Chapter Four – What Sort of Rabbit Has Feathers?
What's a hero without a weakness? What's an idol without chipped armor? Even the most—
"What exactly is this shit?"
"Would you get off my back already? And it's not finished yet." He set his jaw hard, hating how defensive he sounded. "And how am I supposed to develop my own voice if you keep hounding me like this?"
"You don't have a voice. You're not even close to getting a voice, and the chances are that you will never get one."
The vituperative words burned iron-hot, but he needed to find a way to take it without showing any sign of impotence. "Says you," he said petulantly.
"What have you done except for following in my footsteps, like a little fan?"
"I didn't exactly ask for this sort of inheritance, did I?"
"Well, if you want to make it in the family business, I suggest you tone down that attitude. And come on, little bro, admit it. You love doing this. It's about power, don't you see? All these guys and gals, thinking themselves invincible, having fun like there's no tomorrow, they need to be taken down a peg or two. And it's healthy. It's for their own good."
He doubted that. He doubted it to the point that he wanted to say it.
"Redo this. You need to be like a Rottweiler, bite into them. Come on, show me your teeth."
"What? For real? I'm not showing my teeth, what the hell? And Rottweilers have a bad reputation for no reason. It's just pop culture," he protested.
"Yes, pop culture. Now, the question is: do you want to be a maker of culture, or a follower? Come on, get to work and come back with a piece that will make me proud."
"But I don't have anything really bad on the guy. He's hooking up left and right, but that doesn't make him a bad guy. And he's owning up to it. It's not like he's ashamed of it or anything."
"Then, you should try a different angle. Don't say you're looking for a weakness. Say that you've already found one. Got me?"
"Yes, I got you. Can I go now? I have classes."
"Go. And work on those grades. You don't want to be the family's embarrassment, do you?"
"God forbid," he said through his teeth.
"Hey, chin down. To the outside world, you need to be invisible. Remember that. Always."
As if he could forget a thing like that. But was that his true nature? He had come to ask himself that question over and over, especially during the last year. It didn't matter. If he wanted to live up to his brother's expectations, he needed to do better.
***
"Yo, Jamie," Mitch the Voice called, waving an arm. "It's going to be a full house tonight, so I hope you're ready."
"For this, I was born ready," Jamie said with a smile and high-fived the leader of the group.
The backline rental was already in place on the small stage, waiting for him to add the snare and cymbals, which were the only things he could travel with to all the corners of the country, whenever a gig was on.
He quickly got to work as there were already people gathering in the small venue where their show would take place. For once in their lives since they had started this band, the going rate offered by the venue owner covered their expenses and even allowed for something they could call a profit. As much as he loved playing with the guys, Jamie felt that they were lacking something indefinable to make it big. It was just a vague sensation, so he wouldn't bring it up without offering a solution, because it would only make him sound like a whiner with nothing to do on his hands.
A man in a good suit – made to order, not bought off the rack – sat in front and observed Jamie as he was setting up his drums. He seemed to be in his forties, with nice hair, and overall seemed to be fit under his tailored clothes.
"How you doing?" Jamie asked with a short nod as he went about his work, while the Mitches of the band were somewhere else, probably getting ready, too.
"It's all fine," the man drawled while giving him a long once-over.
Jamie frowned slightly, but his lips quirked in a smile. He knew that look. He usually didn't get it from guys in that age bracket, not because he thought he wouldn't be attractive to them, but because he didn't hang with that crowd, as his hunting grounds were mainly the Sunny Hill campus.
"I have a feeling I know you from somewhere," the man said, crossing his arms and leaning back, as his shrewd eyes examined Jamie from head to toe in the same shameless manner.
"We go to gigs all over the country," Jamie said. "Maybe you've been to one of our shows before."
"Maybe," the man conceded, although it was obvious he wasn't thinking of the same thing. "What's this style of yours called?"
"Punk slash art slash progressive rock slash you name it," Jamie said with a smile. "We're experimenting with everything under the sun. Don't tell everyone, but I believe we're still searching for our voice."
He sat on his drum chair like a king on the throne of his small country. From that position, he looked at the stranger.
"I'd like to hear your voice."
"My voice? Well, you'll have to wait. Not long, because we're going to start soon."
"No, before the other guys get here. Come on, give me a little private show."
Jamie stared at the man, hoping that the sharpness in his look was self-explanatory. Was this dude someone who knew him from his side hustle as an adult entertainer? He was about to tell the guy to fuck off – he didn't want to mix those areas of his life – when the stranger moved and took a business card out of his breast pocket.
"A&R?" he asked and stared at the man with newfound respect. The texture of the business card and the embossed golden letters said that the record label this guy represented wasn't run-of-the-mill. "Mr. Kallis," he said slowly, "I'll be happy to perform for you."
"Call me Arthur, please," the man said with a big smile.
Jamie nodded and grabbed his drumsticks. While he hadn't shared it with the group, he had his own variations of their songs he had come up with while on the road and during slow times at the coffee shop. Since Mitch the voice didn't like them very much, Jamie had learned to keep them to himself.
So, all in all, it was great to have an audience. The Artists & Repertoire agent steepled his fingers in front of himself and looked at him attentively. Jamie rolled one of the drumsticks on his one hand like a veritable rock star and began.
One thing he loved about music was that he could immerse himself in it and forget about everything else. In less than a minute, the venue was gone, even the A&R guy, and there was nothing left but himself and the music. The rhythm of the drums became hypnotic, while he charmed the hi-hats and kept the pace with the bass drum, his entire body transformed into a well-oiled machine, each part knowing exactly where to go, the beat fluid and flowing from all of his limbs.
"What the hell is going on here?"
The angry shout brought his performance to a halt, and it took him a moment to realize that Mitch the voice must have been screaming at him for a while now.
"What?" he asked and threw his arms wide, trying to hide his annoyance. There was a degree of embarrassment, too, in his reaction, although he wouldn't admit it. If anyone caught him in the middle of fucking, he wouldn't feel that way. Playing music felt more intimate than that to him.
"We have to start, and you're giving your own show," Mitch the voice said pointedly and hopped up on the stage, not without giving Jamie a long ugly stare first before grabbing the mike.
"I was--" Jamie started and then reconsidered. Arthur was on his feet, buttoning his suit jacket, and seeming ready to go. Too bad. It looked like his performance hadn't managed to impress the talent scout. "I was just warming up," he said and shrugged his shoulders, like he couldn't figure out why Mitch was so damn pissed.
"Next time, wait for us," Mitch threw at him, setting his chin up, like the arrogant bastard he was.
"Whatever," Jamie said. "Yeah, yeah, next time."
A sudden and stark realization struck him. Over the few minutes he had performed for that one guy, he had felt freer and happier with making music than the last dozen times he had done the same with his band. Maybe he just didn't fit with The Wicked Mitches of the West. But that was a thought that quickly flew out of his mind the moment the show began. Drummers didn't go solo anyway, did they?
***
Mr. Perfect. Mr. Right. You'd think that after one moment spent looking at his gorgeous, tattooed arms. But is he really? Guys and gals – guys, more specifically – stop chasing after such unattainable goals. They don't exist. They're illusions created to make you happy for a second.
How do we know? Behind each so-called flawless façade, there's always something. The higher the pretention that the well-crafted exterior is perfect, the uglier and deeper the flaw.
We are on a mission to expose such individuals. Look around you. Do you see these guys, strutting around like they own the world, while their foundation is hollow, hollow, hollow… Look deeper. You'll see the cracks.
"He's talking about me." Jamie threw the phone on the counter and returned to his coffee station.
"And how do you know that?" Janet asked. He had brought her up to speed regarding the campaign Xpress was running against him, only because she had gotten tired of shouting at him to pay attention each time she caught him trapped in the weird-ass assumptions Xpress was making up about him.
"Because that's all he does. All the freaking time. I'm telling you, this dude is obsessed. Obsessed," he repeated.
"How do you know it's a dude?" Janet asked.
"I just know. I got stalked by a guy in a deerstalker cap, and then a rabbit--"
Janet burst into laughter. "You live the most interesting life, Jamie. You're definitely not a deer, and I have no idea what a rabbit would want with you."
"He wants to piss me off. And I'm sure these three are one and the same."
"Which three?"
"This gossip rag smartass, the inspector, and Floppy Ears." He didn't know that for sure, but he had to start somewhere.
Ever since the night of his last gig, he had been in a foul mood. It shouldn't have bothered him so much that the talent scout had decided not to give him the time of day after he had poured his all into his, unfortunately short, performance. The Mitches had behaved like brats afterward, accusing him, not necessarily with words, that he had been trying to steal the show, when they were a band, and a band did everything together—
"Ah, damn it. I'm going to ruffle some feathers," he decided.
"Feathers? Whose feathers?"
"That stupid rabbit's," he said.
"What sort of rabbit has feathers?" Janet asked while studying him with suspicion written all over her face.
He laughed, because there was nothing else for him to do at the moment. He patted Janet on the shoulder. "It doesn't matter if he has them or not, he's just going to get it. That's all I'm saying."
"Jamie," Janet said, and she sounded serious, "who pissed in your coffee?"
"Hey, I'm the one making the coffee around here. And I make damn sure no one pisses in it."
Janet scrunched up her nose. "Eww, I could have done without that image put in my head."
"You started it," he said and pointed a finger at her.
She put a hand on her hip and gave him a long look. "Okay. You're dodging the issue, like always. How are the Mitches?"
"As annoying as ever."
"Yeah, thought so," she said with a sigh. "Maybe you should try a change of scenery, find some other dudes to play with. I've heard you play, Jamie. Take what I'm saying however you want, but there might be a possibility that the Mitches are holding you back."
"I've been with them for years," Jamie protested right away. "I'm not going to abandon them."
"Hmm, it looks to me like you care more about their feelings than about your own, although from what you're telling me, they're a little band of douchebags."
"It's not that bad," he continued to argue. "I'm just whining to you because I know you'll listen and let me leave early to lick my wounds."
Janet laughed and smacked him with her towel. "I see, you're taking advantage of my good heart, aren't you?"
"Always." He dodged her attacks, ending up in a race around the empty coffee shop, with Janet gaining on him only because he let her.
"But seriously," Janet said once she stopped to catch her breath, "you need to take some risks sometimes, Jamie."
"Hey, isn't 'risk' written all over me?" Jamie said and opened his arms wide.
"Written, maybe," Janet replied. "But that means nothing if you don't live what you preach."
Maybe, just maybe, she had hit a little too close to home, Jamie thought. But she didn't have to know that, or he'd never hear the end of it.
He had a bunny to roast. A rabbit. A frumpy rabbit. And it needed to happen tonight, because he was in a bad mood and needed to take it out on someone who seemed as much an annoying and arrogant ass as he was.
And if bunny wasn't Xpress, at least Jamie would get laid. That was his philosophy in life, and he didn't mind living and dying by it. As a figure of speech, of course.
***
He didn't know if the rabbit boy would follow through since he hadn't replied to Jamie's messages, but he was there, at their meeting place, feeling in his gut that the asshole wouldn't miss a chance to get on his nerves.
When he saw the pink monstrosity walking down the path, Jamie got to his feet and hid himself behind a tree. He waited until the rabbit boy was in front of the bench, seemingly confused and disappointed that no one else was there. It was hard to read emotions when the other guy was dressed in an oversized rabbit suit, but Jamie liked to think that he was an excellent judge of character and cues of all sorts.
He moved quietly and attacked the rabbit from behind. With one arm around the other's chest, he whispered into one floppy ear. "Got you."
"Hey, unhand me at once," the rabbit protested. "I thought you called me here to talk about yourself."
"Wouldn't you like that? After all, you're trying to find my weakness. Aren't you, Xpress?"
"What? What do you mean?" The rabbit struggled to no avail. The suit did offer him the anonymity he wanted, but it sure as hell made it difficult for him to break out of Jamie's hold. "I'm not Xpress!"
"Like hell you're not," Jamie said. "I know exactly who you are. You're the inspector, too, right? Following me everywhere, trying to catch me with my pants down, because you're a fucking pervert, aren't you?"
"I'm not a…"
Jamie hadn't expected that move. The rabbit let himself go limp, Jamie released him in surprise, only to have the pink demon to turn on his heel and throw a soft paw in his face by way of a punch.
"Hey!" he shouted as the rabbit began pelting him with his large paws. The guy must think himself some kind of ninja, because he began using his feet, too.
Jamie succumbed to a bout of laughter, while the rabbit boy threw punches and kicks at him, with the ferocity of a wild dog, but with the force of cotton candy blows. "You kick like a girl!" he shouted while lying on the ground and laughing his ass off.
"I'm not a girl," the rabbit shouted in a high-pitched voice.
"You sound like one, too!"
"No, I don't!"
Jamie grabbed the guy's right foot and made him fall on his back. With all the cushioning the suit provided, he couldn't have been hurt, but he remained on his back, breathing hard. Jamie didn't miss his chance and hopped on top of the defeated bunny, holding him down with his thighs.
"Well, well, well," he said as he pushed one hand against the rabbit's chest. "Should we see who's hiding under this mask?" He searched with his other hand for a place where he could grab the helmet that made up the suit's head.
"No," the rabbit squeaked. "No, please, don't do this."
Jamie stopped. "Why shouldn't I?"
"Because."
"Because is not an argument."
"Because I'm asking you not to."
"I don't really give a damn what you're asking me."
"What do you want?"
"Are you Xpress? And that crazy inspector?" Jamie grabbed the rabbit by the front of his suit and shook him to show that he meant business.
"No!"
"Then why do you care so much if I see what you're hiding behind this stupid mask?"
"I care, because… Because I'm ugly!"
"No way you're that ugly. You're exaggerating."
"No, I am, I am," the rabbit insisted.
"Okay, if you're that insecure. But I won't release you until you tell me you're Xpress."
"I would only be lying to you so that you let me go."
"True. I have to find a way to unmask you, then. Wait, are you actually a boy?"
"Yes, I'm a boy," the rabbit squeaked again.
"Nah, I need to check." Jamie turned and put his hand directly on the rabbit's crotch.
"Hey," the rabbit protested, but his voice turned raspy as Jamie rubbed his nether region. There was actually no way of telling. The suit was way too thick. It was a wonder this guy could move in it at all without toppling over. "Hey, those are my balls you're squeezing!"
"Really? I don't feel a thing," Jamie said as he tried to identify some sort of shape through all the fluffiness.
It was his turn to grunt in surprise when the rabbit turned the tables, rolled them over and climbed on top of him after forcing him down on his back.
"I'm hard," the rabbit boy said while breathing heavily under his mask. "Are you going to assume responsibility for this, Jamie Vayne?"
"Do you want me to jerk you off?" Jamie asked, completely stunned by the weird change of course.
"Yes," came the raspy reply.
Well, it was an honest ask. And if his masturbation technique appeared in Xpress tomorrow, he'd know for sure.
TBC