RockStar
Ahh...My second NT fanfic...written only two days after the previous one (Change) and twice as long!
NT does not belong to me. only Mercy, Desiree, Chris, Ryan, Melissa, Gina, Anita and the bad guy do.
Dedicated to...aw, heck, whoever reviews.
"Daaad…" A whining voice rang through the Gates mansion. Benjamin Gates looked up from the newspaper he was reading in the huge kitchen, whose headlines proclaimed: Treasure Hunter Gates Discovers Civil War Treasures! Abigail Gates looked up from the pancakes she was making for dinner with an eyebrow raised as her daughter came in with an all-too sweet smile on her face.
"Why can't it ever be 'Mooom'?" Ben sighed, folding the newspaper he was reading. Mercy sat on her father's lap, and picked up the newspaper. "Ego not big enough, Dad?" the fifteen year old asked, as her mother erupted into laughter.
"Very funny. Now what do you want?" Ben cocked his head to one side, trying very hard to ignore the goo-goo eyes that had haunted him since Mercy was four.
"I'm a little, um, short of…" Mercy fumbled for words, trying to sound as dramatic as possible.
"Short of what? Come on, I don't have all day," Ben retorted, removing his reading glasses from his face, looking angry. Mercy shrank back, not knowing if her father was angry, angry or mock angry. When his expression softened, Mercy put on the goo-goo eyes once more, and started to play with a lock of dark brown hair near her ear, something she inherited from her father. The eyes, however, were her mothers'.
"I'm a little short of money, Dad…" Mercy trailed off as her father pushed her off his lap onto the couch, got up and raised his hands. "No. No way. What did you do with your allowance for the month? It was your birthday too, so you got extra money as well! Abi – what do you say?"
"Don't involve me in this! " Abigail laughed, trying to ease the tension in the air. Things could get rough between the two.
"You know full well I spent that money on books at the convection you took me to! And then I had to pay for the costumes in last month's school play!" Mercy fired back, getting off the couch to look right into her father's brownish-grey eyes which had a tinge of anger.
"Don't you use that tone with me, Mercy Otis Gates…I'm your father, not your best friend."
"Really? Because I thought you were both…" Mercy stared defiantly at her father for some time, then collapsed on to the couch again, her head cradled in her hands. I've done it. Her father was a jovial man, but with certain limits. She looked up to hurt eyes this time. This was not how it was supposed to go. Sit on the lap, make the eyes, get the dough and scram.
"I'm sorry. I…shouldn't have done…said that," Mercy mumbled, eyes staring at the floor. She suddenly saw a shadow on the floor, and her father's hand pulled her face up by the chin so that he was looking into her eyes. "You're right," he quipped, "you shouldn't have." He sat down beside Mercy, whose gaze had once more fall to the seemingly interesting marble floor. Abigail looked up from her pancakes to the scene unfolding before her. Mercy had grown into a combination of her parents – the determination and devotion to get things done in whatever way possible from her father, and the bubbly yet lethal personality from her mother. They grow up so darn fast.
"So…why don't you get a job?" Ben put a hand around his only child, forgiving her instantly. Mercy started snorting and laughed hard. "Me…" she said between fits of laughter, "get a job? I can't do anything, and besides, who's going to hire me, the oh-so-famous and rich Mercy Gates?" She went back to rolling on the couch, laughing even harder. Ben rolled his eyes and looked at his wife. "Honey, can youplease tell me the things Mercy's good at?"
"Let's see, now," Abigail put a finger on her chin, and pretended to think very hard. "Buttering you up, getting her way with those goo-goo eyes, pulling practical pranks on everyone, singing very off-key…"
"Hey! I resent that," Mercy cleared her throat. "I happen to have a very good voice, whereas you two practically croak."
"True, true…"Ben picked up the paper again, not really paying attention to the conversation anymore. Mercy snatched it out of his arms. "So the job thing's out. What do I do then?"
"Try to get one. At least try," Ben protested, irritated that his newspaper time was running out. He snatched the paper from Mercy and put his glasses back on, indicating that he was not to be disturbed anymore.
Mercy stood there, in front of her father, with her hands on her hips, tapping her feet on the ground. Ben ignored her. The one-sided staring contest went on for quite sometime till Abigail finally made her lat pancake, and said, "Oh, for da Vinci's sake, do stop it. Merce, you're going to bore a hole in my good couch!"
"This couch has been around since before I was born. What do you mean by 'good couch'?" Mercy didn't take her eyes off Ben, who was still reading his paper.
"Well, the pancakes are ready, and I have an idea," Abigail walked over to the huge dining table a few paces away from the kitchen, and started setting down the plates. Mercy and Ben walked over to the table and sat at their usual places, Mercy still staring at her father in what she thought was a fierce look.
Abigail sat down, and looked at her daughter, who to her seemed to be squinting at her husband. Ben was staring nonchalantly at her, refusing to give in and lend her some money. Abigail waited for some time for the two of them to stop, but they didn't, so she banged her fist on the table. "That's enough, you two. I have an idea."
"So you said before," Ben muttered, poking his pancake uninterestedly. Now it was Abigail's turn to glare at him. "Ben," she said, looking pointedly at him, "you need a knowledgeable assistant to handle things for you at the museum. Merce," she said, now turning to her sour faced daughter, "you need a job. Why don't you work for your father?"
"Because," she said, stuffing her face with the pancakes, "he won't pay me enough."
"What makes you say that?" Ben asked, drinking a glass of orange juice.
"Pfft," Mercy made a noise. "What's an assistant going to do? Take your calls, arrange your schedule, set up meetings…Then if I do something wrong…"
"When you do something wrong…"
"I will pretend I didn't hear that," Mercy put another piece of pancake in her mouth. "Um, Mom, these are good! Anyways, if I screw up…"
"No swearing, honey," Abigail sternly.
"God, sorry, if I mess up, I'll come home, and he'll yell at me. And I won't be able to come with you when you go on another expedition." Mercy had inherited the Gates tradition of falling in love with history, though she loved World History rather than just American History.
"That's true," Ben agreed. "Especially the yelling part."
"Sleep on it," Abigail finished eating, and picked up her plate to place it in the kitchen sink. "Think some more about it. I'm sure you'll think of something." She kissed her daughter on her forehead.
"Don't I get one?" Ben pouted. Abigail laughed.
"It's great that your parents let us practice here," Desiree slid her guitar strap around her torso.
"The place is big enough, and they're both at work anyway," Mercy replied, smiling at her best friend, using her nickname for the museum where her parents both worked. She adjusted the microphone, and then checked whether it was connected to the sound system.
"Hey Merce," Ryan, drummer of the band Eclipse, of which Desiree and Mercy were guitarist and lead singer respectively, yelled to Mercy. "Where do I set up?" He was standing in the centre of the huge ballroom that was a part of the mansion, used for Christmas parties and other occasions when necessary.
"Behind us, Ryan," called out Chris, who was their bassist. "Where's Mel?" Melissa, their keyboardist, hadn't shown up yet. "If we're going to be playing at that outdoor concert two weeks from now, we need practice!"
"Don't get your knickers in a twist," said Melissa, who had taken retro as her fashion theme this week, came in chewing gum and wearing a '60s style dress. Melissa had a…different sense of fashion every week. Last week it was Harajuku Girls week, a la Gwen Stefani. "Your dad let me in, if you're wondering," she turned to Mercy. "He'd forgotten his car keys."
"Typical Dad," Mercy muttered. "Alright, everyone plugged in?"
"One, two, one, two, three!" Ryan called out.
"Hey, excuse me," Mercy tapped her fingernails of the marble desk of the receptionist at the Smithsonian Institute Offices. Behind her was a corridor, guarded by two security personnel who both looked like Arnold Schwarzenegger, which led to the offices of some of the most brilliant minds in the country.
Mercy wasn't intimidated, however, and was angrier at the fact that the secretary seemed to be purposely ignoring her. Mercy tapped his fingernails a little harder this time, and the woman, looking prim and proper like a strict schoolteacher, complete with her hair in a bun, looked up, seeming annoyed. "Can I…help you?" She asked with a frown on her face, looking Mercy up and down as though she expected Mercy to be a juvenile delinquent. New receptionist, new problems, thought Mercy. Thankfully, Mercy was dressed in jeans, with a blue and green polo shirt, waist-length hair in a high ponytail. No torn jeans, tangled hair or black nail polish, though Mercy had been itching to paint her nails. Dad would probably freak if I did. Paint my nails black, I mean.
"Yeah, my dad works here, and my he…um…called me," she replied lamely, not knowing whether to stay polite to Career Girl Barbie or to be a smart-ass.
"I'm sorry, but I can't let you in without ID," she said, going back to filing her nails. Mercy fished her library card out of her wallet, irritated at the aloofness of the receptionist. "Here," she said, showing it to the receptionist. The woman grabbed the card, and kept looking up and down from the card to Mercy's face. Finally, after quite some time, she reluctantly handed the card back to Mercy, who was now very, very irritated with her. "You can go," she said, going back to her oh-so-precious nails.
"Thank you," Mercy gritted her teeth and walked past the security guards, into the labyrinth of geniuses.
"…so this is why I think this letter from John Hancock to John Adams must be declared a National Treasure." With a strong round of applause from the World Press, Ben Gates finished his presentation on a letter he had found last month. The auditorium in which the presentation had taken place was huge, but not huge enough, for he spotted a familiar face in the crowd. The grin on his daughter's face was huge, and she was clapping madly in her seat between two very irritated journalists. Ben stood at the podium in front of the giant projection screen, till the clapping subsided and the journalists began to trickle out of the auditorium. He stood at the podium, accepting congratulations from colleagues and Press alike, till Mercy and he were the only ones in the auditorium.
"Congratulations, Dr Gates," Mercy said, putting on a very poor British accent and walking towards the stage on which her father stood. She climbed a set of stairs up on to the stage and shook her father's hand. "I was right," she teased, dropping the accent. "Your ego isn't big enough yet."
"How long were you here?" Ben walked down the stairs and headed towards the exit. Mercy followed him to his plush office, where his receptionist winked at Mercy and let them in. Megan had been Ben's receptionist for a long time and had known Mercy since she was five.
"Listened to the whole speech," Mercy sat down on one of three seats that were placed for visitors in front of her father's desk. The room was colourfully painted with artifacts from all over the world hanging on the walls. "You were really convincing. That letter's definitely going to be a National Treasure."
"Thanks, but that's not why I called you here." Ben pulled out the Classifieds section of the day's newspaper from a drawer.
"Yeah, I know," Mercy toyed with a figurine of Mount Rushmore on her father's desk, bought the night he had found the lost city of Cibola. "You're probably too busy anyways." She said haltingly. Ben had been very busy the past few months, and Mercy was unhappy that they weren't spending much time together.
"No, it's not that…You friend Melissa gave me an idea." Ben opened the paper to the third page, and pointed out an advertisement for a bar.
"You want our band to audition for under-eighteen nights at Moss? That is so the most exclusive club in DC!" Mercy grabbed the paper filled with excitement, but then put it on the desk again. "I don't know, Dad. I don't think we're good enough."
"Hey, don't say that," Ben got out of his chair and put an arm around Mercy's shoulders. "How do you know what's…"
"…going to happen if you don't try?" Mercy smiled and finished her father's sentence. "Rule number one of treasure hunting." She got up and hugged her father. "Thanks a tonne, Dad. I'll talk to the guys ASAP." She planted a kiss on her father's cheek and ran out of the office faster than an Arabian Horse.
Ben simply looked on as his daughter sped out of the room in glee, a faint smile on his face.
"Your dad is a genius, Merce," Mel sighed, as Eclipse walked out the sliding doors that led into Moss, Washington DC's most exclusive club – and the only one with under-eighteen nights. The band had just contested for a one-month contract for playing at the club against twenty other bands. They choice of song was No One by Alicia Keys for the preliminaries, and Just Fine by Mary J Blige for the semifinals. It had seemed more like Battle of the Bands, rather than a 'job' interview.
"Genius, but I really don't think we landed the deal," Desiree said, sticking her hands into the pockets of her overcoat. It was a chilly morning, indicating that winter had arrived – just not the snow.
"Be positive, man," Ryan said, his teeth chattering as they waited for Desiree's sister Fleur to come and pick them up. Since the Gala Incident, Fleur had upgraded her ride from a beat up old Mustang to a Land Rover 4x4, something she'd won in a raffle draw.
"Yeah, dudes, positive that we're not going to get the job!" Chris said, and despite the bleakness of the exclamation, everyone laughed hard, not noticing Fleur pulling up at the curbside. "Get in, metalheads!" Fleur yelled. Everyone clambered into the four wheel drive, thankful they hadn't needed to bring their instruments with them.
"First dropoff – Merce's crib," Fleur revved the engine and sped down the road.
"Hey – why does Merce get home first?" Chris and Mel protested.
"'Cause her house's nearer on the route I drew up," Fleur handed the duo an A4 sized paper with a clumsily drawn map and everyone's houses marked on it. "Everyone gets home faster this way," she explained. "See? We're already at Mercy's." True enough, they were across the road from the Gates mansion. Mercy hopped out and thanked Fleur for the ride home. Her father had refused to drive home 'a bunch of hormonal, noisy and irritating teenagers', so Fleur had offered to drive them home.
Mercy crossed the road over to the gate that stood at the bottom of a small hill, on top of which was the mansion. To get in, visitors needed to press a button beneath a CCTV and speaker system. A security camera transmitted and recorded video at the mansion. By pressing the button, someone at home would be able to see who was at the gate, and then open them.
Accordingly, Mercy pressed the button, and almost immediately saw her father on the CCTV. "Dad, open up!" she laughed. "Why?" Her father asked. "I don't know you!"
"Very funny, Dad. Open up."
"Mercy! Mercy me, is that you? I can't recognize you under all that make up!"
"Open the gates, Gates!"
"Children these days," Ben laughed and pressed the button. In five minutes, the front door's bell was rung, and he went to answer it.
In front of him was a visibly run-down, tired and angry teenager. Mercy dragged herself in, but only after shooting some dirty looks at her father, who laughed even harder. "Turn that frown upside down!" Mercy mock-punched him on his arm. "Where's Mom?" she demanded. "At work," laughed Ben, who now had tears leaking out of his eyes. "She has a meeting today."
"I really, really don't see what's so funny," Mercy walked from the foyer into the kitchen, and pulled a packet of chips from out of one of the cupboards. She walked over to the couch, fished out a TV remote, and turned the TV on.
"It is…it just is," Ben chuckled as he settled down next to his daughter, who was flipping through the channels in search of the perfect program. "So how'd it go?" He reached into the packet of chips to grab a few, but Mercy pulled it away from him and made a face. "Fine," she said huffily. "Confident?" Ben asked, this time successfully grabbing a few chips. He ate one, and spat it out. "Chili," he gasped. "Too spicy!"
"Not really," Mercy admitted. "In fact, I really don't think we got it." She popped a few chips into her mouth before she noticed her favourite programme was on. She snuggled up to Ben and continued eating the chips, letting the crumbs fall onto his pants. Ben watched in disgust as she continued popping the hated, too-spicy snack into her mouth every few seconds. The crunching was beginning to get on his nerves, too.
But they sat there in silence, watching the idiot box anyway, as the sun set outside.
'Got me lookin' so crazy right now, your love's got me lookin' so crazy right now…'
Mercy pulled the bedcovers off over her head, and opened her crusty eyes. The morning sun was filtering in through the yellow curtains, bathing her room in gold.
'Got me lookin' so crazy right now, your touch got me lookin' so crazy right now…'
Mercy looked at a clock on her bedside table, and almost screamed when she saw that it was 12:10 already. She felt like one of the living dead, as she realized her cellphone was ringing.
"Hello?" Mercy asked groggily as she answered the call.
"Is this…" There was a sound of papers being flicked through on the other end, "Mercy Gates? Of the band Eclipse?"
"Yeah, I'm Mercy…"I'm sorry, your band did not qualify for the job, which was won by a bunch of teens who all looked like Marilyn Manson. Goodbye.
"This is Anita, from Moss…Congratulations! Your band's got the contact!"
"Seriously?" Mercy jumped out of bed and screamed in her head. "Whoa, that was fast!"
"It was a rather clear decision, actually. When can you start playing? Is this week fine?"
"Um..yeah! Yeah, that's fine. Thank you so, so, so much!"
Anita laughed. "Friday night, then – the six to seven-thirty spot's yours."
"Great! Thanks again!" Mercy put the cellphone on the bedside and started to jump on her bed. "Yahoo! We did it, we did it, we did it…yeah!"
Suddenly there was a knock on the bedroom door, and Abigail walked in. "Is it a new fad," she asked, putting her hands on her hips, "to get up and immediately do calisthenics on your bed?"
"We did it!" Mercy jumped off the bed and hugged her mom, then began to jump up and down again. "We got the Moss gig!"
"I'm really proud of you, sweetie," said Abigail, a smile on her face. "But I think it's high time you had a bath and came down for brunch. You've gotten up unusually late today."
"Sure thing…after I call everyone first!" With that, Mercy ran out of her room to be within reach of the nearest phone.
The band had practiced almost everyday for three hours, waiting for their big night eagerly, till it arrived. Anita was up on a small stage where the instruments had been set up, and was waiting for the full house to settle down so that she could introduce the band.
"Ahem," Anita cleared her throat into the mike, and everyone cleared the dance floor and sat down at their reserved tables. "As you all know, the hunt for a replacement band is finally over, and we are proud to introduce Moss' newest in-house band – Eclipse!"
The band mustered up their courage, and got on stage, Everyone was politely clapping, but those who were from the band's school whistled and cheered madly.
Mercy nervously stood in front of the mike. "Hey, everyone," she said, noticing an oddly overdressed man sitting just where the dance floor began. "We're Eclipse, DC's very own all-15 band, and I'm Mercy Gates." The band introduced themselves, and the guys hooted as Desiree blew a kiss into the audience, flipping back her copper hair.
"I know you're all eager to get down, so we won't waste any more time. This is –Hold It, Don't Drop It!"
"One, two, one, two, three!" Ryan called out, and they began to play.
Mercy felt the nervousness and stiffness leave her body slowly as she sang. The kids were obviously enjoying themselves, and she began dancing on stage along with the music herself. The whole band was rocking along to Ryan's drums, and soon they had forgotten their early fears.
This night was going to be an amazing one.
"Great job, man," A teenager with his girlfriend said to the band as they passed Eclipse at the bar – which was serving only soft drinks, ginger ale, tea, coffee and other non-alcoholic drinks. They band's time was up, and everyone had rushed over to congratulate them. Anita had been very pleased, and the band got caught up in all the excitement. Now, as everyone was slowly filtering out of the club, Mel nudged Desiree and Ryan and asked, "Hey, guys, look at that dude at the table in front of the 'floor. He looks…creepy."
Mercy and Chris looked towards the man. He seemed to be oddly pleased, and he was staring at the band. "I noticed him earlier," Mercy said. "I did, too," Chris joined in.
"Look! He's coming towards us!" Ryan almost yelled. The man was dressed in a plain black suit with a blue slik tie and what looked like a diamond cravat. He had a thin mustache and lots of rings on his fingers. In one hand was the latest Nokia cellphone.
"Good evening, kiddos," said the man as he pulled up a chair and sat in front of the band, an obvious fake smile on his face.
"Um, good evening, sir," Mel said curiously. What the hell is this guy up to?
"I'm so sorry," he said, crossing his legs. "Let me introduce myself – I'm Wyatt Booth. I work for MegaRecords."
"Work?" Desiree yelped. "You own it! It's one of the biggest recording companies on the planet!"
"Hush!" Wyatt yelped. "Not so loud, my dear." He turned to the rest of the band. "I was quite impressed with the songs you played tonight. I was wondering if you would be interested in signing up with MG?"
"Our first night, and an offer already?" Chris sank into his chair, dreaming of swimming in a pool of $100 bills. "Wow…" he breathed.
I smell a rat, thought Mercy. She had been with her father on many dangerous expeditions, with many suspicious characters, and had learnt not to take things – and people – at their face value. She looked at Mel, who seemed suspicious of Wyatt as well.
"Ye…" Mel clapped her hand around Desiree's mouth. Wyatt laughed. "Rather eager, isn't she?" He looked at Mercy, who said, "We'll think about it, Mr Booth. It's a little too early to give you an answer."
"Alright," he said, "fine by me." He handed them each a card. "Feel free to contact me when you feel you have an answer. Anyway, I'll be here the next time you play, so you can give me an answer in a week. Goodnight." And with that, Wyatt Booth walked out of the club, and Fleur pulled up in her 4x4 outside.
"The whole shebang seems funny to me," Mercy told her parents in their den, where the Gates and Mercy's 'Uncle' Riley were sipping hot chocolate. The chill had settled into everyone's bones, and they were trying to shake it off.
"Yeah - the whole things smells as bad as a Tokyo fish market," Riley gulped down the scalding brown liquid.
"Tokyo isn't on the coast, Riley," Abigail corrected him.
"Doesn't mean it doesn't have fish markets," Riley retorted.
"So what are you planning on doing?" Ben set his cup down and walked towards the fire burning in the fireplace.
"I don't know," Mercy sipped some of her hot chocolate. "Ryan's going to look this guy up on the 'net, but if he turns out cool, I think we might say yes. What do you think?"
"We're with you all the way, honey, you know that," Abigail told her daughter. "But a record deal is a huge responsibility. The whole rock star life is fraught with danger."
"Yeah, look at the Beatles and Nirvana," quipped Riley. Mercy and Ben gave him the same glare, and Riley shrank back in his seat. "Yeah, Ben," he muttered. "She definitely takes after you."
"He's given us a week," Mercy yawned. She was tired after a night of prancing around on stage. "I don't want to make all the decisions, so the band'll be getting together on Thursday, and we'll decide an answer then."
"Good for you," Riley yawned, and promptly fell asleep on the easy chair he was sitting in.
The next day dawned bright and cheery, birds chirping and all. Mercy was just waving her parents goodbye when the phone began to ring. She ran into the kitchen, where she picked up a phone hanging on the wall.
"Hello, Gates residence," she said breathlessly.
"You think you're so great and popular, don't you, Gates?" An angry voice issued from over the line. I know who this is…who is it?
"Um…may I know who this is?" asked Mercy, still being polite, hoping it was a disgruntled colleague of either of her parents.
"You know damn well who this is, Gates! Don't act smart!" Oh, damn – it's Gina! Gina Rowland had hated Mercy ever since they were in playschool. "Just because you have a famous mom and an even more famous dad, you have no right to act smart!"
"Gina, I'm tired, sleepy and now highly pissed off with you. What the hell do you want?" said Mercy, irritated that Gina had brought her parents into an argument – again.
"Word is that your band plays at Moss now – and that you landed a record deal."Wow, word does travel fast.
"We play at Moss, but we haven't agreed to the deal yet."
"Good – don't. Your head can only get so big." With that, the juvenile conversation ended.
"Damn her," Mercy swore. Just then, the phone rang again. "Hello?" Mercy asked wearily, hoping it wasn't one of Gina's cronies.
"Mercy Gates?" A familiar voice asked.
"Mr Booth?"
"Wyatt, please. Have you come to a decision yet?"
Impatient chap, isn't he? "No, Wyatt, you asked us only yesterday. Give us till Friday night. Please?"
"Alright. You do have my number, don't you? I need to discuss some terms with you as well."
"Yes, Wyatt. Thank you."
"No, dah-ling, thank you." Wyatt hung up.
Sighing, Mercy picked out a cereal bar from the pantry. No record deal yet, but we've already gained a pushy manager-cum-boss. She sat at the dining table, a book on the Sioux in hand, a present from her father upon hearing Eclipse had got the job.
As soon as she had unwrapped the bar and turned to the first page of the book, the phone began to ring – again. Wishing she could throw the phone into the pond in the garden, she picked it up and between gritted teeth, said, "Gates residence."
"Mercy? Agent Sadusky here."
"Hi! Good morning, sir." Agent Sadusky became a close friend of the Gates after Cibola, and his daughter attended the same school as Mercy.
"'Morning. Heard your band made the big-time."
"Word spreads fast, sir. How did you know?"
"Michelle was at Moss last night – so were two of my agents."
"Since when do FBI agents hang out at under-eighteen clubs?"
"It's something I can't discuss over the phone. I need to come over to your house, Mercy. Are your parents at work?"
"Yessir." Mercy chewed on the cereal bar.
"Call the whole band over. I need to discuss something important with all of you. I'll talk to the parents later."
"Is it something we've done? Were they dealing coke last night? 'Cause I didn't smell anything funny…" Mercy babbled, nervous that maybe she'd messed up.
"No, no, it's nothing like that. I'll be down there in an hour. Think you can round up everyone by then?"
"Roger that."
"Alright. Thanks, Mercy." The line went dead.
"Wait. Let me get this straight. Wyatt Booth is not Wyatt Booth, but a man called Kempinski pretending to be Wyatt Booth, to lure money out of aspiring bands." Ryan repeated slowly. Mercy had called everyone over, and once Agent Saduski had 'briefed' them on the situation, and shown them proof, the band sank back into their seats in shock.
"Thank God we didn't give that guy an answer," Desiree breathed.
"He actually called me, today morning, just before you did," Mercy told Agent Saduski.
"Our folks are gonnakill us," Ryan said with a blank stare.
"We didn't do anything wrong, man," Chris put a comforting hand on Ryan's shoulder. Mel seemed to be in a state of shock. "I knew it," she muttered. "I just knew it. Something was up with that dude."
"So now what? We call him and tell him his game's up?" Desiree demanded.
"I think Agent Saduski wants us to be bait to lure that guy in on Friday," Mercy looked towards Agent Saduski for either confirmation or rejection of her theory.
"You're right. You always were a smart cookie," Saduski grinned. Mercy grinned sweetly. "You reject his offer, he goes bonkers that his plan hasn't worked, we move in and nab him."
"Sounds violent, sir," Mel stated. "Hopefully not," said Saduski, sipping a glass of water Mercy had brought him.
"One thing I don't get is how he got my number," Mercy thought out loud. "Maybe something called the phone book?" Ryan head-slapped Mercy, who shrieked. "How did he know which Gates family I was from? There must be lots of Gates families in DC!"
"Maybe he asked Anita under the same story he fed us," Chris stated. "Possible. You must have had to give all you identification details to her when you auditioned, right?" Saduski asked everyone. A chorus of 'yeses' arose from the quintet.
"So the plan is this – play a song, reject him over the PA system – not in his ears – then when he begins to act up, we move in. Got it? No one does anything but the plan. Understood?" Saduski now looked fierce.
"Y-Y-Yessir," Mercy stammered.
"Good." Saduski put some documents that he had removed from his briefcase to show the band back in, and shuffled away. Mercy ran after him to show him out. She returned a short while later. "He says he'll call our parents and tell them, but I think they'd want to hear it from us first, don't you think?" she said.
Everyone agreed numbly.
"See what you've thrown your daughter into, Ben!" Emily shrieked. "I don't understand why this family is always in some sort of trouble! First Patrick, then you, now Mercy! It's almost like a…a curse!"
"I resent that, Emily," Patrick Gates yelled.
"Dad…" Ben Gates tried to calm things down as Abigail, Mercy and Riley looked into their dinner plates.
"Well, it's the gospel truth!"
"Mom…"
"See? I thought we were getting along fine till you started shrieking! It was just bad luck, that's all!"
"Patrick! Emily! Stop!" Abigail had had enough, and yelled. "We're here to have dinner in peace, so that's what we'll do." The Gateses (and Riley, of course) had decided to have dinner together that night, and Mercy had decided to break the news to her family then.
"Everyone, just relax," Ben said slowly. Looking at his parents, he said, "If you have to pin the blame on someone, that's me. I showed her the advertisement. I pushed her into going."
"Dad, it's not your fault. I was pretty eager. It's no one's fault but Kempinski's," Mercy said.
"I really don't like you playing bait at the club, though," Abigail said, looking concerned. "That's right, darling. Why don't you back out of it?" Emily asked.
"I can't, Grandma, not now. Besides, I want to get this conman. He tricked my friends and me. It's a matter of revenge. Quite simple, actually." Mercy coolly drank some juice.
"Yeah, your dad's like that, too." Riley stuffed his face with chicken. "And her grandfather," Emily muttered.
"How dare you…" Patrick got up, but Mercy said, "Grandpa…" in a tone that would freeze water, and he grumpily sat down again.
"Is Saduski going to be there?" Ben asked, not touching his food. "Yeah, he's going to be there too. Him and reinforcements." Mercy chewed on a chicken leg.
As they finally settled down in silence, everyone was thinking the very same thing.
I hope everything turns out alright…
"Look, there he is. Creep," Mel muttered to Desiree and Mercy. Friday had come all too soon, and Wyatt/Kempinski was sitting in the same place he had been sitting last Friday. What he didn't know is that ten FBI agents were in the club with him, pretending to be parents, bartenders, waiters and even college kids.
"Showtime. Let's get this over with," Mercy whispered to Chris. "Alright, everyone, listen up," she said into the mike. The club grew silent. "Today, we're going to open with a special song in answer to a question someone here asked us last week." She shot a dazzling yet malice filled smile at Kempinski, who waved back. "Here's to being a rock star!"
The music began, and those familiar with the song tapped their feet along.
Mercy began to sing.
I'm through with standing in line
to clubs we'll never get in
It's like the bottom of the ninth
and I'm never gonna win
This life hasn't turned out
quite the way I want it to be
People began to hoot, but Kempinski looked confused. Mercy ploughed on bravely.
I want a brand new house
on an episode of Cribs
And a bathroom I can play baseball in
And a king size tub big enough
for ten plus me
I'm gonna trade this life for fortune and fame
I'd even cut my hair and change my name
The club joined in on the chorus.
'Cause we all just wanna be big rockstars
And live in hilltop houses driving fifteen cars
The girls come easy and the drugs come cheap
We'll all stay skinny 'cause we just won't eat
And we'll hang out in the coolest bars
In the VIP with the movie stars
Every good gold digger's
Gonna wind up there
Every Playboy bunny
With her bleach blond hair
Hey hey I wanna be a rockstar
Mercy noticed thatKempinski's face had began to turn red. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed two familiar figures walk in and take a table at the far end of the club. Mom! Dad! What the hell…
Seeing her parents made her feel even braver, though, and she sang with even more energy.
I think I'm gonna dress my ass
with the latest fashion
Get a front door key to the Playboy mansion
Gonna date a centerfold that loves to
blow my money for me
I'm gonna trade this life
For fortune and fame
I'd even cut my hair
And change my name
'Cause we all just
wanna be big rockstars
And live in hilltop houses
driving fifteen cars
The girls come easy and
the drugs come cheap
We'll all stay skinny
'cause we just won't eat
And we'll hang out in the coolest bars
In the VIP with the movie stars
Every good gold digger's
gonna wind up there
Every Playboy bunny
with her bleach blond hair
And we'll hide out in the private rooms
With the latest dictionary and
today's who's who
They'll get you anything
with that evil smile
Everybody's got a
drug dealer on speed dial well
Hey hey I wanna be a rockstar
With that, they ended the song, to great applause in the club. Kempinski, however, was not amused.
"You…you punks think you can throw me off like that?" he demanded, coming towards the stage.
"Look out! Knife!" Ryan yelled. Just then, the FBI agents pulled out their weapons. "Freeze, Kempinski! You are under arrest!"
Everyone began to yell and rush out of the club as the agents cuffed Kempinski. Only the band, Kempinski, the agents, and Mercy's parents remained. Anita came out from backstage, looking frazzled. "Yup," she told an agent, "this is the man who wanted to hire Eclipse."
"You…you…you set me up!" Kempinski roared. "Tubelight," laughed Mel.
"That was…extremely satisfying," said Mercy in the family car, a Ford Explorer. Her parents were driving home, and Mercy wistfully looked out of the car window at the night lights of Washington DC.
"You were brave back there," Abigail turned from the front passenger's seat to look at her daughter.
"I'm not five, Mom," Mercy laughed. "Thanks."
"So where to next? Mickey D's?" Ben asked.
"No, thank you. Home will do just fine."
"If our rock star says so."
"I'll start singing…" Mercy warned her father.
"Okay! Okay! Home ho!"
Please review, and tell me what you would like in the future or if you didn't like certain things here! Thank you!