No Shade

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NEWS HAD SPREAD AROUND the county that I was back home. This was a big deal since I had been on tour only five and a half months ago. My band pulled a few major events and opened for a popular popular band that were more known in the industry than we were. We were called The Greys which included Scott, the bass player, Lot, the drummer, and Justin, who played lead guitar. We made quite a team and were doing fairly well. We were probably more famous in our hometowns, which is why Wiley’s wife was calling to see if I’d perform on Friday night. I was the lead singer for the band and it was our fifth year together. In the band world, this had not been a long time, but our agents at the time thought we would make a dynamic group. Which we did until I realized my mom was sick and ended my tour almost six months prior.

To a certain extent, we were fizzling as Scott was having mental health issues and Justin’s wife did not like him on the road. She especially did not like that he and I were close and she’d made that abundantly clear.

Several times.

Wiley had been in my life since I was a kid. His bar was the first place I had performed, so there was no way I would turn down the old man or his precious wife. He’d been promoting me and my career even when I thought it was a passion. After finishing community college and majoring in performing arts, I decided to take a leap of faith after some pushing from my mom and asked Wiley to let me be the opening act for one of the local bands.

At first, he was reluctant since he wasn't sure where my mom stood on the issue. Then I think he thought I would get my feelings hurt if I wasn't any good. After he and my mom had talked, he agreed to let me perform. Then after bringing the house down with an oldie but goodie, he started to make other calls helping me get to sing at other places. One day an agent saw me, signed me and my entire career started from there. I loved to sing, but only because I was naturally good at it. My family always celebrated my talent, but having lots of people all of a sudden showing their love and support was brand new for me and I think I got caught up in the hype.

I moved away, got involved in some light drama and fell in love with my first biker. Jaz was his name and he was biker and a rocker to the core. He was the former bass player, and man could he play. Tats were all up and down his arms, crawling up his neck and even around his thighs. He was from upstate New York and he loved to rock. We made sweet music for the seven months we were on tour, but once our tour was over, so were we. All of that would have been fine, but I had rearranged my life for him and he had already moved on.

He was part of a biker club that did a bunch of illegal shit, but I was in love and that was all that mattered. I was making coke runs, seducing guys for him, and in a continual state of inebriation. We both stayed intoxicated, which was another reason we worked. After he collapsed during a show, he had to do thirty days of rehab, which meant when he got out, I was sober as well to show my solidarity. It was then I came to realize that besides the great sex, there wasn't much conversation as we had little in common outside of the band and drinking. Also, he was no longer the lead bass player, so that tore at his self-worth. Our last day together included me walking in on him fucking my backup singer in my trailer. The bitch had the nerve to stop for a moment and said, “Backup for the backup. Try the guitar bass player.”

Then he kept on fucking her.

That was by far the worst moment of my life.

The only thing I could do was kick over his stupid bike. For weeks after that, I regretted not slashing the tires. Somehow, I thought I'd feel better.

Maybe a little.

The night of my performance at Wiley’s, I was so nervous. Mom wanted to come but said she was feeling weak. This was the third day in a row that she felt that way, but she was on a new medicine, so the doctor said it was to be expected. She had the names and numbers of everyone I would be with, including Wiley.

Maybe nervous wasn’t the word to describe my feelings because I swore there was a panic attack coming next.

Wiley put his arm around me and said, “Doll, go to that place ya go to. You'll be fine.”

I smiled at the man’s words. He was absolutely right. When I sang, I just went somewhere else. A happier place; calm, drama free and, more importantly, safe from heartbreak, pain, and rejection.

I thought about that place and took the stage. Shay and Lori were there cheering me on and so was the entire town. Where did all these people come from and how did they fit into Wiley’s?

Wiley’s Bar N Grill was mostly a bar and during the evening and weekends, they would grill outside, no matter the weather. They’d done it for years and it was one of the best places to get pulled pork. His wife cooked most of the food and had taught a few other people as they were getting up in age.

The old place still looked the same, except now there was an actual stage with room enough for a band to play. I started the set with a song I wrote after Jaz broke my heart to smithereens.

The crowd went wild and as I looked into some of their faces, I saw tears and the same hurt that I felt when I saw him doing Tasha doggy style and not even stopping when he was caught. It was a crushing compression on my heart that I could not ease for months. It wasn’t one of my best moments.

“Now for my next song, just to lighten the mood, here's an oldie, but goodie.”

I sang Back on My Feet Again by The Babys.

When I finished, I yelled, “Thanks for the good old Manor welcome. I love and appreciate you all.”

As I left the stage, everybody seemed to be screaming. When I met up with Shay and Lori, they screamed too and then they embraced me in a huge group hug. I’m sure they were a little tipsy as well.

“You still got it!” Shay exclaimed.

“Yes, you had me in tears,” Lori said. “That's how I feel about Apollo.”

Shay shook her head and said, “Come on. Let's get a drink.”

“Nothing for me guys,” I said.

“What, did you go away and sober up?” Shay asked.

“Something like that.” I headed towards the bar.

I had to be sober just in case something happened with my mom. Susan Rutgers did not want anyone to know she was in a state of weakness. Hell would freeze over before that happened. She was a proud woman and she still made things happen. I have always admired her for that.

The three of us were at the bar chatting when a guy came up behind me while sliding his arm around my neck. My entire body froze as he grabbed my breast in his large hand and then said, “My, you sho can sing.”

He was pissy drunk and wreaked of alcohol.

“What the fuck?” Shay said to the guy.

My instincts clicked in and I grabbed his arm, pulled it towards the ground and twisted it around, forcing his body to turn so it was pulled behind his back as I held on tight. He yelled out in pain, as another drunk guy came and slid both of his arms around Lori and Shay.

“Fuck!” the guy yelled as I pulled harder on his arm.

Lori and Shay were both cussing and pushing him off of them. He barked, “Y’all some stuck up bitches.”

The guy, whose arm I had behind his back, yelled out once more and then kicked me in the shin with his cowboy boots. Screaming out, I twisted his arm more, causing him to shriek loudly.

“Get off of him,” his friend shouted.

I didn’t move fast enough and his hand came across my face, shaking the man from my grasp and knocking me into the bar stools. The man had literally slapped the spit out of my mouth and it hurt like a bitch.

A gun shot rang out and I knew it was Wiley or one of his workers giving their usual warning shot.

“Get the fuck outta here and don’t ever come back,” Wiley growled.

He pointed the gun toward their lower regions and both men backed out of the bar as everyone in attendance was about to take a piece of them. A few guys followed them out and I knew that would be ugly. We were like the sweethearts of the town at one point, but even in our thirties, the regulars did not play that shit. That wasn’t to say everyone in the town was free of domestic violence, but you damn sure didn’t hit on women in public.

“You alright, suga?” Wiley asked me as Shay and Lori observed the side of my face.

“Bastard,” Shay hissed. “We need ice, Wiley.”

“On it,” he said and went behind the bar. A few minutes later, he returned carrying a towel filled with ice and was trying to put it on my cheek.

“I’m so sorry, suga.”

“It’s not your fault, Wiley. Guys are jerks.”

“Not all guys are jerks,” he said with a smirk on his face.

“Well, maybe not all.”

“That one was,” Lori chimed in.

I was sure to have a shiner the next day. The swelling caused my skin to feel very tight and my cheekbone throbbed with pain.

This was not the welcome party I had expected.

******

AS I WAS GETTING READY to go grocery shopping, the house phone rang. Mom was lying down after her treatment. She looked ten years older than she actually was. My heart continued to break as I was not sure of the next step. The strongest woman I knew was diagnosed with breast cancer. It was detected early, so they were in the process of trying to get her signed up for laser therapy. The doctor said she was a good candidate for a nonsurgical treatment. This was the route she wanted to go so they were aggressive with the current treatments.

“Hello,” I answered.

Breathing came through the speaker.

At first, I thought it was my heavy breathing, but after holding my breath, I realized it was coming from the receiver.

“Hello,” I said again.

More breathing continued, so I hung up the phone.

Really?

Kids still did things like that?

The weather was supposed to be cloudy with a forecast of showers in the evening. However, as soon as I walked outside, the rain started to pour. The shiner on my face was black and blue so I would be keeping my glam glasses on while I was outside. If I had thought about it, I would have asked someone to get the food for me. The problem was, I didn’t know what I wanted until I got there.

Mom hated that I shopped like that. She said I spent more money than I needed to by not making a list.

Walking through the grocery store, my head was down as I was looking for purified flour. For some reason, it was usually on the bottom shelf. I did not realize someone else was in the aisle, until I heard a familiar raspy voice say, “Know that head of hair and body from anywhere.”

Snapping my head up, I saw the biker dude.

Razor.

He was dressed in his jeans, boots, a white t-shirt and his cut. This time, the words were clear as day. President was patched on the cut and above that was Razor. Their patch was on the other side of the cut, reading Legion of Guardians with a motorcycle at the bottom, an imbalanced Scales of Justice on top in the middle of spread wings that were tipped upward.

Interesting.

He had a smirk on his face, so I assumed he was going to try and hit on me again. I called myself beating him to the punch, so I turned my head back down to look toward the flour. My body temperature felt like it had risen far above the ninety-eight point six degrees that it was supposed to be on a regular basis because I felt feverish as he closed in on me. A hand jerked my chin up and my glasses were ripped off.

“What the fuck?” his raspy voice turned deadly.

“Wh—?” I was so confused.

“Who did this to you?” he growled. “I know any woman who wears dark shades on a rainy day is hiding something.”

“I, uh, it’s a long story,” I found myself answering him.

“It’s always a long fucking story, girl. Every goddamn day, it’s a story. Every night it’s a story. He’s mad at the world and comes home to hit you and you fucking take it and make excuses. It’s a long fucking story. If I see his ass, I’ll tell him a long story with my fucking fist down his goddamn throat.” Razor was talking through his teeth and the anger was rolling off of him in waves. “You want to hear a long story. One day he’ll put you in a goddamn hospital and then maybe six feet under. It’s always a fucking long story. You say the word and I’ll put him out of commission. One fucking word and it’s done. If a man hits you that means he’s no man at all. If he’s disrespectful to you, he’s no man at all. If he fucks around on you and you’re his, he’s a goddamn moron and no man at all. You got that, baby doll?”

No, he was not sitting here giving me a lecture on domestic violence and good men. If I’d heard correctly, he was a womanizer, the president of some biker club and of course, they always cheated on their significant other. The brute had insinuated that I could ride his dick just the other day.

No, the fuck he did not.

I turned my cart, looked over my shoulder and replied, “Yes, Pastor. I got it.” Then I walked away, not to buy my products, but to get the fuck out of there.

Despite his gall and hypocrisy, my body was on fire and I needed to cool off immediately. Hopping in my car, I sped to the other side of town to do my shopping with too many thoughts attacking my mind. What was he even doing around that area? The Guardians’ headquarters were on the other side of town.

Shit, it didn’t even matter. My face had to be red from the intensity of his posture, voice and those fucking eyes. I even surprised myself by leaving him the way I did. The man’s goatee,  his hair and those goddamn water-colored gray eyes, completely melted me. I wanted to grab his ears, pull him down and shut him the fuck up with my mouth on his. He really would have enjoyed that.

Asshole.

The crazy part about the incident was that it seemed to come from a place of genuine concern. Almost as if he were directly acquainted with the aftermath of domestic violence cases. It bothered him, which was even sexier. He was a big, strong man and a biker at that so it could be assumed he would not be above smacking the shit out of a bitch.

Maybe not.

As I was walking around the grocery store, I had a distinct feeling that I was being followed. Quickly turning around, I saw no one there. My cell phone vibrated in my sweatshirt jacket. The caller ID read Dad.

"Hello?" I tried to feign innocence.

"Hey sweetheart, how are you?" My dad's voice was stern, which meant he knew I was in town.

"I'm fine, Dad. How are you doing?" I tried to stall.

"You're in town?"

"Yes."

"You weren't planning to tell me? I have to find out that you're singing at Wiley's and then I find out some drunk laid his hands on my daughter from someone else?” Yup, the man, was seething.

I could hear the quake in his voice as I’ve heard it many times before. It was never good. It was actually deadly.

“Dad, it’s fine. The guys took care of them.”

“No one, and I mean no one, lays their hands on my daughter.” He paused after each word.

Yup, heated.

“Dad, sorry I didn’t tell you I was in town. Mom reached out, so I came to spend some time with her. Wiley called and asked if I could stop by and sing, so I did. No biggie. I was going to come and see you, but I wasn’t sure about your schedule. When are you free?”

“The boys took care of them?” he repeated.

“Yup, both of them were sent to the hospital and nobody saw anything.”

“Good.” He paused. “Good. When are you free?”

“Well, the question is, when are you free?” I laughed. “Should I call your secretary?”

“No, you tell me when I can come by or when you can stop by and we’ll make it happen.”

What in the world.

Phillip Mills was making time to see me. Something was up.

“Okay, Dad. How about on Monday?” I suggested because this weekend I’d be with Shay and Lori.

“Okay, we’ll text the details.”

“Cool.” I nodded.

“Love you baby girl.” He hung up.

Yup, something was up.