Rock Sexy

by Virna DePaul

  “I don’t know. Keep your head down and watch your step. Don’t you dare let go of my hand,” he commanded. “We’ll get inside and up to my room. Hopefully, the security guards will play escort, and get the crowd under control soon.”

  “Okay.” I swore with the strength of a mouse. Not only was I in another woman’s clothes, but they were pajama quality at best. I was getting out of a taxi at 3:30 in the morning with my male lead. It looked horrible from every angle, no matter how it would be spun the next morning.

  Garrick counted to three and opened the door, keeping an iron grip on my hand. The pressure, and slight pain of his bruising force, kept me on my toes, sobering me up enough not to trip on the asphalt. I kept my dress tucked under my free arm and my fingers tightly hooked into my heels as he strung me along. The hellish clamor around us only escalated and the flashes bled together, creating a giant flood of constant, blinding light. Half of the paparazzi tore into Garrick. The other half zeroed in on me.

  “Gwen! Over here! Smile for the camera!”

  “Holy cats! Are you two dating?”

  “Have you just come from a party?”

  “How’s the nightlife in Albuquerque?”

  “What’s your favorite club?”

  “Rough Friday night, Miss Vickers?”

  “There has been talk of a serious relationship developing between you two. Can you substantiate this claim?”

  “How long have you been seeing each other?”

  “What’s it like to be dating Garrick Maze? You’re both so different.”

  “Are you two exclusive?”

  “Can you give us any insight on Straightlaced? What can we expect?”

  “Have you been intimate?”

  “Is this just a stunt to promote the relationship between Lacey and Payton?”

  I shut my eyes tightly, trying to block it all out, and tripped on the curb. Garrick caught me before I fell, but the surprise knocked my heels out of my hand, and we were swallowed up in the sea of reporters by the time I scrambled to collect them. Garrick reeled me in and wrapped me up in his arms. My head throbbed.

  “Are you hurt, Gwen?”

  “A little too much to drink tonight?”

  “Why are you dressed like that?”

  “Gwen.”

  “Gwen!”

  “GWEN!”

  “Leave me alone,” I whispered, feeling the drink, the dread, and the humiliation crawling through me like parasites. Garrick kept me close, trying to blaze a trail through the wall of people. Like I vowed, I never released his hand. The questions kept coming, rising like the tide. They had caged us and crept closer, closing us in, thrusting microphones in our faces. Why I picked now of all times to grow a spine, I couldn’t say. I had had more fun tonight than the last five years combined, and they had to ruin it all for the sake of a cover story.

  “I said leave me alone!” I shouted, hand jutting out to smack away the microphone practically against my lips. This only incited a fresh wave of more pressing inquiries, and my irritation steadily compounded.

  “Wow! We’ve never seen you make an outburst like that!”

  “What’s wrong, Ms. Vickers? Trouble in Paradise?”

  “Yes! It’s you!” I barked.

  “She said leave her alone,” Garrick commanded, trying to shoulder his way through the vultures, taking photo after photo. I fought tears as the cameras loomed closer.

  “So you are dating?”

  “You’re awfully protective of her, Garrick. Why is that?”

  “He doesn’t need to protect me!” I snapped, the copious amounts of alcohol talking for me. “No. We’re not together. That’s all rumors. My career will always come first. And it’s not your business! We’re just friends. Now, go away!”

  Only when I felt Garrick staring at me did I realize how what I had just said must have felt for him to hear. Unable to meet his eyes, my courageousness turned to cowardice, I searched for an opening to dash away and hide.

  Then, like magic, the sea parted… and in barged…

  My father.

  The magic morphed into a nightmare.

  He wore a terrifyingly blank expression as flat ironed as his suit in spite of the glacial fire in his eyes. He gave me a once-over, taking note of my attire and the way I clutched the flaps of Garrick’s coat closed around me. They had come open when I tripped, but I had managed to secure them again. Surely, someone had snapped a picture. Stephanie’s clothes were about to be famous.

  His silence, like a thunderhead before the hurricane, or the eye of the storm itself, conveyed an unmistakable message—I was in so much trouble.

  What I had experienced of my father’s wrath thus far would be nothing in comparison to what lurked on the near horizon.

  “Dad,” I choked, feeling the color bleed out of my face. New questions erupted from our onlookers. For the life of me, I couldn’t make any sense of them.

  Surging forward, he seized me by the arm and practically dragged me out of the frenzy and I dragged Garrick behind us, refusing to let him go and leave him to the camera toting sharks. Dad, considerably bigger built than any of the microphone wielding army, crassly knocked several of them out of the way. The rest parted ways for him, some reeling back to do so, and others bowled over in their haste. Dad yanked us into Nativo Lodge, ushered in by the four security guards who had just amassed at the entrance.

  “Incompetent idiots!” he roared. “Don’t you have protocol to follow in situations like this! Good God, man!”

  “We sincerely apologize, sir,” said the oldest of the four through his mustache. “A commotion had drawn our staff out back—”

  “A distraction you mean!” Dad sneered. “Make yourselves useful now and clear those morons out! My daughter could have been hurt! And I would have sued you for every penny you own!”

  The guards scurried away just as we turned the corner, safely out of camera range. Then, Dad rounded on Garrick. “And you,” he growled, appearing more akin to a bear than a man at the moment. “How dare you corrupt my angel? You’re never to see my daughter again!”

  “Sir, if I could explain—” Garrick started.

  Panic climbed my spine as I realized he was going to try to hold his ground in a battle I didn’t think he could win.

  “Explain?” Dad echoed mockingly.

  “It’s fine. He’s right. It’s fine,” I said quickly, moving to step between them, accidentally slurring the last sentence. I gulped.

  “Is that tobacco I smell?” Dad locked eyes on me like lasers. “Have you been smoking? And drinking?” he hissed. In my haste to be the buffer, I had forgotten to keep the coat closed, so Dad could see the full picture of me in Stephanie’s little shorts and tee while it hung open.

  “What are you wearing, Gwendolyn? Where have you been?”

  “I was—” I stammered, feeling smaller by the second. “We were at a friend’s house.”

  “I thought you were at the mandatory cast party,” he countered, glowering down at me.

  “We were. I was,” I promised, fighting not to stutter in the shadow of his ire. “But after that, we went to hang out with some other friends and I was extremely overdressed. They gave me some extra clothes so that I could be comfortable.”

  “After you, in your drunkenness took the other ones off, no doubt! I knew this would happen. You’re still an irresponsible little girl. You’re not ready for this career or the pressure of something like Straightlaced!” My father’s fists clenched, his knuckles whitening, and I instinctively braced myself.

  “Don’t touch her,” Garrick commanded. Laying his hand on my shoulder, Garrick ushered me out of the way and took my place. Paralyzed by my father’s last sentence, I could only gawk.

  “Out of the way, Maze. How I discipline my daughter is none of your business.”

  “With all due respect sir, which I infer isn’t much, your daughter is an adult. A very smart, capable, wonderful person. I think it’ll be best for everyone if you leave.�
�

  Dad countered with a shove. Garrick faltered slightly, but managed to hold his ground and dig his heels in. A brutal flashback of Sean and my father surged into my memory. This could turn ugly so fast.

  No, no, no, no! Throat dry as a California sidewalk, my heart dropped into my gut. It felt as though my skin had been overrun by a horde of ants, my hands too stiff and clammy to brush them off.

  My father leered, growing more livid by the second. The muscles in his arms coiled, rallying for action underneath his suit. He lifted his massive hands, planted them on Garrick’s chest and shoved again—hard.

  Garrick staggered backward.

  Dad advanced. “How dare you speak to me this way, you low-life, half-witted ingrate! You think because you stand in front of a camera and talk a good game that you can stand up to me? You’re nothing but a scoundrel. My daughter is far too good for the likes of you! Well… on most occasions,” he scoffed, shooting me a pointedly poisonous look of disapproval.

  “She’s far too good for me all the time,” Garrick corrected.

  My heart hammered. I lost feeling in my knees. Half convinced I would faint at any moment, I locked them.

  “But you’re making a scene,” Garrick accused. “And if you haven’t noticed, Gwen is shaking. This isn’t the place to do this.”

  Dad glanced at me again. I felt like I was going to vomit.

  “Good, prudent children fear their fathers, boy,” Dad snarled. “If you need me to teach you a lesson, and instill that sense in you, then I’ll gladly do so.” His features, sharpened by the whetstone of rage, seemed to have been cut from marble. Like a mountain, he would never yield. “If you had any brains in that empty head of yours, you’d follow her example.”

  My common sense, though clouded, slowly came back. I knew Garrick had had a lot to drink—more than I had, most likely. And even in spite of the differences in our tolerance levels, he couldn't be completely unaffected. Plus, when he stepped in, I noticed that Garrick's demeanor was missing the adorable element he had shown that night he stood outside my door and caught me in my lingerie. Now, he just looked primed for battle. I had to stop them!

  “Maybe you’re right, Mr. Vickers. But that’s not my experience. Not like this,” Garrick declared, inclining his chin to demonstrate his bravado. “Good fathers don’t demand fear from their children. Gwen has done nothing wrong. She has been scared enough tonight. Your approval is all she talks about. It’s all she strives for. You know, when you arrived on set earlier, she didn’t even—”

  “That’s enough, Garrick,” I forced out, unable to look at him. Any moment, I knew this could turn into a physical altercation. And I couldn’t bear the thought of my lover fighting my father. If my dad beat Garrick the way he had Sean all those years ago, the press would eat Garrick alive. He was an action hero. That kind of humiliation would taint his image. I had to remove Garrick from the line of fire, and I could think of only one way to accomplish that. “He’s right.”

  “Of course I am!” Dad growled. Clamping one hand around my arm, he jerked me away from Garrick and positioned himself between us.

  “What?” Garrick stammered.

  I swayed slightly, aching all over. “We can’t be together, Garrick. I’ve screwed up again. But it’s the last time it’s going to happen.”

  “Gwen!” Garrick exclaimed, daring a step closer.

  I tensed.

  “Stop this,” Garrick begged. “Listen to me.”

  “Shut up, boy!” Dad gnashed back.

  “Don’t do this to yourself!” Garrick pleaded, ignoring my father. “Please. I meant to tell you. I started reading Straightlaced. We can be that, Gwen. I want that with you.”

  “You are on dangerous ground, Maze. You will not entertain this nonsense, Gwendolyn!”

  “This isn’t your fault,” Garrick insisted, trying to snatch my attention from the floor. “Don’t you dare shut me out after everything! We’ve come so far! Let me help, dammit! I’m falling in love with you.”

  The words pierced through me, and I had to stifle my instinctive cry of pain. Of longing. I wanted to throw myself into his arms. Beg him never to let me go. But one look at my father told me that Garrick would never be able to shelter me the way I wanted him to—the way I needed him to in order for us to have a chance at withstanding my father’s wrath, the press, the pressures of the business, all the girls, all the Rachels that would try to separate us… God, the list was endless.

  I’d thought love could overcome all obstacles, but with the litany of things standing in our way, I no longer believed it.

  Garrick and I had switched places. He believed in the power of love. I no longer did.

  After a shaky inhale, I licked my parched lips, and broke my own heart with a lie.

  “I’m sorry, Garrick. I don’t want this. I don’t want you.”

  Garrick staggered backward as though I had physically struck him. “Maybe I was wrong about you,” he whispered, his expression as lax and hopeless as a dead man. “You’re not even speaking for yourself. It’s like you’re a completely different person. Maybe you never actually wanted me. Maybe we are incompatible. Because you bet your ass I wouldn’t stand here and take this from anyone. I fought for you. I’d fight for you again. But how the hell am I supposed to win if you’re fighting against me too?”

  “Just go,” I choked out tearfully. “Please.”

  And just like that, Garrick turned and walked down the hall. I caught a glimpse of his devastated expression as the elevator doors closed.

  My father gave his grunt of approval and released my arm. I could feel bruises in the shape of his large hand purpling under Garrick’s jacket like spring blossoms.

  It wasn’t lost on me that only hours before, I’d assured Garrick that my father would never physically hurt me. Had I ever really believed that? Or had I just been too much of a coward to admit the possibility?

  Giving a stiff tug to the hem of his coat, he straightened his appearance.

  “As pleased as I am with the sensible choice you just made, dear, you’ve not only jeopardized your own reputation this evening, but mine as well. And I can’t let it go unpunished. You know I love you. You know I want what’s best for you. That boy is trouble. You’re not to see him again. This project is over. You’re not ready.”

  A wave of hot, fresh tears sprang to my eyes. Gripped by the dilemma of fight or flight, a hidden strength, fueled by liquid courage, jumped out of my mouth. “I am perfectly responsible!” I exclaimed, balling up my hands. “I’m twenty-two years old, and perfectly legally allowed to have drinks too! And stay out late! And play as hard as I work! We took a cab home. We didn’t drive. I didn’t embarrass myself outside, or say anything incriminating! I lied to those people and hurt someone I cared about for you! I’ve made you proud my whole life! I’ve tried my hardest every moment of every day!”

  “Clearly, you’re not trying hard enough. Look at the mess you’ve created for yourself, and for me! Getting out of a cab at three thirty in the morning, drunk and dressed for god knows what sort of activity! It’s disgraceful.”

  “I have been a picture of grace since the time I could apply my own makeup!” I screamed.

  Dad’s expression turned wry and impassive. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, dear. You’ve been poised at best. There will always be room for improvement.”

  The tears spilled over, scalding my cheeks with shame and bitterness. “Tonight was a night to celebrate me! And my accomplishments as an actress! And the accomplishments of the cast as a unit!”

  “Yes, and look how you’ve squandered it. I’m sure we’ll all be celebrating tomorrow when you wind up on the front page of the National Enquirer. I am so glad that sweet friend of yours called. Who knows what might have happened if I hadn’t arrived when I did.” He adjusted his tie.

  “Sweet friend?” I repeated, spitting the words out like venom.

  “Yes. That lovely Rachel girl. What an angel. She phoned me about half
an hour ago to tip me off about the paparazzi, and your scandalous arrival.”

  I balked, momentarily forgetting I’d been on the verge of throwing a very public tantrum. All of my focus narrowed to one distinctly despicable individual. I wanted to kill Rachel, a sensation I had never before experienced. I wanted to wrap my hands around her skinny little neck and wring it more than anything. This was her fault. She must have tipped the reporters off. Either she had a connection at the party we hit, or she had tailed us from the Convention Center.

  That dirty, rotten shrew of a rat!

  Outside, the commotion had died down, leaving me to believe that the paparazzi had been ordered to leave the premises and relocate elsewhere. I wondered if the hotel owner had phoned the police. The vindictive part of me hoped that at least two or three were arrested for loitering, or assault. The alcohol had unearthed a whole new side to me, a side I didn’t necessarily like, but a side that was necessary, even essential, to becoming a woman with her own strength. The issue was how to keep her part of me.

  “Gwendolyn, are you listening to me?” Dad rebuked, roping me back into the ugly, awful moment.

  Steeling myself, I turned back to him. “I hear you, Dad. But I’m not listening anymore. I’m a grown woman, and I’ve not only made a name for myself, but become a capable, confident person—something you make a point of questioning every time you’re near me. Garrick makes me happy! He lifts me up!”

  “No! That’s a child’s thinking!” he bellowed back, ensnaring the full attention of the security team, who had been eyeing us since the argument began. “He has deluded and distracted you from your job, and convinced you to flout the pact you made with me. Do I mean nothing to you? Have my years as your father and provider not met your seal of approval? How ungrateful! Are you truly so willing to dispose of me for a fling with a man who couldn’t care less about what’s impacting your life so long as you’re spreading your legs for him!”

  Shaking with anger, guilt, shame, and heartache, I couldn’t string words together. I could only glare defiantly through my watery eyes.

  “Now march yourself up to your suite and go pack your bag this instant. We’re going back to my hotel, where I’ll get you your own room and you can shower and sleep,” he instructed. “We’ll be on the first flight home tomorrow.”