Doll Face(20)

“He'd say, raise your glass bitches, and let's do this shit.” Turner takes another step back, raising his arms out to either side of himself. “Candy,” he says, mispronouncing the woman's name. She snaps to like a soldier. “We'll fucking take it.”

And then Turner leans back and falls into the pool with a splash that makes Milo cringe and puts a weary smile on my face. I'm so going to regret this. I pull a cigarette out of my pants as Jesse whoops and jumps into the pool with our idiot of a lead singer. Camby looks confused but pleased and only one of her assistants wrinkles his nose when I light up my cigarette and watch over the boys like I've always done, like I'll continue to do. Hopefully, now that Lola's here and I'm finally starting to climb out of the hole I dug for myself, I can do a better job.

We'll survive. We'll get through this. Everything is going to be o-fucking-kay.

I close my eyes and take a drag on my cigarette, wishing Travis was here to see this, wishing he wasn't embroiled in a bitter battle that should never have even happened. My friend should be here alive to see his kid, to raise him, to jump in a swimming pool in Beverly Hills. But he's not, and somehow, someway, I'm going to have to find a way to make that right.



Turner smacks his gum outside the real estate agent's office and surveys the people around us. They're all pretending not to stare, but I can feel their eyes, like lasers. Each look leaves a tiny hole in my skin, a burn that I desperately want to reach my fingers up and itch. I know it's all metaphorical, but I can't help it. We look so out of place in this ritzy ass office, yet nobody blinks an eye at our ratty clothes or Jesse's paint splattered jeans. We're famous now and that trumps everything but rich. But oh, apparently, we're that, too. I just looked at my bank account. I almost puked at the number, but that was before Milo told me that only covers a certain portion of royalties and record sales, that the real money's in touring, merch, and public appearances, that we haven't even gotten paid for a lot of it yet.

“I don't see why we can't just move in tomorrow,” Turner's repeating for the fifteenth time since we got here. “I mean, for that much money, somebody should be in here on their knees sucking my dick.” I give him a look and he shrugs, worry for Naomi pinching his brow. False bravado aside, I see right through him.

“Real estate transactions take time, Turner,” I tell him and he sighs dramatically, sagging into a chair and putting his booted feet up onto someone's desk. I give them an apologetic smile, but the girl sitting behind said desk is staring at Turner with glitter dancing behind her green eyes. I'm sure she doesn't mind. “Just be happy I'm going along with this whole thing. I would've been okay in an apartment building worth a fraction of this place.”

“Nah,” Turner says, waving his hand dismissively. “You deserve this, Ronnie,” he tells me firmly and then pulls his sunglasses off to glare at me. “Lola deserves this, don't you think?” I sigh and glance over my shoulder, at Miss Lola Saints as she wheels her chair alongside a row of paintings that hang on the wall like an art gallery. When she sees me looking, she stops moving and smiles back at me. My heart skips a beat, and I have to look away to find the right words.

“I know you worked hard for this,” I tell him, because I do. If anyone deserves an extravagant mansion in the hills, it's my friend here. I smile and he rolls his eyes at me because he knows I'm about to get deep. Call it like a sixth sense or something – all my band members have it. “You always told your mom you were going to bury her in the shadow of your Beverly Hills mansion,” I say, and although it sounds like a morbid joke to some, we find it funny. You have to laugh about this stuff or the pain will eat you alive inside. Turner started third grade with no teeth, just a bloody mouth and a bunch of excuses. He used to have to sleep in the bathroom of their trailer because it was the only room with a working lock, just to keep a certain kind of step-daddy away. I remember the kids at school picking on him because he smelt bad and his clothes were dirty. I also remember beating the shit out of those same kids.

“Fuck that bitch. She's not good enough to be buried in my backyard.” Turner pulls his boots off the woman's desk and flips off the carpet. “Wherever you are, Mom, I hope the flames of hell burn bright.” He kisses the tip of his finger with a flourish. A split second later, the real estate agent emerges from her corner office and smiles brightly at us.

“I've got some great news, Mr. Campbell.” My friend rises to his feet and we turn to face the woman's blindingly bright smile together. Milo's excused himself to the hall to make some phone calls and Jesse disappeared to the bathroom. I guess it's just me and Turner right now. “We've added in immediate occupancy to your offer and we've also asked the seller to consider allowing you to move in before closing. The property is vacant and does come fully furnished, so that's not a problem. It's just an issue of seeing if the seller will allow you to take temporary residence in the property as a renter.” Camby clears her throat and keeps smiling. “It's not normally a situation that a seller's agent would recommend, especially with a property like this, but,” Camby bites her bottom lip and takes a deep breath, “both the seller and their agent are huge fans. I asked her to present the offer and I may have hinted that perhaps they could be there when you get the keys?” Turner and I both shrug and Camby nods. “Alright then, we just have a few more details to sort out, and there's a very good chance you could be resting your head in Beverly Hills by tomorrow night.”