Paparazzi: A Rock and Love story (Roadies Series Book 2)

by Erika Vanzin

  I look down at my screen and start scrolling through the comments. They’re chilling, to say the least. Someone calling her a whore is the kindest. Others say her mother should have aborted that abomination. The anger bubbling in my veins feels like corrosive acid.

  “We have to have this video taken off the site before it goes viral. It will ruin her life,” I say as soon as I realize it, but the expression on the others’ faces stops my breath. They look like they’re going to a funeral, Iris’s, to be exact.

  “The record company pushed it out and made it go viral. There’s no way to stop the spread at this point,” Evan says, and from the disgust on the faces of others, I know they’re on my side, too.

  “What the hell are we going to do?” I whisper, defeated.

  “I think I have a solution, but I don’t know if you’re going to like it,” Simon proposes with his hands tucked into his pockets and a sheepish look on his face.

  Simon does not speak much, tends to stand aside, and keep to himself. He gardens to relax, and he certainly doesn’t look like the bassist of the most famous band in the world. When he has something to say, it’s usually profoundly life-changing. From the expression on his face right now, I’m imagining it will pull the earth out from under us. Considering my world is already completely turned upside down, I’d say I’m ready to hear what he has to tell us. Almost.

  “Do we need alcohol for what you’re about to say?” I ask with a sigh as I put the laptop on the bed.

  “Yes, I think a whisky, maybe a double, is in order,” he admits, glancing furtively at Evan.

  “I’ll need an antacid if I don’t want to be hospitalized with an ulcer,” our manager whispers as he exits the room.

  I admire Evan and his ability to handle the thorniest situations with an enviable calm. We leave my room and I notice Lilly clasp Damian’s hand, and he reciprocates by gently massaging the back of it with his thumb. My mind goes to Iris. I wonder how she’s coping with the disaster that has come with her video, and I wish I could hold her hand to give her the strength she needs in this moment. Since meeting her for the first time, I finally understand why she never accepted my help. She never wanted me to solve her problems because she knows how to solve them very well on her own. She doesn’t need anyone. She has the strength to navigate her own life. Her shoulders are strong enough to sustain the weight of the consequences.

  I wish I was there with her—to tell her she’ll get through this, too, that we’re going to get out of this. I wish I was there to hold her hand and telling her everything’s going to be okay, to reassure her that she’s not alone in this battle like she’s been her whole life. I wish I could make the journalists who stormed her building disappear, along with the fans stationed under her windows like vultures ready to pick on her carcass. Because when she exposed herself publicly for me, she opened herself up to the morbid hatred and curiosity of everyone. All of a sudden, the miles that separate us weigh like a boulder. I have to go to her, but I don’t know how to do it without being assaulted by the press.

  People:

  The Thomas Simons case has developed some new twists and turns. Apparently, a stalker of the band created fake documents to get the attention of the drummer who had previously turned down her sexual advances. Just how dangerous this person is and whether she has tried to approach Thomas Simons on other occasions is unknown, but we are waiting for a press conference to shed more light on the matter. It is unclear whether the band has issued restraining orders against either the woman or the newspaper that published the news without verifying its sources.

  Gossip Now!

  What would you do to get the attention of your idol? Surely, Iris has created an unprecedented media sensation, attracting the attention not only of Thomas Simons—the object of her obsession—but also of the rest of the world. This blogger with a modest following managed to catalyze the collective hatred of the band’s fans and gain thousands of followers of her own in a matter of just a few hours. Was it just a bad publicity stunt to position herself as a new social media star?

  @jailfreakingbirds You must die, ugly bitch! #IrisYouHaveToDie

  @jailbirds_groupie You’re the most disgusting person I’ve ever met. I hope you die, ugly bitch. #IrisYouHaveToDie

  @wannabe_rockstar She wrote a review of their new music without even listening to it. She wasn’t even in the room with us! This one’s completely crazy.

  Dexter snuggles by my side. Since uploading the video two days ago, my life has become hell, and even my cat has realized there’s no need to beat this dead horse. Maybe he sees me walking around like a zombie—I haven’t changed or showered for more than forty-eight hours—and feels sorry for me.

  A soft knock on the door is the only sound in my apartment, and I can’t even handle that. “Go away, Emily. Pretend I disappeared from the face of the earth, okay? I don’t need to eat, drink, do anything. I just want to stay under my blanket, okay?” I shout without moving.

  I’m tired of seeing the concern on her face. She’s stuck by me through this whole situation, and I really appreciate it, but I need to be alone, figure out what I want to do with my life now that I’ve destroyed everything. I’m not usually one to give up hope. I’ll fight to the end with the knife between my teeth. But this is too much even for me, I need a few days to gather my strength to get back on my feet, and I don’t know what I’m going to do then.

  The exact moment Thomas’s past was revealed, I realized I would lose him forever, and it broke me. Because the worst of it is that I really cared about him. I wanted to find out where this relationship could go. I told him about my mother. I showed him my most vulnerable side, and he treated it with a kindness I didn’t think was possible. He didn’t run away, didn’t look for excuses to leave like all the others I dated. He even stuck with me when he found out my work was something that could ultimately damage him. He’s the only person Dexter loves unconditionally. That alone has to be worth something.

  “It’s Thomas. Can I come in?”

  For a moment, I think I hear wrong. The voice on the other side of the door can’t be his. He’s furious with me, and he has every right to be. I ruined his life and career. It can’t be him.

  “Iris, please open this door,” he repeats with a bit of exasperation in his voice.

  “Go away, please. It’s full of reporters and crazy fans down there. Do you really want to get caught here with me?” How the hell did he get in the building without being recognized?

  I hear him inhale and, perhaps, chuckle. I’m not sure. “Look, Iris, you know how insistent I can be. Open this door and don’t make me sit on this mat all night, please?”

  His voice doesn’t sound angry. He sounds almost tired, exasperated by the situation. I get up and sit down. I’m a mess. My pajamas are stained with I don’t know what food, and my hair is all mangy. Even Dexter looks at me as if to ask: Are you really going to open the door looking like this? I suck, and I’m ashamed of it.

  I put my feet on the ground and realize I’m still wearing my socks with the floppy rabbit ears. They’re pink, and they’re horrible. I consider taking them off, but that would only be worse, so I throw on my robe with the unicorn hood, complete with a lavender-colored mane flowing down my back, and pull my unruly hair into a rubber band. The result is no improvement, but I can’t leave him out there while I take a shower.

  When I open the door, I find him leaning against the jamb with a tired face and a tight smile. He’s wearing a pair of dirty, stained gray sweatpants, a hoodie of the same filthy color, and an old windbreaker that looks like it came out of a dumpster. On his feet are a pair of torn canvas sneakers and no laces. The beard tells me that he, too, isn’t faring so well, and I feel guilty. My frown must be obvious because he throws me an embarrassed half-smile.

  “I figured to get in here unnoticed, I’d have to dress like Charlie.”

 
“Ah. Makes sense.”

  Once I let him in and close the door, I notice the disaster that is my house. There are pizza and Chinese takeout boxes everywhere and scattered used Kleenex I didn’t have the energy to throw away. “Sorry for the mess...and the way I look. I’m not a pretty sight, I know.”

  Thomas looks at me and shrugs like he doesn’t even notice. “Have you seen my beard and the bags under my eyes?” He grins.

  I look down and feel guilty. It’s because of me he looks like a truck hit him in the face. Two fingers gently lift my chin, forcing me to look up. There is no anger in his expression, only exhaustion, and I don’t know how to interpret this gesture. After the way he kicked me out of his apartment, I thought I’d never see these blue eyes up close anymore. They make me forget everything else.

  “We have to talk.” I nod and open my mouth, not sure where to start, but he lays a finger on my lips. “Can I explain?” he asks me with imploring eyes.

  “You don’t have to explain anything. I’m the one who screwed up. I have to pay for this. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry because I shouldn’t have asked about your private life. I should have known Albert had ulterior motives and was going to cause trouble. Big trouble. Huge, immense trouble... I should have shut up, waited. Instead...” He won’t let me finish my rant because he puts his finger on my lips again.

  “You had every right to do so.”

  I gasp a couple of times, trying to find words, but I can’t. I’m confused, and he knows it. He motions for me to sit on the bed and then snuggles up next to me, leaving no room between the two of us. He grabs my hands, weaves our fingers as if he needs all the support in the world, and then inhales deeply.

  “If you hadn’t asked about my past, I wouldn’t have told you anything. I’ve been doing this for ten years—avoiding getting close to anyone—so I don’t have to feel the heavy weight of my past. It’s easier for me just to run away and pretend I don’t feel anything than to deal with it.”

  My heart sinks into my stomach as Thomas tells me his story. It’s so full of suffering and despair that tears flow down my cheeks. I feel sadness for that little boy who lost his whole family because of one mistake. I feel immense sadness for the man who’s always kept everyone at a distance and has never known true peace or happiness. His story is long, detailed, full of a depth of feeling I didn’t think was possible. He tells me about how he met Damian, Michael, and Simon in prison, how the psychologist rescued them from the streets, giving them a purpose in life, making music. When the silence returns, I realize Dexter has snuggled between us as if undecided as to which of us is suffering most right now.

  “So, you have no idea what your nieces or nephews are like?” I ask in a whisper.

  “I don’t even know what my sister’s face looks like. She was a teenager the last time I saw her. Now she’s a woman, a mother...I’m sure she’s changed a lot.”

  My heart squeezes to hear him say all of this and, when I lift my eyes toward him, I find tears falling down his cheeks. With one hand, I try to wipe them away without pulling back the other that’s in a grip so tight it feels like it won’t ever loosen.

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I wish I hadn’t put your suffering on display for the whole world, believe me. Thank you for sharing your story with me. I know how much it cost you.”

  Thomas looks at me and smiles as if I’m the only one in the world who matters to him. “After what you did for me with that video, it’s the least I can do.”

  “I didn’t do anything special. I don’t even know if it helped.” I shrug, downplaying the whole situation.

  “It worked. People are starting to wonder what’s true and what’s not. Plus, they started sifting through Ron’s newspaper and pointing out every time he published fake or made-up news... Like, for example, the fight between Damian and Lilly.” He smiles at me, and it lifts the weight from my chest a little. Not entirely, because my life is ruined regardless, but maybe he could get his back on track.

  “Well, I’m glad.”

  “Now we need your help to change the direction of our future.”

  I turn to look at his face, surprised. He doesn’t seem worried, his face looks more hopeful than anything, and it catches me off guard. When I woke up this morning, I certainly didn’t think my day would take a turn out like this. I’m not sure what he’s about to propose, or if I’m going to like it, but I do want to help him. And maybe it will silence my conscience, or at least in part.

  “I’m listening.”

  Thomas shakes his head and smiles at me. “It’s Simon’s idea. They’re waiting for us at the cottage in Connecticut to discuss it with you.”

  “Oh...so I assume I have to get out of this bed and shower.”

  Thomas smiles and helps me out of bed. “I’m going to help you take a shower. I imagine you’re still having a hard time washing your hair with that shoulder.” It’s not a question, it’s a simple observation and, for the first time in my life, I let someone take care of me. I have to resign myself to the idea that sometimes in my life, I need help, and Thomas needs to take care someone, like he couldn’t do for his family. We’re depending on each other, and it doesn’t feel as bad as I thought it would.

  He helps me undress and washes my hair so gently that when I close my eyes and let him lather it up, for a moment, I’m taken back to my childhood and feel my mother’s hands washing my hair. It feels natural, and the memory is a pleasant one of scents, colors, and laughter that I haven’t had in a long time. Thomas is waking up a part of me that I thought died forever, and when he towels my hair after helping me get dressed, I feel like the entire weight of the world has been lifted. When he presses his lips on mine, all my fears slip away, leaving me with only the tenderness and affection he manages to convey. His tongue touches mine, dispelling any fears that I’d lost him, reinforcing my resolve to face this difficult moment together, like a real couple, two lovers trusting each other.

  *

  When Thomas said it was a cottage in Connecticut, I thought he meant a little mountain cottage in the woods. Nothing could be further from reality; this villa has at least ten bedrooms and, as I discover, a library for our meeting. An actual library bigger than my entire apartment.

  “Thank you for coming.” The man introducing himself as Evan, their manager, motions for me to sit in a chair among the others who wave their hands. They all seem very quiet, though I don’t get the feeling they want to rip me apart. “You know the guys, I guess...so let’s skip the pleasantries?”

  I take a quick look at Lilly, who’s watching me with a smile, and she seems almost excited about what they’re going to tell me. I don’t know what to think. “Yes, I’m not particularly good with apologies, and I feel like a complete idiot right now.”

  Damian and Michael laugh as Lilly slaps her partner and Simon smiles shyly. Thomas extends a hand toward me, and I grab it firmly, regardless of whether everyone can see the gesture.

  “Thomas, do you want to explain it?” asks Evan.

  “Oh, no, sweetheart. I’ve already told you how she’s going to answer, you deal with her.”

  Everybody laughs, and I’m not sure Thomas is on my side anymore. I give him the stink-eye, and in response, he smiles sweetly and lightly kisses my fingers.

  Simon speaks up: “We want to do an exclusive interview on your blog, explaining the truth about our past, how we met, and what unites us: prison. We believe it’s time to take this step, that is, if you want to help us out. We’re tired of living secretive half-lives just to keep our past hidden. It’s time to grow up and accept our responsibilities.” As he’s talking, I remember Thomas telling me this was his idea. I didn’t expect that, nor their offer.

  “Okay, I appreciate it, but don’t you want to do it in a more reputable newspaper like…I don’t know, the New York Times? After that video, I don’t think my blog has much credibility. Plus, how w
ould your record label react?” I ask, puzzled. I feel like there are too many holes in this sinking ship, and a little tape isn’t going to fix it.

  “That leads us to the second part of our proposal,” says Evan, throwing a look at Thomas that I can’t decipher. “The band’s contract with the label ends after this upcoming album is released. We’ve decided not to renew with them, or rather, we’re sure they’re going to dump us. They’ll use the damaged reputation clause to get rid of their obligation to do five more albums—in addition to the four already produced. It’s in their contract renewal and has to be signed by the two parties. We could find another record company, maybe smaller than this one, and we’ll be thinking about those options in the next few days. However, we want to manage the public relations ourselves, be much more transparent, and above all, move our media presence to social media rather than traditional channels like print and television. I did an estimate of the value of your blog, considering the growth you had from Thomas’s tweet, and we’d like to buy it and hire you. The blog would be the only official communication channel of the Jailbirds,” he says, wrapping up his speech and handing me a piece of paper with numbers. “The amount we’re offering is at the bottom of the page in bold.”

  I’m literally stunned. I don’t know how to respond to this proposal, let alone how to read this number. I place the paper on the coffee table in front of me and bend over to count the zeros. I do it four times, but I can’t figure it out. They all look at me, grinning.

  “Does anyone have a pen?”

  Evan is puzzled but handles me one. I look at the number again and realize it’s at least two hundred dollars. I group the zeros, count them three more times and then look up at Evan. “Are you crazy? I don’t even want to consider it,” I blurt out, stunned.

  Everyone bursts out laughing, and I look around, resting my eyes on Thomas. He raises his hands innocently. “I told them you’d answer like that. Don’t blame me.”