Jersey Six - Jewel E Ann Page 0,77
glancing at his watch. “I never formulated a plan B. I knew it would hold me back, a safety net. Like the ladder to the high diving board. If you climbed to the top and someone took the ladder away, you’d have to jump. I didn’t want a ladder, a safety net, or a plan B. I wanted to play my music. So if I weren’t in a band, I’d be somewhere begging for stage time, sending tracks to record labels and producers, playing my music for absolutely anyone who would listen to it.”
He glanced at his watch again.
“You have to go?”
He nodded. “I do. Are you going to bed?”
“No.” She yawned.
“You sure about that?”
“I’m going to take a shower. Then have popcorn with Chris while he reads to me, if he hasn’t given up on me and gone to bed already.”
“He reads to you?”
“Yup.”
“Why?”
“Because he likes to read, and I don’t. But after he forced me into listening to him when we were at Marley’s, I started to like the stories.”
“Then why don’t you read to yourself?”
Jersey picked at a piece of dry skin on her lip and shrugged. “I just don’t. I’m not into blowjobs and reading. You have a problem with that?”
“Jersey …” Ian rubbed his forehead as someone knocked on his door. “I have to go.”
“Okay.” She pressed the red button that said “End.”
A few seconds later a message popped up on her screen from Ian.
You have terrible video-chatting manners. It’s like a phone conversation. We end with a goodbye. So … goodbye. Goodnight. I miss you already.
She grinned.
Goodbye Coop
Jersey typed I miss you too, but then she deleted it. No need to miss him while he’s alive.
Several days later, Ian messaged Jersey, instead of doing a video chat. He strained his vocal cords and wasn’t supposed to speak between concerts if at all possible. A week later, the problem continued, but they hadn’t had to cancel any concerts yet.
Jersey emerged from the workout room, covered in sweat. Chris glanced up from the kitchen table and the laptop in front of him. He wrinkled his nose.
“What are you doing with Ian’s computer?” She fetched a bottled water from the fridge.
“Things. I was able to login as a guest user.”
“What sort of things?”
“Well, I thought of a way to make our rock star buddy feel a little pain in his life.”
Jersey set the bottle on the counter and crossed her arms over her chest, attempting to look curious instead of defensive. Ian wasn’t hers to defend. He was the target. “How?”
“You said he had some issues with his throat or vocal cords that were affecting his voice.”
“So?”
“Well, I thought it might be fun to start a few rumors.”
“About?”
“Lip-syncing.”
“Lip-syncing?”
“Yes.” Chris took a bite of his toast. “People don’t like to pay a premium for concert tickets only to have the artist stand on stage and lip-sync to something prerecorded.”
“He’s not really singing on stage?”
“No, Jers, he is. But starting a rumor that he’s not, coupled with the fact that he is having some voice issues, will cause him some grief. Anger some fans. Stir up shit in the media. It won’t burn him to the ground, but he’ll feel the heat.”
The previous night she video-chatted with Ian because she wanted to see him. He did a lot of nodding, smiling, and soft talking because he was supposed to rest his voice. He drank some sort of throat tea and sucked on lozenges. Jersey found the subdued, almost shy version of Ian quite cute.
Cute. Yeah, she found him cute like a young girl crushing on a guy. She spent her young girl years trying to avoid being sexually abused followed by years on the street, so she missed those swooning years.
“What’s wrong?” Chris asked.
She shrugged. “Nothing.”
“Nothing is what you’re saying, but I get this vibe that you’re thinking something. Please tell me you’re not feeling sorry for him. We don’t have the luxury of sympathy when it comes to a rich guy who got away with murder.”
“I know.”
“Do you? Because when I told you I knew who killed the Russells, you were ready to tear his balls off. No name. No description. All that mattered to you were the facts. He killed them. He got away with it. Then the good Lord hands him to you on a silver platter—utensils, a cloth napkin, and a bottle of wine. Now, instead of tearing his balls off, you just want to roll them around in your hands and lick them. What