“Thanks a lot,” I grumbled.
“We’re worried about you,” Mom quickly retorted, before shouting, “we’re in Wynne’s room!”
Seconds later, the frazzled mess that was my best friend came rolling through the door. After giving Mom a quick hug, she turned to me, and with a plastic smile on her face, a smile that didn’t even remotely hide the hurt, she said, “It’s good to have you home.”
“You cut your hair!” I exclaimed. Her long, and normally frizzy, dark hair was now a stick-straight, chin-length bob. She looked like an entirely different person—more sophisticated, more grown up. Hurt melted into vanity as she turned to model her new do.
Laughing at her posturing, I said, “I love it!”
“You look great, sweetie. That length does wonders for your cheek bones,” Mom added.
“Why thank you, Alice,” she responded with a smile. Alice? I thought, trying not to laugh.
Mom held up her cup of coffee. “Would you like a cup?”
“No thanks. I’ll just sip off of Wynne’s.” She settled herself beside me on the bed, and before I could stop her, the little brat snagged my half-empty cup from the bedside table. In one gulp she drained it dry. The cup made a loud thunk as she returned it to the table and speared me with a heated glare. Here it comes, I thought.
“Three nights ago, I watched my best friend get crowned Million Dollar Musician. Then I watched some total douchebag accuse her of cheating, of sleeping her way into the finale. All I could think was, what the hell? It has to be some kind of joke. I mean, this is Wynne Benfield we’re talking about. This is my honorable, honest, trustworthy best friend since third grade. She would never keep something like this from me.” Damn Carrie and her guilt trips. It wasn’t as if I wasn’t already suffering enough. “But when you didn’t return my texts or calls,” she continued, “I knew it was more. All Alice could tell me was that you were on a plane home. That’s it. Even your own mother didn’t have a clue as to what the hell was going on. The only reason you would keep us both in the dark, was if it was true.”
Our eyes held for a long moment before I looked away. “Oh my God, I’m right!” she gasped. “You were sleeping with him, weren’t you?” Her gaze flew to my mother before swinging back to me. “I told Alice that there wasn’t a chance in hell . . . that the recording had to be some kind of joke, that the tabloids were wrong, but they weren’t, were they?” While Carrie sputtered beside me, my mother didn’t say a word. She simply stood there watching me, as if trying to read my mind. So much for not wanting to talk about it.
A long moment of strained silence passed before she finally spoke. “Is she right?”
Swallowing deeply, I whispered, “Yes.”
“Holy shit,” Carrie breathed.
“Oh, Wynnie,” Mom whispered, her tone laced with disappointment. It was this that spurred me to talk.
“Remember when I told you that Ferris and I were going to Sander’s house in Aspen for Christmas? Well, at the last minute, Ferris couldn’t go.” When neither of them responded, I continued. “Sander and I, well, let’s just say that we got close during those five days.” When I still got nothing, I began to squirm. “I didn’t plan on falling in love. It just happened.”
“And I thought he was hot!” Carrie snarled.
“He’s soooo hot,” I groaned, and she laughed. My mother did not. She just stared at me as if I’d suddenly sprouted horns. “Sorry,” I whispered, my face flaming with embarrassment.
“We’ll save that for later,” Carrie murmured under her breath, before asking the million-dollar question. “So, what happened?”
“I don’t know.”
Mom frowned. “What do you mean, you don’t know?”
I thought about where to start and decided to just tell it all. From our week in Aspen—glossing over the sex, of course—to my meeting with Jayne, I left nothing out.
When I was done, Mom clipped, “The man clearly took advantage of you.”
“No, Mom, he didn’t. He made no promises. In fact, it was supposed to be for those five days only. He tried to break it off, but neither of us seemed to want to stop.”
Carrie’s face twisted in anger. “Why are you defending him?”
“Because it wasn’t his fault. I wanted it. I—”
“If you say got what you deserved, I will slap you,” she bit out.
“Relax, Cujo. I was going to say that I could have stopped it, but I didn’t want to.”
“Don’t glare at me. I’m on your side,” she snapped, elbowing me in the ribs.
“Girls,” Mom chastised. Once we’d settled back down, she said, “Let’s think about this for a moment. Okay, so you and Sander were involved, which I might add, was not very smart of either of you.” I started to protest, but stopped when she held up her hand. “Ferris found out,” she continued, “and had a conversation with Sander, which he taped and used to overturn the finale. Now, I’ll admit, the recording didn’t sound good, but when you think about it, Sander didn’t actually admit to anything.”
“Wait! You’re defending him? Come on, Alice, I thought we were on the same page, here! You heard the man. ‘I own this show. I can fuck who I want,’” she mocked.
“Yes, he was crass, but if I’m not mistaken, he simply stated that he could if he wanted to, not that he actually had.” Shit. She was right. I’d been so busy obsessing about the context of what was said that I’d failed to pay attention to his actual words. They both turned to me.
After a few false starts, I gave voice to the tangled mess inside my head. “You weren’t there. It was so humiliating. Sander promised to protect me. He promised that it wouldn’t affect my career. Directly before Ferris played the recording, I saw the look on Sander’s face. He knew. Ferris even said it himself. Sander could have stopped it, but chose not to. This means that he knew. Then Ferris played the recording and I wanted to curl up and die. I wanted to come home right that minute and would have, had it not been for Jayne. I shouldn’t have waited for her. I should have caught a cab to the airport instead.”
“I was going to ask about that,” Mom interjected.
“The whole thing was weird. For months she acted like his friend. When I asked her about it, she said that she wasn’t about to let him ruin her show. Not the show, but her show. When she realized I wasn’t going to admit that we were sleeping together, she got mean. That’s when I knew she was planning something awful. She kept talking about the network and how she wanted to protect me, but couldn’t unless I confessed that he’d forced me.” A rather crude curse flew from my mother’s lips.
Carrie gasped. “She actually said that?”
“She said he’d done it before and that I was just another of his victims. I didn’t know what to believe. I remember thinking that I could take both Sander and Ferris down if I wanted, but at what cost? I’d already lost.”
“It sounds to me like Jayne has an agenda,” my mother pointed out.
“Money,” Carrie stated. “It’s always about money.” Sander, Ferris, Jayne…it was all so confusing. Nudging me, she said, “You’re the one who slept with the guy. What does your gut tell you? Was he in on it with Ferris, or was he being played?” He was certainly playing at something. I just didn’t know what that something was.
“Honestly, I don’t know what to think. When Ferris played that recording and I heard Sander say those things about me . . . ” The remainder of the sentence got lodged in my throat. It took me a moment before I could continue. “Then there was Jayne. She clearly wanted me to help her condemn Sander, but I couldn’t. It looks like Sander and Ferris were in on it together, but in here,” I placed my hand over my heart, “I don’t believe Sander would do that to me.”
Carrie’s arm snaked around my shoulder and she pulled me into her side. “Girl, you need to talk to him.”
“I tried. I texted him that night asking him why, but he never responded.”
“So, text him again.”
Catching my
mother’s look of doubt, I asked, “Should I?”
“Not unless you’re fully prepared to hear his answer,” she responded.
“I don’t know what to think,” I repeated with a shake of my head.
“I think that Mr. James owes you an explanation.” My mother wasn’t wrong. Sander did owe me an explanation, but was I ready to hear it?
“You do realize we’re talking about Sander James, and even though he’s lost major points, the man is a fu—I mean, freaking legend,” she corrected, smiling innocently at Mom.
Tired of talking about my mess of a life, I turned to Carrie and asked, “How’s work?”
“It sucks without you there. Have you talked to Bruce, yet?” Bruce was our boss. My leave of absence wasn’t over until the first of February, but I was hoping he would put me on the substitute teacher list in the interim.
“No. I thought I would show up Monday and ask for a sub position.”
“Good idea. Want to go get breakfast?”
“I would, but I have to call Dad and deal with things here.”
“How about I cook dinner tonight? Walter has bowling, so it will just be the three of us,” Mom suggested.
“Spaghetti?” we both responded in unison. My mom’s meat sauce was the best I’d ever tasted. Once we got her to agree to make her famous spaghetti, Carrie took off.
Before calling my father, I spent time mulling over the earlier conversation. All that managed to do was bring up more questions. What if I was wrong? What if Sander didn’t know about the recording. And what was Jayne really up to? Damn Sander. Why hadn’t he answered my text? Was he in on it? That was the only logical reason I could come up with.
Mom wasn’t joking when she said that Dad was beside himself with worry. After scolding me for not calling, he pegged me with a million questions. I gave him the PG version of the story, to which he threatened to rip Sander’s balls off and sue the network for defamation of character. It took me several times of assuring him that I’d made the right decision before he finally calmed down. The rest of the conversation was spent catching up on what I’d missed while I was on the show. The call ended with promises to talk later in the week. I loved him for worrying about me, but the last thing I needed was to have both of my parents under the same roof.
As awful as it was to admit, I was right to walk away. I wasn’t just the better contestant, I was the better person. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was missing something. I kept thinking back to the last time Sander and I were together. He’d asked me to trust him. Why? Each time I closed my eyes, he was there. The taste of his lips and the feel of his body as he made love to me were etched in my mind. It wasn’t my imagination. He cared about me. Maybe it wasn’t love, but it was sure as hell more than like.
“I know it was real,” I whispered. My Cat, Sid, responded with a loud meow and I couldn’t help but smile. I wanted answers, and somehow, I was going to get them.
Carrie showed up around six that night with a bottle of wine in each hand. After Mom’s amazing spaghetti dinner, the three of us moved into the living room. I was in the middle of explaining what happens behind the scenes in a show like Million Dollar Musician when Carrie’s phone rang.
“Be right back,” she said, her voice tinged with excitement.
Mom and I were laughing about Dad threatening to sue the whole city of Denver when Carrie bounded back in.
“Holy shit! You’re not going to believe who that was!”
“Who?” we both asked.
“Does the name Kazen Grange ring a bell?”
I knew exactly who Kazen Grange was. He owned one of the hottest music clubs in Palm Beach. The same club that had rejected me not once, but three times.
“Kazen owns a club called Percussion,” I explained to Mom.
“He bought it a few years back and has completely revamped it. It’s now one of the hottest live music venues in Florida,” Carrie added.
I arched my brow at her. “I wasn’t aware that you and Kazen were friends.” Knowing Carrie, she’d probably slept with the guy. Discreet wasn’t exactly in her vocabulary.
“I wouldn’t exactly call us friends,” she hedged. At my expectant stare, she explained, “You remember that new Chinese place on Sherwood? Well, about a month or so ago I was picking up takeout and guess who was in line in front of me? We chatted a bit and in conversation—”
“Which I’m sure you started,” I cut in.
“I happened to mention that you were my best friend,” she continued, “and he seemed really interested. Before he left, we exchanged numbers and he called! He really wants you, Wynnie!”
“What do you mean, he wants me? He doesn’t even know me.”
“Duh! The whole world watched you win Million Dollar Musician. Trust me, he knows you, dingbat.” A giant blast of panic nearly toppled me over. Oh, God, I didn’t even think about that. Kazen Grange had watched me get humiliated on national television. There was no way in hell I could face him now, much less perform at Percussion.
“Call him back and tell him no.” The room went silent.
“Wynne—” I heard Mom say, but I was knee deep in my freak out.
“Call him right now, Carrie! Tell him I can’t . . . that I’m not ready. I don’t care what you tell him, just tell him no!” Before she could respond, I was running for the stairs. I hit my room at full speed, threw myself onto the bed, buried my head in the pillows, and sobbed. I couldn’t sing at Percussion. I couldn’t sing anywhere.
Sometime later, I felt the bed dip and my mother’s hands stroke across my back. “I don’t blame you for wanting to hide,” she murmured.
“I’m such a mess, Mom,” I confessed from beneath my pillows.
“No, you’re just heartbroken, sweetheart.”
“I’m never singing again.”
“Then you’re letting them win. I didn’t raise a quitter. I raised a fighter. Now, Carrie has gone home and I’m going to bed. If you need me, you know where to find me.”
“I don’t want to fight anymore,” I whispered to an empty room.
Time passed before I roused long enough to brush my teeth and change into a T-shirt and shorts. I should call Carrie, I thought on my way back to bed. After the earlier call with my dad, I’d silenced my phone. I picked it up and pressed the home button, immediately zeroing in on the number three hovering above my text message icon, thinking that it was probably Dad or Carrie. I wasn’t wrong. The first message was from Dad and the second from Carrie. It was the third that caught my attention.
Sander.
My heart slammed against my chest as I opened the message and read: I’m sorry.
I’m sorry! That’s it? I wanted to scream. Sorry for what? For betraying me? For being with me in the first place? I didn’t want an apology. I wanted to know why.
After spending at least five minutes of starts and stops, I settled with: Did you know what Ferris was planning? Before I lost my nerve and erased it, I pressed the send button.
A few minutes passed before I received his answer. Yes, and no.
What’s that supposed to mean? Either he knew or he didn’t.
Yes or no? It can’t be both. I angrily typed.
He tried to blackmail me and I called his bluff. I didn’t think he had the balls to go through with it. As I stared at his response, all I could think was that he knew. He knew and he could have stopped it . . . but he didn’t.
Hold tight. I’m going to fix this, he typed.
“Sure you are,” I whispered. Instead of responding, I powered off my phone. Then, burrowing beneath my covers, I curled my body into a protective ball, and cried.
CHAPTER NINE
* * *
“SEX ON THE RADIO”
Sander
My gut churned as I waited for Wynne’s response. “Come on, Sexy Girl, give me something,” I whispered. My gaze drifted to the fire, then to the carpeted floor directly in front of it, my mind swirling with memories of the night we’d made a
pallet on that same spot. The softness of Wynne’s touch and the way she felt beneath me played through my head. I shouldn’t have come here. A minute or so passed before I tossed the phone onto the table. With a loud curse, I pushed to my feet and began to pace. I didn’t want to keep her in the dark, yet I had to if I wanted to protect her.
Not even two days ago, I had a plan. I was going to track down Greg Allen. Once he put a stop to this fucking nightmare, I was going for Wynne. It was a solid plan that would have worked, had I not misjudged the players.
Greg Allen was part owner of XtBS. Like Jayne, he was one of the main reasons I’d taken the job. Unlike Jayne, Greg had a vision. To him, Million Dollar Musician wasn’t about the bottom line, but was about finding the best talent. We’d discussed this on countless occasions during auditions. There was no doubt in my mind that he would see things my way.
As it turned out, Greg was unavailable. At least, that’s what his secretary told me. Fuck that. Whether he wanted to or not, Greg was going to hear what I had to say. The problem was tracking him down. That’s where my old friend, Hank Brown, came into play.
Back in the day, when Indigo Road was at its peak, an upstart band by the name of Meltdown rolled onto the scene. I thought they were punk-ass wannabes. Then again, I thought all other bands were punk-ass wannabes. During our 2014 tour, we played a night in Austin, Texas. After the show, everyone was tired except for me. As always, I was pumped—no doubt from the vast amounts of cocaine that I’d snorted—and ready to party. Instead of following everyone back to the hotel, I ditched security and grabbed a cab to the Warehouse District which was located in the heart of Austin. It was a dumb-shit idea, but I didn’t care. I didn’t care about much back then. I was riding a never ending high and had no real sense of self-preservation. Like a mad motherfucker, I courted death on a regular basis. We all did.
Rock Star Romance Ultimate: Volume 1 Page 75
