10. Chapter Ten #2
Zena spun around and studied Cavalari’s face. “I can only see a couple of small cuts on him that could be from shaving more than a fight,” she said. “But why the hell would you fight your guard? They’re trained to kill.”
“For the last time, it was barely a wrestling match, not a goddamned fight, and he was the obvious loser,” Cavalari corrected Zena.
“He deserved it,” Bronx added with a shrug, “and don’t be fooled. He’s not that tough. He just pretends to be.”
“He’s so full of shit,” Cavalari chimed in. “It was nothing more than rolling around on the floor. I couldn’t risk doing serious harm to him—he’s too pretty for that. Although I sure as hell wanted to.”
“How about you go wait in the fucking hall,” Bronx snipped.
Cavalari briefly glared at Bronx who did his best to ignore the heat of the angry sneer pointed in his direction and a second later Cavalari left the room with nothing more than the subtle click of the door to acknowledge he had left.
Bronx released a sigh of relief and adjusted himself on the couch with his head tipped against the back cushion to make it easier for Zena to work on him.
“I take it you don’t get along with your guard?” Zena asked as she set her makeup tray on the coffee table in front of Bronx’s knees.
“It’s complicated but for the most part we hate each other,” Bronx replied.
“Then why not get a new guard?”
“Believe me, I’ve tried but my boss and our management team won’t let me,” Bronx explained.
“We’re being forced to work together in the hopes we’ll eventually smooth things over.
That will never happen, no matter how many years we’re stuck together.
Our animosity runs too deep and goes back many years. ”
“Wow, that’s a long time to hate someone,” Zena commented.
“You got that right,” Bronx said.
“Hmmm.”
“What?” Bronx asked.
“Never mind. It’s not my business,” Zena said.
“Just say it.”
“Well, I consider myself to be an observant person,” Zena said. “I saw the way you were both looking at each other. There was heat for sure but I didn’t get a hostile vibe from it. It felt more like a hidden passion between two people with intense chemistry.”
“Bullshit.”
“See, I should have kept my mouth shut,” Zena defended herself.
“No, I asked you to speak your mind,” Bronx said. “I just don’t believe there is any truth to what you said.”
They were quiet for a few moments while Zena placed cleansing pads, tissues, and a few Q-Tips near her tray to use if necessary. Then she lined up a few tubes of concealer on top of the coffee table and tucked a cotton cloth in the neck opening of Bronx’s shirt to keep it free of makeup smears.
“I’m going to do my best to even out your skin tone and I’ll fluff your hair to better conceal that lump,” Zena explained.
She reached for a tube of a pale beige toner and removed the cap.
“I’ll start with light colors and gradually add more until your skin has that healthy glow most people want.
You shouldn’t need to do much to get you camera ready. ”
“I’m not expecting a magical transformation,” Bronx said, “and for the record, it’s not me looking to conceal anything. I don’t care one way or the other how I look and it wouldn’t be the first time I appeared in public looking a little rough around the edges.”
“Sounds like you need new friends—or at least better friends,” Zena pointed out.
“You’re not wrong about that,” Bronx laughed.
Zena went to work and Bronx remained quiet with his head resting against the couch and his eyes closed.
He thought about what she’d said. He didn’t feel passion in the least for Cavalari.
Lust maybe, but that was completely different and it only complicated things.
It would almost be in the realm of expected of them to pull off a desperate, one-and-done session between the sheets.
As for the chemistry she claimed was between them?
The only chemistry he associated with Cavalari was the kind you’d use to mix up concoctions in a science lab to cause someone bodily harm.
Thinking about his situation agitated him and perhaps he was over dramatizing his contempt for Cavalari a little bit.
He could admit that Cavalari wasn’t Frankenstein by any stretch, and if under duress he would confess that Cavalari was beyond hot, with muscles layered on top of more muscles and piercing eyes that probed you in the best ways.
And, if Bronx were giving full disclosure, he’d have to admit Cavalari’s gaze could steal his breath if he stared too long at him.
At least Cavalari was no longer wearing that sexy as fuck police uniform.
There’s no way he could keep himself from gawking when he was wearing that get-up.
How could the guy possibly wear uniform pants that clung to his ass that tightly and still be able to chase suspects?
It was downright criminal he wore those fucking pants at all.
And the gun belt hanging off his hips the way it did only served to accentuate his magnificent bulge.
Yes, Bronx had checked him out—every damn chance he had during the many arrests Cavalari put him through.
It was the only bonus of having those goddamned metal bracelets repeatedly wrapped around his wrists when Cavalari was his arresting officer.
Good times? Not so much but he was happy he survived when so many others hadn’t.
He knew Cavalari was just doing his job.
He also understood from attending a million and one AA meetings over the years that he deserved all those arrests.
He had no fucking right to be risking lives—including his own—while driving around intoxicated.
He’d been so fucking stupid back then, acting like he didn’t give a shit about his life or others.
He knew better now and the sober path he was on took into account just how much he did value every day he was still breathing.
Life was a gift and he planned on celebrating that fact until he drew his last breath—hopefully as an old man.
Bronx was still thinking about his conversation with Zena long after she’d left him sitting in the green room and even after he’d been positioned in a swivel chair at the table inside the sound room.
A sound engineer hooked him up with headphones and adjusted a microphone in front of him on the table.
A stationary camera positioned in the corner of the room was attached to a tripod and aimed at Bronx and the radio celebrity, Craig Parson.
“How you doing today, Bronx?” Craig asked as he was absently flipping through pages of notes before him on the table while giving directions to the two engineers in the booth. It was all done with the finesse of a seasoned professional, like he were directing a jetliner to its arrival gate.
“I’m doing good,” Bronx said.
“Are you nervous?” Craig questioned.
“Not in the least. Why do you ask?”
“You seem a bit off today, that’s all,” Craig mentioned.
“I’ve been stuck on a bus traveling to get here for what feels like fifty years,” Bronx explained.
“Understandable,” Craig said. “I’ve got a long list of topics I can and can’t discuss with you today.
My usual method of interviewing is to simply have a conversation with you.
I find that works best and sounds the most natural.
Is there anything in particular you’d like me to ask or a subject you’d rather I steered clear of? ”
“Nah, my life is pretty much an open book,” Bronx answered. “At this point there is nothing left that would surprise your listeners.”
“And your sexuality?” Craig asked.
“What about it?”
“You’re out?”
Bronx sighed and tried to collect his thoughts. “I don’t typically discuss my sexuality in public but I don’t hide the fact that I mainly sleep with men, either. If you feel the need to ask me about it, then fine. It’s old news but I’ll answer whatever you ask.”
“Okay, good enough,” Craig said as he made a notation on one of the note pages.
“How about we check for sound quality in your headset and then we’ll start rolling with the interview,” Craig said.
He turned a few knobs on the console in front of him and then looked up at Bronx.
“How’s that? Is everything clear for you? ”
Bronx stared blankly at Craig. “I can’t hear you talking.”
“How about now?”
A shrill noise suddenly pulsed in the headphones and Bronx quickly pulled the gear right off his head.
“Something wrong?” Craig asked.
“I was getting feedback,” Bronx explained as he rubbed at both his ears.
A man from the engineer room came into the recording booth carrying another headset.
First he tested the equipment Bronx had been using and it seemed fine.
He signaled his co-worker on the other side of the glass to adjust things on the massive mixing board they had inside the booth and then gave him the thumbs up.
He switched out the set Bronx already had, double checked each cable connection, and then listened to the sound quality before he passed the fresh gear to Bronx to slide back over his ears.
“See if that sounds better,” the guy said and exited the room.
Bronx set the headphones back into place on his head and Craig started talking to him. Once again, he couldn’t hear Craig’s voice, just the piercing high-pitched ring inside his head.
“Nothing but feedback,” Bronx commented.
The sound guy returned to the studio and held out his hand for Bronx’s headset and then covered his ear with one cup of the set.
Bronx watched the guy, fully believing it was equipment failure but then he saw him shake his head at the booth.
Craig took the set and listened and then met Bronx’s curious gaze.
“The set is working fine,” Craig said. “Are you sure you’re hearing feedback?”
“I know what feedback sounds like, man, and that’s exactly what I was hearing. It hurt my ears,” Bronx said. “I can hear you fine without the set on my head.”