Slower

by Deana Birch

  I bit my lips inward and took a breath. “Does it have to have a label?”

  His eyes darted around the table and came back to mine.

  “Things are different. I’m different. You’re definitely different.”

  Why did that matter? “And?”

  “I can’t read you anymore. I’ve gone through your messages, and I wonder if you’re flirting or just being polite.” His Spanish heat slowly rose with each word. “You show up looking sensational, but I don’t know if you’re teasing me or this is just ’ow you look now.”

  My eyes closed tight, and my head shook once. “Are you mad at me?”

  “I’m confused.” His hands opened and stayed that way, waiting for my response.

  “Well, what would you like this to be?” My leg wanted to bounce, but I pushed the heel of my shoe deeper into the floor below the table. There would be no fidgeting. Not now.

  “’onestly, I don’t know. On the one ’and, I would very much like to take you upstairs and refresh my memory about your body. On the other”—one arm lifted to accentuate his words—“I don’t know where that would leave us because you will be back in Los Angeles next week. So, what is the point?” His drawn-out shrug was the first taste of rejection he’d ever served me.

  And somehow, it stung. I didn’t even think he was trying to get me back for Jake. It read as completely honest. Trying to hide my disappointment, I moved my focus to selling a quick and much-needed fling.

  “Could the point just be to have a good time with an old friend?”

  “I think we’ve done that enough.”

  Damn him. Where the hell was this coming from? He was making me work harder than I’d imagined would be necessary.

  “Why aren’t you dating anyone in California?”

  My eyes searched the ceiling. “It took me a long time to get over my last boyfriend.”

  “And now you are over ’im?” Dimitri’s mouth formed a doubtful pout.

  “Yeah. I think so.” My heart screamed “liar,” but my mind reminded it that moving on with my life was essential. But at what cost? Dimitri was a giant step backwards. I smoothed my eyebrows, and my fingers cradled my chin.

  “You think so? Not very convincing. I’ve done a lot of thinking since I last saw you. I’ve never stopped wanting you in my life. And you were right. I went to California to—’ow you say—stake my claim. We belong together, Minette. Everybody knows and sees that.”

  There was a blade of truth to his words that prodded the spot in me that wanted to surrender. That wanted to please people. It was probably not far away from the spot inside me that put manners before so many other things. And if Dimitri acknowledged that we were both different now, maybe our relationship could be as well.

  The next item on the tasting menu—seared scallops in a foaming herb sauce—was presented in front of us, and we ate it in silence. But once the dish had been cleared away, Dimitri leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. My toes twitched in my heels as I stared him down.

  “Ah, Monsieur Le Clerc…” The sommelier interrupted our silent stand-off and explained that he had just the red to pair with the rest of our meal.

  After Dimitri agreed with the selection, I excused myself to the ladies’ room. When I got back, an overweight older man in a three-piece suit was standing beside our table. He took one look at me and said, “Beh, voilà, la famous Louana.”

  How the man knew me or my name was beyond my understanding. I brushed off the comment with a polite smile, and he thankfully left when more food came.

  At the end of the night, Dimitri and I said goodbye, both knowing nothing had been resolved. I took a car back to my hotel and tiptoed through my bedtime ritual. Casey’s adorably light snores were a welcome soundtrack.

  21

  JAKE

  * * *

  John opened a beer and sat down opposite me at the small table in the bus. I couldn’t decide if he was having breakfast or a nightcap. Maybe it didn’t matter anymore. The days blurred into each other, and now, apparently, so had the hours. I had my headphones on and was listening to some of my favorites on shuffle. A month ago, when The Doors had kept coming up on my playlist and it kept making me think of her, I’d considered deleting them off the player entirely. But this listening to The Doors and thinking about Louana had become some kind of self-inflicted morning punishment. And when, “Love Her Madly” played its poignant lyrics in my ears, the persecution continued—loving the music, hating the emotions it came with.

  I’d gone over it a thousand times. I was walking at a strong pace down Obsession Road, and the GPS was directing me to turn right onto Depression Avenue. One of the last things she had said to me was “timeline.” And that threw me. How the fuck had she known about the actress so soon? I got that I was wrong. I hated myself every fucking day for letting my jealousy get the best of me. And I’d been wrong, dead fucking wrong. And I hadn’t bothered to ask or fucking talk, which I’d always gotten on her ass about. What I’d done was get fucking trashed.

  The details, as I remembered, were these: In the late afternoon, after sound check, Gina had shown me her Instagram feed and said something like, “Look! Casey’s with Louana in France.” It had been innocent on her part; she only knew that Casey guy and had no clue the man next to Louana was Dimitri.

  Then, the beer bottle had hit the wall and I lost my shit.

  I’d convinced myself I had been right all along about this guy and she was back with him. Thanks to John and what we now referred to as “white coffee,” I’d managed to stay alert enough to play the show. But the minute I’d walked off stage, the heavy drinking had commenced. I remembered bits and pieces of the early night. Shane had stayed by my side and helped me drown my sorrows. The actress had been there, she’d had her share of vodka, and things had gotten out of hand. When I’d woken up next to her in a hotel room, I honestly hadn’t known what I’d done. I certainly didn’t remember it.

  Then my relationship was over, and I’d had to move out of our apartment. The calm beautiful life I cherished, gone. My muse, vanished. She hadn’t even had the courtesy to talk to me about it. All along I’d thought she’d broken up with me for him, but when I’d seen her last month, she’d said, “Timeline, Jake.”

  And that was what I went back to, every fucking morning since I’d been on this bus. Someone from here had told her. I’d dropped the very obvious hint for Sam to ask Gina, and he’d come back to me with jack shit zero. I knew it was neither of them because I remembered seeing them leave and Gina apologizing profusely, saying she’d had no idea. That left John, Phil, or Shane. Phil was heavy on my mind. He had Louana’s number and had heard me say in December how I wasn’t keen on doing another tour with so much time away from home. Would he have intentionally broken us up to profit from me on the road? It seemed wicked, but I’d heard worse stories of band managers.

  Then there was the basket of confusion, mixed signals, and history of Shane. He had never liked me being with Louana, mostly because it had ruined me as his wing man for late-night fun. It was true that before I’d laid eyes on Louana, I had been a wild and bad, bad boy. Shane and I had taken full advantage of our rising fame. There were strippers, orgies, and sex-enhancing drugs. I had even briefly dipped into the bisexual pool myself.

  But when I’d realized my song was a hit and my talent was finally being recognized, I hadn’t wanted to fuck that up with partying. In fact, I’d craved the opposite. Someone who would bring me back down to Earth. Enter the refreshing and different Louana Higgins. She had a fucking career—and not on a pole. She read books, and Jesus Christ, she fucking cooked. I’d known just from talking to her in her car on that first night, I wanted more from her. She’d been honest about not having any friends. In a city where everyone tried to be someone or something they were not, she’d laid out her biggest vulnerability after knowing me for one hour. And she didn’t drop to her knees and worship me. She put herself first. I could have gone on and on forever about why
I’d loved that woman.

  Correction: why I love that woman.

  And someone around me had felt the need to make sure she knew I ruined it.

  I watched John stumble back to his bunk to finally pass out. He had no motive for ruining my life, and playing games wasn’t his thing. He and Shane fought about shit like that.

  Shane.

  My heart sank. Fuck, after all the things we had shared, I hated to think he would be the one to betray me, but I had to consider the possibility. My two prime suspects were him and Phil. I needed to devise a plan to find proof. If I found it, I would probably need my lawyer. I shot her an email asking if there were any ramifications to getting out of my contract with the band and label. Then started to think about how I could get a hold of Phil’s and Shane’s phones. Phones were modern-day secret keepers.

  22

  LOUANA

  * * *

  I had never walked a red carpet before, but Dimitri had been to plenty of benefits and was used to the flashing cameras. He even stopped for an on-camera interview.

  The reporter asked him about coming home to play in Marseille, then narrowed his eyes at me. “Vous avez retrouvé votre porte-bonheur?”

  Oh, God. Not the lucky charm crap. Again. Christ, one dinner and one walk down the red carpet, and I was back to being TriTri’s arm candy and official girlfriend. It took everything I had not to roll my eyes. But Dimitri answered an enthusiastic “oui” and brought my hand up to his mouth for a kiss. Our private, still-undecided reconciliation was suddenly for all of France to see.

  The French press called for him, and he held my hand as we walked down the long line, then finally up the stairs and away from the mayhem. When we got in, we soon realized we knew no one.

  By the end of the night, both Dimitri and I decided we had played dress-up long enough, and we found our way back to his hotel. We agreed on a night cap at the bar and sat down at a small table in the corner.

  Dimitri loosened the bow tie from around his neck and sipped his Armagnac. “What are you going to do with Stella for a week?”

  “She mentioned some art galleries she wanted to show me. I’m mostly just looking forward to doing nothing.”

  “Do you think she will lend you to me for a day? The season is over, and I have nothing to do.” The sparkle in his light eyes reminded me of blissful sunbeams in the past.

  “You should ask her.” There was a touch of sarcasm in my voice.

  “You are a chicken when it comes to your grandmama.”

  I smirked. “No less than you and your mama.”

  He leaned in closer and twirled a strand of my hair. “But seriously, I don’t think I’m ready to give you up so quickly this time.”

  I bowed my head, and my fist covered my mouth. Then I peeked up at him from behind my glass. “I have to go back to L.A. My life is there now.”

  He sat back in the club chair. “You don’t ’ave to. I ’ave plenty of money, you could quit your job. You belong ’ere.”

  There it was. His old desire for me to live his life. Not ours. Not mine. It had been the same after I’d finished my year abroad and needed to move back to the States for college. He’d never seen the point of me having an independent life. “I love my job.”

  Dimitri rubbed his face. “This is making me sad.”

  I weighed my options. One meaningless night between the sheets could be just what I needed to get over Dimitri and Jake. It sounded logical, right? Sex as a bookend. And I had to admit I was starved for physical touch. I lowered my eyes and tucked my chin. In a quiet voice, using the timbre that I knew would speak to the man in front of me, I went all in. “What can we do to make you happy again?”

  He bit his bottom lip, and his eyes lit up. “You know, I like this new feisty side of you. But tonight”—he finished his drink— “I’m in charge.”

  23

  JAKE

  * * *

  I started with Phil. If he had betrayed me, I would convince the band to fire him. But I needed my strategy to be solid, so I enlisted the help of my brother Simon. I sent him a text asking him to call me at a certain time when I was sure the battery on my phone was about to run out. I knew Phil had Simon’s number stored in his phone, so I could call him back when my own died—memorizing phone numbers was beyond my skill set. Dinner would be perfect; we would all be together, and I could excuse myself with Phil’s phone to have a private conversation with my brother.

  My plan worked like a charm. Simon called just after 7 p.m. while we were all seated together eating backstage with the roadies. John and Shane were entertaining the troops with a massive game of Marry, Fuck, Kill. Simon sold his lines on the other end of the phone. He had even concocted a story about our dad and an accident at work. Our years of lying to our parents had made our banter perfect. And when I put my napkin on the table and stood up while saying, “What? How?” I almost kissed my phone for dying at the exact right moment.

  “Fuck.” I faked anger and looked around the table. “Phil, you have my brother’s number, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Give me your phone. I need to call him back.” I didn’t ask—that would have been suspicious. Phil dutifully pulled out his phone, punched in the pass code, and pulled up my brother’s contact information. “Thanks.” I dialed Simon and continued our dramatic conversation as I walked outside.

  “Alright, I’m in the clear. Thanks for your help.”

  “Bro.” Simon changed his tone. “I just need to say that even if you find what you’re looking for, it won’t bring her back.”

  Always such a downer, my little brother. “I know. But someone fucked with me, and I need to know who.”

  “Text me after your show,” he said as he hung up. At least he was still in my corner.

  Where to start? I selected Phil’s text messages and scrolled down to finally find Louana Higgins. The last message was from Christmas Day.

  * * *

  Louana Higgins: Merry Christmas! Thanks for everything you’ve done for Jake and me this year, you’re a godsend. Hawaii is beautiful, put it on your bucket list after the road to Santiago. All my best for the New Year

  * * *

  Phil: Thank you. Merry Christmas to you too. Safe travels around the globe and I still need to hear back from you about what dates you’re joining us for the tour in Jan/Feb. Please don’t wait too long, he’s a cranky shit without you.

  * * *

  Then nothing.

  Fuck. I stomped back inside and threw the phone back to Phil.

  “Everything okay?” he asked.

  “No.” My palms scrubbed the stubble on my cheeks, and I went for a beer.

  It was Shane. It had to be. Motherfucker. I shook my head and slumped into the couch. It made the most sense. How he’d gotten her number and told her about my fuckup was not only beyond me, but the lowest of fucking blows. And why? Because I didn’t hang out with him as much? Everyone had told me Shane Murphy was fucked up. Dark. Twisted. I’d thought it gave him an edge, but the edge turned out to be a knife in my fucking back. No, heart. A knife in my heart.

  The implications flooded my head. Everything. Everything would be gone. And Simon was right. The knowledge wouldn’t lead to my desired solution. I’d better be damn well fucking sure it was him.

  “You alright, man?” Sam sat down next to me and handed me a bottle of water.

  “Not really.” I hoped my expression told him to leave it alone.

  “Oh, hey. Gina sent me this video of Archie.” He reached for his phone and pulled the footage up. It actually did lighten my mood. I loved that dog. Fuck, I missed him. And the old hoot of a woman he lived with. That place. My home. My girlfriend.

  “Gina still hangs out with Louana?”

  He knew I was fishing, but I didn’t give a shit. Even though I had my listening-to- pity-music ritual, it had been awhile since I’d brought her up.

  “Yeah, but not now. Gina’s staying at her place to watch over Fern and the dog.” />
  “Where’s Louana?”

  “Uhhh ….” Sam scratched his head, and his eyes darted back and forth across the stained carpet in front of him.

  “Lemme guess—the South of France. Fucking great.”

  “Yeah, but I think it was for the Cannes Film Festival or something.” I knew he was trying to soften the blow, but I had already been stung. This day was turning out to be a shit taco with a side of stale nachos.

  “Sorry, man. I shouldn’t have said anything.” He walked away from me, went to grab his bass, and started to warm up.

  I rubbed my neck and over my “L” tattoo. All that shit would have to wait. I had a show to play and thirty thousand fans to entertain. I pulled on my headphones, grabbed my sticks, cranked up Green Day’s “American Idiot,” and beat the shit out of a road case.

  To: Jacob Riley

  From: Anne Sperling

  * * *

  Dear Mr. Riley,

  As per your request, I have reviewed the terms of the contract you signed with Edging Records last year. Due to your predecessor’s quick exit, they were adamant that once you started a tour, you would indeed finish it. As you may recall, this was a “deal breaker” for them, to which we reluctantly agreed. However, we were able to sneak in a clause allowing you to terminate your membership in the band, without retaliation, during any break from touring or recording of five days or more.

  Therefore, I advise you to wait until such pause occurs before ending your relationship with The Spades and Edging Records.

  In the meantime, if I can be of any further assistance, please do not hesitate to contact me.

  * * *

  Sincerely,

  Anne Sperling