1. Emory

1

EMORY

" I pledge allegiance…I pledge allegiance…to the United States of Loooooooove. "

I nod in time with the beat as four gorgeous men in their late twenties strut out in a choreographed line. Moving in sync, they mouth the words to their song while dancing to the beat.

Okay, now don't blow the Motif, TJ…

The five men suddenly splay their legs in a wide stance and thrust their left arms up into the air. All except for one, who lifts his right arm instead.

Oh, TJ…

They keep going with the routine, despite his flub. I'd gone with the standard 8 count structure, but the boys seemed to be struggling more than they should. Particularly TJ, who had just come out of rehab.

I suffer through the rest of the routine, until they reach the end of the number. They all strike various poses, some with arms crossed over their chests in defiance, others looking as if they are about two seconds from yanking down your panties and giving you the thrill of your life.

At least they got that part right. I think making women feel that way is essential for a boy band.

"Okay, not bad, not bad," I say, standing up as I applaud. "We've got the basic narrative down, but some of us still need to work on our moves…"

"By some of us, you mean TJ," groans Mitchell, the honey blonde with the falsetto voice.

"Now, guys, come on, go easy on him," says Cody, the sensitive one who writes most of the songs.

"Naw, the hell with that, TJ just lost his touch, man," says…I don't know his name. He's the white guy with the blue dreadlocks.

"It's all right, we have all week to learn these moves before the shoot on Saturday," I say, trying to sound upbeat. I thought when I landed this choreography gig, it would be like a dream. And it is, mostly. It's just turning out to be a lot harder than I thought it would.

Still, I think I can get them all into shape in time for the video shoot. At least, it's my job to make sure they're ready in time.

We go through the routine, again. I stop them midway because I see there's some editing to be done.

"Okay, guys, instead of a pop and lock after the second chorus, let's try some pirouettes."

"Some what , now?" Mitch asks.

"She wants us to spin, idiot," the guy with the dreads snaps.

"Hey, let's keep it positive, guys," I say. "We're all here for the same reason, right? To make a fabulous music video."

"That drives up our Spotify streams and album downloads," Mitch says.

"That makes our fans happy," Cody says, correcting him firmly. "That's what it's all about."

"Dude, ten years ago, our fans were great. Now they're all growing up and hating on us," the guy with the dreads says. "Especially after TJ got popped for DUI on a Sunday morning."

TJ hangs his head in shame. He doesn't even try to defend himself.

"Guys, let's not worry about the past," I say, trying to get them back on track. "Let's focus on the present. We have to get this choreography down."

We go back to work. Thank God these boys all had extensive dance training and have worked together before, or this would be impossible. I wasn't expecting such a massive clash of egos, but I probably should have.

I call for a break in the early afternoon, mostly because TJ is looking rough. My production assistant, Jenny, comes over and whispers in my ear.

"You'd better watch the other guys, so they don't try to slip him some alcohol."

"Jenny, I am about to slip him some alcohol." I sigh and rub my eyes with the back of my hand. "He'd probably do a lot better if the other guys in the band would let up a little."

We watch as Boys R Us make their way out of the studio. As the door closes behind them, skinny little Gopher Jim jogs up to me, his eyes wide as a deer caught in the headlights.

"Ms. Emory," he says in a thin voice, "you have a phone call."

"What?"

I dig in my purse until I find my phone. No missed calls.

"I think you're mistaken, Jim."

The studio intern shakes his head with such vehemence he almost dislodges his earpiece.

"No, Ms. Emory, I mean they called the studio line. The land line."

That gives me pause.

"What? Why on Earth would anyone call the studio when they could just…did you ask who it was?"

"I couldn't. It's a collect call, and I didn't want to accept the charges without permission. They've called nine times in the last hour…"

He cranes his neck as I hear a distant ring.

"...and I would bet they are calling back again."

My heart drops down to my feet. My Dad has been struggling to recover from a health scare for months now. Could this be a hospital trying to call me?

Or a morgue?

I practically run to the phone and pick it up.

Hello. This is a collect call from…

Silence, then a brief noise that might be a heavy door slamming. What is going on?

If you agree to accept the charges, press one now.

I hit the one key and wait, silently praying that this isn't about my father.

"Hey, Honeybunny! How ya doing?"

I feel like I've been punched in the gut. My body trembles as I struggle to speak in a shivering voice.

"Julian, you are not supposed to contact me. It's a violation of the court order."

"Oh come on, are you still on about that?"

Julian always makes it sound like he's being oppressed.

"Still on about that? Julian, you terrified me for months! You killed my dog and set my car on fire, and you think you can just call me up out of the blue? I'm hanging up."

"Bitch, hang up on me and I'll gut your parents like a fish!"

I freeze with the phone a mere inch from my ear.

"Yeah, that's right," he continues. "Not just your parents, but your sister, your best friend, everyone who you have ever cared about."

"Why are you doing this, Julian? It will never make me take you back, and it will never make me love you."

He makes an agonized sound, and all of the sudden his tone gets pleading.

"Come on, baby, you know how I get all worked up sometimes. I didn't mean it."

"Didn't mean what? Threatening to kill my parents, or actually killing Dodger?"

"I didn't mean to kill the dog, it attacked me."

My teeth grit hard, and anger boils out of my mouth when I speak.

"He was a chihuahua! You were never in any danger! You're just an evil asshole who can't control his temper."

I hear him take a deep, quick breath.

"Emory," he says in a tone utterly frozen over. "You are just confused. You don't know what's best for you, or what you really want. You never have. Without me, you're nothing."

Tears run down my cheeks, but when I speak, it's with defiance.

"No, Julian. I'm not nothing. I have a career. I have my own house. But most of all, I have self-respect, because you're not around any more to destroy it."

"Emory…" I can hear him crying on the other end. Instead of evoking sympathy, it makes me even more afraid.

Julian's crying fits often preceded a violent tantrum, many of which I got caught up in when we were together.

"Stop it, Julian. Just move on. If you'd move on and attend therapy like they want you to, you could get your sentence reduced and get out sooner."

"Oh fuck off with that! I don't need therapy! YOU need therapy! You're the one who's crazy, not me. If you hadn't found that feminazi judge and that feminazi prosecutor, I wouldn't have been convicted at all. I never did anything wrong."

I grip the phone receiver so tight the plastic creaks.

"Julian, you hit me so hard you split the roof of my mouth open. There was never any way you weren't going to go down for that, no matter who the judge was. I had to have surgery."

"I know, I know, I said I was sorry, didn't I? Like you never lost your temper and did something stupid. What about the time you threw my phone out the window?"

"Are you kidding me?" I explode. "YOU threw that phone at ME! I ducked and it went out the window…"

I rub a hand down my face and laugh, but I don't think any of this is funny. My laughter has a hysterical edge to it.

"Why am I arguing with you? You're so out of touch with reality, I might as well stop wasting my breath. Goodbye, Julian. Don't call me again, I mean it."

"Don't you dare hang up on me, you fucking bit–"

I slam the receiver down so hard it cracks. Then I pick it up and slam it a few more times for good measure.

Jenny peers around the corner, her face a mask of embarrassed sympathy.

"How much did you hear?" I ask with a sigh.

"Nothing…"

She closes her eyes and groans. "No, that's not true. I heard pretty much everything. Are you okay?"

"I'll be fine," I say, struggling to sound like I mean it. "As far as unpleasant encounters with my ex go, this one was relatively painless. At least, on a physical level."

Jenny rushes over and hugs me. I lean away from her at first, but eventually I put one arm around her and pat her back awkwardly. I know she's trying to comfort me, but ever since Julian, I have issues with being so close to another person. Even when I know they aren't going to hurt me.

"Let's go get lunch," Jenny says. I'm buying."

"Yes to lunch, but I'll cover it."

"No way, I insist. You deserve something nice after…that."

I can't argue with her. We head out to the fashion district and eat at one of those deconstructed places. Not my favorite, to be honest. Why should I have to assemble my own avocado toast when I'm paying over twenty dollars for it?

But Jenny is good company, and helps take my mind off of Julian. She reminds me that he's in prison, where he can't hurt me or anyone else, and we go back to talking about the Boys R Us band and their ability to absorb dance choreography.

I manage to keep the good vibes going when I return to the studio. TJ looks greatly improved, so much that I'm worried someone did slip him a drink. But he hits all his marks and moves well, without any hint of clumsiness brought on by booze.

"Okay," I say when the boys start sniping at each other again. "I think we've done enough for today. Let's call it a night, and start fresh tomorrow, all right?"

No one argues with that. Everyone is happy to go home, myself included. On the way out, I see some of the boys low key practicing their moves as they pack up. I can't help but smile.

"You guys did great today. Really. You're totally going to nail this video."

"No doubt," says the guy with the dreads.

"We know you've got our backs," Mitch chimes in.

"Yeah, you're our girl, Emory," says Cody.

On the drive back to my place I almost…but not quite…forget about my nasty call with Julian.

In fact, I'm feeling so normal that I don't even think anything of it when I see a black and white police SUV sitting outside my house. Only when I come up the sidewalk and realize the cop is standing at my door do I start to get worried.

"Is everything all right, officer?"

The cop puts one hand on her utility belt as she approaches me.

"Are you Emory Thorne?"

"Um, that's me. I'm not under arrest, am I?"

I'd actually been arrested a few years back, because Julian had been writing bad checks in my name. Most unpleasant, and I feared the worst.

"No, Ma'am," she says, shaking her head. The look in her eyes worries me though. Whatever this is, it isn't good.

"Then what is this about?"

She flips open a notepad and scans it.

"I was sent here as a courtesy by the department. I'm afraid I have some bad news. Julian Lovejoy has escaped custody and is at large."

My knees feel weak. I sit down on the porch steps before I collapse. The cop sits down beside me and puts a hand on my shoulder.

"I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news. Is there someone you want me to call?"

"No, no," I say, trying to smile though I want to cry. "I'm fine. I mean, he wouldn't be stupid enough to come after me, would he?"

The blank stare I get back is more frightening than anything she could have said.

"Ms. Thorne, I'm going to recommend that you leave town for a bit. Go visit a relative, or take a trip."

"No, I can't!" I gasp. "I just landed the biggest gig of my life! I can't give it up, even if my ex has broken out of jail."

"Technically, he broke out of prison. What about protective custody?"

"That won't work either. I have to go into the studio pretty much every day for the next couple of weeks, until this music video is done. Can't you, I don't know, assign an officer to watch over me or something?"

She shakes her head. "I'm afraid we don't have the manpower for that right now. If you aren't going to leave LA, and you aren't going into protective custody, I might recommend you hire private security."

She stands up and nods toward me. "Ma'am."

Then she just leaves, walking away and getting into her cruiser and driving off. I stand there, waffling between abject terror and gruesome despair.

"Thanks for nothing," I mutter before going inside. I lock every door, every window, and double check my security camera footage to make sure Julian hasn't snuck in while I was out. Even after I ensure it's safe, and Julian is nowhere to be found, I'm still terrified.

Private security…wait a minute, my friend Charlotte, the influencer, is dating a guy who works in private security. What was the name of that firm?

I dig through my contacts, until I find the name and number. Platinum Security. Well, that's subtle. Still, I don't care if they call themselves super ultra awesome security, as long as they keep me safe from Julian.

Instead of calling them directly though, I decide to call Charlotte. To my surprise, she answers on the first ring.

"Hey Em! How are ya?"

"Hi, Charlotte," I say, smiling weakly at the sound of her voice. "I'm kind of in a jam and need your help…"