Chapter 13. Nothing Left To Lose.

"You know," Laura sneered as she put her drink down, "I'm starting to think you're stalking me." One glance to her right and she acknowledged with a heavy sigh that Portia took the seat next to her. "You're not planning on kidnapping me at some point, are you? Some really bad soap opera storyline in the making? Revenge on my marrying Tommy?" Her face showed of exhaustion. "You're beginning to tire me. Vastly."

Winking for the waiter and ordering a glass of Vodka, Portia crossed her legs, adjusted her skirt and smoothed out her hair. Laura rolled her eyes. "You saw the pictures. I can tell. You're a woman. Like me. We're nosy by nature. Did you ask Jude about them?"

Laura smiled, a wearied, bothered one that was only the replacement for the "Go to Hell!" she'd have much rather thrown at her.

"What did the poor, troubled girl tell you? A heart-wrenching story about me being mean and manipulative towards her? Unfair, no less?"

"She didn't tell me anything. I never asked." Laura let her gaze swipe over her. "Does it vex you? So much evil energy trapped in you and nobody takes you seriously. You're Darius' little sister. Nothing else. Yet you desperately try to sell yourself as a female Machiavelli. I can only imagine the amount of frustration boiling in you." She leaned closer to Portia, whispering, "it shows on your skin. Pimples..."

"Funny."

"Not really. It's the truth, though." Concentrating on her drink, Laura smirked. "Tommy called me Most Devious Creature, once. I wonder whether it wasn't a compliment after all. All he ever called you was Manipulative Bitch. Like I said, no recognition of your skills."

Portia brought the topic back to Jude. "Ask her about the pictures. I'm dying to find out what she has to say for herself. And be aware: the title of Most Devious Creature might soon go to her. Once she has her sight set on something—"

"Oh my God," Laura exclaimed, genuinely shocked. "You actually do think that Jude is trying to sleep her way up!"

"Is she not?" Portia scoffed. "She'd have killed to get famous when I met her. She'd have slept her way into a record deal, for crying out loud! How can you not see that? If she had told you her side of the story, you'd know. And look where she's now: Little Hubby Q's assistant. Have you ever asked him what they do during overtime? Mark my words, it's only a matter of time before she'll ask for a record deal. She may be more subtle now, but her goal sure hasn't changed."

"I don't get it. Seriously. Even if it's true what you're telling me, why does it bother you so much? Your brother owns a record label. Everybody working for him wants a record deal. Even the secretaries! I think your problem lies much deeper. I think you're scared of her. She's threatening you somehow. Why else would you go through all this trouble?"

Portia choked on her drink, causing Laura to grin. "Dead center. I knew your reasons were much more self-centered." Twirling a strand of her blond hair absentmindedly, she mused, "I wonder what Darius will say once he finds out about whatever it is that you did. Or does he know? Maybe you just don't want the world to know."

"Are you trying to intimidate me?" Having composed herself again, more than dismayed Jude was sitting on something that could entirely ruin her nice, comfortable life, Portia was beginning to worry. And instead of finding an ally in Laura, she turned out to be another roadblock. "You do know I don't react well to threats. What are you going to do? Blow the whistle? Beg Jude to let you in on whatever you think she has on me?"

"Are you daring me?" Laura inquired.

"Maybe."

She shook her head with a sneer. "Just like kindergarten. Seriously, what good from come from that? No, don't worry. I will suggest a different deal and you will agree: I won't snoop, nor will I tell Tommy about you and Chaz. And the other guy. I think if Tommy ever found out about this he'd be far more upset or angry than your brother. And in return, you keep your distance. Because, no kidding, you are getting on my nerves. And that aside, I have not the slightest idea what all that scheming is about. You hate Jude. So what? A lot of people hate you, too, I'm sure. They manage."

"I won't stop until Jude is gone. She can do and be whatever the hell she likes – but not at G-Major."

"Why?"

"Cause," Portia erupted, "I will work there."

Laura nearly dropped from that the bar stool. "Come again?"

Lowering her eyes, actually looking embarrassed, she gulped the rest of her drink down. "I will work at G-Major, starting tomorrow. Happy now? My fashion line went broke because my accountant took off with all my money. I'm sure it thrills you to hear I got screwed. Darius offered me a job and I took it gladly. Who would have figured Jude has already built her nest there! But well, I need the job, so I'll comply for now. No pictures from me. In exchange for silence. But if your little ward gets in my way, I won't guarantee for anything."

"She's not my ward," Laura snapped, surprising herself by that flash of attitude.

A small smile grew on Portia's face after all. "Oh no, here I thought you two were best friends."

Tossing a few bills on the table, Laura stood up, sending one last sneer in Portia's direction. "Stay away from me and I will stay away from you!"

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Tommy slammed the last drawer of Laura's dresser shut. Damn it, where did she hide that envelope? He'd already searched the closet, had gone through her purse collection, ransacked the living room sideboard and even looked through boxes of dozens of old Vogue magazines, stored in the guest room. He hated not knowing something. Ever since Jude had broken apart in his place earlier, he was convinced she'd feel better if she had the pictures, instead of Laura. It was bad enough Portia owned them. His wife didn't need to, as well.

"What are you doing?" Dropping her Chanel purse to the ground, Laura stared disbelievingly at her husband who had one hand buried in the depths of her nightstand.

"Uh…tissues! Paper tissues. I was looking—"

"For paper tissues? You mean the very ones right before your nose, on my nightstand, aren't good enough?" One short glance around the room and she had spotted the disheveled bed and the strewn handbags in front of the closet door. Shaking her head as she pulled up her purse she grabbed inside and fished out the envelope. "Looking for this?"

"How did you—"

"Know?" Laura snorted.

Tommy walked up to her, took the envelope and looked inside. He did want to know how she'd figured out his intent, but didn't ask when something else became obvious to him. "It's empty."

"Yep. I burned what was inside this morning. I knew you would look for it. It was about Jude and you always want to know everything that is about her." Kicking her shoes off, she then stripped off her dress and put on sweat pants and a simple gray shirt of his. Did it bother her that her husband didn't even take a second glance at her barely existent underwear? A little. It didn't surprise her, however.

Tommy threw himself onto the bed, stretched out on his back and groaned. "Seriously, Laura! The last two days nobody was allowed to even mention her name or you'd get at their throats. Suddenly you're angry with me for wanting to know what's going on?" He decided not to mention his conversation with Jude. "What the hell is going on? Can you please decide whether or not you like her? Then I can take note and act accordingly!"

She glared at him. "Gee, Tom, how about you decide whether you care more about me or her. I asked you not to look for the envelope and yet you did. And why? Because the envelope was about Jude!" Taking a seat in front of the vanity table, she began removing her make-up. "It isn't important what I want or how I feel. Because no matter what, you won't act accordingly!" Ever since leaving the bar, ever since seeing Portia, her mood had dropped significantly. Not only did she have to accept Jude in her husband's life, since he'd already made it clear she'd stay there despite her objections. From now on she'd also have to deal with Portia, who wouldn't for all the money in the world stay away from Tommy.

Above all that, all her insecurities about Tommy's fidelity were coming back with a vengeance. And it was undeniably connected to Jude. She did have pity with the girl, yet she was in love with her husband. Jude had been honest before, but was she honest now? If she asked straight out whether she'd slept with her husband, would Jude say 'yes'?

Yes.

Suddenly she just assumed they had done it?

Laura wanted to scream. When had her life become so incredibly complicated? She missed the good old times. The last time Tommy had slept with someone she had cursed him, but also the woman he'd done it with and in her thoughts she'd ripped her into bits and pieces.

Would she do that to Jude as well?

Tommy or not, at some point during the last couple of days she'd grown to like her. How was that possible? That woman might just be the reason her marriage could fall apart. She should hate her. She should do anything to keep her away from her husband. Yet, for whatever reason, she wasn't doing anything. She missed the person she was before meeting Tommy. When she'd still been proud and independent.

Now she was jealous and spiteful, confused and easily angered. She was losing herself and she didn't know how to stop that.

"I asked you if you are okay?!"

Snapping out of her thoughts, she looked at Tommy, startled. "Huh?"

"What's wrong with you? You've been looking into the mirror for minutes, just…staring at yourself! Laura, I know I promised not to look for the envelope, but Jude is acting crazy and I can't help her if you keep things like that from me."

"And why do you need to help her?" she wondered. She met his gaze. "I'm not meaning that in a bad way, or…whatever. I just want to know. Why is she so important to you? I want to understand it."

She might as well have asked him about the meaning of life. Tommy sat up, shrugging, trying to be vague. "She's a good friend." It wasn't a lie. "I care for her. You care for your friends."

"I don't believe that she's just a friend."

Did she know something? Did he dare to ask? "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying nothing," she expressed with distress. "I'm waiting for you to say something. I want to ask you whether you've slept with her, but I'm afraid. I'm afraid you'll say 'yes'. And I'm afraid of what I will have to do when you do say 'yes'. I'm afraid of what 'yes' will do to me. So I am not asking."

"I—" he started, but was stopped by her.

"Don't say anything," she said firmly. "Because, even though I want to know the truth, I'm not ready for you to say 'yes' and I don't know if I believe you if you say 'no' and that's what's making this whole thing so damn complicated. So please don't say anything, okay?"

He nodded.

"Thank you."

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Darius found Kwest in the kitchenette, preparing a sandwich. "Do you mind telling me what the hell is going on in my company?"

Kwest looked up, frowning. "Excuse me?"

With rolling eyes he nodded towards the lobby, which they had in plain sight. Jude was sitting on the big couch, legs tugged up, working on some papers while Tommy stood in the doorway of studio A, watching her with concerned eyes. Meanwhile Portia fumbled with a box of accessories, trying to get comfortable in the bit of space he'd assigned her as a working area. Out of pity he'd hired her. Every time she asked someone for help, they'd feign to be on the run and out of time. The only one remotely supportive was Shay, who of course, was doing anything but working with Tommy, whom he snapped and grumbled at any given opportunity. "This is like kindergarten with paychecks!"

Kwest, who'd always preferred a silent, uneventful working environment, scoffed as he took a bite off his sandwich. "You want me to break it down for you in one sentence?"

"Please," Darius sneered

"Quincy had sex with Jude, who is in love with him while feeling guilty towards Laura, who despises Portia, who again only has Shay on her side, which causes everybody else to stay clear of her because the last time Shay was here he hooked up with half the females employees and they all hate him guts. By the way, whose Salami is this?" He took another bite. "It's really good!"

"Why the hell can't they keep it in their pants?"

"Alien mind control," Kwest suggested with a chuckle. "My advice: Stay clear of it."

"Or I'll just fire Tom, who seems to be the core of all problems."

"You do know you'd only do him a favor, right? He'd pay you for letting him go!"

For a moment Darius just stood there, observing his various employees, until nonchalantly wondering, "Why are you telling me this? Tom is your friend."

"Friendship or not, he went too far when he slept with Jude. I like that girl. Every blind man can see she's in love with him! He did it anyway and went straight back to his wife. So right now I really don't give a damn about any friendship code of conduct."

"Okay. That still doesn't solve my problem."

"Without risking to overstep, it's your nephew that refuses to work with Quincy. If he'd be in the studio, Tom would be there as well. How about starting there?" Finishing the last bits of his lunch, he handed Darius an empty wrapping paper. "We're out of Salami. Nice talking to you."

"You're spending way too much time with T!" Darius yelled after him. "Cocky bastard," he added while heading for his nephew, whom he'd sternly advice to spend some time in the booth. For his own good!

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She was the last one present. Like always, lately. She preferred the silence of G-Major. Home had become a hot seat for her. Constantly she'd to fend off questions about how she'd managed to solve the issue with their house. Keeping it from being sold was one thing and she might have been able to explain that to her father. But explaining how she'd gotten it for free was a lot harder. Not that she blamed her father for being mistrusting. She'd have her issues with such a thing, too. Sadie, while knowing about some basics – dating Shay in exchange for the house – was skeptical as well. For that money, he could have built himself a girlfriend, she'd said.

It was getting troublesome to keep the truth to herself. And so, instead of finding excuses not to say something, she simply stayed away.

Not that Jude minded spending more time at G-Major. Once all the important people, and with that she meant Tommy and Darius, went home, G-Major became a calm and actually nice place to just hang out. In other words: she was all alone with a giant database of music, more instruments than she could play and one kick-ass fast internet connection that could provide any movie she could wish for, which, to top it off, she could watch in D's office on his gigantic flat screen TV while lounging in his big cushy leather chair, eating ice cream she hid inside a big carton saying, "Turnip Soup." Nobody dared to touch that!

And then, when some hours had passed and she was really, really sure that absolutely no one would come back because of anything forgotten or whatever other reason people had to come back, she'd creep back into studio A, turn on the small light in the adjoined booth, take a seat on the floor and strum the guitar idly. Idly would turn to specific and eventually, when she was lost in the marvelous sounds of expensive, handmade guitars that hummed a vibrant diversity according to her fingertips, she'd even feel save enough to whisper words of songs she not quite dared to sing out loud.

She had come to like these evenings spent all alone.

But, as was said, 'All good things must come to an end'. Eventually.

They did that night.

A little after midnight, just when Jude had written down what was absolutely not a new song, but merely a strategically aligned row of words, the big headlight in the main lobby went on and for whatever reason there was – she was not quite sure on the details, since she acted fast and without thinking – she hurried into studio A, flipped the little light in the booth off and hid in the back of the room. The number of people with a key for G-Major was small. Less than four, if she was correct. Well, four actually, if she included herself. That meant that either Tommy, Darius or…crap, what was the name of that office manager D had hired?

Never mind. It could only be one of them.

She wasn't surprised at all when it turned out to be Tommy, stumbling into studio A. He stumbled, or rather tripped, over her bag, which she probably should have picked up when deciding to hide in the back for reasons unknown to her.

"Damn it," he winced, looking at the culprit that had dared to lay on the ground unattended and cursed something that sounded remarkably alike 'Lazy Ass Assistant!' But he wouldn't be as stupid as to call her lazy, was he? Jude didn't think so. Cause he knew she didn't react nicely to that kind of language aimed at her and if he knew she was listening—

Unless he didn't know she was listening. Which was only logic, given she was still hiding in the room.

She remained silent as she observed him rustling through some papers on the soundboard.

When she was absolutely sure he felt alone and undisturbed she could no longer suppress the throbbing urge deep within her, the yearning need, the pressing desire to stand up, lean forward and to yell, "BOOOOOH!"

"IEEEEEH!"

Jude bent over laughing. Sometimes, when reality was far, far away, and she just enjoyed the moment, she could still enjoy a silly moment. "Did you just shriek?"

Tommy was clutching his heart with one hand. "Jesus Fucking Christ!" He wheezed, heretic, "What the bloody hell are you doing here?!"

"Giving you a heart attack, apparently." She crooked her head and grinned mischievously. "Old men really shouldn't sneak around in dark rooms. At your age you're very susceptible for heart failure, Quincy!"

He glared severely. And he still tried to catch his breath. Damn it, she'd really scared him! "Mock me, Jude. Go on." The words were clipped. "I'm this close to calling the police! Are you stealing songs again?"

She cringed, suddenly aware that the computer in Tommy's office was still running while a suspiciously big external hard drive was copying away. "I work here," she reminded him. "I'm not breaking in."

"Just stealing then," he summed up. "Seriously, you could do that during work." His tone was almost icy. "Since you're practically locking yourself in there, and with that locking me out, I wouldn't even notice. So, what's the deal? Besides, this is studio A and I do—" A very intrigued expression grew on his face when he spotted her journal on the couch behind her. "Are you writing again?" Everything else was forgotten. "Can I hear it?"

Hardly meeting his gaze, her eyes small and adverted, she shook her head gently. Almost tiredly. "I told you—"

"I know, I know," he finished, just as tired of hearing her making excuses for not singing. Annoyed he added, "no note from you for me. I get it."

"Then why did you ask?" she all but snapped back.

"While there's a will, there's hope," he said with a faint smile.

"My will says: Stop hoping!"

"Sing for me." He thoroughly ignored her words, went for the couch and grabbed the journal. "It's the one I gave you. But the lock is missing." A faint smile dimpled his cheeks. "Does that mean I'm allowed to sneak a peek?" Not waiting for her reply, he just opened it and switched to the last written page.

(Nothing Left To Lose, The Pretty Reckless)

I was only 19, you were 29
It's just 10 years, but it's such a long time
In a heartbeat, I would do it all again

Late night sex, smokin' cigarettes
I try real hard but I can't forget
Now in a heartbeat, I would do it all again
Now I see that you and me were never meant
Never meant to be now
Now I'm lost somewhere
Lost between Elvis and suicide

Ever since the day we died, well
I've got nothing left to lose

After Jesus and Rock N Roll
Couldn't save my immoral soul, well
I've got nothing left
I've got nothing left to lose

As Jude found it abnormally hard to move, to take away from him what was rightfully hers, she just watched him becoming silent and enthralled with her lyrics. The songwriter in her instantly became anxious in anticipation for a possible compliment, or at least a judgment. Deep within her, carefully hidden beneath wit and sass, a vibrant innocent girl thrived for acceptance. Acceptance from someone who was a fellow musician. Someone who mattered in the biz.

The older, more wise Jude barked at the young girl, demanding from her to hide and shut up, but she just wasn't listening. Conflicts she'd long thought passed where surging back to life. Did she dare to dream again? Did she dare to risk something again? Most importantly, did she dare to lose herself again?

The idea was frightening. Horrifying. And yet, it was utterly riveting.

Tommy looked up, handed her the journal and smiled. "It wouldn't even take two minutes to print a contract and to sign it, you know? Two minutes. Others wait a lifetime for an opportunity like that. They would kill for those two minutes."

"Or do other things," Jude murmured, surprising Tommy, while she herself gave up all over again and let fear and fright rule her life once more. She closed the journal. "After I told you everything, you should really stop asking me to sing. Is there a reason you're here so late?"

He refused to let this go. "Nothing left to Lose. That's the name of the song. If those lyrics speak the truth then what's keeping you from singing?"

"Did you read the whole text? Every word?" she retorted, crisp and demanding. "Cause this song isn't about life, it's about love. And in case you weren't paying attention, it's about you! Don't you dare throw my lyrics back at me. I don't sing anymore!"

"I don't care. Look around, Jude!" He motioned for the dark surroundings. "Nobody but you and me. If you don't want to sign, fine. I can understand that! But why won't you sing? You and me," he said again, meeting her angry stare squarely. "You sang for me before."

Her fists balled as her teeth showed. "Yes, Tommy," Jude spat out, "I remember that. Again, if you had read the song, you'd know that! Or did already forget what happened when the music stopped?!"

"No." Just like that, after a two-letter admission, he leaned down, grabbed her head and kissed those soft lips of hers until her lungs were all out of air.

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