10. Chapter Ten #3
“Okay, then let’s run this without the head gear,” Craig said to the engineers. “Keep a line open in the room so Bronx can hear me, and shut off his headphones. Ready to roll tape in five.”
Bronx watched everyone inside the booth and the recording room finalize all their tasks and stand in position. A tech came into the room holding his guitar, set it onto the table beside me and quickly hurried out.
“Have everything you need?” Craig asked Bronx.
“I’m ready when you are,” Bronx said and Craig did a silent five count using his fingers to kick off the interview.
Craig offered a final nod to Bronx and then began to rattle off his introduction to their radio audience.
“Hello everyone. Thank you for joining us for another rockstar sit down. Today, I’ll be chatting with the elusive and infamous bass player from Black Ice.
This guy is so cool he only needs one name: Bronx, and I hear he’s ready to spill a few band secrets,” Craig teased his listeners and Bronx shook his head.
“No secrets revealed today, Craig,” Bronx said as he leaned closer to the microphone placed in front of him. “That would go against band protocols and also our brotherhood. Not to mention, I’d get my ass kicked by three very angry band members.”
“Have no fear, listeners. I’ll have Bronx hypnotized with my compelling banter and he’ll be singing every last personal detail about his life. Perhaps he’ll even share who he’s making sheet music with these days?”
“That’s another easy question. I share my bed with no one,” Bronx offered.
“That’s impossible,” Craig said. “You’re a rockstar and from what I’ve been told, rockstars never have an empty bed.”
“I can honestly tell you, I’ve never once shared my personal bed with anyone,” Bronx admitted. “A hotel room is a different story but never my bedroom at home. That’s off limits.”
“Ohhh, so you’re a hookup kind of guy,” Craig said and then chuckled.
“That’s correct. It’s less messy that way and considering what I do for a living, I don’t have time for much more,” Bronx said.
“You’re the only Black Ice member who remains unattached,” Craig commented. “Any pressure from the guys to change that status?”
“I do just fine being single,” Bronx grinned. “And I feel no need to change that, either.”
“Seriously, no one special in your life?” Craig asked.
Bronx smiled and shook his head, “Nope, I’m one hundred percent available.” His eyes tracked movement behind the glass half-wall in the sound booth and stopped on Cavalari’s muscled frame. Their gazes held and lingered in a smoldering clutch of wills which was equal parts annoying and arousing.
“How about your guard?” Craig asked as his eyes bounced between Bronx and Cavalari in their silent stand-off. “Do the two of you get along?”
“We tolerate each other,” Bronx said and forced himself to look at Craig. “Why are you asking about my guard?”
“Well, you both arrived today for the interview with bed-head like you’d spent the last few hours rolling around in the back of your tour bus.”
“Maybe we were wrestling on the floor? Ever think it could be something like that?” Bronx asked and then grinned for the camera.
“Wrestling?” Craig prodded. “Is that code for ‘slap and tickle’? Why would you do that—with your guard? He’s twice your size and he’s specially trained in self-defense. Can I ask what prompted that particular battle?”
“We had a disagreement,” Bronx said.
“And it led to fighting?”
“Wrestling, not fighting, and it was just to annoy each other,” Bronx explained. “We do that a lot because we have history from a century ago”
“I’m intrigued,” Craig teased his listening audience. “What kind of history do you share?”
“Hardly interesting but we do have history,” Bronx replied.
Bronx shifted uneasily in his chair and cleared his throat.
He wasn’t sure how he should answer questions like this or how much he should share with the public.
Then again, he was damn proud of his sobriety and maybe if his story or the ugly history he shared with Cavalari helped just one person get clean, then him talking about his past would be worth it.
He squared his shoulders and began to speak.
“Actually, it’s sort of a funny story about how I met my guard,” Bronx began.
His eyes caught on Cavalari again and he watched the man begin to vehemently shake his head to try and stop the train wreck from happening but Bronx chose to ignore him—of course.
“My guard used to be one of New York City’s finest. You know, the men in blue who work tirelessly every day to keep the city streets safe from people like me.
He ended up arresting me more than a few times for everything from driving while drunk and high on drugs to being publicly intoxicated.
I deserved every arrest I have on my rap sheet and I paid dearly for my lapses in judgment, but the final conviction served as the kick in the ass I needed to get sober.
I was ordered into rehab and lost my license for a long time.
It was a hard lesson learned at a young age but I’ve been sober ever since. ”
“That is commendable of you to admit, Bronx,” Craig said. “It sounds like your guard may have saved your life.”
Bronx nodded in agreement. “He absolutely got me on the right path and I’m here today because of his efforts to save me from myself. I owe him a lot.”
“And yet, you two still toss each other around on the floor for fun,” Craig pointed out.
“He may have saved my life but that doesn’t mean I like the guy,” Bronx said. “He’s a constant pain in my ass.”
Bronx’s voice grew soft around the edges with the last phrase he spoke which made it obvious he wasn’t all that irritated by his guard at all.
If Bronx heard the change in his tone he had to assume everyone else heard the shift, too.
It was okay. He wasn’t revealing anything by what he said and really what was there to hide?
Craig continued the chat with Bronx for quite a while.
Craig was a sharp interviewer and did his best to trip up Bronx to get him to say something he didn’t want to.
And that left Bronx needing to do an even better job of avoiding the landmines Craig was planting all around him.
The interview wasn’t easy but Bronx was relieved he’d survived the interrogation with his sanity intact and the secrets of the band locked up tight.
Each of them should be thankful for that small miracle.
Craig ended the interview by asking Bronx to play something on his acoustic guitar and Bronx was more than happy to oblige.
Bronx reached for his guitar and settled the instrument across his lap.
He selected a bluesy, Black Ice classic that they usually played at some point during their stage set that he felt would translate perfectly in an unplugged, acoustic format.
~ Passage of Time ~
Time passes quickly and there’s far too many faces to remember.
I need a safe harbor and nameless warm bodies to occupy my nights.
Another city and another goodbye. Promises made we both know will die,
before the road dust floats away from the tail of my bus.
Loneliness and sorrow are my constant companions. No bliss to be found.
There’s just one set of eyes that haunt me still and I look for them in every town.
I’m just passing through. Living life without a plan.
It sifts through my fingers like white beach sand.
Bronx finished singing the rest of the song and made one last run of notes across the strings before he let the final note hang there in the room. Cheers erupted in the sound booth and even out in the hallway as Bronx set his guitar back on top of the table.
Craig stood from his seat and applauded like the others were and then he extended his hand to Bronx to shake. “Any words to close out our interview?” Craig asked.
“I hope to see everyone in Vegas,” Bronx said to Craig.
He gripped Craig’s hand and then waved to the engineers in the booth before he grabbed his guitar and exited the recording room.
More employees from the station were positioned down the long hallway to greet Bronx as he made his way to the front exit.
He had to hand off his guitar to an assistant in order to pose for another round of photographs and signed yet more items people held in their hands before he was finally able to get beyond them.
He felt like he was walking on air from the buzz of performing live and the solo interview without the distractions of his other three band mates.
It was something he’d never done before on that scale and it felt damn good.
Bronx rounded the corner and entered an empty section of corridor.
As he walked by a bathroom door, Cavalari came out of it and crashed into Bronx.
They danced awkwardly to get out of each other’s way until Bronx made an impulsive move that had Cavalari pushed up against the concrete wall.
He latched onto his guard’s face with both hands and leaned in quick as lightning to press his lips to Cavalari’s.
It took just a second more for Cavalari to spin them and have Bronx against the same wall with his wrists pressed to the concrete on either side of his head. “What the hell was that?” Cavalari seethed.
“I was celebrating a job well done,” Bronx answered.
“Well, don’t do it again.”
“Are you sure about that?” Bronx teased as Cavalari let him go. He lifted his head off the wall and reached to feel the lump near his ear. His eyes met Cavalari’s and then zeroed in on his mouth again.
“Stop looking at me like that,” Cavalari warned.
Bronx continued to hold Cavalari’s gaze and then leaned closer, just a fraction of an inch.
The wait was brief for Bronx’s next strike which was like that of a viper—precise and lethal.
His teeth sank into Cavalari’s plump bottom lip in the time it took someone to blink.
The speed of the attack was impressively fast and Cavalari was left without enough time to school his reaction.
It was the zing of pain that had Cavalari flinching in response.
Bronx was pretty damn pleased with himself for having caught his big bad protector completely off-guard.
What he wouldn’t give to keep Cavalari on his toes like this every day.
Bronx stood still and watched his guard’s eyes flare in surprise then close half-lidded in lust before his expression became neutral and shifted to pure annoyance.
Bronx wasn’t sure which emotion looked hotter on Cavalari since a scorching heat came with both.
The nip to the flesh was teasing without enough force to come off as a nasty bite but Bronx knew his guard would be feeling the sting for a few hours to come.
Strong, thick fingers circled Bronx’s throat and squeezed.
“You fucker,” Cavalari grit out in a fierce whisper.
Cavalari’s tongue swiped across the width of his own lip as if to check for the presence of blood left from Bronx’s nip.
“You’re the only one who enjoys these stupid games, Rory.
Now let’s get the fuck out of here before I snap your bony neck with potential witnesses lurking around that very corner.
“Better check yourself, Calamari ,” Bronx said with a taunting edge to his voice. “The tent in your pants defies what you protest and evidence like that will allow everyone in his building to know the truth about how much you really do enjoy the . . . games we play.”
“Fuck off,” Cavalari seethed and pushed himself away from Bronx.
“Don’t be like that,” Bronx said with a grin. “Just admit that you like being pressed against me and clear your conscience.”
“I would sooner offer a nest of angry hornets an open-mouth kiss before I willingly kissed your mouth,” Cavalari said.
“Again, I’ll have to point out the very obvious skyscraper you have stretching the front of your pants.”
“Get your fucking ass out to the bus—now.”
“Is playtime over?” Bronx asked.
“It never began, dipshit.” Cavalari growled. “Move it!”
“So much for celebrating,” Bronx grumbled. “Get my guitar from the assistant— please .”
“Get it yourself.”