The Lonely Kings: Hard Rock Arrangement Part 16

"Don't move," the makeup artist snapped. "And close your eyes."

I obeyed.

Again I was a.s.saulted by beauty products, this time directly attacking my face, and it took all my willpower not to flinch every time a new brush or stick of goo landed on my skin. My eyes were poked and prodded, painted and then glued, my lips drawn and lined and glossed, my cheeks highlighted and lowlighted, my eyebrows plucked and redrawn.

"Good," the makeup artist finally said. "I've done all I can. Open your eyes."

That sounded ominous. With trepidation, I lifted my suddenly longer lashes and looked in the mirror.

The girl who stared back at me was... well, she was a rock star girlfriend.

I barely recognized her.

"Stop admiring yourself," Sonya said, pa.s.sing me. "We're burning daylight.

Starting, I leapt out of the chair and followed her outside, where I heard the distinct sound of Kent Being Angry.

I looked around and finally pinpointed him-in black leather, oh G.o.d, I wanted to suck his c.o.c.k through those leather pants, what was wrong with me?-arguing with some guy wearing a baseball cap. Carter stood a few feet away, grinning. Manny stood even further away, his hands shoved into his ripped jeans, watching the proceedings as though they were high art.

I sidled over to him. Between him and Sonya, I figured I was more likely to get a straight answer from him.

"Hey," I said.

He put his finger to his lips reverently. "Shh," he said. "Kent is not getting his way."

He said this as though it were as rare as the Holy Grail. Actually, it probably was. I clammed up and listened to the argument, but I could barely make heads or tails of it. Something about the storyboard and the music.

"Not ready," Kent was saying. "It's not ready and none of us have looked at the script..."

"Actually Manny and Sonya helped me write it," Carter interjected, rocking on his heels like a little boy with a big secret.

Kent didn't even deign to give him a glance. "It's not the song the studio commissioned," he said.

The man, who I now a.s.sumed to be the director, shook his head. "The studio gave me the go-ahead on it. It's last-minute, but everything's in place for this video. Now would you kindly shut the f.u.c.k up and get down to that f.u.c.king beach? We only have a few hours before sundown, and you'll be doing your sunset shots today."

For some reason, Kent's shoulders tensed. "I don't think-" he began.

"No," the director said, "you don't, I do. Now get your a.s.s down that cliff to those f.u.c.king tide pools."

I watched as Kent clenched his fists once, twice, three times, and for a moment I was terrified that he was going to punch the director in the face. But then he whirled around.

Our eyes caught again and for a moment I thought I saw... fear?

Then he was turning away and stomping off to a small golf cart sitting a few feet away. He climbed in the back and commenced scowling at everything around him as thought he could correct the deficiencies of the universe by sheer willpower.

"What was that all about?" I asked Manny when it was clear the drama was over.

"Oh," he said. "Nothing much. Come on, you want to watch Sonya do the first verse?"

Not sure what else to do since no one had handed me a script yet, I followed him to the lighthouse.

We stepped inside. It was cramped and crowded, but to my shock the museum had been opened up in a big way for us. Sonya and a camera man were actually inside one of the portioned-off gla.s.s rooms, one whose windows faced west and the slowly sinking sun. The lighthouse, aside from being... well... a lighthouse, had also been the living quarters for the lighthouse keeper and his family, and Sonya was currently sitting in one of the old rooms, surrounded by ancient furniture. The floor around her was littered with fake dead leaves, and a small fan in the corner rotated, sending fresh fake leaves from a pile across the floorboards. Settling herself against the window frame, Sonya stared out into the west, at the Pacific Ocean. Extra lights and reflectors almost blocked her completely from view, but the way she was framed by the camera meant her face would be painted in light and shadow while her hair flamed around her. It would be a stunning shot, no doubt about it.

I watched as people set up and tried to look like I did this every day.

Finally things seemed to be in order. The director tapped on the gla.s.s separating Sonya and the cameraman.

"Ready?" he said. "Let's roll."

Then someone flipped a switch and music flooded the room.

I froze, turning to see the powerful little boom box blaring the song for the video, and for a second I couldn't place it. Then it hit me as a haunting piano melody flowed from the speakers, one that I'd heard Kent and Carter picking out in Carter's room over the past week.

The new song. The one they'd been recording in the studio not two days ago.

I turned to Manny. "I thought this was for the most recent alb.u.m?" I whispered.

He grinned. "Carter decided that we're going into the studio immediately after this. He wants this on as many airwaves as possible for the next month."

Suddenly, everything made sense. "And he didn't consult Kent about this?"

Manny just gave me a little look that I couldn't interpret, and his grin grew wider.

The sun was getting lower in the sky, and as the creeping melody began to wrap around us, the old place seemed to take on a sinister air. I peered at Sonya as she took a deep breath and realized that while she was beautiful, bathed in this music she became almost ethereal, an imprisoned ghost within this house, unable to escape.

Then Sonya began to sing along with her own voice, her green eyes piercing the camera, her beautiful mouth caressing the words, and I heard for the first time what Carter meant when he said he was going to write an alb.u.m about revenge.

Long, slow, drawn out notes. Shivery, shuddery. Dark and quiet and full of evil intent. Sonya's angelic voice fell from heaven into h.e.l.l as she sang Carter's words.

"I am deep inside you, you can't feel me but I'm here, I'm buried in your bones, you don't know I'm what you fear, your love was bitter poison and you made me disappear Now I know you..."

Holy s.h.i.t, I thought.

"I will bide my time, you won't remember my name, but I will ricochet like a bullet to your brain, you reached down deep inside me and you only gave me pain, now I'll show you...

I'll give it back again."

Shivers raced up and down my spine. The music clicked off and I heard the director telling Sonya they should get everything they needed in two more takes, but all of that seemed far away. If I'd heard the song on the radio, it would have blown me away, but hearing it here, and knowing it was written for me, written as revenge against the guy who used me for four long years... it chilled me in ways I couldn't describe, and I loved it.

When Carter wrote about revenge, he didn't f.u.c.k around.

Someone touched my arm and I jumped about a foot in the air. The spell of the music shattered, and, annoyed, I turned and saw a young man staring at me impatiently.

"We need you on the cliffs," he said. "We'll probably only get one good sunset, so we have to get everything in today."

"Everywhat in today?" I asked, but he was already striding off. Casting one glance back at Sonya, I followed him out of the lighthouse.

"We need multiple shots of you standing on the cliff," the guy was saying as he led me across the scrubby gra.s.s and mud. He glanced back at me and frowned. "You're not wearing a dress?"

I scowled back at him. "No," I said. "I don't look good in dresses."

He looked at me critically. "Well," he said at last, "at least you have long hair. Need something to flow dramatically in the wind while you stand there contemplating suicide."

Oh G.o.d.

The whole time it took to walk to the cliffs I was trying to figure out what was going on here. Obviously Carter had wanted to spring this on me without any warning, which was a very Carter thing to do, but I couldn't figure out why. It seemed like he was just inviting drama for no good reason. If he did have a good reason I wished he would share it with me.

"Ah, good," my escort said as we reached the edge of the cliff. An elaborate set up of equipment, including a camera dolly, seemed to perch precariously on the precipice. I wondered if they knew these cliffs weren't safe. I'd never come up here even when I'd lived in San Diego because a woman was killed by the crumbling of a cliff beneath her feet the year before I'd moved here and s.h.i.t if I wasn't scared of getting smashed on a bunch of rocks.

The whir of an engine had me turning around, and saw another little golf cart driving up to us. It held the director.

Oh s.h.i.t, I thought. Carter hadn't been kidding-I was actually going to be in this music video. Like, for real.

My palms began to sweat.

The director popped out of the golf cart and bounced toward us. No seriously, he bounced. There's no other way to describe it-he was clearly excited about the shots with Sonya inside the lighthouse. He clapped his hands and shouted, "Okay, people, let's get these shots in before the sun starts to go down. We have some nice cloud cover right now, so the lighting is going to be nice and soft, so let's make the most of it. Rebecca, dear, come here."

I looked around, hoping against hope that there was some other Rebecca hanging around, but to my chagrin he seemed to mean me. Chewing on my lip I stepped forward."

The director took one look at me and yelled, "Makeup!"

A woman leaped forward and batted at my mouth with her hand. Shocked, I released my lip from between my teeth and she touched up my lipstick.

"Don't bite your lip, dear," the director said. "It screws everything up. Okay, your motivation in this scene is that you have been witnessing your boyfriend, Carter, sleeping with other women and cheating on you. You are extremely unhappy, you don't know what to do. You're up here to think and look very lovely and wistful, got it?"

"I can look wistful," I said. I wasn't so sure about the lovely part, but maybe they'd smear some Vaseline on the lens of the camera. That was supposed to make you look good, right? Or at least cover up the fact that you looked bad...

The director didn't notice my omission. "Good, good." He gripped my shoulder and maneuvered me toward a spot on the cliff. "See this chalk?"

I squinted and was surprised to see a little chalk marked on the gra.s.s. "Yes?"

"That's your spot. Okay! Let's film you walking up to the point. Back here, back here, can't walk to a spot you're standing on, yes?"

Confused and buffeted from all sides, I followed his direction. The camera dolly followed me, as did the makeup artist. Even as I walked she brushed my face with extra powder.

"Not sure that's going to help," I said to her.

"Every little bit helps," she a.s.sured me.

I reached the spot where the director wanted me. More of the crew had followed me, and now I stood there wondering what to do. Someone held up a light to illuminate me, and I tried not to stare at it.

"Okay," the director said. I still hadn't caught his name. "You are lost and depressed. Ready?"

No! I wanted to say. How had this happened?

On the other hand, if they wanted someone lost, they were totally going with the right person. I practically defined lost.

Okay face, I thought. Look as lost as you feel.

I must have done something right, because the director shouted, "Perfect! And... action!"

I started to walk. I tried to think about things that confused me, things like Kent, things like Jason, things like everything in the world. I glanced around, as though I were looking for something, and the wind whipped my hair over my face.

"Perfect, beautiful," the director said. "Keep it up."

I tossed my head, my brow furrowed as I searched for something I couldn't name. Answers, or truth. Something that I would never find outside of my own head.

Oh d.a.m.n. Was this video hitting a little too close to home?

And then before I knew it, I was at the cliff and had reached my spot.

"Cut!" the director called. "Great, let's do a few more takes, shoot from the other side this time. Let's keep this rolling."

I swear to you, it felt like I walked up that d.a.m.n little hill to the cliff-side about fifty times, although in reality it was probably only about ten times. Each time the director wanted to change the angle, or get me from another side, and I tried not to entertain the niggling idea that he was searching in vain for my good side. Finally he called cut one last time.

"Good! We've got it! Now Rebecca, stand on this cliff and stare out to the sea. I hope we get a sunset this evening..."

He looked worried at that prospect, and then shrugged. "Oh well, we will make do. Rebecca, look distressed. Like you are about to cry, but are barely able to hold it inside. Can you do that?"

I was an expert in that. My chin trembled, my eyes watered, and I studied the waves as though I could discern some secret written in the foam. The camera swept around me, getting every angle possible.

At the edge of my consciousness I heard another golf cart pull up. I tossed my hair and tried to look as though I were drowning in despair. But prettily.

"Rebecca, we're going to pull back, okay? But keep it up. He's going to come up behind you and touch your arm. We need to film him walking toward you. Hug yourself and stare at the sky. That's good... Okay, everyone in place..."

The wind at the edge of the cliff picked up then and whipped the rest of his words away, so I stood there and hugged myself. Not hard, really-the wind off the pacific was chilly and I was actually getting cold. I rubbed my arms with my hands and prayed Carter wouldn't screw up the shot so we could get this over with.

Then his hand landed on my arm and I turned.

But it wasn't Carter. It was Kent.

He took my breath away. The wind tossed his hair and the darkness of the smudged kohl set off his vivid eyes-the exact same color of the ocean. I wanted to fall into them. I wanted to stand on my tiptoes and fall into him.

"Good, good," the director was saying, somewhere far away, and from the corner of my eyes I saw lights and reflectors and cameras, all centered on us, but none of it mattered. I barely even registered their presence.

Kent stared down at me, and I saw hunger in his eyes, suffering... and a terrible tenderness.

Reaching up, he stroked my cheek with the back of his hand, his eyes searching mine, and I was struck by the realization that the animal attraction between us could be more. Much, much more. He cared about me. He relied on me. He trusted me.

He wanted me.

I mean, that's a lot to infer from a single look... but I felt it. I knew it in my bones.

Then he reached out and put his arms around me, drawing me close. I fell into his warmth, reveling in it. He smelled good, like soap and leather, and his hands tangled in my hair as he tilted my head to the side. His lips grazed my ear.

"h.e.l.lo, Rebecca," he said, low enough that I knew I was the only one who could hear it. "Ready to make out with your boyfriend's brother?"

My blood ran cold. "What?" I murmured. I turned my face to his. He didn't answer and didn't lean in for a kiss, but instead pressed his cheek against my forehead.