Off the Rails (3 page)

Take care of it?

Throw beer in their face? Step on their feet?

Tia crossed over to the broken patio door, trying to open it at least enough to make up for the fact that their room was a
tad
stuffy, seeing as the air conditioner didn’t do anything more than sound like it was working. “Next time your brother offers to do us a favor, remind me not to take him up on it,” she grumbled after she managed to get the door open three and a half inches.

Yes, their free hotel room lacked a few amenities, like decent towels, soap and breathable air—but it was free. As in, they didn’t have to pay anything for it. Who else got a free room during spring break—besides all the high school kids who got dragged down I-75 by their parents and were forced to enjoy the family-friendly sections of the beach? Those lucky kids who basked in the sunshine, safely away from drunk girls who passed out while smearing on their SPF 30. Drunk girls who were avoiding life and—

“—and we need to get you back on stage. Doesn’t matter the venue. We just have to do it.”

Madison only heard the word stage. The rest of what Tia said was lost in a fog as she stewed on that email she may or may not have received from Drew. Really, she must have received it. There is no way she would’ve made up a committee for the reunion. Especially not one called ‘Swag ‘n’ Tag’.

“I know it’s a ridiculous thing to do, but it’ll be fun and—”

“Sure. That sounds good,” Madison replied, fully aware that she had no idea what she was agreeing to because she’d latched on to the question of whether or not Drew would invite her, a girl, to be on a committee if he was married. Or had a girlfriend.
Would he?

“After I get rid of the crap on the bathroom counter, I’ll grab your suit for you.”

Suit?

Madison twisted her mouth, holding back the question that would reveal the truth of the matter—‘attentive listener’ did not describe someone who’d spent most of the afternoon day dreaming about her high school crush while drinking way too many Labatt Blues on the beach. One thing Tia hated—when people didn’t listen to her. Maybe that had something to do with why she was so hugely successful?

Tia threw their dirty clothes into the closet, then stuffed both their suits into Madison’s backpack, and off they went.

* * * *

Using the handrail to keep herself from toppling into the crowd of horny drunks, Madison followed Tia. Unfortunately, Tia was following a cluster of girls who were wearing bikinis. As if that wasn’t bad enough, here’s what’s worse. Madison and Tia were also wearing bikinis. Yes, they had succumbed to the ultimate spring break idiocy.

A bikini contest.

The blotchy white patches? Forgotten—with the help of a twelve pack from Circle K.

What was it about driving twenty hours, getting too drunk to handle sunscreen and having only thirty-five dollars cash that brought out the Miley in women who really did care about the future of society and Women’s Issues?

Who was to blame for this dance of shame?

Madison?

Responsible for her own behavior?

As if.

It’s the media’s fault.

When female role models who should be aboard the ship of political consciousness dove into the ocean of being sexy to make money, the whole sea of womankind went to hell. Witness the collection of arms and legs waving and wiggling as though their very lives depended on it. Scheherazade might be proud—if the women were using their intelligence in a creative way, and their lives really did depend on pleasing the oversexed losers screaming at them, that was.

Alas, the only stories these girls were telling included…

I want prize money
.

I want to prove I’m a total fucking hottie and guys want me. Really. They do…want me… I hope I remember this tomorrow, so I can remember what it feels like to be
so
wanted
.

Ha! If my dad could see me right now he sure would be pissed. And I used his credit card to pay for the beer that got me drunk enough to do it! Ha! Ha!

Madison was all about the money. Tia? Probably there just because it was a stupid, very unprofessional thing to do. And sometimes even Tia, a mature professional woman, wanted to act ludicrous. It was easy to guess how things went. Being a performer, Madison had a distinct advantage. One does not go to endless cattle call auditions without learning how to make oneself stand out.

After
Wild Ones
by Flo Rida rolled to an end, Madison lined up with Tia and the other three girls who were included in the top five. She pasted on a crazy smile, which wasn’t too hard because she was a bit crazy at the moment, and stared out at all the faces she couldn’t see. Those shadowed bodies swaying in the darkness stared back, and the ocean breeze drifted across her skin. Some tall guy with a jet black ponytail lifted his red plastic cup and howled, showing off a wide smile. “You hot, girl. Shake it some more.”

Madison threw her shoulders back and shook her boobs, bouncing so much her nipples almost popped out. The guy with the ponytail howled again and grabbed his crotch. Madison laughed and shook more because he was so cute, in a silly, oversexed way.

Jivin’ Jay, the guy with the microphone, wrapped his too-thin arm around Madison’s bare shoulders. “You like this one?” he shouted. “Should she stay up here?”

In spite of everything her mother had told her about remaining dignified in all situations, Madison looked across the faceless crowd, flashed a smile and waved, arching her back and rising up on her toes. Pathetic, but it did the trick. Jet Black Haired Guy, who’d pushed his way to the front row, stuck both totally inked arms in the air and hollered. He and all the guys around him bellowed loud enough to earn Madison a spot stage left. For someone who was all about the money, that was a good thing, because stage right led to the thanks-for-trying-but-you-don’t-get-the-cash steps down.

The steps that poor Tia got sent to when the jerks in the crowd didn’t whistle loud enough.

Tia threw Madison a wide go-get-’em grin, laughing as she climbed down.

“Okay, girls,” Jay shouted after another girl was sent stage right. “Let’s see what you’re made of.”

Miley’s
We Can’t Stop
boomed from the speakers and Madison forgot about the drunks, that stupid arrogant ass Mr. Thornton, and she even forgot about the reunion that had freaked her out so much that she’d talked Tia into running away from home. She danced, not for any of the guys watching, but for herself. Well, sort of. Except for the part when she took advantage of the song’s slow beat to turn around, bend over, and skim her hands up her calves and thighs then grab her own ass.

Because—honestly—five hundred dollars was
a lot
. Unemployed women needed that kind of money when they were avoiding facing the realities of life.

The crowd kept howling even after the song ended, and Madison started thinking she needed another beer because right then she felt really, really ridiculous, but turned on at the same time. What kind of self-respecting woman danced for money and got horny doing it? Was it too late to withdraw? Too late to scamper off, stage right, unnoticed, with her dignity still intact? Those thoughts evaporated when she found herself stage center, peeling off Jivin’ Jay’s roaming hands with her left hand and accepting the five hundred cash with her right.

“Thanks, really. This is great,” she said, backing away from him.

“My pleasure, sweetheart,” he said, patting her ass before disappearing into the darkness that used to be a backdrop of flashing lights and speakers. Feeling possibly more asinine than she had all night, Madison stood alone, stage center.

Alone, except for Jackson and Hamilton, who stared up at her from the bills in her hand. And what was the fellas’ game plan? Get a drink, find Tia and take off Madison’s suit.

Typical men. Even dead and flattened onto paper, they were all about the same things.

Madison agreed on all counts—even taking the suit off. The fellas would have to deal with the fact that she was going to get dressed into normal, acceptable clothing—just not in that order.

Regrettably, it wasn’t until Madison got halfway down the stage right stairs that she figured out she had some trouble on her hands.

Specifically, trouble in two forms.

Trouble that wanted to snatch her money.

Trouble that wanted to snatch away what little fabric was covering her body.

All traces of drunkenness slithered to the ground, leaving Madison in frozen sobriety midway down the stairs. Eight feet below, a fat, sweaty guy hollered, “Come on, honey pie. Come to Chuck, I got what you need—a big cock for that sweet ass.”

He seemed to mistake her expression of terrified disgust for overjoyed enthusiasm because he started up the stairs, his meaty palms getting closer by the second.

A quick check to the left confirmed that the money-hungry members of the crowd were climbing onto the steps behind her, eyeballing her wad of cash.

To keep her newfound best friends safe from would–be kidnappers, Madison curved away from the faceless mob and lifted her arms high above her head. Too bad that made Mr. Fat ‘n’ Sweaty whistle and reach out, calling, “Come on, baby, shake those tits.”

Why was it that whenever she and Tia climbed up on the speakers at the edge of the club dance floor the meathead bouncers appeared out of nowhere, but now that she really needed them, they were nowhere in sight?

Madison gave up all efforts to remain calm and shrieked until she ran out of breath. “Tia!
Tia
!
Tiaaaaa
!”

Tia didn’t appear. But Jet Black Hair Guy did. Like an angel who had forgotten his shining golden halo, feathery wings, white robe and gentle personality, he swooped onto the steps, grabbed Madison, tossed her over his shoulder, and carried her safely through the trouble.

Once they reached the edge of the dance floor, he set her down. “You okay?” he shouted over the music.

Still clutching her prize money, Madison looked down to make sure her most intimate body parts were still covered and, wordless for once, nodded.

“Where’s your friend? You want me to help you find her?”

A guy who understood women? Gay? After all the howling? Not likely. What then? “You have sisters?”

Jet Black Hair Guy flashed her a smile, which up close was almost overwhelmingly bright. “Five.”

“Seriously?”

He nodded as he scanned the crowd. “What’s your friend’s name?”

“Tia.”

He wrapped his arm around her, caressing her waist with his warm fingers. Dragons, demons and skulls pressed against her bare skin. “Come on, let’s go find her.”

Madison moved against him, loving the way her skin looked so pale against his ferocious sleeves. Before they took three steps, Tia burst through the crowd. “You okay?” she asked, then turned a quizzical glance at Jet Black Hair Guy. “Who’s this?”

Good question. Madison looked in his dark eyes. “Who are you?”

“Nikki.”

Hmmm. Better than Jet Black Hair Guy. Easier to say.

“Wanna get a beer, Nikki? After I, um, get some clothes on?”

“Yeah.” He pointed to the end of the bar. “I’ll be down there. Under the tree.”

* * * *

By the time Madison and Tia were walking back to their low-budget room, their beer buzz was long gone. Most of it had worn off while they were taking turns dancing with Nikki, the rest evaporated while eating piles of fries at Denny’s. Tia had spent her non-eating time at Denny’s answering work emails. Madison, who’d turned off her phone in the hope of pretending the rest of the world—especially the part connected to the reunion—didn’t exist, had learned the names of all of Nikki’s sisters, what they all did for a living, which ones were married and which ones had kids. Then they’d started talking about books, movies and music. The music part was, no surprise, the longest part of conversation.

Madison pulled a napkin from her pocket and looked at the writing. “You think he really has a recording studio?”

“Yeah. I do. If he was lying about it, he’d still be with us, trying to get into your pants.”

True. “You think I should take him up on his offer, do the demo at his place?” she asked, digging through her backpack for the key to their room.

“He’s got the equipment, you’ve got the time. Of course you should. You need a demo.”

Too true. Too tired to talk, let alone deal with her non-existent career and even more unsettling non-future, Madison swung herself into their room. After shoving the door closed behind Tia, Madison threw her backpack down and made a beeline for the bathroom. About the time she was squeezing toothpaste out of her tiny tube of Crest, Tia screamed.

Not a super scared, a-snake-is-about-to bite-me scream, but an I’m-mad-because-I-saw-a-mouse scream. Madison ducked out of the bathroom, leaped over her backpack, and stopped at the end of the hall.

Lying across their bed, wearing nothing but a tattered pair of Levi’s, was a bleary-eyed guy who looked as though he’d been sound asleep seconds before. Half of his sun-streaked hair hung in his eyes, the rest stuck out in odd angles. Simply put, he looked hot in a seriously trashy way. Like some use-me-and-toss guy in an Abercrombie ad.

And that lazy grin, it was like he’d have all day and then some.

But still.

Madison stepped toward him. “Hello! This is
our
hotel room?”

The wiry guy rolled onto his side, propping himself up on a pillow and looking them over with half-closed eyes. The lean muscles in his torso rippled, lithe and fluid. Delicious.

But his attitude was a bit rude, considering he’d totally broken into their room and fallen asleep.

Madison took advantage of the fact that he wasn’t flying off the bed, wielding a knife and demanding they pass over all their valuables, to check out the room. Rumpled towels that weren’t there when they left dotted the weary aqua carpet, but, because Tia was such a neat freak, there was nothing to show that the room was in use. The balcony door had somehow been pried open wide enough to accommodate his nicely muscled, lean self.