Derek Prince [7:36 p.m.]: I’m a bit out of practice with the dating rules.
Ariel Cross [7:37 p.m.]: Are you? I heard you were seeing Ursula. She said you were hers, and that I should stay away if I knew what was good for me.
Derek Prince [7:38 p.m.]: That’s not true. Is that really what she told you?
Ariel Cross [7:39 p.m.]: Don’t worry. I hate bullies. The more someone tells me not to do something, the more I want to do it. So here I am sending you half naked pictures of myself. Which you haven’t reciprocated, by the way.
Derek Prince [7:40 p.m.]: Remind me to thank Ursula for that. I’m not dating her. I swear. And I’m sorry she threatened you. That wasn’t very nice, but as you may have seen, neither is she. If it makes you feel any better, she’s like that with everyone. If you aren’t an A-list star, you’re basically a cockroach to Ursula.
Ariel Cross [7:41 p.m.]: I’m glad you’re not seeing her.
Derek Prince [7:42 p.m.]: Me too.
Ariel Cross [7:43 p.m.] I’m not getting my picture, am I?
Derek Prince [7:45 p.m.]: Give me a second. Don’t send me a picture of you without that towel in the meantime.
Ariel Cross [7:46 p.m.]: Nice try, but I’m not that gullible. I’m waiting.
I was about to get up and go to the bathroom to take one when Oliver, Clint’s assistant, finally arrived. But Clint wasn’t with him. Ursula was. I froze.
No. Not more Ursula. I’d already had about twelve hours of Ursula today. I’d reached my absolute limit on Ursula.
“Derek!” she crowed, loudly enough that people looked over from their tables and stared. “I’m so sorry I’m late. I didn’t mean to keep you waiting, sweetheart.”
She kissed me on the cheek and sat down next to me in the narrow booth. I stared at Oliver, who shrugged. The look on his face said it all. I bet he invited the paparazzi here too. I could almost guarantee it. In fact, as I scanned the room, I saw Meg Butler. She was a notorious gossip/paparazzo type. So, basically a villain. The fact that the studio consorted with her was a bit disgusting, but whatever. They apparently had no standards.
After all, they thought setting up two actors on a public date when we weren’t dating was an okay thing to do.
Ursula was dressed to the nines. She was wearing a low-cut velvet dress, diamonds, and enough makeup that she probably left a carbon copy on any pillow she laid on. She might have looked good, except that I kind of hated her, so it was hard to tell. I’d been mildly ambivalent before. But after her little stunt today with Ariel, I was all out of patience.
This was a setup. The whole meeting was a setup to trap me. There would be no production decisions made here today. The studio wanted me seen in public with Ursula and barring me just getting up and leaving like an asshole, I was now stuck here with her. Little did they know, I had no problem being an asshole when properly motivated. Ariel was waiting on me. That was motivating.
“Where’s Clint?” I asked Oliver.
“He had an emergency,” he replied. “He suggested you and Ursula spend the evening together instead.”
“Oh really?”
Oliver nodded. “You two have fun,” Oliver said, shaking my hand as I glared at him. His boss was going to get an earful about this from me. “See you later.”
He took off quickly, probably correctly interpreting the face that I was making. He was toast. Clint had fucked up royally by going behind my back, even if it was on the studio’s orders. In Hollywood relationships count for a lot and he’d just destroyed his with me. My agent would ensure that he was never attached to another of my projects, at the very least.
“So,” Ursula said, turning up the charm, “what are we eating for dinner?” She batted her eyes at me.
I’d been lured here under false pretenses, but Ursula either didn’t know or didn’t care. She smiled sweetly at me and took a sip of my wine. She could have it. I wouldn’t be staying.
“I’m sorry, Ursula,” I told her. “I’ve already eaten. I just got an urgent text, too. A family emergency.”
“I am sorry to be late,” she told me. “But surely you can stay for one drink—”
I shook my head and stood up. “I really can’t. Sorry. See you at tomorrow’s rehearsal.”
Walking away felt great. What felt even better was walking outside and seeing Oliver still waiting for his studio limo to pick him up. He gaped at me and I grinned a particularly shit-eating grin back at him.
“Where are you going?” he asked, obviously shocked that I’d just gotten up and left. I’d hear about this tomorrow. I knew I would. I didn’t much care.
The car that Oliver was waiting for arrived then, saving me from a long explanation he didn’t deserve anyway. I got into it, effectively stealing it from him. I was still a movie star and that trumped studio peon any day. He could call another one.
“Somewhere else,” I told him, shaking my head. “Don’t ever pull that shit again with me. Tell your boss his plan backfired and now Ursula’s in there looking jilted. Just like Clint, I had an emergency come up. I suggest you go back in there and eat with her. Otherwise it’ll look like I ditched her.” His face was precious. “What? You don’t want to endure two hours of Ursula?” He obviously didn’t. “Well, that’s just karma, isn’t it?”
I closed the door in his face.
“Where to?” the driver asked. I looked down at my phone.
Derek Prince [7:52 p.m.]: Are you sure you can’t go out tonight?
Ariel Cross [7:52 p.m.]: I really can’t. My uncle needs me to waitress tonight. His other waitress called out.
Derek Prince [7:53 p.m.]: Can I come by Sebastian’s and hang out with you?
Ariel Cross [7:54 p.m.]: Only if you promise not to distract me.
“Sebastian’s,” I told the driver. “It’s a karaoke bar in west Hollywood.”
He nodded like he knew it.
Derek Prince [7:54 p.m.]: No promises.
13
Derek
Sebastian’s was a fascinating place. The last time I’d been here it had been with Ursula, queen of under-the-table hand and thigh grabbing, so I hadn’t had much ability to look around. But I’d really missed out. This place was awesome.
It was busy too. There were a lot of happy, drinking, singing patrons in the bar tonight. No bachelorette parties tonight either, thankfully. The whole place had a festive, excited feeling. It might not be the fabled rock club of old, but it was certainly a happening place. Right now, a man wearing a full-on Elvis costume was belting out ‘Love Me Tender’ with a Vegas flair. The audience was loving it. He was actually pretty good, although he probably should have included a wig with his costume. Elvis never had a bald spot, even when his middle-aged paunch was about at the singing man’s level.
Memorabilia lined the walls, effectively chronicling the movers and shakers of Hollywood from the mid-seventies to the early nineties. Everyone who mattered was on a wall somewhere in the tiny bar. There were a lot of pictures of young movie stars with various models, loads of hair metal bands, and plenty of suit-wearing studio heads that looked like they were trying their very hardest to be hip. My favorite photo was one of Elton John playing the piano with a curiously familiar looking blue and yellow parrot on his shoulder while Barbara Streisand and Mel Brooks sang. That must have been a hell of a number.
“They were singing ‘Happy Birthday’,” a man said to me, coming up to my shoulder. “It was Flapper’s fifth year on this blue marble. He was just a little hatchling back then.”
The man in front of me looked like Satan, and I could see the same man—only younger—in a bunch of the photos hung throughout the bar. “You must be Sebastian.”
“I am indeed Sebastian.” He grinned. “Ariel told me we were having a VIP guest tonight. I can’t offer you a table—we’re totally booked up—but I thought I’d come say hi.”
We shook hands. Sebastian didn’t look much like his niece.
“Did you raise Ariel?”
He
shook his head. “No, not at all. She grew up in Sacramento with her parents. She just moved up here for college.” He chuckled. “But she’s much more like me than her dad, my brother. I love having her around though. My husband, Spencer, died a few years ago and she’s been a godsend.”
I wanted to ask him more questions about her but settled for the most important one.
“What did Ariel tell you about me?” I asked.
He shook his head at me. “Oh, not much. But I think she likes you.” He winked. “I hope you’re worth it.” Sebastian reminded me of a very friendly, very gay devil. I liked him immediately. He was part of a vanishing generation of older Hollywood types who just didn’t give two shits about anything, although it was clear that he cared about Ariel.
“I like her too,” I told him.
A lot. A whole lot. More than I wanted to admit, even to myself. I’d spent the entire drive over here obsessing about what to say to her when I arrived. And I’d come up empty handed. I still had no idea what to say to her.
“Well, as long as you’re good to her, that’s just fine,” Sebastian said, examining my face for something. I wasn’t sure whether his expression was satisfied or just amused at whatever he found. “My niece is over there mixing drinks right now,” he told me, nodding towards Ariel at the bar. She hadn’t seen me yet. I stared longingly at her. “I think you should go surprise her and sing her a song.”
I ripped my gaze away from Ariel and back to her uncle. That was an interesting suggestion. Hmm. Not a bad idea. I could sing my feelings at her better than I could say them anyway. Then I wouldn’t need to find the words.
“What does she like?” I asked, looking at the karaoke stage. “And when did you become a karaoke bar anyway?”
Sebastian laughed. “The worst decade of all, the nineties. First, the proper rock scene collapsed. Then the big record labels all started chasing Grunge music up in Seattle. Finally, some douche from the city fined me a ton of money for having a live bird in an eating establishment. It was a sad time, but whatever.” He shook his head. “Oh, and Ariel? She likes power ballads.”
I like power ballads too. They’re fun. Impressive to sing and exciting to listen to.
“Foreigner?” I suggested. I could do ‘I Want to Know What Love Is.’ That should get her attention. Plus, it worked thematically.
He shrugged and regarded me like a casting director. “A bit lackluster for a man of your talents, don’t you think?”
I frowned. I supposed he’d seen plenty of first-rate acts. He ought to be able to size up talent about as well as anyone after all these years. “Is it too easy?” I asked.
He nodded seriously. If he thought it was too easy, then I guess it was. “Challenge yourself, man. You want to impress her, don’t you?”
I nodded. Yes, I did. Challenge myself? Sure. Why not.
“Heart? How about ‘Alone’?” I suggested.
Those high notes would be challenging enough, but I didn’t think the message was quite right.
He shook his head and his earring jingled. “Eh. Try again. Heart just doesn’t seem like it would be the right choice for your voice.”
Sebastian, or maybe it was Ariel, had extremely high standards. I didn’t want to disappoint either of them. After all, I didn’t want Sebastian telling Ariel I wasn’t invested or just phoning it in.
“What do you suggest for me to sing? She’s your niece. You know her better than I do.”
He looked me up and down. “What’s your highest comfortable note?”
I blinked. “A4.”
He cocked his head to the side and squinted at me. His eyes were a vivid, bright green, like a cat. Or maybe a demon. “Not cold,” he said. His voice was incredulous. “What’s your highest comfortable note without warming up first?”
“A4,” I said confidently.
An eyebrow crept toward his hairline. “You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.” I was sure I could do it. Cold or not, that note was entirely in my range. I’d been singing professionally for fifteen years. I knew my limits. Relatively. I wasn’t usually this nervous.
He raised an eyebrow. “So, you are ambitious. How about something by Celine Dion?”
Nice choice. I loved me some Celine Dion. I mean, who didn’t? Fools, that’s who. Tasteless fools.
“The Power of Love,” I answered. The answer was obvious. If this song didn’t impress Ariel, nothing ever could. “What do you think?”
Satan—I mean Sebastian—grinned. “I think that would be just perfect. Follow me.”
Sebastian led me to a hallway that circumvented the main room and led to the back of the house. He punched a couple of buttons on a machine and handed me a microphone. I accepted it with unsteady hands. Had I seriously just agreed to sing one of the hardest pop songs ever written to impress a girl in front of a bunch of people with smartphones? Sebastian laughed at my expression.
“Get out there and knock her socks off,” he told me.
I swallowed my fear and put a big smile on my face. I didn’t get that kiss this afternoon. I was going to get it now.
“I’ll certainly try.”
14
Ariel
When the first few bars of ‘The Power of Love’ played over the speakers, I shuddered and looked over at the empty karaoke stage.
Here we go again.
My poor ears. Nobody ever did this song justice. I’d literally never heard it done well. Usually the people who picked it were either comically drunk or tragically overconfident. Oftentimes they were both. The closest I’d ever heard the song done well was when an eight-year-old with a lisp sang it at a birthday party. At least that was cute.
There were a handful of songs that fell into that category in general, the group of songs that should not be sung by amateurs in karaoke settings. I wished they would just take them out of the catalogues. Somewhere Over the Rainbow was another song that was beyond the reach of the average person. Nobody sounds like freakin’ Judy Garland. Nobody. Unchained Melody was another. The Righteous Brothers owned that song. Oh, and anything by Meatloaf was the same way. The day I heard someone competently cover any Meatloaf song I would hang up my apron forever and admit I knew nothing about karaoke, singing, music, or life.
But every time somebody picked ‘The Power of Love,’ it was always a good show, even if it was a cringy one. I pushed back from the bar and waited for the poor, dumb shmuck to shuffle out and destroy a perfectly great piece of music. Then Derek Prince stepped out on stage and looked right at me.
My knees went weak and I gripped the edge of the bar to stay upright. Gravity betrayed me in an instant and I struggled to fight against it.
I wasn’t cringing anymore. He was still looking right at me. I swallowed, listening to his velvet-smooth voice build up to the bridge, which he’d conveniently gender-swapped to make it more appropriate. That was talent right there. He didn’t even look at the cue lyrics. He had it memorized.
The room was full of people, but they might have well dissolved into smoke. I couldn’t see anything but Derek. He was singing to me. Just me. We were utterly alone.
And he didn’t even stay up on the stage like he was supposed to. He wandered out into the crowd, making his way slowly through a stunned room. It wasn’t exactly every day that we had a world-class singer on the stage anymore. Somewhere around here, I’m sure Sebastian was taking it all in stride. But for me, this was heart-stopping.
He was singing only to me. I couldn’t do anything but watch and listen. I didn’t have a chance to resist him. I didn’t even try.
'Cause you’re my lady
And I am your man
Whenever you reach for me
I'll do all that I can
We're heading for something
Somewhere I've never been
Sometimes I am frightened
But I'm ready to learn
Of the power of love
If I hadn’t been in love with the man since I was a teenager, I w
ould be now. I was totally outclassed by him. I was woefully unprepared and incredibly eager. I was ready to fall. I’d never been so ready for anything in my life. Derek Prince sang his sexy way into my heart and now I was going to have to reckon with what that meant. Even if it meant disaster.
Although he was staring right at me, he took his sweet time making it over to the bar. He spent the entire song cutting through the audience. It felt like foreplay. By the time he was nearing me the song was at its climax. The song didn’t leave him winded at all. He was totally in control of it, as if he’d practiced it a thousand times.
He rounded the back of the bar singing, clearly not caring that he wasn’t supposed to be back here. I didn’t have anywhere to run, although that implies that I might have wanted to try. The crowd was going wild, but they had nothing on my crazed heartbeat.
He drifted closer and closer. I was as frozen as a deer in the headlights. He grabbed my hand. He had the same look on his face now that he had earlier this afternoon when we almost kissed. Was he going to kiss me? The last note rang into silence and applause and cheers went crazy. Derek leaned closer. I felt myself give in.
Then someone took a photo with a super-bright flash and ruined it.
15
Derek
Meg Butler, trashy paparazzo, stalker, and general pain in the ass, had followed me to Sebastian’s. She brought her big-ass camera too. She sat back on the barstool, having ruined my damn-near perfect moment, and smirked insolently. The woman had been a thorn in the side of the Prince family several times over recent months. First, she’d contributed to the media harassment my uncle Connor underwent. Then she all but tortured my brother’s girlfriend, Cindy. Apparently, it was my turn. Lucky me.
“Cute song. Cute girl. Thanks for the photo,” she said, standing up and smoothing her hair back. “Care to comment as well? You walk out on a date with a very unhappy looking Ursula Jones and come here to serenade a waitress? Surely you have something to say about that?”
The Little Barmaid Page 7
