The Widow and the Rock Star

by J. Thomas-Like

  Now all my dreams were as KIA as any soldier lost in any war. Son of a bitch!

  I slammed the paper plate with my unfinished sandwich into the trash and stomped off to my bedroom, grimacing the whole way as the acid in my stomach churned into a grade-A case of heartburn. I slumped onto the edge of my bed, hanging my head in shame. I had no one to blame but myself for this mess.

  Wiping my face on my sleeve, I sniffed loudly. I flopped onto my back and stared at the ceiling for a while, letting my eyes leak until the hair at my temples was soaked. Not caring how much time passed, I wondered all sorts of things that couldn’t be answered in any substantive way. How could I have been so blind? Why hadn’t I checked the bank balance yesterday? Why would the bank let him present a check with a signature that clearly did not match the one on file?

  I might as well have spent time wondering why a leprechaun didn’t appear at my door with a pot full of shiny gold coins. Rolling my head to the right, my eyes automatically found the urn. It was perched next to the glass-encased American flag on the shelf mounted against the wall. Bruce’s battered pair of dog tags were draped over both. It didn’t matter that it was seventeen years after the fact, I still felt a deep yearning for my best male friend to be at my side, instead of in pieces inside the stainless steel tube.

  “What am I going to do Bruce? All I wanted to do was help people.” My voice wavered in unison with my trembling bottom lip.

  It wasn’t as though I expected a real response, but I nearly pissed myself when the doorbell rang at the same time I stopped speaking out loud to the empty room. Startled into motion, I sprinted out of my room, down the hall and to the front door of my little shotgun ranch house. I flung the door open, a FedEx man greeting me with a smile. It faltered only slightly when he obviously saw what a mess I was. His arm stretched out to present a flat envelope.

  “Vivienne Stark?” he asked, not looking me in the eye.

  “Yes.”

  “Sign here, please.”

  Without even hesitating, I opened the storm door and leaned out to scribble my name in the tiny box on his digital reader. I thanked him as he bounced down the steps of my front porch and I went back inside. I tore into the envelope, curious and terrified at what could be inside. What now?

  *****

  Gripping the armrests of Seat 24E didn’t help to alleviate my fear that the plane would crash on the runway in a fiery ball of destruction instead of touching down with its usual precision. If I could have walked to California, I would have. Unfortunately, I didn’t have enough time for the leisurely stroll.

  Instead, I left Detroit Metro airport at 5:00 p.m. on the flight Jake booked for me. When the plane finally came to a stop at the gateway and I heard the sealed door whoosh open, I began to breathe again. Normally, I’m a polite person, allowing other people to go ahead of me, holding doors for others, that kind of thing. When flying is involved, though, look out. I grabbed my carry on from the overhead and almost body checked a businessman and an old lady in order to get my ass off that plane.

  Suitcase finally in hand after a twenty minute wait at the baggage carousel, I hurried through the airport and out into the humid night. I peered around. Jake assured me there would be a car waiting to take me to my hotel, kindly provided by EJR Productions, one of the largest film companies in the world. It was compliments of EJR that I was actually in California, because they were offering me a chance to sell the rights to The Widow’s Path for the silver screen adaptation. Another company, Gleaming Bee Pictures, wanted the rights as well. It looked as though I had a bidding war on my hands.

  After the embezzlement drama that morning, the last thing I expected FedEx to deliver was a formal purchase offer from a movie studio. When I’d called Jake to tell him, he was nearly convulsing with excitement because he had in his hand a similar FedEx envelope from Gleaming Bee Pictures. I wouldn’t let myself wonder if things could get any screwier. I didn’t want to put that kind of energy into the universe.

  I spotted a tall, thin man dressed “Men In Black” style, holding a sign with my name on it. Waving my arms in the air like a maniac until he saw me, I didn’t realize how nervous I’d been getting. It didn’t matter that Jake had texted me to watch for a car and driver. It didn’t mean they would actually be there. I must have sounded like an idiot when I thanked the guy five times for taking my bag. His smile was kind as he nodded while opening the door for me to hop inside. Mr. Men-in-Black’s name was Marvin, and he asked if I wanted to go anywhere before the hotel. As I sunk into the soft leather seat of the Lincoln Town Car, I shook my head no and closed my eyes. The clock read a little after ten, but my body said it was the middle of the night because of the time change.

  “Just the hotel, please.”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  As the car hurtled along the freeway, I whipped off a quick email to my mom back in Michigan, letting her know I’d made it safely. She told me to call her the minute I landed, but there was no way I would wake her at one a.m. She was nearing eighty, and I wasn’t about to deprive her of any much deserved rest. I knew she would be on her computer checking email and Facebook while she munched on breakfast. I resigned myself to the scolding I’d surely get when I did speak to her.

  Marvin delivered me safely to the Ritz Carlton and I was left speechless by the fanciness of the place. The cavernous lobby echoed with my footsteps, even though I wore an old pair of Converse Chuck Taylor high tops. Everything was spotless and sparkling. The smell of high-end cleaning solutions and fresh flowers mingled, wafting around my head.

  The young woman at the counter who checked me in smiled with easy professionalism, then handed me the two plastic cards that served as keys to my room. In a scripted voice, she directed me to the elevator and asked if I needed help with my bags.

  “No, that’s okay; I have it.” I returned her smile and wandered off in the direction she pointed.

  I rode to the 12th floor, enjoying the fluttery feeling in my stomach when the car landed with a gentle jolt. I’m just an average Jane from a common suburban upbringing, but the opulence of the suite I was given blew me away. I sunk half an inch when I stepped onto the deep-pile carpeting. The striped cream and white walls were inlayed with tiny crystals. All of the furniture was pristine white and the softest leather I’d ever touched. The California king-size bed looked more inviting than winning a Pulitzer Prize for fiction. Well, almost.

  As I hoisted my suitcase onto the bed, my cell phone blared “Cadillac Ranch” by Bruce Springsteen from inside my purse. I dove across the bed, grabbing it in the nick of time.

  “You made it.” Jake sounded relieved, as if I would back out.

  “Yes, I’m here.” I rolled onto my back and tried to steady my breathing.

  “Get yourself some rest. The car will pick you up tomorrow morning at 6:30 a.m. sharp. After Good Day LA, you’ll go to the NBC studios. From there, I have a reservation for us at 1:00 p.m. for lunch, and then we meet with EJR Productions at 3:00 p.m. It’s going to be a busy day.”

  “Ya think?” I could hear him clacking away on a computer.

  “There, I just emailed it to you and I’ll text it, too.”

  “Thanks.” I wasn’t able to disguise my sarcasm. I had an open-ended ticket back to Michigan. Did he have to jam pack my first day in California? Sheesh.

  “The press release went out hours ago and I’ve been fielding phone calls nonstop. I want to spray water before the fires even start with this embezzlement stuff.” Jake sounded as tired as I felt. “The lawyer’s going to want a $10,000 retainer.”

  “Glad I brought my checkbook,” I muttered.

  “What was that?”

  “When do we meet with the bank and the police?” I rubbed my eyes and forehead. All the information whirling in my head was making it ache.

  “The morning after next. The law firm said they would send someone. I told them we wanted a partner for all the fucking money we’re going to spend with them.”

  I
pulled myself into a sitting position and groaned when my lower back sang with a muscle threatening to winch itself out of place. Shit, that’s all I need.

  “Why are we meeting with EJR so soon?” I practically whined, then cringed. “What I mean to say is, why aren’t we meeting with the lawyer, the police and the bank first?”

  “Because the bank wouldn’t schedule a meeting any sooner than that,” Jake said slowly, with a little more condescension than patience. “They know they’re on the hook for this but haven’t figured out a way to cover their asses. And we’re meeting with EJR as soon as possible because they’re offering the most money at present.”

  “Not to mention springing for the hotel.” I glanced around wondering how much this room was costing them. I don’t even want to know. I squatted to push my suitcase under the bureau.

  “That’s right. Get to bed and I’ll talk to you first thing in the morning.”

  “You aren’t coming with me?” I had hoped for someone to mentally hold hands with throughout the interview process.

  “No, I have some radio to do. I’ll meet you at the restaurant for lunch. I texted your itinerary to Marvin.”

  I nodded in appreciation for all the details Jake had handled and told him how grateful I was. I might be irritated as hell to be in California at all, and furious over my current financial situation, but I never could have arranged everything as competently as he had. Well, he and his assistant Ariadne. I made a mental note to send Ari a little something for all her hard work. Jake got his 15%; he didn’t need a gift.

  I ended the call with Jake and plugged in my phone to charge, then set my alarm for 5:45 a.m. Worried I would hit the snooze or, God forbid, turn the damn thing off, I called the front desk to schedule a wakeup call for 6:00 a.m. Satisfied I would not oversleep and screw up the entire works, I changed into a tee-shirt and shorts and crawled into bed.

  I took a deep breath and snuggled beneath the soft, cool sheets and puffy comforter, wrapping my arms around one of the fat pillows. My eyelids felt heavy as I used one of my many relaxation techniques to ease myself to sleep.

  And then I laid there. Not sleeping.

  *****

  As promised, Marvin was waiting downstairs for me at 6:30 a.m. on the dot. I still wore my tee-shirt, yoga pants and black Chuck Taylors, but lugged a stylish brown silk wrap dress and simple black pumps to wear for my TV appearances. I looked like hell from my almost completely restless night. Marvin asked if I’d slept well. I only scowled at him and his amused smirk. He hadn’t even shut the door when my phone yelled “text message!” It was Jake checking in to make sure I was on schedule.

  R u on the road?

  I replied with a “yes,” then dialed my mom. She answered on the first ring.

  “You should have called!” Olivia Forest admonished.

  “You should have known I wouldn’t.” I laughed when she did. “It was after one, Mom. I was too tired.”

  “All right, you’re forgiven. Where are you now?”

  “I’m in the car on the way to the television station.”

  “Which one? Can I watch? Will it be live?” Mom’s questions were like rapid fire.

  “I don’t know, I don’t know, and I don’t know.” I shook my head and laid it on the back of the seat. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll be able to email you links from the network’s website afterward.”

  “You’d better!” Mom threatened. “I’m sorry for the circumstances, but you know I love to see you on TV.”

  “Ugh.” I groaned and smiled. Ever the proud momma. “I promise I will email you everything when I get a chance. I’ve got a long day ahead of me though, so don’t expect it until tomorrow.”

  “You be careful out there.” Mom’s voice softened and I could hear her sigh. “When do you think you’ll be back?”

  “I’m really not sure, Mom. It won’t be for at least a week, probably two. I could fly you out here, if you wanted.”

  “Hell no,” she snorted. “I have no desire to see California. Send me back to London first.”

  I laughed out loud and opened my eyes as I felt the car slow down. Peering out the window, I could see signs for the studio.

  “I told you, next spring. We’ll go then, when the weather is best. Look, Mom, I have to run. We’re pulling in to the parking lot now.”

  “All right, honey. Be careful. Just remember who you are.”

  Smiling, I told her I would. After I hung up, I was hit with a wave of homesickness so fierce I thought I might cry. Before the tears could form, Marvin pulled up to the studio doors and was whipping my door open to help me out.

  I forgot how tired I was as I got hustled inside by a production assistant who was waiting for me. She ushered me to hair and makeup and someone gave me a cup of tremendously strong, but excellent coffee. I slipped into a chair and closed my eyes, while a pert and chatty young blond worked on my still-wet hair. I understood why Jake wanted me to be the one in the public eye: I would garner more sympathy as the cheated, single, female author than he would as my brash agent and publicist. But I still didn’t like having to do it. I didn’t like being the center of attention or on television. Just the thought of millions of people looking at me made feel like covering my face and crawling under the nearest convenient piece of furniture.

  I couldn’t deny enjoying the pampering though. The hairdresser styled my long hair in fashionable waves and then a makeup artist had me looking fresher and younger than I had in years. If only I could figure out a way to get the pampering without having to do the interview. When I was perfectly coiffed and made up, a production assistant took me to the “green room” where I could wait until it was my turn to go on set.

  As usual, the “green room” wasn’t green at all. The walls were painted sky blue, with light oak hardwood floors. There were several loveseats and a single long sofa, all covered in blue, white, and cream plaid. Along one wall was a craft services food table piled high with donuts, bagels, ten different flavors of cream cheese, granola bars, yogurt cups floating in a bowl of ice water, and three giant urns of coffee and hot water. As tempting as it was, I avoided all of it. I was afraid if I ate anything and got more nervous, I’d barf. I already knew I’d have to hit the restroom before going on for my segment, so more coffee was out of the question.

  I perched on the edge of a loveseat, watching the current live segment on a huge flat-screen television. Some female actress who was up and coming, but I hadn’t heard of yet, was being interviewed. Not of my era. I was at that in-between stage of life where I was too young to know all of the older celebrities, but too old to recognize the twenty-somethings. Some days this pissed me off because I didn’t want to feel old. Other days I allowed myself to paddle around in a fake pool of superiority because I wasn’t a slave to tabloid fodder. Most days I didn’t think about it at all.

  When my coffee was gone, I stood up and smoothed my dress and impatiently paced around the room. My nerves were beginning to wear thin and I thought I would just up and leave. Going back to an old habit of mine from high school, I started to practice my American Sign Language finger spelling, choosing all the swear words I knew.

  As I was running out of expletives, the door to the green room opened. Finally. I looked up, expecting to see a production assistant coming for me. Instead, a group of five men barreled into the room, laughing and joking, totally oblivious that anyone was already there. They wore jeans and tee-shirts, but the loudest one had on a weathered, black motorcycle jacket. The sleeves were pushed up on his forearms, revealing several multicolored tattoos, one of which was a golden cross covered in green serpents. It reminded me of something biblical. I didn’t even get a brief glimpse of his face because the PA looking for me peeked around one of the guys and crooked her finger in my direction.

  “Excuse me,” I said softly, avoiding eye contact. They all towered over me like giants, hovering in the six-foot-plus range. Realizing I was trying to get through, they quieted down as I exited. Still without r
aising my eyes, I turned my head offering a shy smile and, “Thank you.” I heard one of them say, “You’re welcome.” My smile got wider from the seductive lilt in his voice. I tried to see which one had spoken, but the PA was already closing the door. Oh well.

  As I was led to a set and shown which chair to sit in, nerves exploded in my stomach. I remembered I hadn’t gone to the bathroom like I should have, but it was too late now. I crossed my legs tightly as I sat and hoped I wouldn’t wet myself. One of the crew attached my microphone, making me flinch. The hair and makeup women reappeared to make sure I hadn’t mussed myself, eyeing me and using the tools of their trade to freshen their work. The fuzzy brush used to powder my face made me feel like sneezing, but I willed it away. The director started shouting orders and the cameras began swiveling and rolling across the stage as the return from a commercial break was counted down. I seriously thought I was going to faint, but then I saw the red lights on top of the cameras explode with color. The audience offered polite applause when the production crew held up their signs commanding it. Suck it up, Viv.

  The host greeted me kindly and gave a 30-second introduction about me and my book, then asked me all the appropriate and expected questions. I answered with as much confidence and grace as I could muster, though I kept thinking my voice was wavering and my hands were shaking like leaves on a tree in a wind storm. Jake would later tell me I did fine, but, in the moment, I had no way of knowing whether I looked like an idiot or not.

  When the questions turned to the subject of the stolen money and broke foundation, my righteous indignation was pure. I wasn’t able to give a lot of information because I didn’t even have it for myself, but the anger I felt came across, eliciting sympathetic looks from the host.