“So, you like working here?” Rob asked.

DeWayne shrugged. “It’s a job. And I needed a job."

An idea had been forming in Rob’s mind as DeWayne wheeled him around the hospital. So far, they toured the first floor, the second floor, and maternity. The nurses on the maternity floor made them leave since neither could admit to having a baby there. Rob wished they could have stayed longer. He enjoyed looking at the newborn babies in their bassinets. It reminded him that he would become a father next year.

“Where to next, Mr. Starre?” DeWayne asked. He got a kick out of calling Rob by his last name.

“Anywhere you say, Mr. Coffey.” Rob laughed, then sobered. “But there’s something I would like to talk to you about if you can find somewhere to park.”

“Sure thing,” DeWayne said. “Inside or outside?”

It didn’t matter to Rob where they sat. He wanted to discuss something important with Mr. Coffey, and he needed a place where he could concentrate. He wasn’t sure he had a career left, and he should discuss this with Brown first, but the idea was too good to pass up, and he didn’t want to lose touch with DeWayne.

They ended up on the ground floor and decided to sit outside. The weather was holding up, and the sun felt warm on his shoulders. He leaned back in the wheelchair and let it shine on his face.

“Ok, Mr. Starre.” For the first time, DeWaynegrew pensive. Rob could hear it in his voice. “This sounds pretty serious. What did you want to talk about?”

“What kind of money do you make working here?” Rob asked suddenly.

DeWayne's eyebrows rose. “You want to talk about my salary?”

“No and yes,” he said. “I want to offer you a job.”

“A job? What kind of job?”

“Being my bodyguard.”

DeWayne laughed so loud that birds flew from the trees, their flapping wings sending colored leaves down on top of his head. “Bodyguard?” he guffawed as he pulled leaves from his fuzzy hair. “What the hell do you need a bodyguard for?”

Rob leaned back in the chair. “I need to get home. The sooner, the better. I’m worried about some things, and I need to find out what I fucked up.”

“What do you think you fucked up?”

It was Rob’s turn to laugh. “Oh, possibly just about everything. I need to find out what happened to Lucy. She’s very dependable. It isn’t like her to not come back for me. And there are certain things I need to straighten out with my manager.”

“Manager, huh?” DeWayne rubbed his chin, his eyes narrowing. “What kind of manager are we talking about here?”

Rob sat forward in the chair, his eyes piercing D’s. “I’m going to be a star.”

DeWayne scratched the top of his head, pulling another leaf from his hair. “Man,” he said in a half-whisper. “You’re not shitting me, are you?”

“Not shitting you, my friend. I signed contracts with Capitol Records right before I ended up here. I hope my disappearing act didn’t fuck everything up. No one knows where I am unless Lucy said something to them.”

“Tell me something.” DeWayne rested his elbows on the table in front of him. He leaned in closer to Rob. His eyes narrowed; his expression dulled. “How did you end up here?”

A red flush crept up Rob’s face. He didn’t want to answer that question. Instead, he said, “I made a mistake. I can tell you about it some other time. Right now, I just want to know if you’d be interested in being my bodyguard?”

“I don’t know at the moment."

“How much do you make working here? You never answered me.”

The big man closed his eyes in thought, his fingers moving as he counted on them. “Let’s see. I make $12.00 an hour. I get 30 hours a week. I gross about $300 to $360 before taxes.”

“Jesus,” Rob breathed. “How do you survive on that?”

He shrugged. “I manage.”

“I can pay you more,” Rob said. “Tax-free, under the table.”

“What would I be doing on this bodyguard job?”

“You would hang out with me."

“That’s it? It doesn’t sound like much of a job to me.”

Rob stood up and approached DeWayne. “That’s the point. You wouldn’t be emptying bedpans or wiping the shit out of some old man’s ass. No more cleaning up puke. No more lifting heavy bodies until your back gives out.”

“Damn, you make it sound terrible.”

“It is terrible. Have you looked in a mirror lately? Do you realize how big you are? Most people would run the other way when they saw you.”

“Gee, thanks, Rob. I really needed that.”

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it. What I mean is, say fans got out of control or someone got into my dressing room. Or a jealous boyfriend wanted to kick my ass. You'd be there for me.”

“So, Mr. Starre, we need to find out if you still have a job before I know if I have one? Does that about sum it all up?”

“Yep,” Rob gave a lopsided grin. “That about sums it all up. How would you like to give me a ride home so that I can get the hell out of this damn hospital and find out?”

***

Rob couldn’t believe his eyes when he walked into his apartment. The paramedics or Lucy must have left the door unlocked, which was a good thing. He was stark naked when the ambulance took him to the hospital. He had no phone, no house keys, no clothes.

He searched in the rubble the paramedics left behind for his phone. Number one on his list of priorities was to call Brown. The rock in his stomach started to rumble as he thought of what he would tell him. He would never admit to a suicide attempt, especially since he didn’t understand it himself.

His phone lay on the bed where Lucy had left it, and Rob picked it up. The damn battery was dead. He searched through the rubble on his dresser and finally came up with the charger.

He plugged the phone into the charger and held it in his hand for several minutes before looking at the screen. The rock wasn’t going to settle down until he checked his calls and talked to Brown. And there was no time like the present.

Taking a deep breath, he turned the phone over in his hand and touched the screen. It came to life, and the brightness almost blinded him. He turned down the light, his eyes focusing on the text messages.

There were a few, but not as many as he expected. Of course, he was only in the hospital for two days. He wondered if Lucy told Brown anything. She was still missing in action. He was worried about her. There was nothing from her on his phone.

Rob sat down on the bed, expelled a deep breath, then punched the number to listen to the voicemails. Brown left several.

“Rob, Larry Brown here. We missed you at the studio today. I hope everything is alright. Call me when you get the chance.” Click.

“Rob, Larry Brown again. Please call me when you can.” Click.

“Rob, Larry Brown here. Call me.” Click.

And the last one. This one made the rock rumble in his stomach.

“Rob, you need to call me ASAP.” Click.

Without hesitation, Rob dialed Brown’s private number and waited patiently. There wasn’t anything he could do if Brown was pissed off.

He answered on the second ring.

“Hi, Larry, it’s Rob.” He massaged the back of his neck. It was rock hard with tension. He rolled his head on his shoulders to try to get it to loosen up.

“Where in God’s name have you been?” Brown shouted. “I’ve been calling you.”

“I just got your messages, Larry. I apologize. I’ve been in the hospital.”

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line.

“Hospital?” Brown lowered his voice. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I thought you skipped out on me. Ran away and got married or something like that. Are you alright? What put you in the hospital?”

Rob already had his excuse handy in his mind. He used it now and hoped he sounded sincere.

“Food poisoning.”

“Food poisoning?” Brown echoed. “How the hell did you get that? Never mind, I’m just glad you’re alright.”

“Yeah, I thought I was dying. But I’m okay now. I would have called, but I was out of it when the ambulance came. I didn’t have my phone or anything. I’m really sorry, Larry.”

“We’re good, Rob. Can you get to the studio later today?”

Rob let his eyes roam around the destroyed apartment, thinking he should clean it up before doing anything else. But the apartment could wait. He needed to get his career back on track.

“I’ll be there, Larry,” he said. “And I’m sorry about all of this.”

“We’re good, kiddo. See you around one o’clock.”

The clock over the kitchen sink told him it was only ten o’clock. Rob’s spirits started to lift. He could get a lot done before he had to be at the studio. He started a pot of coffee, then returned to the bedroom to access the damage.

***

Something wasn’t right. There was no sign of Lucy ever returning to his apartment. The dirty laundry he never got to was all over the bedroom. The paramedics left a mess with medical tape, tubing, and bandages. Obviously, Lucy hadn't been there. Lucy always kept things clean.

Rob returned to the kitchen, grabbed a plastic garbage bag, and set to work. He filled the garbage bag, then set about sorting his dirty laundry. Two loads washed and dried should be enough before he had to leave for the studio. He needed the clothes since he came home in the white orderly uniform that D “borrowed” from the hospital for him to wear.

 He took two loads to the basement and started the washers. He was glad the apartment building supplied washers and dryers. It saved him trips to the laundromat. Of course, with laundry equipment so close by, Rob should've been ashamed that he had let things go for so long.

Back in his apartment, he poured a cup of coffee, sat down on the couch, and double-checked his phone for any calls or texts from Lucy. He didn’t understand why she hadn’t called or why she never came back to the hospital.

He dialed her number. It went straight to voicemail.

“Luce, it’s Rob,” he said. “I’m worried about you. I don’t know where you are or if you’re okay. Please call me if you get this message. Love ya, Babe.”

If he had the time, he would hop on a city bus and take it to her place. He didn’t like going there. Her “apartment” was a bedroom in a house that was owned by a nasty old woman. Rob was there once, and that was enough for him. But right now, he couldn’t take the time. He needed to get to the studio and make things right with Larry Brown.

***

The music was going full blast when Rob approached the studio door. He stood outside for a moment, listening, captivated by the song. It was his song. It was his voice singing it. After all this time, it still felt like a dream.

Unable to stop himself, he punched the air, a very long, “Yes,” hissing from his lips. He believed if he weren’t out in the open, he would be jumping up and down with joy. Instead, he calmed himself and grabbed the door handle, twisting it open.

The music was twice as loud when Rob stepped into the studio. Brown was in the control booth listening to the recording. When he saw Rob, he gave a large grin and two thumbs up. 

“You like?” Brown asked.

“Yea,” Rob said. “I like. I like a lot. It’s good, isn’t it?”

“You bet your ass, it’s good. Your harmonies are tight as hell. Where did you learn to sing like that?”

Rob laughed. “Three brothers and a dad that kicked our asses if we went off-key.”

“Then thank your dad for me. This is the best vocal I’ve ever heard.”

At the mention of his dad, Rob’s scalp prickled with shame. He ran his hands through it so it would stop. “I’ll do that,” he said. “So, what's left to do?”

“Pack your bags, son,” Brown’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “It’s showtime!”

***

As soon as Kate Windsor met Rob Starr, she knew she wanted him. Tall and lean, he was the epitome of sex; raw, unemotional sex. He moved like a cat, agile, aloof, with a slow, sensual gate. His legs were long, his body hourglass-shaped. He was not muscular, but his arms looked taught and strong.

It was the same day she auditioned as his backup singer.

When she first entered the building, Kate’s eyes took a minute to adjust. Compared with the brightness outdoors, the studio seemed bathed in darkness. Squinting her eyes, she could see several figures behind the control booth windows, but the lights inside were behind them. Kate couldn't see who they were.

The audition she applied for was with a new artist. There would be travel. The idea of travel appealed to Kate. She was sick of Los Angeles, the smog, the tents on the sidewalks, the needles in the gutters. The idea of backing a new artist didn’t. She hated wasting her time on a new artist who could flop within a year. But a job was a job.

When she got to the studio, there were two other girls ahead of her. Disappointed, she took a seat along the wall and waited her turn.

When her turn finally came, she planted her feet in front of the microphone and placed one side of the headphones over one ear. She discovered long ago that to sing flawlessly, she had to hear herself with the headphones and without.

The music piped through was a song she knew well, and she sang it with ease. Once she finished, they asked her to sing it again but only supply the harmonies, another easy task for her.

She felt elated when she finished. She knew she sang her best. They had to pick her. She desperately wanted this job. In all honesty, she needed this job. She had come to despise California, especially Los Angeles, and saw this as her only way out.

Kate’s heart sank when they thanked her and told her they would call. She hoped to find out right away if she had the job or not. The sudden elation she felt when she finished singing left her like dust in the wind.

She went home, took a long hot bath, and waited for the phone to ring.

For some reason, she didn’t expect them to call. She didn’t get any kind of good vibration, like the kind you got when you interviewed for a job and just knew you nailed it.

After her bath, she uncorked the bottle of Chablis she kept in the fridge and downed the first glass. She poured another and wobbled to the couch, already feeling the first glass of wine.

Vaguely, she wondered who the artist was. Was it a man or a woman? She hoped it was a man. Women could be bitchy and catty. Kate always had a hard time working with them. Were they very new or somewhat established? She hoped they had some musical background. She had no patience for crybabies. Would they be friendly, or would they be assholes, like most recording artists? That remained to be seen.

Kate shrugged her shoulders and finished off the glass of wine. It didn’t matter. She would take what she could get and be happy with it.

She grabbed the remote and kicked on the television. Pushing random buttons, she hoped to find a good movie or at least a decent show to watch. After searching for several minutes, she gave up, put on the news, and lay down, covering up with the quilt she always kept over the back of the couch.

She didn’t realize she fell asleep until the ringing of her cell phone woke her.

Groggily, she grabbed her phone, almost dropped it, then steadied it at her ear. “Hello,” she said, her voice a whisper and filled with sleep.

“Um, yea, is this Kate Windsor?”

She sat up suddenly, not recognizing the male voice on the other end. “Yes, this is Kate,” she said quickly. “Who is this?”

“This is Bill Shepherd. I work with Larry Brown.”

“Yes, Mr. Shepherd, I remember you.” He worked the control panel at the studio.

Kate’s heart started to beat hard.

“Mr. Brown was wondering if you could come back into the studio tonight? He wants you to audition for the artist.”

“Oh?” Kate frowned. She thought she'd already done that, but she didn't say so. “Yes, I can be there,” she said instead.

“Good,” Shepherd said. “I’ll tell Mr. Brown and Mr. Starr. Around 7:00 then?”

“Yes, that’s fine,” Kate replied. “I’ll be there.”

She hung up the phone. It took a moment for the conversation to sink in before she started laughing out loud. “Mr. Starr?” she asked herself. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

***

The control booth lights were always kept on a low setting when a new singer or musician auditioned. Larry Brown discovered early on the raw nerves on display when the one being auditioned could see people staring at them. He found something else, too. The studio was always kept darker upfront than in the back. The lights on in the back made for an excellent x-ray machine when auditioning a beautiful young lady.

Like the one they were about to audition now.

Rob immediately turned his back on the window when Kate entered the building. “Jesus,” he breathed. He felt himself growing hard. His pants were getting uncomfortably tight, and he pulled at the crotch to loosen them.

Brown saw him. He started to laugh loudly. “I know, Bud,” he chortled. “I had the same reaction, and I’m at least thirty years older than you. But get it under control. If you like her, she’ll be touring with you.”

“Oh, I like her.” He drew in a long breath. “I like her maybe a little too much.”

Brown laughed once more. He clicked on the microphone to the studio. “Do you need some time, Kate, or are you ready to go?”

“I’m ready,” she affirmed.

“I’ll bet she is,” Rob said under his breath.

Brown snorted and started the music. “You can turn around now, Rob.”

“I think I’ll stay like this for a few more minutes.” He had another reason for not turning around. He didn’t want to look at her. Not because she was so beautiful and sexy, but because he learned long ago that images distracted him from hearing. And what he was hearing was unbelievable.

Rob lowered his head, closed his eyes, and listened. Unbelievable was not even the right word. Her voice was smooth and light. She never went off-key. Her harmonies were airtight.

She was perfect.

“What do you think?” Brown asked when the music ended. He clicked on the microphone. “Nice work, Kate. Take a rest.”

Rob turned around to look at the girl as she took a seat close by. “Unbelievable? Perfect? Fantastic? I don’t think there’s a word for it.”

“I thought you might see it that way. Do you want her?”

Rob’s mouth flew open. “What? Do I want her?”

“I mean, as your backup singer, Rob, don’t get carried away.”

“Yes, yes, of course, I want her,” he laughed.

“Then you can have her. She wants to travel. She’s a fantastic singer. Her temperament seems good.” Brown ticked off Kate’s attributes on his fingers. “Now, if you want her in any other way, that’s up to you. All I ask is that you don’t fuck her up, and we lose her.”

“Ok, Larry,” Rob gave a mirthless laugh. “I’ll try to contain myself.”

Brown patted Rob on the shoulder. “Good boy,” he said. “Are you ready to meet her?”

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