"What's the most beautiful girl in the room doing sitting so quietly?" he shouted to her over the thumping bass of the latest dance song being spun by the DJ.
Ignoring his typical flirting, she told him, "Great party."
"You're lying. For that, you owe me a dance," he insisted and pulled her by the hand so she stood with him.
Sophie laughed and allowed him to lead her to an open space outside on the patio. He pressed his body to hers, touching her with unnecessary intimacy before segueing into an uncoordinated freestyle excuse for a dance.
What he lacked in skill he made up for in enthusiasm and soon Sophie found herself laughing and having fun. After the song, he offered to get her a drink. The outdoor bar was out of the sparkling water she craved, though.
"Come with me to my enormous kitchen, love, and I'll get you a drink," he shouted to her as the pulsating music continued.
He led her by the hand and the crowds seemed to part reverentially for them. As they entered the large and airy kitchen, Sophie saw Gavin sitting at the marble island bar. There were several other men with him, one of whom casually cleared something from the countertop before she could register what they were doing.
"So, my dear?" Jackson asked. "Don’t you want something . . . harder than fizzy water?"
Sophie laughed. "I’ll take some red wine along with the water if you have it."
Gavin grabbed her hand and pulled her to him so that she stood between his legs.
"Where have you been, darlin'? It feels like it's been ages, you know?” He spoke rapidly, his words almost running together as he failed to take a breath. “God, I missed you. Don't leave me. You won't leave me again, will you?"
There was laughter from the group at Gavin’s quick cadence.
But it didn't seem funny to Sophie. She cupped his face in her hands and looked into his eyes, even as they darted around the room. His pupils weren’t right. They had the same look she had seen in the eyes of certain models and other industry people.
"What have you been doing, baby?" she asked, her heart racing with fear.
"Nothing. Nothing at all. Don't you worry. I got it all under control and I feel good for the first time in a long time," Gavin replied.
Sophie hesitated, wanting to believe him. But then he rubbed hard at his nose and she knew with complete certainty that everything wasn't "under control."
"Gavin, no," she said and shook her head. "Don't do that. It'll only make things worse."
"No, Sophie. The only thing making it worse is me doing nothing but thinking about it. I've been paralyzed by all this shite. I need a fucking release from it or I swear to God I'll go mad,” he said, speaking rapidly. “I need an escape. I know it's only temporary, I know that. But, I feel so much fucking better right now, darlin'. I can't begin to describe how good I feel now. Can't you allow me that? Don't you want me to feel good?"
"That's not fair," she said quietly, aware they had an audience. "You can't ask me to say this is okay."
"Sophie," Jackson interrupted, "it really is pretty harmless. Don't panic about it."
She glared at him, now suspecting that he had danced with her as a distraction so that Gavin could get high on cocaine. Then she saw the large glass of wine he had set before her and she picked it up, taking several gulps to down it. She was furious and hurt and wanted to mirror Gavin's recklessness in the only way she could. With an empty stomach, the alcohol went almost immediately to her head and she regretted her childish act of defiance.
"So? We okay?" Gavin asked, oblivious.
"Just tell me it’s a one-time thing. Okay?"
"Yeah, sure. Of course it is." He took her hand and kissed it.
She looked at the two guys who had gotten him high. "You better take care of him," she said as forcefully as she could before turning on her heel and rushing to the nearest bathroom where the red wine came up.
As she sat on the cold tile floor of that small guest bathroom, Sophie was shocked to think of what had happened. Gavin had experimented with cocaine—and other drugs—before but it was obvious that he was playing with it in an entirely new way. She knew with a sinking certainty that him trying it now, amidst his depression and desperation was exactly the wrong thing to do. And she had given him permission.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Though they didn’t talk about that night for the rest of their week-long stay in Los Angeles, Gavin’s experimentation with cocaine gnawed at them both. Sophie silently worried what it meant for Gavin’s mental and emotional state that he would give in to something so dangerous as a means of “temporary” escape. And Gavin fought against the increasingly strong desire to try it again, with rationalizations of it being just one more time quickly beginning to hold sway over his better judgment.
In the meantime, he went through the motions, putting on a false bravado for Sophie. He told her he was ready to shake off all this nonsense about his mother and that the constant harassment by the tabloids was of no matter to him any longer.
At home in Dublin, when they retrieved a series of voicemail messages from James, they learned that the recent controversy had paid off with a spike in Rogue’s album sales to the tune of 1.4 million copies. It seemed that buyers were taking Ian’s advice to examine Gavin’s lyrics in a whole new way now that the “truth” about their mother was out. Listeners had taken to dissecting the lyrics to categorize which songs were about Sophie and which were about his mother, determining the former correlated to references to “darling” and the latter was generally when an unnamed woman was the subject. Sophie knew this would only bolster the repeated accusations from Gavin’s detractors that he was an emotional narcissist. They would gleefully seize the opportunity to claim Gavin had milked his angst for the precise purpose of generating material, and accuse him of calculating it all from the start in order to manipulate people’s sympathies and therefore increase record sales. This was so far removed from the truth that it made Sophie sick to think Gavin would have to deal with this on top of everything else.
James also added with embarrassment that the record company had redoubled its efforts for the band to produce their fifth album while they were “hot.”
As the message played, Gavin pulled a beer from the refrigerator and Sophie eyed him anxiously.
“Probably is a good idea, as far as the marketing angle goes, isn’t it,” he said before taking a hearty swig from the bottle.
The next message from James relayed the news that the photographer was indeed filing a civil suit against Gavin for “damages” in the amount of one million dollars, an absurd amount that was likely just a starting point.
“I’ll call Jamie later and see if we can’t negotiate our way out of this,” Gavin said.
“You’re . . . backing down?” Sophie asked, shocked. Though she knew he was in the wrong for going after the paparazzo, she never would have thought he’d admit as much, let alone agree to pay the man off.
“It’s not worth the trouble. I shouldn’t have gone off and I guess I have to pay for it. And if we do it quickly, there will be one less story, right?”
“I guess so,” she replied, still hesitant.
“Now, listen, darlin’,” he said and took another gulp from his bottle of Guinness. “Your babysitting days are done. You can go back to work now. Really, there’s no need to worry about me.”
“I know you’ve been doing better, baby, but I think I’d like to spend some more time with you.”
“Really, Sophie,” he said and looked into her eyes for a long moment. “I’m okay. And, truth be told, being on my own for a bit here and there is probably the best thing.”
“Oh,” she said quietly.
“Once you’re back on schedule with all your jobs, maybe I’ll come with you to a few of your shoots. How about that?”
She recognized his attempt to soften what he’d said and it felt to her as forced as he had sounded.
“Okay. Whatever you want,” she finally said.
~
It was with a mixture of trepidation and resignation that Sophie returned to her modeling obligations. Though Henri was thrilled that she was no longer forcing him to pull her from previously arranged assignments, he was alarmed at how unhealthy she appeared upon their lunch meeting to go over her next three months of work.
Sophie had taken a shuttle flight to Paris and met him at The Four Seasons George V where they dined at Le Cinq. It was her first public appearance in the month since the Vanity Fair article had been published. She had been worried that she would be hounded by press or gossip-mongers, but as she entered the opulent dining area, she was relieved to have arrived without any such attention.
Henri greeted her automatically with a kiss on each cheek before pulling away aghast.
“What have you done to yourself, Sophie dear?” he asked, eyeing her critically.
The Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress she wore did nothing to disguise the weight she had lost. Nor had the careful application of makeup hidden the weariness in her eyes.
“I’m fine, Henri. Don’t worry so much—I do that enough for both of us,” she said with a laugh.
The maître d’ approached them and offered to show them to their window-side table. As they sat down, Sophie’s eyes were drawn to the well-tended garden outside.
Henri took advantage of her silence to immediately order the maître d’ to supply them with red wine, bread, and two orders of the four-course gourmet lunch.
“Now, please tell me you are not ill,” Henri said, turning his full attention back to Sophie.
She met his eyes and smiled at his concern. “No, I’m fine. Things have just been hard lately. You know that. I’ll be okay. Trust me.”
“I wish it were that easy, my dear. I do not know if any photographer would be able to help the way you look.”
“Wow, that’s not very nice,” Sophie said with detached amusement.
“Do you understand that your job is your appearance? Just because you take a holiday doesn’t mean you can neglect your job!”
Sophie shook her head with the disappointed realization that his concern was not over her, but over his cut of the money. She again turned her eyes to the window and the garden where a break in the clouds allowed the sun to shine on a rippling fountain. The water glistened, broken into a thousand pieces all undulating together.
“First,” she said without looking at him, “I wasn’t on vacation. As you know all too well, I’ve been dealing with a family crisis. Second, I have already committed to making up the work I missed. So, you needn’t worry,” she said and met his eyes, “you will get your percentage.”
“Sophie,” he started before holding his tongue when a waiter approached with their wine and bread. Henri spoke in French to the waiter but Sophie was able to decipher enough to understand that he was asking for quick service of their meal.
After brusquely waving away the waiter, Henri leaned forward and with his voice lowered, implored Sophie, “Do not think such harsh things about my intentions. You know I care for you, my dear girl. And you have to admit that you do not look well. Is it so wrong for me to worry that you are taking care of everyone but yourself?”
“I’ll be fine. Tell me about my schedule.”
“As we eat, oui?”
Sophie nodded and their first course lobster salads were soon delivered. As he spoke to her about her next assignments, she only half-listened. She knew he would provide her with a detailed itinerary. And as she ate, her spirits lifted. Henri was right. She hadn’t been taking care of herself. The anxiety of the last month had left her little appetite as she instead poured her energy into doing whatever she could to ease Gavin’s misery—a futile endeavor.
Though leaving Gavin to his own resources terrified her, Sophie was partly relieved to be away from him. The weight of his sadness had been so massive, it was more than he could bear on his own. She wanted to take it on for him, but it was clear that nothing could diminish his load.
With this lunch and the work commitments she was making, Sophie hoped to step out of the situation she knew she could do nothing to help resolve. By doing so, though, she also had to have faith that Gavin could fix it on his own. But all her instincts told her he could not. Not this time.
“Conor Quinn—that is a name familiar to you, eh?”
Sophie focused on Henri for the first time in over ten minutes. “What?”
“I say, Conor Quinn has agreed to do a photo shoot with his girlfriend. The model Colette Devereaux will join him on the cover of NME magazine. I can’t believe I didn’t think of that first. You and Gavin should be the ones. You’re the ones with the real star appeal.”
“I’m surprised Conor agreed to it. But then again, I haven’t talked to him much lately.”
“Well, anyway, we should still do it. We can put together something for a first tier fashion magazine, not just a music magazine.”
Sophie laughed. “No, don’t even bother. There is no way that Gavin would ever say yes to something like that. That would be his worst nightmare, especially after everything that has just happened with the press.”
“I don’t know . . . it could be the perfect response, no? I mean to say, showing you two on the cover looking sexy and happy could be the best revenge against those paparazzi fools.”
“I’m telling you, Henri. There is no way that I’d ever be able to convince him. Anyway, I have enough work, don’t I?”
“You do indeed. Which means, you have to eat!” he said and succeeded in making her laugh.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
When Sophie returned home it was early evening and the house was dark. Something told her she shouldn’t be surprised that Gavin wasn’t eagerly awaiting her arrival. He hadn’t left a note or text to say where he’d be, and she ended up having to leave a voicemail when she called his cell.
When he called back nearly two hours later, she thought about letting him have to leave a message right back. But her need to know what he was doing and with whom was stronger than her desire for petty retribution.
He spoke in a rush, everything coming out in one breath. “Darlin’, it’s me. Are you home? I thought you were staying the night in Paris. Weren’t you supposed to stay the night in Paris? Didn’t you say something about the Four Seasons?” he asked quickly, his voice rising above the background din.
“Gavin,” Sophie said and closed her eyes tightly in dismay. “Where are you?”
“I’m with some friends. We’re hanging out and having a good time. You should come meet us. Do you want to come meet us? We’ll have a great time. I can give you directions—let me just figure out where the hell I am.” He laughed, clearly amusing himself.
“I don’t want to meet you, not if you’re doing what I think you are.”
“What—having a good time? No, you wouldn’t want any part of that, would you?” he snapped.
“What does that mean?” she asked, taken aback.
“I don’t understand why you have to jump down my throat, Sophie. Why do you have to give me hassle when I’m finally having a good time?”
“Is that what I’m doing?”
“Aren’t you?”
“I don’t mean to,” she said despite herself. She was in the right to be short with him. It was obvious he was playing with cocaine again and she knew no other way to react than to be upset about it. But he had a way of turning things, making her feel she was being unduly harsh, especially if all he was getting out of his experimentation was a good time.
“So don’t, darlin’. Just don’t.”
“Okay. Tell me where you are, baby. I want to be with you.”
~
The neighborhood was in a seedy area on the Northside Dublin and as Sophie locked her brand new E350 Mercedes she said a silent prayer it would remain unscathed. The street was lined with what looked to be abandoned warehouses and it was clear where the party was as only one of them had any kind of lighting. Making her way toward it, the throbbing beat of house music gr
ew louder.
There was a line of three dozen people waiting to get in and they tittered disapprovingly when she went directly to the door and smiled at the large man blocking the entrance.
“Good evening to you, Mrs. McManus,” the doorman said, ushering her inside.
She followed the instructions Gavin had given her on the phone and wound her way to the back. The club was packed full of twenty-something-aged kids, all grinding mindlessly to the DJ’s mix.
The makeshift VIP section consisted of several tables pushed together in front of an abbreviated bar. Gavin was lounging there with a group of men and women, none of whom Sophie recognized. But they all greeted her familiarly and with great fondness.
Gavin made introductions hastily before pulling Sophie onto his lap.
“Do you all want another round?” Gavin asked.
“Brilliant suggestion,” a man named Jacob said with a pronounced Scottish accent. He was rail-thin, pale, and had shoulder-length dreadlocks. Sophie assumed he held some sort of leadership position within the group as he was the keeper of the bag of cocaine, pulling it out from his inside jacket pocket.
Sophie whispered to Gavin, “This is making me really uncomfortable.”
“Sit next to me here, then,” he said, deliberately misinterpreting her.
She slid off his lap and watched as Jacob carefully, almost lovingly, tapped out a good portion of the white powder. The excitement this rendered among those at their table was horrifying. Watching Gavin participate in this made her stomach queasy. They took turns snorting lines until everyone had had their share, whereupon they all stared at Sophie.
“Go on,” Gavin said. “It’s good stuff. Better than in Los Angeles even.”
“No, thanks,” she said, shaking her head.
Gavin wiped up a few grains of the coke with his index finger and then rubbed it into his gums greedily. “There’s nothing to be afraid of, Sophie,” he said.
“Yeah, just have one hit,” a woman with long jet-black hair told her.
Tangled Up In You: A Rogue Series Novel Page 24
