REBEL

Chapter Two

" I'm not doing it ! ," Rebel exclaimed as he pursed his lips at his irritating manager Bailey Mullins who also happened to be the closest thing to a friend that he had.

Maybe. His odd eyes drifted over to the full length mirror in his all pink bedroom. The reflection that greeted him was not his current too thin long haired bleary eyed one but that of a chubby pimple faced kid with the same wide eyes.

Ricky Joe.

" Listen to him," Ricky Joe said from the mirror.

He wanted to laugh.

" He's your friend. He cares! ," Ricky Joe insisted.

He still wanted to laugh. Nobody cared about him. Only how many CDs he could sell , how many fans screamed themselves silly at his sold out concerts, how many followers he had on his Twitter and Instagram pages. Even his mother Sallie didn't care. She was happy to stay in the flat he got her in London and keep cashing the checks he mailed her every month but she never called him. Or emailed him. Or even messaged him on Twitter.

His smile was bitter as he sat down on his King sized silk sheeted satin blanketed bed. His arms were itching for his special medicine but he couldn't. Bailey made him promise to quit. No. The bastard threatened to quit if he kept using.

( " You almost died last time, Rebel!  Do you know how hard it was to keep it quiet? You owe it to your fans to stay clean. They adore you. " )

" You will, Rebel," Bailey said as he stood by his  favorite toy; his pink and white Hollywood style vanity table that had been a gift from rock and roll legend Patsy Turner after they had done the benefit for Aids research in Vegas three years ago. Or was it five years ago? Who knows? He adored her. Patsy at seventy was a real singer and musician while he was just a pretty boy who got lucky. And , he mused while looking at his still unlined face in the mirror, how many years did he still have left to be pretty and sexy? He was already thirty two and felt like forty. Maybe he should ask Patsy for her plastic surgeon's number. Perhaps Botox was the way to go.

" No. Bailey, I'm not having some muscle head security snooping around my home. And my life. Not for some silly letters you won't even show me." He kicked off his beloved ratty old bedroom slippers and reclined on the bed. He closed his eyes. He was so tired. The tour had taken a lot out of him. Twenty five back to back states and then back to New York to record his latest Rebel 's Delight. Talk show appearances. Charity benefits. And Bailey was trying to talk him into doing a reality show about his daily life. That was out definitely. He didn't care how the man pouted and stamped his gigantic feet on Rebel 's plush wall to wall carpet. He lived in enough of a fish bowl already without opening his life more for his loving adoring fans. They had enough of him. He had a right to some privacy.

" And your secrets ," Ricky Joe said from the mirror.

Bailey loomed over the smaller man and a shiver came over Rebel suddenly. He wasn't scared of his manager. No. Not Bailey. They had known each other for years since he was twenty four and singing as a lark in a karaoke bar. The tall thin geeky looking guy with painfully thick glasses had been in awe over his voice and dragged him to a meeting with the president of Imagine Records.

( " Bail's not wrong ever ," Max Stone drawled around his disgusting cigar. " Kid , you're gonna be a star. Bailey, you do need to put him on a diet though. Get rid of the blubber. Looks matter more than talent. Talent is overrated. And knock off that hick name. Ricky Joe, goodbye! Call him ...... Hmmm ...... Rebel. Yeah , Rebel. I like that. Trim his pudgy ass down a bit, grow his hair out and all the little girlies will cream their panties over Rebel. " )

He scooted over on the bed slightly. Away from Bailey whose eyes narrowed behind his glasses. Bailey leaned forward and trained his gaze on his arms which were hidden beneath his long sleeved Dr. Who PJs.

" Are you using again, Rebel ? I swear to God....... "

Rebel closed his eyes and sighed. He was getting tired of defending himself. It had been one mistake.

" It wasn't a mistake,"Ricky Joe said sadly.

" No. I'm just tired. I need rest. "

Bailey watched him carefully. Then sighed in that long suffering way of his. Rebel hated that sigh.

" Then I'll leave you alone to sleep. It has been a long tour. Perhaps you need to schedule a little downtime at Haven. "

Rebel allowed his thin lips to curve into a smile as he thought of his precious farm in Pennsylvania. He often dreamed of calling it quits and running away there. But too many things wouldn't allow that. Max and the Imagine contract. Bailey. The fans or as people called them The Rebelites. His mother who depended on his money.

" You mean to feed her own addiction to alcohol and young men ," Ricky Joe said.

" But , Rebel, Ariel Gaines is sending her best man over tomorrow. Bright and early. You will be up to meet him. You will be as respectful as possible. Pretend. "

Rebel pouted and crossed his arms over his bony chest.

"No. "

Bailey headed for the door of Rebel 's large spacious bedroom suite, saying over his shoulder," Yes. Or you can find a new manager capable of putting up with all your bull shit and temper tantrums. "