Modern Day Wez

Starring in . . .

THE BODYGUARD

By: J.C. Bruyere

PROEM

January 25, 2004

Alphabet City

New York, New York

The concert would air soon and Wez had been anticipating this t.v. special all week.  It was late, one hour before midnight, but on the west coast it was eight o'clock.  And that's where this show was being broadcast live from:  Los Angeles.  He was seated in the chair with his boots planted on the desk, a beer nestled in his left hand as he eyed the television screen.  He dug around in the bag of cheeze puffs, grabbing a fistful of the orange-colored chips. 

Now his eyes travelled to the numerous posters tacked on his wall.  Jesse Black, but he preferred to call the delicate blond the Golden Youth.  And his fascination with the singer was rather silly since he stood six-four and weighed in at two-hundred-and-fifty pounds of rock-hard, solid muscle.  His head was shaved to the scalp with the exception of the dark, red mohawk.  Yeah, the hairstyle was rather menacing and he preferred it this way since it complimented his fierce, light-blue eyes and thin lips that always possessed a gruff sneer.  And he made an honest living as a bodyguard after he'd been released from the penitentiary five years ago.  Those days of brutal crimes were finished.  He had a second chance and he refused to give up his freedom again.  Hardly young, he was pushing thirty-nine since he'd mark his birthday on August 3rd.  A Leo according to the zodiac.

And he didn't believe in that sort of bullshit, but yet, he studied everything he could about the Golden Youth.  He knew Jesse's date of birth offhand:  November 8, 1984, a Scorpio.  Ah yes, what a lethal combination, fire and water.  According to the zodiac, the two signs were mismatched since the scorpion was a dual mix of intense passion, a deep thinker, highly driven by sex and so mystical - a chameleon who easily adapted to all situations, never allowing one to know the true man beneath that facade.

As for Leo?  Hear me roar, so prideful, egotistical, demanding, bossy, a leader, the entrepreneur, never following but always carving out one's own destiny and he suited the lion to a tee.  And when Leo met Scorpio?  A clash occurred, the lion demanding to be worshiped while in turn referring to the snapping scorpion as his most prized possession.  Most of all, the lion wanted to unearth the mystery, demanding Scorpio yield to his touch.  But according to the astrology book he read, it would take a helluva person to make the scorpion put that stinger away.

Now he gave a snort of disgust as he gazed at the numerous rock magazines scattered about his desk, Jesse and his band on every cover.  He had an eclectic mix, ranging from serious mags like Vocalist, to Rockin' Youth, the target audience being teenaged girls.  The Black Attack fan base was a garden of potpourri.  Every age group loved this band, whether a teenaged girl or boy, to a housewife or businessman.  Pure melodic metal was their signature sound, embraced by the masses.  And ever since the tender age of fourteen, Jesse fronted this band.

Yeah, he knew all about the history of The Black Attack.  They scored a record deal when the Golden Youth had only been seventeen, and Jesse had to sneak into bars with a fake ID since he wasn't old enough to play in those establishments.  The singer was four years younger than his band mates.  And after time spent recording in the studio, when the youth marked his eighteenth birthday, The Black Attack's debut CD quickly rose up the charts, going quadruple platinum.  And now their sophomore follow-up was racing up the charts, ready to outdo their first album.

But like the true Scorpio Jesse happened to be, he left all publicity handling to Tango, the crazed lead guitarist with the black, long cornrows, numerous piercings and one too many tattoos.  Marky, the quirky rhythm guitarist with the shaved head and bondage outfits would also join Tango for radio, t.v., or magazine interviews.  Those two lapped up the attention and loved to talk.  Their bassist, Corky, was always overlooked since the redhead just didn't have any flamboyancy about him.  The same went for their drummer, Stixx, a burly guy who only nodded his head, but the big dude seemed to prefer shunning the spotlight.  Instead, the drummer preferred chasing the groupies and conning as many women into bed as possible.

Wez grunted.  Yeah, he spent many an evening reading about his obsession, which he dryly referred to Jesse as, since he couldn't summon up another word as to why he was so drawn to the beautiful blond singer.  Cripe, only teenaged girls paid homage to a rock star in this manner, yet he had every magazine, every poster, every CD and whatever else could tie him to the Golden Youth.

Now he gazed at his fave picture, a black and white that sat on his desk enclosed in a silver frame.  He loved this pic because Jesse was minus the familiar black eyeliner, powdery, white make-up and blood-red lipstick that made the rocker look like a vampire.  Instead, the youth's true beauty shone through, so exquisite and delicate.  Now he gazed at the signature scrawled with a felt marker . . .

To Vernon, all the best, Jesse Black.

Yeah, when he joined The Black Attack fan club of all things, in the mail came the signed promo photos but the only pic he kept was Jesse's and he tossed the others in the garbage.  The blond hair was so golden, like the sun when at its peak, but in the 8 x 10 glossy the silken mane was as silvery and pure like the falling snow.  The dark, chocolate brown eyes looked like sparkling, onyx gems, but those long, thick, ebony lashes and those slim, black brows easily stood out.  He liked the narrow, long nose and the pout of those full, rose colored lips.  The gently rounded chin blended harmoniously with those well-defined cheekbones.  He really liked the silk shirt Jesse wore.  So serious was the look gazing back at him, so lost in deep thought.  Yeah, perfect.  Even the skin was so satiny, so creamy looking with a delicate rose undertone.

Six-feet Jesse stood, always garbed in leather, from those tight pants, to the skimpy vest and two-inch heeled boots.  Each lean-muscled bicep was marked with ink.  Yeah, such nice shoulders, a bit broad, those sinewy muscles filling out that silken flesh so nicely.      

Now he grunted with annoyance.  Shit, the clock read 11:15 p.m. and the concert still didn't start.  What the fuck was going on?

Just then the phone rang so he scooped up the receiver.  "Ya."

"Wez, it's Bubba Zanetti," the man announced in a flat, cool voice.  "We gotta talk."

"Services?" he growled.

"Yes," Bubba replied.  "Will be flying in on the red-eye.  I'll be at your office tomorrow morning."

Now Wez frowned since Bubba worked for a company who supplied bodyguards to celebrities and the quiet gentleman was responsible for training and overseeing all the employees.  As for himself?  He didn't guard those movie-stars.  He took care of the powerhouse businessmen in New York.  His one client right now happened to be one of the biggest fast-food chain owners in the city.  To be honest, he found those celebs, politicians and other hot shots to be more trouble than the contract was worth.

But, he had a hunch this job would be very substantial in profits.  Why else would Bubba contact him?  Now he thought about how he planned on retiring in six years since he'd have a large enough sum to leave this hellhole behind and escape to the outback of Australia.  He loathed the city and all these goddamn people.  And if he agreed to his old comrade's request, he could probably make the leap to retirement even sooner.

"You there?" Bubba asked.

"Yeah, I'm here.  I'll see you tomorrow," Wez gruffly stated as he slammed down the phone.

"Again, we regret to inform everyone The Black Attack's concert will not run as scheduled," the announcer said. 

Fuck sakes.  He banged his fist on the desk in annoyance.  First this fucking phone call and no doubt he'd be stuck babysitting some spoiled, bratty actress, and now Jesse's concert was cancelled.  Could this night get any worse?

Next Page - Chapter One