Page 28 of Petty's Crime

She snorts. Both of us eye the handle which has moved back into position.

“Fuckin’ bitches,” we hear and both crack up.

Once she’s got herself under control, Kylie stares toward the door, standing with her hands on her hips. She lowers her voice. “Well, now. That convo certainly got to Petty.” She raises her eyebrows.

I shrug. “Red probably forbids them from fucking clients.”

“What a waste.” She sighs. Then grins cheekily. “What about their stylists?”

There’s more than one reason why I’m glad Kylie works for me. Apart from the magic she works with my makeup and hair, she always manages to raise my spirits, and usually, whatever mood I’m in, I end up smiling.

After I’ve been transformed into a superstar, or the closest to it I’ll probably ever come, I walk out to the stage door flanked by Petty.

As always, I take a few deep breaths steadying myself and try to put everything other than the coming performance out of my mind. Then, as ready as I’ll ever be, I plaster a big smile on my face and walk out to a round of applause as soon as I’m announced.

For the next couple of hours I’m transported away to the world where nothing exists except the band behind me playing their music and the words coming out of my mouth. I move automatically to the beat, and bask in the adulation of the crowd.

It’s a good night. Two encores are requested and supplied.

When the curtain comes down, I’m drained, having given my all on the stage. But when Bart indicates there are fans waiting for my autograph, I go over to them, plaster the smile back onto my face, and stay as long as it takes.

I’m surprised when I’m finally escorted back to the dressing room that Cobra is there waiting for me, leaning nonchalantly against the wall with his hands in his pockets.

“What are you doing here?”

He exchanges a look with Petty over my head before looking back down to me. “Just want to make sure no one follows you to the hotel.” Then his eyes raise again. “Sarge has checked it all out and given the all clear.”

“No one followed us,” Petty says sharply, as if he’s been accused.

Cobra shrugs, while I just feel relieved they’re taking my safety seriously. At least I won’t have to worry about finding a snake in my hotel bed.

Leaving them waiting in the corridor, I enter my dressing room. Kylie helps get me ready for my performance, but when I’ve finished, I’m on my own. There I quickly down two full glasses of water and remove my heavy stage makeup. It takes little time to reverse the process from star to girl next door, and having changed back into a t-shirt and jeans, and brushed out my hair, I grab my purse and am ready to go.

Cobra and Petty flank me, but also talk over my head.

“I need this, Brother,” Petty states.

I hear Cobra’s sigh. “You fuckin’ take care.”

“As I would my own, Bro.”

When we reach the parking lot, all becomes clear. Cobra escorts me to the car, after he’s handed off the keys to what is presumably his bike.

“You’re letting Petty ride yours?” The question comes to the fore as Cobra doesn’t look happy as he watches Petty get astride the big machine.

“He needs it. He’s going stir-crazy in cages,” he says, as if that’s explanation enough.

At first, I watch Petty in the side mirror as he follows the SUV, then at one point, he comes in front to escort us. Unfortunately, that gives me a grandstand view of the way he competently handles his brother’s bike. Under the streetlights, I can see his body flexing as he leans to take a corner, righting the machine with expertise as he completes the turn. He does it so effortlessly in a fluid motion, he appears to be one with the huge motorcycle he rides. It makes me wonder if he shows that much skill in everything that he does.My, that man is fine.Then I remember the two important things I seem to have forgotten. One, he’s everything I dislike in a man, and two, he’s married.

It makes me blurt out a question that I know I shouldn’t ask.

“Have you met Petty’s wife?”

Cobra snorts, and looks my way. “No, she visited the clubhouse while I was with you.” I shrug as if it’s of no interest, as it shouldn’t matter a damn to me. But as I turn to look out of the side window to take my eyes off the man riding in front, he adds, “But Hammer reckons she’s a hot piece of ass.”

As did Roller, so it shouldn’t surprise me. A woman who can catch the attention of someone like Petty would have to be. And, I suspect, it doesn’t take the machinations of her stylist to get her looking that way. For her, it probably comes naturally.

Me? I’m just ordinary when I’m not wearing makeup with my hair fancied up.

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