The Devil's Duet: Chapter 2, Below Sunset

Promises Signed in Blood, Echoed in Stardust

Previously in The Devil’s Duet…

In Chapter One, we met Raven St. Clair, a rising star with a past steeped in ambition, rebellion, and a dangerous bargain. From her early days in New Orleans to the cusp of fame, Raven has fought for her voice—unaware of the price she’ll have to pay.

Now, in Chapter Two, the spotlight burns brighter, and the shadows grow darker.

Welcome to Chapter Two of The Devil’s Duet.

Chapter 2: Below Sunset

1038 Carol Dr, West Hollywood, CA, 1972

I cracked open the door to my tiny West Hollywood apartment on Carol Dr, a stone’s throw from the western edge of the Sunset Strip. It wasn’t much to write home about, but it was home. One of my fellow bartenders at StarBrews, a tacky bar on Sunset, Marion Jacobsen, lived in the apartment and had a sudden vacancy so she offered the extra bedroom to me. I had been living in a rented room at a house in Laurel Canyon at the time and I jumped at an opportunity to be at Ground Zero of the Sunset Strip scene. Just across Sunset sat the El Dorado hotel which loomed over the Strip. The El Dorado was equal parts as famous and infamous as those who roamed the halls and being this close to the hotel as well as the music bars dotting the strip made stardom feel well within grasp.

Stardom as it would seem did not feel very close to my grasp at the time - beyond a few famous musicians who used to come into the bar, my career had not panned out as planned. I always assumed that Los Angeles was paved with opportunity but I soon discovered that it was paved with pitfalls, shady would-be managers and charlatans who only kept me further from my dreams.

One night after closing down StarBrews, Marion and I were walking down the Strip towards home as Marion got a wild streak in her glimmering eyes. “C’mon,” she said pulling my sleeve, “Let’s pop into the El Dorado for a drink.”

“Aww, come on, Marion,” I protested, “Looking like this?” I asked referencing the stained clothes hanging from my frame.

“C’mon,” Marion said unabated, “You are a stone cold knockout, Raven, and I raked in the tips tonight, drinks are on me!” Marion exclaimed excitedly.

El Dorado Hotel, West Hollywood, CA, 1972

The El Dorado lobby was imposing, a convergence of Andalusian influences. Soaring columns anchored dramatically arching ceilings, bathed in the soft light of dangling Moorish lamps. But it was the clientele draped in expensive furs, dripping in jewelry that were even more imposing than the architecture, this was more than just a hotel, this was a bastion of power, the powerful and their powerful desires.

Marion and I cut through the throng to the bar and tried to look like we fit in or we at least did our best to appear that way. The bar was a semi-circular bar with an inlaid jade green tile that ran along the bartop that bisected the floor of the lobby bar and butted up against a section of brown leather arm chairs atop a plush Beni Ourain rug, a mix of calming cream colors studded with brilliant veins of blue color.
Various denizens of the night clung to the dark corners of the lobby bar as the sweet scent of cloves and smoke drifted through the air making the scene look like some sort of a mirage or a bar out of a Humphrey Bogart movie.

As we laid down claim on the bar by leaning on the jade tile with our elbows, the jangly sounds of "Booker T.’s Green Onions" wafted through the lobby bar.

“Ladies?” The bartender asked eyeing Marion.

“Two seven and sevens, Roy,” Marion said knowingly imbuing the conversation with a comfortable intimacy as she pushed a rolled up wad of bills across the jade bar towards Roy. In return, Roy slid a microphone across the bartop towards Marion. “Mar,” he said sweetly, “The usual girl called out sick, won’t you hum a few bars?”

Marion politely declined, “Not tonight, Roy, I’m beat.”

“Come on, Mar,” Roy pleaded, “I promise I’ll rub your feet the way you like after a long day and I’ll get us some takeout from that pizza joint you love on Kings when I get off. Shame to let that beautiful voice go to waste shouting at bar backs all day.”

Marion’s gaze shifted as her eyes darted to mine, “Roy,” she said directly, “You know who’s actually incredibly talented?” Marion asked as a torrent of denials began marshaling themselves on the tip of my tongue.

“Oh yeah?” Roy asked looking at me playfully as a devilish smile cracked out of the corner of his mouth.

“C’mon, babe,” Marion pleaded. “Roy’ll get you some pizza at that pizza joint, too, won’t you, Ray?”

Ray happily nodded and I grabbed the microphone and made my way to the small little stage to the left of the bar. Simon, the guitar player asked me what my poison was, I leaned into his ear and whispered my song of choice.

I cleared my throat and sang Cher’s “Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves,”

But every night all the men would come around

And lay their money down

Picked up a boy just south of Mobile

Gave him a ride, filled him with a hot meal

I was 16, he was 21

Rode with us to Memphis

And papa woulda shot him if he knew what he'd done

I never had schoolin' but he taught me well

Three months later, I'm a gal in trouble

Unfortunately I was not just warbling a hit for this crowd, I was embarrassed to admit, I was actually singing a version of my life story. Sure, my family and I were never gypsises, tramps or thieves in the traditional sense but I did at 16 meet a boy from Alabama who I gave a ride and a hot meal. Within weeks, I knew I was in trouble just like the song except this was real life. Aunt Dominique took me to the local “Lady Down the Street” for a quick, quiet and discreet disposal of my “situation.”

Even though it was mere weeks, I became oddly connected to the life growing within me and after it was gone, I felt an ache, not the pains of the procedure but an ache in my soul as if more than just a fetus was ripped from me. I knew in that moment, pain be damned, that I would not become connected or lassoed to anything that would hold me from my dream. Not now, not ever. If it could fuck me or finance me, fine, I’d entertain it for a time but nothing would keep me from achieving my dreams. Not a man, not a baby, no one would ever own me, I was a beating heart unbound with only music to tether me to the Earth rotating wildly beneath my feet.

As I came spinning back into the present, I stepped out of my haze and back onto the Earth of the lobby as I heard the crowd in the lobby applauding.

“Seven and seven?” Roy asked kindly passing me another drink across the bar. I smiled and took it happily. As I did so, I heard a voice that sounded like song lilting over my shoulder.

“You know, I would’ve sworn I was watching Cher herself,” a woman said. I turned to see a woman with flowing black hair like mine, piercing blue eyes, and a captivating smile. She wore vintage clothing, flowing scarves, and handcrafted jewelry and had a friendly visage that put me at ease. “Your voice is just…” she said.

“Thank you,” I said warmly. I had never had a “fan.”

“The name’s Maeve,” she said happily jutting her hand towards me, “Maeve Blackwell.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” I said kindly. “Raven St. Clair.”

“I could only hope to be as talented as you one day,” Maeve said. “Oh that?” I asked referencing my song. “Just some warbling. The regular girl is out sick.”

“That was more than just carrying a tune, you’re supremely talented,” Maeve gushed, “I can see it radiating off of you,” she said cryptically, “I can see things like this, you know, its a sixth sense if you will. Some people can hear talent, but I can actually see talent.”

I had no idea how to respond so I smiled kindly and asked Maeve, “No chance you’ve got a cigarette do you?”

“You know what?” She asked, patting her pockets, “I’m all out but my friend Lucian over here has some, come meet him, he’ll love you,” Maeve pleaded motioning over towards some chairs in a darkened corner of the bar.

I followed and saw the outline of a man sitting in one of the chairs. “Stand there,” he said mysteriously as I froze. “Your glow is impressive, she’s incredibly talented, Maeve,” he said.

“Oh that?” I said sheepishly, “Just a hobby,” I said trying to come off as shy as he lit a clove and offered one to me.

“Hardly,” he said, “You are a star that is just being born, you just don't know it yet.”

“Just a bartender who’s been on her feet all day,” I confessed as I laughed.

“Nonsense,” he said as he stood and emerged from the shadows. As he came into my view, I could see his figure and face. The man was impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, silk shirt, and designer sunglasses. He had a neatly trimmed beard and a subtle hint of a European accent.

“Lucian,” he said in a disarming tone, “Lucian Thorne of Thorne Records”

He grabbed my hand and kissed it delicately with a touch of rock-and-roll swagger. He had the edge of Mick Jagger and the charisma of David Bowie. I blushed and said shyly, “Raven St. Clair.”

“Let me show you something, Raven,” he said as he pulled me aside. From his pocket he pulled out an antique compact with an ornate monogram inlaid with gold. Opening the mirror he held it up so I could see my reflection. “See?” He asked. “You are a star waiting for the spotlight,” he said as I gazed into the mirror, except that instead of seeing regular old me, I saw into something else, someone else, someone raw, someone primal, someone ethereal. It was me but it was not me. His hand brushed the back of my neck and my body quivered with a warm tingling sensation as my gaze began getting stuck in the mirror like a fly that had wandered into a stream of honey. He ran his thumb down my neck tracing the line of my artery and my body quaked as my knees buckled. In between my legs, I felt a fire blooming like a wildfire catching sparks in a pile of wild brush.
“What are you doing to me?” I cooed as I became even more lost in my own reflection in the mirror.

“I’m lighting the fire inside of you,” he said with a voice that felt like hot breath melting my neck like a block of ice.

“This is what it feels like to be famous, to be your entire self, your true self, it’s better than any high, any drug, any orgasm. And it can all be yours,” he whispered as I lost myself falling deeper into the mirror. I saw myself on stage so clearly in my mind in front of a roaring audience as my skin radiated and vibrated. I snapped out of it to the El Dorado lobby as Lucian asked me, “Did you see it? That’s just a promise of what you can be, you just have to be willing to take the first step.”

“What do I have to do?” I asked breathlessly.

“Just listen,” he said as he leaned in close and whispered into my ear.

1038 Carol Dr, West Hollywood, CA, 1972

The next thing I remember, I was awaking in my bed as if awaking from a nightmare, that desperate pawing sense of fighting awake. As I did so, I could hear the steady stream of morning traffic moving down Sunset Blvd. outside the windows.

I searched my brain for questions and answers about what happened last night but instead my brain pounded with an urgency I had never felt, it was like an itch that I had to scratch so hard it would pull my flesh from my bones. I grabbed my notebook and began furiously writing.

I wrote one line with furious intensity: “Where the Cypress Grows.” I emerged from my room and headed to the kitchenette where I found Roy and Marion eating breakfast out of to-go containers from Maxwell’s our favorite greasy spoon diner.

“Morning, Raven,” Marion said happily, “Coffee’s on and Roy got you the eggs and hash browns you like from Maxxie’s.”

“You are an absolute Angel on Earth, Roy,” I said kissing him playfully on the nose. I plopped into a chair at the table clutching my coffee mug and my notebook even closer.

“Whatcha got there, hon?” Marion asked about my notebook.

Marion looked at me with her delicate almond shaped eyes peeking through her delicately freckled cheeks. Marion had a perfectly glowy olive-hued skin but today there was something new about her. Her skin appeared to be radiating like she was bathed in liquid gold, I was wondering if this was what Maeve had mentioned about being able to see talent in others and if so, how had I suddenly developed this talent?

“Just working on a new song idea,” I said.

“Are you just bursting with inspiration after performing last night?” Marion teased.

“Something like that,” I said, “I just felt like the fire was burning and no sense to let it stop.”

“Was that all that was burning?” Marion chided, “That guy in the corner and you looked pretty…oh what’s the word I’m looking for? Spicy.”

“Just a big label guy,” I said, “And unlike all the asssholes I’ve met thus far he actually made me feel kinda great about myself.”

“So,” Marion asked, “Now that you’re feeling all inspired, what are you working on? Care to share?”

“Its called Where the Cypress Grows,” I said and added, “Here’s the first few lyrics I wrote, what do you think?” I asked as I began singing in the kitchen using my fork and knife as an improvised set of drumsticks on the edge of the formica table.

She was born where the cypress grows,

In the shadows where the river flows,

A place where the whispers haunt the air,

And every tale’s a magic prayer.

Her mama spoke of voodoo queens,

Of spells cast in the in-betweens,

She learned to walk on haunted ground,

Where spirits rise without a sound.

“I am intrigued,” Marion gasped, “I can’t wait to hear the full song.”

StarBrews, 8490 Sunset Blvd, West Hollywood, CA, 1972

I was just about done cleaning up the afternoon rush’s glasses as I pulled out my notebook on my break eager to pick up on my songwriting for “Where the Cypress Grows.”
Underneath the moonlit sky,

She danced with shadows, heard them cry.

A child of the bayou, wild and free,

With a soul tied to mystery.

She knew the magic in the trees,

The ancient winds, the whispered pleas.

In the night, she’d cast her net,

A bayou girl they won’t forget.

I looked up from my scribbling as my gaze wandered across Sunset towards Miller Dr. where I saw Maeve’s frame cutting through the intersection. I don’t know how to explain it but it felt as if I could feel her presence nearing.

“Raven!” Maeve gushed ebulliently radiating instant warmth. “So wonderful meeting you last night.”

Maeve’s eyes clocked my notebook as she tipped her gaze knowingly towards me, “Struck by inspiration, huh? Lucian can be pretty inspiring, you know.” She confessed with an unspoken knowledge that beckoned me closer.
“I have to confess” I said letting my guard down, “I haven’t written a song in almost a year and then last night, just boom. I woke up inspired beyond my wildest dreams, it’s just pouring out of me.”

“That’s Lucian,” Maeve said, “He makes you see what you’re capable of and gives all of us the little push we need to take the steps instead of standing still.”

“So, speaking of,” Maeve continued unabated, “I wanted to give you this,” she said convincingly as she slid a card across the bar top towards me. “Be here, it’s an open mic night, Lucian and some of his industry friends are going to be there, if you’re serious about being a star, you’ll bring that song,” she sighed motioning towards the notebook.

The Canyon Club, 2100 Laurel Canyon Blvd, 1972

The taxi lurched to a stop at The Canyon Club, its headlights cutting through the hazy darkness that cloaked Laurel Canyon. I paid the driver, the crinkling of bills making a harsh sound in the quiet night, as I stepped out onto the uneven pavement. A dribble of water from a sprinkler system probably further up canyon dribbled down the gutters abutting the curb. The canyon air was thick with the scent of pine needles and damp earth and perfumed wisps of exotic smells that drifted in from the townhouse style canyon homes that clustered closely around the Canyon Club and the neighboring Canyon Country Store, both hallmarks of this tight knit haven of artists and Bohemians just a stones throw from the pandemonium of Sunset Blvd.

The Canyon Club was a low-slung building nestled amongst the trees, its weathered wooden sign illuminated by a single flickering bulb. A faint sound of music pulsed from within, and as I got closer, I recognized the smooth melody of the Eagles' "Lyin' Eyes" drifting out into the night. I took a deep breath, a nervous flutter in my stomach, and pushed open the heavy door.

The interior was dimly lit, the walls lined with faded band posters and vintage album covers — many of the faces on the covers lived in the surrounding houses and streets so this felt like a moment that was meant to be, little old me in this place where chance, talent and destiny were bound to collide. A haze of cigarette smoke hung in the air, mingling with the scent of stale beer and sweat. The stage was small and sparsely decorated, a single microphone stand bathed in a spotlight. A handful of people huddled around tables, their faces illuminated by flickering candlelight. Was Lucian one of them? I wondered.

I felt a surge of adrenaline, a familiar mix of excitement and trepidation. This was it. This was my chance to prove myself, to show Lucian and his "industry friends" what I was capable of.

I spotted Maeve near the bar, her silhouette unmistakable even in the dim light. She was talking to a group of people, her laughter echoing through the room. I took a deep breath and made my way towards her, my heart pounding in my chest.

"Maeve!" I called out over the music, and she turned, her face breaking into a wide smile.

"Raven! You made it!" she exclaimed, pulling me into a hug. "I'm so glad you're here."

She introduced me to the group of people she was with, a mix of musicians and industry types. I recognized a few faces from the El Dorado, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and appraisal.

"Can I get you something to drink?" Maeve offered, gesturing towards the bar.

"A Seven and Seven would be great," I said, my voice slightly shaky.

Maeve nodded and headed towards the bar, leaving me to mingle with the others. I felt a knot of anxiety tightening in my stomach, but I tried to maintain a calm façade.

Maeve nodded and headed towards the bar, leaving me to mingle with the others. I felt a knot of anxiety tightening in my stomach, but I tried to maintain a calm façade.

Just then, I saw two familiar figures pushing their way through the crowd.

"Raven!" Marion shouted, her voice cutting through the din. "You got here!"

Roy followed close behind, a wide grin on his face. "We wouldn't miss this for the world," he said, giving me a quick hug.

"I'm so glad you guys came," I said, feeling a wave of warmth wash over me. Their presence calmed my nerves and gave me a much-needed boost of confidence.

A few minutes later, Maeve returned with my drink. "Here you go," she said, handing me the glass. "Just try to relax. You're going to be amazing."

I took a sip of the Seven and Seven, the familiar bitterness calming my nerves. I glanced around the room, taking in the faces of the expectant audience. The stage beckoned, a spotlight illuminating the microphone stand.

I took another deep breath and made my way towards the stage, determined to seize this opportunity. As I stepped into the spotlight, I felt a surge of power coursing through me, a power that both thrilled and terrified me.

The MC made a motion for me to take the stage and begin and I did as instructed. I sat on the stool, slung my guitar over my knee and began, my voice barely cracking above a whisper, “Good evening,” I said trembling, “I’m Raven St. Clair. This is ‘Where the Cypress Grows.’”

Raven St. Clair - Where the Cypress Grows

Fear sliced like razor edged crawfish thrashing about in a pot of boiling water locked in my chest. I felt like passing out or running away in fear but then something happened, the fear, the nerves, the self doubt cleared away like fog clearing in the morning sunlight. I looked up and saw Lucian tipping his gaze toward me and I knew that my time was now.

She was born where the cypress grows,

In the shadows where the river flows,

A place where the whispers haunt the air,

And every tale’s a magic prayer.

Her mama spoke of voodoo queens,

Of spells cast in the in-betweens,

She learned to walk on haunted ground,

Where spirits rise without a sound.

I sang as I thought of where I came from, of the rivers, the whispering willows, the summer nights lit by fireflies with faint traces of magic in the air, those were nights with the scent of incense from Marie, the old Voodoo neighbor’s living room drifting into my room.

Underneath the moonlit sky,

She danced with shadows, heard them cry.

A child of the bayou, wild and free,

With a soul tied to mystery.

She knew the magic in the trees,

The ancient winds, the whispered pleas.

In the night, she’d cast her net,

A bayou girl they won’t forget.

I knew in this moment I was the bayou girl who would not be forgotten, I was imbued with what it took to be famous and Lucian had only helped me see what people like Mr. Charles tried to shield me from. With Lucian’s inspiration I was blooming into girl who would not be forgotten.

The mirror shows a face I barely know,

Eyes that hold a thousand lies.

A fading memory of who I was,

Before the pact, before the prize.

That part I wrote with Lucian in mind…his mirror had showed me something revelatory, how had I not seen myself until that moment? I felt as if everything I knew of myself was fading away and being reborn here on the stage at the Canyon Club.

My fingers flew over the strings and across the guitar frets as music came pouring out. I was no longer in control of my body, I felt like a hurricane unleashing its fury, a raw and primal torrent of power, rage and unabated fury.

The music faded, and a hush fell over the room. I gripped the microphone, my heart pounding in my chest. This was it. This was my moment. I paused, letting the last chord reverberate through the room. A hush fell over the audience, their faces a mixture of awe and bewilderment. I could feel their eyes on me, their attention rapt. A wave of exhilaration washed over me, and I knew in this moment that I was no longer just a kid from the Ninth Ward. I was a force to be reckoned with, a rising star.

"Raven," Lucian said, rising to his feet, his eyes gleaming with an unnatural intensity. "That was extraordinary. You have a gift, a true gift."

His words sent a shiver down my spine, a thrill that mingled with a prickle of unease. I had never received such praise from someone so powerful in the music industry. But there was something in his gaze, a hunger that belied his polished charm, that made me instinctively wary.

"Thank you," I managed to say, my voice trembling with a mix of excitement and apprehension.

"That song," Lucian continued, his voice a hypnotic purr, "Where the Cypress Grows... it has the potential to be a massive hit. I want to sign you to Thorne Records. Immediately."

My heart skipped a beat. This was it. This was the moment I had been dreaming of. Yet, a shadow of doubt lingered at the edge of my excitement. There was something too eager, too intense in Lucian's manner, a hint of something predatory nature lurking beneath his polished façade.

Lucian gestured towards a man standing beside him. "This is Michael Davies," he said. "He's one of the top producers in the industry. He'll help you shape that song into a masterpiece and get it on the radio in no time."

Michael Davies stepped forward, his hand outstretched. "Raven," he said, his voice smooth and confident. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I believe we can do great things together."

I shook his hand, my mind reeling. Everything was happening so fast. Just a few hours ago, I was a struggling bartender, and now I was on the verge of signing a record deal and working with a top producer. But the unease lingered, a whisper of warning in the back of my mind.

Lucian placed a hand on my shoulder, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through me, a sensation that was both thrilling and unsettling. "Welcome to the big leagues, Raven," he said, his voice a seductive whisper. "The world is about to hear your song."

His eyes met mine, and I felt a strange pull, a sense of inevitability that both excited and terrified me. I knew in that moment that my life was about to change forever, and a part of me, the part still clinging to the innocence of the bayou girl, wondered if I was ready for the price I would have to pay.

Next up in The Devil’s Duet…

Raven’s star is rising, but fame has its own gravity—one that pulls her deeper into the world she once dreamed of and the darkness she never saw coming. As the stakes climb higher, so do the temptations, the dangers, and the whispers of a deal she can’t outrun.

Chapter Three arrives next Friday. Stay tuned.