Chapter TWENTY FOUR
The Kauai Princess is packed. The concert attendees for the Black Dog Entertainment - Noah Isaiah concert have all checked in and are enjoying the cocktail hour before the main event.
The event’s production team worked feverishly building the concert. A production team was here early this morning putting up scaffolding and lighting. I snuck a peak inside before and was impressed with how well it turned out.
I wore my flats in preparation of walking in the grass. It still has that freshly cut scent from being mowed early this morning. The gently breeze that drifts in as the sun goes down, tickles my neck. I push a strand of hair behind my ear and try to tuck it back up into my crown braid.
I’m walking around the cocktail hour watching the hula dancers perform to Noah’s songs, putting hand movements to his lyrics.
This afternoon, Noah’s lanai was converted to an interview set and the dining room of Asher’s suite had been turned into a satellite office. I’ve become accustomed to hosting honeymooners that being back into a production-like setting is kind of exciting.
I look over rot Asher and his wife at his side. He has her hand in his, never letting go no matter who he’s talking to. He’s gotten her several drinks and asked her if she needs anything more times than I can count.
“The hula dancers were a great touch,” Eric says as I approach him.
“Everything looks great. I was so curious so I had to come over and see.” I adjust the lapel of his jacket that was resting funny on his chest.
“You’re coming to the concert, right?”
“Yup. Jax is meeting me here in twenty minutes,” I say and then pause. “Asher invited him because—“
“Yeah. I heard him and I may be working together.” Eric puts aclosed fist to his mouth to hide his laugh. “You should see the look on your face. It’s coo, Trish. Let’s enjoy the night.”
My face must be ten shades of red. I run my fingers across my forehead and give my head a shake. “Yes. Let’s.” I push my shoulders back and take a look around the party. “So, who are you trying to woo?”
His chin dimple appears with his quirked lip. “Woo?”
I nod enthusiastically. “With the Noah Kanë experience. Who are your big targets?”
Eric nods in understanding. He motions to a table in the center of the party that has the most people crowded around it. “Clear Channel. If those guys like your work they will play your song on heavy rotation and feature it on iheartradio. And, you see that woman over there?” He points to a gorgeous blonde with severely straight hair and extra short bangs eated at a table in the corner. “She’s from Rolling Stone Magazine and, quite possible, the hardest person to blow away. So far, she’s commented on ten things she’s impressed with and she hasn’t even heard Noah play live yet.”
“Well, you did bring her to Hawaii. That has to be worth some major points.”
“True.” He turns at the sound of someone calling him over.
He turns back to me, but I push him away. “Go. Mingle. Do your thing Mr. Duvane.”
Jax should be here soon so I take another lap around the party. And stop next to a cocktail table, watching the sun set. The rays are hitting the clouds to create hints of fuscia. The sun itself a brilliant orange basking in the pink.
“When will people learn what you put out there, never leaves?” I over hear a man say from the table beside me.
“It’s like they think no one is going to screen shot it and send it around the word.” The other person at the table says.
The orange of the sun is fading. As it’s the glorious rays, now turning a dark purple.
“I don’t understand these musicians. They think they can send a cock shot to any fan and they’re gonna bend over for them.” The man says.
The woman agrees. “Especially a minor. What was Senator Davis’ son thinking?”
I spin my head in their direction so fast I fear I may have whiplash. “What did you say?”
The man and woman turn to me. Their bodies lean away as their eyes wide n in confusion at this random girl who now has her hands on their table and is now waiting, feverishly, to see if she head them properly.
Their cell phones are in their hands as if they’re scrolling through some sort of new article.
The man answers first. “This musician sent a dick pic to a fourteen-year-old fan.”
I stomach drops. The taste of bile rises. Sending a photo of your privates to someone, unsolicited, is disgusting – much less to a fourteen-year-old girl. The feeling turns to dread as a morbid feeling cascades over me.
“You said Senator Davis?” the words come out in a confused stutter.
Another guy comes up behind me and motions his phone out to the man and woman. There’s an eagerness in this guy’s voice. “Another fan just came forward. She got the same photo. Said it came as a response to her fan mail.”
My hand rises to my head. I’m feeling clammy. I clench my stomach and try to calm the bubbling brewing beneath.
I look around at the faces of strangers. My hearts races. Sweat pours down my face. I’m having an odd sense of deja vu.
The man who I asked the question to finally answers. “Davis is a Senator from . . . Joe, where is he from?”
“Virginia,” I answer for him.
The guy seems satisfied with my answer. “His son is a musician. He had a hit song this year. That Die A Happy Man song. This moron sends a dick pic of himself to two fans and one is a minor. He just threw away his entire future.”
“Let me see it?” Someone else approaches the table. A woman. She looks over her friend’s shoulder at the photo on the screen. Her eyes and mouth widen. “Boy is packin’.”
She gives a high-five to another woman. Someone else adds, “I totally get why he’s sending pics of that thing around.”
“Anaconda,” a voice says.
“Dude, he fucking waxes,” another voice laughs.
“Is that a thing now?” A third chimes in.
A girl throws her hand up in the air. “Jax Davis. That’s his name. My blog has the story up and running. Apparently this guy’s a train wreck.”
They’re pointing, laughing ,staring at his body. My hearts races. Sweat pours down my face. I want to run, but my feet are numb. I’m tied to the table, yet there are no ropes. Invisible chains bind me. I try to move, but my body is paralyzed.
Jax is sending naked photos of himself to other women? There has to be some odd coincidence. There must be another Senator Davis. There has to be another song on the radio of the same title. There has to be a reason why I feel like I’m back in my dreams, stuck in my nightmares.
This time, I’m not the victim.
“There’s a third girl who says she got the photo!”
I run.
Without any further hesitation, I run to the service entrance and I don’t stop until I’m outside in the employee parking lot. I fumble with my keys as I jump into my car.
My hands are shaking. I can’t get the key into the ignition.
I can’t think.
I slam my head into the wheel and then, with a complete daze, I pull out my phone and Google his name.
It comes up on no fewer than twenty sites. Jackson Davis, the son of Virginia Senator Grant Davis, former guitarist of the band False Accusations, and song worker of the hit song “Die A Happy Man,” sent a picture of his private parts to a fourteen-year-old-girl in New Jersey last night. I know it’s only going to make matters worse, but I look on Google images, desperate to find an unblurred-out picture. I can’t find one, as all the sites are main sources. I should feel better, reassured by the fact I can’t confirm it’s him. Except, there is one thing about the photo that makes me squint my eyes and cry out in anger.
The white marble floors of the Pele suite and the sofa he is sitting on.
If I could, I’d cry. Instead, I drive off in search of answers.
I get to my apartment in a flash. I’m out of my car as soon as it’s in park and up through my apartment door in moments.
I rush into my bedroom to see Jax throwing his belongings in his suitcase. He’s violently launching items into the bags. His face is red and when his head looks up to see I’ve entered the room his eyes are wet and angry, and filled with disgust.
“How could you do this?” His voice is filled with loathing. Hs hair is standing on end like he’s been pulling on it.
I try to speak, but the accusation catches me off track.
His jaw is tight. He’s biting down so hard he may break teeth. And his eyes. Those once soft eyes are now stone like and rouge from the bitterness burning within.
He holds up his phone. “You planned this all along. From the moment I came here you’ve been plotting to do to me what I did to you.” His voice is eerily steady despite his shaking stance.
He grabs his guitar off the ground. He’s in such a rush to leave, he knocks into Olivia Benson, the little pig squealing and scurrying out of the way.
Everything is happening so fast it takes a moment o comprehend what he’s accusing me of. “You think I did his.”
“I know you wanted to get back at me, but a kid? Trish, you sent that to a fucking eighth grader. I’m being investigated. My father, who wouldn’t even visit me when I was lying in a fucking hospital, called me because his campaign is ruined.” Jax laughs. It’s sinister. “I should actually thank you for that. Give the middle finger to my father, too. Smart move.”
He barges out of the room and through the living room. I press my fingers to my temples in an attempt to figure out what the hell is happening here. He thinks I sent the pictures to his fans from his phone.
“Why the hell would I send those out?” I shout and he turns around momentarily. He starts to speak but I hold my arms up in the air. “Shut the hell up and listen to me. I didn’t do that. I wouldn’t do that. I am so unbelievable hurt you would think I could do that.”
His arms fall. His hands are still clutching onto his bags as he looks away and bites back the tears that are filling his eyes. They’re enraged tears that are desperately trying not to be shed.
He bites his lip with a quivering grip of his upper lip. “To think it’s all my fault. I have you the collateral.” He opens the door so hard it slams against the wall. “You won. You finally did the one thing to even the score. The victim has become the villain.”
He thrusts himself out the door. His guitar case and duffle nag hit the side of the walls as he leaves and walks down to a waiting car in the parking lot.
“Don’t follow him.” The voice comes from behind. I turn to Kelli who is standing in her bedroom doorway. Her hair is a matted mess and her eyes are smeared in black mascara. She looks like she’s been up all night.
“Do I even want to know?” I swallow down the lump in my throat.
“Like he said. We evened the score.”
I turn around. “Oh, Kelly, no. No, no, no. I told you I didn’t want revenge. I was happy. We were happy.”
She snaps her fingers as if to pull me out of a daze. “He was very quick to blame. If he loved you he wouldn’t have thought you’d be able to do such a heinous thing.” There’s a sinister look in her stare and it’s frightening. “He’s a runner, Trish. Something goes wrong and that man is out the door faster than you can say, ‘Jack—’” Her mouth is open as she freezes. After a beat she relaxes her body and shrugs.
“He’s in trouble.” My voice is stern.
“So were you and you were just a kid. He’s a grown ass man.”
I start to pace the room. The logistics of this whole thing are overwhelming. I just don’t understand, “How did you get a picture.”
She narrows her eyes and laughs. “It was in his text messages.”
I move my arms about as if trying to grasp onto any semblance of reality and wake myself up from this dream. “How did you even get into his phone?”
“It’s your birthday.” She rolls her eyes.
My feet are burning the carpet. I don’t know why I’m here when I should be going after him. I run into my room and Olivia Benson. He must sense our need to get out of here because he runs into my arms.
“Goodbye Kelli.” I walk straight through the room and open the front door.
“Where are you going. Will you bring back beer? We’re out.”
I slam the door. I’m never going back.