Front Man 3 : Full Frontal (Part #3 of the Front Man series) (3 page)

Sara had been
nursing her drink for almost an hour; she was driving, after all, so
she couldn't risk ordering another one. She sensed Brandi was getting
fed up with her. Sara was about to give up and leave. She had been
diligently scanning the club for a glimpse of Laura - if Erica was to
be believed, she had kept the distinctive strawberry blonde hair
colour she sported in all her old photos. But so far, there was no
sign of her. Sara twirled the straw in her drink, idly poking the
slice of lime that had sunk to the bottom  of the glass.
Suddenly, an explosion of noise from the table full of frat boys made
her look up.  

"Yeah, Lola!"
yelled one of the guys, and his buddies chimed in with hollers and
wolf whistles. As Sara watched the girl stride confidently onto the
stage, she could see what all the fuss was about. She was tall, with
a lean, toned physique and legs that went for miles. If her full
breasts were fake, then someone had done a good job, as they looked
perfectly round in her sequined underwear. There was something about
her, a sort of swagger, that made you take a second look. You could
even call it star quality. The minute she stepped on the stage, she
commanded everyone's full attention. But it was the face that caught
Sara's eye. She was older, sure, and thinner, the cheekbones more
defined than they had been in her fresh-faced teenage snapshots. But
Sara had no doubt who she was looking at. Laura. Erica was right. 

As Laura began to
dance, Sara couldn't pull her eyes away. Even in the degrading
surroundings of the dingy club, she was mesmerizing. Now wonder she
had her own little fan club. Like her famous brother, there was a
natural grace and rhythm to her movements. How had she ended up here,
Sara wondered? With that body, she could have been a model, a
professional dancer...hell, with Jack's help, she could have been
anything she wanted. Again, the nagging doubt hit Sara...why had she
kept away this long? What had happened between her and Jack that
would lead her to choose this job, this place, over a life of
comfort? It just didn't make sense. But the doubt made her all the
more determined to talk to Laura, to find out the truth. Sara shifted
her gaze as Laura, or Lola as she was on stage, slowly peeled off her
bra top, exposing her pert nipples to the lustful eyes of the crowd.
As the music swelled to a crescendo, she slid her hands expertly down
her toned torso, teasingly playing with the strings that held her
panties together at the hip. The guys in the front row were growing
increasingly rowdy, waving bills in the air as they whooped their
encouragement. Finally, bending at the waist, she slipped her bottoms
off and stood fully nude for a moment under the spotlight. Then the
lights went down and she slipped off stage. Sara felt herself flush,
feeling guilty for enjoying the performance as much as she had. Was
she really any better than those braying idiots at the front?

There was no time
to consider her ethical stance on stripping, however. Sara had to
talk to Laura before she disappeared. She went to rise from her seat,
but felt a touch on her shoulder. Spinning round, Sara came face to
face with the object of her search, now relatively clothed in another
skimpy set of lingerie.

"Leaving so
soon?" Laura asked, playfully. "Only, I saw you watching me
dance. Thought you might be like a private performance?"

Sara felt the
colour rush to her cheeks.

"I, um,
sorry...I didn't mean to stare. You're a great dancer."

Laura gave a
throaty laugh. " Well that's very nice of you to say. And you're
allowed to stare, that's kind of the point. Don't worry, we get a lot
of girls in these days. Seems to be the new thing. Now, are you sure
you don't want to come to the champagne room with me? Pretty ladies
like you get a discount..."

"Oh, I don't
know..." Sara trailed off. This might be her only chance to get
Laura alone.

"Shame. Guess
I'll go see if any of those morons want a lap dance." Laura
winked at her as she nodded in the direction of the table at the
front.

"No, um, Lola,
wait. I wanted to talk to you...the, um, champagne room sounds good."

"Well, sure
thing. Let's go and, uh, chat." Laura reached out and took
Sara's hand, leading her past the bar and through a small door marked
'Private'.

The 'champagne
room' was tiny, more like a storage closet, but the dark purple walls
and velvet covered couches were clearly aiming for opulence. True to
the description, an ice bucket sat on the low table, and Laura poured
two glasses of something sparkling. She gestured for Sara to sit
down, then stood straddling her, her quivering breasts just inches
from Sara's face. Sara could smell her perfume, something heavy and
musky, with just the faintest trace of cigarette smoke.

"So baby, what
did you want to talk about?" Laura whispered. Placing her hands
on the back of the couch, she began to undulate gently, the tight
muscles of her stomach rippling with every movement.

"Uh..."
Sara mumbled, feeling foolish. How had she let the situation get this
far? She felt nervous, flustered, unsure where to begin.

"Cat got your
tongue?" Laura giggled, tracing a finger provocatively over
Sara's lips.

"Sorry,
I...um, is Lola your real name?" The other girl stopped writhing
for a moment, looked confused.

"I mean,
sorry, did you ever go by Laura?" Now the girl jerked back as if
someone had slapped her. Her face hardened into a scowl.

"Who the fuck
are you?" she hissed.

"It is you,
isn't it? Laura...Laura Carter. Jack's sister."

"I don't know
what the hell you're talking about," she snapped, but there was
real emotion in her voice. Sara knew she was right.

"Laura,
please. I don't know if you've read the papers, but....Jack's never
stopped looking for you. He's driven himself half crazy over you. He
misses you so, so badly Laura."

Laura had slowly
backed away from Sara, until she had her back against the door of the
small room. She looked frightened, ready to flee, but there was
curiosity in her eyes.

"Jack sent
you? You his girlfriend or something?"

The thought stabbed
at Sara's heart, but she forced herself to concentrate on the moment.

"I...not
exactly. I mean, he doesn't know I'm here. But I'm a friend of his,
and I know how badly he wants to find you. A friend of mine happened
to recognize you from a photo, and I had to come down here, just in
case."

'Well you wasted
your time, sweetheart."

"You won't
even talk to him? He's your brother for Christ’s sake!"

" He hasn't
been my brother for a long time. Anyway, he's better off without me."

"Believe me,
Laura, he isn't. He's a mess."

"Don't look
like it from where I'm standing. Seems he's got everything he
needs.|"

"He needs
you."

"Well it's too
late. Family's the most important thing, that's what he always used
to say. I'll always be there for you. Then the minute they wave a
record deal under his nose, he hasn't got time for his dumb, druggie
sister anymore. That's not good PR for a rock star. He wanted me out
of the picture, so I went. And I've done just fine since, thank you
very much. He doesn't want me, and I don't need him. Don't believe
everything you read in the papers."

Sara was taken
aback. Had Jack really tossed his own blood aside, just like
that...for what? Fame? Money? She couldn't believe it. But then,
hadn't he tossed her aside just as easily, as soon as things started
going his way, as soon as he no longer needed her...

"I...I'm
sorry," Sara stuttered, "I guess I misunderstood."

"You sure did,
sweetheart." Laura growled.

"Listen I'm
really sorry for bothering you. Here, please, take this," Sara
pulled a handful of twenties from her wallet and held them out, "for
your trouble."

Laura scowled, but
accepted the money, stuffing it into her sparkling bra.

"I'll get out
of your way now." Sara picked up her purse and reached for the
door handle.

"He didn't
even have the guts to tell me himself."

Sara spun round at
Laura's gruff remark.

"Sorry, what
did you say?"

"I said, your
precious Jack Carter wasn't even man enough to tell me he wanted me
out of his life. Too much of a fucking coward. Can you believe that?
Sends his poor friend to let me down easy, as if I was some kind of
silly groupie..."She spat the words out, clearly still seething
years later.

"Laura...which
friend? Who actually told you Jack didn't want you around any more?"

"Who do you
think? We all grew up together, he was almost like a brother to me.
Treated me a whole lot better than my real brother, in the end. Yeah,
always looked out for me. Gave me some money, helped get me started.
Still checks in with me every now and then."

"Sorry,
Michael, as in..."

"Yeah, , from
Compass. The bass player. "

Sara had a sudden
flashback. Michael Anderson. Her, waiting anxiously in Jack's hotel
room. Michael leering at her, the disgust in his voice as he talked
about Jack. His arms wrapped around an unconsicous Erica. Holy shit,
Sara thought, I have to talk to Jack. She grabbed the piece of paper
in her pocket, on which she had carefully printed Jack's email and
cell number.

"Look, Laura,
I can totally understand you hating Jack. But you've got it wrong, I
promise. Please, just keep this. Reconsider. Your brother really,
really wants to hear from you."

Laura stared dumbly
at her for a moment, before taking the piece of paper, folding it,
and stuffing it into her bra alongside her money.

"Just in case.
No promises. Now fuck off, I'm working."

"Thanks,
Laura. You won't regret it."

As she left the
room, Sara saw Laura typing urgently into her cell phone. She hoped
to god she was putting Jack's number in there. She hurried over to
the bar, where Brandi was waiting, and settled her tab, leaving a
generous tip. Sara barely noticed the heavy-set guy watching her from
the other side of the bar.

It was raining as
Sara stepped out of the club, the sky dark by now. She pulled her
phone from her purse, and scrolled through her address book, looking
for Jared's number. Jack might not pick up, but she knew his faithful
manager would be able to help her. And of all the people in Jack's
life, Jared was one of the few her really trusted. As she hurried
across the parking lot, her eyes glued to the screen, Sara was
oblivious to the footsteps behind her. She was rummaging for her car
keys with her free hand, when a blow knocked her to the ground, and
everything went dark.

***

Jack rolled over
and looked at the clock. 1 am. Dammit. His body clock was screwed up
from crossing so many time zones. He'd got back to the apartment
around nine, too tired to do anything but peel his clothes off and
fall between the sheets. He'd dreamt, as ever, of Sara, her hot
little body writhing on top of him. He was painfully turned on, his
cock hard and throbbing between his legs. But he didn't feel like
masturbating. It only left him feeling more lonely. His cell phone
was flashing, showing three new messages, but he didn't feel like
talking to anyone. He padded into the kitchen in only his underwear,
and opened the fridge. The only thing inside was beer; he hadn't told
his housekeeper he was coming home today. He cracked a can and
settled himself at the kitchen table with his laptop. Jack wasn't
much one for staying connected while he was travelling; he relied a
lot on Jared to keep on top of things for him. His personal email had
over a hundred messages sat waiting. Since he'd stopped expecting
messages from Sara, Jack had stopped bothering to check. Sara. He
tried to push her image out of his mind. Instead, he scrolled through
his inbox,, deleting old bits of news that no longer mattered,
flagging things he would come back to later. Then one message, marked
URGENT, caught his eye. It had been sent a couple of months back, not
long after the whole drugs scandal blew up on him. Some 'anonymous
tipster' had sent a photo of Jack to one of the daily rags. The
picture was old and blurred, but it clearly showed Laura and her
friends, his poor sister high as a kite no doubt, crowded round a
table covered in drug paraphernalia. Jack was handing a bag full of
something that looked like cocaine to one of the girls; Katie, was
it? Something like that, one of Laura's high school friends. Jack
sighed at the memory. He had hated those nights. Laura was going to
go out, there was nothing he could do to stop her, so he'd tagged
along. At least that way he could keep an eye on her, try to keep her
out of trouble. It was the same with the drugs. If he didn't give her
cash for the good stuff, the pure stuff, then she'd be out on the
street doing god knows what for those bastard dealers. All in
exchange for a bag of shitty dope, cut with rat poison, the kind of
crap that could kill her. He'd known then that he was treading a fine
line, but it seemed worth it to keep his sister close and out of
harm's way. He couldn't have known he would lose her anyway, and that
those nights of keeping watch would come back to bite him in the ass.
He was lucky that Jared had talked some sense in to him, convinced
him to speak up and reveal that painful piece of his past to the
public. It was tough, but it had been the right move. By some
miracle, he had kept his career.

Jack flicked his
focus back to the email. The sender was a journalist he'd worked with
years ago, back when Compass were just starting out. She'd been a big
help to the band, profiling them for one of the big music magazines
and giving high praise to their first album. It had been a long time
since they'd spoken. Jack read the contents of her message carefully.
Then he read them again, to make sure he hadn't mistaken the meaning.
No. Surely not. If it hadn't been such a trusted source, he wouldn't
have believed the accusations, but he couldn't deny they had a ring
of truth to them. Jack felt sick. Was there really nobody he could
trust? Jared. He could always rely on Jared. No matter what happened,
his manager was always on his side, believing in him even when he
didn't believe in himself. He practically sprinted to the bedroom and
grabbed his phone. Four messages now, and all from Jared, urging him
to call. It was important, he said. It was about Sara. Jack's heart
sank lower as he registered the panic in Jared's voice. First the
email, now this. What the hell was going on?