday, Blaze, there are quite some influential people that visit
the underground section of his club. It doesn’t matter what’s being
said publicly. It’s more important what’s being said privately. The
folks who come to
Sacrament
’s
underground room are purists. They talk about House as if it were
fine wine. Connoisseurs. Log in to the site. You’ll see for
yourself. But, look, don’t tell nobody I gave you these details.
Gavin has his ideas about ‘insiders’ and all dat crap. I don’t even
think any other DJs have these details themselves. So, we keep it
between me and you, OK?”

“
Yeah, of course. Uhm, th—thanks.”
I also want to ask
him why he’s doing this for me, but I don’t.

“
No need to thank. Look, Blaze, about
Xavier again, uhm, you know he pack
s— Never mind.”

“
I’m OK, Randy. I have...some cool people
looking out for me.” I look at Skate who’s on the couch
eating
Doritos
dipped
in guacamole, and watching some football-thingy show on Deck’s
ginormous LG Plasma Screen.

“
Good. Good.”

“
Actually, uhm, Deck
—Declan Cox? He’s watching out for me
basically.”

It’s as if the heavens themselves part.
“No shit! Now there’s a good team—he and that Trevor—if I ever seen
one. Good for you, Blaze. Good for you. Send him my regards. You
know, he’s very highly respected amongst us. He never let ‘the
stuff’ take over his life. Always kept it under control. It says a
lot for someone who can do that. Not like the rest of us sorry
fucks.”

This statement saddens me deeply, and you
already know why. But in addition to thinking of Savva, I think now
of how many people I know
right this minute
who are important to me and who either drop or
smoke weed. Savva and I also had it “under control.”

And what about Skate?

W
hat do you do? What do you do when these people are your
friends? Give them all tough love? How far do you let it go? I know
that, to people reading about this, who’ve never experienced it,
the answer might be simple.

And t
o the Moral High Ground Hypocrites, even
simpler.

But, alas, life is neither simple nor
morally black and white.

“
I hear you, M
r. Dhaw—Randy.”

“
OK, Blaze. Looking forward to your set.
Nothing can stop you now, girl. You need to keep that in mind, No
matter what happens, that is the only truth about your music. Dis I
can promise you. OK, I’m gonna go before I get even more
sentimental. Come by the store some time and say hi. See ya,
Blaze.”

“Later, Randy.”

The store—DJ equipment and speakers
galore. Only the best. I park that as another option if things
crash. Maybe Randy would be willing to loan me some equipment in an
emergency.
Be
Prepared
.

The whole conversation makes me feel
better. It makes me feel a glimmer of hope, a shining light at the
end of the sewer.
Even
Skate notices. “Good conversation?” he asks.

“Yeah, very good.”

“
So, when are we gonna meet with the hot
Russian blonde?”

“
Let’s go, Big Bro. I wanna get there
early. Oh, and Viktoriya seems to also be looking for some male
companionship. Just FYI.”

He grins
even wider than earlier. I swear I even think I
see him drool...

Skate
—aka Sebastian Kade Darby II—drives a red Dodge Ram. A real
boy-toy. Thing’s so big I have to lean on his hand to climb up.
When he gets inside, I ask him: “Aren’t these supposed to be like
really expensive?”

He taps the
odometer. “Not when they have over a hundred
thousand miles on them and were built in 2001. But, I confess, I
dug into a little of what mom and pops handed down to me to get
it.”

“You have access to it?”

“
Oh yeah, when I turned eighteen. My folks
are cool. They’re not unreasonable. They just don’t, well,
like
this
”—he twirls
a finger near the snake on his neck—“too much. I think I broke
their hearts when I got it done. So, where to?”

“Williamsburg, south side.”

He flips on Dr. Dre on his radio and starts
driving.

“G-Funk fan?”

“Excuse me?”

“
G-Funk—
gangsta funk
. Dr. Dre, Snoop Dogg, Warren G.”

“Is that what it’s called?”

“
Yeah, hypnotic grooves, deep bass,
background female vocals. It’s West Coast stuff. Came about in the
nineties. Good to mix with, ’cause of House’s own hypnotic grooves.
East Coast rap doesn’t mix so well with the stuff I like doing.
Jay-Z is great to listen to, but crap to mix into a house
beat.”

“
No shit. You a fan? I mean, of this.” He
points at the radio.

“Not more than any other music.”

“
You just happen to know all that
shit?”

“
Something like that.”

We arrive at
Café Supercore
and Viktoriya Golovkina is sitting outside in
large fly-shades and a massive gray and brown faux-fur coat. Thick
black leggings extend down from a tiny skirt, which is attached to
an equally revealing deep V-neck dress. Never mind that it’s about
thirty degrees out. Her lipstick, of course, is vividly red, just
like her dress. She smiles widely when she sees me in the car, but
when I look more closely, I see she’s also smiling at
Skate.

I turn to look at Skate, and the dude’s jaw
is at his leg. I slap him on the chest. “Skate, toughen up, bro.
Something tells me this chick likes a confident man.”

He closes his mouth, swallows. “Sh—shit.
She’s
hot
!”

“Yeah, and I think she knows it.”

His eyes still locked on hers
through the window, he
stretches his arm behind the back of his seat; pulls out a
sketchpad and some
Derwent
drawing
pencils.

“What’s that?”

“
In case I get bored. Which I probably
will, seeing as I’m spending the afternoon with two girls, neither
of which I’m sleeping with.” He moves his eyes away from Viktoriya,
finally, and gives me a warm smile.

“I really appreciate it.”

“And I’m really happy to do it. You’re part
of the family now, Blaze Kablowsky.”

I smack him hard on the shoulder. “You
guys! It’s
Kieliszewski
!”

“
Hey, what’s the point of a little sister
when you can’t tease her?”

Little sister
?
Yeah, it makes me feel warm and fuzzy and mawkish
inside. So I open the damn door and get out fast just in case I
shed a freaking tear or something!

Viktoriya
shakes my hand delicately, but her eyes stay on
Skate. And her smirk doesn’t disappear.

“
Blaze, is good to see you again.”
Goot to see you
ahggenn.

“You too, Viktoriya.”

“
Oh, please, you can call me Vikki.
And
dis
gentleman
is?”

“
Uhm, this is Sebast”—he suffers a brief
moment of visible shock—“excuse me. Skate. This is
Skate
.”

“
Is pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
She extends a hand out, lets her fingers dangle gracefully, waiting
for him to grab it, and I swear it almost looks like he’s about to
kiss it. “Blaze, I was only joking when I ask you to bring
boy.”

“
I’m the bodyguard.”

“
Bodyguard?”
Bawdyguarrrd
. Vikki has an uncanny Brooklyn-Russian
accent.

“
Uhm, yeah, it’
s...a little complicated,” I say.

Her smile widens. “Oh, dear, I
ssink
you and me are going to be very
good friends. Now, Mr. Skate, I am sorry to do dis to you, but
girls need private time to talk.”

“
I have to...watch Blaze.
Sorry, Vikki—”

“
Is Viktoriya.” He seems a little confused,
but I get she’s just playing a little hard to get with him.
“Come
wiss
me.” She
wraps an arm around my shoulder and gestures me inside. She turns
to a small round table on the left. On it, sits a dude the size of
half a sumo wrestler, dressed in a suit, and looking very Russian
indeed. He was at
Slambam
the
night she played, kicking speakers around and looking all
Secret-Service-Like. She says something in Russian to him. He
smiles, looks at Skate, gestures for Skate to sit.

Skate does so. Then Viktoriya says, “Dis is
Vlad. Vlad, Skate.”

Vlad puts his hand out to Skate and they
shake.

“
Vlad is
my
bodyguard. Happy?” She does that throat-clearing,
phlegm-spewing
H
sound when she
says “happy.”

Skate smiles, looks at me, her, then at
Vlad. A chuckle escapes him. “Very.”

Before we go deeper into the café
(which has lots of
abstract-style paintings inside), she speaks to Vlad again in
Russian. He laughs while looking at Skate, then nods. We turn and
go into the back.

“
What did you say to him that made him
laugh?” I ask.

“
I tell him I want the skinhead
snake-neck’s telephone number before he leave
wiss
you.”

I find out that Vikki moved to Brighton
Beach when she was
seven, which is why she still has some of her accent. I
notice it goes in and out, like most “accented” people I know.
She’s twenty five now. We talk about music—a
lot
! And before I know it, she’s pouring
Imperial
vodka from a flask inside her
coat, into my cappuccinos. I look over at Skate, and he’s buried in
his sketch pad, oblivious to the world and everyone in it. Monster
Guy in a Suit (“Vlad”) simply stares out the window, although I get
the feeling he’s got owl-eyes, and is actually looking straight at
Vikki in some way.

By now, I confess, I’m a little tipsy.

“
Great
cappuccino!” I wink and give a thumbs-up. Vikki
cracks up laughing. “So, Vikki, what’s up with Terminator there?
Why do you have a bodyguard?”

She waves a dismissive hand. “Oh, is
papah!
Bft
! He is
paranoid. Think somebody is going to kill his daughter or
something.”

“
No shit.
”

“No shit.” She stretches her neck out, looks
over the counter at the barista. When she sees he’s looking away,
she pulls out the silver flask and drops another shot in my
cup.

“
Hey!” I snap my hand over it and some of
the booze lands over it, then onto the table.

Of course, we both find this hilariously
funny.

Finally, she settles back. She’s taken her
coat off, and her skin is white as porcelain. “So, Blaze, you said
on Wednesday you want to mix my music into your sounds?”

“
Uhm, yes.” I explain what I do, that I
like working with indie artists. That I can’t offer any royalties
in return, but that it always gets artists’ names out when I play.
I tell her about
House Market
,
Sacrament
, all
that shit. Her face is stoic, and I feel a little distant from her
suddenly, like the friendship we’d just felt is indeed from the
booze, and not because she’s a really easygoing Russian chick with
a bodyguard.