Crime Plus Music by Jim Fusilli Page B

forget now!”
    I wait till the door shuts. Then I manage to stand and get myself over to the bathroom and sink down next to the tub, pulling off the rest of my clothes. I run the bath and get in. My body protests. There are stabbing pains, cold meeting heat but then it stops and I turn as red as a lobster. I put my feet up on the wall and slowly, surely lower myself until my head is under the water. I wait until I can see bubbles drifting up and finally I open my mouth and the water pours in. There’s a moment when I think I can do it.
    That then it will be over.
    I hold on for what seems like forever.
    Only then, I can’t. Something else takes over and my body lurches upright and I’m retching, and coughing and wheezing and hanging over the side of the tub. It turns out I’m just another pathetic Lady Lazarus, rising from the dead.
    T HE RECORD COMPANY BOOKS US a private plane for the trip back. “They love you girls,” Johnny says. He has one of his women with him. Eileen has her roadie. Tara has Zach. “Isn’t he adorable?” she asks anyone and everyone as he gets her drinks and lights her joint and rubs her feet.
    The entire flight west is one big party. Lots of coke being snorted and all that goes with it. But I don’t imbibe. I stay stone-cold sober. I sit by the window and stare out at the clouds.
    W HEN WE LAND , J OHNNY O announces he has a huge surprise for all of us. The record company has rented us a house in Malibu. It has a practice room in it. Just wait till we see.
    â€œIt’ll get all your creative juices going, girls,” he tells us in the limo. “It’s just like I said. Johnny keeps his promises.”
    I T ’ S QUITE A HOUSE . I T ’ S got a pool and private beach and a whole wing for Johnny. He buys himself a waterbed and has it installed and the ladies come and go. He gets a dozen pairs of authentic snakeskin cowboy boots. And a new classic ride, a British import, a Triumph convertible. He seems to have an endless supply of coke as well.
    We are supposed to be working on some new material, or as Johnny puts it, “making us a hit.” He tells us that what we’ve been doing is great, but to get to be in the top ten on the radio? “Soften it up a bit is all.” A steady beat, nothing too driving; a catchy chorus, nothing too demanding; and of course the lyrics have to be extra special, clever without being so smart they go above the listener’s heads. “I’ll leave you to it then, ladies.”
    O NE AFTERNOON WE ’ RE SITTING IN there working and Eileen says, “Has he ever talked to either one of you about the money?”
    We shake our heads.
    â€œWe should ask him, I guess,” Tara says.
    And we look at each other. It becomes clear that none of us wants to do that.
    â€œMaybe we should find someone else to check on it for us,” Eileen suggests.
    So we do. We find a lawyer. He has his investigator do a little discreet digging. He tells us the size of our advance. He shows us the Xeroxes the investigator has found, contracts we supposedly signed giving Johnny O complete control over all of our finances.
    â€œBut we didn’t sign those,” I say.
    â€œIt’s your word against his right now. Of course, once we go to trial . . .” His retainer is paid up front. It’s $10,000 to begin with. We don’t have access to our money, and I’m the only one who even has a family I can turn to. Or could. I think about my parents, I think about going back to them and asking for a loan. As if I can do that. I have to admire the genius of it; he’s got us exactly where he wants us.
    O N THE WAY BACK FROM the lawyer’s office, we park at the Santa Monica pier and walk out to the far end where there’s a metal railing and a view of the ocean.
    â€œWhat are we going to do?” Tara asks.
    â€œWe could quit,” Eileen says.
    â€œAnd let him get away with