Trouble Brewing

by Selena Kitt

  That’s what iron gates and security was for, the house we lived in with Rob an oasis. Celebrity came with its price, and that price was privacy. Even when people didn’t actually come up to talk to Tyler, there was always paparazzi hanging around. Usually they were trying to get a photograph of a celebrity doing something stupid or shocking.

  Pictures of me and Tyler had been showing up all over the Internet lately. At first, everyone had been consumed with Sabrina and the drama Catherine had created around it. Catherine was a master of media manipulation and, until she’d shot Sabrina and gotten herself arrested, she’d had them eating out of the palm of her hand, believing she was the woman scorned, the one everyone should feel bad for.

  Arnie said he hadn’t seen a media snow job like it since the breakup between Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston when everyone painted Angelina Jolie as some vicious homewrecker. That’s what Sabrina became, until Catherine snapped and showed her true colors. The media tide started turning at that point, especially after they discovered that Sabrina had lost the baby.

  It made me kind of sick to my stomach to see pictures of Esther’s funeral all over the Internet, Sabrina and Rob clinging to each other, her face buried in his chest. But Arnie had been delighted by it. Not by the baby’s death of course—he wasn’t that cold-hearted. But he was an opportunist. He saw the chance to change the media’s mind, and he took it. It wouldn’t have surprised me to learn that he’d told the media just where to be, when. I told myself I didn’t want to know.

  Not that Catherine’s manipulation had stopped there. She’d hired the best lawyers she could find. Rob kept saying her dream team had been better than OJ’s. But even they couldn’t manage to get her off, not this time, not after she’d gotten a slap on the wrist for attacking Celeste. Arnie had worked his media magic back then, Tyler told me, and kept it out of the news.

  But not this time. This time, it was everybody’s business, and the news finally surfaced that Catherine had done something like this before. Of course, the prosecution ran with that. But Catherine’s lawyer team had muddied the waters enough with a temporary insanity defense that the California jury had sided with them. I thought, if she’d been tried anywhere else, they would have thrown her into a real prison, instead of some sort of psychiatric treatment facility, but the people in California seemed to think celebrities were entitled to some sort of pass.

  Granted, these days celebrities ended up in jail a lot more—or on house arrest with ankle bracelets that kept them there—so they weren’t above the law completely. But they still got way more breaks than the general population, and Catherine got a big one. Instead of ending up behind bars, she was at some cushy “treatment center” in the California mountains.

  I hated thinking of her there—I’d much rather think of her rotting away in a solitary cell, after what she’d done in an attempt to ruin all of our lives—but it was better than her going free. I guess we had to take what we could get, under the circumstances. It wasn’t fair, but it was better than nothing.

  The press still asked questions about it though, even as we walked the red carpet. I think we all hoped it would go away when Catherine did. Out of sight, out of mind? But Arnie told us to ignore those questions. All of us, including Rob and Sabrina, weren’t supposed to speak Catherine’s name in public, so we didn’t.

  But they peppered us with, “What do you think of the verdict?” questions still, along with, “Tyler, how was it, working with Daniel Craig?” and “Katie, what does it feel like, breaking all Tyler’s fans hearts?” Yeah, they seriously asked me that kind of stuff.

  We just smiled and waved to the paparazzi and fans who lined up behind the velvet ropes. It was such a thin barrier, between them and us. Of course, there was plenty of security around to keep them at bay, but the reality was, security was outnumbered, if the public really decided to rush forward as one unit.

  Safety was an illusion. Catherine had managed to get past the gates—something I still blamed myself for and probably would, forever—and if there was some crazy fan out there, there was nothing and no one that could protect us, in the end. Mark David Chapman had killed John Lennon right in front of his own apartment building.

  The wall between “us” and “them” was like a sugar pill. Celebrities took it, swallowed it, and kind of believed it worked, after they’d been swallowing it long enough. But some of us—especially those of us who had recently been on the other side of that rope, and those of us who had seen someone come across that line with a gun drawn—knew that the wall was no real panacea.

  I guess that’s why I was so nervous that night. I felt like I was pretending, playing a role, acting out the part of “Tyler Cook’s girlfriend,” hanging on his arm wearing a soft, buttery yellow Versace backless dress and diamonds around my neck borrowed from Harry Winston that cost more than my mother’s house and car combined.

  I blinked at the number of flashes going off all around us as we got out of the limo, trying to remember not to hold my hand up to shade my eyes—that was a red carpet no-no. You had to stand straight and plaster on a smile and let them take photographs, hoping they didn’t catch you mid-blink, or with your mouth twisted strangely when you answered one of the million questions being peppered at you from the sidelines.

  Barbie and Ken, I thought, glancing up at Tyler. That’s who we were, walking down that red carpet. Tyler got a lot of attention—more than any other actor in a bit part would have—because he was in Trouble. So, we had to stop and talk to some of the reporters, answer invasive questions, smile big and wave to fans, even though we were nearly blind by the time we got inside.

  I just thanked God I hadn’t tripped over my dress, although once I’d almost stumbled and Tyler had kept me upright by grabbing my elbow. When I smiled a thanks up to him, I could barely see his face, I was so flash-blind. For a moment he was just a tall, faceless man beside me, and I thought I might actually be dreaming. Or having a nightmare. Would I look down and find myself naked in the midst of a crowd of strangers?

  But no, it was real. We walked down the aisle, and we made it together, into the theater, where a sea of celebrities—and more paparazzi—milled about, waiting for the movie to begin. I leaned against Tyler, who guided me through the crowd with a hand at the small of my back. I’d never been so grateful to sit down—my heels were killer high—and feel Tyler’s arm slip over my shoulder.

  “You look so delicious,” he whispered into my ear, making me flush with heat. “I want to eat you alive.”

  “You don’t look so bad yourself,” I murmured back, smiling at how hot he looked in a tux. I hadn’t walked arm-in-arm with a guy in a tux since prom, and I sure as hell never expected to be walking down an aisle with rock star Tyler Cook. Any aisle, let alone the red carpet at the new James Bond movie premiere!

  I felt his lips brush mine just before my eyes closed to yet another flash, more paparazzi taking photographs of us. I still felt a little strange and star struck whenever I saw a picture of us on the front of US Magazine or saw a little clip of us on TMZ. I hated the ones where they caught us in mid-bite of food—there was one out there of me practically deep-throating a popsicle while I sat beside Tyler on a park bench—but I never got sick of seeing the ones of us kissing.

  “We’re awfully close to the front,” I said when we parted, and Tyler nuzzled my ear and neck, making me shiver and wish we were anywhere but in public. “I guess we don’t get to sit up there with the real movie stars huh?”

  I nodded up to the mezzanine behind us, feeling his lips brush that sensitive expanse of skin under my ear. I bit my lip to keep from actually moaning out loud. Thankfully, the photographer who had taken a picture of us kissing had been satisfied with that and had moved on.

  “I promise, you’ll meet Daniel Craig.” Tyler’s eyes danced when he pulled back to look at me. I hadn’t glimpsed the Bond star yet tonight, although I had seen Rutger Hauer, who played the new Bond villain. Even Rhianna was here—she’d recorded the ne
w theme song. “Geez, girl, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you had a thing for him.”

  “I told you, he’d be one of my five,” I teased. We’d been talking about the infamous ‘celebrity five’ on the way over in the limo, and I told him that Daniel Craig would be on the list of five celebrities I would sleep with. I liked seeing Tyler jealous, even if it was just teasing. “Are you going to tell me yours or not?”

  “I told you, I don’t have a five.” His hand cupped my bare shoulder, pulling me closer. “I only have one. You’re it, baby.”

  “Oh, come on,” I teased, although I couldn’t help being secretly pleased by his response. “There have to be a few celebrity women you wouldn’t mind getting with. There’s… oh my God, is that Kate Hudson?”

  “Looks like it.” He nodded, looking at the new “Bond girl” like it was nothing. “I met Kurt Russell on the set, too.”

  “How do you not still get star struck?”

  “I do, sometimes.” He grinned. “You should have seen me when I met Robert Plant.”

  “You met Robert Plant?” I gaped at him. “When? Why didn’t I meet him?”

  “It was before I met you.” He laughed.

  After that, I was all about star gazing. Tyler chuckled every time I elbowed him and whispered another new celebrity name, although how many non-celebrities shocked me were there, people I never would’ve recognized, but who were important people in Hollywood, nonetheless. In fact, there were far more of those than stars, and Tyler seemed to know a great deal of them—directors, producers, moguls.

  Before long, the whole place was jam packed. We weren’t in the front row—about five or six rows back—but Tyler was on the aisle and we had to get up several times to let people in before our row was full. I was busy trying to glimpse Daniel Craig up on the mezzanine with the rest of the really big movie stars when the curtains parted and revealed the movie screen in front of us.

  It was an old-time movie theater, the kind with a real stage, and Tyler chuckled when I gasped and clutched his arm as Daniel Craig walked out to the microphone. He looked dashing in his tux—not quite as good as Ty, but I was probably a little biased—and he smiled as the crowd applauded politely.

  He talked a little about being James Bond, thanked everyone for coming, told a funny story about working on the set that had everyone laughing, and said he hoped everyone enjoyed the movie.

  Just before he walked off stage, though, he said, “Oh, there’s one more thing…”

  Shading his eyes, he scanned the crowd. The lights were still up, the audience still visible.

  “I have something here in my pocket. My good friend, Tyler Cook, gave it to me.”

  I stiffened at the mention of Tyler’s name, feeling Ty’s arm tighten around my shoulder.

  “He asked me to hold it for him,” Daniel went on, squinting out at the audience, who was now all looking around, too. They all knew who Tyler Cook was. Even if he only had a bit part as a maître d' in the movie who just said, “Can I take your coat, Mr. Bond?”—Tyler Cook was the lead guitarist of Trouble. They were the biggest band in the U.S. Everyone knew his face.

  Most of the audience had located Tyler by the time Daniel Craig focused in on our location. I felt myself sinking lower in my seat, but Tyler’s hand slipped under my arm to keep me from going too far.

  “Oh, there he is!” Daniel flashed Tyler a grin, and when he looked right at me and winked, I thought I would die. That’s when the screen behind him showed Daniel standing on stage, like an echo, and I realized there was a camera somewhere in the room, focused on him and somehow projecting onto the movie screen.

  “Hey, Ty, you want it now? Is it a good time?” Daniel checked his pocket but didn’t pull out whatever was in it.

  “Yeah, now’s great!” Tyler called—he had to be loud to be heard, because he didn’t have a mic. He grinned at me when I gaped at him and I thought I might actually faint for a minute.

  “Tyler!” I hissed his name, my nails digging into his arm as I clutched him.

  The audience around us was more than just mildly interested. I saw a flash of Kate Hudson’s face smiling, talking to the person next to her, curious. Then Daniel Craig was coming down the steps off the side of the stage, reaching into his pocket, the cord from the mic trailing behind him.

  “Hi there, Katie,” Daniel said to me as he approached. I think my jaw hit the floor.

  “H—hi,” I whispered back when he held out a hand to shake mine. Tyler was standing, so I did, too, reaching out to see my hand swallowed by Daniel Craig’s.

  “This is Katie Scarlett Monroe,” Daniel said into the mic and I flushed as red as a beet when he said my full name. How in the world did he know it? “Say hi to everyone, Katie.”

  He held the mic out and I managed to stammer another, “Hi.”

  “Oh, I almost forgot.” Daniel reached into the pocket of his tux and handed something to Tyler, who put it in his pocket. “Here you go, man. Good luck.”

  Then Daniel handed the mic to Tyler and music started through the speakers, filling the whole theater. I stared at Tyler, wide-eyed, seeing our image reflected on the screen up front too. Even if the audience wasn’t close to us, they could see Tyler and me on the big screen up front.

  But all I could see was Tyler, singing to me, his voice lilting, sweet, like it was just me and him sitting on the bed, the guitar between us. Except this time the music was recorded, but the vocals were live. In front of an entire audience, full of people, Tyler was singing my song!

  * * *

  When you sleep, and I keep

  My vigilant gaze into the night

  Where the light can’t penetrate

  * * *

  In the cold, in the dark

  You are the star fire burning bright

  To where I navigate

  * * *

  Then the morning rise

  And I feel it

  In your waking eyes

  And I see it

  My eyes claiming yours

  And you feel it

  * * *

  There are stars, that never part

  Split halves that are fused into one whole heart

  That spin into infinity

  * * *

  How it burns, generates

  A force unmatched among the stars

  It’s a love like gravity

  * * *

  Then the morning rise

  And I feel it

  In your waking eyes

  And I see it

  My eyes claiming yours

  And you feel it

  * * *

  Put your hand, in my hand

  Our hearts surrendered to love’s demands

  The only bonds that make us free

  * * *

  In the dark, in the night

  What we are ignites a forever light

  Where we will always be

  * * *

  That had been the end of the lyrics the last time I’d heard him sing it. And by then, I had tears in my eyes and a lump in my throat. But this time, there was more to the song. Tyler brought something out of his pocket and I gaped as he opened the box and sang the last, added verse—

  * * *

  Say you’ll marry me

  Will you feel it?

  Say you’ll marry me

  Will you see it?

  Say you’ll marry me

  * * *

  As the song ended, Tyler sank to one knee on the theater floor in his tux, holding that little blue velvet box in his hand. I’d seen Daniel hand it to him out of the corner of my eye, but it didn’t register until that moment.

  “Tyler,” I choked, hearing the entire crowd gasp, seeing our images up on the screen, Tyler kneeling, holding out the ring box. They knew what was coming, before I did.

  It was the same ring he’d tried to give me before he went on the European tour, when my recovery was so new. We’d both just gotten out of rehab, and I had felt like a newborn colt trying to walk on sha
ky legs. I was sure, if we both went on tour together again, we’d both fall flat on our faces.

  It had been the hardest thing I ever had to do, turning him down. What girl in her right mind would ever turn down a marriage proposal from Tyler Cook? I didn’t know what would have been crazier at the time, accepting it or refusing it. Both were pushing the limits of insanity.

  But we were both back on our feet again. We were on the other side of my relapse—and had been, for months. There were no more secrets between us now. We’d told each other everything, shared the deepest, scariest, most shameful parts of ourselves, and still, I’d never loved anyone more than I loved Tyler.

  And I’d never felt more seen than I did in his presence. Really seen, all of me, even the worst parts. And he loved me in spite of them. Sometimes, I think, because of them. He seemed to delight in my peculiar habit of sassing off and getting into trouble and boldly saying whatever I was thinking, consequences be damned.

  “Katie…” Tyler was still holding the microphone in his other hand and he spoke into it as he looked up at me.

  Goddamnit, now I really was going to cry. There goes my professionally applied makeup, I thought. I didn’t even know how much it had cost Tyler to get the service to come do my hair and makeup that afternoon, but it hadn’t been cheap.

  “You are the only woman I’ve ever met who I can’t stop thinking about,” Tyler said, and I wondered if I was the only one who could see the little tremble in the hand holding the ring. “We’ve been through hell and back together, girl, but somehow, no matter how bad it got, it still felt like heaven when you were in my arms.”