CHAPTER FOUR
Gizmo
B ecause being an adult means you sometimes have to do things you don’t want to.
Hendrix’s words repeat in my head. Sure, they were meant for her husband? Boyfriend? Whoever the prick was that cheated on her, but right now, as I clomp my way up the stairs and into my brother’s practice, that’s what I keep hearing.
And fuck if they don’t feel like a rope slowly tightening around my neck.
I take a deep breath and trace the line of the pink heart on the inside of my wrist. The rebel in me fights conforming, struggling against proving my brother right.
But the band member in me knows I can’t risk everything my friends and I have worked so fucking hard for.
I pull open the door and walk through the reception area like I own the place despite the dread that drags its way through me.
My brother looks up from his desk and takes notice of me through the glass wall of his office. I have to give it to him. He doesn’t lift his eyebrows or smirk like I would if the roles were reversed. He just drops his head back down and finishes writing whatever it is he’s writing while I open the door, step inside, and prove his parting words when I left earlier to be right.
I stand there for some time with the pen scratching across the paper being the only sound in the room. He sets it down and then looks up, his blue eyes meeting mine.
“Tell me what I need to do,” I say, hands out and resignation like a knife in my chest.
“Did you sleep with her?”
“Who? Hendrix?” I ask, thoroughly confused.
“Who’s Hendrix?” No sooner are the words out of his mouth than I realize what I just said. No doubt we have the same confused expressions on both of our faces.
Where the fuck did that come from, Jase?
“She’s no one. Long story. And sleep with who?” I ask.
“Lori. The journalist. The pot stirrer.”
“No.” I shudder.
“You didn’t touch something that moves?” He snorts. “Impressive.”
There’s the snark and condescension. That didn’t take long .
“So then why is she so pissed?” he continues.
“Because I wouldn’t?” I shrug, remembering the endless hints she dropped expressing her interest. “Fuck if I know.”
“But you do know, don’t you?”
“No. I really don’t. It could be because I didn’t sleep with her. It could be because like we’ve previously discussed, she’s an opportunist. It could be that she gets promoted depending on how many articles she writes and how much interaction they get. And for some fucking reason, the ones about me are a goldmine for her. I don’t fucking know. Then again, people choose to do a lot of things in this godforsaken town and none of it really has to do with me.”
“And you think that answer is going to satisfy Judge Watkins?” he asks stoically.
Judge Watkins . So the prick has a name. Perfect.
“If I don’t know, Nathaniel, then I don’t know.”
He leans back in his chair and steeples his hands in front of him, fingertips touching and Rolex glinting in the overhead light. “You need a new image.”
“Whatever.” I roll my eyes as visions of me with zero tattoos in a stuffed suit and glasses flash through my mind. Then I look at my brother and see the same thing and cringe. My chuckle is unforgiving. “No thanks. I’ll take my chances.”
He waves a hand. “Fine. Do you want to tell the guys or are you going to leave it to me to tell them that they need to find a new drummer for the tour?”
My stomach drops. “They wouldn’t do that.” My voice is barely audible.
“No? They’re just going to let months’ if not a year’s worth of planning for the concert promoter, for the band, for the staff, for the fans, be all for nothing because you refused to walk the straight and narrow for a few months?”
“The judge will lift the restriction. The last one did for the gigs we played in South America last year.”
“Does the band even know your participation is in question or were you keeping that from them?”
Those words are like a knife to my heart. It’s never been a problem before . But when I look up to meet his eyes, I’m sure he knows the answer—they don’t.
“Tickets would need to be refunded. Venues reimbursed. Crews that have spent all this time prepping, out of jobs.” He blows out a whistle, clearly insisting on twisting the knife. “I think you need to choose wisely here.”
“Fine. Okay. I’ll go feed the homeless. I’ll try and sign on to do more charity work. I’ll make sure the pictures taken of me are there.”
“You already do that,” he says. “Once a week, you spend the day at the Mission down in the Third District. Everyone who knows you knows that. That’s not an image makeover.”
“Well, it’s better than pictures of me in the clubs, right?”
“There will be no more pictures of you in clubs because you won’t be going to any. You’re going to find yourself a homebody all of a sudden who prefers to go to charity galas and barbecue in the backyard with friends rather than live it up on the town.”
My jaw clenches but I control the urge to tell him he’s fucking crazy.
You did this to yourself, Giz.
“Fine. Sure. Why don’t you take my balls while we’re taking away my manhood?”
“And you said I was being dramatic. Jesus, Jase—”
“I’ll post about my trips to the homeless shelter. Make my time spent there more known.” The thought makes my stomach pitch—using someone else’s demise to make yourself look better—but I can’t fuck the band over.
“That’s not going to cut it. It’s not enough.”
“Then what will, Nate the Great?”
He glares at me. He has always hated that nickname. “You’re going to get married.”
It’s my turn to glare at the dropped bomb. I chuckle. “That’s fucking hilarious.”
“I don’t seem to be laughing.”
“That’s crazy talk.”
“In a town full of crazy talk and where nothing is as it seems—according to you and your opportunist photos—it’s not so crazy.”
“And you’re telling me you think everyone’s going to buy this shit—that me, Jase Gizmodo—serial dater—”
“The word ‘dater’ is a bit generous, don’t you think?”
“Serial fuckboy ?” I lift my brows as sarcasm drips from my words.
“Much better.”
“Of course it is. Anything for you to put down what I do in my life that you’d kill to be able to do in yours.” The animosity stretches between us in a stare full of clenched jaws and unspoken words.
Nathaniel’s Adam’s apple bobs. “Judge Watkins is as conservative as conservative can be. He’s big on family values, not so big on tattoos, and no doubt listens to classical music because even Christian rock is too scandalous for him.”
“No doubt he’s a hypocrite with a mistress on the side and has a secret fetish.”
“And if he did, that wouldn’t matter to your case,” he says.
“Then find a reason, a conflict of interest, over why he can’t make a ruling in this matter.”
“That’s not how it works. This is a probation request. He has no personal stake in this case that would be grounds for me to ask that.”
“Then does he have a daughter or a niece or something I could date? That would cause enough of a conflict.”
“You’re grasping at straws, Jase.”
“Then give me another option here,” I all but beg, “because you’re making it sound like straws are all I have to hold on to.”
“I gave you the option.”
“Marriage?” I can barely get the word out. “No, it’s not.”
“Well, like I told you, I have a good working relationship with Judge Watkins. I’ve had a pre-emptive conversation with him over the matter. I explained about the world tour and about how we’d prefer to resolve the matter in the coming months to guarantee that you can leave the country. I asked him what effort of good faith he needs to see from you, to believe that your past record and career doesn’t define the man you are despite it doing just that thus far.”
“His response?” I already know, but I’m asking anyway.
“He said as a good, Christian man, he knows family is the one grounding force for most troubled men.”
“Men like me.” Sarcasm drips from the syllables.
“In his jaded eyes, yes.”
“Then suggest to him that I’m coming to live with you. My family and an officer of the court . And we can be done with this. You can report back that I’m home reading Crime and Punishment every night and teaching Sunday school and then all can be right with the world.”
“Abigail agrees.”
“Why would you go and talk with her?” I groan. I love my agent to death—she does a great fucking job—but she’d do anything to make her job easier. She loves squeaky clean when I’m a little more grit and rough edges.
“Look. You’re a part of BENT,” he says, referring to the name of my band, “but you’re acting like the only one in the world you care about is yourself. I know that’s tough to hear. Even tougher given our... history , but I’m on your side.”
“This is bullshit, Nathaniel. No one gets married to prove to a judge that they’re stable. Marriage doesn’t equal stability. Look at our family, for fuck’s sake.” My voice breaks with the desperation I suddenly feel but don’t want to admit to.
“I understand your hesitancy—”
“Resistance—”
“Fine. Yes. Resistance.” He blows out a sigh. “But this is what he told me he needed to see to know you’ve made progress. That you’ve seen the error of your ways and want to better your life.”
“Then he’s really not as smart as he should be to sit on the bench if he thinks a paper marriage certificate means all my sins are washed away.”
Nathaniel clears his throat, but there’s something about the look on his face that says there’s more. And that look isn’t what I want to see right now.
“What is it?” I ask.
“You’re right. It would be naive of him to think that if you got married out of the blue that you’d suddenly become a saint.”
“What did you say?” I groan.
“I planted the seed is all.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal, but he forgets that I know him better than most. I know that action and the pinched look on his face says he’s already done something. “Watkins thinks that over the past few months you’ve been slowly falling for your soon-to-be wife. Quietly. Out of the limelight. That she’s changed you and you can’t wait to marry her and settle down.”
“You’re fucking serious, aren’t you?”
“Dead serious.”
If I didn’t hate the idea so much, I’d think it was rather genius. Play a part, act like I’ve done my whole life, and then win whatever reward there is to win—in this case, my freedom to tour overseas.
“But how does me quietly falling in love negate the fact that the gossip sites, that Lori, posted more shit about me just this week?”
“Because when all of a sudden those posts stop, when it’s you holding your wife’s hand as you go out to dinner rather than getting wasted at a club, he’ll think you’ve seen the error of your ways and have grown up.”
“This is absurd.” I move about the room, needing to abate some of my nervous energy. Needing to knock some sense into myself from agreeing to this ridiculous idea.
“Perhaps, but the answer is pretty clear-cut to him. Show you’re settling down over the next few months, and he’ll lift the travel restrictions.”
“That’s some subjective bullshit if I’ve ever heard it.”
“It is. But it’s what he asked to see.”
“He put this in writing somewhere, right? Jase marries and therefore he gets to leave the country for work . Because I gotta tell you, Nate, that doesn’t feel like the most secure legal offer if it’s just a verbal undertone said in a back chamber without anything to back it up.”
It’s Nathaniel’s turn to be offended but my question is valid. “Nothing’s guaranteed, but if precedent prevails, then yes. Judge Watkins and I have been through this before—a little in-chambers negotiation on how I can help my client get the desired result. He hasn’t reneged on one yet. He gave his word. I gave mine.” He clears his throat. “Don’t dishonor my word.”
I nod, but every second with this idea in my head feels like acid dripping into my gut. “Marriage. Jesus fucking Christ.”
“I know.” His voice is softer, more compassionate. “In our family that’s like a four-letter word.”
“For who?” My back’s up and the hurt that underrides everything I do is ignited. “For you? Because last I looked I’m the one who got the short end of the stick, brother .”
Nathaniel holds his hands up in front of him. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just stating that I get why you’re hesitating.”
“You don’t know shit about shit.” I roll my shoulders. How could he ? I dodge and deflect. Isn’t that par for the course when it comes to me ? “Say I agree to this... bullshit . Who exactly am I going to marry?” Even the word feels foreign on my tongue.
“Someone who has something to benefit from it like you do. A woman who needs your stardom for her own reasons and someone who seems wholesome to make you appear more grounded.”
“I already don’t like where this is going.”
“It’s called a PR stunt. It happens all the time. Non-disclosure agreements are signed. Public events are planned and staged. Everyone smiles pretty and plays the part for a set amount of time before irreconcilable differences make it too hard to continue.”
“I’m aware. I’ve seen it with my own eyes—it’s Hollywood, after all... but you don’t think the judge knows this?”
“Which is why I planted the seed I planted. Now it’s up to you to water it and make it grow.”
I level my brother with a dubious glare. “I’m not a fucking gardener. This is my damn life.”
“Then maybe you should treat it as such.” His words are a stark rebuke that I let roll off my back. “Abigail and I have compiled a list of suitable women we think would be willing to step into the role. Women we think Watkins would find suitable as well.”
I take a seat, prop my elbows on my knees, and hang my head. This is really fucking happening, isn’t it?
“We’d make the breach of confidentiality so damning that they wouldn’t risk telling anyone that they weren’t madly in love with you after a secretive, whirlwind romance.”
“Great. I’m so fucked up that you have to threaten a woman to marry me. And in the same breath, how is it a whirlwind if we’ve been together for months?” I look up and meet his eyes.
“We’d iron out the details obviously, get the story and timeline straight before we went public. I’m just talking hypothetical right now.”
“Fucking perfect.” I lean my head back and chuckle. It sounds like desperation.
But my brother gives me the moment to think. To hate the idea. Then to come to terms with it. And then to realize how much I loathe the fake bullshit in this town—the one that surrounds me on the daily and that I try to avoid.
“Go home. Sleep on it. Abigail will be here tomorrow at eleven. She’s going to bring the three potential business partners with her for you to meet—”
“Christ,” I mutter and put my sunglasses back on as if that’s going to help the matter. “Business partners? That’s the last thing I’d call my fake wife.”
“She’s going to email their profiles to you later for you to check out, but she’s pretty sure she has your type down.”
“Sounds so romantic.”
“Since when are you into romance, brother?”
“Let me guess, one’s a wannabe model, another’s trying to get her big break in the music industry, and the other is... let’s finish out the trifecta... is sick of sleeping on directors’ couches—to put it politely—and might benefit from changing things up.” I stand and shake my head. “No. No. And no.”
“We’ll find a way to make it work.”
“Of course you will.” I move toward the door. “And you’re insane if you think it won’t get out. If you think for a fucking second that she’ll keep her mouth shut and the truth won’t be posted somewhere before all is said and done, you’re fooling yourself.”
“That’s why there are legal ramifications. A large payment with incentives. Benefits for her. A deal so sweet and damning that no one would ever think of breaking it. Plus she gets you for a few months.”
“I’m sure you can tell by my lack of expression how thrilled I am about this,” I say drolly.
“It’ll work. I know it will. Like I said, we’ve vetted the women—”
“Easy to say when it’s my life and not yours.” I pinch the bridge of my nose and make the one decision I can still make in this whole situation. “This is fucking fucked. I’m not meeting with those ‘candidates’ tomorrow.”
“Jase.” It’s a warning that has me stopping and looking back at my brother.
“No. If I have to play this charade, then I want there to be no mistake with the judge that whoever I’m with is real.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“I have an idea.” I throw up my middle finger as a means of goodbye and then keep walking through the lobby and out the door.
An idea... that is brash and ridiculous and definitely not well-thought-out.
Sounds on-brand for me.