Page 27 of Legendary Rock Star
On the radio, but penniless. I’d been warned L.A. was full of thieves.
The radio announcer was saying in a smooth bass voice, “So, I hope Phoenix Steel and his new girlfriend, Maggie Carrigan, have put you in the holiday mood. I’m sure they did, with that romantic rendition.”
Girlfriend? Dropping my name didn’t change anything. He was the only one who would profit from this. A small laugh came out of my throat as the limo pulled up in front of some fancy bar. I said to him, “You used me and God with thatO Holy Nightrecording.”
Hank opened the door for us and I stepped out to have my feet on the ground for this conversation.
Phoenix said, “I’ll set up a meeting with Mark whenever you’re ready. I won’t touch a dime of that money unless you’re paid fairly.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Look, my aunt and uncle died a few months ago. Once the contract is sorted out, all my initial profits for the Christmas album will go to my cousins so they aren’t penniless.”
Was this for real? Or just emotional manipulation to get me to listen? I held my breath and walked inside. The restaurant sparkled with white crystal and pink undertones. As we followed the hostess to a table, I asked, “When do I meet with Mark Powers?”
“Whenever you want,” he said, while the waitress handed us menus.
She asked if we wanted anything to drink and I ordered white wine. Maybe it would make the bitter taste in my mouth dissipate. I said, “Have him come here then, and tell me why it’s okay to stab me in the back.”
Once the girl in the white shirt had brought my drink, Phoenix folded his hands on mine and said, “He’s at the label’s office, trying to uncover the leak. He’ll call me later.”
“Convenient.”
“I’d not hurt another singer again.”
“What do you mean ‘again’? What happened?”
“Are you still going to listen impartially?”
My heart pounded a little less with the glass of wine in my hand. I’d never be alone with Phoenix again. People who hurt me aren’t worth my time. But it wouldn’t cost me anything to listen to him.
So after I took a sip, I nodded and said, “Why not?”
The waitress came back and he ordered a chicken sandwich for me and I didn’t complain. I hadn’t had bread since the battle over my wardrobe, and I probably shouldn’t eat it.
Once the waitress left, he said, “Until you and the show, I’ve only been around people who are constantly reminding me of my need to reform. Or around types just seeking attention.”
I wrapped my head around that thought. I hated it when I was continually being reminded of my mistakes. And going through rehab meant reliving the wrong thing, over and over.
“I craved the excitement of the stage because it takes away the gnawing hunger of being alone,” he said.
“I’ve been to your house,” I said. “You don’t need anyone or anything.”
“I don’t have anyone to share things with, except for a few cousins who have their own lives, thousands of miles away,” he said.
“You have friends,” I said.
“Who I never see.”
I said, “Yeah, that would make me lonely, too, but that’s not an excuse for using me.”
“I’m not.”
The waitress refilled my wine and brought his iced tea and a plate of guacamole with some chips. She glanced at Phoenix and gave him a flirty smile but when he didn’t respond, she left.
He didn’t even notice. He pressed his hand on my thigh and asked, “So what about you?”
“What about me?” My breathlessness wasn’t attractive, and I was hot in the face. “We didn’t come here to talk about my life.”
