scrolling through the messages, I dial Tom and place my phone to my ear. Eyeing Presley, I fill her in. “West has been accused of rape. It’s all over the news.”
She stares at me in shock and I nod in agreement. This is fucking ludicrous.
Tom snaps into my phone, “Where the hell have you been? This shit is hitting from all angles and you need to get down to the studio now.”
“I’m on my way.” I shove the phone in my pocket and start to make my way out to my car. “I’ve gotta go, but I’ll call you later,” I yell out to Presley right before I leave her apartment. Getting to the studio is the only thing on my mind now; there’s no fucking way West raped a woman, and I need to get to the band fast so we can work out how the fuck we’re going to deal with this.
* * *
The traffic is a bitch, and it takes me a good forty minutes to get to the studio, during which time I’ve listened to the breakfast radio announcers trash talk rockstars for sleeping with anyone and everyone. And that was right after they discussed the possibility of the rape allegation against West being true. I had to restrain myself from calling them and giving them a piece of my mind. They never stop and think about the fact the person they are talking about is a real person, and that a lot of their audience takes what they say as gospel.
By the time I finally walk into the studio, I’ve got a massive headache and I feel like the world is conspiring against me this morning after the traffic and then no car park being available, resulting in me having to park a couple of blocks away.
Van scowls at me the minute I enter. “It’s a good fucking thing no one was dying here, Jett. You took your time.”
I hold my hand up at him and return his scowl. “Don’t fucking start on me today; I don’t have the patience for your shit.” Turning my attention to West, I take in his appearance. He looks a mess, and I can’t blame him; if I’d been accused of rape, I’d look the same. “Tell me what happened.”
He stares at me for a moment, not saying a word. The exhaustion has taken over his face and I can only imagine how tired his mind is, and how hard he’s finding it to form words. Fuck, this side of the business is bullshit, and I hope to God I never run into the woman who’s put him in this position. Our band has had a clear run with scandals so far but I’ve seen other bands and other men broken by this kind of shit. When he speaks, his voice gives away the shock he must still be in. “She’s told her story to one of the magazines, said I raped her when we were in Sydney last time.”
I frown. “Have the police contacted you?”
Shaking his head, he says, “No . . . fuck, Jett, I didn’t do this. Sure, I slept with her, but she was the one begging for it, not me.” He rakes his fingers through his hair and begins pacing the room.
“I believe you, man.” I look at Tom and tell him my thoughts. “She obviously wants cash if she’s gone to a magazine - ”
West cuts me off. “I’m not fucking giving that bitch a cent!” he roars.
“That wasn’t what I was going to suggest. I’m just thinking out loud here, and what I’m thinking is the likelihood of her going to the police over this is slim, which is good for you.”
“We’re on the same page here,” Tom agrees, “so I think the first thing we need to do is either make a statement or do an interview while at the same time do some digging on this woman and find out who she is and what shit she’s into. I bet she’s covered in dirt herself.”
“I don’t think West is up to an interview just yet so we’ll put out a statement and go from there. If we need to do an interview later, we’ll do it,” I reply. Looking at West, I add, “And when I say we, I mean all of us. We’ve got your back, man.”
“This is fucking bullshit!” Van thunders, his eyes blazing. Glaring at West, he says, “If you could keep your dick in your pants