Diving Into Him (3 page)

“Just the fashion police.” She nodded at his ratty bathrobe. “Do you wear that to shows, or just around the house?”

“Hey, I know you,” he said. He moved aside and motioned for them to come in.

Shrugging, Jett followed him.

Koty came in behind her, whistling at they took in the living room. Stacks of empty pizza boxes lined the walls. The windows were boarded and curtained. A single lamp shone in the corner of the room. On an upside down milk crate, a cigarette burned in an ashtray. The carpet smelled like freshly spilled whiskey.

The sharp scent of the alcohol burned Jett’s nostrils. She inhaled through her mouth, wishing she had stopped at a Starbucks or something on the way over. Gritting her teeth, she dug her pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of her jacket. She nodded at the bassist. “Perry, right?”

He nodded. Sitting crosslegged next to the milk crate, he retrieved his cigarette from the ashtray. “What can I do for you, gorgeous?” His smooth baritone sent warm shivers down Jett’s spine.

She lit a cigarette and sat across from him. “I tried calling you.”

Perry nodded toward a dark hallway. “My phone must be in my bedroom.” He put the cigarette back in the ashtray. Tilting his head, he gave her a sly grin. “You came all the way here to tell me that?”

“I’m looking for a bassist,” she said, tapping ash from her cigarette.

“I got that impression during auditions.” Perry patted the threadbare pockets of his bathrobe and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. With the cigarette in the ashtray still burning, he lit another one.

Jett rolled her eyes. “Are you interested?”

He leaned forward. “Are you single?”

Koty cleared his throat. “She’s not looking.” He stood behind Jett. She glanced over her shoulder. He stood with his arms crossed. He glared at Perry.

Smirking, Jett watched the exchange. She had never seen Koty so protective before. Maybe he wasn’t as over her as he seemed. It was always so hard to tell with him.

Perry turned his gaze to Koty. “Are
you
interested?” His brown eyes glinted.

Even from two feet away, she could smell the booze on his breath. She sighed. “Do you want to join the band or not?”

Shaking his head, Perry put his second cigarette in the ashtray. The smoke from both cigarettes rose into the air, curling into one trail.

“Why not?” Jett took another drag and blew smoke out of the corner of her mouth. “You seemed pretty interested during your audition.”

Perry grinned. “Yeah, I was mostly interested in you.”

“Cut the shit,” Koty said. He took a step toward Perry.

“Do you know who I am?” the other man asked.

Jett’s eyes narrowed. “Are you threatening us?” She lurched to her feet. Jabbing the cigarette at the air in front of him, she curled her lip at Perry.

He lifted a hand. “It was an actual question.” He snubbed out the shorter cigarette and took a drag from his more recent one.

Koty put a hand on Jett’s arm. “He’s just a drunk. Let’s go.”

Jett’s shoulders slumped. She should have known the second that she walked in the door. Shaking her head, she moved toward the exit.

“Wait,” Perry called after her.

She turned. “If you’re only interested in playing games,” she said, “you’re just wasting my time.”

“Have you ever heard of King Riley?” Perry climbed to his feet. His bathrobe slipped open, revealing a T-shirt bearing the words in plain gold font. He jerked a thumb toward his chest.

Jett twisted her lips to the side. The name sounded familiar. She took another drag of her cigarette, inhaling slowly to buy herself time. Exhaling tiny O-shaped puffs, she glanced at Koty. The name didn’t seem to ring a bell for him. “Didn’t they open for Perpetual Smile once?”

Perry nodded. “A couple of years ago. So you know them?”

She laughed. “Do you know who
I
am?” She snubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray. Straightening, she crossed her arms.

Perry gazed at her, eyes bleary. “Should I?”

Taking a deep breath, Jett resisted the urge to walk out. “What does King Riley have to do with you joining South of Forever?” The name of her new band—if she could call it that—rolled off her tongue, liquid and supple. She loved listening to people speak in other languages, but there was nothing like poetry in English.

“I’ve seen your website,” Perry said. “South of Forever is an alternative rock band, with hints of blues and infectious pop hooks.”

Koty yanked open the door. Sunlight streamed into the room. “Congratulations,” he said. “You can read.” He motioned to Jett. “Let’s get out of here.”

She cast Perry an amused glance. “Thanks for wasting my time, asshole.”

“I’m Perry Armstrong, former bassist of King Riley.” He jutted his chin at her.

Blinking, she studied his face closer. “We never met the members of King Riley when we played with them,” she explained to Koty. “They were just opening for us in one city.” She ran a hand through her wavy, dark brown hair. In the last few months, it had grown quite a bit. She had wondered why it stopped growing, but had never connected it with drinking. “I watched them play, though. I always watched our openers.” She examined Perry again, replacing his dingy bathrobe and T-shirt with a fresh shirt and jeans. “You didn’t have the dreads,” she told him.

Perry shook his head. “These are a more recent development.” He patted the top of his head.

“Why didn’t you say who you were during audition?” Jett asked.

“She probably would have made you her first pick,” Koty added. He stood in the doorway, his arms crossed.

Perry frowned. “What does that mean?”

Koty’s bright blue eyes crinkled at Jett.

She turned away from him, heat warming her cheeks. She glanced around the nearly empty apartment again. The lack of furniture suddenly made sense. Without a regular income, Perry probably had to downgrade quite a bit. “Listen, Perry, we have a show in three weeks. Are you with us or what?”

He shook his head. “I’m not doing it.”

Scowling, she threw her hands up in the air. “Why not? I’m offering to make you money within the next three weeks. You should be jumping at this.”

Perry pointed to his T-shirt again. “King Riley describes themselves as a bluesy, radio-friendly band, too.”

“So fucking what?” Jett gritted her teeth. She needed a bassist. Perry had the experience and the grit of the road still clinging to him. She wouldn’t have to spend much time conditioning him for her vision.

“So,” Perry said, “if I join you, South of Forever and King Riley will be rivals forever, end of story. As far as King Riley is concerned, there’s only room for one king in Boston.”

Jett snorted. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” She glanced at Koty. He eyed Perry with all of the enthusiasm of an exterminator staring down a cockroach. She tapped her lip, considering her options. It wasn’t as if she had many. She needed a bassist, immediately. Even if Perry wasn’t being dramatic, going head to head with King Riley would keep her motivated. It would be a fun challenge. She turned back to Perry. “We’re going to be at Malden Street Studios tonight. Meet us there.” Giving him the address, she marched through the front door.

“Whoa,” Koty called after her.

She jogged down the front steps. Quickening her pace, she hurried away from Perry’s apartment building.

“Hold on.” Koty caught up with her. He shot her a perplexed look. “Why did you invite him?”

Pausing, she flipped open her notebook. “Why not?” She scanned through the list of names. She still didn’t know Boston well enough to tell who was closest to Perry’s neighborhood. Pulling her phone out of the pocket of her leather jacket, she typed the address into its GPS.

“He’s trouble.” Koty touched her arm.

She tilted her head at him. “What do you mean?”

“He was cocked.” His eyes bore into hers. “Do you really want to be around him?”

Frowning, she pocketed her phone. “He’s an experienced bassist.” She crossed her arms. “Why wouldn’t I want him around?”

Koty took a deep breath. “Didn’t you see his apartment?”

She sighed. “It was a real hole in the wall. What does that have to do with anything?”

“There were empty bottles of whiskey all over the place.” Koty ran a hand through his hair. “He’s an alcoholic, Jett.”

“How do you know that?” She narrowed her eyes. “You heard him. He got kicked out of his band.”

Koty sighed. “He’s living in a shit hole with no furniture, yet he can afford all of that booze. The place reeked of it.”

Following the prompts from the GPS, Jett headed away from Perry’s apartment. “What’s your point?”

“My point is,” he said, jogging to keep up with her, “that being around him might trigger you.”

She halted. Whirling on her heels, she nearly crashed into him. “Trigger me to do what?”

“I don’t want you to start drinking again. You’ve been doing so well.” He smiled.

She glared at him. “I’m not an idiot, Koty.”

He lifted his hands. “I didn’t say you were. I’m just trying to look out for you.”

“I don’t need you to babysit me.” She pulled her cigarettes out of her pocket. Plucking one from the pack with her teeth, she lit it.

His shoulders slumped. “I didn’t say you did.”

“How about you don’t say anything at all?” She blinked away tears. “I know what I’m doing.” She walked faster.

“That’s not what I meant.” He dropped behind. “Can you slow down?”

Ignoring him, she surged forward.

“Fine,” he called. “I’ll just see you at the studio later.”

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she walked faster. She forced herself to keep moving without looking over her shoulder. What he thought shouldn’t matter. She had been sober for months. She wasn’t going to fall off the proverbial wagon. She was stronger than that. She was a Costa. Just like her father, she knew the difference between dedication and heedlessness.

The thought of her father made her eyes sting even more. She hadn’t seen him in almost a year. Guilt gnawed at her stomach. She hadn’t so much as bothered to call him—not even when Simon 1056 dropped Perpetual Smile. She would catch up with him the second she got her life together, she decided. It had been too long.

She was striking out with all of the men in her life lately.

She moved through the streets of Boston, immersed in her thoughts, replaying her argument with Koty. Her fists curled even as her chest tightened and tears sprang to her eyes. She wished that he could just trust her. When they were together, his faith in her had been unwavering. She had screwed up majorly with him, over and over again. It was a miracle that he still stuck around.

Frowning, she turned onto Adams Street. Glancing around, she slowed her gait.

A sign welcomed her to Adams Village, calling Dorchester a city of Boston. Raising an eyebrow, she stared at the sign. It seemed that she would never understand Boston. In many ways, it was like a whole state of its own.

The apartment complex where her potential keyboardist lived sat across from a funeral home and next to a gas station. Still, it was a far cry from Perry’s neighborhood. Concrete islands filled with mulch and bushes that would flower as the weather warmed decorated the complex. Boots clicking on the pavement, she walked toward the building, the parking lot free of debris.

Still, she felt out of place in her leather jacket and boots—designer items that she had bought with her first royalty payments at a store that she would have never been able to afford otherwise. While Koty looked good in his jeans and T-shirt, he also looked more down to Earth. She wished that he had come with her.

She sighed, thinking of the way his jeans hugged his body.

Heat exploded through her. “Focus, Costa,” she told herself. She stepped inside of the building and into the lobby. Rather than waiting for the elevator, she took the stairs. Some sort of air freshener released the fresh scent of linen, and she sneezed.

Emerging onto Max’s floor, she stalked the hallway until she found the door marked with his apartment number. She wondered if Koty would actually be meeting her at the studio, or if he wouldn’t show up at all. She didn’t think that he would just leave her in Boston. Their argument hadn’t been that bad. She twisted her lips. They’d had worse fights while on tour with Perpetual Smile. She shook her head, thinking of the time they had almost been caught making out on the tour bus. She had wanted to end the whole affair before her other band mates caught on. Something about Koty kept her from completely breaking things off, though. Something about Koty
always
kept her from walking away.

She hoped that he felt the same. Raising a fist, she knocked.

The door to Max’s apartment creaked open.A young woman stood in the doorway. She held a little girl who couldn’t be older than four on her hip. The girl’s small fingers tugged at the woman’s long black hair. Raising an eyebrow at Jett, she tilted her head. “Can I help you?”

Jett hesitated. She might have the wrong address or, even worse, her keyboardist might have moved. She gave the other woman a bright smile. “I’m Jett Costa.” She held out her hand.

The other woman glanced at her hand, then narrowed her eyes. “Yeah?”

Jett almost rolled her eyes. The woman was acting as warily as she would have, though, if they switched places. “I’m looking for Max Batista. Does he live here?”

Tossing long, inky hair over her shoulder, the woman’s eyes hardened. “Why?”

“He auditioned for my band a few weeks ago.” Jett jerked a thumb in the direction of Malden Street. “I tried calling, but didn’t get an answer.”

“Our cell phone got shut off,” the woman said. Her arm tightened around the toddler. “What do you want?”

“Maybe I have the wrong place.” Jett took a step back. “Sorry to bother you.” She turned toward the stairwell.

“Wait.”

Jett glanced over her shoulder. A young man with brown skin and spiky dark hair leaned over the young woman’s shoulder—the same young man who had auditioned. “Please come in,” he said.

“The house is a mess,” the woman said, eyes narrowed at him.

“Savannah, chill.” Max grinned at Jett. “Is this about my audition? Did I make it in?”

Jett opened her mouth to tell him that she had the wrong address. When he had played at the studio, he hadn’t seemed so young. She had pegged him at maybe twenty-five. Studying him in the afternoon light, he looked closer to twenty-one. With the way he grinned at her, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet, he could still be in high school.

“Come on in,” he said, turning and going inside. Sighing, Savannah followed him.

Jett hesitated, then followed them inside. Toys littered the carpet. Bowls of half-eaten cereal sat on a banged up coffee table. A laptop sat on a desk in the corner, a cartoon paused. Savannah sat on a threadbare couch. The little girl climbed out of her arms and ran into the part of the apartment that Jett couldn’t see.

Max closed the door. Still smiling, he lifted a hand. “Sorry about the mess.” He jerked a thumb in the direction that the little girl had gone. “Chloe is a tornado these days.” He hooked his thumbs in the loops of his jeans. “So when do I start?”

He reminded Savannah of a more hyper version of Koty—if that was even possible. She restrained herself from groaning out loud. The last thing that she needed was another Dakota Jackson. He had forced his way into her old band and still drove her crazy. She doubted that she would ever sleep with Max—especially not with his territorial wife or girlfriend or whoever she was—but she definitely didn’t want to get stuck with another overeager kid who knew nothing about the music industry.

“We came all the way from Connecticut,” Max said. He paced in front of her. “We pretty much left the second I got my B.S., huh, Savannah?”

Savannah nodded. She drew her knees up to her chest. Her brown feet rested on the thin fabric of the couch. Gathering her hair up, she tied it into a messy bun.

A painting hanging on the wall behind her caught Jett’s eye. A younger version of Chloe smiled back at her. Jett took a step forward, eyes tracing the clean lines. “Who did that?”

“Savannah,” Max said. He stood next to Jett. Lifting a hand, he pointed a finger at another wall. Dia de los Muertos skulls stared back at her. They looked almost identical, until she examined the spiraling tendrils. The skull on the left was a mirrored copy of the skull on the right.

“Do you still paint?” Jett asked. She padded toward them. Suddenly she noticed the other canvases in the room. Half-finished paintings leaned against the wall, oils drying.

Savannah shook her head, nodding toward Chloe. “Not so much, anymore.” A soft smile settled on her lips.

“Are any of these for sale?” Jett studied a large abstract painting of sugar skulls. She didn’t exactly have the money for a painting, but she could probably convince Koty to buy one for their condo. The place needed a little bit of color. He had taken all of his black and stainless steel furniture from his bachelor’s pad in New York. She had left behind most of her furniture, except for a dresser that had been her mother’s.

“Sale?” Savannah’s eyebrows furrowed.

“You don’t sell your paintings?” Jett gaped at her. “You totally should. I bet you could get into galleries around here. SoWa has a ton of places with wall space.”

Savannah’s lips twitched. “I guess I never thought about it before.” She glanced at the paintings on the walls. Her lips twisted and she shrugged.

“I told you,” Max called from another corner of the living room.

Jett pivoted toward the sound of his voice. He sat at a keyboard, fingers poised. The second that their eyes met, he launched into the melody from a Perpetual Smile song. Her jaw dropped open. Her old band had never used keyboards. Neither she or Phillip had written music for piano. Hearing their old songs in such a new light sent a shiver down her spine. She closed her eyes, letting the melody carry her away. She could almost feel Phillip’s shoulder under her head after a long night of songwriting. Those nights had been some of the best of her life.

The music faded. She opened her eyes.

Max grinned. “So am I in?”

“You composed that?” Jett joined him at the keyboard. It was beat up and hardly professional equipment. She bit her lower lip.

He nodded. “Does that mean yes?”

She sighed. She didn’t really have much of a choice. Running her fingers over the keys, she nodded.

“Yes!” Max jumped up from his seat. Racing toward Savannah, he lifted her from the couch. He spun her in a circle, peppering her cheeks with kisses.

Jett’s lips twitched into a smile. She wished that she and Koty could be that affectionate.

Max put Savannah down. “Thank you,” he said, padding toward Jett. He held out a hand. “This means so much to us. You have no idea.”

“Yeah, well, we have our first show in three weeks.” Jett clasped his hand. “Are you going to be able to play with us?”

“Are you kidding?” His grin widened. He pumped her arm up and down. “You can count on me. Thank you.”

She pulled her hand away. “You won’t be thanking me after tonight. Meet us at the studio later.” She gave him the address. “Be prepared to spend the night.” She tossed a glance at Savannah, whose eyes narrowed. Then, before either of them could say anything else, Jett saw herself out of the apartment.

Shoving her hands into her pockets, she stepped into the spring afternoon. She almost had a complete band. At least there was that. She could worry about getting them into shape later. A smile danced on her lips. Pulling her phone from her pocket, she redialed the phone number of the drummer that she hoped to recruit. She pressed the phone to her ear, walking back the way she came.

The phone rang over and over. She frowned. She really didn’t want to make any more house calls. Besides, the clock was ticking. In just a couple of hours, she had to figure out how to write enough songs for a twenty-minute set with a group of people that she had never written with before. Even though she had played and sang with Koty in her old band, that hardly counted.

Chewing on her lip, she tried calling the drummer again. Still no answer.

She disconnected the call. Staring at her phone, she took a deep breath. Her heart slammed in her chest. She needed someone who she could write with, she realized. She knew exactly who that someone was, too. The question was whether he would be willing to join her.

Throwing caution to the wind, she dialed Griff’s number.