Her Ruthless Cowboy

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Two weeks earlier…Mabel scowled at Roxxy from behind the bright red, hydraulic barber chair. “You obviously hate me.”

Roxxy plopped into the chair, which stood in the middle of what they referred to as “the closet,” but what was really a repurposed, two thousand square foot room located off the master bedroom of her penthouse apartment. It had a view overlooking Central Park, and it was large enough to house her thousands of costumes, her extensive collection of wigs, and the special hair and makeup center where she’d met up with Mabel almost every single morning for the last several years.

“Good morning to you, too, Mabel,” she said with a huge yawn.

“What have I told you about sleeping in your hair and makeup?” Mabel asked, snatching last night’s powder-white, Marie Antoinette wig off her head. “You look like a raccoon prostitute. How am I supposed to get you ready for the Today Show looking this bad?”

Roxxy didn’t bother to confirm Mabel’s assessment of her looks in the mirror. She simply placed her chin into the palm of her left hand and let her head droop into it. “If I sit like this, can you still do your job?”

“You party too much,” Mabel informed her. She pulled her own hair, which she wore in long dreadlocks, into a messy ball on top of her head and lodged them in place with a makeup brush.

“I know.”

“I’m about this close to getting together with Dexter to stage an intervention.”

Roxxy yawned again. “Doesn’t announcing a plan for an intervention kind of defeat the purpose?”

“Keep joking, but I’m honest to God worried about you,” Mabel said. She sprayed the short natural Roxxy wore under all her wigs with water, and rubbed a rich, moisturizing, leave-in conditioner into her tight curls. This routine was so familiar to Roxxy that it felt like both a massage and a ritual.

“I know you are,” Roxxy mumbled, feeling a twinge of guilt for yet again making Mabel’s life harder. “Maybe I’ll check myself into rehab after my last show. Or…”

She let the “or” hang, knowing Mabel’s busybody nature wouldn’t let her not ask.

And she was right. “Or what?” Mabel snapped, dumping a copious amount of makeup remover onto a large cotton round.

“Or,” Roxxy said, “You, Dexter, and me can take a vacation some place where the boys are as hot as the weather.”

Mabel slapped her on the shoulder. “Dexter might like that, but what’s an old lady like me going to do with boys your age?”

“You’re only in your forties, Mabel,” she reminded her. “And I’m thirty now. I think there are plenty of things you could do with a boy my age. You want me to spell it out for you?”

More often these days, Roxxy resented her role as one of America’s sauciest, sexiest pop stars, but sometimes it was nice to let herself pretend she really was the kind of uninhibited woman who could actually seek out male attention without there being copious amounts of alcohol involved.

Mabel threw her head back with laughter. “You are so bad.”

“Yeah, we’re definitely going to go with the vacation option,” Roxxy said, smiling as her eyes fluttered close. “I’ve been to rehab, and let me tell you…boring.”

She started to drift off into blessed sleep—only to be jerked awake with a hard shake.

Even before opening her eyes, Roxxy knew it was Shirelle. Getting abruptly woken up by this woman was even more familiar than her multi-hour hair and makeup sessions with Mabel. Shirelle had been shaking her awake for one thing or another since the age of three, when they’d first come to New York to make it big.

Roxxy groaned in irritation, but Mabel nodded with approval toward Shirelle who was decked out in a yellow A-line dress, which showed off her shapely calves and ample chest. Despite the early hour, she wore a full-face of perfectly applied makeup topped off with a sleek ponytail that fell all the way down to her butt. “Hey, girl! Look at you working that yellow dress.”

Roxxy knew for a fact Shirelle was almost fifty, but thanks to a few subtle procedures over the years and an almost maniacal commitment to staying fit, she could have easily passed for a woman even younger than Roxxy. In fact, very few people other than Mabel knew Shirelle wasn’t just Roxxy’s manager, but also her mother.

On the rare occasion that Shirelle and she where in a room together when Roxxy wasn’t wearing a crap load of makeup and fake hair, she couldn’t help but be taken aback by how much they looked alike. They had the same smoky brown skin, the same almond-shaped eyes, and even the same well-defined curves—though Roxxy’s toned lines came from putting on hundreds of concerts over the course of her singing career instead of two-hour exercise sessions every morning like her mother.

“Look how great she looks first thing in the morning,” Mabel said, wiping yesterday’s stage make-up off Roxxy’s face with vicious swipes. “And you look like you got punched in both eyes. Roxxy, why can’t you be more like Shirelle?”

Shirelle preened under the compliment, but then glared at Roxxy. “And why aren’t you practicing your vocal warm-ups for the Today Show?”

Roxxy threw her mother a sleepy smile, “Because I haven’t had my morning tea yet.”

On cue, Dexter, the bodyguard, who her team called the “Black Hulk” behind his back, appeared and placed a large cup of the special tea he ordered in bulk for her from an herbalist in his neighborhood.

“Thanks, Dex,” she said. “Did you get one for yourself, too?” Never allowing herself to eat or drink alone had started out as a diet trick in her early twenties. But now it was so ingrained, it didn’t feel like she would actually be able to consume anything without at least one other person in the room doing the same.

Dex produced his own thermos of coffee and took a sip, without speaking. As a rule, he didn’t speak unless he absolutely had to. He seemed to consider talking about anything that didn’t relate to Roxxy’s protection or comfort to be a waste of time. Even now, his eyes were sweeping the room above his thermos for anything that could do his employer harm or cause her any discomfort.

These were just two of the many reasons why Dex was the only one other than Mabel and Shirelle allowed to see her without her stage makeup.

After a decade of only appearing in the most outrageous costumes and makeup, it had become the primary goal of a few photographers to capture a picture of her out of makeup. She liked most of the people on her team and trusted them with many of the most intimate details of her life. But she only trusted three people not to covertly take a picture of her real face and pass it on to a tabloid, blog, or paparazzo. And all three of those people were in this room. Even Roxxy’s two assistants didn’t get to see her out of makeup.

Dex yawned, trying to conceal it behind one beefy hand.

This immediately had Mabel clucking her tongue. “Poor baby. Did this one have you working security for her at them clubs all night again?”

Dexter didn’t answer.

“You know, you can tell her no sometimes,” Mabel said. “I’d never let her fire you.”

Loyal as always, Dexter didn’t answer. Instead he went back into the racks of costumes and started his morning perimeter sweep.

Mabel harrumphed. “Why that man is so dedicated to you, I don’t know. If he really cared, he’d stop enabling you.” Mabel turned to Shirelle, who was already steadily thumbing out business texts and emails as she did every morning. “Don’t you think she should party less, Shirelle? Look how run down she is.”

Shirelle barely glanced up from her smart phone. “I wouldn’t mind if she got in front of the cameras more when she went out. The best scenario would be if she snagged a famous boyfriend. An actor would be nice, that way she’d get twice the coverage, and it would give her some star power when we move to California and start auditioning.”

Just so she could get her mother off the subject of acting, a career move she had no intention of making, Roxxy launched into her morning runs.

A few hours and vocal warm-ups later, Mabel turned her around in the swivel chair, and she was once again, Roxxy RoxX, the sexy, chart-topping, international music star who sold out stadiums and started cameras clicking whenever she entered a room.

Today Mabel had outfitted her in a humongous gray afro wig and a headband with triangular furry ears. These ears might have been mistaken for a cat’s, if not for her face, which Mabel had made up to look like a raccoon’s, with huge black circles around her eyes, highlighted by white makeup at her cheekbones, and gray makeup covering the rest of her face.

“Impressive, but you forgot the whiskers,” Roxxy said, turning her face from side to side in the mirror.

“I’m sure people are gonna get what I’m going for.” Mabel disappeared down one of the rows of costumes and reappeared with a slate gray mini-dress, which sported several tears in strategic places. “Especially after you put this on with a pair of black fishnets.”

Her “raccoon prostitute” look was a big hit. The hosts of the Today Show crowed and chastised her appropriately, and she was already all over the gossip and celebrity sites by the time she hit the stage for the last concert of her world tour.

This one would be filmed and featured on HBO, so there were several costume changes and even a few retakes. Her whole team—especially Mabel—had to work like dogs to pull it off.

“I’m thinking of taking Mabel and Dexter on a vacation somewhere next week,” Roxxy said as she, Dexter, and her mother drove home from Madison Square Garden in the back of a stretch limo.

“That’s a great idea,” her mother said. “Maybe we should all go to California. You could start meeting with film agents and a few acting coaches, so we can begin the next phase of your career.”

“That’s not exactly a vacation,” Roxxy answered. “And I’ve told you like a million times already, I don’t want to act.”

Her mother gave her a concerned look. “Then what are you going to do with yourself? You’re not going back into the studio until the fall, and the last time you had a break this long, I had to cut my vacation short in order to come back from St. Tropez and act as your monitor while you were under house arrest.”

A small mine of regret went off in her chest. The first DUI she’d gotten had felt more like a rite of celebrity passage than a crime. She’d gotten pulled over soon after she’d left a club in the Hamptons. But then she’d gotten into another scuffle with the law less than a year later, and that hadn’t been cute at all. Roxxy thanked her lucky stars that she had only totaled her car and hadn’t actually hurt anyone in the accident that resulted in her DUI.

“I know you think I’m whining, but I really need a vacation. A real one. You have no idea how much.” Roxxy said.

“Oh, I get it. You’re nervous about meeting with agents because of your issues.” Her mother pulled out a baggie of white pills. “You can take one of these. It’ll calm your nerves, and if you really want to have a good time in California, just mix it with some alcohol, then you won’t have to worry about being on if the agent invites you out to dinner later.”

Roxxy gave her mother a withering look. “Do you want me to get another DUI?”

Her mother dismissed the question with a wave of her hand. “You’re always coming back to that. It was just a little fender bender.”

“They put me under house arrest!”

“You got a bad judge. He was trying to make an example out of you because you’re famous. Even your lawyers said so.” Shirelle waved the bag of pills temptingly. “Give one of these a test drive tonight when you’re out at the clubs. My connect says dancing on this stuff is amazing.”

She thrust the bag toward Roxxy again, but Roxxy pushed it away. “You know, I don’t mess with that stuff anymore. I don’t need it.”

“Well, obviously you do if it’s keeping you from making our dreams come true in California.”

A wave of tiredness washed over Roxxy and she rubbed her eyes. “Shirelle, just drop it. Please.”

Her mother folded her arms and looked out the tinted window, letting her body language do the talking for her.

Roxxy had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from apologizing. For quite a while there, she and her mother had actually been close, going out to clubs, taking extravagant vacations, and enjoying the perks of Roxxy’s fame. But ever since the second DUI, their relationship had been strained. She could almost feel the disappointment coming off her sullen mother in the car. And heaven knew how Shirelle would react if she found out what Roxxy had really been doing with her nights or that she was planning to move to California, but not to pursue an acting career.

They spent the rest of the car ride in silence. Shirelle didn’t even bother to say goodnight when she and Dex climbed out of the limo.

And if the argument with her mother hadn’t made her feel bad enough, she once again had to ask Dex to go above and beyond the call of duty that night.

“It’s two in the morning, Dex, and I hate to do this to you,” she said. “But I’ll probably be up all night again.”

“It’s okay,” Dex said, shrugging. “How ‘bout I hit two clubs and call it quits in the morning?”

“And definitely don’t bother to get here until I’m done with makeup. I’ve only got one last interview tomorrow on The View, then we’re booking tickets to some place nice where I won’t be pretending to party every night. I promise. I even invited Mabel along so she can think she’s keeping me out of trouble.”

A rare smile lifted the side of Dex’s mouth. “She’ll probably like that.”

“Mother-henning me for a whole month on full salary? Oh no, you know she will love it. See you tomorrow.”

Back to his usual silent self, Dex just nodded before opening the door for her. He did one last perimeter sweep of her entire apartment before he left. And even then he made sure the door was secure behind him.

Her heart swelled with appreciation as she listened to the familiar jangle of the door handle from the outside. She wished there was something more she could do for him other than give him a substantial bonus at the end of the summer. They had figured out that just his presence alone at a nightclub was enough to make people believe she’d been there whenever she needed to pull an all-nighter. And clubs being by their very nature greedy for any publicity they could get never refuted her presence when asked if it was true she’d spent all night on their dance floors. There had even been a few quotes from D-list celebrities, supposed “friends” of hers, who had “danced with her all night” and had seen her “locking lips” with a fellow celeb who just so happened to have a new movie or album out and needed the publicity.

Roxxy was so keyed up with adrenaline from her last show, she actually wouldn’t have minded going to a club and dancing the night away, just like old times. But instead, she trudged up the winding stairs to the office loft where her laptop lived when she wasn’t on the road. She tapped a key to turn it on, and it lit up on page five of the ten-page term paper final for her Sociology 101 class, which was due the next day. With grim determination, she started pecking out sentences, occasionally stopping to refer to the textbook, before going back to the keyboard.

This was the last paper of the semester and counted for a significant percent of her grade, so she couldn’t just blow it off, no matter how exhausted she was. Also, these last few credits would complete her transfer requirements, making it possible for her to attend the University of Southern California as a full-time student. After that, she’d be on track to get a progressive bachelor’s/master’s degree in public administration, which would allow her to leave music behind forever and concentrate on her non-profit and philanthropic efforts.

She still hadn’t figured out how to tell her mother that by this time next year, she’d have given up her career as Roxxy RoxX in order to attend school as simple Roxxanne Weathers. But she figured if she could handle taking classes while touring all over the world, she could handle telling Shirelle she was done with showbiz. Maybe. Possibly. She hoped.

On second thought, perhaps she’d just enroll and send Shirelle an email after she was firmly ensconced in her new apartment near the USC campus.

ROXXY WOKE UP THE NEXT MORNING, drooling all over her laptop keyboard. There were about fifteen pages of mumbo-jumbo from where various parts of her face had hit the keys. She’d have to ask one of her assistants to get her laptop cleaned since it was now covered in stage makeup. Again. But after deleting all the extra keystrokes, she found she was now only a paragraph or two away from finishing her paper.

Roxxy checked her smart phone. She had the appearance on The View this morning but she wouldn’t be performing, just chatting with the show’s hosts, so all she needed to do was get in hair and makeup. She grimaced, torn between making Mabel wait so she could type the last couple of paragraphs and getting to her makeup session on time.

In the end, she chose the term paper, figuring she’d be a better interview if she didn’t have the final hanging over her head. Fifteen minutes later, she uploaded her work to her online classroom, then ran down the stairs and through the closet’s door, calling out, “Sorry, I’m late! Really sorry!”

However, she found Mabel sprawled out in the makeup chair with her back to her. Apparently, she was so tired from yesterday’s insane list of events, she’d fallen asleep waiting for her only client, who was late. Again.

A none-too-small pang of guilt hit Roxxy. She was aware by not going through the simple step of removing her makeup the night before—the only thing Mabel ever asked of her, really—she made her hair and makeup routine that much longer for her friend. Not to mention she was only a few months away from letting the woman go for good.

Roxxy vowed to do better during the rest of their time together and find Mabel another gig before she started college.

But meanwhile, she couldn’t resist joking with the older woman, who she’d never caught sleeping on the job before.

“Hey, I thought I was the one who was supposed to come in here and fall asleep in the chair. You’re stealing my thunder.” Roxxy whipped the chair around playfully.

But Mabel wasn’t sleeping. In fact, her eyes were wide open and there were thin streams of dried blood trickling from her mouth and nose, like a terrible Halloween special effect Mabel might have dreamt up for Roxxy.

Mabel’s new look had nothing to do with Halloween, though. Roxxy knew this because it was July. And also because of the note she found written on the mirror in the same black makeup Mabel had used to achieve the raccoon prostitute look the day before.

It read, “A GIFT TO YOU FROM ME. LOVE, YOUR BIGGEST FAN.”

That’s when Roxxy screamed and screamed and screamed some more.